Skulduggery stared at the card in his glove. It was a business card, plain and simple, and how he obtained it he wasn't quite certain. Somebody mysterious had probably slipped it under his door, but that mysterious person would probably turn out to have been Lord Vile or something stupid. Because Lord Vile is most definitely dead.

"How is this fic going to continue once Mortal Coil comes out?" Skulduggery asked the narrator.

I'll probably ignore it, or mix in fun facts that we find out in a blaringly obvious way.

"...That's lazy writing."

Hey, shut up. Writing something between books and then having the next one come out saying 'Hahahaha, you're so stupid, Skulduggery was an ONLY CHILD DUMBFUCK' is soul-crushing.

"What kind of moron would wri- oh, wait, do I want to ask?"

No. Investigate the card in your hand. Or rather, let me do that. Unless you want to talk some more- I know you love the sound of your own voice.

"Shut up. It says-"

THIS IS STUPID. YOU HAVE NO FINESSE.

"Stop capslocking!"

NO.

The card advertised a therapist that Skulduggery had indeed heard of, in passing. Valerie-

"Her name. Is Valerie. Are you joking."

No. Hold on, I forgot her last name.

Skulduggery waited impatiently, staring at the blank spaces on the card where information had been left out. The brown curly letters shone slightly when he tilted it, and a secret message appeared:

Don't Tell Auth

The narrator pretended not to notice this as he resumed filling in the blanks. Her name was Valerie Allons-y oh god that is such a stupid name. Someone likes Doctor Who too much.

Her name was Michelle Cellany and, as previously mentioned, she worked as a therapist. Her number had been circled by a Sharpie, or perhaps a Magic Marker. It was a 555 number* but Skulduggery could be sure that if he called it, it would be answered.

He called it and scheduled an appointment with the overly chipper woman on the other end. He then considered carrying his gun with him to the appointment (as if he didn't carry it everywhere anyway), just in case Michelle's true name was Mary.

#

Valkyrie hated dresses, she missed sneakers, and somehow she had made it from the Grand Canyon to Las Vegas Strip in about three hours. The wind from the passing cars chilled her to the bone and being splattered with mud really didn't help her mood. She had no pockets, she was in America, and Sanguine pulled up next to her on the street and rolled down the window.

"How did you find me?" Valkyrie asked suspiciously. She hoped that he was on her side in this, but she also knew from her father that getting into green pick up trucks with strange men that have a history of stabbing you is a very bad idea.

"Instincts." Sanguine said. "Well, actually, this part of the world is pretty far from Ireland, so there's only one street that I can drive on. It's this one. The only one the Auth has been to."

"Oh."

"And I have a proposition for you."

"Does it involve me getting new clothes and maybe a shower?"

"Even better: I grabbed one of the suitcases from the big Semi at the set, thinking it was mine, but it's yours. Enjoy."

Valkyrie twisted her ring around her finger, suddenly remembering that she had it. She'd be safe with it on, since Sanguine's powers were pretty crippled.

He suddenly remembered that too. "Actually, I take it back. Watching you wander the Strip for a while without shoes is going to be fun. Did you have any money?"

Valkyrie stuck her hand inside the truck and shadows shot out like vines to caress Sanguine's neck thoughtfully. "I really don't need you, you know. You've been nothing but a pain in the ass and comic relief since you were introduced."

He unlocked the door. "Have fun watching your back while you're asleep."

"Believe me, I don't intend to be sleeping around you. We're running on fanfic time- the only time I will sleep is if Narry wants you to watch me sleeping or something. Or let us get ambushed. But mostly having you watching me sleep."

"True enough."

"Not to mention that I have contractual immortality**."

Sanguine shrugged. "That doesn't mean I can't, I don't know, stab you a few times. You'll barely survive and I'll probably die for my troubles, but it'll be nice."

#

Fletcher left a wilting daisy on China's doorstep. She stepped on it and didn't notice the stem sticking to her heel until she walked on a white carpet.

She didn't have any white carpets, so that took a while.

*555 numbers are used by television shows and the like because they don't exist. If they use a 'real' number, and it's a popular enough show, you can be guaranteed that some poor man in Spain is going to be spam called by thousands of fans hoping to reach Scapegrace's cell.

**Basically, a character that is made immortal because the story could not continue without them. A good way to figure out who is more immune to death is to count how often their name is said if it's a book, or who says the funniest jokes if it's a movie or TV show.

(Although, some authors tend to ignore this or go to the opposite extreme. Like Joss Whedon.)

If you want me to feature one of your OCs in the story, let me know! Just be warned, I'll probably make fun of them very cruelly and then kill them.

Like Gordon.

He is my role-model.

Also, the Narrator is officially a character. His name is Narry and he likes taking long walks on the Seas of Purple Prose and ogling sunsets.