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Title: Powers That Be (Mythklok, Chapter 79)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone has been kidnapped! But, maybe not who you think....
Warnings: Nothing much.
Notes: After jump.

Between love and madness lies … Mythklok.

Last time: we had a band meeting, heard a story, played a game, and said our goodbyes.

Charles squinted. It was amazing. No, he reminded himself, HE was amazing.

An angel.

A fucking weird angel.

“I've never seen a Power close up before,” he confessed.

“Really?” asked Phanuel, who was standing beside him, on the other side of the gate from the winged being, who was crouching above them and lazily flapping yellow-green wings.

“I never fought alongside them. Raziel and I: we usually just went out with Seraphim. And at Headquarters.... They were off in a lower realm,” Charles explained. “We usually didn't mix. Now, Lucifer....” He trailed off, looking at Phanuel. The grey angel simply arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Anyway, that's one of the things Lucifer and his crowd did. Mix it up a little. We would start seeing Thrones and suchlike at our dinners.” He trailed off awkwardly. “And you...?”

“I was rarely at Headquarters in recent millennia. I have in my time commanded regiments of Powers. They were effective, for what they were. But recall, they were Created at a later time than such as we. I found them to be.... Erratic.”

Charles frowned. “Erratic?”

“One could proffer them bow and arrow, and they made for effective archers. Quite brave, in their way. But in all other matters, particularly ones requiring social interaction....”

Charles looked at the bright wings flapping. “Does he have a Court Form?”

“I believe so. He seems … disinclined to it.”

“He's just kinda distracting like that.” He looked to Phanuel, who didn't reply, but simply smiled wryly, and pointed to Charles.

“Oh!” said Charles, putting a hand through his own hair. “That's just paint. Boon's blue period. He was doing a mural at Valhalla. Uh. Whether Wotan wanted it or not.”

“I shall have to journey up to witness for myself,” smiled Phanuel. “Now, as to present matters,” he said, turning to look at the other being standing beside them at the Gates of Hell, at a rather skeptical looking Toki Wartooth.

“What ams dat t'ing?” asked the guitarist. “Ain't dat da guys what ams shootsing arrows at us?”

“He is, in fact, the very same,” said Phanuel. “It was very insightful of you to notice this!” Toki, who had begun to cringe, suddenly perked up at the sound of praise.

“Uh, Toki, we need your help here,” said Charles, as Phanuel silently nodded, encouraging.

“This fellow is very interested in meeting you,” said Phanuel.

“Meetsing me?” asked Toki, who looking baffled. If Charles had had a conscience, he would have felt a twinge.

“Uh, we think he might be....”

“A distant relative, of some kind?” concluded Phanuel.

“Whats? Dat guys?”

“Uh, the reason for the....” said Charles, miming wings flapping.

“So he ams like da cousins?” asked Toki, ice blue eyes narrowing, mustache twisting.

“Something like that,” said Phanuel.

“Would you talk to him with us?” asked Charles. Toki scowled at the colorful angel, who was gazing down at them curiously. Charles pulled out Deddy Bear, who he had had tucked under his arm, and handed him over to the Norwegian, who clutched the toy to him, and then, seeming to steel himself, nodded.

Phanuel gestured, and the Gates of Hell slowly began to swing open.

Charles felt the Dethphone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. “Raziel! Can this wait? I- Oh, gods no! No! No. I am on my way. I am on my way now.” He shut down the phone, grabbed Phanuel's shoulder and whispered into the Seraph's ear.

“Yes. Of course. If there is anything I can do....” said the Grey angel.

“Just.... Carry on here. I'll let you know. Toki!” The guitarist blinked at Charles. “I've been called back for something very important. Phanuel will stay here with you, and he will get you back to Mordhaus. OK?”


“Nothing. Everything's fine. I gotta go. I gotta go.”

And with that, Charles was gone, leaving Toki and Deddy at the Gates of Hell.

Charles saw Raziel waiting in the chaos outside the building. “Will you be all right?” he asked the large Klokateer accompanying him.

“I will conduct my examination of the premises and report back,” said Klokateer 31415, who was commonly known as Pie. “As long as my movements are unrestricted?”

“You'll be OK,” said Charles. He strode towards Raziel, who was watching yet another stretcher coming down the steps. He seized her shoulder. “My son...?”

“Boonie is up at Valhalla, where Wotan is personally at his side. Along with some really big Valkyries. They're in discussions to carve a figurehead for Cousin Poseidon's new craft,” she told him as they stepped inside the hospital. They seemed to be swimming upstream. Most rooms were empty, and those that still contained patients were a flurry of activity.

Charles nodded. “Good. That will occupy him. Ganesh's place?”

“Is in lockdown. We've sent Kam and Jyoti and his servants to a secure location for the duration.”

“The duration...” sighed Charles as they passed through the hallways. “Kids hospital,” he snorted. “Why does Ganesh gotta do this touchy-feely-ass liberal shit anyway?”

“Because he's a touch-feely-ass liberal.” Charles looked sharply at her. “A fact which you have conveniently ignored,” she continued, “due to wanting to get your angelic hands on that touchy feely liberal ass. Now. Are you sure you're the one to do this?”

“I'm the only one I trust to do this.”

They had come to an office. There was a worried looking woman waiting outside. She immediately began speaking to Charles in rapid Hindi. Raziel took her hand an replied in kind.

“What's going on?” said Charles, following them into the office.

“She's apologizing. I told her it's not her fault, but she needs to sit down and we'll figure this out. You know. Touchy feely stuff.”

Charles suddenly looked like he'd been slapped.

“Sariel. Sorry. We'll get him back,” said Raziel, now more softly. “Anyways, this is Miss Gupta, the administrator,” she said, indicating the woman who had been talking. “And this is Miss Bannerjee, one of the nurses, who was there for the incident” said Raziel, indicating an older woman standing by. Charles gave what he hoped was a polite namaste bow to both women.

“They wanna know what you want to know,” Raziel told him after both women spoke at once, for what seemed a rather long time.

“Uh, is that all?”

“There's two of 'em,” Raziel said, voice low, then making a gesture with her fingers for “bickering.”

Charles cracked a faint smile. Ganesh used to say, only took two Indians to get a good donnybrook. He immediately frowned. Ganesh said. He was not gonna think of him in the past tense. “Just have them start from the beginning and say what happened. Everything. Even if it didn't seem important.”

Raziel listened to the two women, who seemed to interrupt each other as often as they managed a full sentence. “Early morning,” she said. “Ganesh doing a Grand Round on congenital facial malformations, so all the medical staff was here. Armed men-”

“They recognize any of them?”

The women both spoke at once, gesturing towards their faces. “Face masks. But none of them appeared to be local. The accent was wrong.”

Charles nodded.

“They said there were representatives of Worldwide Jihad. They made threats. Claimed there were explosive devices, though there's no evidence of 'em. They're evacuating as a precaution.”

“My assistant is conducting a search,” Charles told them.

“Ganesh told the men he would be willing to leave with them if they would promise no harm would come to anyone here.”

“Fucking noble-ass son of a bitch,” Charles muttered. Raziel didn't translate that bit. “What the fuck would terrorists want with Ganesh?”

Raziel shrugged and talked to the women for a bit. The younger woman sighed. “Miss Gupta says there has been intermittent trouble between the Hindu and Muslim populations here,” said Raziel, “But nothing recently.” The older woman was off on something. “Miss Bannerjee thinks they weren't real Muslim terrorists.”

“Whaddya mean?”

The older woman prattled, pointing to her hand.

“One of 'em had a tattoo,” said Raziel, pointing to her own hand. “Muslims aren't supposed to do that.”

“It's Haram?” asked Charles. The two women nodded. “Can they remember what it looked like?” There was yet another discussion, and then a pen was put to paper. The drawing that eventually emerged looked like a chubby bird with a circle in its stomach.

“A penguin?” asked Raziel.

“No. Shit. No. I know what this is,” said Charles, grabbing the paper. “Look. Tell 'em thank you. And if they remember anything else, let us know.” And then he was charging out, Raziel at his heels.

“Sariel! What the fuck?” Raziel asked when they were out of hearing distance.

“Falconback,” Charles whispered.

“Yeah? That's Wotan's favorite band!”

Charles frowned. “No, not Falkenbach,” he whispered. “This is something different. Connected to Crozier.”

“Oh. Crap. And-”

“Yeah. And him.”

“Double crap.”


“Oh, Pie!” said Charles. “See anything?”

“I did not find any preliminary evidence of incendiary devices,” the large Klokateer reported. “I will return to Mordhaus and assemble a team to return here however.”

“Well, that's something.”

“However. Um. I think there is something that needs your attention.” The angels followed the hooded man out to the front steps.

“Oh, gods damn it!” said Charles.

“Why you ams not asks me to comes out here first t'ings?” asked Skwisgaar, who was standing there with a slightly embarrassed looking Pickles. “Ams my speskialties!”

“He insisted on comin',” said Pickles apologetically.

“Skwisgaar,” said Charles. “It's not safe here!”


“DON'T YOU PFFFT ME!” growled Charles, although the growl was perhaps a note too high pitched for maximum effectiveness.


“SARIEL!” snapped Raziel. He turned to glare at her for interrupting the Pffft-off. “I'll stay with him. I gotta idea.” She grabbed him by the collar and whispered something in his ear.

Charles nodded, his eyes glinting at Skwisgaar. “Yeah, OK. That'll work,” he told Raziel, nodding. “All right, Skwisgaar. You stay. But you listen to Raziel!”

Raziel grinned and puffed up and Skwisgaar sneered. “OK. Ja. But she stays outta da way.”

“If he acts up,” Charles told Raziel, loud enough so Skwisgaar could clearly hear, “just leave him enough fingers to play the damned guitar.” He left the Swede and the angel glaring at one another.

“And, uh, wut can I do, chief?” asked Pickles, who had been standing off to the side, looking guilty.

“Yeah, you can do something very important!” Charles told him. “I just left Toki. Where the hell is the rest of the band? Where are Nathan and William?”

“Uhhhh. Dey been sorta.... Occupied?” said Pickles.

Charles suddenly wished he was sitting at his desk in his office back in Mordhaus. It was very handy for smashing one's forehead upon. “Occupied? Doing what exactly?”

Phanuel and Toki now stood within the Gates of Hell.

The actual gate was a lovely wrought iron affair, fashioned to look like a musical staff. It had been modeled after a similar gate up on Earth's surface. They stood at the outskirts of the city of Dis. During Lucifer's term as the warden of the environs, Dis had been ever afire. Phanuel, upon assuming guardianship, had quickly halted the practice, as the smoke aggravated his allergies. It was now a not unpleasant village, with many quiet green spaces, as Phanuel was a keen gardener.

They were standing in one such little park, Phanuel and Toki, looking up at a True Formed angel.

“All right. You may approach,” Phanuel told the Power, who was perched up on a rock wall, staring down at them. It appeared that the wall had once been part of a large building, which had perhaps been ruined by the formerly eternal fire.

“Ams hims got da name?” Toki whispered to Phanuel.

“His name is Engelbert. But I understand, he prefers being addressed as simply Bert,” explained Phanuel.

“Hi Berts- WAIII!” said Toki, as Bert the Power evidently had little comprehension of the human concept of personal space.

“It smells good!” Bert approvingly told Phanuel as he took in a good sniff.

“Ahem. Bert, this is Toki. Your, er, descendant.” Toki took a decided step backwards. Bert took another forwards, more than closing the admittedly small distance between them.

“ANJA?” asked Bert, who flapped his wings excitedly, touching a strand of Toki's long hair.

“No!” said Toki, clutching Deddy to him. “I ams not my moms. I ams Toki! Ams you stupid?”

“You're a Toki?” asked Bert, tilting his green-gold head and blinking the golden eyes. “What's a Toki?”

“Ams he an idiots?” Toki asked Phanuel.

“Mad as a hatter, more like,” Phanuel sighed. He was growing less confident by the moment that anything useful would come out of this encounter.

“Pretty,” said Bert, who was now quite distracted by the plush toy Toki was clutching.

“WAITS!” wailed Toki. “Not Deddy! Come backs!” But he was too late, as the quick-moving Power had already snatched the little bear and brought him back up on the wall where he had perched before. “Phanuel, dat ams mine!” Toki protested, teary eyed and waving at the wall.

Phanuel sighed. “I am going to attempt something. Kindly allow me a little bit of space. I am about to do something. Terribly impolite.” And then in the blink of an eye, the grey angel was True Formed: a mighty Seraph, with three full sets of soft grey wings, now standing more or less eye to eye with Bert.

“That item belongs to Toki. He wishes its return,” Phanuel told Bert.

“You are a Seraph?” Bert asked the big angel.

“That would be a correct assumption,” intoned Phanuel, whose grave voice, at this size, had only grown more grave. Phanuel held out a large hand, and, to his surprise, instead of handing over the bear, Bert jumped into it.

“You are very polite for a Seraph,” said Bert, whose eyes were filled with wonder. “Most Seraphim just yell!”

Phanuel felt a small weight on his shoulder, and noticed that Toki had gone to his winged Form and evidently flown up to rest there and peer at Bert.

“Oh! You're very pretty like that!” Bert told Toki. Bert was cocking his head like some great parrot.

“If you like the item,” Phanuel proposed, “I have at my disposal many artisans, in Purgatory, who could fashion a similar one, to your specifications.”

“A dollie for Bert?” asked the angel.

“Ams not da doll!” Toki scolded. “Ams a bear!”

Bert blinked. But then stuck out his arms. Phanuel carefully brought his hand up to his shoulder, where Bert returned Deddy to his rightful owner.

“Good,” said the Seraph. “Well, now that that matter has been settled, might we all retire to our respective Court Forms? I am most uncomfortable conducting social matters in this state.” In truth, with a winged being flapping on his shoulder, Phanuel was feeling like he needed an eyepatch and pegleg.
“Perhaps we might have tea?”

“I like BOOZE!” said Bert.

“I ams like booze too!” cheered Toki, clutching Deddy.

“Well, then,” sighed Phanuel.


Charles' voice, never a sublime instrument like that of Nathan Explosion, nevertheless managed to ping through the vast corridors of Mordhaus like an angry pinball.

“There'sch no need to yell, bro,” counseled William Murderface, one of two death metal musicians now facing him in his vast office at Mordhaus.

“What you did....” sputtered Charles, struggling to control his left eye from madly twitching. “What you did... It's called kidnapping! It's illegal!”

“Then what about all the dudes you have locked in the dungeon?” asked Nathan.

“That was different!” Charles insisted. “They were ILLEGALLY DOWNLOADING MP3s!”

“Well, yeah, thisch isch true,” agreed Murderface.

“You can't just bring somebody here against their will!” said Charles.

“Ah! But she's not HERE,” Nathan explained.

“She'sch WITH KNUBBLER! At his caschtle,” agreed Murderface.

“That's why the plan was AWESOME.”

“Lavona doesn't wanna be there or here!” said Charles, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. “She wants to do her Baconology crap!”

“See, this is where my plan become even more awesome. We just get Boon...”

“Boon?” asked Charles.

“Your kid, remember?”

“I remember my kid!”

“Well, he goes to her, and he does the thing where he says your name, and you get to start over!”

“You....? Oh good gods,” said Charles, sinking down in his office chair.

“Could you not do that?” Nathan complained as he settled his own bulk into a guest chair.


“THAT!” said Nathan, pointing to Charles' legs.

“Yeah, man, it makesch me hurt juscht looking at you,” opined Murderface, rubbing his thumb against his knife.

Charles looked down. Without thinking too much about it, he had kicked off his shoes and twisted his legs up. The way that.... “Sorry!” he said, pulling his legs back down. “I was.... I was complaining about my back. Lifting Boon.” He sat back in the chair and rubbed his lower back. “He's getting big. So he was making me do yoga crap. He was.... He IS making me do yoga crap.”

Nathan and Murderface exchanged a very confused glance. “Ganesh?” asked Nathan.

“Ganesh,” said Charles, trying to stifle the emotion in his voice, but doing a rather poor job of it. Don't do this in front of the boys, he thought.

“Oooooo,” said Nathan.

“Huh?” asked Murderface.

“GANESH LEFT YOU!” said Nathan, suddenly perking up.

“What?” said Charles.

“For a younger, hotter dude!” concluded Nathan.

“Ganesch hasch a young honey?” asked Murderface.

“What? No!” protested Charles.

“It's OK dude!” counseled Nathan. “You can cry on our shoulders! That's what we're here for!”

“He can't cry on thisch schoulder. Thisch isch leather!” Murderface pointed out.

“Well, you know what I mean,” said Nathan. “Not really ON our shoulders. Because that would be gay. And really crying wouldn't be cool either.”

“Scho, not crying, not on our schoulders?” reasoned Murderface, rubbing his mustache thoughtfully, but not too thoughtfully. “Yesch, I can be schupportive in that manner.”

“Yeah, like that!” agreed Nathan.

“Well, I never really liked Ganesch. There was alwaysch schomething funny about him!” mused Murderface.

“Yeah! Like he thought he was better just because he was smart and good looking and had a bunch of degrees and did charity shit and wrote books and....”

“He wasch schneaky, I thought.”

“GANESH HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!” Nathan and Murderface turned to stare at Charles, who had already dropped his forehead to his desk in despair. “Oh good gods why did I just tell you guys this.”

“They can't kidnap somebody, that's ILLEGAL! Let's go get the bastards and FUCK THEM UP!” roared Nathan, leaping to his feet in rage. Murderface already had his knife poised, as if the miscreants were in fact lurking somewhere in Charles' office.

“I don't know who they are! They may be connected to.... Well, to something bigger,” said Charles. “I don't know if he's even.... I mean, I'm sure he's....”

“Hamburger time?” whispered Murderface.

Charles couldn't speak – he had a lump in his throat.

“Wait, so he's up meditating with that big red god dude with the pool again?” asked Nathan.

“Brahma. Well, that's where his people.... Wait. Wait! Nathan, that's brilliant!” said Charles, diving for his phone.

“Well, yeah,” said Nathan.

“Hello? Yeah, Hi Auntie Sarasvati, I- No, I'm not pining away, thanks, we have plenty of pie. I really need- Yes, thanks, he got the elephant overalls, they are very cute. And the elephant backpack. He takes it everywhere, you are very thoughtful. Look, I absolutely, desperately- Auntie Sarasvati, Ganesh has been kidnapped! Kidnapped! I need to know if-?


“Whoa, that's pretty awesome!” said Nathan as a very large and very furious red god suddenly appeared in Charles' office.

“What is happening with my nephew?” demanded Great Brahma, waving about several arms for emphasis.

“He's been abducted,” Charles told him. “We dunno who. I just wanted to make sure....”

“He is not in my garden! Why was I not informed?”

“He didn't tell us either,” sniffed Nathan.

“I wanted to keep this quiet!” protested Charles. “The people who took him – they might be part of something bigger.”

“A conschpiraschy?” whispered Murderface.

“Yeah, something like that,” said Charles.

“So there is greater danger?” asked Brahma. “Where is young Brahma?”

“Boon is up at Valhalla,” Charles told him. “They're making a new mascot for Cousin Poseidon.”

“Poseidon? That blackguard! He is not accompanied by your father, is he?”

“What, Jacque?” asked Charles. “I dunno. Maybe. The point is just to keep Boon occupied....”

“Jacque is an undue influence!”

“What? My dad is not undue. Besides, that's hardly the most important-”

“That boy,” said Brahma, whacking several palms flat on Charles' desk, “is now the leader of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Charles was standing. “Ganesh is fine! You just said yourself-”

“I said he was not in my Garden. I have no further information!” huffed Brahma, who thereupon vanished in a puff of red bile.

“Whoa. That's one depressing dude,” said Nathan.

Charles stood, gripping his desk, teeth clenched in fury. He suddenly grabbed at his jacket and jerked out his cell phone. He squinted at the text message. “It's Raziel. I gotta go,” he said to himself. And then, to Nathan and Murderface, “I gotta go.”

“We'll go with you,” said Nathan.

“No, you will not! You wanna help? Stay here, and try to stay the fuck outta trouble for 20 mintues!”

“Juscht twenty minutesch?” asked Murderface checking his pocket watch.

“I meant, twenty hours!” said Charles. “No, I meant 20 days! How about 20 years! Yeah, you guys wanna help? You stay here the next twenty fucking years, and stay the fuck outta trouble!” And with that, he was gone.

“Well, he's been in a better mood,” muttered Nathan.

“Oh, dear, did I miss Sariel?” inquired Phanuel, who had appeared literally seconds after Charles vanished.

“It'sch probably for the bescht,” counseled Murderaface. “He'sch in a crappy mood.”

“Hrm,” said the Grey angel. “I wonder if you gentlemen might offer me some assistance with a small matter?”

“Hey, sure thing!” said Nathan.

“In fact, Charlesch just perschonally requeschted that we help out,” Murderface informed him.

Liam squatted in front of the wall outside a children's hospital in India, staring at something that wasn't readily apparent to the naked (human) eye.

“Anju maddick, Swissy!” he told his older brother, who was hovering over his shoulder.

“Don't ams call me Swissy,” sighed Skwisgaar. “Ams not dinglefied.”

Liam whacked the wall with a little hand. “Anju maddick.”

“Yeah, angels magick, you ams rights about dat one.”

“What's going on?” asked Charles, who hadn't even put away his cell phone.

“Well,” said Raziel, who was standing nearby, “whatever weird trick it is Skwisgaar can do, my two-year-old can do it too!” She grinned at Skwisgaar, who glowered at her.

“It ams all fucksed up,” said Skwisgaar. “Dey been angels here.”

“But the hospital staff hasn't seen any supernaturals,” Raziel told Charles. “Just Ganesh. And sure as hell not any angels.”

“You think the guys who got Ganesh had angelic magic?” Charles asked Skwisgaar.

“Yeah, dat's right! Dey ams not da angels, maybe, though.” The guitarist scratched his head. “It's ams differentials! But, da sames. Ams confuzzling.”

“No, actually, I think I know what's going on,” said Charles.

“Ams good ones of us does,” said Skwisgaar.

“You think you know where the took him?” Charles asked.

“Unky Sar!” said Liam, jumping up and down and pointing.

“Ja, ams dat way,” agreed Skwisgaar. “Maybe you ams not as hopesless as you moms!”

“You wanna take a look?” Charles asked Raziel.

Razel frowned at Liam. “Lemme get him back home.”

“Nooooooo!” wailed the redhead. “Go mummy! Pleeeeeease?”

“Liam Odinsson,” warned Raziel.

“Ah, no, you ams lets da kids go, learns da fambily business!” said Skwisgaar.

“We're not gonna actually try anything without backup,” Charles assured her.

“You say that....” said Raziel. “I know you.”

“Look, you know you wanna find 'em too,” said Charles.

“We stay in back,” said Raziel.

“Yeah. C'mon Skwisgaar!”

Raziel hunkered down so she was at eye level with Liam. “You hold you mommy's hand. Hear me?”

“Yeth, Mummy!” said Liam, wildly nodding his curls.

“The family business,” she muttered, following after Skwisgaar and Charles.

“Dis ams my granddads!”

“This is my Toki!”

“Whoa, they are SNOCKERED!” declared Nathan Explosion upon being introduced to the two beings stumbling in under Phanuel's guidance. Bert, who had apparently been persuaded to Court Form, still looked terribly unearthly, with his green-gold hair and wide golden eyes.

“Schmell's like a brewery,” observed Murderface.

“I am afraid I overestimated a bit their tolerance for alcohol,” Phanuel confessed as the two staggered but somehow kept their footing.

“How much did you give them?” asked Nathan.

Phanuel sighed deeply. “One whiskey. Apiece. Which I do not believe Toki even finished.”

“Lightweights,” snickered Murderface.

“If you gentlemen could sober them up a bit while I am away? And,” he leaned closer to Nathan and Murderface. “We would like to get him talking a bit. Sadly, I can't seem to make any sense of him.”

“Sobering up two dumb douche bags. Yeah, we can handle that!” declared Nathan.

“I apologize for foisting their care to you,” said Phanuel, “But I have some pressing business to attend. “I will be back for Engelbert in an hour or so,” he told them, and then departed.

“Engelbert?” said Murderface.

“He ams prefers Bert!” said Toki.

Nathan and Murderface regarded each other.

“Schauna?” said Murderface.

“Sauna!” said Nathan. “Come on angel dudes, or whatever the fuck you are,” he said, as Bert rolled his weird golden eyes. “We're gonna sweat out the drunk! And, maybe have a beer. I'm a little thirsty.”

“Yesch, I'm feeling parsched myschelf,” noted Murderface. “But weren't we schuppose to schober them up?”

“Beer isn't really drinking,” reasoned Nathan. “It's more like warming up for drinking! Anyway, it'll be a good way to bring them down!”

“Yeah, that'sch true,” said Murderface, yanking an angelic being towards the sauna.

“OK, I don't like this,” said Raziel, who actually hadn't liked much of the last twenty minutes.

“It's fine,” said Charles. “We're fine. We're- OK, fuck, we're not fine. Skwisgaar!”

The Swede, who was leading the pack, turned around.

And turned around.

And turned around.

This passageway in in the Dreaming resembled nothing so much as a hall of mirrors. Charles reached and grabbed what he hoped was his Skwisgaar, and then breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers grasped on to the fabric a T shirt. But there were reflections, or something like that, everywhere, around and up and down.

“Where the hell are we?” asked one of the Raziels, holding firmly to her wide-eyed son.

“Pickles told me about this stuff,” said Charles, who noticed his voice had also picked up an echo. Disorienting. “I dunno much about it, but it's bad stuff. Maybe we should go back and bring him, he does this shit better than me.”

“Pffft! We ams not needs Pickle. Da path does right day way,” Skwisgaar said, pointing off, while many many mirror Skwisgaars pointed pretty much all over the place.

“I dunno,” said Charles. All of him looked dubious.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” said Raziel, tightening her grip on a squirming Liam.

“I ams does dis a millions billions times!” huffed Skwisgaar, who strode off, disappearing through one of the mirrors.


Skwisgaar looked back at the sound of the voice. He stepped. And kept stepping. He threw his arms back, but too late.

He had appeared in a land with a sheer cliff, and his first step had been right off it.

“WOTAN, what is this nonsense?”

“Brahma! What a surprise! I mean, not exactly a surprise,” said Wotan, grinning and nodding at the armed Valkyries flanking the very big and now very furious red god. He gestured, and the warriors left with a nod.

“My nephew is here?”

“Yeah,” said Wotan. “MY nephew is here.” He pointed to where a small group – including Poseidon, Elias, and Elias's cousin Abby – were gathered around a partially completed wooden sculpture.

“And what precisely is he doing at Valhalla?”

“That's where his pop wanted him. We're pretty secure. As you seem to have found out for yourself.”

“I never,” grumbled Brahma.

“Can't be too careful,” smiled Wotan. “There's kidnappers about, or so I've heard.”

“The boy is now rightful head of the Eastern Kingdom.”

“Wanna cigar? Let's head off this way,” said Wotan, suddenly hustling Brahma out of hearing distance.


“Boon is also an Ogoun, as well as Protector of the Earth, whatever the hell that is,” said Wotan, lighting up a stogie. He proffered one to Brahma, who harrumphed, but nevertheless took it.

“You have an undue influence on that boy! As you did with Ganesh!”

“Brahma, I don't bloody believe it, but you're getting' even more paranoid! You know as well as I do Ganesh and Shiva butted heads from the first time Ganesh wore that elephant noggin! Now, you coulda stepped in just the same as I did! Nothing said you had to while away time puttering in that garden!”

“You wanted him for Baldr. Everyone could see that.”

Wotan could not prevent his frown. “You honestly think I could put a notion like that in a stubborn bastard like Ganesh's head? GANESH? With all respect, Brahma, do you even fucking know the first thing about your nephew?”

Brahma did not reply, but chewed on his cigar.

“Boon's a kid, Brahma. You wanna stay and be your own undue influence? Then stay! The kid loves Sarasvati. Did you even pay attention to what he's wearing?”

Brahma considered. “Elephant overalls. And elephant backpack.”

“She makes Sariel nuts.”

“Does she?” Brahma found he was smiling. Wotan grinned. “Wotan,” said Brahma. “It is possible I may have spoken out of turn.”

“You're worried about him.”

“I did not forsee this.”

“Nobody can forsee everything. That's one thing my friend Mimir has taught me,” said Wotan. “Strange times, this.”

“Yes. Strange times.”

“Come on! You wanna share an opinion on modern art?” Wotan was extending an arm.

Great Brahma flicked some ashes. He let Wotan take an elbow. “Yes. I think perhaps I do.”

“So, you're an angel dude?” asked Nathan, knocking back his beer, and adjusting the towel around his waist. He set his beer bottle down with a clink amid a deepening pile of green beer bottles.

Bert looked up from his lager. “I am a mighty Power!” he declaimed, the sweat and excitement and inebriation combining to cause him to overbalance on the wooden bench. Murderface steadied him back, while Toki snored contentedly nearby.

“What is this delicious elixir?” asked Bert.

“That's beer, bro,” Murderface informed him.

“I like beerbro!” attested Bert.

“You seem like a good dude,” said Nathan.

“I am a Power!” attested Bert. “I am the arrow of the Lord!”

“Oh, so you worked for the big dude?” asked Nathan.

“The bigdude?” asked Bert.

“The Creator guy?”

Bert suddenly brought a finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. “SHHHHHHHH!” he hushed, a bit loudly. “Oh nooooooooo!” he told Nathan. “I was never in His presence!”

“Oh,” said Murderface. “Well then, who did you get your ordersch from?”

“My Venerated Brother Uriah! He is the Arm of the Lord!”

“What, really?” asked Murderface. He and Nathan exchanged a glance.

“Look, dude,” said Nathan, leaning forward. “You seem like a good dude and all, even though you got really bizarre eyes and you kinda look like a homeless guy who's asking you to buy one of those newspapers for a dollar outside the food library, but the way I heard it, that Uriah dude doesn't really work for, you know, the big guy any more.”

Bert looked puzzled. The golden eyes traced up, over and around the ceiling of the sauna, up at the vaulted ceiling, up, up, up.

“VENERATED URIAH DOES NOT WORK FOR HIM?” Nathan started, not expecting an angel to suddenly appear in front of him, amber eyes wide, nose to sweat-dropped nose.

“Hey, calm down, bro,” cautioned Murderface.

“I don't wanna offend you or anything, but, yeah, the big dude is like retired to this little house with a picket fence and a lawn gnome....”

“AIIIIIIIII!” said Bert.

Skwisgaar had felt like this once before.

No, twice.

When he was skydiving, playing that awesome guitar solo for Dick Knubbler.

Only this time, he didn't have a guitar.

Nor, significantly, a parachute.

He was literally too surprised to be scared at first, but then troubled himself to look down. The wind wihstled past his ears. He had no idea how far he had fallen, or how far it was to....

And then....

A horrible jerking, as if all the breath had been squeezed out of his body. He gasped for breath, a terrible tightness across his chest.

“Do not fucking wiggle! I'll drop you!” Charles' voice was harsh in his ear. He had been caught! He had been caught, and they were making their way back up. Skwisgaar went absolutely limp, seeing the ground so fucking far below his dangling boots. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Skwisgaar? Skwisgaar? Are you OK?”

“Hey, you're back!” came Raziel's voice.

Skwisgaar's eyes opened a bare crack to behold the angels, standing on the cliffside.

“How the FUCK did you ever get Pickles?” Charles was asking Raziel. “That mid-air shit is NOT easy!”

“No fucking idea, actually,” said Raziel. “We both shoulda died.”

“Skwisgaar? You gonna be OK?” said Charles. The guitarist looked at Charles, and then stared over the edge of the cliff he had just stepped off.

“Oh,” said Charles, who suddenly found himself engulfed in a very tight hug.

“Hugs Unky!” Liam pointed out.

“Ain't that cute?” Raziel asked him.

“Uh. OK. There there?” muttered Charles.

“I think I can get us back. The long way,” Raziel told them.

“Charles,” said Skwisgaar, who had let go of Charles, and was not sinking to his knees, onto the ground.

“Yeah? You need a minute?”

The Swede pointed out past the cliff. “Da ams da way dey goed. Da way dey took him. But, I cans not follow t'rough da airs,” he concluded sadly. He blinked iceberg blue eyes at Charles. Charles looked at Skwisgaar, confused, for a long moment.

Sympathy. Was that actual sympathy?

“Oh,” said Charles, suddenly sinking down next to him. “Oh. Yeah.” The great emptiness, the hollow he had felt at the pit of his stomach ever since Raziel's call that morning, suddenly rose up, threatening to engulf him. He thought of himself, standing by the rental car, at the end of the drive where the Old Ones' cottage had stood. Nothingness. Now just nothingness there. And the sound of the empty wind blowing.

“Angels?” asked Raziel.

“Something like that,” said Charles. He nodded blankly, his mind come to a halt. “Yeah.”

“Flying. So, we can't follow 'em?” she asked.

“No,” said Charles. “No we can't.” He's gone.

And they were silent for a long moment.

“No,” said Charles, who found himself on his feet. “No!”

“Yeah?” asked Raziel.

“There's another way. There's gotta be another way.”

The Old Ones.....

“Yeah, there's another way! Come on! We need to get back to Mordhaus.”

“They were supposed to stay here and stay the fuck outta trouble!” Charles growled as he followed Pickles down the corridor.

“Uh. In deir defense, dey gaht da first part all right,” the drummer allowed.

Charles threw open the door to the sauna. Inside, Murderface, clad only in a towel, stood looking at the ceiling, while Toki still slept peacefully (if a bit noisily) on the bench.

Liam started giggling and pointing upwards.

“Hey, schould sche be in here?” asked Murderface, suddenly gripping his towel and pointing at Raziel, who was also struggling not to giggle.

“CHARLES! Help!” screamed Nathan Explosion, from somewhere up near the ceiling, where he was being held by a seemingly enraged green and gold True Formed Power.

“I WORK FOR HIM!” declared Bert. “FOR HIM!”

Charles strode to the center of the sauna. He planted both feet.

Very quietly and evenly Charles said, through gritted teeth, “Bert. Put Nathan the fuck down. Now.” And then he added, “Do. Not. Make. Me. Come. Up. There.”

And with that, Bert the Power, who seemed suddenly sobered, was down on the ground, along with a very grateful Nathan Explosion, who simply choked, “Fuck, I gotta rolf,” and charged out of the sauna, hand over his mouth.

“Wha' happens?” asked Toki, who had just woken up.

Charles was now staring down Murderface. “I got shit to do. Stay here and stay outta trouble 'til I get back.” And then he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, Pickles and Raziel behind him.

“Does he always yell like that?” squeaked a quivering Bert, wrapping his wings tighter around himself.

“All the time,” sighed Murderface.

“But, doooooood, I wanted t' play me!”

“I played you last time. I don't wanna fuck around figuring out a new character.”

“Come on, you two dudes!” urged Nathan. “Bickering isn't brutal and metal and stuff.”

“I don't t'ink Nat'an wud say 'bickerin',” opined Toki.

“No, and nor would he twirl his hair around a finger,” grumbled Pickles.

“Are we gonna find Ganesh, or am I gonna run you guys through with this … uh … microphone?” said Nathan's avatar, looking peevishly at his disappointing weapon of choice. “Hmpf! I should play Murderface next time. I bet he gets cool weapons!”

“Complain t' Breagan,” said Pickles.

“Why the hell are we in a different place? I thought we wanted to be in that lava shit,” grumbled Pickles.

“It's supposed to be random. Like the Tower of Terror!” said Nathan.

“The what?”

“The Disney Tower of Terror!” repeated Nathan. Pickles' avatar looked blank. Even more blank than the real Pickles. “Don't tell me you've never ridden the world's best roller coaster!” Nathan demanded.

“I have stuff to do,” sniffed Pickles. “Like, managing an empire! And, making pie charts!”

“An' eatin' pie,” chuckled Toki.

“OK. OK. Let's get the fuck going on....” Lost in thought, Pickles tore off irritably down what appeared to be a pathway through a valley. Suddenly, he felt himself being slammed into the ground.

“LOOK OUT!” said Nathan, probably more loudly than he should have, as he was currently lying on top of Pickles. Pickles painfully turned his head to see what might be going on, but then immediately ducked down again, as another giant, flaming boulder nearly took both their heads off.

“TOOOKIIIII!” thundered Nathan. “You gotta help us! We're trapped!”

“Eh,” said Toki. “Do I gotta?”

“TOKI!” screamed Pickles.

Pickles sighed deeply. “Okey. Okey. Toki majick power!” he half-heartedly muttered.

Suddenly, the entire color scheme of their surroundings changed, from angry reds and oranges to pleasant pastel pinks and blues, and the theme music turned to a pleasant pop tune. And the tumbling rocks were suddenly little magical ponies, hopping cheerily down the mountainside.

“Gawd! My power is SO GAY!” wailed Toki.

“Breagan said they thought female players would like to be Toki,” said Nathan, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

“Charles, dood, we need t' recroot a feemale member of da band!” complained Toki as Nathan helped Pickles to his feet. “Mebbe she cud play, like, somethin' ladylike. Like … a triangle!” He mimed chiming a small instrument.

“A triangle?” said Nathan.

“I'm not fucking Charles, I'm fucking PICKLES!” Pickles grumbled, attempting to straighten his nonexistent glasses. “How long is this stupid music gonna continue?”

“As long as Toki's power up, I bet. Let's make a run for it!” said Nathan, who skipped off.

“Dood! Nat'an don't skip!” Toki called after Nathan.

“I keep telling her and telling her,” sighed Pickles. But as the landscape began to flash from pastel back to the normal colors, they both ran after her.

“Boss time!” said Nathan, who was waiting at the end of the valley. Indeed, the Toki song had faded, and now a frantic boss tune was starting.

“OK. Strategy!” said Pickles. “I'll try and distract him, you guys go for the red tie!”

“Da red tie?” asked Toki.

But suddenly, upon what looked like a huge old-fashioned LP turntable, a boss had risen from the dust.

“WHERE'S MY RECORDING?” demanded the terrible horned being as he slowly spun at 33 and a third.

“Whoa, it's Duke Berith!” said Nathan.

“Well, at least it's appropriate,” confessed Pickles. “Nothing more evil than a record company executive.”

Suddenly, the party dove for cover, as the mighty Duke Berith blew flaming breath at them.

“Wut doo yoo doo against dat?” asked Toki.

“Finish your fucking record,” grumbled Pickles.

“Yoo! Yer Pickles! Yoo gaht to hurry up writin' da songs!” Toki told him. “Owwwww!” he added, shaking out his sleeve where it had gotten scorched.

“Quit squabbling!” scolded Nathan.

“Nat'an wudn't say skwablin'!” shouted Toki.

Nathan glowered a very brutal glower, and then bitch-slapped Pickles and Toki.

“Ow!” said Pickles.

“Yeh, he wud do dat,” confessed Toki.

“USE YOUR POWERS!” Nathan commanded.

“Octo-Power!” shouted Pickles, and then he was flying into Berith's face, momentarily distracting him.

“AWESOME METAL VOICE!” bellowed Nathan, which swiftly brought Berith to his knees.

“Toki!” yelled Nathan.

“TOKI!” pleaded Pickles, who had been caught in Berith's grasp.

Toki sighed deeply. “Yeh. Yeh. Toki sahng...”

Suddenly, and to the players' surprise, the boss song sped up. And sped up. And sped up some more, getting more and more high pitched. Berith seemed to seize up, and Pickles – who had returned to a Pickles shape – managed to escape his grasp and leap from the giant turntable.

“Uh, guys....” said Pickles.

“TAKE COVER!” yelled Nathan. But everyone was already diving. Suddenly, Berith was spinning at 45, and then 78, and then faster and faster and faster. Berith was lost in a blur.

“You think it's gonna be a record nymph?” Pickles asked Nathan hopefully. Nathan klonked Pickles on the head with his microphone. “I was just asking!” complained Pickles.

The music swelled, and then suddenly stopped.

It was no longer Berith standing on the now stationery turntable.

The figure was no longer towering, but whoever it was, he was massive.

“Damien?” said Toki.

It was Damien Cornickleson, only now swollen to super-obesity.

Raziel looked to where Pickles was now gripping her shoulder. “What?” she asked.

“Have you heard....” said Damien. “About HOG FAT?”

“Fuckin' A,” said Pickles.

Charles and Raziel arrived in front of one of the ugliest buildings in West Lost Angeles. Which is not a terribly attractive city to begin with.

“It looks like a fortress, because it is a fortress,” said Charles. He eyed Raziel, beside him. They had come straight from the game, and hadn't spoken much on the way. “How you wanna do this? Go subtle or...?”

“Subtle ain't my speciality,” said Raziel, drawing a huge blade.

Charles grinned, drawing his own machetes. Raziel nodded, and then kicked down the front door. “OK. WHO WANTS TO DIE FIRST?” she boomed. It wasn't a Nathan voice, but it did its work. The office workers crowded by the reception desk tried to scatter, but Charles prevented the stampede by using his hand to put some slices through the side door. They scampered back, and Raziel grabbed one – a rather large one – by the scruff of the neck.

“OK, crazy bacon cult dude. WHERE THE FUCK IS GANESH?” she asked, jamming her sword at his neck.

“We don't know any Gunnosh!” said one of the office workers, who was cowering under Charles's machetes.

“We're not a cult! We're a religion!” yelled another, bolder one.

“What's the fucking difference!” yelled Raziel.

“Wellllllll,” said the office worker, “cults are characterized by charsimatic leaders....”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” yelled Charles.

“She asked!” groused the office worker.

“Where is you fucking hostage?” Charles demanded.

“We don't have a hostage! We're a religion! Not a cult!”

Raziel glanced up at the woman behind the reception desk. The girl didn't speak, but kept looking nervously off to the wall at her left.

Raziel leapt over and cut down a life-sized painting of Rikki Kixx (painted in his shapelier days) with one stroke of her blade. The painting fell with a crash, to reveal a secret elevator behind it.

“You could have just moved it aside,” groused the sassy office worker. Suddenly, Charles leapt at him with a machete. The worker cried out in fear, but Charles had just neatly sliced off his lanyard.

“Security card!” said Charles, holding up the employee's badge. He tossed it to Raziel, and she pushed the down button, and then pushed the card against the reader.

“Hey, why is it still red?” asked Charles.

“You have to push the button again!” explained the annoying office workier.

“What?” said Raziel.

“You push the button, read your card, and then push the button again.”

“Who the FUCK designs and elevator like that?” demanded Charles.

“This used to be a federal government building,” explained the office worker.

“Ooooooh,” said Raziel and Charles nodding. Raziel did as instructed, and the elevator car arrived.

“SCAT!” Charles yelled to the assembled office workers, who took no time at all running off to coffee breaks. “You ready?” he asked Raziel as the doors closed and the car slowly descended.

“Oh fuck yeah. I hope they have guns! Big ones!” she said.

Charles tried to force himself to concentrate, but it was difficult not to be carried away by Raziel's enthusiasm.

“I say we go in with overwhelming force on this one. That's probably the best way for securing the target,” said Raziel.

The best way of making sure they don't kill Ganesh, Charles thought. No, don't think that way. Focus.

The elevator stopped.

They were out before the doors had completely opened.

There were personnel in the room. They looked up, and then scattered like frightened rabbits.

“What?” said Raziel. She and Charles gave chase down a hallway. There were a few more personnel, who also bravely ran away.

“Stand still so I can kill you!” Raziel shouted. They rushed through a doorway and into a relatively large room. It had couches and large video monitors ranged about. It actually looked not unlike the living room at Mordhaus – perhaps minus murals and the TITS neon sign.

“Stop right there!” warned Raziel as she and Charles finally managed to corral a small group of quivering personnel.

“Please don't hurt us,” one of them said.

“What the devil is going on out there?”

Charles whirled at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Well, it is about time you showed up!” sighed Ganesh, crossing many arms in apparent consternation. “Such a botheration!”

“You're... You're OK?” said Charles, rushing to him, frantically looking him up and down.

“Oh, not really! I have just passed the last few hours surrounded by nincompoops!” Ganesh said, waving several agitated arms around. The captors cringed, looking abashed.

“Uh. They didn't harm you?” asked Charles.

“No! No, dear, I am fine!' sighed Ganesh, reaching out to take Charles into a belated many-armed hug.

“We were.... We were fucking worried.”

“Oh, there there! I am sorry to have caused you distress! I allowed myself to be taken, hoping to divine some knowledge of our adversaries! Unfortunately, these fellows appear to be so low level as to have no reckoning at all about the functioning of whatever evil hierarchy. They can't make a decent cup of tea! Much less a passable vegetarian entre.”

“We believe in hog fat!” muttered one of the captors.

“Silly cultists.”

“It's not a cult! It's a legitimate religion!”

“It is-”

“Ganesh, it's OK, we've been through that upstairs,” said Charles.

“So, you're all right?” said Raziel.

“Yes, I assure you,” said Ganesh. “It was immediately clear these fellows were not who they pretended to be,” he told her, grabbing one of his erstwhile captors by the hand to display the tattoo there.

“You're not a Muslim terrorist. And you're definitely not an angel either!” said Charles.

“None of them are angels, Sariel. They are.... Well, I am not entirely certain of that.”

“All right, enough of this crap,” said Charles. “Let's get back. Grab that guy!” he said, noting the dude with the tattoo.

“Why me?” whined the guy.

“If nothing else,” groused Charles. “I hate fucking tattoos.”

“Sariel?” said Ganesh.


“How is Boonie?”

“An, an, modewing da fizzical....”

“Oh, physicality? In the style of Aguste Rodin?” inquired Ganesh, observing the partially carved figurehead.

“Uh-huh! Wodan!” agreed the small child wiggling on his lap.

“A splendid aesthetic choice.”

“An, Daddy?”


“Boonie geddown?”

“Oh, I just wished to have a baby on my lap for a while,” smiled Ganesh, not relaxing his grip.

“NO! Boonie id bid boy! An, Jodi id baby!”

“Oh, I do apologize,” said his father. “Yes, of course, you are a big boy now.”

“Uh-huh!” agreed Boon, who thereupon favored his father with a great glomping hug, and then was instantly down on the floor.

“He is a big boy now,” Ganesh whispered to Charles, who stood by, smiling.

“Come on, we gotta get back to Mordhaus,” said Charles, tugging up a now emotional elephant god.

“Want us to keep Boonie up here a while?” grinned Raziel.

“I don't know-” began Ganesh.

“Yeah, that would be good,” said Charles. “Come on!”

Ganesh found himself yanked through space, and into their suite at Mordhaus. “Well,” he said, looking around. “I suppose I could do with a shower.” But then he was up against a wall, being enthusiastically felt up by an angel. “Sariel?”

“Ganesh,” muttered Charles into Ganesh's chest.

“But I'm a mess!” protested Ganesh.

“Uh-huh,” said Charles, undoing more buttons.


“I am going to. Fuck you. Senseless.”

Ganesh wrested Charles back a few millimeters. “Sariel! I am not terribly attractive at present.”

Charles stared back.

“Really?” asked Ganesh.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” said Charles, who was already back to groping.

“Hrm,” said Ganesh. “Well, I suppose I was an abduction victim. That can be thought a bit exciting.”


“Your kidnapping victim!” said Ganesh, who had quite suddenly picked up Charles and slammed him instead up against the wall.

“Uhhhh....” said Charles. And then, because he simply couldn't stop himself, “My victim?”

“Stockhold Syndrome,” Ganesh whispered as he bit Charles' neck.

Charles shrugged. “Yeah, OK....”

“So, dumb bastard thought he was working for the Creator?”

Phanuel sat back and put his feet up, sipping his whiskey. “They are unfortunately not the brightest of creatures.”

“And who got this out of him?” asked Wotan, puffing his cigar.

“Nathan Explosion and William Murderface.”

“Ha. Splendid.”

“I'm gonna take Boonie back to Mordhaus,” said Raziel, who had just entered the sitting room. “How goes the conspiracy?”

“Things are a bit more complicated than we thought, my dear,” said Wotan as she slipped up on his chair arm and he wrapped a big arm around her.

“Ain't they always?” asked Raziel.

“We may need your help,” said Wotan.

“Your persuasive abilities,” said Phanuel.

“You need someone klonked on the head?” she laughed.

Wotan and Phanuel exchanged a glance.

“Sariel,” said Phanuel.

“That will take a pretty big hammer!” said Raziel.

“We trust you,” said Wotan. And then they were silent for a moment. Raziel searched their eyes.

“Aw, c'mon, guys,” said Raziel. “You want me to do it, you gotta tell me what.”

“What we need,” said Wotan, “is for that brother of yours to tell us what the blazes he found out … while he was 'dead.'”

Date: 2011-11-29 01:21 pm (UTC)
nugatorytm: A group of bats flying against a yellow moon. (Default)
From: [personal profile] nugatorytm
LJ is being a dick this morning, so I'm commenting here...

“If you like the item,” Phanuel proposed, “I have at my disposal many artisans, in Purgatory, who could fashion a similar one, to your specifications.”

You know, I can actually see Bert getting a bear that looks just like himself: a little Powers bear, called Engelbeart.

*runs from the throwing of the rotten tomatoes*

Date: 2011-11-30 01:07 pm (UTC)
nugatorytm: A group of bats flying against a yellow moon. (Default)
From: [personal profile] nugatorytm
Yeah, I already read it, but I didn't think of Engelbeart until yesterday morning. :)

Hoo boy, if Engelbeart is as erratic as his owner, Wunge will be pulling his own feathers out in frustration...

Wunge: Waugh! Talking to this guy is like talking to a Barbie doll, only worse!

Lelefun: *gives Wunge a wet, elephant trunk kiss*

Wunge: *slaps half-heartedly at the trunk* Stop that.

YAY! I love stupid things! I can't wait to see it! :D

Date: 2011-12-01 04:57 am (UTC)
nugatorytm: A group of bats flying against a yellow moon. (Default)
From: [personal profile] nugatorytm
Hmm, I wonder how hard Engelbeart would be to make? (runs off in search of green feathers)

Date: 2011-12-01 01:05 pm (UTC)
nugatorytm: A group of bats flying against a yellow moon. (Default)
From: [personal profile] nugatorytm
Nah, I really don't, but it's fun to think about.

Date: 2011-12-01 01:06 pm (UTC)
nugatorytm: A group of bats flying against a yellow moon. (Default)
From: [personal profile] nugatorytm
Hey, how did you get Extreme Ghostbusters icons? Is my computer glitching?
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