Valkyrie walked over to her. Since she had met her, all she'd wanted to do was punch her face in. But that was when Kitana has been big and powerful and brimming with murderous arrogance. The girl standing before her now, crying and blubbing like any teenage girl would do under these circumstances, was not the same girl Valkyrie had wanted to punch.
But she'd do.
Valkyrie's fist connected with such a satisfying jolt that it actually made her smile as Kitana fell sideways, eyes already rolling in her head. Valkyrie resisted the urge to kick her as she lay crumpled.
Such behaviour would be unbecoming of a Sanctuary detective.
Doran stood on the dais, fists clenched. "All right," he said. "Let's do it, come on. Charge me up."
Skulduggery tapped the controls. "Just give me a moment…"
Doran's leg was shaking. "Come on," he said. "Hurry up. Haven't got all day."
"Just one more moment…"
"Here," said Doran. "You have used this on people before, right?"
"Hmmm?" Skulduggery said. "People? No, not on people. Ah, here we go."
The dais lit up.
"Oh, I don't know about this," said Doran. "I don't think I want to do this…"
"You'll be fine." Skulduggery said.
"How do you know?"
"I don't."
The hair stood up on Valkyrie's arms and light filled the room. The Accelerator wined like an animal, the wine getting louder and louder and the dais beginning to tremble.
"I want to get off!" Doran shouted. "I want to get off!"
"You can't get off!" Skulduggery shouted back over the roar. "If you get off you'll die!"
"I'll die?"
"I don't know," Skulduggery shouted. "Probably.
Well, yeah, but she looks, like, twenty-two. And she acts like a four-year-old.
Derek LandyStichwörter: tanith-low valkyrie-cain
We're just going to retreat?”
“We are not retreating, we're advancing in reverse.
Suddenly Saracen Rue looked old and tired, and Skulduggery Pleasant came into focus as what he really was – a genius, a killer, a tortured soul, and the only true dead man among them.
Derek LandyYears ago, I was yapping to my mother about Buffy and Xena and talking about how great it is that we now have these TV shows about such strong female characters. My mother, who admittedly has never watched either show, asked me if these really WERE strong female characters, or if they were merely male characters with boobs.
Having a blonde cheerleader save the world with her martial arts skills doesn't equal feminism, she said. That's a male tactic. How about her saving the day using tactics that aren't all about punching and kicking and killing?
I didn't have an answer for her then. I still don't, even now. There's a whole debate to be had that I'm just not ready for, that I may never be ready for. My mother is a pacifist. I am not. We see the world differently, we operate differently, even though we want the same things. We both want equality and peace. My mother is the sort to talk her way to equality and peace. I'm the sort to talk to the point where I reckon more talk won't do any good, and then smash my way through to an understanding. It is not an enlightened viewpoint I hold. It is a crass, brutish viewpoint — but in a crass, brutish world, I believe my way is the way to go. Mum believes otherwise.
And that's the difference, I think, between us. We live in a world carved by men, where fear and oppression and violence are a part of our lives. I can't even IMAGINE a world sculpted by women, where other values have taken hold. I'm limited in that way. I could try not to be, but I honestly wouldn't know where to start. That's kind of sad, when you think about it. For all my imagination, I can't even imagine that...
... (turns to stare hauntingly out the window).
Are you sulking?”
“Me? No. I don’t sulk.”
“You sound like you’re sulking.”
“I’m just waiting for the violent urges to subside.
She turned to Skulduggery and held out her arms. “Come here, you.”
He tilted his head. “My hugs are for special occasions only.”
“Hug me.”
“I prefer the old tradition.”
“Hug.”
“Would a handshake do?”
“Hug.”
“A pat on the back?”
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him. “Hug,” she said.
He sighed, and his hands settled on her shoulders. The others were warm and their embraces strong – with Skulduggery the hug was cold, and there were areas on his jacket that gave way beneath her fingers, and she could feel the emptiness within. She didn’t mind.
Reading those books is all he does these days. I think he’s even read some of them twice. What kind of disturbed individual would read the same book twice, I ask you?
Derek LandyShe wants to be polite and not hurt your feelings, so she's not going to laugh right now. But inside, inside she's laughing.
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