I Reenact a Pixar Movie to the Amusement of All Assembled

[tikific]

Title: I Reenact a Pixar Movie to the Amusement of All Assembled
Fandom: Metalocalypse
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Charles/OMC; the Mythklok ensemble.
Warnings: Cursing. All my Mythklok OCs.
Word Count: Around 2500-ish
Summary: Checking in with the gang when I should be writing my H&G entry.
Notes: This is an AU in which Charles is really the angel, Sariel. And then it gets weird.





“I'M GONNA WRECK IT!”

Nathan Explosion's peerless death metal voice echoed down the corridors of Mordhaus. Meanwhile, three giggling children scampered after him. He managed to scoop up two of them: a dark-haired little boy and his blue-eyed cousin. The third, a little redhead, held on to his mother's hand while he stuffed candy into his chubby face.

“You a hobo?” asked the girl, who had somehow squirmed up to ride on his shoulders.

“He's Unca Nat'an,” corrected the boy, who was evidently quite content at being carried along like a sack of potatoes. A squirming sack of potatoes.

“NOOOO!” bellowed Nathan. “I'm Wreck-It Ralph! And this is Vanellope WhateverhernamewasIdidn'tquitehear.”

“Nellope Von Schweetz!” the girl corrected. She somehow squirmed back down to floor level and then accosted her mother. “Mummy, do my hair!”

“Yes, my leige,” laughed Raziel, pulling a bit of red ribbon out of a pocket. “Uh, no, thank you Liam, we don't use a real licorice whip,” she said when her son proffered a partially chewed candy. She expertly twisted Abby's unruly black hair into a topknot. “There ya go, Vanellope.”

“Strange that your daughter would want to be a fictional character, Raziel,” said Charles, who had just walked up.

“Don't know who she gets that from,” laughed Raziel.

“WUNKY SAR!” shrieked Abby and Liam, who went to glom on to their uncle's pantlegs. “Uh. Yeah. Isn't that nice,” said Charles, delicately extricating himself from what seemed to be about eighteen sticky little hands.

“Are you sure you didn't have quadruplets?” he asked.

“Daddy daddy!” wailed Elias.

“Did you, uh, enjoy the movie, Boon?” asked Charles.

“Was the wreck it!” Elias enthused.

“An' da race!” added Abby. And then any further comments were indecipherable, as the cousins began to babble over each other.

“So, you liked it?” prompted Charles when the gripping narrative had petered out somewhat.

“UH-HUH!” they chorused, with much dark hair bobbing up and down. Elias really could have done with a haircut, although his father, Ganesh, was always loathe to get it done.

“And what did you think, Liam?” Charles inquired of his redheaded nephew, who nodded and muttered something around a giant wad of licorice.

“Liam liked the candy,” said Raziel, rubbing his head.

“What about ME, Charles? You didn't ask ME!” prompted Nathan Explosion, who was bobbing up and down on his toes.

“Yes, Nathan, so, what did you think of, uh, Wreck-It Ralph?” asked Charles, who was tugging at his tie.

“I'M GONNA WRECK IT!” Nathan bellowed, smashing a ham fist into a suit of armor, which promptly fell over with a rather amusing cacophony of clatters and clangs.

“Yeah, that's gonna work out great, I can tell,” sighed Charles.

“Where's my husband?” asked Raziel.

“With mine, raiding the liquor cabinet. Come on.”

The hurried down the corridor, Charles setting a quick pace in hopes that it would prevent Wreck-It Nathan from inflicting any more damage on Mordhaus's collection of antiquities. He threw open his office door to find Wotan and Ganesh sprawled on the couches.

“Ah, there you are,” said Ganesh, raising a glass.

“You guys kill my good booze yet?” asked Charles, suspiciously checking his liquor cabinet.

In the crook of Wotan's arm was a tiny infant, with a thatch of tousled black hair set above a large pair of Wotan's unmistakable sky blue eyes. “There is something amiss with the babe!' said Wotan, who stood and gestured.

Raziel squinted at her infant. “He's not fussing.”

“But he's evincing concern!” said Ganesh. “I can tell!”

Raziel looked up between the two tall men, tapping one designer-shod food with impatience. “So, All-Father, you got any ideas?” she asked her husband.

“'Tis a mystery,” said Wotan, rocking the baby.

“I think it might be existential despair!” opined Ganesh.

“WHAT?” asked Charles, looking up from an assortment of half-empty liquor bottles.

“It could be,” said Ganesh.

“DA-DEEEE!” said little Abby, pulling on her father's pant leg.

“What is it, Princess?” asked Wotan, who noticed his young son had parked the last of the licorice in his mouth so he could hold out his arms. “You wanna hold your little brother?” he asked, handing off the infant to Liam. Liam held the baby carefully over one shoulder, and Abby wound up and gave him a sound smack on the back.

The baby produced a burp that sounded somewhere halfway between a foghorn and an air raid siren.

“WHOA!” said Nathan. “That one's definitely an angel.”

“He takes after Raz's side of the family!” said Wotan proudly.

“You wanna see, Nathan?” asked Raziel, plucking the child from Liam. “You wanna see Uncle Nathan, Jack?”

“He's JACK?” asked Nathan, taking up the little baby. The child regarded him curiously, flapping his tiny dark wings. “He's got WINGS!”

“This one came with wings,” grumbled Raziel. Wotan gripped her shoulder and grinned. “It's like having quadruplets. All at once.”

“So is he like a jack-in-the-box, or a jack-and-the-beanstalk?” asked Nathan, bouncing Jack.

“Maybe he's a Jack Daniels,” laughed Charles, sitting behind his desk and pouring himself some good stuff.

“A jackanape?” Ganesh proposed.

“You might wanna hold off on the booze,” said Raziel, hopping up on Charles's desk and holding a hand over his whiskey glass while Nathan attempted to teach her son how to fly.

“Can't recall any son of my house having dark hair,” Wotan was saying, watching his son go up and down. “Not in generations!”

“Wotan,” said Raziel.

“There was that second cousin, twice removed.”

“Wotan,” said Raziel.

“But he was more a redhead than dark-haired. A rascal!”

“Wotan!” said Raziel. “Your daughter has black hair.”

“Wasn't there an uncle?” Ganesh began. “One of Vili's boys....”

“Wotan!” Raziel pointed to Abby, who was staring up curiously at her father. “You have a dark-haired daughter. Right here!”

Wotan put a funger to his chin, considering. “And wasn't there that in-law. Of course, that's not a blood relation....”

“Your son is your blood relation!” said Raziel. “Tell him, Charles!'

“I dunno, we had gypsies bring us our kid,” said Charles, who was trying to pour whiskey around Raziel's elaborately manicured little hands.

Raziel grabbed Charles's hooch and then hopped off the table to retrieve her youngest child from death metal hands. “You got important stuff to do, Sariel. First you have to put Jack to sleep,” she explained, dumping the baby into her brother's lap.

“I am not a baby depository!” Charles protested.

“He likes you. For reasons that are completely unclear. And then once he's out, we're gonna go play with our Yule gift!”

“Yay!” said the kids, and also Nathan Explosion. Ganesh tinkled the ice in his drink.

“How are we even gonna know if the kids is-” Charles began.

“ZZZZZZZZZZZ!” snored baby Jack, sounding not unlike an atomic jackhammer.

“Yeah, kid's definitely an angel,” said Nathan.

“Hey, wuz dere an explosion in here?” demanded Pickles, who, along with Toki, had suddenly appeared in Charles's doorway, much like elves sneaking in the night, only somewhat taller, and much more drunk.

“It's the kid,” said Raziel, nodding at Charles.

“You gaht anudder kid, Charles?” asked Pickles.

“No, hims ams Raziel's kid,” Toki corrected.

“How did you git anudder kid, Lady Raz?” asked Pickles.

“The usual way,” Raziel told him.

“Da gypsies?”

“OK,” said Raziel, taking the still napping Jack from Charles and handing him off to Wotan. “We're gonna get downstairs to the dungeon and go racing!”

There were high-pitched squeals from the kids, as well as from certain members of a death metal band, and then the group migrated down to the murky depths of Mordhaus's cavernous lower reaches.

And of course, there were scientists. Wearing festive tinsel-draped dildos on their heads.

“Greetings....”

“And salutations....”

“Merry Christmas...”

“Not to dictate your holiday celebration choices....”

“Yes, indeed, good Yule....”

“Happy festivus....”

“Sizzling solstice....”

“Merry Kwanzaa....”

“Cheery Chanukah...”

“Exciting Eid...”

“Diverting Diwali....”

“OK OK OK,” said Charles, who rather wanted to get this whole being merry business over so he could go back to smoking cigars and being good and cranky, as God had intended.

A scientist pointed to his unusual headgear. “Would you like to hear more about our-”

“NO!” barked Raziel. “Children present,” she added, indicating the passel of brats arrayed around.

“Oh, we could make them in smaller sizes?”

“No.”

“And you're the one who always accuses me of being no fun, Raziel,” laughed Charles, to a very, very dark look from Raziel. “OK. All right. We need to, ah, see the Christmas present you guys have evidently been developing?”

“Yes!” said a scientist as the other scientist started to madly wave his lab-coated arms, causing his sparkling dildo headgear to bounce in a comical manner.

“You know something,” said Nathan. “Dicks are funny.”

“I t'ink dat is da eternal rool,” agreed Pickles.

The scientists had now opened a very ordinary-looking doorway: well, ordinary enough if you lived the the Dragonboat-shaped Castle of Mordhaus. The portal opened onto a spectacular underground race course, complete with a start/finish line and stands full of colorful candy spectators. Everyone was pretty damned impressed, except baby Jack, who was still blissed out asleep in his father's arms. Raziel grabbed her son by the collar as Liam immediately bolted for the gingerbread men hovering in the stands.

“How much of our money – our money! - did we use digging this out?” barked Charles, who was not put into a good mood by massive bleeding of revenue.

“How much did you spend on development of the space helicopter?” queried Ganesh.

“But the DETHCOPTER is AWESOME!” said Nathan.

“You spent … nothing!” announced a scientist.

“It was all dug by moles,” said the other scientist.

“WHAT?” asked Charles. “This was all dug by moles?”

“Yeh, dood,” Pickles assured him. “Might be dey liked da vitamins I been givin' 'em.”

“You fed, uh, vitamins to the moles?”

“Dey ams my friends!” wailed Toki.

“Dey're Toki's friends,” Pickles echoed. He leaned over towards Charles and whispered, “Nawt right in da head.”

“CHARRRRRRLES!” whined Nathan. It was a gravelly whine, but still a whine. The lead singer pointed to a couple of race cars whizzing by, manned by some of the smaller participants, and the cars resembled not so much racing vehicles as selections of pastry, including a slice of chocolate cake (driven by Abby) and a glazed donut, driven by her brother. “Charles, something about this game seems blatantly lame and not metal. I think it's the creepy candy cars.”

Just then, Charles observed his own son glide by, as Elias was behind the wheel of, apparently, a slice of apple pie. “I think they're actually very fun and creative, Nathan. But you know, they were also designed for the, uh, little kids to race in.”

“That's not true, Sariel!” Raziel told him. “We had them make some cars for us to.”

“What do you mean, us?” grumbled Charles, who was not in the mood for being contradicted. Just then, another car rolled out. It's theme was, apparently, Dia de los Muertos sugar skulls.

“It's got SKULLS, Charles!” clapped Nathan.

“Has this fixed your, uh, reservations, Nathan?” asked Charles, but Nathan was already climbing into the car and taking off after Pickles and Toki, Pickles honking his jelly bean horn, and Toki screaming and covering his eyes and wailing that he “ams goings too fast!”

“Well, that should keep them busy for the next hour or so. Good work, Raziel,” sighed Charles as band members and kids roared off into the distant tunnels.

“Oh, no!” said Raziel. “You're racing too!”

Charles fixed a glare at her as two more adult-sized cars roared. “Am not.”

“Have it your way, slowpoke,” said Raziel, leaping into one of the cars. “You could never beat me anyway.”

“WHAT?” sputtered Charles. “You think you're Mario Andretti just because your husband keeps buying you fancy cars?”

“See you around, Mr. NASCAR!” yelled Raziel, as she too sped off.

“NASCAR! I'll have you know, I'm, ah, Mr. Grand Prix!” But Raziel was gone. Charles looked over to where Odin and Ganesh were standing at the sidelines grinning down at him.

“Racing helmet?” inquired Ganesh, holding one out to Charles.

Charles snatched the helmet. “I'll be back. You'll know who I am, because I'll be the first one across the line!” And then he jumped into his car and sped off.

“I think I shall know him because he is driving the car designed to resemble a fruitcake,” said Ganesh. “Do you believe Lady Raziel did that on purpose?”

“I'm sure of it,” said Wotan, nuzzling his still snoring youngest child. “But one thing about fruitcakes, they always come back to you!”

“That's true. Drink?” Ganesh asked, waving a bottle. “It's from Sariel's liquor cabinet.

“Don't mind if I do. Happy Yule to you, Ganesh!”

“And to you, Wotan,” agreed the elephant god.