#rag and bone man was meant to be a background / side villain but just ... the visual appeal ...

[solipseismic]

i still have to write 7.5k by tonight pray for me lads but here, have an excerpt from chapter two 

Movement fluttered in Skysteel’s peripherals and she half-turned. Nothing but a grid of silver white moonlight highlighting the gravel of the rooftop. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the buildings around her. Windows winked at her; some black like the surface of a lake under the night sky, others like the glint of the sun reflecting off a mirror. No movement. The scales on the back of Skysteel’s neck felt like they were trying to crawl off her skin and she turned another circle, hands closing into fists.

Someone was on this rooftop with her.

“Skysteel.”

She nearly jumped off the roof and out of her skin; Geist materialized out of the shadow cast by a rooftop exhaust fan and Skysteel blew out a breath, shaking her head.

“God. Who should be the one wearing a bell, now?” Skysteel said, giving the man a baleful look. The slice of chin and mouth left exposed by his cowl was pale under the moonlight, washed out and faded.

“What?” Geist gave Skysteel a blank look.

“… nothing.” Skysteel rolled her shoulders, eyeing the man. He looked much better than he had last time Skysteel had seen him. Shoulders rolled back, the same cocky stride he had on the rooftops of Anehaven, away from the light and mess of the streets. There was no longer that rolling hitch in his step that denoted a set of broken ribs, no tilt of the chin that Geist had begun giving her; the man’s version of how are you? “Hey, how’s your cat doing?”

“Fine.” Geist stopped his pacing and turned to face Skysteel, the movement jerky and abrupt. Something fluttered at the edge of Skysteel’s vision again – a rag, a newspaper, someone’s hand – but she didn’t turn to look. “He – doesn’t have… a cat, does he?”

“The man’s allergic,” Skysteel replied, baring her teeth in a vicious grin. “But it was a good effort.”

“And he’s – so fit… too.” Decidedly Not Geist looked down at gauntleted hands, flexing his fingers and turning them over, staring like he’d never seen a set of hands before. “Shame. He could – do with… one. Always – so… tense.”

“Tell me about it.” Skysteel pointed two claw-tipped fingers down at Not Geist in a come-hither motion, still grinning. “I thought you were dead.”

Not Geist melted away, collapsing into a shuffling pile of rags and hole-filled scraps of… something. Skysteel didn’t like to think about it, and that was really saying something.

“What is – death but… change?”

Skysteel whirled, lashing out at the voice that had come from somewhere over her left shoulder – she came up on empty air and growled in frustration, teeth bared.

“I did – change. I have… changed quite a – bit.”

The staccato stop-start of Rag and Bone Man’s voice was tearing the last of Skysteel’s nerves to itty bitty shreds and she snarled, loud and guttural.

“Always so – quick to anger… I’ve never been – able to touch… you. I’ve – always… wondered what it would – be like.”

His voice was echoing from somewhere. Pinpoint the echo, find the location. Skysteel closed her eyes and turned in another tight, quick circle, feeling cornered. To the left. Take it back now, y’all, a small, hysterical part of her mind whispered. He had to be somewhere. He couldn’t step into another plane or dimension, not like her or Poltergeist. He could mimic Geist’s teleportation, but he couldn’t copy it entirely. Ergo, he was somewhere here. Somewhere near. A ventriloquist with a grudge. Skysteel had never thought she’d see the day. “Curious to have a taste of the impossible?”

“Not – a taste. A... touch. All I need – is one… touch.” Rag and Bone Man loomed up from the gravel under her very feet, pale hand outstretched. He was a nightmare to look at; festering, rotting flesh wrapped tight in fluttering ribbons of rags and plague victims’ bandages, stained with age and blood. Ivory teeth winked at Skysteel and empty sockets gaped like yawning mouths. Skysteel reeled back, knocking his hand away with the heel of her palm and jabbing two fingers into where his solar plexus should have been, except – “I don’t – have what… you’re looking for. Unfortunately. For you.”