tikific | You Are Cordially Invited (Mythklok, Chapter 20) (Part 1 of 2)

Title: You Are Cordially Invited (Mythklok, Chapter 20)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The wedding.
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump

This is a Metalocalypse AU. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal, tikific, where you are welcome to come poke it with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.

A quick recap of recent events: Wotan and Raziel are engaged to be married. If Satan can be believed, the Legion – the angel army – doesn’t want this to happen for some reason. Maybe they hate catered events? Anyways, last time, Satan tried to invade Asgard, but was stopped pretty easily by Wotan’s soldiers. Wotan appears to know more than he’s let on about this. And speaking of grumpy angels, Charles seems not terribly happy about the wedding, but he probably knows Raziel will kick his skinny ass if he tries anything (can you say, “Bridezilla?”). He also didn’t take it very well when Ganesh revealed his parents don’t too much approve of Charles dating their son, even though Shiva is a big death metal fan, making him a total douche. Oh, and speaking of grumps, Pickles has been taking his bitch pills, evidently – he seems to be a bit jealous of Charles or Ganesh or both. On the other hand, Pickles is now Dreamtime buddies with Aaron, a dead Hopi shaman, which, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you may wanna read the last couple episodes. Oh good lord, is this up to 20 chapters already? I need a life.

Lady Raziel’s wedding gown

You Are Cordially Invited
Part 1 of 2

He met her at a party at his residence. There was mischief in her eyes. That night he took her to his bed. The next morning he asked her, "Will you stay a while with me?"

"I don't have much on the agenda. Why don't I stay out the week?" she asked.

So she spent the week cheating him at cards.

At the end of the week, she was winning another hand, and he asked her, "Lady, why don't you stay a while longer?"

"Maybe I'll stay 'till the end of the month," she said. "I'm really not expected anywhere."

So she spent the month riding on his hunts. In the evenings they would sit together before the fireplace and read stories from his extensive library.

And at the end of the month, as they sat on his favorite mount, Slepinir, surveying his vast holdings, he asked her, "Lady, pray tell me you'll remain here a while longer?"

"’Till the end of the season, how about that? There are a lot of things I would like to do in your world."

And then at the end of the season, she was in Milan, watching pouting teenagers wearing splendid and ridiculous garments slouch up and down on raised platforms, when she received a cell phone call, "Lady, I am home from my hunt, and my bed is empty without you. Will you hurry home?" And so she gathered up many shopping bags and hurried to Valhalla.

And one season ended, and another began.

And one day, as they were sitting in his cluttered office, he took her small hands in his larger ones and asked, "Lady, will you stay here with me forever?"

And she said, "Well, it's about goddamn time you asked!"

Nathan Explosion was the last to arrive for the Dethklok band meeting.

He did not make a quiet entrance.

"WAS THAT THE WORLD'S BEST BACHELOR PARTY OR WHAT?" he bellowed, the reverberations from his tonsils causing the extension of several cracks in Mordhaus's mighty foundations.

"Doooood?" Pickles managed to moan miserably.

"You Scandanavian dudes know how to PARTY!" the singer continued, giving a greenish-tinged Skwisgaar a hearty smack on the back. The Swede looked like he was on the verge of spewing any of the last 24 hour's stomach contents all over the table.

"Dooooood," Pickles moaned again. "Don't make him barf! We'll all go!"

"Whatsa matter? You guys HUNG OVER?"

"Yesch. Now pleasche leave our preschence?" Murderface pleaded.

"Has my whole band turned into LIGHTWEIGHTS?" Nathan thundered. Oddly, he received absolutely no protests from those assembled.

"Uh, guys," Ofdensen whispered, eyes squeezed closed, "maybe we could hurry this up and all get out of here quickly? Raziel wants me up early for.... I don't fucking know, actually."

"Are you not riding in the Pink Caddy?" Murderface asked quietly. He sounded disappointed. Just a little disappointed.

"No, William. Thank you for the offer, but I'm expected up there," Ofdensen consulted his Vacheron Constantine, "uh, ten minutes ago."

"I s'pose da Gannish dood wiil be up dere too, huh?" Pickles grumbled.

"I honestly don't know that, Pickles, not that it would be relevant," Ofdensen stated. There was warning in his tone.

"Relevant? I thought he wasch a relevant god," said Murderface.

Pickles showed his best hung-over glower at the bassist, but Ofdensen struggled not to smile. For the first and probably last time in his life he wanted to kiss William Murderface.

"Toki? Dude? YOU IN THERE?" Nathan was asking the guitarist, with accompanying relatively feeble snaps of his fingers. Toki stared, completely oblivious.

"He ams catsgetonics," Skwisgaar explained.

"I believe he loscht mental capaschity following the Mai Taisch on Maui." Murderface supplied.

Nathan had actually taken it upon himself to walk around the table and wave his hand in front of the silent guitarist’s face. “WHOA!” he said appreciatively.

“Perhapsch he requiresch a cold schower prior to our trip?” Murderface inquired, although there was just a hint of malice to his smile. The conscious members of Dethklok suddenly exchanged eager glances. Before Ofdensen could blink, four guys were escorting their silent band mate out of the room.

Well, thought Ofdensen, a little cold water never killed anybody, right? Right?

He checked his watch again, and walked out of the conference room, and up to Asgard.

Sometime later, he located Raziel out in what looked like a foundry. "Thanks, Vulcan, you're a doll!" she said, giving the huge, crippled man at the grinding stone a hug. She started to rush out.

"Is that a new sword?" he asked, pointing to the blade in her hand.

"Oh. My. God. Sariel. I was just coming to get you. YOU'VE FUCKING GOT TO SEE THIS." He cringed at her grip on his elbow, but let himself be marched out some distance, into a clearing. "Don't wanna set anything on fire on my wedding day!" she laughed. "Well, not by accident. Anyway, you remember our flaming sword dilemma? Right?" She was so excited, she was nearly bouncing up and down on her toes.

"Yeah. Angel magic plus earth magic equals melted fucking sword."

"Melted fucking sword! And I've been to every swordsmith on earth. And THEN I remembered Wotan's fourth cousin on his mother's side by marriage-"

"Vulcan?"

"Vulcan, yes! Is a volcano god and a metalsmith!"

"Good combination."

"So-"

"So, let me guess: you had him design a Shinkansen car that would withstand a volcano eruption?"

"I- well, no, but that's not a bad idea." The little angel stood a while in thought.

"Raziel, are you gonna fucking show me the sword?"

"Oh. Yeah!" Raziel held up the blade. Ofdensen liked the design, though it was quite simple, it managed to look elegant rather than workmanlike. She appeared to be concentrating.

The blade at length erupted in a dense red flame, and, as Raziel slowly increased the intensity, the color changed to an angry orange and then a bright violent yellow.

And then it was white hot.

Raziel had said something, but he was too enthralled to pay attention. He jerked his head towards her. "Paper," she repeated, keeping her eyes on the sword, but gesturing with her free hand.

Ofdensen pulled out his wallet, and extracted a mint fresh 50 dollar bill. He flung it in the air. Raziel's blade hissed as she twirled to strike. He snatched at the air, and beheld: one slice featured Benjamin Franklin, the other, the US Capitol building.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit," said Ofdensen.

"Cool, huh?" said Raziel, holding the blade out at arm’s length as she let the heat recede.

Ofdensen held the two sides of the bill. "This is.... This is good. This is so good. This is getting boned in Ganesh's shower good. That's how good this is."

Raziel started to say something, but appeared stunned to silence.

"What?" Ofdensen said to her arched eyebrow. "Oh, it's nothing compared to the shit you say to me. With frightening regularity I might add!"

"No. It's just. It's you."

He glared to cover his blush. "Anyway. Now you KNOW what I want for my birthday," he said.

"You don't have a birthday," she grinned, grabbing his elbow to hustle him back towards Valhalla.

"Fuck you! And after we got you guys Zombie Slayer 3!"

"Have I told you what an amazing gift that was?" she asked. "Wotan was up all night! He's dying to challenge Shiva for Lord of the Zombies."

"Have you played him?"

"Well, yes, but you know how I just can't get the hang of those human firearm thingies."

"You let him win, in other words."

"Yeah. Most of the time." She smiled sweetly.

"So, this is why I gotta be here five hours early? To see a fucking sword?"

"It's a cool sword!"

"Yes," he admitted, "It is a pretty cool sword."

"But, no actually, it was Wotan who asked for you guys to come up."

"Uh, you guys?" He looked over towards the ancient castle of Valhalla. The front entryway now resembled an accumulation of extras hoping to appear in a Francis Ford Coppola movie. "What's the line of people doing over there?" The somewhat motley assemblage didn't look like caterers. "You sure you got all the demons mopped up?"

"You never get rid of all the demons. Those people," Raziel explained, "it's his wedding day, so they're asking him for favors."

"Doesn't he have enough to do?"

"I guess it's sort of a tradition. I've told him if it makes him one minute late, I'm going in, and packing Vulcan's new sword.” She swished the blade. “I'm gonna be a beautiful fucking bride if I have to dismember half of the fucking pantheon!"

"That's the spirit. So, still sure you're gonna go through with it?" His tone was a bit too deliberately off-handed.

"Sariel! In all the fucking eons I've known you! Just behave yourself for ONE FUCKING DAY! That is all at I ask!"

He held up his hands, aware that Raziel carried a sword that could split dollar bills lengthwise. "I am just asking! Just asking!"

Raziel suddenly seemed distracted. "Oh, god, is that who I think it is?"

Ofdensen followed her gaze. The woman she was staring at had a familiar look. "Sigyn?"

"I should probably get in there. You be ready on time!" she called back to him as she took off on a very un-queenly run. "Or else I have the blade of death!"

"You owe me fifty bucks!" he shouted.

"Aw, go get boned in the shower!" she yelled.

"WHAT?" It was Ganesh's voice directly in back of him.

"Uh...."

"Are you behaving yourself?" Ganesh asked.

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?" He frowned after Raziel’s retreating back. "I still think this is a shotgun wedding."

Ganesh laughed. "Sariel, if Lady Raziel were really pregnant, it should be fairly obvious from her aura."

The angel waved his hand. "Her aura? You know I don't believe in that new age crystal crap."

"I don't believe angels can't see them."

"Yeah. We can't see UFOs either. It's a matter of nonexistence."

"You realize, of course, that many people do not believe in angels!" Ganesh reasoned.

"I'm not sure I believe in 'em myself. Hey, she's coming back already."

It was Raziel. "He wants to see you. Both of you."

"Hrm. What did you do now?" Ganesh asked Sariel.

"Does he need a partner for Zombie Slayer?" Ofdensen asked. Raziel looked serious, so Ofdensen shrugged and accompanied Ganesh.

Wotan was sitting behind the desk in his cluttered office. A woman sat in one of the guest chairs. She was silent, but her eyes were obviously red from crying. She was a goddess, blonde and blue-eyed, and looked as if, at one time at least, she had been a great beauty. But now she seemed care worn. She did not rise, nor move, but followed the new arrivals nervously with her wide, red-rimmed blue eyes.

Raziel hopped up to sit on Wotan's desk.

"Sariel. Ganesh. I am terribly sorry for the imposition,” Wotan began. “I know this is passing strange." He indicated the woman. "This is Sigyn, wife of Loki. Loki, many a year ago, caused my son, Baldr, to be killed.” Sigyn glanced down at the mention of Baldr’s name. “She is here pleading for mercy for her husband on this, my wedding day. Sigyn, these two men are friends of mine. And, they are both lawyers of some renown." Ofdensen scowled, but didn't interrupt. "Here is my proposal: I will have them argue the case today, each to a side. At its conclusion, we will render a verdict, and decide his just fate. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Who will render the verdict? You, sire?" Sigyn asked, blinking, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No." Wotan leaned back. "My sons will decide. My living sons," he added.

Sigyn looked shaken, but nodded. She scurried out of the room.

Wotan looked after her for a time, and then turned his attention to Ofdensen and Ganesh. "I apologize deeply for this. I knew this matter would come up today. I'd been thinking on this for some time now, and was the only way I could think to put it to rest. As ye know, many years ago, the fiend caused the death of my son."

"It was more of an accessory to murder," Ganesh mused.

"Or you could argue conspiracy," Ofdensen noted.

"This ain't a law school exercise, as ye know," the king said. "There's a real man as died, and another imprisoned. I'll pay you for your time, of course, or you can consider this as a favor to Asgard. And mind, I don't forget favors."

"I couldn't take your money, Wotan," Ofdensen heard himself saying. Damn right I could, but I won't, he thought. "You want me to prosecute Loki?" he asked.

"No. Young Ganesh will do that. I want ye to defend him."

Ofdensen made to protest, but Raziel had somehow made her way off Wotan's desk and over to his side, where she was currently digging about five well manicured nails painfully into the flesh or his arm.

"I haven't much experience with that side of things. I am a defense attorney," Ganesh admitted.

"I know that son" Wotan told him. "I didn't want to mess with your 100% record of exonerations.” The king smiled bitterly.

"What is this, the FUCKING PROM?" Nathan Explosion whispered in his lowest register - which admittedly, could probably still be heard in the next county.

Dethhklok were arrayed in wedding finery, in anticipation of a happy ceremony and, hopefully, much drinking and many cute Valkyrie chicks. They sat - or at least, 80% of them sat - in quiet anticipation inside William Murderface's beloved Pink Cadillac convertible, recently rescued from Hell. Toki Wartooth - guitarist, knitter, and ladies man – was posing for yet another photograph taken by Nut and Geb, the cheerful parents of the twin goddesses, Isis and Nephthys, whom he was escorting to the wedding of King Wotan and Lady Raziel.

The girls may or may not have been identical twins: it was difficult to tell. Although both were clad in outfits that looked like fashionable wear of a different century - including stiff petticoats, laced bustles, elaborate puffed sleeves and ruffled hats - Isis was dressed all in pretty pastels, and in addition sported mint green hair, and was cradling a cheery pastel teddy bear, whereas Nephthys was head to toe clad in black. Isis giggled and threw a playful arm around Toki for the photos, while the ghostly pale Nephthys simply stood gloomily under her black lacy parasol seemingly trying to edge away from the sunlight.

Skwisgaar played a moody run on his Gibson, thinking he would be glad when the day was over. He was attending under threat of bodily harm from Raziel, who he had decided he currently feared worse than Shiva and Parvati combined. Stay away from vengeful goddesses, he decided, though the lesson seemed lost on his young band mate.

“You will be careful driving our girls?” Geb was asking Murderface. Geb was dressed like a farmer, in bib overalls and a straw hat. His wife, Nut, by contrast, was wearing a sharp airline pilot’s uniform.

“Yesch Schir!” Murderface vowed. “I have juscht reschcued this vehicle from Hell’s clutsches! It will not reschieve a schratch!”

Nut and Geb exchanged a confused glance, but seemed satisfied. Murderface started the engine as Toki and the girls clambered in the back seat. “Bye now girls! We’ll see you later!” Nut called, as both the parents waved a cheery goodbye, and Geb snapped a couple more photographs and wiped a tear from his eye.

In Valhalla, two angels stood outside Valhalla, squabbling.

"Raziel! You drag me up here to defend the guy who murdered your husband-to-be's beloved son? And then you make me argue against my boyfriend?"

"Look, Sariel, this is my fault."

"Fucking right it's your fault!"

"I told Wotan, for his wedding gift to me, I would like him to make peace with this."

"He has made peace! Loki is confined to where he can rot!"

"Exactly. Which means Wotan has to think about this every day. And he has to deal with Sigyn. She never leaves Loki’s side."

"Well, that's her fucking choice, isn't it?"

"Just take the case?" Raziel pleaded.

"Sure. I'm gonna go in and say Loki is fucking right where he oughta be. I mean, what’s wrong with you, anyway? He tried to trap you and me on the Hunt, or don’t you remember? Where’s the vengeance?"

"Look. Just. This isn't about Loki. Or Sigyn. Or you and me. It's about Wotan."

"Raziel. That look you are giving does not work on me."

"It's my wedding day too,” she moped.

"You sure you're not knocked up?"

"No, I am not knocked up!" Raziel sighed. Then looked sly. "What if a got you a sword."

His eyes widened. "A money cutter?"

"A money cutter. And it will be Vulcan’s second one, so it will be even better."

Ofdensen appeared to be considering. "Would he put a dollar sign on the hilt?"

"You want a bling bling sword?" Raziel sounded horrified.

"Not bling bling! A tasteful one!"

"There is nothing tasteful about a dollar sign!" He scowled. She scowled back. "All right."

"All right then," he smiled.

It was not the first time William Murderface had found himself flat on his back at Asgard.

"Bad kitty!" came Raziel's annoying but somehow reassuring voice, as she coaxed the 500-lb Siberian Tiger off the Dethklok's bassist's chest.

"He wasch going to usche me asch a chew toy!" the Murderface sputtered as Ofdensen gave him a hand up.

"Oh, this is Bagheera!” Raziel babbled. “He was a wedding present from Lord Shiva and Lady Parvati! Isn't he magnificent? Are you a good kitty? Yes you are! Yes you are!"

"Lady Raschiel, he isch obviouschly a trained killer!" protested Murderface.

"Aw no, he's a sweetie! See?" Before he would wrest away, Raziel had seized the bassist's precious guitar pick-holding hand and set it scratching behind the beast's massive furry white ears. "He likes you!" Raziel announced as Bagheera let out a tremendous sound that may have been the tiger equivalent of a purr. The white tiger rubbed affectionately against the bassist, which would have sent him sprawling to the ground once again had Ofdensen not quickly offered a steadying hand.

"Charlesch," Murderface said, his voice shaky, "I need to schee you on a matter of schome urgenschy regarding Dick Knubbler."

"What's the matter now?" Ofdensen asked, watching with no little amusement as Raziel sent Bagheera off to "play" with Geri and Freki, their equally monstrous wolves.

"I am not exaschtly schure," Murderface told him.

"How's that?"

"He's talking angel schtyle again."

Ofdensen frowned. "You mean, he's in the Form with the wings?" he asked, waving at his own back. Murderface nodded solemnly. Ofdensen suddenly smiled maliciously. "Hey, Raziel?" The little angel came back over and looked at the two men inquisitively.

"Here's what we'll do," Ofdensen said. "I'm busy right now, but as it happens, Raziel speaks fluent Common Angelic, AND she has absolutely nothing else to do besides come up with nonsense work for other people!" Raziel started to protest, but he held up a warning finger. "I need to go now. I’ve gotta meet a client."

"Gannish dood!"

Ganesh looked up from his electronic pad. He was sitting beneath a tree. "Pickles, my friend!" He smiled, grateful for the momentary distraction. "When did you arrive?"

Pickles sat on the ground. "Jist a little while ago. I thought you wuz t’rough doin’ da reception seatin’ chart t’ing?”

“No, this is another matter. Lord Wotan has requested that Sariel and I attend to something.”

“Oh, you and Charles?” Pickles muttered.

Ganesh studied the drummer for a time. “Anyway, it is an excuse for me to avoid my brother’s presence for a time,” he smiled.

“Yeh. My brudder’s weddin’ sucked.”

“I have had to attend three of my brother’s weddings.”

“Guy gets divorced a lot?”

“Oh, no, he never divorces the old ones actually, he simply accumulates more.”

“T’ree wives?”

“Plus various mistresses and girlfriends.” Since Pickles was looking slightly horrified, Ganesh continued, “The notion of one man and one woman is not as firmly entrenched in my people’s traditions as it is in yours, perhaps.”

“Still. Kinda fucked up. Dood.”

“In my brother’s case, yes, I’d have to agree,” Ganesh smiled.

The smell was the first thing that struck him, climbing down the ladder into the place of Loki's confinement. It reeked of ... chlorine?

It was dark. Though Sariel's eyesight tended to be weak, as his eyes didn't deal well with sunlight, he had rather better night vision. He noticed what looked like a small row of light switches, and flipped them all.

A cascade of fluorescent lights snapped on overhead.

"Turn that down! You'll blind me!"

It was Loki. This room seemed to be a pool house. And the imprisoned god was sitting in a whirlpool bath.

Sigyn sat beside him, on a bench, twisting a towel in her hands. She looked rather less beset and rather more malicious than she had in Wotan’s office.

Ofdensen flicked several of the switches back off and approached them. Most gods, especially in these modern times, make some attempt at a sort of human Court Form. Loki, though, looked like the creature he was. His ears were pointed, like a fairy tale elf, and the pupils of his eyes were slits, like those of a cat.

"So, it's you, angel."

"You remember me?" Ofdensen asked, having a seat on the bench across from Sigyn and lighting a cigarette.

"Odinsson's bodyguard. The blood has gotten so weak, they must hire such as you to blot their noses and wipe their bottoms."

"Such as me? Hm. Seems to me Raziel managed to overpower you singlehandedly."

"You are angels. You are sneaking, bloodthirsty creatures."

"More or less." Ofdensen tossed the match away.

Loki glared. Ofdensen looked mildly back at him. "What do you wish from me?" the god demanded.

"Well, I think it's more what you wish from me. I'm the one supposed to be defending you." His grin was not without malice.

"Wait!" It was Sigyn. "Wasn't Lord Ganesha...?"

"Prosecution," Ofdensen answered.

"But when I agreed to this," Sigyn was standing, visibly angry now. "I assumed."

"When dealing with lawyers in the future," Ofdensen smiled, "I might suggest you get things in writing."

"Wotan is a monster!" Sigyn insisted. "My husband suffers."

"Suffers? He's in a hot tub!"

"It's over chlorinated!" Loki complained, his slit eyes narrowing.

"You think Baldr wouldn't change places with you?" Ofdensen asked him.

Loki looked sly. "Ask your boyfriend about Baldr."

"OK, I will," Ofdensen agreed, standing up.

"That's it?” Sigyn demanded. “That is all you would ask my husband before you defend his life?"

“Don’t wanna stay down here too long,” Ofdensen explained, flicking away his cigarette. “Chlorine irritates my throat, and I’m due in court in a bit.”

“So, what’s the matter with Dick Knubbler?” Raziel asked Murderface.

“He flew off, schpouting that angel schpeech.”

“He literally flew? Huh. What were you guys doing before he True Formed?”

“Before he what?”

“Changed into an angel. What were you doing?”

“Well, we had juscht pulled up in my Pink Caddy. Whisch runschy perfectly. With the new clutsch!”

“Cool,” Raziel grinned, ignoring the dig about burning out the clutch.

“And Lord Wotan wasch admiring the vehicle.”

“The king is a fan of classic cars!”

“Oh, yesch! Then I told him Dick had reschcued it from Hell, and he told usch you currently have Schatan detained in Aschgard. The king had to depart, but then Dick schtarted to babble, and changed … you know.” Murderface mimed flapping wings.

“Well, it doesn’t sound good. I think we should go check it out. You have the car here?”

“Yesch, and I hope you are not exschpecting to drive!”

“But I replaced your clutch!”

“But you burned my clutsch!”

“Lady!” a musical voice called. Raziel turned.

“Oh, hey Parvati,” Raziel greeted the exquisite Hindu goddess. Raziel wasn't exactly certain how the effect was achieved, but, even on the stillest of days, Lady Parvati always seemed to have a gentle breeze blowing her hair in an attractive manner.

“I was going to make the final alterations we talked about for the bodice of your gown,” Parvati told her. “Time grows short!”

“Oh. Shit.” Raziel stood for a moment, torn. “You have my measurements, right?” Parvati nodded. “Is it possible you could just get a goddess to stand in for me? I have an emergency I need to take care of!”

Parvati appeared to give the notion some thought, and then smiled beatifically. “In fact, I think I know the exact person for the job. Please go, and come to me when you return.” And so saying, she ambled off.

Raziel turned to run, and then ran back to grab an apparently stunned William Murderface by the elbow.

“Sche’s so preeeetttttttty,” Murderface muttered.

“I know,” grinned Raziel. “So, you’re gonna let me drive?”

“Oh, yesch, of coursche!” he mumbled.

The little angel eagerly dragged the bassist to the car.

“Ganesh?”

Ofdensen found the Hindu god sitting cross-legged under a tree. He was holding an electronic pad, but appeared instead to be smoking and staring into space.

“Sariel,” he said distractedly blowing smoke.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Might it wait until after we have made our arguments as to Loki?”

“It’s about the case.”

Ganesh flicked ashes. “Regarding?”

“I wanna know about Baldr.”

“Precisely what do you need to know about Baldr?"

Ofdensen seated himself on a rock and stared at Ganesh, who was averting his gaze. “What was he like? You guys grew up together.”

“He was…. As would be expected.”

“He was a god. I have no fucking idea what to expect.”

“We were boys.”

“Ganesh. Will you quit being polite and fucking tell me about Baldr?”

Ganesh scowled. “Are we playing prosecutor and hostile witness now?”

“Hey, maybe later.” Ofdensen smiled. Ganesh’s look stayed dark.

“As you probably already are aware,” Ganesh began, “my brother and I were raised together with Lord Wotan’s sons. As I was the smallest and youngest, I was the subject of a certain amount of … provocation.”

“Meaning…?”

Ganesh finally met his eyes. “I promise you, I am not concealing any dark history of abuse. I can certainly not claim to have survived anything comparable to what you have gone through.”

Good one, Ofdensen thought. If a bit of a sucker punch. But he would not be deterred. “But…?”

“They were jerks. They were simply jerks. Even after we became adults, there was little reconciliation. Not that I made any attempts.”

Ofdensen arched an eyebrow. “Who was the ringleader?”

Ganesh thought for a moment. He sighed. “There were two. Thor.”

“And Baldr?”

Ganesh nodded. He took a drag of his cigarette. “Vali tended to go along with anything Thor said. As he does up until this day, seemingly. My brother would team up with Baldr. And … I’m afraid I’m not seeing the point.”

“I guess I need to know that Baldr was … human?”

“Well, of course he was. He was a boy. We all were.” Ganesh looked off again. “He certainly didn’t deserve death for a bit of childish bullying.” He shook his head. “Wotan definitely didn’t deserve it.”

“You regret the effect on Wotan more than the loss?” Ofdensen asked quietly.

“That seems a cruel thing to say,” Ganesh noted.

"But accurate?"

Ganesh didn't deny it. "There were a lot of consequences. I believe this incident, more than anything else, led Lord Wotan to divorce Lady Freyja." He studied Ofdensen for a moment. "If I may say, your line of defense seems ... eccentric."

Ofdensen stood, smiling. "Eccentricity happens when you got me for the defense. And, by the way," he said, leaning over to kiss the top of Ganesh's head, "if I ever see Thor try and pull something on you, he's gonna end up with his hammer crammed where the sun don't shine."

Ganesh laughed before he caught himself. "Sariel, you ought..."

"Where would I be if I only did things I oughta do? Now and forever, you are under the protection of your own personal angel of vengeance.” He grinned and departed.

Ganesh gazed uncertainly after his own personal angel of vengeance, inscrutable look on his face.

Nathan explosion was glaring at angels.

He had thought it would all be cool. They would all arrive together, and then hang out together and pal around.

But then Dick Knubbler got all angeled out, and Murderface ran off like a girl to find out where the fuck Charles had gone to come save Dick from whatever. And Toki mooched off with his weird goddess chicks, which was OK. The one with the mint hair freaked him out, though the one with the weird little umbrella was kind of cute. And then Parvati dragged off a terrified Skwisgaar, which was actually pretty hilarious, and it was down to him and Pickles, who slipped away, probably to hit on Charles' boyfriend, and now here he was, Nathan Explosion, horrified to find the phrase "Charles' boyfriend' somewhere in his brain.

Fortunately, that was when the angels arrived.

There were three of them. Nathan recognized the one: he was the main guy at the trial. And another was the guy who’d visited Mordhaus: the big pussy Raziel had scared out of his hulking True Form by waving a little finger at him. He didn’t recognize the third one, but assumed it was just another douche bag.

"Ah, Nathan?"

Nathan turned to see his manager looking up at him, curiously. "Can I, ah, ask what you're doing?"

"I'm GLARING AT ANGELS."

"Oh. Huh. Well, carry on." Ofdensen turned to leave.

"You're not gonna yell at me?"

Ofdensen stopped. "Well, ah, I guess, try not to-"

"Try not to punch anyone?"

"Yeah! Try not to punch anyone. Unless they look like they need punching." And with that, he hurried off.

“I graduated law school decades ago. I have seen many things, many cases. And this – this is I believe the first time I have been caught without words,” Ganesh confessed. He was standing at the fireplace in one of Valhalla’s well worn living areas. Wotan, Sigyn, and Sariel sat listening, as well as three of Wotan’s sons: Tyr, Vali and Thor.

“As you know, Wotan has always been like a second father to me, and this … incident, has caused him a considerable amount of pain. I literally didn’t know what to say about it. And then Sariel reminded me of something.” Ofdensen inclined his head curiously, but said nothing.

"Tyr, I believe it can be said, we did not get on as children?" The god nodded. "Though we have recently become reacquainted, and have found some common ground. Baldr did not have this chance, as I did, as Tyr did, as all of you do. Lord Wotan is today to begin his new life with the Lady Raziel. My brother has been married now three times."

"And working on a fourth," Tyr laughed.

"Baldr can't do any of this," Ganesh continued. "He can't ride a horse, drink a glass of wine, visit his children, eat an apple, have sex with his wife, or complain about the weather. Wotan can't grip his shoulder, or laugh at his jokes. He will never feel the sun on his face. He can't sit here in this room, and listen to his father read a story.

"I realized then why I don't have any words. There are no words for what Loki has done. The pain, and the loss, are quite beyond words. Time and thought will dim these things, but the wound will never quite heal, and the scar will fade, but never disappear. Think carefully, then upon what should be done, because what has been done, has been done for eternity."

Raziel stomped on the Caddy's brakes, causing William Murderface, who had some time since recovered from Lady Parvati's calming influence, to grind his teeth. But he hadn't time to scream about angelic drivers, as Lady Raziel exclaimed, "Oh! Not good! C'mon!" and wrenched the much bigger bassist out of the car.

Murderface was forced to agree with the little angel's assessment the moment he saw what she was speaking about. Dick Knubbler - or rather the big fluffy angel that was also Dick Knubbler, but somehow not - was now vocalizing in that blurbing angel talk, but, more worryingly, was waving a real live sword around. There was nothing wrong with that per se, in fact, it was sort of cool, but, angel or not, this was Dick Fucking Knubbler, meaning he was more likely to stab his douche bag self in the foot than take out anyone else.

And, speaking of anyone else: this was where Murderface started to run out of words. Dick was acting like a douche right in front of a metal fucking angel! Seriously. He was a huge dude, wearing a badass eye patch, but the best part, instead of fluffy gay angel wings, the guy sported pair that seemed constructed of pure gold. You could hear the gears squeak as they moved.

And there went Dick, babbling and waving a fucking sword at the badass golden angel. Murderface roared over to the producer, ignoring Raziel’s shouts.

“What the fuck, Dick?” he yelled.

Knubbler stopped waving the sword and turned around. He spouted some more gay angel bullshit.

“No, I will not fucking leave!” Murderface shouted. He couldn’t tell precisely what Dick had said, but he sort of knew. Somehow. “What the fucking fuck do you think I am?”

Dick waved at the awesome golden angel and said something else.

“Put down the schword and quit acting like a fucking dousche!”

Knubblers blind eyes blinked at Murderface. He lay down the sword, and it was instantly in Raziel’s hands. “What’s going on, Dick?” she asked, as it was now Dick Knubbler, record producer, who stood before them.

“I probably deserve this,” Lucifer said. He tugged ineffectively at the spear that was holding him impaled on a rock.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Morningstar,” Raziel yelled at him.

“You promised to get him out,” Dick Knubbler told Lucifer. “You promised.”

“Yeah,” Satan acknowledged. “I did.”

“Who?” asked Raziel.

“Samael had a … friend. Back at Headquarters,” Lucifer explained.

“I had a lover back at Headquarters,” Dick told him. He looked to Raziel. “He was beautiful. Yeah. Beautiful boy.” Murderface visibly cringed, but didn’t move.

“I told Samael, if he’d come with me, to earth, come along with me, I could get him out, the boy Lucifer haltingly explained

“You lied,” Dick said, more sad than angry now.

“Of course. That’s what I do.”

“What happened to him, Dick?” Raziel asked, though she thought she knew the answer.

It wasn’t clear from Dick’s robot eyes exactly where he was looking. At last he said, “Uriah.”

“Fuck,” said Raziel. “Did he…?”

“The boy didn’t last long baby, no,” Dick said. "Not with Uriah."

“I’m sorry,” Raziel told him.

“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” Dick said. Anger had now returned to his voice.

“Samael, my dear,” Satan said. “Would you have left with me, if I hadn’t lied to you? If I hadn’t told you a pretty thing?” Dick didn’t reply. “When Uriah cast his glance on the boy, his fate was sealed. You know this.”

“Dick,” Raziel said. “Lucifer is our prisoner, so he is currently under Asgard’s protection. I can’t let any harm befall him, regardless of who’s to blame here.” Knubbler nodded. “And you realize, I kicked Uriah’s fucking ass?”

Knubbler sighed. “I know that, Raz baby. That was cool, yeah. That was cool.”

“You’re needed to lead my orchestral. OK? Lucifer isn’t going anywhere for now. We’ll take this up later. OK? I promise.”

Knubbler nodded.

“Can we go back then?” Raziel asked Knubbler.

“We can if I’m fucking driving!” Murderface boomed. Raziel grinned and tossed him the car keys. Then she put a small arm over Dick Knubbler’s shoulders, and walked him back to the car.

He led them out to the stables. They walked over to the horse barn, where Sleipnir was quartered. Ofdensen, Wotan and Sigyn, and Wotan's sons.

"You all know this story," Ofdensen began. "It's one fucking strange tale. A long time ago, when Loki was a trickster god, he was trying to cheat an honest contractor out of his money. The con was so elaborate, when I read the story nowadays - and I've read it often - I think William Murderface, or maybe one of his ancestors must've come up with it. But basically, Loki, who is a changeling, changed into a mare, got pregnant, and bore Sleipnir."

"Yes, we've all grown up with that story," Tyr said.

"And, Sleipnir has been a good mount, Lord Wotan?" Sariel asked.

Wotan went to touch Sleipnir's soft muzzle. "He is the best of horses. I have never doubted that. Not for an instant."

"You're arguing for mercy, as he did something right, even if twas by accident?" Thor sniffed.

"No, that's not it. You can shit rainbow puppies out your ass," Sariel said. "If you kill a man, he's still dead."

"Why did you drag us out here, angel?" Vali asked.

"I agree with everything Ganesh just said, and not just because he's incredibly good looking. What he did, there isn't really any forgiveness in me for that. Not that there would be, me being a vengeance angel and all. That's what we do, Raziel and me. We carry out the vengeance of Our Lord. We weren't designed for mercy, or to cuddle kittens, or to have our hearts tugged by some murderous loser who once did something very right when he was being an asshole. It's just, Wotan - your dad - he's not like us. He's an earth god, a really good and just one, and now here every day he's reminded of his dead son, because he's in the middle of punishing the worthless perpetrator. Every day. For eternity. Is this what you guys want for him?"

"What would you propose, Sariel?" asked Tyr.

Sigyn walked through the fields near the stables. She held the bridle of a roan mare. The horse had very odd eyes: the pupils were slits, like those of a cat.

Raziel, Sariel and Ganesh stood some distance off, watching.

“So, he’s no longer a changeling?” Raziel asked.

“Nope,” Sariel told her. “Stuck in that form. For the rest of his life. For the rest of a horse’s life.”

"You're going to hate this," Raziel said as she stood on tiptoe and kissed Sariel on his cheek.

"I still wanna fucking sword," he grumbled.

"You'll get a fucking sword."

"With a fucking tasteful dollar sign."

"I gotta go get ready for my fucking wedding. Ganesh, can you get him ready?"

Ganesh bowed formally. "It will be done, Your Almost Majesty."

"What? I'm not a little kid!" Sariel protested.

"I have your suit all pressed and ready in my room," Ganesh told him, taking him by the elbow. "Pray tell me you have not lost any more weight, or I shall have to spend the remaining hour prior to the ceremony force feeding you cheesecake."

"Cheesecake? I dunno. They don't have any pie, do they?"

"Strawberry. And you know it makes you break out...."

Raziel watched Ganesh and Sariel depart, bickering. But she did not go to attend to her trousseau. Instead, she headed towards Wotan's office. He was sitting behind his desk, thoughtfully smoking.

Raziel pushed some papers aside and hopped up on his desk.

"You know," Wotan told her, gesturing towards the papers, "I'll never find those again!"

Raziel swing her short legs back and forth. "You need a better filing system," she laughed.

"I need any filing system. Any at all. And perhaps fewer angels on my desk."

She shook her head. And then inclined it, curious. "So, what did you think?"

Woman puffed his cigar and nodded. "You were right. As you are always right, my raven."

She hopped off the desk. "Just so you remember that after we're married," she grinned. “So, we're good going through with it?"

"You would have done it anyway.”

“No.”

“You needed to convince me?”

“You needed to convince yourself.”

Wotan grinned through his cigar. "You will make a wily queen."

“I gotta go get dressed,” she called back, already skittering out of the room.

Raziel skidded into her dressing room where Parvati was finishing a few last alterations on her wedding gown. She noticed that Parvati must have found a pretty blonde goddess to model the dress as she worked.

"Pfft. Ams you through yet, Ladies Parvatis?" the model sighed.

Raziel choked off a giggle, but not quite in time. The model jerked around at the sound of her voice.

"Ah, motherdildos," the lovely Skwisgaar sighed.

"If you would kindly quit fidgeting, we will have this done in a trice," Parvati scolded, grinning through a dozen pins in her mouth.

"Pfft," Skwisgaar repeated.

"If you'd like, I can take over now," Raziel informed her friend. And then she went back to biting on a knuckle to stifle a laughing fit.

“You ams never tells this to nobodies!” Skwisgaar sputtered.

“It will be our dark secret,” Raziel giggled.

Herding cats.

And wolves.

Approximately twenty minutes prior to the appointed time, Wotan sent out Geri and Freki to persuade reluctant gods, demigods, goddesses, mythical creatures, folkloric legends and whoever else to gather in the vast wedding pavilion that had been erected in Asgard’s lush gardens. Aided by their brand new friend, Bagheera, a 500-lb Siberian tiger, the wolves had relatively little trouble persuading the wedding guests that it was time to quit drinking for a time and endure a few moments of utter boredom before the heavy drinking really began.

Before he left his office for the altar, Wotan talked to Shiva one more time.

“Situation?” he inquired.

“The same. About what we expected," Shiva told him.

Wotan nodded. “Tell your sentries to hold their positions. Now, your friend needs to go get himself married.” He grinned and stubbed out his cigar, and, slapping his arm around the blue god’s shoulders, he strode out of his office.

Lord Wotan hadn’t thought to send his wolves and tiger after the Lady Raziel, realizing that she would appear in her own time.

At length, she removed herself from her dressing room to confront the disaster that was waiting in the tent just outside the wedding pavilion.

“Ganesh, haven’t you fixed him up?” she demanded of the flustered Hindu god.

“I keep fixing him, and he keeps coming undone!” Ganesh sighed.

Raziel leaned over to where her brother sat, tie askew, sucking on a Marlboro.

She went nose to nose with him. “Sariel. You need to do exactly two things now: keep your tie straight, and walk 20 feet. That’s all I’m asking you for.”

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this?” he sputtered in High Angelic

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be a mess. NOT YOU!”

“Raziel! This isn’t for life! This is for eternity! You’re both immortals.”

“Well, gee, that really hadn’t occurred to me until just this precise moment! Hey, everybody, I just remembered I’m immortal! Call it off!”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing!”

“You know what you’re going to do? You’re going to stand the fuck up and put away that fucking cigarette and straighten your fucking tie and then you’re gonna walk me down the fucking aisle so I can be a resplendent fucking bride! And that’s what you’re gonna fucking do!”

“WHOA!” said Ganesh, catching the gist, even if the dialog was in High Angelic. “No bloodshed before the ceremony!”

“Hey, dudes!” Nathan Explosion had also poked his head into the tent.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS IT NOW?” Raziel demanded.

Nathan took a step back, but continued in a Nathan-whisper, “They can totally hear you dudes arguing! In the ANGEL TALK.”

“Who?” grumbled Ofdensen.

“THE FUCKING ANGELS. They’ve been, you know, listening and snickering and talking more ANGEL TALK.”

Ofdensen and Raziel glared murderously at one another.

Dick Knubbler nodded to the musicians.

A soloist stepped forward, and began softly singing.

“Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright.”

Lady Raziel of the Seraphim walked up the aisle, holding Sariel’s elbow very tightly, so he could not run away.

His tie was almost straight.

The soloist was joined by a small chorus, mingled voices sliding gently into a minor key. “But I only have eyes for you.”

As they walked by, the angels both glared at Archangels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. Who glared back.

“You are here, so am I. Millions of people go by.”

They had reached the altar. Sariel was seated, aided by a timely yank on his belt from Lord Ganesh, Remover of Obstacles.

“But they all disappear from view.”

Raziel mounted the step to stand beside a beaming Wotan.

“And I only have eyes for you.”

Wotan and Raziel joined hands before Mimir, Wotan's most trusted advisor, who also happened to be a decapitated head. Among his numerous other illustrious qualifications, Mimir was a mail order minister for the Universal Life Church, and thus probably the single most religious person in all of Asgard.

"Assembled honored guests," Mimir breathed into the headset thoughtfully supplied by Dick Knubbler. "We are here today to witness the marriage of King Wotan of Asgard, and the Lady Raziel of the Seraphim. We have all agreed to keep this ceremony short, as we do not wish to cut onto anybody's valuable drinking time!"

There were many whoops and hollers from the already fairly inebriated guests.

"King Wotan," Mimir began.

Archangel Michael stood. “I have an objection!” He unfurled what looked like a speech. “I have some words-“

“We didn’t include that part of the ceremony, Mike,” Wotan yelled back from the altar.

“It’s hackneyed!” Raziel put in.

“We have some words-“ Michael began again.

“Oh, blow it out your fucking horn," Raziel grumbled.

“Actually, I’m the one with the horn!” Archangel Gabriel helpfully supplied.

“I insist you put an end to this blasphemous farce immediately,” Michael thundered. “Else we will put an end to it for you. AARGH!”

The “AARGH” was probably not part of his prewritten speech. Nathan Explosion had just punched the archangel in the jaw. Michael sprawled, sputtering, over the laps of Gabriel and Raphael.

“Douche bag,” muttered Nathan, shaking out his hand. He had definitely needed punching.

Then a great many things seemed to happen all at once. The very first of which was Michael righting himself like a giant Weeble toy. And there were suddenly other beings in Valhalla’s garden, surrounding the wedding pavilion: about a dozen monstrous Seraphim warriors, all in massive True Form, armed with swords, some of them flaming.

Shiva too, had moved quickly: he stood in front of Raziel and Wotan, bearing swords and tridents in many hands. With a nod, several of his armed troops had also gone into position in front of the happy couple. Who, very oddly, had now turned their backs to the crowd and appeared to be continuing along with their vows along with Mimir.

Several wedding guests now stood as well, and suddenly weapons of all kinds had appeared, as if by magic - because, of course, it was magic. There were swords and hammers and maces and scythes and spears and tridents and daggers even a few loaded firearms, mostly courtesy of Dethklok. (It is truly amazing what one may conceal inside a tuxedo.)

Ofdensen had managed to take most of this in as he sprang over his own chair to plant himself between the Archangel Michael, who looked on the verge of True Forming himself, and Nathan. Michael took a step towards Nathan.

“Sit the fuck down,” Ofdensen yelled at him, throwing up a hand. To his amazement, Michael was literally knocked off his feet, and this time thrown all the way over the row, to land on his head over in the shrubbery. Ofdensen stared at his own hand. He hadn’t even touched the guy.

Wotan and Raziel had evidently finished their vows, as Wotan had now swept Raziel into a passionate, Hollywood-style kiss. They finally broke the embrace, and grinned at each other. Wotan swept out an arm, and Raziel was suddenly flying off the stage in her smaller True Form, little dark wings flapping, Vulcan sword in hand.

She alit in the middle of the aisle, and, lifting the sword high, shouted, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KINGDOM!” She lit the sword white hot and swung it around her head. There was some kind of concussion emitted around the sword, and suddenly the air was filled with anguished howls. The angels at the perimeter of the pavilion were screaming and holding their heads. Blood was leaking from their ears and eyes and mouths and noses. The True Formed Seraphim shrunk back to Court Form, cringing and crying. The Archangels, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, collapsed, trembling. And then, almost as one, the angels shrieked, leapt and disappeared.

Ofdensen glanced over at Ganesh, who had run to his side, concerned. For whatever reason, neither Ofdensen nor Raziel had been affected by her magic.

Wotan was now standing calmly at Raziel’s side. He courteously offered her an arm. Dick Knubbler gestured to the musicians, who struck up the weird minor key opening chords to The Court of the Crimson King, their recessional.

And, so, having accomplished the very first evil act of her reign, dark wings still proudly bared, and sword in hand, Queen Raziel of Asgard walked arm in arm with her new husband up the aisle.

"Dudes," thundered Nathan Explosion, "I so totally wanna copy of the wedding video."

End of Part 1
Part 2