Hot Coffee in Bed (Mythklok Chapter 102)
Jul. 18th, 2012 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Hot Coffee in Bed (Mythklok Chapter 102)
Author: tikistitch
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ganesh and Skwisgaar go on a road trip, and Charles does another interview.
Warnings: This one gets sorta meta.
Notes: Mostly written while standing in line at Comic Con, so this might not make a lot of sense.
The late model sports car rolled up to the dark and nearly empty parking lot. Two men emerged. They were both tall and dark-skinned, the one appearing even taller due to the top hat he habitually wore. When he smiled, which was often, a gold tooth flashed. The other appeared to have just wandered in from the set of a Vogue photoshoot: not only was he impossibly handsome and fashionably dressed, he had a graceful, dancer's way of moving.
This second man held the hand of a small boy who quite resembled a smaller version of himself. The little boy was dressed in elephant-patterned overalls, and wore around his neck a small digital camera. He looked up to the tall man, who smiled down indulgently.
Ignoring the CLOSED sign, the man guiding the boy waved his hand at the door. There was the slight click of a lock, and then the three entered the coffee shop.
“We're closed for the day,” said a clerk. She did not speak in English.
“That is fine. We are not here for coffee,” replied the gold-toothed man, also not in English.
“What do you want then?” asked the clerk, now leaning on her mop handle.
“We simply want to talk,” said the second man, who was now hunkering down to be at eye level with the boy. “You run along and take your pictures now, all right, Boonie?”
“Uh-huh!” said the boy.
“What do you want to talk about?” asked the clerk.
“May I introduce myself? I am Elegba, and this is my associate, Shri Ganesha.”
“We had heard that you had, er, an incident here, about a week ago?” prompted Ganesh.
The clerk frowned and shook her head, looking utterly bored. “Oh. That,” she said. “We talked to the policemen already.”
“I am certain you did. We are from a different bureau,” said Ganesh.
“Well, like I told the other cops,” shrugged the clerk, “the coffee must have gotten too hot, and she got a little scalded.”
“Scalded sufficiently that she died screaming and bearing third degree burns over her head and upper digestive tract?” inquired Ganesh.
“It was a little hot,” said the clerk, flicking a bit of blond hair out of her eyes.
“You were present at the time?” asked Elegba.
“Yeah, right here.”
“Did you go to help her?” asked Elegba.
The clerk looked puzzled. “No, of course not. We're not supposed to confront argumentative customers.”
“Agrumentative?” asked Ganesh. “She was dying.”
The clerk sighed and shook her head. “She made Evie remake the same mocha. Twice! Said the chocolate's supposed to go in first. I hate picky customers. They mess up everything.”
“There were a lot o' customers?” asked Elegba.
“Oh, yeah! It was rush hour. We were super busy.”
“Did any of those customers come to her aid?” asked Ganesh.
“What? You mean did they try to help Evie?” asked the clerk, who seemed thoroughly confused.
“Er, not the clerk. I meant, did anyone come to the customer's aid?” asked Ganesh. “The woman who was screaming in agony?”
The clerk scrunched up her face, as if in furious concentration. “Uh. Not that I can think of.”
“Bidchure, Baap!” said Elias, showing his father the camera.
“Did you take many pictures, Boonie? Like we talked about?” asked his father.
“Uh-huh!”
“Well, that's very good,” said Ganesh, scooping up the boy. “Is there anything else, Legba?”
“Evie?” asked Elegba. “You said that was the one that waited on her?”
“Yeah, Evie,” said the clerk, chewing on her lip. “She's not associated with this branch any more.”
“Do you know where she went?” asked Elegba.
“Evie is not associated with this branch any more,” the girl repeated.
Ganesh looked at Elegba, who held up his hands in puzzlement. “We shan't trouble you any more,” Ganesh told the clerk. Thanks very much for your cooperation.”
“Have a pleasant day!” the clerk called as they left.
“Getting boiled to death by their crap fucking coffee? Don't sound too pleasant to me,” said Elegba as they made for the car. Ganesh was squinting at his son's camera. “Anything interesting?” asked Elegba.
Ganesh passed the camera over to Elegba, who regarded the screen. “Shadow on the floor,” he said, clicking through the photos.
“Do you reckon that's where she died?” asked Ganesh.
“Could be the death traces. If she really was cursed. Oh! Lookee here.”
“What is it?”
Elegba passed back the camera. “Look to the wall. The shadows.”
Ganesh regarded the photo. As in several of Elias' photos, there was a human-sized shadow on the floor. Up above, in this particular photo, were three additional shadows. They looked as if they could be the traces of three helium balloons, roundish blobs with something that may have been strings trailing down from them.
“Balloons? Were they having a birthday party?” asked Ganesh.
“Those ain’t balloons,” said Elegba. “Unless I miss my guess, they’re heads. And that down below is the entrails trailing out.”
“To quote my dear friend, Pickles, eeuch, dude,” said Ganesh, making Elias giggle.
“I think we've got some motherfucking leyaks,” said Elegba. “Which means Rangda must be nearby. Plying her mischief.”
Lord Ganesh's mind, which should have been on other things, was instead filled with hip bones.
More specifically, the jutting hip bones of his partner, Sariel.
Even though, mainly through Ganesh's tireless efforts, Sariel had now mostly ceased smoking (or at least chain smoking) and usually consumed a sufficient number of calories, he was always going to be a bit on the skinny side. He now wore, as was his custom, a pair of Ganesh's pajama bottoms, which, being too large on him, had slipped down quite a bit below his waist, thus baring quite a generous expanse of Sariel's lower belly, including those enticing hip bones, and down to just the barest peek of a brush of pubic hair.
Ganesh, who understood as few people the power of well draped fabric, had been giving it a great deal of serious thought, and reckoned that the area in question was in grave need of some rather lusty kisses at about this time.
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, who was about to bring up this urgent topic.
“So, there's supposedly a whole crowd there in the coffee shop, but nobody moves when the woman goes down screaming?” asked Sariel, hopping up into the bed in which Ganesh was currently lying – which was delightful – but then immediately opening and booting a laptop computer, which was irking, as it severely limited hip bone visibility.
“Er,” said Ganesh, now craning his neck for a better view. “Yes. That would be accurate.”
“That's weirder than one of our fucking concerts,” grumbled Sariel into the laptop. “Though Nathan would probably like that shit for a song.”
“Elegba believes there is evidence of Rangda, who is indeed a practitioner of witchcraft. He has, however, never encountered that level of indifference amongst the witnesses. I wish you could have been there....”
“Sometimes eyewitnesses can have PTSD, that kind of thing. Makes 'em seem like they're having a weird reaction,” said Sariel, who was typing away.
“I doubt PTSD could infect an entire coffee shop. And instantaneously?”
“Yeah, true.”
“Are you catching up on work, dear?” asked Ganesh.
“Oh, yeah,” admitted Sariel. “I took Boon off to the Horsehead Nebula this afternoon. You know, to horse around, haha. I wanted him to see.”
“I wish … I could have been there,” said Ganesh, gritting his teeth.
'You aren't jealous, right?”
“I am.... I am…. I am quite thoroughly and mind-bendingly jealous,” admitted Ganesh, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Quite suddenly, he was no longer thinking about hip bones.
“We can take you! We'll figure out a way,” said Sariel. When Ganesh only sighed in reply, Sariel folded up his laptop and set it aside, and then slid on top of the elephant god, straddling him. “It's just.... I was thinking, about how much time I wasted, back before. Raziel and I would go to a new place, and then we'd just get drunk and find some men. We were too damn stupid to actually look around and appreciate what we had.”
“I suppose that is true,” said Ganesh. Although he still carried a sour look on his face, he put out a pair of hands to grasp Sariel's hips.
“You can't stay mad at me.”
“I can attempt to,” vowed Ganesh.
“Ganesh!”
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, his thumbs now rubbing up and down on those enticing hip bones, “I fully realize the change that has come into your life. However, I do notice that you've been neglecting not only me, but your duties as manager of Dethklok.”
“Everybody deserves a vacation!”
“And none more than you, jaanu,” said Ganesh, hands now tracing the waistband of Sariel's pajamas. “But might I remind you, as you reminded me not too long ago, you have a tour coming up, and Skwisgaar....”
“Oh, is this about him again?” asked Sariel. “When exactly did you decide you guys were best buddies? I thought he drove you insane?”
“He merits my gratitude. And yours.”
“Hrm,” said Sariel.
“And he deserves to be your lead guitarist again.” Ganesh's fingers were now sliding into the waistband.
“The boys would probably agree with that. Toki’s been driving them pretty crazy in rehearsals.”
“Toki has been … rehearsing?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? So it’s not all bad. OK, Ganesh, if you keep doing that, you got about thirty seconds before I'm not gonna be able to form a sentence any more.”
“I haven't been able to think straight since you strutted in here wearing these damned pajama pants!” said Ganesh, dropping one pair of hands to gesture his futility.
“I strut now?” laughed Sariel.
Ganesh grabbed Sariel's shoulders and brought him close for a kiss. But then, reluctantly, he pushed the angel back. “You know, time was, if I had accused you of neglecting Dethklok, it would have evoked your ire. Somewhat at least. Have you been larking about a Duncan Hills coffee shop lately?”
Sariel hung his head for a moment. “I hate admitting you're right. But you're right. I just.... It's been hard to focus lately. I mean, it's always difficult when those guys don't give a shit. The universe is open! Entire universes are open! And Nathan and Pickles are arguing over who's gonna be fire marshall?”
“They have ever been this way.”
“I know. I know, I’m just…” said Sariel, trailing off and playing with the top button on Ganesh’s shirt. “Wondering why you’re still wearing clothes.”
“We’re not going to have a serious discussion if I remove my clothes.”
“You want a serious discussion?”
“No.”
“LADY RAZ!”
“Hi, Nathan. Come on, kids,” said Raziel, who was striding down the corridor at Mordhaus as fast as short legs and mind-bendingly high heels would take her.
“HI WUNKY NATE!” the twins yelled.
“HI WEIRD KID AND OTHER KID!” growled Nathan, picking up Liam upside down so he squealed. Little Abby rolled her eyes and continued holding her mother’s hand.
“So,” said Nathan, puffing a bit to keep up with the little angel. “Where are you going?”
“To see Sariel.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just zap in or whatever?”
“We were visiting Skwisgaar.”
“Oh, yeah. He MOPES a lot these days.”
“Yeah, well, I brought his brother and sister to annoy him. That gets him out of his funk.”
“That’s what FAMILIES are for. ANNOYING THE FUCK OUT OF YOU. So. When you have the next one…”
“Sariel’s been blabbing about that?”
“Will it be, like, AN EGG?”
“Nathan. Did these two come out of an egg?” asked Raziel, waving a well-manicured hand at her kids.
“Well,” said Nathan, giving it a real good think. “No. But they’re like little bird things. And birds come from eggs. I mean, unless they don’t. Maybe that was spiders?”
“It’ll just come the normal way, Nathan.”
“What is it gonna be?” asked Nathan, hiking Liam to his shoulders.
“A baby. I hope.”
“You need a name?” asked Nathan, hopefully. “I’m really good at naming shit!”
“Yeah, but Wotan doesn’t care for Slappy.”
“What? WHY?”
“And I don’t think I can talk him into Ozzie.”
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH OZZIE?” demanded Nathan as Liam giggled.
“Well, the kid is going to be a Norse god, not a metal god. And Satan is right out. We have bad memories.”
“SATAN WORKED ALL RIGHT FOR SATAN!”
“If you have any other ideas….”
“Actually, Lady Raz,” said Nathan, setting down Liam and setting his voice lower. “I wanted your advice.”
“Oh, regarding what?”
“It’s GIRL TROUBLE!”
“What?” asked Raziel, smiling and actually stopping. “Why, Nathan, I‘ve been replaced in your affections?” she asked, mock seriously.
“Well, you’re kind of married and now you’ve got like 15 kids….”
“Almost,” said Raziel, beginning to walk again.
“What can I do to make a chick, you know, love me?”
“Well, have you tried getting to know her? Like taking her to dinner? Challenging her to a sword fight? You know, girlie shit?”
“I do know her! We spent three fucking months in a submarine together!”
“Oh,” said Raziel. “You mean that producer?”
“Our LADY PRODUCER.”
“Well, I assumed it wasn’t Dick. Huh. I thought she woulda gotten crushed by a gargoyle by now. Anyway, have you thought maybe she doesn’t date people she works with?”
“SHE DOESN’T DATE PEOPLE SHE WORKS WITH.”
“Well, there you have it.”
“BUT SHE HAS TO LOVE ME ANYWAY.”
“Nathan, are you clear on the concept of stalking? Oh, here we are,” she said, coming upon Charles’ office. “Wow!” she said, surveying the wreckage. “Our Father did a number on you!”
Charles was standing in the middle of the floor, surveying the chaos. The floor had been swept clean of glass shards, and the broken display cabinets removed. His own desk and other furniture were underneath drop clothes. The great chandelier lay in the middle of the floor, where it was evidently in the middle of being repaired. The large windows were covered with translucent tarp, held up by gaffer’s tape.
“Father knows how to put on a show,” said Raziel.
“I might just leave the windows,” said Charles. “I like ‘em open like that.”
“That’s … an interesting choice,” said Raziel.
“What happens during a WIND STORM?” asked Nathan sensibly.
“The wind blows,” answered Charles. “Why are you here Raziel? As you see, you can't sit on my desk!”
“I have a request. From my husband.”
“Anything for Wotan,” said Charles, smiling charmingly and pivoting to face Raziel.
“You know,” Nathan muttered over Raziel's shoulder, “when he smiles like that, it's sort of … WEIRD.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Raziel told him. “Sariel, you're looking into who stole my stepson's guitar skills?”
“Your stepson?” asked Sariel, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah. Ganesh and Elegba are on the job.”
“I think they need some assistance.”
Charles stood and thought. Raziel was certain she could see the wheels spinning, gears on gears. “Skwisgaar?” he asked.
Raziel nodded. “Maybe give him something to do? Get him out of that stupid white on white room?”
“Oh, cool, yeah, maybe I could go out with Skwisgaar and we could do DETECTING SHIT!” said Nathan, who looked like he was about to clap his hands.
“Well, Nathan,” said Charles. “That's an idea. But that's not quite my idea.”
“And your idea is better?” asked Raziel.
Charles only smiled.
“Ams goings detectsing,” said Skwisgaar, who spared a scowl at Charles as he placed his knapsack in the car trunk.
“Going detecting indeed,” said Ganesh, who collapsed the handle and then fitted his roller bag neatly beside Skwisgaar's pack.
“Am goings detecticockles!” squealed Toki, who skipped out ahead of four or five Klokateers, all heavily burdened with luggage. “Ams you gots my sets of LEGOs and Star Warses lunchboxes and my Deddy Bears?” Toki asked the hooded individual nearest to him. “Otherwise, I ams kills you deads!”
Ganesh and Skwisgaar glared at Charles as the Klokateers piled an entire Bekins moving van's worth of baggage next to the car. “I am not certain about this, Sariel. It will be, er, very dangerous,” said Ganesh.
“Toki is good in a firefight. Just ask Raziel,” Charles told them.
“Hims ams annoyingses, and we ams not even started!” grumbled Skwisgaar, getting straight to the heart of the matter.
“Where ams dey puts my bags?” asked Toki, regarding the trunk.
“Don't worry about a thing, Toki, you just get in, and we'll take care of it,” Charles assured him. He opened the car's back door himself, and Toki hopped in the back seat. Then, making sure the tinted window was up, Charles made a slashing motion against his throat. The Klokateers began carting Toki's baggage back into the house, and a single Klokateer instead deposited one large Wiggly Piggly themed bag in the trunk next to Ganesh's and Skwisgaar's.
“What happens when Toki requests his LEGO DethSpiders playset?” asked Ganesh sourly.
“Don’t worry. He’ll forget all about that crap once you guys get going. Oh, and here,” said Charles, handing off a bottle of pills that a Klokateer had just given him. “Before I forget.”
“Dramamine?” asked Ganesh, reading the label.
“He gets carsick.”
“Ja, he ams does,” said Skwisgaar.
Ganesh rolled his eyes, tossed the pill bottle into the car, donned his sunglasses and said. “All right, come along.”
Skwisgaar shrugged and got in, riding shotgun.
“Where ams we drivings to?” piped up Toki from the back.
“Bali,” said Ganesh.
“Ballsy? Dat ams funny!”
Charles was fairly certain he could hear Ganesh’s sigh from over the engine roar. The car took off, drove a few meters down Mordhaus’ driveway, and then disappeared before it got to the gate.
“DADDEEEEE!”
“Oh, hey, Boon!” said Charles, turning around to pick up his son. “You just missed Baap. Which is probably for the best. Baap is in a bad mood.”
“Da bad moo?”
“Yeah.”
“Charles.”
Charles reached out his free hand to grasp that of the other new arrival. “Nick! It’s really great to see you!”
“The pleasure is mine,” smiled Nick Ibsen, a.k.a., the Fallen angel, Azazel. He shook Charles’ hand.
“Wanna come inside? And how is, uh, the new Mrs. Ibsen?”
“She's well. So I’ve heard,” confided Nick as they walked towards Mordhaus. “Bought herself a South Sea island with the divorce settlement.”
“Oh, crap, I’m sorry,” said Charles. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Why are you sorry?” laughed Nick. “That woman gave me the best twenty minutes of my life!”
“So, to what do we owe this visit?” asked Charles, putting Elias down so the boy could scamper ahead.
“Rumor has it you’re no longer one of us. Among the Fallen.”
“How did you hear?” asked Charles.
“I’m a newsman, remember? Besides, Our Father makes a bit of a stink,” said Nick, as they opened the door to Charles’ office. Nick let out a low whistle. “Redecorated for you, I see.”
Charles looked around his ruined office and smiled. The tarps were now off the furniture. Everything had been cleaned and the walls repainted. But the great light fixture remained in the center of the floor, awaiting rehanging. And the windows still had not been replaced: instead they were covered in a translucent tarp. “You know, I had half a mind to tell my workmen to just stop there and leave it like this,” Charles confessed, not entirely certain why he was telling Azazel this.
“You wanna feel the wind?”
“I do,” said Charles, sitting down in his seat and opened the box of cigars on his desk.
“Don't mind if I do,” said Nick.
While Nick occupied himself light up, Charles pulled up a high chair, and Elias hopped up to sit beside him at his desk, doodling on his electronic pad.
“Oh, he’s got a chair like yours?” asked Nick.
“Yeah. Believe it or not, it helps,” added Charles as a tiger cub bounced up on his desk to nose around Elias.
“That’s pretty cute,” laughed Nick.
“Guess it doesn’t exactly fit my public persona,” sighed Charles.
“Why do you give a shit?” asked Nick.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Charles. “I think it’s good to keep the fuckers away from Dethklok if they see me as a badass. And not some guy wiping peanut butter off his file drawers.”
“It might humanize you, though. Create sympathy.”
“Nick, Ganesh and I are firm about this: Boon stays away from the media until he’s at least 18. Or 21. Or maybe 35!”
“But he has a Bumblr account?” smiled Nick.
“Nick, you’re too damned old to be wasting time on Bumblr,” said Charles. “Besides, in reality that is all handled by the Female Online Division. It’s part of our outreach.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” grinned Nick.
“Nick, I’m not doing another tell all interview, if that’s what you’re here about. I’ve already told all twice. Nobody could possibly be that interested in me!”
“On the contrary. Everybody is fascinated by you. And I think it would help with another issue.”
“What’s that?”
“As I told you, Sariel,” said Nick, leaning forward. “It’s gotten around that you’ve been reinstated. There’s a pretty big community of the Fallen hereabouts.”
“Community?” asked Charles. “I thought you guys didn’t talk to each other much?”
“We keep our distance,” said Nick. “But the important thing is, in exchange, I may be able to offer you a clue to help your guitarist, the Odinsson.”
“Skwisgaar?” asked Charles. Nick blew smoke and nodded. Charles glanced to his side, flicking a piece of Elias’ dark hair. “Skwisgaar for my son? Is that my deal?”
“Not at all,” grinned Nick. “In fact, to show you my good faith, I'll tell you right now, whether you agree or not.”
Charles scowled at Nick while Elias wriggled down from his chair and ran across the room. “Wunky Nick!” he said, “bidchure!”
Nick picked up the electronic pad and his grin widened. “Why, this is excellent! I have no idea in hell how you did it, but it's amazing.” He tilted the pad so Charles could see.
“Your True Form,” Charles said, spotting the wings. “Yeah, he can do that. We're not entirely sure how though. He can also take photos of magic.”
“You're something, aren't you, Boonie?” Nick asked Elias.
“Uh-HUH!”
“So where ams we goings now?” asked Skwisgaar, chewing thoughtfully on his Futility of Existence burger.
Ganesh rummaged in the bottom of the Burzums bag with a spare hand and brought out some crispy golden Necrophage fries. He had ascertained beforehand that they were fried in 100% pure vegetable oil.
“We are headed to Duncan Hills coffee headquarters. Sariel has obtained information that a certain executive might possess information regarding our suspect.”
Skwisgaar nodded and took a slurp of his Existential Despair shake (strawberry). “Ams you gets da Pointless Meals toys?”
“Oh, it’s a tiny executioner. I believe Boonie already has one,” said Ganesh, holding up a small plastic toy.
“I ams gets da executioner too.”
“Yes, they are all a small executioner. I believe that is the point of the exercise.”
“Oh! Ams philosohpicockles,” said Skwisgaar. He turned to watch Toki snoring in the back seat. “You ams knocksed him out goods!”
“I am a physician!” protested Ganesh. “I gave him only the correct dosage.”
“Da whole doses?” asked Skwisgaar, holding up an empty Nyquil: Cough, Cold and Thrash Metal bottle.
“Well, he is part angel. You never can tell, with angels,” opined Ganesh.
“Well, dat's true,” agreed Skwisgaar, tossing the empty bottle carelessly into the back seat. It bonked Toki on the head. The Norwegian shifted, and went back to sleep. “So,” continued Skwisgaar, “what ams our stragedies?”
“Ours is but to make it past the receptionist. Since I am practiced in the art of seduction, I will take charge here. I will simply glamor her....”
“Waits a minutes!” said Skwisgaar.
“What?” asked Ganesh.
“If we gots to chats up da lovely ladies, den you ams talkings to me!” averred Skwisgaar, pointing to his own chest.
“My dear, dear boy,” chuckled Ganesh. “Might I remind you, I have several centuries of practice over you.”
“How many ladies you ams seduced latelies?” inquired Skwisgaar.
“Well, not lately, because, as you know, I am happily married! But I am certainly not out of practice.”
“Pffft.”
“Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh, narrowing his lovely eyes. “If you will recall, I am not simply a rock god, but a real one.”
“I ams da gods too!”
“Yes, indeed. Your father rides horses. My mother, remember, is a goddess of love.”
“Ja, and also has da tempers!”
“Well, true, and you do seem rather talented at bringing out her Kali aspect.”
The two men glared at each other for a moment.
“All rightie, Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh at length, “if you are so bold as to presume your seduction skills to be superior to mine, would you care to make this … interesting?”
“Inksterestings how?” asked Skwisgaar, now narrowing his own gorgeous blue eyes.
“A small … wager?” proposed Ganesh.
“You ams goings to lose, Mr. Smugs Faces! A million billions dollars!”
“We are both wealthy men,” said Ganesh. “I propose we wager something else!”
“So you've decided to go ahead?” asked Raziel. “Can you try and make him somewhat less pale and creepy looking?” she asked the makeup girl.
“I am not pale and creepy looking!”
“You ever looked in a mirror?”
“Ganesh likes me!” said Charles, who actually was craning his neck to look in the mirror.
“Ganesh is blinded by your sparkling rainbow aura,” Raziel told Charles.
“Spray tan?” asked the makeup girl.
“No spray tans!” Charles pleaded with the makeup girl.
“Just a little color on his cheeks? So he'll look like he's among the living,” suggested Raziel.
“Lady Raziel!” blustered Nick Ibsen, who had just come by. “So good to see you again, dear.”
“Hi, Azazel,” said Raziel, hopping off the table to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I hear congratulations are in order!” said Nick.
“Yeah, more creepy angel kids,” said Raziel, patting her stomach.
“Nick, I'm still not 100% sure about this,” Charles told Nick.
“Believe me,” said Nick. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. See you on set!”
Charles and Raziel watched him go. The makeup girl said something to Raziel in Common Angelic.
“Yep,” Raziel told her. “It's still pretty early, so we don't know yet. I want another girl, but Wotan wants more boys.”
“Raziel, I thought you said you were gonna wait 'til your first batch was on Social Security.”
“I was stupid, Sariel.”
“Stupid how?” asked Charles.
Raziel sighed and wound up. “I thought I would have just one, and we'd just put it in a sling thing and go have adventures! But then I had two, and then they started running around, and half the time we have yours up there as well. Plus we have wolves and a pack of tigers and dead goldfish and a stable of horses and a baby bearcat demon who's already big as a hippo. It's just,” she said, patting her stomach, “I'm never even gonna notice another one!”
“I guess I hadn't thought of it that way,” said Charles.
“Five minutes, Mr. Ofdensen,” said a stagehand.
They had left Toki sleeping in the car, although Ganesh insisted on cracking a window. They rode up the elevator in silence, though both stealing glances at one another. They got off on the top floor, the Duncan Hills main offices, and strode down the corridor to the last office at the end. Skwisgaar opened the door, and Ganesh whisked inside.
And grinned from ear to ear.
“Mr. Vigneshvara and Mr. Skwigelf to see Miss Felgenhoffer,” Ganesh confidently told the attractive young receptionist.
The attractive young male receptionist.
The receptionist looked down and frowned. “I don't see your names on the list,” he told Ganesh.
“Maybe you ams makes da mistake, handskomes,” purred Skwisgaar, who was already leaning seductively over the desk.
Ganesh allowed himself one moment to gawp, and then put his seduction mojo in gear. “Surely, there has been a misunderstanding,” he cooed, batting his long eyelashes.
“I, uh, I, uh, don't think so....” said the young man, looking between them.
“What ams your names, doll,” asked Skwisgaar.
“Uh. Marvin.”
“Oh. Marvin. You ams lovelies. Like da angelses.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Ganesh, “Miss Felgenhoffer has a teeny, tiny opening for us,” he suggested, holding up his thumb and forefinger.
“Well.....” stuttered Marvin.
“We ams not bites,” said Skwisgaar, who was now sitting on the receptionst's desk. He leaned in close. “Much.”
Ganesh had his lips within inches of Marvin's ear. “And we would be so, so … grateful,” he whispered.
“I.... I....” sputtered Marvin, a look of baffled bliss on his face.
But just then, the door of Mr. Felgenhoffer's office blew off its hinges, bathing the office in an unearthly white light.
And crushing poor besotted Marvin beneath it.
Ganesh and Skwisgaar had dropped to the floor, huddling behind Marvin's desk.
“Uh, dis ams not goods?” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh.
“Er, I think not,” Ganesh whispered back.
“But,” asked Skwisgaar, leaning in close, “who ams wons da bets?”
“So, you're back to see us,” said Nick, as if Charles had just wandered up to the studio and this interview had not in fact been the result of planning that dwarfed the D-Day invasion.
“Yeah. There's a bit of interest, which baffled me, as I don't find myself to be terribly interesting.”
“My listeners would disagree. There's been a lot of interest in your family lately.”
“Well, yeah,” agreed Charles. He braced himself, and let out his carefully worded statement. “My long time partner and I, we are now caretakers. Of a child.”
“A kid? At Mordhaus? Is that like growing up at Disneyland?” asked Nick, leaning back.
“Well, maybe a combo of the Haunted Mansion and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.” There were laughs from Nick's sfaff. “Oh, you have some guys old enough to remember that one?”
“So, you are officially confirming the rumors.”
“Yes. I felt – we felt – well, you know my life, we get a lot of press attention, what with Dethklok.” Charles tried not to fidget. “But, we have paparazzi following us. And I just wanted to let your listeners know: I don't care what you say about me. But, just, stay away from the kid. OK?”
“He needs his privacy?”
“Yeah! He didn't choose this life. I just want him to have a childhood. That's why no pictures.”
“I think everyone can understand that. So, and here's what people are curious about: is he another supernatural-American, like you?”
“Yes, he is supernatural. He's a handful. And I wanna add, he would probably be too much for human parents to deal with.”
“Some people say supernatural families are unnatural,” suggested Nick.
“Yeah, I've heard that. Look, this has been going on for as long as time. My partner comes from a big family – a huge family! We're just like you in that way.”
“Before we get to the phone lines, wanna volunteer anything about the new Dethklok album?”
“It'll be like nothing you've ever heard before. I guarantee it!”
Nick went to the phone calls. “Sheboygan, Wisconsin, HELLO!”
“Yeah, Sariel or whatever your name is: did you really kill a guy with a dead guy? Because, that was badass!”
Charles frowned. “Ah, OK. You're talking about the cartoon?” His eyes flicked over to Nick, whose eyes were twinkling. “Uh, no, that was just something we did for the cartoon.”
“Oh, really? Because it was totally awesome!”
“Uh, no. Roy is OK, actually.”
“Roy Cornickleson?” asked Nick.
“Yeah. He just didn't wanna be portrayed on the show any more, so we – or the writers rather – wanted a way to write him out.”
“A violent, bloody death!” said Nick.
“Well, you gotta admit it, uh, fits with the universe.”
“What does Roy think?”
“He had the biggest laugh of all. Great guy,” said Charles.
“Cucamonga, California, HELLO!”
“Hey, uh, Charles? Dude! So, are you auditioning new guitarists?”
“Why would we be-? Oh! You're also talking about the cartoon?”
“Because, he's dead and stuff, and you need another guitarist who can't play, and I can't play!”
“Yeah, Toki is actually fine, just fine....”
“And I'm lazy too! Just ask my mom!”
“Toki Wartooth is alive and well and busily rehearsing for our next tour.”
“Trouble telling truth from fiction?” asked Nick, who was at this point grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, seems to be a lot of that going around.”
“Truth of Consequences, New Mexico, HELLO!”
“So I'm calling because, the people who don't like Abigail? It's because they're RACIST!”
“Uh, OK,” said Charles.
“The Icelandic people are proud, and do not deserve discrimination!”
“Uh, caller-”
“Don't hold your white privilege over me!” she scolded.
“Uh, caller, Abigail is not Icelandic.”
There was a long pause. “Uh, what?”
“Abigail is Italian American.”
“Abigail Remeltindtdrinc is Italian?” asked Nick.
“Yeah, she changed her name. Professional reasons.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Nick, nodding. “And I assume she is alive as well?”
“Yes, of course. She's taking some personal time, she said her goal is to mellow out and lose ten pounds.”
“And the rumors about her and Nathan?”
“They are just good friends.”
“So, the late night screaming matches?”
“Just. Good. Friends,” repeated Charles.
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Hell, Michigan, hello!”
“So if Dethklok is supposed to prevent the Metalocalypse, why did they cause all the fucking tornadoes and hurricanes and shit like that?”
“We'll beep it,” mouthed Nick.
“Look, my band is not-” Charles paused for a moment. “You're talking about the fucking cartoon too?”
“Yeah, of course-”
“It's just a cartoon, people! It's supposed to be stupid. It has nothing to do with reality! My boys don't even do the voices!”
“Professional voice actors?” asked Nick
“I dunno. Some out of work musician does most of them I think.”
“Some people take this very seriously,” said Nick.
“Hey caller, guy from Hell, tell me: what do you do for a living?”
“Uh.... I'm currently.... Between positions.”
“Well how about you GET A JOB!” snapped Charles.
“He needs another occupation? In every sense?” asked Nick.
“If people are this obsessed, they need to get a life!” protested Charles. If he had been in winged Form, he would have emphasized it with a swift flap. Instead, he just looked annoyed. “Have you ever kissed a girl? Or a boy? I don’t care! Go … do something, and quit worrying about a damned cartoon!”
“Frostbite Falls, Minnesota, HELLO.”
“I wanted to know-”
“IT'S JUST A CARTOON!” bellowed Charles.
“Uh. I wanted to know, about your child...?” the voice added timidly.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles, and now Raziel ought to have been pleased as there was a distinct red tint to his face. “Uh, it's a boy. A son,” he acknowledged.
“Does he play with toys? I mean, like … human children?”
“Oh, yeah, my house is pretty filled,” said Charles, warming up a little. “And he's got a dog and a cat.”
“Pets!” laughed Nick.
“And an army of plush toys. He likes to sleep with 'em. In fact, sometimes we can't find him on the bed for all the toys and pets,” Charles confessed.
“Cute,” said Nick, who signaled for a commercial break. “We'll be back!”
Ganesh and Skwisgaar found themselves pinned to the wall.
...By a mermaid. She was one weird looking mermaid. For one thing, she was winged. She was now hovering above the floor, wings flapping, tail switching, after overpowering both Ganesh and Skwisgaar without even breaking a sweat.
“Ams reallies da moiderous mermaidses?” Skwisgaar managed to grunt through her claw-like hand around his throat. “I t'ought dat ams just da dumb songs.”
“I don't think … she is … a mermaid,” gasped Ganesh, blinking at her aura. It couldn't be.... You are an … angel?”
“Vephar,” she hissed. “I am Vephar!”
“Ah. Well,” said Ganesh, who was squirming around. “Maybe we could sit … and have a cup … you look so pleasant.”
“Ja,” muttered Skwisgaar. “You ams lovelies.”
“Don't try your seduction tricks with me. I haven't had my coffee yet!” she barked.
“Can't we-” started Ganesh.
“SILENCE!” She leaned in closer, her pointed teeth glinting. “Now, you will die!”
There was a crash as the door to the office slammed open: this time it was the front office door.
“You ams takes your handses off dems!” screamed Toki. Skwisgaar and Ganesh gawped. Toki was angeled out, but it was weird: his wings were now a crazy-quilt mixture of brown and blue.
“He gots anudder Forms?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Apparently,” rasped Ganesh.
“Fuck you,” grumbled Vephar.
“I toins you into fishsticks!” wailed Toki, and then he was upon her.
It was fairly impressive: the beating wings and the slapping tail. But it was actually over pretty quickly, Toki sitting on top of Vephar, choking her.
“Toki!” said Ganesh, who was now at the guitarist's side. “Stop!”
“She ams t'reatens my friends!”
“Toki!” said Ganesh. “We need to get Skwisgaar's abilities back from her.”
Toki glared at Ganesh but then left off throttling Vephar for a moment.
“All rightie. Miss Vephar,” said Ganesh, kneeling next to her. “You have taken my associate's livelihood under false pretenses. I must ask for it back.”
“We made a deal!” hissed Vephar.
“Mr. Wartooth,” said Ganesh, gesturing at Toki, “was not authorized to give up Skwisgaar's guitar playing gifts.”
“A deal's a deal!' insisted Vephar.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Please take my card,” he said, handing over a buisness card. “I am Shri Ganesha, attorney at law, and direct descendant of the goddess of vengeance, Kali.”
Vephar looked at the card and then looked uncertainly at Ganesh.
“If you do not remand Mr. Skwigelf's abilities forthwith, we will sue your ass. Or your, er, tail. As well as take out our ugly wrath upon you.”
Vephar flung the card away. “OK, OK, you can have your shit back.” She waved her hand at Skwisgaar. There was a suddenly spark, like electricity had just arced between them.
Skwisgaar seemed to puff up. He looked at his hands. “I ams betters!” he announced.
“You breached our deal too,” grumbled Vephar. “We wrote a contract with a Fallen angel! Now he's gone and run back to the reservation!”
“Sariel?” asked Ganesh.
“Lying bastard,” pouted Vephar. Ganesh signaled for Toki to get up. He did so only reluctantly.
“It is true,” said Ganesh, “Sariel is no longer among the Fallen. But he has hardly, as you put it, run back to the reservation. In fact, my associate, Mr. Skwigelf, and his father, Lord Wotan, obtained this boon from the Creator quite against his will.” He offered Vephar a hand, but she ignored it, instead fluttering up to a semi-standing position.
“You blackmailed the Creator?” she asked Skwisgaar.
“Hims ams no big deals,” said the Swede, now confidently staring at his fingernails.
For once, Ganesh was glad for Skwisgaar's arrogance, as this appeared to sway Vephar. “So,” he suggested, “can we also expect the unfortunate … accidents in the Duncan Hills shops to cease now?”
“I don't know,” said Vephar. “Can we?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, stealing a glance at Skwisgaar. “That wasn't you?”
“Why would I attack my own coffee shops?” asked Vephar.
“Ganoshes,” said Skwisgaar. “I t'ink she ams tellings da truths. Da magicks in here: it ams not like in da coffee shops you ams tooks us too.”
'You weren't behind the attacks?” asked Ganesh.
“Of course not!” said Vephar.
“But you had a witch working for you?”
Vephar hissed. “Whoever that bitch is, she isn’t working for me. We were trying to work up enough power to defeat them. Whoever they are,” grumbled Vephar, now fluttering over to peer underneath the door to her office. “Dammit. Now I need to go get a new receptionist. And he was cute!”
Elias dove into the mountain of plush toys. He popped his head back out. “Da pwushies, Daddy!” he called to Charles.
“Are they still arriving?” Charles asked a nearby Klokateer, who was toting a clipboard.
“They have been coming ever since your interview, sire. All directed to Master Boon.”
Charles smiled. His son was officially Master Elias, but everybody used the nickname. “And they've been checked out for booby traps? Poison? Curses?”
“All checked, sire.”
Charles heaved a sigh.
“You know what we could do?” asked Nathan, who had been hanging by Charles’ side.
“What's that, Nathan?”
“Pour on lighter fluid, and then BURN THEM in a HELL PYRE!” said the lead singer.
Charles rolled his eyes. “Children's wing, St. Necrophagist,” he told the Klokateer.
“Very good, sire.”
“What?” said Nathan. “Well, OK.”
“BOON!” shouted Charles.
“Uh-HUH!” yelled Boon, who was still cavorting.
“You can pick out one. Or two. That you really really like.”
“Dank oo Daddy!” yelled Boon, who looked to be on Cloud Nine. “An…. An…. For Yab an Yeem?”
“Yeah, pick out a couple for your cousins,” said Charles.
“And sire, the Female Online Division?” asked the Klokateer.
“Oh, yeah, definitely let them have a few if they'd like,” Charles told the Klokateer. “And ask Toki. But he can only have one,” said Charles.
“Yes, sire.”
Charles turned back to Nathan, who had somehow grabbed a little plush alligator. The lead singer was standing now, a pleading look in his eye.
“Yes, Nathan,” sighed Charles. “That's fine.”
Charles swayed in Ganesh's arms, wishing tonight he could just stay here like this, pressed against the god's chest.
Ganesh, of course, chose that exact moment to spin him out. Charles looked up at him.
“You seem thoughtful tonight,” said Ganesh.
Charles pointed up to Skwisgaar's balcony, where the guitarist was playing soft dance music for them. “How did you get him to do that?”
Ganesh grinned. “He lost a bet. We both did, actually. Although not as badly as that poor receptionist.”
“So what was your end?”
“I need to suffer guitar lessons for a month,” said Ganesh, sweeping Charles around.
“Skwisgaar is teaching you guitar? How's that going?”
Ganesh scowled. “I am still washing pig's blood from my hair!”
“Skwisgaar does have unique teaching methods,” said Charles. “So you guys both think Vephar is innocent?”
“Well, she's not innocent by any accounting. She definitely stole Skwisgaar's abilities for a time, although I do not believe she ever affected Toki, except in his imagination. But I do not think she is guilty of the coffee bar attacks.”
“Great. One more thing to worry about.”
“That,” said Ganesh, “is why we dance!”
“To forget?”
“No. To remember,” smiled Ganesh, reaching down for a kiss. “The good things…” he muttered. They stayed in the clench quite some time.
“HEY YOU TWO!” came a familiar growl. “Quit getting MUSHY!”
“Oh, go play with your plush toy, Nathan!” yelled Charles.
“You ams gots da plushies toys?” came Skwisgaar’s voice as the music stopped.
“MAYBE.”
“You ams Tokis?” Skwisgaar laughed.
“Its an ALLIGATOR! It's a BADASS plush toy!” Nathan protested.
But Charles missed the rest of the argument as Ganesh was now pulling him into their suite.
“This was supposed to be a soy latte. A SOY LATTE. Are you retarded?”
The clerk in the green apron smiled. “You know, you shouldn't use that word. It's unkind.”
“Fuck you you little halfwit!”
“Sooooo,” she said. “What do we think of rude customers. Anybody. Anybody. You!” she said, picking out a woman who had been hunched over her Blackberry.
“We kill them,” volunteered the woman.
“What?” said the irate customer.
“And how do we kill them?” asked the clerk. “You!”
The bicycle messenger had raised his hand. “We kill them with fire!” he said, his eyes bright.
“What are you talking about? Is this a joke?” grumbled the irate customer, pulling out his cell phone. “I'll call your head office.”
But then he was being held: first by two hands and then four and then six and then more, as the customers crowded around him. A woman in a business suit grabbed a quart of cooking oil and dumped it over his head.
“Wait! Hold on!”
And then a man holding the Wall Street Journal rolled it up and held one end to the burner of a stove. It lit up. Holding it like a torch, he leapt the counter and approached the now squirming customer.
“No! No! WAIT!”
The screaming was horrible.
And it continued a long, long time.
The thing that fell to the floor was just ashes and bones.
And then, as one, the customers all quietly filed back into line, eager to order their caramel lattes and soy mochas.
Author: tikistitch
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ganesh and Skwisgaar go on a road trip, and Charles does another interview.
Warnings: This one gets sorta meta.
Notes: Mostly written while standing in line at Comic Con, so this might not make a lot of sense.
The late model sports car rolled up to the dark and nearly empty parking lot. Two men emerged. They were both tall and dark-skinned, the one appearing even taller due to the top hat he habitually wore. When he smiled, which was often, a gold tooth flashed. The other appeared to have just wandered in from the set of a Vogue photoshoot: not only was he impossibly handsome and fashionably dressed, he had a graceful, dancer's way of moving.
This second man held the hand of a small boy who quite resembled a smaller version of himself. The little boy was dressed in elephant-patterned overalls, and wore around his neck a small digital camera. He looked up to the tall man, who smiled down indulgently.
Ignoring the CLOSED sign, the man guiding the boy waved his hand at the door. There was the slight click of a lock, and then the three entered the coffee shop.
“We're closed for the day,” said a clerk. She did not speak in English.
“That is fine. We are not here for coffee,” replied the gold-toothed man, also not in English.
“What do you want then?” asked the clerk, now leaning on her mop handle.
“We simply want to talk,” said the second man, who was now hunkering down to be at eye level with the boy. “You run along and take your pictures now, all right, Boonie?”
“Uh-huh!” said the boy.
“What do you want to talk about?” asked the clerk.
“May I introduce myself? I am Elegba, and this is my associate, Shri Ganesha.”
“We had heard that you had, er, an incident here, about a week ago?” prompted Ganesh.
The clerk frowned and shook her head, looking utterly bored. “Oh. That,” she said. “We talked to the policemen already.”
“I am certain you did. We are from a different bureau,” said Ganesh.
“Well, like I told the other cops,” shrugged the clerk, “the coffee must have gotten too hot, and she got a little scalded.”
“Scalded sufficiently that she died screaming and bearing third degree burns over her head and upper digestive tract?” inquired Ganesh.
“It was a little hot,” said the clerk, flicking a bit of blond hair out of her eyes.
“You were present at the time?” asked Elegba.
“Yeah, right here.”
“Did you go to help her?” asked Elegba.
The clerk looked puzzled. “No, of course not. We're not supposed to confront argumentative customers.”
“Agrumentative?” asked Ganesh. “She was dying.”
The clerk sighed and shook her head. “She made Evie remake the same mocha. Twice! Said the chocolate's supposed to go in first. I hate picky customers. They mess up everything.”
“There were a lot o' customers?” asked Elegba.
“Oh, yeah! It was rush hour. We were super busy.”
“Did any of those customers come to her aid?” asked Ganesh.
“What? You mean did they try to help Evie?” asked the clerk, who seemed thoroughly confused.
“Er, not the clerk. I meant, did anyone come to the customer's aid?” asked Ganesh. “The woman who was screaming in agony?”
The clerk scrunched up her face, as if in furious concentration. “Uh. Not that I can think of.”
“Bidchure, Baap!” said Elias, showing his father the camera.
“Did you take many pictures, Boonie? Like we talked about?” asked his father.
“Uh-huh!”
“Well, that's very good,” said Ganesh, scooping up the boy. “Is there anything else, Legba?”
“Evie?” asked Elegba. “You said that was the one that waited on her?”
“Yeah, Evie,” said the clerk, chewing on her lip. “She's not associated with this branch any more.”
“Do you know where she went?” asked Elegba.
“Evie is not associated with this branch any more,” the girl repeated.
Ganesh looked at Elegba, who held up his hands in puzzlement. “We shan't trouble you any more,” Ganesh told the clerk. Thanks very much for your cooperation.”
“Have a pleasant day!” the clerk called as they left.
“Getting boiled to death by their crap fucking coffee? Don't sound too pleasant to me,” said Elegba as they made for the car. Ganesh was squinting at his son's camera. “Anything interesting?” asked Elegba.
Ganesh passed the camera over to Elegba, who regarded the screen. “Shadow on the floor,” he said, clicking through the photos.
“Do you reckon that's where she died?” asked Ganesh.
“Could be the death traces. If she really was cursed. Oh! Lookee here.”
“What is it?”
Elegba passed back the camera. “Look to the wall. The shadows.”
Ganesh regarded the photo. As in several of Elias' photos, there was a human-sized shadow on the floor. Up above, in this particular photo, were three additional shadows. They looked as if they could be the traces of three helium balloons, roundish blobs with something that may have been strings trailing down from them.
“Balloons? Were they having a birthday party?” asked Ganesh.
“Those ain’t balloons,” said Elegba. “Unless I miss my guess, they’re heads. And that down below is the entrails trailing out.”
“To quote my dear friend, Pickles, eeuch, dude,” said Ganesh, making Elias giggle.
“I think we've got some motherfucking leyaks,” said Elegba. “Which means Rangda must be nearby. Plying her mischief.”
Lord Ganesh's mind, which should have been on other things, was instead filled with hip bones.
More specifically, the jutting hip bones of his partner, Sariel.
Even though, mainly through Ganesh's tireless efforts, Sariel had now mostly ceased smoking (or at least chain smoking) and usually consumed a sufficient number of calories, he was always going to be a bit on the skinny side. He now wore, as was his custom, a pair of Ganesh's pajama bottoms, which, being too large on him, had slipped down quite a bit below his waist, thus baring quite a generous expanse of Sariel's lower belly, including those enticing hip bones, and down to just the barest peek of a brush of pubic hair.
Ganesh, who understood as few people the power of well draped fabric, had been giving it a great deal of serious thought, and reckoned that the area in question was in grave need of some rather lusty kisses at about this time.
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, who was about to bring up this urgent topic.
“So, there's supposedly a whole crowd there in the coffee shop, but nobody moves when the woman goes down screaming?” asked Sariel, hopping up into the bed in which Ganesh was currently lying – which was delightful – but then immediately opening and booting a laptop computer, which was irking, as it severely limited hip bone visibility.
“Er,” said Ganesh, now craning his neck for a better view. “Yes. That would be accurate.”
“That's weirder than one of our fucking concerts,” grumbled Sariel into the laptop. “Though Nathan would probably like that shit for a song.”
“Elegba believes there is evidence of Rangda, who is indeed a practitioner of witchcraft. He has, however, never encountered that level of indifference amongst the witnesses. I wish you could have been there....”
“Sometimes eyewitnesses can have PTSD, that kind of thing. Makes 'em seem like they're having a weird reaction,” said Sariel, who was typing away.
“I doubt PTSD could infect an entire coffee shop. And instantaneously?”
“Yeah, true.”
“Are you catching up on work, dear?” asked Ganesh.
“Oh, yeah,” admitted Sariel. “I took Boon off to the Horsehead Nebula this afternoon. You know, to horse around, haha. I wanted him to see.”
“I wish … I could have been there,” said Ganesh, gritting his teeth.
'You aren't jealous, right?”
“I am.... I am…. I am quite thoroughly and mind-bendingly jealous,” admitted Ganesh, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Quite suddenly, he was no longer thinking about hip bones.
“We can take you! We'll figure out a way,” said Sariel. When Ganesh only sighed in reply, Sariel folded up his laptop and set it aside, and then slid on top of the elephant god, straddling him. “It's just.... I was thinking, about how much time I wasted, back before. Raziel and I would go to a new place, and then we'd just get drunk and find some men. We were too damn stupid to actually look around and appreciate what we had.”
“I suppose that is true,” said Ganesh. Although he still carried a sour look on his face, he put out a pair of hands to grasp Sariel's hips.
“You can't stay mad at me.”
“I can attempt to,” vowed Ganesh.
“Ganesh!”
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, his thumbs now rubbing up and down on those enticing hip bones, “I fully realize the change that has come into your life. However, I do notice that you've been neglecting not only me, but your duties as manager of Dethklok.”
“Everybody deserves a vacation!”
“And none more than you, jaanu,” said Ganesh, hands now tracing the waistband of Sariel's pajamas. “But might I remind you, as you reminded me not too long ago, you have a tour coming up, and Skwisgaar....”
“Oh, is this about him again?” asked Sariel. “When exactly did you decide you guys were best buddies? I thought he drove you insane?”
“He merits my gratitude. And yours.”
“Hrm,” said Sariel.
“And he deserves to be your lead guitarist again.” Ganesh's fingers were now sliding into the waistband.
“The boys would probably agree with that. Toki’s been driving them pretty crazy in rehearsals.”
“Toki has been … rehearsing?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? So it’s not all bad. OK, Ganesh, if you keep doing that, you got about thirty seconds before I'm not gonna be able to form a sentence any more.”
“I haven't been able to think straight since you strutted in here wearing these damned pajama pants!” said Ganesh, dropping one pair of hands to gesture his futility.
“I strut now?” laughed Sariel.
Ganesh grabbed Sariel's shoulders and brought him close for a kiss. But then, reluctantly, he pushed the angel back. “You know, time was, if I had accused you of neglecting Dethklok, it would have evoked your ire. Somewhat at least. Have you been larking about a Duncan Hills coffee shop lately?”
Sariel hung his head for a moment. “I hate admitting you're right. But you're right. I just.... It's been hard to focus lately. I mean, it's always difficult when those guys don't give a shit. The universe is open! Entire universes are open! And Nathan and Pickles are arguing over who's gonna be fire marshall?”
“They have ever been this way.”
“I know. I know, I’m just…” said Sariel, trailing off and playing with the top button on Ganesh’s shirt. “Wondering why you’re still wearing clothes.”
“We’re not going to have a serious discussion if I remove my clothes.”
“You want a serious discussion?”
“No.”
“LADY RAZ!”
“Hi, Nathan. Come on, kids,” said Raziel, who was striding down the corridor at Mordhaus as fast as short legs and mind-bendingly high heels would take her.
“HI WUNKY NATE!” the twins yelled.
“HI WEIRD KID AND OTHER KID!” growled Nathan, picking up Liam upside down so he squealed. Little Abby rolled her eyes and continued holding her mother’s hand.
“So,” said Nathan, puffing a bit to keep up with the little angel. “Where are you going?”
“To see Sariel.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just zap in or whatever?”
“We were visiting Skwisgaar.”
“Oh, yeah. He MOPES a lot these days.”
“Yeah, well, I brought his brother and sister to annoy him. That gets him out of his funk.”
“That’s what FAMILIES are for. ANNOYING THE FUCK OUT OF YOU. So. When you have the next one…”
“Sariel’s been blabbing about that?”
“Will it be, like, AN EGG?”
“Nathan. Did these two come out of an egg?” asked Raziel, waving a well-manicured hand at her kids.
“Well,” said Nathan, giving it a real good think. “No. But they’re like little bird things. And birds come from eggs. I mean, unless they don’t. Maybe that was spiders?”
“It’ll just come the normal way, Nathan.”
“What is it gonna be?” asked Nathan, hiking Liam to his shoulders.
“A baby. I hope.”
“You need a name?” asked Nathan, hopefully. “I’m really good at naming shit!”
“Yeah, but Wotan doesn’t care for Slappy.”
“What? WHY?”
“And I don’t think I can talk him into Ozzie.”
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH OZZIE?” demanded Nathan as Liam giggled.
“Well, the kid is going to be a Norse god, not a metal god. And Satan is right out. We have bad memories.”
“SATAN WORKED ALL RIGHT FOR SATAN!”
“If you have any other ideas….”
“Actually, Lady Raz,” said Nathan, setting down Liam and setting his voice lower. “I wanted your advice.”
“Oh, regarding what?”
“It’s GIRL TROUBLE!”
“What?” asked Raziel, smiling and actually stopping. “Why, Nathan, I‘ve been replaced in your affections?” she asked, mock seriously.
“Well, you’re kind of married and now you’ve got like 15 kids….”
“Almost,” said Raziel, beginning to walk again.
“What can I do to make a chick, you know, love me?”
“Well, have you tried getting to know her? Like taking her to dinner? Challenging her to a sword fight? You know, girlie shit?”
“I do know her! We spent three fucking months in a submarine together!”
“Oh,” said Raziel. “You mean that producer?”
“Our LADY PRODUCER.”
“Well, I assumed it wasn’t Dick. Huh. I thought she woulda gotten crushed by a gargoyle by now. Anyway, have you thought maybe she doesn’t date people she works with?”
“SHE DOESN’T DATE PEOPLE SHE WORKS WITH.”
“Well, there you have it.”
“BUT SHE HAS TO LOVE ME ANYWAY.”
“Nathan, are you clear on the concept of stalking? Oh, here we are,” she said, coming upon Charles’ office. “Wow!” she said, surveying the wreckage. “Our Father did a number on you!”
Charles was standing in the middle of the floor, surveying the chaos. The floor had been swept clean of glass shards, and the broken display cabinets removed. His own desk and other furniture were underneath drop clothes. The great chandelier lay in the middle of the floor, where it was evidently in the middle of being repaired. The large windows were covered with translucent tarp, held up by gaffer’s tape.
“Father knows how to put on a show,” said Raziel.
“I might just leave the windows,” said Charles. “I like ‘em open like that.”
“That’s … an interesting choice,” said Raziel.
“What happens during a WIND STORM?” asked Nathan sensibly.
“The wind blows,” answered Charles. “Why are you here Raziel? As you see, you can't sit on my desk!”
“I have a request. From my husband.”
“Anything for Wotan,” said Charles, smiling charmingly and pivoting to face Raziel.
“You know,” Nathan muttered over Raziel's shoulder, “when he smiles like that, it's sort of … WEIRD.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Raziel told him. “Sariel, you're looking into who stole my stepson's guitar skills?”
“Your stepson?” asked Sariel, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah. Ganesh and Elegba are on the job.”
“I think they need some assistance.”
Charles stood and thought. Raziel was certain she could see the wheels spinning, gears on gears. “Skwisgaar?” he asked.
Raziel nodded. “Maybe give him something to do? Get him out of that stupid white on white room?”
“Oh, cool, yeah, maybe I could go out with Skwisgaar and we could do DETECTING SHIT!” said Nathan, who looked like he was about to clap his hands.
“Well, Nathan,” said Charles. “That's an idea. But that's not quite my idea.”
“And your idea is better?” asked Raziel.
Charles only smiled.
“Ams goings detectsing,” said Skwisgaar, who spared a scowl at Charles as he placed his knapsack in the car trunk.
“Going detecting indeed,” said Ganesh, who collapsed the handle and then fitted his roller bag neatly beside Skwisgaar's pack.
“Am goings detecticockles!” squealed Toki, who skipped out ahead of four or five Klokateers, all heavily burdened with luggage. “Ams you gots my sets of LEGOs and Star Warses lunchboxes and my Deddy Bears?” Toki asked the hooded individual nearest to him. “Otherwise, I ams kills you deads!”
Ganesh and Skwisgaar glared at Charles as the Klokateers piled an entire Bekins moving van's worth of baggage next to the car. “I am not certain about this, Sariel. It will be, er, very dangerous,” said Ganesh.
“Toki is good in a firefight. Just ask Raziel,” Charles told them.
“Hims ams annoyingses, and we ams not even started!” grumbled Skwisgaar, getting straight to the heart of the matter.
“Where ams dey puts my bags?” asked Toki, regarding the trunk.
“Don't worry about a thing, Toki, you just get in, and we'll take care of it,” Charles assured him. He opened the car's back door himself, and Toki hopped in the back seat. Then, making sure the tinted window was up, Charles made a slashing motion against his throat. The Klokateers began carting Toki's baggage back into the house, and a single Klokateer instead deposited one large Wiggly Piggly themed bag in the trunk next to Ganesh's and Skwisgaar's.
“What happens when Toki requests his LEGO DethSpiders playset?” asked Ganesh sourly.
“Don’t worry. He’ll forget all about that crap once you guys get going. Oh, and here,” said Charles, handing off a bottle of pills that a Klokateer had just given him. “Before I forget.”
“Dramamine?” asked Ganesh, reading the label.
“He gets carsick.”
“Ja, he ams does,” said Skwisgaar.
Ganesh rolled his eyes, tossed the pill bottle into the car, donned his sunglasses and said. “All right, come along.”
Skwisgaar shrugged and got in, riding shotgun.
“Where ams we drivings to?” piped up Toki from the back.
“Bali,” said Ganesh.
“Ballsy? Dat ams funny!”
Charles was fairly certain he could hear Ganesh’s sigh from over the engine roar. The car took off, drove a few meters down Mordhaus’ driveway, and then disappeared before it got to the gate.
“DADDEEEEE!”
“Oh, hey, Boon!” said Charles, turning around to pick up his son. “You just missed Baap. Which is probably for the best. Baap is in a bad mood.”
“Da bad moo?”
“Yeah.”
“Charles.”
Charles reached out his free hand to grasp that of the other new arrival. “Nick! It’s really great to see you!”
“The pleasure is mine,” smiled Nick Ibsen, a.k.a., the Fallen angel, Azazel. He shook Charles’ hand.
“Wanna come inside? And how is, uh, the new Mrs. Ibsen?”
“She's well. So I’ve heard,” confided Nick as they walked towards Mordhaus. “Bought herself a South Sea island with the divorce settlement.”
“Oh, crap, I’m sorry,” said Charles. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Why are you sorry?” laughed Nick. “That woman gave me the best twenty minutes of my life!”
“So, to what do we owe this visit?” asked Charles, putting Elias down so the boy could scamper ahead.
“Rumor has it you’re no longer one of us. Among the Fallen.”
“How did you hear?” asked Charles.
“I’m a newsman, remember? Besides, Our Father makes a bit of a stink,” said Nick, as they opened the door to Charles’ office. Nick let out a low whistle. “Redecorated for you, I see.”
Charles looked around his ruined office and smiled. The tarps were now off the furniture. Everything had been cleaned and the walls repainted. But the great light fixture remained in the center of the floor, awaiting rehanging. And the windows still had not been replaced: instead they were covered in a translucent tarp. “You know, I had half a mind to tell my workmen to just stop there and leave it like this,” Charles confessed, not entirely certain why he was telling Azazel this.
“You wanna feel the wind?”
“I do,” said Charles, sitting down in his seat and opened the box of cigars on his desk.
“Don't mind if I do,” said Nick.
While Nick occupied himself light up, Charles pulled up a high chair, and Elias hopped up to sit beside him at his desk, doodling on his electronic pad.
“Oh, he’s got a chair like yours?” asked Nick.
“Yeah. Believe it or not, it helps,” added Charles as a tiger cub bounced up on his desk to nose around Elias.
“That’s pretty cute,” laughed Nick.
“Guess it doesn’t exactly fit my public persona,” sighed Charles.
“Why do you give a shit?” asked Nick.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Charles. “I think it’s good to keep the fuckers away from Dethklok if they see me as a badass. And not some guy wiping peanut butter off his file drawers.”
“It might humanize you, though. Create sympathy.”
“Nick, Ganesh and I are firm about this: Boon stays away from the media until he’s at least 18. Or 21. Or maybe 35!”
“But he has a Bumblr account?” smiled Nick.
“Nick, you’re too damned old to be wasting time on Bumblr,” said Charles. “Besides, in reality that is all handled by the Female Online Division. It’s part of our outreach.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” grinned Nick.
“Nick, I’m not doing another tell all interview, if that’s what you’re here about. I’ve already told all twice. Nobody could possibly be that interested in me!”
“On the contrary. Everybody is fascinated by you. And I think it would help with another issue.”
“What’s that?”
“As I told you, Sariel,” said Nick, leaning forward. “It’s gotten around that you’ve been reinstated. There’s a pretty big community of the Fallen hereabouts.”
“Community?” asked Charles. “I thought you guys didn’t talk to each other much?”
“We keep our distance,” said Nick. “But the important thing is, in exchange, I may be able to offer you a clue to help your guitarist, the Odinsson.”
“Skwisgaar?” asked Charles. Nick blew smoke and nodded. Charles glanced to his side, flicking a piece of Elias’ dark hair. “Skwisgaar for my son? Is that my deal?”
“Not at all,” grinned Nick. “In fact, to show you my good faith, I'll tell you right now, whether you agree or not.”
Charles scowled at Nick while Elias wriggled down from his chair and ran across the room. “Wunky Nick!” he said, “bidchure!”
Nick picked up the electronic pad and his grin widened. “Why, this is excellent! I have no idea in hell how you did it, but it's amazing.” He tilted the pad so Charles could see.
“Your True Form,” Charles said, spotting the wings. “Yeah, he can do that. We're not entirely sure how though. He can also take photos of magic.”
“You're something, aren't you, Boonie?” Nick asked Elias.
“Uh-HUH!”
“So where ams we goings now?” asked Skwisgaar, chewing thoughtfully on his Futility of Existence burger.
Ganesh rummaged in the bottom of the Burzums bag with a spare hand and brought out some crispy golden Necrophage fries. He had ascertained beforehand that they were fried in 100% pure vegetable oil.
“We are headed to Duncan Hills coffee headquarters. Sariel has obtained information that a certain executive might possess information regarding our suspect.”
Skwisgaar nodded and took a slurp of his Existential Despair shake (strawberry). “Ams you gets da Pointless Meals toys?”
“Oh, it’s a tiny executioner. I believe Boonie already has one,” said Ganesh, holding up a small plastic toy.
“I ams gets da executioner too.”
“Yes, they are all a small executioner. I believe that is the point of the exercise.”
“Oh! Ams philosohpicockles,” said Skwisgaar. He turned to watch Toki snoring in the back seat. “You ams knocksed him out goods!”
“I am a physician!” protested Ganesh. “I gave him only the correct dosage.”
“Da whole doses?” asked Skwisgaar, holding up an empty Nyquil: Cough, Cold and Thrash Metal bottle.
“Well, he is part angel. You never can tell, with angels,” opined Ganesh.
“Well, dat's true,” agreed Skwisgaar, tossing the empty bottle carelessly into the back seat. It bonked Toki on the head. The Norwegian shifted, and went back to sleep. “So,” continued Skwisgaar, “what ams our stragedies?”
“Ours is but to make it past the receptionist. Since I am practiced in the art of seduction, I will take charge here. I will simply glamor her....”
“Waits a minutes!” said Skwisgaar.
“What?” asked Ganesh.
“If we gots to chats up da lovely ladies, den you ams talkings to me!” averred Skwisgaar, pointing to his own chest.
“My dear, dear boy,” chuckled Ganesh. “Might I remind you, I have several centuries of practice over you.”
“How many ladies you ams seduced latelies?” inquired Skwisgaar.
“Well, not lately, because, as you know, I am happily married! But I am certainly not out of practice.”
“Pffft.”
“Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh, narrowing his lovely eyes. “If you will recall, I am not simply a rock god, but a real one.”
“I ams da gods too!”
“Yes, indeed. Your father rides horses. My mother, remember, is a goddess of love.”
“Ja, and also has da tempers!”
“Well, true, and you do seem rather talented at bringing out her Kali aspect.”
The two men glared at each other for a moment.
“All rightie, Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh at length, “if you are so bold as to presume your seduction skills to be superior to mine, would you care to make this … interesting?”
“Inksterestings how?” asked Skwisgaar, now narrowing his own gorgeous blue eyes.
“A small … wager?” proposed Ganesh.
“You ams goings to lose, Mr. Smugs Faces! A million billions dollars!”
“We are both wealthy men,” said Ganesh. “I propose we wager something else!”
“So you've decided to go ahead?” asked Raziel. “Can you try and make him somewhat less pale and creepy looking?” she asked the makeup girl.
“I am not pale and creepy looking!”
“You ever looked in a mirror?”
“Ganesh likes me!” said Charles, who actually was craning his neck to look in the mirror.
“Ganesh is blinded by your sparkling rainbow aura,” Raziel told Charles.
“Spray tan?” asked the makeup girl.
“No spray tans!” Charles pleaded with the makeup girl.
“Just a little color on his cheeks? So he'll look like he's among the living,” suggested Raziel.
“Lady Raziel!” blustered Nick Ibsen, who had just come by. “So good to see you again, dear.”
“Hi, Azazel,” said Raziel, hopping off the table to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I hear congratulations are in order!” said Nick.
“Yeah, more creepy angel kids,” said Raziel, patting her stomach.
“Nick, I'm still not 100% sure about this,” Charles told Nick.
“Believe me,” said Nick. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. See you on set!”
Charles and Raziel watched him go. The makeup girl said something to Raziel in Common Angelic.
“Yep,” Raziel told her. “It's still pretty early, so we don't know yet. I want another girl, but Wotan wants more boys.”
“Raziel, I thought you said you were gonna wait 'til your first batch was on Social Security.”
“I was stupid, Sariel.”
“Stupid how?” asked Charles.
Raziel sighed and wound up. “I thought I would have just one, and we'd just put it in a sling thing and go have adventures! But then I had two, and then they started running around, and half the time we have yours up there as well. Plus we have wolves and a pack of tigers and dead goldfish and a stable of horses and a baby bearcat demon who's already big as a hippo. It's just,” she said, patting her stomach, “I'm never even gonna notice another one!”
“I guess I hadn't thought of it that way,” said Charles.
“Five minutes, Mr. Ofdensen,” said a stagehand.
They had left Toki sleeping in the car, although Ganesh insisted on cracking a window. They rode up the elevator in silence, though both stealing glances at one another. They got off on the top floor, the Duncan Hills main offices, and strode down the corridor to the last office at the end. Skwisgaar opened the door, and Ganesh whisked inside.
And grinned from ear to ear.
“Mr. Vigneshvara and Mr. Skwigelf to see Miss Felgenhoffer,” Ganesh confidently told the attractive young receptionist.
The attractive young male receptionist.
The receptionist looked down and frowned. “I don't see your names on the list,” he told Ganesh.
“Maybe you ams makes da mistake, handskomes,” purred Skwisgaar, who was already leaning seductively over the desk.
Ganesh allowed himself one moment to gawp, and then put his seduction mojo in gear. “Surely, there has been a misunderstanding,” he cooed, batting his long eyelashes.
“I, uh, I, uh, don't think so....” said the young man, looking between them.
“What ams your names, doll,” asked Skwisgaar.
“Uh. Marvin.”
“Oh. Marvin. You ams lovelies. Like da angelses.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Ganesh, “Miss Felgenhoffer has a teeny, tiny opening for us,” he suggested, holding up his thumb and forefinger.
“Well.....” stuttered Marvin.
“We ams not bites,” said Skwisgaar, who was now sitting on the receptionst's desk. He leaned in close. “Much.”
Ganesh had his lips within inches of Marvin's ear. “And we would be so, so … grateful,” he whispered.
“I.... I....” sputtered Marvin, a look of baffled bliss on his face.
But just then, the door of Mr. Felgenhoffer's office blew off its hinges, bathing the office in an unearthly white light.
And crushing poor besotted Marvin beneath it.
Ganesh and Skwisgaar had dropped to the floor, huddling behind Marvin's desk.
“Uh, dis ams not goods?” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh.
“Er, I think not,” Ganesh whispered back.
“But,” asked Skwisgaar, leaning in close, “who ams wons da bets?”
“So, you're back to see us,” said Nick, as if Charles had just wandered up to the studio and this interview had not in fact been the result of planning that dwarfed the D-Day invasion.
“Yeah. There's a bit of interest, which baffled me, as I don't find myself to be terribly interesting.”
“My listeners would disagree. There's been a lot of interest in your family lately.”
“Well, yeah,” agreed Charles. He braced himself, and let out his carefully worded statement. “My long time partner and I, we are now caretakers. Of a child.”
“A kid? At Mordhaus? Is that like growing up at Disneyland?” asked Nick, leaning back.
“Well, maybe a combo of the Haunted Mansion and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.” There were laughs from Nick's sfaff. “Oh, you have some guys old enough to remember that one?”
“So, you are officially confirming the rumors.”
“Yes. I felt – we felt – well, you know my life, we get a lot of press attention, what with Dethklok.” Charles tried not to fidget. “But, we have paparazzi following us. And I just wanted to let your listeners know: I don't care what you say about me. But, just, stay away from the kid. OK?”
“He needs his privacy?”
“Yeah! He didn't choose this life. I just want him to have a childhood. That's why no pictures.”
“I think everyone can understand that. So, and here's what people are curious about: is he another supernatural-American, like you?”
“Yes, he is supernatural. He's a handful. And I wanna add, he would probably be too much for human parents to deal with.”
“Some people say supernatural families are unnatural,” suggested Nick.
“Yeah, I've heard that. Look, this has been going on for as long as time. My partner comes from a big family – a huge family! We're just like you in that way.”
“Before we get to the phone lines, wanna volunteer anything about the new Dethklok album?”
“It'll be like nothing you've ever heard before. I guarantee it!”
Nick went to the phone calls. “Sheboygan, Wisconsin, HELLO!”
“Yeah, Sariel or whatever your name is: did you really kill a guy with a dead guy? Because, that was badass!”
Charles frowned. “Ah, OK. You're talking about the cartoon?” His eyes flicked over to Nick, whose eyes were twinkling. “Uh, no, that was just something we did for the cartoon.”
“Oh, really? Because it was totally awesome!”
“Uh, no. Roy is OK, actually.”
“Roy Cornickleson?” asked Nick.
“Yeah. He just didn't wanna be portrayed on the show any more, so we – or the writers rather – wanted a way to write him out.”
“A violent, bloody death!” said Nick.
“Well, you gotta admit it, uh, fits with the universe.”
“What does Roy think?”
“He had the biggest laugh of all. Great guy,” said Charles.
“Cucamonga, California, HELLO!”
“Hey, uh, Charles? Dude! So, are you auditioning new guitarists?”
“Why would we be-? Oh! You're also talking about the cartoon?”
“Because, he's dead and stuff, and you need another guitarist who can't play, and I can't play!”
“Yeah, Toki is actually fine, just fine....”
“And I'm lazy too! Just ask my mom!”
“Toki Wartooth is alive and well and busily rehearsing for our next tour.”
“Trouble telling truth from fiction?” asked Nick, who was at this point grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, seems to be a lot of that going around.”
“Truth of Consequences, New Mexico, HELLO!”
“So I'm calling because, the people who don't like Abigail? It's because they're RACIST!”
“Uh, OK,” said Charles.
“The Icelandic people are proud, and do not deserve discrimination!”
“Uh, caller-”
“Don't hold your white privilege over me!” she scolded.
“Uh, caller, Abigail is not Icelandic.”
There was a long pause. “Uh, what?”
“Abigail is Italian American.”
“Abigail Remeltindtdrinc is Italian?” asked Nick.
“Yeah, she changed her name. Professional reasons.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Nick, nodding. “And I assume she is alive as well?”
“Yes, of course. She's taking some personal time, she said her goal is to mellow out and lose ten pounds.”
“And the rumors about her and Nathan?”
“They are just good friends.”
“So, the late night screaming matches?”
“Just. Good. Friends,” repeated Charles.
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Hell, Michigan, hello!”
“So if Dethklok is supposed to prevent the Metalocalypse, why did they cause all the fucking tornadoes and hurricanes and shit like that?”
“We'll beep it,” mouthed Nick.
“Look, my band is not-” Charles paused for a moment. “You're talking about the fucking cartoon too?”
“Yeah, of course-”
“It's just a cartoon, people! It's supposed to be stupid. It has nothing to do with reality! My boys don't even do the voices!”
“Professional voice actors?” asked Nick
“I dunno. Some out of work musician does most of them I think.”
“Some people take this very seriously,” said Nick.
“Hey caller, guy from Hell, tell me: what do you do for a living?”
“Uh.... I'm currently.... Between positions.”
“Well how about you GET A JOB!” snapped Charles.
“He needs another occupation? In every sense?” asked Nick.
“If people are this obsessed, they need to get a life!” protested Charles. If he had been in winged Form, he would have emphasized it with a swift flap. Instead, he just looked annoyed. “Have you ever kissed a girl? Or a boy? I don’t care! Go … do something, and quit worrying about a damned cartoon!”
“Frostbite Falls, Minnesota, HELLO.”
“I wanted to know-”
“IT'S JUST A CARTOON!” bellowed Charles.
“Uh. I wanted to know, about your child...?” the voice added timidly.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles, and now Raziel ought to have been pleased as there was a distinct red tint to his face. “Uh, it's a boy. A son,” he acknowledged.
“Does he play with toys? I mean, like … human children?”
“Oh, yeah, my house is pretty filled,” said Charles, warming up a little. “And he's got a dog and a cat.”
“Pets!” laughed Nick.
“And an army of plush toys. He likes to sleep with 'em. In fact, sometimes we can't find him on the bed for all the toys and pets,” Charles confessed.
“Cute,” said Nick, who signaled for a commercial break. “We'll be back!”
Ganesh and Skwisgaar found themselves pinned to the wall.
...By a mermaid. She was one weird looking mermaid. For one thing, she was winged. She was now hovering above the floor, wings flapping, tail switching, after overpowering both Ganesh and Skwisgaar without even breaking a sweat.
“Ams reallies da moiderous mermaidses?” Skwisgaar managed to grunt through her claw-like hand around his throat. “I t'ought dat ams just da dumb songs.”
“I don't think … she is … a mermaid,” gasped Ganesh, blinking at her aura. It couldn't be.... You are an … angel?”
“Vephar,” she hissed. “I am Vephar!”
“Ah. Well,” said Ganesh, who was squirming around. “Maybe we could sit … and have a cup … you look so pleasant.”
“Ja,” muttered Skwisgaar. “You ams lovelies.”
“Don't try your seduction tricks with me. I haven't had my coffee yet!” she barked.
“Can't we-” started Ganesh.
“SILENCE!” She leaned in closer, her pointed teeth glinting. “Now, you will die!”
There was a crash as the door to the office slammed open: this time it was the front office door.
“You ams takes your handses off dems!” screamed Toki. Skwisgaar and Ganesh gawped. Toki was angeled out, but it was weird: his wings were now a crazy-quilt mixture of brown and blue.
“He gots anudder Forms?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Apparently,” rasped Ganesh.
“Fuck you,” grumbled Vephar.
“I toins you into fishsticks!” wailed Toki, and then he was upon her.
It was fairly impressive: the beating wings and the slapping tail. But it was actually over pretty quickly, Toki sitting on top of Vephar, choking her.
“Toki!” said Ganesh, who was now at the guitarist's side. “Stop!”
“She ams t'reatens my friends!”
“Toki!” said Ganesh. “We need to get Skwisgaar's abilities back from her.”
Toki glared at Ganesh but then left off throttling Vephar for a moment.
“All rightie. Miss Vephar,” said Ganesh, kneeling next to her. “You have taken my associate's livelihood under false pretenses. I must ask for it back.”
“We made a deal!” hissed Vephar.
“Mr. Wartooth,” said Ganesh, gesturing at Toki, “was not authorized to give up Skwisgaar's guitar playing gifts.”
“A deal's a deal!' insisted Vephar.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Please take my card,” he said, handing over a buisness card. “I am Shri Ganesha, attorney at law, and direct descendant of the goddess of vengeance, Kali.”
Vephar looked at the card and then looked uncertainly at Ganesh.
“If you do not remand Mr. Skwigelf's abilities forthwith, we will sue your ass. Or your, er, tail. As well as take out our ugly wrath upon you.”
Vephar flung the card away. “OK, OK, you can have your shit back.” She waved her hand at Skwisgaar. There was a suddenly spark, like electricity had just arced between them.
Skwisgaar seemed to puff up. He looked at his hands. “I ams betters!” he announced.
“You breached our deal too,” grumbled Vephar. “We wrote a contract with a Fallen angel! Now he's gone and run back to the reservation!”
“Sariel?” asked Ganesh.
“Lying bastard,” pouted Vephar. Ganesh signaled for Toki to get up. He did so only reluctantly.
“It is true,” said Ganesh, “Sariel is no longer among the Fallen. But he has hardly, as you put it, run back to the reservation. In fact, my associate, Mr. Skwigelf, and his father, Lord Wotan, obtained this boon from the Creator quite against his will.” He offered Vephar a hand, but she ignored it, instead fluttering up to a semi-standing position.
“You blackmailed the Creator?” she asked Skwisgaar.
“Hims ams no big deals,” said the Swede, now confidently staring at his fingernails.
For once, Ganesh was glad for Skwisgaar's arrogance, as this appeared to sway Vephar. “So,” he suggested, “can we also expect the unfortunate … accidents in the Duncan Hills shops to cease now?”
“I don't know,” said Vephar. “Can we?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, stealing a glance at Skwisgaar. “That wasn't you?”
“Why would I attack my own coffee shops?” asked Vephar.
“Ganoshes,” said Skwisgaar. “I t'ink she ams tellings da truths. Da magicks in here: it ams not like in da coffee shops you ams tooks us too.”
'You weren't behind the attacks?” asked Ganesh.
“Of course not!” said Vephar.
“But you had a witch working for you?”
Vephar hissed. “Whoever that bitch is, she isn’t working for me. We were trying to work up enough power to defeat them. Whoever they are,” grumbled Vephar, now fluttering over to peer underneath the door to her office. “Dammit. Now I need to go get a new receptionist. And he was cute!”
Elias dove into the mountain of plush toys. He popped his head back out. “Da pwushies, Daddy!” he called to Charles.
“Are they still arriving?” Charles asked a nearby Klokateer, who was toting a clipboard.
“They have been coming ever since your interview, sire. All directed to Master Boon.”
Charles smiled. His son was officially Master Elias, but everybody used the nickname. “And they've been checked out for booby traps? Poison? Curses?”
“All checked, sire.”
Charles heaved a sigh.
“You know what we could do?” asked Nathan, who had been hanging by Charles’ side.
“What's that, Nathan?”
“Pour on lighter fluid, and then BURN THEM in a HELL PYRE!” said the lead singer.
Charles rolled his eyes. “Children's wing, St. Necrophagist,” he told the Klokateer.
“Very good, sire.”
“What?” said Nathan. “Well, OK.”
“BOON!” shouted Charles.
“Uh-HUH!” yelled Boon, who was still cavorting.
“You can pick out one. Or two. That you really really like.”
“Dank oo Daddy!” yelled Boon, who looked to be on Cloud Nine. “An…. An…. For Yab an Yeem?”
“Yeah, pick out a couple for your cousins,” said Charles.
“And sire, the Female Online Division?” asked the Klokateer.
“Oh, yeah, definitely let them have a few if they'd like,” Charles told the Klokateer. “And ask Toki. But he can only have one,” said Charles.
“Yes, sire.”
Charles turned back to Nathan, who had somehow grabbed a little plush alligator. The lead singer was standing now, a pleading look in his eye.
“Yes, Nathan,” sighed Charles. “That's fine.”
Charles swayed in Ganesh's arms, wishing tonight he could just stay here like this, pressed against the god's chest.
Ganesh, of course, chose that exact moment to spin him out. Charles looked up at him.
“You seem thoughtful tonight,” said Ganesh.
Charles pointed up to Skwisgaar's balcony, where the guitarist was playing soft dance music for them. “How did you get him to do that?”
Ganesh grinned. “He lost a bet. We both did, actually. Although not as badly as that poor receptionist.”
“So what was your end?”
“I need to suffer guitar lessons for a month,” said Ganesh, sweeping Charles around.
“Skwisgaar is teaching you guitar? How's that going?”
Ganesh scowled. “I am still washing pig's blood from my hair!”
“Skwisgaar does have unique teaching methods,” said Charles. “So you guys both think Vephar is innocent?”
“Well, she's not innocent by any accounting. She definitely stole Skwisgaar's abilities for a time, although I do not believe she ever affected Toki, except in his imagination. But I do not think she is guilty of the coffee bar attacks.”
“Great. One more thing to worry about.”
“That,” said Ganesh, “is why we dance!”
“To forget?”
“No. To remember,” smiled Ganesh, reaching down for a kiss. “The good things…” he muttered. They stayed in the clench quite some time.
“HEY YOU TWO!” came a familiar growl. “Quit getting MUSHY!”
“Oh, go play with your plush toy, Nathan!” yelled Charles.
“You ams gots da plushies toys?” came Skwisgaar’s voice as the music stopped.
“MAYBE.”
“You ams Tokis?” Skwisgaar laughed.
“Its an ALLIGATOR! It's a BADASS plush toy!” Nathan protested.
But Charles missed the rest of the argument as Ganesh was now pulling him into their suite.
“This was supposed to be a soy latte. A SOY LATTE. Are you retarded?”
The clerk in the green apron smiled. “You know, you shouldn't use that word. It's unkind.”
“Fuck you you little halfwit!”
“Sooooo,” she said. “What do we think of rude customers. Anybody. Anybody. You!” she said, picking out a woman who had been hunched over her Blackberry.
“We kill them,” volunteered the woman.
“What?” said the irate customer.
“And how do we kill them?” asked the clerk. “You!”
The bicycle messenger had raised his hand. “We kill them with fire!” he said, his eyes bright.
“What are you talking about? Is this a joke?” grumbled the irate customer, pulling out his cell phone. “I'll call your head office.”
But then he was being held: first by two hands and then four and then six and then more, as the customers crowded around him. A woman in a business suit grabbed a quart of cooking oil and dumped it over his head.
“Wait! Hold on!”
And then a man holding the Wall Street Journal rolled it up and held one end to the burner of a stove. It lit up. Holding it like a torch, he leapt the counter and approached the now squirming customer.
“No! No! WAIT!”
The screaming was horrible.
And it continued a long, long time.
The thing that fell to the floor was just ashes and bones.
And then, as one, the customers all quietly filed back into line, eager to order their caramel lattes and soy mochas.
