Roarhaven Times presents: Dead Men
GHASTLY BESPOKE [click to enlarge, full article under the cut]
The tailor has a hearty laugh, and an even heartier sense of humour. Ghastly Bespoke seems no stranger to these jokes as he and our photographer begin to laugh halfway through the shoot. I wait patiently on the sidelines, completely oblivious as to what they find so funny until the entire escapade ends. He finishes and sits down with me, in his sky blue waistcoat and crisp white shirt that he himself made.
He’s still chuckling as he sits, wiping the corner of his eye.
“She’s a funny one, her.” He says, gesturing to our photographer. I pat his hand and tell him that I’ll be sure to slip him her number when he leaves, and he stares at me. For a second I realize how unprofessional I was and envision myself without this job. I begin my bargain with God.
But then he laughs again, as if I had just grown another head, and winks at me.
“You be sure to do that.” He says, smiling, and straightens his waistcoat. I decide to begin with the elephant in the room - his scars.
“Well my mother was cursed while she was still pregnant with me; this is the result.”
Apparently Ghastly has tried to remove the scars many times, but nothing has worked. This quirk has allowed him to become friends with people who look beyond the skin, one of which is Detective Pleasant, whom he has been friends with since they were both teenagers.
When asked about his sewing, he laughs again.
“Okay, I guess I should clear it up and be honest. A lot of people think I got boxing from my father and sewing from my mother. It’s actually the other way around. My mother had a right hook that could take off someone’s head. She died trying to kill Lord Vile by herself, but at least she went down fighting. For a long time my life was just the Dead Men, nothing more. But after the War with Mevolent ended, I didn’t want to keep going in this world of magic and death, so I opened a tailor shop. It’s always been something I was good at, and something I’ve found enjoyable.” He laughs then. “- and then Skulduggery demanded that I make him a suit as a legacy of the Ghastly name. It manifested from there on and I blame it all on him.”
I ask about his job as the Roarhaven Elder, and he waves a hand with a sigh.
“It’s bad enough that I have to wear those ridiculous robes, at least let me escape from the media responsibilities of being an Elder. I’m stuck down in eternal darkness most of the time, let me have a regular life on the surface with my friends.”
I ask for his opinion on the war too, and he manages a frustrated groan.
“It’s ridiculous is what it is. I can’t believe they’re actually going to war with this. But it’s inevitable, especially with what’s been done. I just can’t believe it’s gotten to this stage. People are going to die – I mean, of course we hope there will be no lives lost, but it’s likely – and things will be broken. This is bigger than just a quarrel between some mages with inferiority complexes, this is a war. I just don’t think they realize the massive scale of this and what the consequences can be.”
He rubs his eyes with his knuckles, which I see are lightly scarred also, and he sits back.
“Life with magic is just hard. In real life politics, you don’t get things like this. I mean, death threats, maybe; but not an act of war that starts with bloodshed as if it’s just a mere stepping stone. We have this magic, it’s a responsibility. It’s not just this toy that we can mess around with. It’s just stupid, really.”
I ask him about his magic; or more specifically, the two years he spent as stone when he used the Elemental magic of earth.
“It uh … It didn’t exactly go by in a blur. I still have the hack scar from the Cleaver, actually. It just adds to my collection.” He smiles. “I’ve dreamt about the transformation a few times, actually, and honestly it’s not great. You know that feeling you get just before your arm goes numb? Like bees are buzzing inside or the static you get on television when you have bad reception? It’s like that, but worse, and it squeezes you like a vice, as if squeezing all the air from your lungs is the first part of turning to stone. After that it doesn’t exactly fade to black – it’s kind of a static … consistency. I don’t know for how long I felt it, I just know I did. I can’t give you a time frame, but it wasn’t the blink of an eye, and it wasn’t pleasant. I half expected myself to wake up in an age where dragons ruled the world.”
Apparently our photographer, who is packing up as I talk with Ghastly, overheard it, and she tries to stifle a giggle. As she leaves, Ghastly gives her a smile, and he gives me a look. I look knowingly back.
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