Hello! Yes, I've started another set of fanfics. This is just going to be small one-shots and stuff, set in my 'Who Said Life was Easy?'-verse and other AUs and drabbles. Merely a minor side project.
And what better way to start a new one-shot series than with something depressing? This is an elaboration part of chapter 24 of 'Who Said Life was Easy?', but you don't have to read that before reading this.
Anyway. Enjoy.
A Mask for These Corpses
The Dead Men all wore masks to protect themselves. It was just that hardly anyone ever saw the faces beneath them, so they just couldn't tell the difference.
Skulduggery's mask was elegant and puzzling to the point of infuriation. That elaborate, carefully constructed façade hid a young, impulsive vagabond that was haunted by the past; face scarred from years of hardship and pain; too scared to let the people he treasures out of sight lest they get hurt. And as delicate as it may have looked, it was tough enough to hide and restrain the frightening darkness that lurked beneath.
A tough, robust and confident display was what Erskine chose to live with. One that people could trust and confide in; that gave the image of power and wouldn't be easily opposed. But beneath that mask was a paranoid, sensitive soul who was dangerously fragile, and constantly gripped in the clutches of self-loathing for betraying the people who had so much faith in him for so long. There were times when his mask came dangerously close to breaking, but he always made sure to fix it, because he wasn't sure how long he'd last without it. He never took it off.
Dexter's sweet-talking masquerade got him into a fair bit of trouble on more than one occasion. Cocky and rambunctious, it was hard to believe that it was all an act to hide the fidgety colt who struggled to form lasting commitments with people. It was because of this that he was so thankful for the friends he had, even if he didn't show it.
Saracen was in a similar situation. His foxy, boyish attitude to life was the only way he felt he could get on in life. If people saw how vulnerable and dependent he really was, then he'd be a burden, and he didn't want that. He didn't want to drag everyone else down and cause trouble for them just to make things easier for himself.
The irate, solitary outer shell of Corrival Deuce was not an overly elaborate show, but it got the job done; it earned him respect, got people to listen to him, and – more importantly – kept him alive. So after over two hundred years of having to wear it, he simply forgotten to take it off. Forgotten it was even there. Forgotten that people couldn't see how he did actually care about what happened to his friends, people and country.
Anton's mask was the only one that was ever even slightly visible to strangers. The solitude and silence defended people from his blazing, barely-caged anger and obscured the full extent of his resentment towards the Sanctuary. And no one – not even the people he loved most – would ever know how much he cared for them.
Even Ghastly had a mask, however it was roughly hewn and only served to protect him. There was nothing complex or ornate about it; he'd fashioned it as a sort of war mask; threatening and requesting respect from those he didn't know. The few who did get to see past this stubborn, loyal mask would be presented with a kind, understanding warrior who would do anything to safeguard those people.
When one first meets Hopeless, they will see one mask. Should one see him again, it is more than likely that his mask has changed. It came with his talent; an ever-changing façade. One that confused people and could hardly ever be seen through. As a result, no one was able to look at the man beneath. Not even he himself knew who he was supposed to be.
Larrikin. Sweet, moronic, screwball Larrikin. Not even he was free from the deception that had latched onto the Dead Men, but at least he wasn't constantly relying on a false face to get by in the way that the others did. The clueless, joking behaviour was accompanied by a frightened child who you wouldn't expect to find in a war zone, and despite this, he wasn't as trusting as one would think. For him to trade his life in exchange for Dexter's was a tragically amazing feat.
The Dead Men were little more than an exhibit of masks, designed to hide the men beneath. It's the way they've always been; since before the beginning.