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tikificTitle: Master of Delusions (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bath time
Warnings: Some reference to S/T. And, as you know, I sort of suck at S/T.
Notes: Uh, I've actually been trying to write something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, but this weird ass shit keeps comng out instead.
“Ganesh?”
“Mmmmm?”
“Ganesh!”
Ganesh did not reply, but glanced over his reading glasses (the ones he swore up and down he did not really need) towards Charles, who was sitting down at the other end of their large bathtub.
Charles noted with irritation that Ganesh’s eyeglasses weren’t steamed up. They never steamed up.
“You’re reading The God Delusion?” asked Charles.
“Yes! This fellow makes some rather compelling points!”
“Ganesh?”
“Yes?” asked Ganesh, stretching his long legs and reaching out an extra hand to grasp the martini that sat at the edge of the tub among a number of pleasantly scented candles.
“Has it maybe occurred to you that you are a god?”
“Do you not ever study the opinions of persons with whom you disagree?” asked Ganesh, poking a slim finger into the glass to poke at the olive.
“Ganesh, he doesn’t disagree with you, he is negating your existence!”
“Well,” said Ganesh, smiling and appearing to examine an arm or two, “reading his treatise has not made me wink out of this spiritual plane. As of yet,” he grinned, extending the arms. “And besides, I believe, in all modesty, he is addressing less my small role – whatever it may be – in nudging from time to time human affairs; and more the author of Creation.”
“Our Father,” grumbled Charles.
“Why, yes, the very same who attempted to steal my child,” said Ganesh, his eyes very briefly flashing something dark and dangerous. He took a large sip of his martini.
“In that case, I don’t need a damn book to tell me he’s a douche bag,” said Charles.
“Mmm, wanker,” said Ganesh, glancing up as Charles leaned over to snatch the olive from his martini. “Sariel, didn’t I give you enough olives?”
“You know, you need more practice keeping up the fake British accent when you’re annoyed.”
“It isn’t fake,” pouted Ganesh.
“And what’s with the treeware, anyway?” prodded Charles, pointing again to the silver-covered book as he popped the olive into his mouth.
“For one,” said Ganesh, turning to pour another martini, “I enjoy the heft of a real book. For another, the damage is lessened were I to drop it in the bathwater, should I happen to be, for example, irritated by an angel.”
“Why would you be annoyed by an angel?” asked Charles, the slightest of smiles curling his lips.
Ganesh flashed him a clearly irritated glance and returned to his book. He blinked in surprise as, a moment later, a highly irritating angel suddenly popped up in the bath, positioned right between himself and The God Delusion.
“Like a cat,” sighed Ganesh, carefully setting the book up on a high shelf.
“We have a cat. He’s sleeping on our son’s head.”
“If you wished attention, you had only to say,” said Ganesh, now putting many hands upon Charles.
“Me? Attention?”
“Mmmmm…” said Ganesh, who was no longer paying much heed to words.
Charles’ expression traced an actual smile: the afterglow of some satisfying sex, the warmth of bath water, and now, cradled like a treasure in his trembling hands, a slice of still warm pumpkin pie, flakes of crust already crumbled off, lying there on the plate tempting lard-and-graham-cracker harlots.
He made his way to his office where, shutting the door, he slipped behind his desk, mouth already watering, fork poised.
“Mew?”
“Hobbes? How the fuck did you get in here?” he demanded of the small orange and black fur ball that was now pawing at one pantleg, golden eyes pleading. “All right. All right. Keep your fur on. I can’t deny another connoisseur, can I?” He leaned over and opened a bottom desk drawer, pulling out a tiny saucer. He then (somewhat grudgingly, it must be admitted) forked a small bit of the delicious pie filling onto the saucer and set it down on the floor beside his chair. “All right, OK, quit your bitching,” he said softly. And then they – strange half angel being and weird magical cat – began to partake of pumpkin-y goodness. “Oh gods this is heaven,” sighed Charles. “Whaddya think?” he asked Hobbes, who briefly looked up and switched his still stubby striped tiger tail, licking filling off his nose with a quick sandpapery tongue.
“I ams gots da highly spirtuacockle question, Ganoshes,” said Skwisgaar.
Ganesh looked up from his book, hoping this particular spiritual quest did not entail the resumption of sitar lessons, which terribly tried his god-like patience. As the musician was currently carrying around his guitar, and not dragging the clumsy sitar, all seemed well. “All rightie,” Ganesh said, carefully sitting a mark in the book and setting it on the arm of the couch.
“Oh, ams dat like dat guys on TV?” asked Skwisgaar, picking up the book and rifling through it.
“I’m sorry?” said Ganesh, who was quite used by now to being completely baffled by death metal musicians.
“Dat guys da Brainsfreaks. Hims ams da masters of delusions. I ams watches da shows wit’ Toki. Hims ams likes when dey blows da shit up.”
“Er, yes, I believe that is actually a different person, a master of illusions,” said Ganesh, sadly watching his bookmark flutter to the floor.
“Ja, I guesses. Dis dudes looks like da dildos!” said Skwisgaar, pointing to the author photo on the back cover, which was now hanging partly off the book.
“He is an internationally famous professor of evolutionary biology,” said Ganesh.
“Ja, da dildos. Anyways…” he said, carelessly tossing the book over his shoulder.
“Skwisgaar!” said Ganesh, leaping up. “I was reading that!”
“Pffft, we gets you anudder,” said Skwisgaar. “Hey, you dere!” he yelled at a nearby Klokateer.
“Yes, my master?”
“Go ams gets Ganoshes da new books wit’ da flashy silver cover thing. An’ maybes ones in gold too!”
“There is no need for that,” Ganesh told the Klokateer. He stooped over and retrieved his book. “I am quite content reading this book,” he said, irritably brushing it off.
“Suits yourselfs!” said Skwisgaar, now slumping down on the couch. “I ams must talk to you abouts Tokis.”
“Oh,” said Ganesh, now attentive. Carefully holding onto his book, he sat down again beside Skwisgaar. “Please go on?”
After shooing off the still hovering Klokateer, Skwisgaar cast his glance suspiciously around the living room. Seeing nothing, he leaned closer to Ganesh. “You and Charles, when you ams doing it, hims gots da wingses out, ja?” he asked, cocking a blond eyebrow salaciously and flapping his arms for emphasis.
“Er,” said Ganesh, who had once again lost the thread. “If you mean to imply that Sariel – Charles – and I have sexual relations on occasion whilst he is True Formed, then you are correct.”
Skwisgaar now scooched closer. “So. How you ams gets him to do dat?”
“Er. Usually, I ask?” said Ganesh, although the statement escaped his lips like a question.
“You not tricks him? Uses da magicks?”
“Why would I do that? And, I’m sorry, whatever does this have to do with Toki’s spiritual problems?”
“Hims ams not takes da wingses out!” said Skwisgaar. “I ams tries and tries. Hims looksing hots like dat, you knows? But hims beings da dildos!”
Ganesh sat back and sighed. “Well, Skwisgaar, have you considered…” thinking, of course he hadn’t considered, as this would entail thinking, which was beyond the ambitions of any of them. “Is it possible that Toki thinks you are only interested in his True Form.”
“Ja! Dat’s because I ams only interjested ins his True Forms! I ams not wants to fucks him in his Toki Formses. Hims ams not my type!” he insisted.
Ganesh scowled, now trying to think of a retort that would not entail strangling Skwisgaar with his bare hands. He looked down at The God Delusion. He looked up at the guitarist.
He stood up, and, wielding his hardback, smacked Skwisgaar – good – on the side of his blond head.
“OWIE!” protested Skwisgaar. “Why you ams do dat?”
“I decided, in this case, to exercise my god-like powers,” smiled Ganesh. And so saying, he exited the room, while Skwisgaar sat and rubbed his head.
Ganesh entered the office without knocking. “Sariel-“ he began. He paused and frowned, hearing the growling. “Are you hungry again.”
Charles looked up from his paperwork. He pushed back his chair to reveal the very contented tiger cub snoring in his lap. “I’m confused. Is Hobbes supposed to be Boon’s spirit animal, or mine.”
“He’ll be yours if you continue to spoil him,” said Ganesh, taking a seat and eyeing the saucer beneath Charles’ desk.
“I don’t even like cats!” Charles protested.
“We’re going to have quite a lot of cat, when that one grows bigger.”
“Or dogs!” Charles continued. “Or even kids, for that matter!”
“Do you like anything, Sariel?”
“Not really,” admitted Charles, scratching the tiger under its ears. “Ow,” he said, as it began to kneed his leg.
“Feck, now everybody’s gaht a spirit animul but me!” said Pickles, who had also just invited himself in.
“Pickles, you are a spirit animal,” Charles told him, now scratching tiger belly.
“Yeh, dat’s troo,” admitted the bassist, who hopped into a chair and lit up.
“What did you need?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“Er, well, I’m not quite certain how to bring this up, and I presume you are already aware of it. Nevertheless…. Er. Skwisgaar and Toki…?”
To Ganesh’s surprise, Charles actually broke into a smile. “That again?” he asked, looking up at Pickles, who rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Er. Again?” asked Ganesh.
“Yeh, agen,” grinned Pickles.
“The thing to do is just let it run its course,” said Charles.
“Really? Well, all right then,” said Ganesh.
“Whatchoo readin’, Gannish?” asked Pickles, pointing at Ganesh’s shiny silver book.
“Ganesh has begun to doubt his own existence,” Charles told him.
“This book has actually proved its worth,” said Ganesh.
“How is dat?” asked Pickles.
“Dealing with Swedish musicians,” said Ganesh, miming a slamming motion.
“Hey! Get me a copy!” said Charles.
“Dood, c’n yoo use it awn Nat’an?” sighed Pickles.
“Is that why you’re here?” Charles asked Pickles.
“Dood! He’s gettin’ hoof marks everywhere, an’ he broke anudder toilet!”
“Sounds a bit amusing,” admitted Ganesh.
“Wul, it was pretty feckin’ funny,” said Pickles.
“DADEEE!! BAAP! LOOOOOK!” shouted Elias, who sailed into the room flying a model Fokker Triplane.
“Isn’t that splendid?” said Ganesh as Elias clambered into his lap.
“Did you say thank you to your Uncle Toki?” asked Charles, inclining his head towards the guitarist who stood in the doorway.
“TANK YOO UNKY TOK!” yelled Elias, waving the plane.
“We appreciate this, Toki,” said Charles.
“Booms ams very good at paintings da small parts,” said Toki.
“It’s about time for someone’s nap, isn’t it?” asked Ganesh, rising holding on to Elias.
“Noooo!” said Elias.
“Can you take…?” asked Charles, indicating the cat.
“I’ll do it,” said Pickles, sticking out his hands. Hobbes immediately crawled onto Pickles’ shoulder and delightedly batted at the drummer’s dreadlocks.
“We’re all just big toys to you, aren’t we?” Charles asked the tiger.
“Come along,” said Ganesh, as they left, Elias excitedly mimicking the sound of a critically wounded airplane.
“Charles?” said Toki, who was hanging back.
“Yeah?” said Charles, who dearly wished the guitarist did not want to talk about the thing he suspected he wanted to talk about. He indicated for Toki to sit as he attempted to brush tiger fur off his dark grey pants.
“When you ams becomes da angels…. How ams you does dat?”
“Well, I dunno,” said Charles, who quite honestly didn’t know. “It just … happens. Besides, I thought you were only worried about transforming back?” he asked. The guitarist had, up until now at least, seemed to regard his angelic form as a bit naughty, if not downright sinful.
Toki leaned forward. “Skwisgaar ams wants me to!” he whispered.
“Skwisgaar?”
“But, I ams not does it! Or, I ams turns into da wrong t’ing, wit’ da browns wings.”
“Skwisgaar wants you to,” repeated Charles, the gears in his mind meshing, clicking and whirling at lightspeed. He suddenly realized why Ganesh might have clocked Skwisgaar with a shiny hardback book.
“And I can’ts,” said Toki sadly.
“Well, Toki, uh,” said Charles, now regretting he had sent the tiger cub off with Ganesh and Pickles. “Uh. Do you think maybe you can’t transform … because you don’t really want to?”
“I ams not wants to?” asked Toki, as if this had not occurred to him.
“Maybe…. Maybe you want Skwisgaar to ask you nicely. Or, uh, something,” Charles finished lamely.
“Ja, hims ams asks Toki nicely! Because Toki ams nice!”
“Uh. Yeah!” said Charles, officiously steepling his hands.
Ganesh looked in vain at the end table near his side of the bed. And then looked over at his partner.
“Er. Is that my book?” he asked.
Charles looked up from The God Delusion. “It’s my book now!” he said. “Finders keepers.”
Ganesh crawled up on the bed, supporting himself on several elbows. “Your book?”
“I gotta find the section about hitting people in the head.”
“You might find it comes in handy in your line of work, true,” said Ganesh. “Here,” he said offering a hand. “Let me find it.”
Charles handed the book over, only to have Ganesh casually toss it back over his shoulder.
“Is that how you treat a book?” he asked, as Ganesh slid up on top of him.
“I learned that trick from one of your musicians. He’s a master of delusion.”
“If you wanted attention…” began Charles.
“Will you get the wings out?” whispered Ganesh.
“Ask nicely,” laughed Charles.
“Is this nicely enough?” murmured Ganesh, reaching out with so many hands.
Charles grinned.
And True Formed.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bath time
Warnings: Some reference to S/T. And, as you know, I sort of suck at S/T.
Notes: Uh, I've actually been trying to write something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, but this weird ass shit keeps comng out instead.
“Ganesh?”
“Mmmmm?”
“Ganesh!”
Ganesh did not reply, but glanced over his reading glasses (the ones he swore up and down he did not really need) towards Charles, who was sitting down at the other end of their large bathtub.
Charles noted with irritation that Ganesh’s eyeglasses weren’t steamed up. They never steamed up.
“You’re reading The God Delusion?” asked Charles.
“Yes! This fellow makes some rather compelling points!”
“Ganesh?”
“Yes?” asked Ganesh, stretching his long legs and reaching out an extra hand to grasp the martini that sat at the edge of the tub among a number of pleasantly scented candles.
“Has it maybe occurred to you that you are a god?”
“Do you not ever study the opinions of persons with whom you disagree?” asked Ganesh, poking a slim finger into the glass to poke at the olive.
“Ganesh, he doesn’t disagree with you, he is negating your existence!”
“Well,” said Ganesh, smiling and appearing to examine an arm or two, “reading his treatise has not made me wink out of this spiritual plane. As of yet,” he grinned, extending the arms. “And besides, I believe, in all modesty, he is addressing less my small role – whatever it may be – in nudging from time to time human affairs; and more the author of Creation.”
“Our Father,” grumbled Charles.
“Why, yes, the very same who attempted to steal my child,” said Ganesh, his eyes very briefly flashing something dark and dangerous. He took a large sip of his martini.
“In that case, I don’t need a damn book to tell me he’s a douche bag,” said Charles.
“Mmm, wanker,” said Ganesh, glancing up as Charles leaned over to snatch the olive from his martini. “Sariel, didn’t I give you enough olives?”
“You know, you need more practice keeping up the fake British accent when you’re annoyed.”
“It isn’t fake,” pouted Ganesh.
“And what’s with the treeware, anyway?” prodded Charles, pointing again to the silver-covered book as he popped the olive into his mouth.
“For one,” said Ganesh, turning to pour another martini, “I enjoy the heft of a real book. For another, the damage is lessened were I to drop it in the bathwater, should I happen to be, for example, irritated by an angel.”
“Why would you be annoyed by an angel?” asked Charles, the slightest of smiles curling his lips.
Ganesh flashed him a clearly irritated glance and returned to his book. He blinked in surprise as, a moment later, a highly irritating angel suddenly popped up in the bath, positioned right between himself and The God Delusion.
“Like a cat,” sighed Ganesh, carefully setting the book up on a high shelf.
“We have a cat. He’s sleeping on our son’s head.”
“If you wished attention, you had only to say,” said Ganesh, now putting many hands upon Charles.
“Me? Attention?”
“Mmmmm…” said Ganesh, who was no longer paying much heed to words.
Charles’ expression traced an actual smile: the afterglow of some satisfying sex, the warmth of bath water, and now, cradled like a treasure in his trembling hands, a slice of still warm pumpkin pie, flakes of crust already crumbled off, lying there on the plate tempting lard-and-graham-cracker harlots.
He made his way to his office where, shutting the door, he slipped behind his desk, mouth already watering, fork poised.
“Mew?”
“Hobbes? How the fuck did you get in here?” he demanded of the small orange and black fur ball that was now pawing at one pantleg, golden eyes pleading. “All right. All right. Keep your fur on. I can’t deny another connoisseur, can I?” He leaned over and opened a bottom desk drawer, pulling out a tiny saucer. He then (somewhat grudgingly, it must be admitted) forked a small bit of the delicious pie filling onto the saucer and set it down on the floor beside his chair. “All right, OK, quit your bitching,” he said softly. And then they – strange half angel being and weird magical cat – began to partake of pumpkin-y goodness. “Oh gods this is heaven,” sighed Charles. “Whaddya think?” he asked Hobbes, who briefly looked up and switched his still stubby striped tiger tail, licking filling off his nose with a quick sandpapery tongue.
“I ams gots da highly spirtuacockle question, Ganoshes,” said Skwisgaar.
Ganesh looked up from his book, hoping this particular spiritual quest did not entail the resumption of sitar lessons, which terribly tried his god-like patience. As the musician was currently carrying around his guitar, and not dragging the clumsy sitar, all seemed well. “All rightie,” Ganesh said, carefully sitting a mark in the book and setting it on the arm of the couch.
“Oh, ams dat like dat guys on TV?” asked Skwisgaar, picking up the book and rifling through it.
“I’m sorry?” said Ganesh, who was quite used by now to being completely baffled by death metal musicians.
“Dat guys da Brainsfreaks. Hims ams da masters of delusions. I ams watches da shows wit’ Toki. Hims ams likes when dey blows da shit up.”
“Er, yes, I believe that is actually a different person, a master of illusions,” said Ganesh, sadly watching his bookmark flutter to the floor.
“Ja, I guesses. Dis dudes looks like da dildos!” said Skwisgaar, pointing to the author photo on the back cover, which was now hanging partly off the book.
“He is an internationally famous professor of evolutionary biology,” said Ganesh.
“Ja, da dildos. Anyways…” he said, carelessly tossing the book over his shoulder.
“Skwisgaar!” said Ganesh, leaping up. “I was reading that!”
“Pffft, we gets you anudder,” said Skwisgaar. “Hey, you dere!” he yelled at a nearby Klokateer.
“Yes, my master?”
“Go ams gets Ganoshes da new books wit’ da flashy silver cover thing. An’ maybes ones in gold too!”
“There is no need for that,” Ganesh told the Klokateer. He stooped over and retrieved his book. “I am quite content reading this book,” he said, irritably brushing it off.
“Suits yourselfs!” said Skwisgaar, now slumping down on the couch. “I ams must talk to you abouts Tokis.”
“Oh,” said Ganesh, now attentive. Carefully holding onto his book, he sat down again beside Skwisgaar. “Please go on?”
After shooing off the still hovering Klokateer, Skwisgaar cast his glance suspiciously around the living room. Seeing nothing, he leaned closer to Ganesh. “You and Charles, when you ams doing it, hims gots da wingses out, ja?” he asked, cocking a blond eyebrow salaciously and flapping his arms for emphasis.
“Er,” said Ganesh, who had once again lost the thread. “If you mean to imply that Sariel – Charles – and I have sexual relations on occasion whilst he is True Formed, then you are correct.”
Skwisgaar now scooched closer. “So. How you ams gets him to do dat?”
“Er. Usually, I ask?” said Ganesh, although the statement escaped his lips like a question.
“You not tricks him? Uses da magicks?”
“Why would I do that? And, I’m sorry, whatever does this have to do with Toki’s spiritual problems?”
“Hims ams not takes da wingses out!” said Skwisgaar. “I ams tries and tries. Hims looksing hots like dat, you knows? But hims beings da dildos!”
Ganesh sat back and sighed. “Well, Skwisgaar, have you considered…” thinking, of course he hadn’t considered, as this would entail thinking, which was beyond the ambitions of any of them. “Is it possible that Toki thinks you are only interested in his True Form.”
“Ja! Dat’s because I ams only interjested ins his True Forms! I ams not wants to fucks him in his Toki Formses. Hims ams not my type!” he insisted.
Ganesh scowled, now trying to think of a retort that would not entail strangling Skwisgaar with his bare hands. He looked down at The God Delusion. He looked up at the guitarist.
He stood up, and, wielding his hardback, smacked Skwisgaar – good – on the side of his blond head.
“OWIE!” protested Skwisgaar. “Why you ams do dat?”
“I decided, in this case, to exercise my god-like powers,” smiled Ganesh. And so saying, he exited the room, while Skwisgaar sat and rubbed his head.
Ganesh entered the office without knocking. “Sariel-“ he began. He paused and frowned, hearing the growling. “Are you hungry again.”
Charles looked up from his paperwork. He pushed back his chair to reveal the very contented tiger cub snoring in his lap. “I’m confused. Is Hobbes supposed to be Boon’s spirit animal, or mine.”
“He’ll be yours if you continue to spoil him,” said Ganesh, taking a seat and eyeing the saucer beneath Charles’ desk.
“I don’t even like cats!” Charles protested.
“We’re going to have quite a lot of cat, when that one grows bigger.”
“Or dogs!” Charles continued. “Or even kids, for that matter!”
“Do you like anything, Sariel?”
“Not really,” admitted Charles, scratching the tiger under its ears. “Ow,” he said, as it began to kneed his leg.
“Feck, now everybody’s gaht a spirit animul but me!” said Pickles, who had also just invited himself in.
“Pickles, you are a spirit animal,” Charles told him, now scratching tiger belly.
“Yeh, dat’s troo,” admitted the bassist, who hopped into a chair and lit up.
“What did you need?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“Er, well, I’m not quite certain how to bring this up, and I presume you are already aware of it. Nevertheless…. Er. Skwisgaar and Toki…?”
To Ganesh’s surprise, Charles actually broke into a smile. “That again?” he asked, looking up at Pickles, who rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Er. Again?” asked Ganesh.
“Yeh, agen,” grinned Pickles.
“The thing to do is just let it run its course,” said Charles.
“Really? Well, all right then,” said Ganesh.
“Whatchoo readin’, Gannish?” asked Pickles, pointing at Ganesh’s shiny silver book.
“Ganesh has begun to doubt his own existence,” Charles told him.
“This book has actually proved its worth,” said Ganesh.
“How is dat?” asked Pickles.
“Dealing with Swedish musicians,” said Ganesh, miming a slamming motion.
“Hey! Get me a copy!” said Charles.
“Dood, c’n yoo use it awn Nat’an?” sighed Pickles.
“Is that why you’re here?” Charles asked Pickles.
“Dood! He’s gettin’ hoof marks everywhere, an’ he broke anudder toilet!”
“Sounds a bit amusing,” admitted Ganesh.
“Wul, it was pretty feckin’ funny,” said Pickles.
“DADEEE!! BAAP! LOOOOOK!” shouted Elias, who sailed into the room flying a model Fokker Triplane.
“Isn’t that splendid?” said Ganesh as Elias clambered into his lap.
“Did you say thank you to your Uncle Toki?” asked Charles, inclining his head towards the guitarist who stood in the doorway.
“TANK YOO UNKY TOK!” yelled Elias, waving the plane.
“We appreciate this, Toki,” said Charles.
“Booms ams very good at paintings da small parts,” said Toki.
“It’s about time for someone’s nap, isn’t it?” asked Ganesh, rising holding on to Elias.
“Noooo!” said Elias.
“Can you take…?” asked Charles, indicating the cat.
“I’ll do it,” said Pickles, sticking out his hands. Hobbes immediately crawled onto Pickles’ shoulder and delightedly batted at the drummer’s dreadlocks.
“We’re all just big toys to you, aren’t we?” Charles asked the tiger.
“Come along,” said Ganesh, as they left, Elias excitedly mimicking the sound of a critically wounded airplane.
“Charles?” said Toki, who was hanging back.
“Yeah?” said Charles, who dearly wished the guitarist did not want to talk about the thing he suspected he wanted to talk about. He indicated for Toki to sit as he attempted to brush tiger fur off his dark grey pants.
“When you ams becomes da angels…. How ams you does dat?”
“Well, I dunno,” said Charles, who quite honestly didn’t know. “It just … happens. Besides, I thought you were only worried about transforming back?” he asked. The guitarist had, up until now at least, seemed to regard his angelic form as a bit naughty, if not downright sinful.
Toki leaned forward. “Skwisgaar ams wants me to!” he whispered.
“Skwisgaar?”
“But, I ams not does it! Or, I ams turns into da wrong t’ing, wit’ da browns wings.”
“Skwisgaar wants you to,” repeated Charles, the gears in his mind meshing, clicking and whirling at lightspeed. He suddenly realized why Ganesh might have clocked Skwisgaar with a shiny hardback book.
“And I can’ts,” said Toki sadly.
“Well, Toki, uh,” said Charles, now regretting he had sent the tiger cub off with Ganesh and Pickles. “Uh. Do you think maybe you can’t transform … because you don’t really want to?”
“I ams not wants to?” asked Toki, as if this had not occurred to him.
“Maybe…. Maybe you want Skwisgaar to ask you nicely. Or, uh, something,” Charles finished lamely.
“Ja, hims ams asks Toki nicely! Because Toki ams nice!”
“Uh. Yeah!” said Charles, officiously steepling his hands.
Ganesh looked in vain at the end table near his side of the bed. And then looked over at his partner.
“Er. Is that my book?” he asked.
Charles looked up from The God Delusion. “It’s my book now!” he said. “Finders keepers.”
Ganesh crawled up on the bed, supporting himself on several elbows. “Your book?”
“I gotta find the section about hitting people in the head.”
“You might find it comes in handy in your line of work, true,” said Ganesh. “Here,” he said offering a hand. “Let me find it.”
Charles handed the book over, only to have Ganesh casually toss it back over his shoulder.
“Is that how you treat a book?” he asked, as Ganesh slid up on top of him.
“I learned that trick from one of your musicians. He’s a master of delusion.”
“If you wanted attention…” began Charles.
“Will you get the wings out?” whispered Ganesh.
“Ask nicely,” laughed Charles.
“Is this nicely enough?” murmured Ganesh, reaching out with so many hands.
Charles grinned.
And True Formed.
