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tikificTitle: The Lady and the Tiger (Mythklok, Chapter 6) (Part 1 of 2)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pickles reaches out and touches someone. Nathan and Skwisgaar make some new friends. Charles smokes a lot and smashes stuff with a sword.
Warnings: THIS ONE GOT SLASHY - NOT A LOT BUT A LITTLE - I’M NOT SURE HOW BUT IT JUST DID I’M SORRY GUYS THIS HAPPENS SOMETIMES. Also, AU plus plenty o’ F-words and OCs and other stuff you didn’t wanna read.
Notes: A millionty billion notes after the jump
This got too big, so I'll put up PART 2 probably tomorrow.
This is a Metalocalypse AU that’s been taking over my life.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tiktaalikroseae started calling it “Mythklok” so I’ll just steal that since I can’t think of a better title. Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3) and a ski trip (Chapter 4) (which concludes here) and a sword fight (Chapter 5).
WHAT YOU MISSED BY NOT WASTING 187 HOURS OF YOUR LIFE READING THIS CRAP: Charles is a Fallen angel who used to go by the Name of Sariel. Up until the last chapter, he was getting his ass routinely kicked by a creepy Archangel named Uriah, who you might know as Selactia. Anyway, last time, Raziel, an annoying fashionista angel who’s not-quite-Fallen, kicked Uriah’s ass, and now all that’s left of him is (apparently) a box of ashes. I said “apparently” ‘cause Uriah/Selatcia’s soul is now missing. This is sort of pissing off Management, the angel bosses, particularly Archangel Michael, who commands the Legion, the badass angel army.
Oh, and Raziel is dating Wotan, who is Skwisgaar’s dad, as well as a Norse god and stuff. Skwisgaar has seemed a bit sullen lately, maybe because family shit is weird, but Nathan Explosion thinks King Wotan dude is pretty fucking awesome, due to Valhalla being chock full of demons and hot chicks. And there’s some other dudes who like to hang at Valhalla and party and stab demons and stuff, like Shiva, a Hindu god of destruction who’s also a big Dethklok fan.
Charles smokes a lot in this AU. I have no fucking idea why. We have decided his brand is Marlboro. Also,late_totheparty drew this amazing smoking Charles art last time that sort of put me in my happy place. So there.
One more thing: I have made the Native American beings in this story Kachinas mainly because I fucking love Kachinas due to having my young mind warped by Gumby cartoons. However, in real life, the Hopi people do not use peyote – that’s more a thing for tribes in Mexico. So, the whole “Kachinas do the psychedelic experience” thing I’ve written here is a little bit of gmish of Native American cultures.
THE LADY AND THE TIGER (Mythklok, Chapter 6)
Part 1 of 2
“So,” said Pickles.
Ofdensen sighed. He wasn’t in a particularly bad mood today - not for him - but he had hoped to escape into his office without being intercepted. Much as it irritated him, he was beginning to see the point of the angel Raziel’s “disappearing into thin air” trick.
“So, dat guy,” Pickles began.
It was pretty fucking obvious what guy he was talking about: the erstwhile Archangel Uriah. Who currently consisted of a few ounces of ash, which Ofdensen now kept inside a box in his jacket pocket. Sometimes, he would take out the box and give it a shake. Just for fun.
Ofdensen decided to see if he could wriggle out of this one quickly. “Yes, that guy. We took care of that guy. You don’t have to worry about that guy anymore.” You have to worry about a whole lot of other, potentially worse things. Horrible, terrible things. But, he wouldn’t mention that little bit.
Pickles nodded, though he was quite obviously unsatisfied. Ofdensen was actually hoping the conversation would veer off into something simpler, like bitching about Seth. Or maybe asking for funds to construct a secret moon base. Or, something.
“But, dat guy was an ex?”
Nope, not a quick conversation. And, they had reached the door of his office, meaning Pickles would follow him in and make himself at home and then this uncomfortable conversation would wind on forever.
Ofdensen sighed and pulled his door open. He had not been in a particularly bad mood. Before. Pickles followed, carefully closing the door after himself. OK, now what?
Ofdensen sat down in his chair. ‘I dunno if I’d exactly call him an ex. Maybe. It was…. It was complicated.”
“It was a bad breakup?”
“It was…. It was…. It was the epic bad breakup from hell.” And he sort of drifted off. Bad breakup. That ended with me cast out of Heaven and trapped in this shithole. Yes. Epic bad breakup.
He snapped back. When and how had Pickles gotten over to his side of the desk? “Pickles!”
“I was t’inkin’….”
“That is NEVER a good plan for you.”
“Maybe you could maybe use some consolation?” He grinned a perfectly evil Pickles grin.
“Pickles! Don’t….”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…. Anything!”
“Don’t do dis?”
“You know perfectly fucking well I do not care to be touched unless I happen to be in the middle of an obscene act.”
“We can fix dat,” Pickles laughed a perfectly evil Pickles laugh. And he was in the chair with Ofdensen, but not for long, because a few minutes later they were on top of the desk, and then some time later, under the desk.
Ofdensen lay there, trying to catch his breath. He was somehow still wearing his glasses, but that was it. “That was…. That was…. That was…. A really, really, really, really bad idea.”
Pickles laughed. He was wearing a red tie. And that was it.
“No, Pickles. That was…. That was inappropriate.” Ofdensen was up, grabbing his pants back on.
Pickles bounced into a guest chair, not seeming to have any inclination towards tracking down his clothes, which had sort of got scattered here and there. “So, for da future, ‘yeah yeah fuck me harder’ means ‘no?’”
“Pickles! No! We can’t….”
“Seems like we just did, dood.”
“We cannot….” He found his shirt and put on one sleeve. “Look. Look. Why can’t you just go find a couple of those strippers with the big tits…?”
“Will ya come wit’ me? Like ya used to?”
“NO! I can’t…. We can’t do that anymore. Jesus. We’ve talked about this!”
But then there were three people in the room. The small, dark-haired woman hadn’t been standing there a moment earlier.
Raziel tipped down her oversized sunglasses with a well-manicured finger. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she smiled.
“Naw, dat’s OK,” Pickles told her cheerfully. He leaned back in the chair and, Ofdensen noticed grumpily, made absolutely no move towards his discarded clothes.
She pulled up a chair, but then hesitated. “Not to be rude,” she asked Pickles, “But you didn’t, uh, just use this chair? For anything? This is Stella McCartney!” she said, indicating her dress. Raziel was the type of person who was always glad to tell you who she was wearing. Even if you had absolutely no interest in this information.
“Nope, didn’t use dat chair.”
“Hmpf. Well, why not?” she grinned, flipping her dress’s long train aside and seating herself demurely in the chair.
“Hey, I dunno, maybe next time!”
“There won’t be a next time,” Ofdensen muttered.
“Oh sure dere will! In fact, we was just gonna go find some groupies wit’ big tits. You want in, Lady Raz?”
“Why, thank you for the kind offer, but Wotan and I, we’re kind of in this exclusive thing right now,” Raziel told him courteously.
“Yeah, I figured. Dat’s nice too.”
“Well, I wish I could convince your friend Nathan about that.”
“Aw, dat’s just Nat’an, I wouldn’ be offended.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, wit’ dat guy, sexual harassment is just his way o’ sayin’ hello!”
“What do you want, Raziel?” Ofdensen asked, still trying and failing to get into his other sleeve.
“WELL! I have come on behalf of King Wotan, who apologizes for not bringing this message personally.”
“For which I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” Ofdensen sighed.
“We are having a sort of informal but nevertheless important gathering, and he wished me to assure your attendance.” She turned. “I’m terribly sorry to be rude, Pickles, but you don’t happen to be on the guest list for this occasion.”
“Aw, no offense taken,” the naked drummer cheerily assured her.
“You must come up again sometime soon! We could go snowboarding.”
“If it’s all the same t’ you, I’d radder board where dere ain’t none o’ dem ice demons.”
“Oh, we have a helicopter! We might do extreme, here on Earth, with Toki.”
“Oh, dat sounds cool. Um. Is dat Shiva dood comin’ along?”
“No, but Ganesh wants to try!”
“Oh, yeah, he’s a cool dood. Um. When he’s here, does he go around wit’ his elephant head t’ing?”
“Oh, no, when he’s in your world, he wears a human head. A very handsome human head.” She grinned and pretended to fan herself.
“Hey, I t’ought you said you were exclusive wit’ Wotan?” Pickles grinned.
“I’m exclusive, not DEAD.”
“Heh. So, I should prob’ly let you doods talk.”
“OK, well don’t be a stranger!” And with that Pickles wadded up most of his clothes and breezed out.
“PICKLES! TIE!” It was tossed back at him. Ofdensen looked at it for a minute, then wadded it up and stuffed it in his top drawer with an exasperated expression.
“Well,” she told Ofdensen, peeking over her oversized sunglasses at the departing drummer, “he’s not as pretty as Skwisgaar, but he seems quite pleasant. And! A natural redhead to boot.”
Ofdensen had just given up trying to get the rest of the way into his shirt as some kind of impossibly difficult problem. “Raziel. Will you tell me when I am expected at Valhalla. And then do that thing you do best, disappear?”
“Sure. Next weekend. You. Skwisgaar.”
“OK.”
“And Nathan.”
“All right.”
“It will be great," she said, rising. "I think there’s gonna be a couple folks you haven’t met. Oh, and Lord Shiva is bringing Lady Parvati.”
“Oh, yeah, I like Parvati. Wait. What?”
“Everybody likes Parvati! Isn’t she a dear? Well, I shall disappear now.”
“No. Wait! Raziel!” But she was already gone.
He lunged for his phone. “Yeah, Lord Wotan? This is Sariel. Yes, glad I caught you. Yes, you have excellent cell phone coverage in Valhalla, this call is very clear. Oh, you put in your own tower? Yeah, that was a great idea. Oh, she does, huh? Calling Italy? Well, women like to talk on the phone. Well, that’s kind of why I called. Yes, she just told me. Yes, Raziel was just here. Uh, not 5 mintues ago. No, she didn’t look like she had any shopping bags with her. No, she didn’t mention…. She didn’t mention if she had any more runway shows. No, she just… She just disappeared, like she always does. Yes, that is a bit rude, but…. Yes, I look forward to it. Yes, I will…. I will definitely kill some more demons, yes. Look, the reason I called…. Yes, Raziel told me that Shiva is bringing Lady Parvati? Yes, I like Lady Parvati. Yes, I love Lady Parvati. Yes, everybody likes Lady Parvati. It’s just, you’ve also asked me to bring Nathan Explosion along? I’m not sure…. Yes, Nathan is a great guy. Yeah. Yes, I guess one could say he has a mischievous sense of humor, it’s just…. I’m not sure that Shiva…. Yes, Shiva can be great fun, I'm just not sure.... I'm just worried that Nathan.... Yes, I'm sure Nathan will enjoy killing demons too, it’s just..... Yeah, you’re very welcome for the Scotch. Uh, yeah. Yeah. Bye."
Ofdensen sighed, returning the phone to its cradle. Great, his lead singer cut into a million pieces by a vengeful Hindu god of destruction.
He hadn't been in a particularly bad mood. Before.
Since they were among the first guests to arrive at Valhalla that weekend, Nathan had wanted to get a head start on the beer and Valkyrie consumption, but Skwisgaar was being sort of a dumb dildo these days, so they had ended up taking out a couple of the horses for a ride. Which was OK, if you thought about it. Wotan dude had said they would go out hunting for some big ass demons tomorrow, so it was probably not a bad thing to get used to being in the saddle.
They had dismounted for a time and were on a rise overlooking the front gate of Valhalla, watching Shiva’s party arrive. Wotan and Skwisgaar’s hot stepmom (wearing one of her weird but very hot outfits) were out there waiting.
The party arrived: three riders. Nathan quickly recognized that weird four-armed blue Shiva dude on his giant bull, and Ganesh, the elephant dude, mounted on a horse.
But there was one more person. Who was riding a fucking tiger! Nathan just had to stand and gawp. This was just so awesome. Why didn’t everybody ride a fucking tiger? And it must have been one of those weird tigers like you see the chick from the Alien movies talk about on the education cable channels that he always yelled at Pickles to skip over because they were missing fucking wrestling, what the fuck? But, anyway, the tiger was all white instead of orange tiger colored.
And, there was something about the tiger-rider. She was definitely female. Oh, unmistakably female.
Shiva jumped off his bull, graceful as a dancer, and then stood before the tiger holding out one of his many arms to assist the rider in dismounting.
There were no words.
Lovely is just a word. Enchanting – just a word. Mere words could not do her justice. Neither could songs. Nor poetry. She slid off the tiger, slim and tall and dark and curvaceous, and even from where Nathan was standing he could tell her skin was the softest and that she smelled wonderful, probably like some kind of rare spices.
Wotan bowed very low before her. And then – oh God! – Lady Raziel went up to her and they exchanged elaborate air kisses, and then Lady Raziel entwined one of her arms with this gorgeous, rare creature, and the two women strode towards the castle, their heads close together, whispering.
Nathan had a death grip on Skwisgaar’s shoulder, partly to keep himself from falling over from sheer bliss. “Skwisgaar. Dude. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW,” he managed to say.
“NATHAN!” came an annoying voice from in back of them. Nathan sighed and turned around.
“Nathan! No!”
“No, WHAT?”
Ofdensen was gesturing frantically with his cigarette. “No to everything! EVERYTHING! EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT THAT IS IN YOUR BRAIN RIGHT NOW! Is a no! She is Shiva’s consort!”
“Shiva’s what?”
“She’s his girlfriend, you dumb dildo,” Skwisgaar snickered.
“ANYTHING! Anything inappropriate from you, and Shiva is likely to slice you into 10 million little pieces!” Ofdensen warned.
"Whoa! How did Shiva end up with a hot babe like that? Frankly, the guy can be kind of a douche sometimes...."
"Nathan is any of what I'm saying actually going into your brain?"
"Dude, you need to mellow out, you know."
“Nathan. I don’t know how I can be any more explicit. Any of the women here, any of the MEN here….”
“Ew, dude” said Nathan.
“Any of the gods or angels or horses … I don’t give a shit. STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM PARVATI!”
“Oh, is that her name? Parvati?” Nathan sighed happily.
For not the first time in his career managing Dethklok, Ofdensen considered murdering Nathan Explosion as the only solution to keeping the stupid bastard alive.
Ofdensen had returned to Valhalla and was moodily drinking a beer and trying not to think overly much of Nathan Explosion’s imminent horrible death when Raziel caught his eye and motioned him to come with her. He followed her down a few of Valhalla’s vast corridors, over towards a disused-looking wing he couldn’t remember visiting before. He noticed that Raziel wasn’t prattling along a mile a minute about something idiotic. This wasn’t exactly unpleasant, it was just weird. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk – well, other than the exquisitely uncomfortable encounter in his office – after her duel with Uriah. Normally, Raziel loved nothing better than relating tendentious accounts of her battle exploits.
At length, they came to a room that appeared to be locked. She looked up and down the hall to see if there was anyone looking, and then used a bit of magic to open the door, and was careful to shut it again with another spell after they had entered.
It was definitely an unusual room. Valhalla had deliberately been built around an internal courtyard, and made extensive use of natural lighting in nearly every location. But this particular room was windowless. She proceeded to the far wall. She sat down on the floor, and took what appeared to be a dusty cover from a small cabinet on the floor. Ofdensen thought it looked a bit like a safe. Curious, he knelt down next to her.
“So,” she began, “This by rights belongs to you. What this is, is, I talked to Wotan about this, and I was trying to think like you would, if you had been thinking….”
Ofdensen held up two hands in the “time out” gesture. Raziel looked baffled. “OK,” he said. “Raziel? I am already completely confused. Could you just show me?”
She nodded, and unlocked the cabinet with a bit more magic. She swung the door out.
He peered inside. And involuntarily jerked back.
“Holy fucking shit!”
“Sariel?” came the familiar voice. “Sariel! Help me!”
“Uriah!” Raziel said.
“Yes, master?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, master.”
Raziel shut the cabinet with a bang. She said some more words and replaced the draping.
Ofdensen sat silently on the carpet for a long while, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. Finally, he said, “You kept his head alive?”
“See,” she said, “I thought, if I kill him, that will just get rid of him until those fuckers decide they’re gonna bring him back, and what good would that do? So, we were talking, and it seemed like this will take him out of play. For a while. I mean, obviously, long term, we’ve got a Loki type situation where someone might find him and take fucking pity on him and let him out or restore his body back or whatever….”
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“If I had been thinking, this is EXACTLY something I would have thought of.”
“Really?” Her dark eyes had gotten very large.
“Yeah.”
They looked up, startled, as the door opened. It was Wotan. He carefully closed the door, and then sprawled into a chair. Raziel jumped up to perch on the arm of the chair, beside him. “So, you’ve been introduced to my newest advisor!” Wotan said. “He’s the best. Just listen to what the bastard says, and do the opposite.”
“Like Mimir,” Ofdensen mused.
“Oh, ick, that creepy old head,” Raziel shuddered, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Mimir is my most trusted advisor,” Wotan told her.
“Yeah, but, ick.”
“You personally beheaded this one, my pet,” Wotan pointed out, gesturing towards the small cabinet.
“I usually don’t keep the heads around! Now, a decorative mug made out of his bleached skull? That’s a tasteful accessory!”
“Perhaps later, dear.”
“Uh, he can’t hear us in there, can he?” Ofdensen asked, looking at the draped cabinet with a small amount of trepidation.
“No. It’s well magicked up,” Wotan assured him.
“I hope he does hear me. He threatened Asgard,” Raziel growled. Wotan actually patted her hand. Ofdensen looked with interest. Wotan was usually terribly careful about not touching her in public. She was seething.
“Now, my angel, don’t get your wings up. You know you frighten the horses when you go to your True Form. If I had a krona for every blowhard who threatened Asgard, why, I’d be one rich bastard.”
“You are a rich bastard,” Ofdensen laughed.
“Well, that’s true. Anyway, ‘twas your Blood Feud, Sariel, so by rights, Uriah belongs to you. We can keep it here, or you may take possession. Or if it’s your fancy, I suppose my Lady Raziel can finish the job, as I am sure she is eager to do.”
“I think he’s probably best staying right here for the present. Michael knows something is wrong. They can’t find his soul,” Ofdensen told him.
Raziel snickered. “Did you tell Michael to ask Morningstar?”
“That asshole,” Ofdensen muttered.
“They deserve each other.”
“So that’s…. That’s why you burned up the body?” Ofdensen guessed, patting the box of ashes in his jacket.
Wotan and Raziel exchanged a look. “Yeah, we had an idea something like this might happen, so we had discussed a few scenarios," she said. Raziel’s version of perfect domestic bliss, Ofdensen thought dryly: curled up by the fireside, discussing how to best dispose of an Archangel. “He pleaded with me to spare his life,” she continued. “He was just a little weak on the specifics.”
“So, it is decided, Uriah shall remain here for the time being,” Wotan stated. “Now. The informal meeting I discussed is slated for late tomorrow. I’d like to hear Mimir’s counsel, and yours, friend Sariel.”
“Did you want to hear my counsel, or did you want to go ahead with what you two have obviously been plotting anyway, but now saying you consulted me first?”
“’Tis not much of a plot, old friend. I apologize for not including you in our discussions at an earlier opportunity, but, as my Lady and I were not certain regarding Uriah’s influence….” He trailed off, a bit awkwardly.
“You know. You’re right. You’re exactly right. Just what I would’ve done.” And thought, ruefully, good god, I have been completely fucking worthless for months now.
Raziel and Wotan glance at each other again. “’Tis true it was your Blood Feud, but, as you might understand, it was my girlfriend who struck the killing blow. I would prefer not to return to Asgard to find my kingdom a smoking ruin.”
“What did you need from me?”
“What I would like is for you to tell you side of the Blood Feud with Uriah. But, only as much as you’d care to share,” Wotan said diplomatically.
“Anything. I’ll tell you anything.”
“I am particularly interested in your conversation with our friend, Michael. Uriah, I think was mad. Michael, is, to be honest, arguably so as well, but his thoughts still matter a great deal.”
“That was…. Yes, I’d actually like to hear your reaction. That was an interesting conversation.”
“Well, I must to my guests,” Wotan said, rising. “Dinner is in an hour. Kindly try not to get involved in a Blood Feud before then, you two?” He wagged a finger at Raziel. They grinned at each other, and he strode out of the room.
Ofdensen took out a cigarette. For some reason, despite his proximity to what was left of Uriah, he didn’t feel much inclination to depart this room. He lay with his back on the floor, cigarette in mouth, thinking how he had now invented the most brilliant position for smoking ever beheld. Obviously, gravity aided with nicotine absorption. Why had no one thought of this before?
“Little Brother, don’t you get ashes-“ Raziel started.
“SHIT!” He rolled to his side, brushing the ash off his face, and she slid down into Wotan’s now emptied chair, laughing most ungraciously.
“Raziel,” he said, still not moving from the floor. The chair looked a lot bigger with just her sitting in it. “No more of this Little Brother bullshit, or you’re gonna get an icepick through your heart sooner rather than later. You use my Name, or you use my human name, I don’t care, but I’m not an angel anymore, so no more of their fucking honorific bullshit.”
“Um. OK. Sariel. But remember, Wotan said no Blood Feuds before dinner.”
“Wotan,” he said. Something had been bothering him. “So, are you now All-Father’s Consort?”
“Um,” she said.
“Um what? I am not telepathic, merely supernatural.”
“He wants me to sit on the Council at Ithavoll this season.”
“So you are Consort?”
“Kind of?”
“There is no such thing as kind of Consort. Or kind of exclusive for that matter.” He scowled at her. “You realize you fuck this up with Wotan, I’m gonna fucking make sure I’m around for eternity to remind you about it.”
“It’s just…” she started. She leaned forward in the chair, and confided, whispering in High Angelic, “When I was fighting Uriah? He mentioned Wotan. And it broke my concentration. Just for a minute, you understand.”
“Uriah? Got inside your head?"
"No! I mean, yes! I mean, I sort of lost my composure...."
"Uriah could have killed you? Oh, fuck, Raziel…”
“No. No, there was no chance he was gonna win. I’m the best! I just mean this is not like me. I started thinking what about if he hurt Wotan. If anybody hurt him….”
Ofdensen sighed. “Yes. That’s how it works here.”
“No it doesn’t! Not with me! I mean, of course, I would take my vengeance! I would strike him down, he and the next seven generations! And I would burn his habitation, and plow the earth with salt! But…. But….”
“Wotan would still be dead.”
She looked horrified.
“Yes. Dead. And don’t give me that Bette Davis look! You’re a 50 foot Seraph, and you just beheaded the fourth most powerful being in the fucking galaxy.”
“Bette Davis? Really?” She smiled.
"Yes, Bette fucking Davis, and yes, she was really stylish human, quit making the eyes and fucking listen! I’ve lived here, you haven’t. No, don’t even start, you have not lived here, you’ve just checked in every couple of centuries to see if there’s anything pretty here to amuse you. I’ve had to live here, you listen to me, because here is how it works. In this universe, you find something you want, and you hold onto it, and then you spend your time defending it from all the other motherfuckers. Because in this universe, there are a lot of motherfuckers. And that’s how it works.”
“But, I could still lose him?”
“Yes. That’s how it works. Everything can go tits up and you lose it anyway. Especially with humans. They die. And you can go look for a similar one, but you never quite get them back. Not the same one.”
“But how do you live with that?”
He shrugged.
“This universe is…. This universe could stand some rethinking,” she declared.
“Yeah. Take it up with Our Father.”
“Oh, not Him. That asshole.”
She sighed. She jumped out of the chair. “Well, I have to start getting ready for dinner.”
“Wotan said an hour.”
“It takes me a while! I have to get dressed!”
“You’re wearing fucking clothes now.”
“Yes. At least one of us prefers to stay clothed in public.”
He glared. “Anyway. I might stay here. Just for the next day or so."
She stuck out her hands. “Come on! The cook is preparing something they’ve sliced off a really happy, fat, ridiculous cow. Just for you.”
“You can’t just leave me in this room? Maybe for the next month?” He found he really liked the idea, magicked into a nice, cosy, windowless room.
“No. Up.” He reluctantly let her help yank him to a standing position. “Hey! You know what’s wrong with you? You have Parvati head!” She knocked on her own head. Ofdensen was surprised that no hollow sound was produced.
“No. Absolutely not. Parvati does not have that effect on me.”
“Parvati has that effect on everyone! Look, tell you what,” she said, letting them out of the room, “Wotan is taking out a hunting party tomorrow morning, but I’m going to stay here with Parvati and catch up. Why don’t you just sleep in? Maybe you could get lunch with me and Parvati. Ha! See? She does have that effect!”
He realized with dismay that the mere thought of lunching with Parvati had turned his facial expression into a horrible bright smile. He tried to rearrange his features back into a scowl so he could flash Raziel the dark look she so richly deserved, but found he was having trouble. So he simply muttered, “OK. OK. Maybe.”
Nathan Explosion was annoyed. They had nearly missed the hunt. Fucking Skwisgaar. The dude was being a douche.
If Nathan had been the thinking sort, which he wasn't, he may have expressed his feelings regarding his band mates as a general theory of conservation of douchebaggery. It's like they had all gotten the same amount of douche-hood, but then meted it out as they saw fit. Now, Murderface, you could count on that guy to be a douche every single goddam day. Like a fucking Swiss douche watch or some shit. Pickles, on the other hand, he could go maybe a week and have you even thinking he was a cool guy, and then some shit would set him off and he'd double down on the douchery.
On the other hand, Skwisgaar, that guy, it was like he actually stored up his douche quotient, like those thrifty Swedish douchebags saved up to buy themselves that weird ass furniture that no one knew how to assemble because it just came with some little gay paperclip thing instead of a fucking screwdriver. Like, for months or years, he could go, and then he would explode with a fountain of douchery, "OH I AMS QUITSING THE BAND CAUSE I'M A GIANT SWEDISH DILDO!" Dumbass.
Anyway, Nathan could barely get the bastard out of bed that morning. To go demon hunting! Was it Nathan's fault he was up humping Valkyries or whatever all night? And then he was all sullen, like a chick, where you've done something and now they're gonna snarl at you until you figure out what the fuck it is you did. Only, Skwisgaar wasn't a chick, so Nathan couldn't even look forward to some nasty make up sex when he figured it out. And, had he just thought “make up sex” in the same sentence as “Skwisgaar,” 'cause that was fucking weird, dude.
He almost wished their manager had come along instead. Even though he was still the world's biggest asshole and everybody here made it worse calling him by that stupid gay angel name, at least you could count on him to consistently be a dick. Consistency of douchebaggery! That was Nathan’s new rule.
So, there were some new dudes along on the hunt, and they hadn’t really had time for an introduction. They were weird dudes, sorta like Ganesh with his human body and elephant head. There was a big dude with the head of a bear, and a small skinny dude with the head of some kinda bird. But, Nathan guessed, this was kind of a weird place, so weird was actually kind of not weird. Or, something.
They had been having not great luck looking for demons, so they had all stopped for a bit, and since Skwisgaar was still pouting, Nathan decided to check out the new dudes. They seemed friendly enough.
“I’m Hon,” the big bear dude said. “This is Kwahu.” The eagle flashed his eyes at Nathan. “We’re Kachinas.”
“I’m Nathan. Um, of Dethklok.” Nathan always found himself a little befuddled at Valhalla having to introduce himself as a mere human. Though, oddly, no one ever seemed to mind, he wondered if Ofdensen might get him promoted to a god. It seemed a fairly reasonable request.
“Hey, Nathan of Dethklok, you don’t know who that fine looking lady back at Valhalla is do you?”
“Oh, Parvati? She’s his girlfriend,” he waved over towards where Shiva was babbling with Wotan. “But, I’ve been told I gotta stay away from her.”
“Who told you something like that?”
“Uh, Ofdensen. I think you god dudes call him Sariel?”
“What, that angel homeboy?”
“Yeah.”
“He seems uptight, man,” Hon stated.
“He’s totally uptight. He manages my band.”
“I don’t trust angels,” Kwahu hissed.
“Yeah. How did you end up working with a fuckin’ angel, man?” Hon asked, his bear eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Oh, he’s not one anymore. He got kicked out or something? I dunno.”
“He’s Fallen?” Nathan nodded. Hon and Kwahu nodded at each other. “He might be OK,” Hon allowed.
“They usually don’t cast out the biggest assholes,” Kwahu said.
“But you don’t wanna trust an angel. They’re bastards,” Hon said.
“Wotan’s girlfriend….”
Hon and Kwahu hooted with laughter.
“She’s an angel girl, dude,” Hon said.
“We like angel girls. To damn bad they’re not all angel girls,” Kwahu laughed.
“Hey, that’s just what we were thinking the other day!” Nathan told them. “What if that whole Legion army was angel chicks?”
“Hey!” said Hon, smiling a bear smile.
“An angel chick army,” whistled Kwahu, his eagle eyes getting kind of misty.
“I like how you think, Nathan dude!” Hon said. He squinted at the singer. “Hey, you’re not of the Nations, are you dude?”
Nathan looked puzzled, so Kwahu said, “He means Indian. Not like the blue dude,” waving at Shiva again. “We mean real Indian.”
“Oh! My grandfather was Yanamango!”
“OH!” both Hon and Kwahu exclaimed.
“Excellent! Yanamango are party dudes!” Hon approved.
“We went down to visit them once,” Nathan bragged. “I even tried yopo.”
“Oh, Nathan dude, not yopo! With the blow pipe? That shit will kill you!” Hon said.
“Harsh,” hissed Kwahu.
“Yeah, you should try some of our stuff. Far more mellow.”
“Heh,” Nathan laughed. “Maybe you should meet my friend, Pickles.” Cool dudes, he thought.
Ofdensen arose late that morning. Actually, it was more like early afternoon. As Raziel had promised, no one had disturbed him, and now, following the departure of the hunting party, Valhalla felt deserted.
He padded around, heading vaguely towards the wing where the kitchen was located. He wondered if they might rustle up something to eat that hadn’t originated with some horrible fire-breathing monster. He actually felt mildly hungry, which was pleasant. He hadn’t had the stomach for food for a while.
He heard the laughter and found them in a small room off the kitchen area. Parvati and Raziel were gossiping and … knitting?
“Hey, Sariel, did you sleep OK?” Raziel called.
“Sariel,” Parvati said. He had never noticed it before, but his angel Name was really sort of pretty and musical and maybe he ought to change back to it? Or maybe he could just have Parvati say it. Like, one hundred more times.
“Parvati” he smiled, collapsing a little unsteadily onto the couch. Maybe he hadn’t had quite enough sleep after all? “You guys are, uh, knitting?”
“Yes, we are incorporating some love charms into the patterning,” Parvati explained. “It will be quite lovely and functional.”
“You guys? Love charms? Isn’t that … overkill?” He evoked some more laughter. Parvati, he noticed, had the world’s prettiest, most musical laugh. She almost managed to make Raziel not annoying.
“Maybe we’ll start a business!” Raziel told him.
“You? Business?” He went ahead and lay down on the couch, laughing. It was the funniest and best joke ever.
“The world’s loveliest knits?” Parvati ventured.
“I’m gonna call Dolce about it!” Raziel laughed.
“Their knitwear line this year was perfectly witty! Did you get to the Milan show?”
“Barely! You wouldn’t believe the problems this year. You really should come along with me next time. I think Stella McCartney is coming up. I’m devoted to Stella,” Raziel said.
“I appreciate the styling, I just don’t think her hemlines work on me,” Parvati noted.
“Really? I should think you could wear anything.”
“Oh, it looks perfectly darling on you,” Parvati assured her. “I just prefer more classical lines, like Givenchy. Though, it’s simply not been the same since Hubert retired.”
“Did you get to see a show while Hubert was still running the company?” Raziel looked like she might faint from the pure couture.
“Oh, indeed!”
“You must tell me every detail!” Raziel insisted. “It’s a deep regret, not witnessing Twentieth Century couture.” She held up her half-completed scarf. “What do you think?”
“Oh, my dear,” Parvati laughed softly. “I think perhaps you should only wear that one in your bedroom!”
Raziel took a look. “A little strong on the magic, huh?” Both women giggled. “I suppose I could pull it all out and try again.”
“’Tis the joy of knitting,” Parvati laughed. She glanced over at the couch. “Oh dear!” she said. “Did I do this?”
Raziel set down her knitting and went over to look at Ofdensen’s prone form. She experimentally picked up his hand, which had fallen off the couch, and let it drop. He was like a rag doll - there was absolutely no resistance.
“Wow. He’s totally out,” said Raziel.
“Oh!” said Parvati. “That’s a bad burn. Ganesh could fix that hand for him!”
“Yeah, he had an accident with a flaming sword, I think. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Hmm. Should we take him into another room to sober up?”
“Ah. He looks happy. He’s been under a bit of stress. Why don’t we let him be for a bit?”
“Well,” said Parvati. “Shall he have nice dreams?”
Raziel grinned. “I can see no reason why he should not have nice dreams.” The two women giggled, and went back to knitting love charms.
Ofdensen blinked. He was striding along Valhalla’s corridors with Wotan. The god was half carrying him along. But he didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten there.
They diverted into Wotan’s office, where the god deposited him in a chair.
“What was I…? Where was I…?”
“Scotch,” said the All-Father, setting a glass in front of him, and then pouring one for himself. Ofdensen took a drink. The burning did seem to revive him.
“Parvati,” the god said, a bit apologetically. “I can’t say no to her visiting, Raziel dotes on her so. But the two of them, sometimes they don’t know their own strength.”
“Parvati and … Raziel?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll come with us tomorrow on a hunt. We’ll stab something, and maybe smoke cigars, and you’ll be put to rights.”
“What…. I shouldn’t be affected!”
Wotan laughed. “Why not? God or angel, you’re a man. Just, for now, do what I do, try to avoid getting caught in a small room with the both of ‘em, especially if it’s just you alone.”
“I don’t believe this….”
“Ha! My Raziel, she’s got a bit of the mischief to her. I did tell you how we met, didn’t I?” Ofdensen shook his head, afraid now he’d be forced to hear. “She came to a gathering up here some time back. Of course I knew the Lady by reputation, but she came striding on up to me, not a hint of coyness to her at all, and she looked me right in the eyes, bold as brass, and I said to her, I said, ‘You don’t even come up as high as my chin, and you look as though you could knock me right over!” And she says, ‘Well, do you need knocking over?’ Do you need knocking over?” Wotan roared with laughter. “Well, I guess we’re all in need of some knocking over, from time to time.”
Ofdensen moaned quietly. It sounded exactly like the kind of cringe-worthy nonsense that would come out of Raziel’s mouth. “I do not need any knocking over, thank you,” he grumbled.
“Come on,” the god said, standing. “The hunt this morning was a right bust! Not a demon in sight. I’ll have to send out Huginn to spot for us before tomorrow. But, let’s go have the kitchen make us a decent lunch! A good steak sandwich will always set things right I’ve found.” Ofdensen rose, following the god. And then he remembered. He’d been dreaming….
Oh, fuck!
Nathan Explosion wasn’t dreaming.
At least, he didn’t think so.
Unless of course, he was.
What had happened was, the hunt had failed to locate any demons, so he had prowled around Valhalla a bit with Hon and Kwahu, seeing if they could spot the cute Indian chick. Meaning, India Indian, not Hopi Indian. Like those crazy movies where everybody danced and sang in whiney voices. But, she wasn’t around anywhere, though they spotted her tiger in the stables, so Hon and Kwahu said they’d show him some medicine, even though Nathan had told them he wasn’t really sick, it was just one of those summer colds that had kind of hung on forever.
So, instead of an Indian chick, there was this spider chick, and she kept telling him she was gonna show him the Back Door, and he tried to tell her, that’s not really my thing, maybe you need to talk to my friend, Skwisgaar.
And she (the spider chick) had told him, “Oh, Skwisgaar Odinsson? Whoa, that’s kind of bad medicine. You sure that’s what you wanna see? I’ve got a real trippy flying serpent I could show you!”
And Nathan was like, “Whoa, flying serpent! Like a dragon? We saw a dragon here last month, and I had to have an elephant put out my hair with his trunk!”
And the spider chick was all, “Cool, you sound like your life is even weirder than mine!” And so, they went to see the flying serpent: the spider chick, Nathan, and their friend, a bear, who had an eagle riding on his shoulder.
Ofdensen noticed with some relief that Parvati was not at Wotan’s conclave, although Shiva was there with, of course, Ganesh at his side. The Kachinas, Hon the Bear and Kwahu the Eagle were there, sitting and palling around with Nathan. Nathan’s pupils were looking a little dilated. In fact, the whole crew frankly looked a bit stoned. Good, thought Ofdensen, if they’re off abusing drugs, at least they’re not doing anything likely to get them murdered by Shiva. Ofdensen hadn’t been actively avoiding the Kachinas, but he also didn’t go out of his way to introduce himself, and he noticed some wary looks from them.
He was a bit puzzled that Nathan had shown up, but Skwisgaar had not. He wasn’t certain whether Wotan had asked his son or not, and didn’t think it polite to inquire (though he was quite certain Raziel would blab about it freely at a later point).
Speaking of Raziel, she was seated, as was her custom, on the broad arm of Wotan’s chair. She had, of course, changed her outfit, to a dark 1940s style dress with severe shoulder pads and a striking triangular white collar. And she wore a truly ridiculous straw hat. He frowned. He recognized that outfit from somewhere.
“Feeling better?” she asked, peering under the brim of the ridiculous hat.
He scowled, though it probably wasn’t one of his better scowls. He stifled a burp. Quite frankly, he found it difficult to keep up a certain level of irritation when his stomach was filled with several utterly delicious steak sandwiches from Wotan’s kitchen and probably one too many glasses of his rare single malt.
“Raziel, do NOT pull that shit on me ever again!” he said, though he may have lessened the impact of his stern tone somewhat by finishing with another only semi-stifled burp.
“What? Knitting?” she laughed. “In my defense, you did assure me Parvati has absolutely no effect on you.”
“OK. OK. Point.”
He sighed and pulled out his cigarettes.
“Oh, could I get one?”
“You don’t smoke!”
“I need it to complete my ensemble!”
He regarded her outfit again. “Wait. That isn’t….?” he asked.
“Now Voyager!” she said happily.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, knocked two Marlboros out of the pack and handed one to her.
“You have to light it!” she told him.
“Um. I don’t think Charlotte Vale would’ve bounced up and down like that,” he told her. She grinned and stopped fidgeting, and he successfully lit the cigarette for her. She started coughing immediately, as she did not actually smoke cigarettes.
Wotan entered, holding under his arm a cabinet much like the one Uriah now called home. He sat the box down on a table near his chair, and Ofdensen noticed Raziel edging away.
“I wanted to chat with you friends today because I think we all share an interest in the activities of The Legion. As you all know, they have left us in peace for a brief period, but we have reason to believe that there may be plans afoot to intervene in this universe again sometime soon. On occasion, in the past, we have found it profitable to briefly ally ourselves with The Legion, but, as has happened with our good friend and ally Shiva, we have mostly found it profitable to keep at arm’s length.” Shiva nodded.
The god opened the cabinet. Raziel cringed back, but Nathan and the Kachinas all leaned forward.
“Whoa!” Hon said.
The box contained a head. It appeared that the head had once belonged to a bearded, middle-aged man. Or a god who appeared as such. The eyes were closed, but as the king opened the cabinet door, they snapped open and searched around the room. The effect was a bit disquieting.
“This is Mimir, who is one of my most trusted advisors,” Wotan said. “We’re talking of the Legion, Mimir.”
“Yes, I have been thinking upon it,” the head in the box murmured.
Ofdensen noticed Raziel was quite suddenly sitting on the couch next to him instead of on the arm of Wotan’s chair. “I thought Mimir lived in the well?” he whispered to her.
“Yes. But he’d make Wotan leave an eye there. It was getting inconvenient. No depth perception, you know? So, he just brought him up here.” She shuddered.
“I was wondering if My Lady Raziel could tell me more about the death of Uriah?” Mimir whispered.
Raziel visibly cringed. “Uh, sure Mimir. Anything.”
‘You used our magic to defeat Uriah, is that correct, Lady Raziel?” Mimir asked.
“Yeah, that’s correct. One of Surtr’s flame spells.”
“And how was his resistance?”
“Nonexistant. He was, as the humans might say, toast.” She grinned.
“Wait,” said Hon. “You mean Bette Davis here killed fucking Uriah?”
“Yes, and I broke a fingernail doing it,” Raziel told him, snottily. She then ruined the effect by taking a drag on the cigarette and dissolving into a coughing fit.
“My angel is a Seraph,” Wotan said, with no little amount of pride.
“Holy shit. You’re kidding. There are girl seraphim?” Hon asked.
“Yeah,” Raziel coughed. “Well, me and one other.”
“Wasn’t Uriah one of your Cardinals or some shit?” Hon asked Ofdensen.
“He wasn’t my Cardinal. I’m not … associated with the Legion any longer. But, yes, he was highly ranked. Lady Raziel stood in my stead in the matter of a Blood Feud.”
“You had him killed, homeboy?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. But essentially, yes. It was a legal duel.”
“Complicated? Yeah. Why aren’t you dead?”
“Well, that’s actually a very good question,” Ofdensen admitted. “Oh, and regarding Surtr’s spell, when I talked to him later about it, Michael seemed very interested in what he kept calling my ‘pagan magic.’”
“I thought you weren’t ‘associated’ with the Legion anymore?” Hon demanded.
“I was summoned. Not a smart summons to ignore, I’d think. Anyway, I carefully explained the situation to him. And, he yelled a bit. So finally I flashed my wings at him and told him to fuck off.”
“You didn’t?” Raziel demanded, in exactly the tone that implied she dearly hoped he did.
“I did.”
“Haha. Asshole.” She took another drag of her cigarette, and immediately regretted it.
“I have a question or two for the honored Kachinas,” Mimir said.
“We weren’t exactly sure why you invited us here, Wotan dude,” Hon laughed. “Maybe we’re affirmative action?”
“Hon and Kwahu, my honored friends, you’re here as my guests, to join me on the hunt. And because I am interested in hearing what you have to say. Maybe you might begin by stating your experiences with the Legion?”
“All respect, we had this same damn conversation about the goddam Legion like a couple hundred years ago. Nobody ever fucking listens. Sorry, Miss.”
“Don’t mind me,” Raziel assured them, blowing smoke. She stifled a cough.
“Well, the thing is with angels,” and here Hon sent a sharp look at Ofdensen, “It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do.”
“They wiped us out. Extinguished us,” Kwahu hissed.
“And for no fucking reason. We were a nation, man. When my brothers and sisters danced, it was a dance that spread over an entire fucking hemisphere, from up in Nome to down in Tierra del Fuego. And, then one day we wake up and the Legion is there, slaughtering us. All of us. There's so few of us left. We spend our days trying to get quarters out of little old blue haired ladies, that’s what we do now.”
“But, you all knew about the Genocide,” said Kwahu, eagle eyes flashing.
“I have heard the stories. It’s always enlightening I find to hear a story directly from someone who was there,” Wotan said.
“Hon and Kwahu, what can you tell me of the rumors? Of the powerful Old Ones among the gods of the New World? There has been some speculation the Legion sought them out. That this was the real motivation behind the Holocaust.” Mimir asked.
“Hey, if we had access to a big powerfully buddy, like Bette Davis here, don’t you think we would’ve used them to keep from getting killed?” Hon asked.
“If you’re looking for Old Ones, maybe you should contact our friend Nathan’s relatives,” Kwahu said. Nathan looked puzzled. Hon just frowned.
“So, the South?”
Hon’s frown darkened a few degrees, but Kwahu answered, “That was what I heard. Amazon. And maybe some way up north, around our Back Door.”
“Wait. Arctic. Are you sure?” Raziel asked.
“Like Hon said, if I actually knew, we would’ve sent their ass against some angel dickheads. No offense.”
“I didn’t get out to this universe much during that period. Too much yucky Black Plague,” Raziel shuddered.
“I didn’t actually make it over to the New World until far later,” Ofdensen commented. “Oh, and by the way, if you should see him, could you give my kind regards to Eototo?”
“Wait, you know The Chief?” Hon asked. Kwahu narrowed his eagle pupils suspiciously.
"Yeah."
"How do you know him?" Kwahu asked.
"Uh. I'd prefer not to say." Ofdensen smiled and looked a bit far off. "Just, like I said, tell him I said hi." He shrugged.
"I need to think upon matters some more," Mimir said quietly.
"Certainly, friend," Wotan told him. “And here are the questions I would like all of us to consider, if you would be so kind. Do you think we should consider ourselves under an imminent threat from the Legion, and if so, what, if anything, should we do about it?”
“Shiva would like to have Michael’s fine neck at the end of his saber,” the blue god spat.
“You ain’t the only one,” Raziel puffed.
“As I’ve said before, that might be a bit aggressive, my friend,” Wotan told Shiva.
“I’m just not sure it’s a great move to stir up trouble right now,” Ofdensen noted.
“What are you talking about?” Hon asked. “Bette Davis just offed an archangel with her fingernail. Why are we still so scared of those Legion pussies?”
“I think it’s a great mistake to be dismissive of the Legion,” Ofdensen said. “Raziel is one of the most accomplished swordsmen in this universe. Or, any universe.” Raziel puffed up.
“The angel girl? Look, it’s nice that you bring in your girlfriend, Wotan, but is she even old enough to smoke?”
“Why don’t I go True Form, we’ll see who can smoke?” Raziel asked him irritably.
“My pet, don’t get winged towards our guests, it’s rude,” Wotan soothed. “Perhaps we should continue our discussion at a later time? For now, is anyone else here quite ready for an aperitif?"
The assembled slowly evacuated the room, variously gossiping and bickering.
Except for one.
An ex-angel was watching over him.
“Nathan?”
The singer looked up at the sound of his name. “We were going to see the winged serpent!” he explained.
“Uh-huh.”
“No, the Spider Lady!”
“Yep.”
“She was taking us.”
“That sounds great. Want some dinner?”
“Uh. Yeah?”
Ofdensen waited a long moment, and then reached out a hand. Nathan somewhat blearily took it, and Ofdensen managed to get the singer yanked up to a standing position.
“I’m pretty stoned, huh?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah. That seems to be a growing problem here. C’mon. Wotan has Scotch.”
End of Part 1
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pickles reaches out and touches someone. Nathan and Skwisgaar make some new friends. Charles smokes a lot and smashes stuff with a sword.
Warnings: THIS ONE GOT SLASHY - NOT A LOT BUT A LITTLE - I’M NOT SURE HOW BUT IT JUST DID I’M SORRY GUYS THIS HAPPENS SOMETIMES. Also, AU plus plenty o’ F-words and OCs and other stuff you didn’t wanna read.
Notes: A millionty billion notes after the jump
This got too big, so I'll put up PART 2 probably tomorrow.
This is a Metalocalypse AU that’s been taking over my life.
tiktaalikroseae started calling it “Mythklok” so I’ll just steal that since I can’t think of a better title. Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3) and a ski trip (Chapter 4) (which concludes here) and a sword fight (Chapter 5).WHAT YOU MISSED BY NOT WASTING 187 HOURS OF YOUR LIFE READING THIS CRAP: Charles is a Fallen angel who used to go by the Name of Sariel. Up until the last chapter, he was getting his ass routinely kicked by a creepy Archangel named Uriah, who you might know as Selactia. Anyway, last time, Raziel, an annoying fashionista angel who’s not-quite-Fallen, kicked Uriah’s ass, and now all that’s left of him is (apparently) a box of ashes. I said “apparently” ‘cause Uriah/Selatcia’s soul is now missing. This is sort of pissing off Management, the angel bosses, particularly Archangel Michael, who commands the Legion, the badass angel army.
Oh, and Raziel is dating Wotan, who is Skwisgaar’s dad, as well as a Norse god and stuff. Skwisgaar has seemed a bit sullen lately, maybe because family shit is weird, but Nathan Explosion thinks King Wotan dude is pretty fucking awesome, due to Valhalla being chock full of demons and hot chicks. And there’s some other dudes who like to hang at Valhalla and party and stab demons and stuff, like Shiva, a Hindu god of destruction who’s also a big Dethklok fan.
Charles smokes a lot in this AU. I have no fucking idea why. We have decided his brand is Marlboro. Also,
late_totheparty drew this amazing smoking Charles art last time that sort of put me in my happy place. So there.One more thing: I have made the Native American beings in this story Kachinas mainly because I fucking love Kachinas due to having my young mind warped by Gumby cartoons. However, in real life, the Hopi people do not use peyote – that’s more a thing for tribes in Mexico. So, the whole “Kachinas do the psychedelic experience” thing I’ve written here is a little bit of gmish of Native American cultures.
THE LADY AND THE TIGER (Mythklok, Chapter 6)
Part 1 of 2
“So,” said Pickles.
Ofdensen sighed. He wasn’t in a particularly bad mood today - not for him - but he had hoped to escape into his office without being intercepted. Much as it irritated him, he was beginning to see the point of the angel Raziel’s “disappearing into thin air” trick.
“So, dat guy,” Pickles began.
It was pretty fucking obvious what guy he was talking about: the erstwhile Archangel Uriah. Who currently consisted of a few ounces of ash, which Ofdensen now kept inside a box in his jacket pocket. Sometimes, he would take out the box and give it a shake. Just for fun.
Ofdensen decided to see if he could wriggle out of this one quickly. “Yes, that guy. We took care of that guy. You don’t have to worry about that guy anymore.” You have to worry about a whole lot of other, potentially worse things. Horrible, terrible things. But, he wouldn’t mention that little bit.
Pickles nodded, though he was quite obviously unsatisfied. Ofdensen was actually hoping the conversation would veer off into something simpler, like bitching about Seth. Or maybe asking for funds to construct a secret moon base. Or, something.
“But, dat guy was an ex?”
Nope, not a quick conversation. And, they had reached the door of his office, meaning Pickles would follow him in and make himself at home and then this uncomfortable conversation would wind on forever.
Ofdensen sighed and pulled his door open. He had not been in a particularly bad mood. Before. Pickles followed, carefully closing the door after himself. OK, now what?
Ofdensen sat down in his chair. ‘I dunno if I’d exactly call him an ex. Maybe. It was…. It was complicated.”
“It was a bad breakup?”
“It was…. It was…. It was the epic bad breakup from hell.” And he sort of drifted off. Bad breakup. That ended with me cast out of Heaven and trapped in this shithole. Yes. Epic bad breakup.
He snapped back. When and how had Pickles gotten over to his side of the desk? “Pickles!”
“I was t’inkin’….”
“That is NEVER a good plan for you.”
“Maybe you could maybe use some consolation?” He grinned a perfectly evil Pickles grin.
“Pickles! Don’t….”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…. Anything!”
“Don’t do dis?”
“You know perfectly fucking well I do not care to be touched unless I happen to be in the middle of an obscene act.”
“We can fix dat,” Pickles laughed a perfectly evil Pickles laugh. And he was in the chair with Ofdensen, but not for long, because a few minutes later they were on top of the desk, and then some time later, under the desk.
Ofdensen lay there, trying to catch his breath. He was somehow still wearing his glasses, but that was it. “That was…. That was…. That was…. A really, really, really, really bad idea.”
Pickles laughed. He was wearing a red tie. And that was it.
“No, Pickles. That was…. That was inappropriate.” Ofdensen was up, grabbing his pants back on.
Pickles bounced into a guest chair, not seeming to have any inclination towards tracking down his clothes, which had sort of got scattered here and there. “So, for da future, ‘yeah yeah fuck me harder’ means ‘no?’”
“Pickles! No! We can’t….”
“Seems like we just did, dood.”
“We cannot….” He found his shirt and put on one sleeve. “Look. Look. Why can’t you just go find a couple of those strippers with the big tits…?”
“Will ya come wit’ me? Like ya used to?”
“NO! I can’t…. We can’t do that anymore. Jesus. We’ve talked about this!”
But then there were three people in the room. The small, dark-haired woman hadn’t been standing there a moment earlier.
Raziel tipped down her oversized sunglasses with a well-manicured finger. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she smiled.
“Naw, dat’s OK,” Pickles told her cheerfully. He leaned back in the chair and, Ofdensen noticed grumpily, made absolutely no move towards his discarded clothes.
She pulled up a chair, but then hesitated. “Not to be rude,” she asked Pickles, “But you didn’t, uh, just use this chair? For anything? This is Stella McCartney!” she said, indicating her dress. Raziel was the type of person who was always glad to tell you who she was wearing. Even if you had absolutely no interest in this information.
“Nope, didn’t use dat chair.”
“Hmpf. Well, why not?” she grinned, flipping her dress’s long train aside and seating herself demurely in the chair.
“Hey, I dunno, maybe next time!”
“There won’t be a next time,” Ofdensen muttered.
“Oh sure dere will! In fact, we was just gonna go find some groupies wit’ big tits. You want in, Lady Raz?”
“Why, thank you for the kind offer, but Wotan and I, we’re kind of in this exclusive thing right now,” Raziel told him courteously.
“Yeah, I figured. Dat’s nice too.”
“Well, I wish I could convince your friend Nathan about that.”
“Aw, dat’s just Nat’an, I wouldn’ be offended.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, wit’ dat guy, sexual harassment is just his way o’ sayin’ hello!”
“What do you want, Raziel?” Ofdensen asked, still trying and failing to get into his other sleeve.
“WELL! I have come on behalf of King Wotan, who apologizes for not bringing this message personally.”
“For which I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” Ofdensen sighed.
“We are having a sort of informal but nevertheless important gathering, and he wished me to assure your attendance.” She turned. “I’m terribly sorry to be rude, Pickles, but you don’t happen to be on the guest list for this occasion.”
“Aw, no offense taken,” the naked drummer cheerily assured her.
“You must come up again sometime soon! We could go snowboarding.”
“If it’s all the same t’ you, I’d radder board where dere ain’t none o’ dem ice demons.”
“Oh, we have a helicopter! We might do extreme, here on Earth, with Toki.”
“Oh, dat sounds cool. Um. Is dat Shiva dood comin’ along?”
“No, but Ganesh wants to try!”
“Oh, yeah, he’s a cool dood. Um. When he’s here, does he go around wit’ his elephant head t’ing?”
“Oh, no, when he’s in your world, he wears a human head. A very handsome human head.” She grinned and pretended to fan herself.
“Hey, I t’ought you said you were exclusive wit’ Wotan?” Pickles grinned.
“I’m exclusive, not DEAD.”
“Heh. So, I should prob’ly let you doods talk.”
“OK, well don’t be a stranger!” And with that Pickles wadded up most of his clothes and breezed out.
“PICKLES! TIE!” It was tossed back at him. Ofdensen looked at it for a minute, then wadded it up and stuffed it in his top drawer with an exasperated expression.
“Well,” she told Ofdensen, peeking over her oversized sunglasses at the departing drummer, “he’s not as pretty as Skwisgaar, but he seems quite pleasant. And! A natural redhead to boot.”
Ofdensen had just given up trying to get the rest of the way into his shirt as some kind of impossibly difficult problem. “Raziel. Will you tell me when I am expected at Valhalla. And then do that thing you do best, disappear?”
“Sure. Next weekend. You. Skwisgaar.”
“OK.”
“And Nathan.”
“All right.”
“It will be great," she said, rising. "I think there’s gonna be a couple folks you haven’t met. Oh, and Lord Shiva is bringing Lady Parvati.”
“Oh, yeah, I like Parvati. Wait. What?”
“Everybody likes Parvati! Isn’t she a dear? Well, I shall disappear now.”
“No. Wait! Raziel!” But she was already gone.
He lunged for his phone. “Yeah, Lord Wotan? This is Sariel. Yes, glad I caught you. Yes, you have excellent cell phone coverage in Valhalla, this call is very clear. Oh, you put in your own tower? Yeah, that was a great idea. Oh, she does, huh? Calling Italy? Well, women like to talk on the phone. Well, that’s kind of why I called. Yes, she just told me. Yes, Raziel was just here. Uh, not 5 mintues ago. No, she didn’t look like she had any shopping bags with her. No, she didn’t mention…. She didn’t mention if she had any more runway shows. No, she just… She just disappeared, like she always does. Yes, that is a bit rude, but…. Yes, I look forward to it. Yes, I will…. I will definitely kill some more demons, yes. Look, the reason I called…. Yes, Raziel told me that Shiva is bringing Lady Parvati? Yes, I like Lady Parvati. Yes, I love Lady Parvati. Yes, everybody likes Lady Parvati. It’s just, you’ve also asked me to bring Nathan Explosion along? I’m not sure…. Yes, Nathan is a great guy. Yeah. Yes, I guess one could say he has a mischievous sense of humor, it’s just…. I’m not sure that Shiva…. Yes, Shiva can be great fun, I'm just not sure.... I'm just worried that Nathan.... Yes, I'm sure Nathan will enjoy killing demons too, it’s just..... Yeah, you’re very welcome for the Scotch. Uh, yeah. Yeah. Bye."
Ofdensen sighed, returning the phone to its cradle. Great, his lead singer cut into a million pieces by a vengeful Hindu god of destruction.
He hadn't been in a particularly bad mood. Before.
Since they were among the first guests to arrive at Valhalla that weekend, Nathan had wanted to get a head start on the beer and Valkyrie consumption, but Skwisgaar was being sort of a dumb dildo these days, so they had ended up taking out a couple of the horses for a ride. Which was OK, if you thought about it. Wotan dude had said they would go out hunting for some big ass demons tomorrow, so it was probably not a bad thing to get used to being in the saddle.
They had dismounted for a time and were on a rise overlooking the front gate of Valhalla, watching Shiva’s party arrive. Wotan and Skwisgaar’s hot stepmom (wearing one of her weird but very hot outfits) were out there waiting.
The party arrived: three riders. Nathan quickly recognized that weird four-armed blue Shiva dude on his giant bull, and Ganesh, the elephant dude, mounted on a horse.
But there was one more person. Who was riding a fucking tiger! Nathan just had to stand and gawp. This was just so awesome. Why didn’t everybody ride a fucking tiger? And it must have been one of those weird tigers like you see the chick from the Alien movies talk about on the education cable channels that he always yelled at Pickles to skip over because they were missing fucking wrestling, what the fuck? But, anyway, the tiger was all white instead of orange tiger colored.
And, there was something about the tiger-rider. She was definitely female. Oh, unmistakably female.
Shiva jumped off his bull, graceful as a dancer, and then stood before the tiger holding out one of his many arms to assist the rider in dismounting.
There were no words.
Lovely is just a word. Enchanting – just a word. Mere words could not do her justice. Neither could songs. Nor poetry. She slid off the tiger, slim and tall and dark and curvaceous, and even from where Nathan was standing he could tell her skin was the softest and that she smelled wonderful, probably like some kind of rare spices.
Wotan bowed very low before her. And then – oh God! – Lady Raziel went up to her and they exchanged elaborate air kisses, and then Lady Raziel entwined one of her arms with this gorgeous, rare creature, and the two women strode towards the castle, their heads close together, whispering.
Nathan had a death grip on Skwisgaar’s shoulder, partly to keep himself from falling over from sheer bliss. “Skwisgaar. Dude. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW,” he managed to say.
“NATHAN!” came an annoying voice from in back of them. Nathan sighed and turned around.
“Nathan! No!”
“No, WHAT?”
Ofdensen was gesturing frantically with his cigarette. “No to everything! EVERYTHING! EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT THAT IS IN YOUR BRAIN RIGHT NOW! Is a no! She is Shiva’s consort!”
“Shiva’s what?”
“She’s his girlfriend, you dumb dildo,” Skwisgaar snickered.
“ANYTHING! Anything inappropriate from you, and Shiva is likely to slice you into 10 million little pieces!” Ofdensen warned.
"Whoa! How did Shiva end up with a hot babe like that? Frankly, the guy can be kind of a douche sometimes...."
"Nathan is any of what I'm saying actually going into your brain?"
"Dude, you need to mellow out, you know."
“Nathan. I don’t know how I can be any more explicit. Any of the women here, any of the MEN here….”
“Ew, dude” said Nathan.
“Any of the gods or angels or horses … I don’t give a shit. STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM PARVATI!”
“Oh, is that her name? Parvati?” Nathan sighed happily.
For not the first time in his career managing Dethklok, Ofdensen considered murdering Nathan Explosion as the only solution to keeping the stupid bastard alive.
Ofdensen had returned to Valhalla and was moodily drinking a beer and trying not to think overly much of Nathan Explosion’s imminent horrible death when Raziel caught his eye and motioned him to come with her. He followed her down a few of Valhalla’s vast corridors, over towards a disused-looking wing he couldn’t remember visiting before. He noticed that Raziel wasn’t prattling along a mile a minute about something idiotic. This wasn’t exactly unpleasant, it was just weird. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk – well, other than the exquisitely uncomfortable encounter in his office – after her duel with Uriah. Normally, Raziel loved nothing better than relating tendentious accounts of her battle exploits.
At length, they came to a room that appeared to be locked. She looked up and down the hall to see if there was anyone looking, and then used a bit of magic to open the door, and was careful to shut it again with another spell after they had entered.
It was definitely an unusual room. Valhalla had deliberately been built around an internal courtyard, and made extensive use of natural lighting in nearly every location. But this particular room was windowless. She proceeded to the far wall. She sat down on the floor, and took what appeared to be a dusty cover from a small cabinet on the floor. Ofdensen thought it looked a bit like a safe. Curious, he knelt down next to her.
“So,” she began, “This by rights belongs to you. What this is, is, I talked to Wotan about this, and I was trying to think like you would, if you had been thinking….”
Ofdensen held up two hands in the “time out” gesture. Raziel looked baffled. “OK,” he said. “Raziel? I am already completely confused. Could you just show me?”
She nodded, and unlocked the cabinet with a bit more magic. She swung the door out.
He peered inside. And involuntarily jerked back.
“Holy fucking shit!”
“Sariel?” came the familiar voice. “Sariel! Help me!”
“Uriah!” Raziel said.
“Yes, master?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, master.”
Raziel shut the cabinet with a bang. She said some more words and replaced the draping.
Ofdensen sat silently on the carpet for a long while, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. Finally, he said, “You kept his head alive?”
“See,” she said, “I thought, if I kill him, that will just get rid of him until those fuckers decide they’re gonna bring him back, and what good would that do? So, we were talking, and it seemed like this will take him out of play. For a while. I mean, obviously, long term, we’ve got a Loki type situation where someone might find him and take fucking pity on him and let him out or restore his body back or whatever….”
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“If I had been thinking, this is EXACTLY something I would have thought of.”
“Really?” Her dark eyes had gotten very large.
“Yeah.”
They looked up, startled, as the door opened. It was Wotan. He carefully closed the door, and then sprawled into a chair. Raziel jumped up to perch on the arm of the chair, beside him. “So, you’ve been introduced to my newest advisor!” Wotan said. “He’s the best. Just listen to what the bastard says, and do the opposite.”
“Like Mimir,” Ofdensen mused.
“Oh, ick, that creepy old head,” Raziel shuddered, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Mimir is my most trusted advisor,” Wotan told her.
“Yeah, but, ick.”
“You personally beheaded this one, my pet,” Wotan pointed out, gesturing towards the small cabinet.
“I usually don’t keep the heads around! Now, a decorative mug made out of his bleached skull? That’s a tasteful accessory!”
“Perhaps later, dear.”
“Uh, he can’t hear us in there, can he?” Ofdensen asked, looking at the draped cabinet with a small amount of trepidation.
“No. It’s well magicked up,” Wotan assured him.
“I hope he does hear me. He threatened Asgard,” Raziel growled. Wotan actually patted her hand. Ofdensen looked with interest. Wotan was usually terribly careful about not touching her in public. She was seething.
“Now, my angel, don’t get your wings up. You know you frighten the horses when you go to your True Form. If I had a krona for every blowhard who threatened Asgard, why, I’d be one rich bastard.”
“You are a rich bastard,” Ofdensen laughed.
“Well, that’s true. Anyway, ‘twas your Blood Feud, Sariel, so by rights, Uriah belongs to you. We can keep it here, or you may take possession. Or if it’s your fancy, I suppose my Lady Raziel can finish the job, as I am sure she is eager to do.”
“I think he’s probably best staying right here for the present. Michael knows something is wrong. They can’t find his soul,” Ofdensen told him.
Raziel snickered. “Did you tell Michael to ask Morningstar?”
“That asshole,” Ofdensen muttered.
“They deserve each other.”
“So that’s…. That’s why you burned up the body?” Ofdensen guessed, patting the box of ashes in his jacket.
Wotan and Raziel exchanged a look. “Yeah, we had an idea something like this might happen, so we had discussed a few scenarios," she said. Raziel’s version of perfect domestic bliss, Ofdensen thought dryly: curled up by the fireside, discussing how to best dispose of an Archangel. “He pleaded with me to spare his life,” she continued. “He was just a little weak on the specifics.”
“So, it is decided, Uriah shall remain here for the time being,” Wotan stated. “Now. The informal meeting I discussed is slated for late tomorrow. I’d like to hear Mimir’s counsel, and yours, friend Sariel.”
“Did you want to hear my counsel, or did you want to go ahead with what you two have obviously been plotting anyway, but now saying you consulted me first?”
“’Tis not much of a plot, old friend. I apologize for not including you in our discussions at an earlier opportunity, but, as my Lady and I were not certain regarding Uriah’s influence….” He trailed off, a bit awkwardly.
“You know. You’re right. You’re exactly right. Just what I would’ve done.” And thought, ruefully, good god, I have been completely fucking worthless for months now.
Raziel and Wotan glance at each other again. “’Tis true it was your Blood Feud, but, as you might understand, it was my girlfriend who struck the killing blow. I would prefer not to return to Asgard to find my kingdom a smoking ruin.”
“What did you need from me?”
“What I would like is for you to tell you side of the Blood Feud with Uriah. But, only as much as you’d care to share,” Wotan said diplomatically.
“Anything. I’ll tell you anything.”
“I am particularly interested in your conversation with our friend, Michael. Uriah, I think was mad. Michael, is, to be honest, arguably so as well, but his thoughts still matter a great deal.”
“That was…. Yes, I’d actually like to hear your reaction. That was an interesting conversation.”
“Well, I must to my guests,” Wotan said, rising. “Dinner is in an hour. Kindly try not to get involved in a Blood Feud before then, you two?” He wagged a finger at Raziel. They grinned at each other, and he strode out of the room.
Ofdensen took out a cigarette. For some reason, despite his proximity to what was left of Uriah, he didn’t feel much inclination to depart this room. He lay with his back on the floor, cigarette in mouth, thinking how he had now invented the most brilliant position for smoking ever beheld. Obviously, gravity aided with nicotine absorption. Why had no one thought of this before?
“Little Brother, don’t you get ashes-“ Raziel started.
“SHIT!” He rolled to his side, brushing the ash off his face, and she slid down into Wotan’s now emptied chair, laughing most ungraciously.
“Raziel,” he said, still not moving from the floor. The chair looked a lot bigger with just her sitting in it. “No more of this Little Brother bullshit, or you’re gonna get an icepick through your heart sooner rather than later. You use my Name, or you use my human name, I don’t care, but I’m not an angel anymore, so no more of their fucking honorific bullshit.”
“Um. OK. Sariel. But remember, Wotan said no Blood Feuds before dinner.”
“Wotan,” he said. Something had been bothering him. “So, are you now All-Father’s Consort?”
“Um,” she said.
“Um what? I am not telepathic, merely supernatural.”
“He wants me to sit on the Council at Ithavoll this season.”
“So you are Consort?”
“Kind of?”
“There is no such thing as kind of Consort. Or kind of exclusive for that matter.” He scowled at her. “You realize you fuck this up with Wotan, I’m gonna fucking make sure I’m around for eternity to remind you about it.”
“It’s just…” she started. She leaned forward in the chair, and confided, whispering in High Angelic, “When I was fighting Uriah? He mentioned Wotan. And it broke my concentration. Just for a minute, you understand.”
“Uriah? Got inside your head?"
"No! I mean, yes! I mean, I sort of lost my composure...."
"Uriah could have killed you? Oh, fuck, Raziel…”
“No. No, there was no chance he was gonna win. I’m the best! I just mean this is not like me. I started thinking what about if he hurt Wotan. If anybody hurt him….”
Ofdensen sighed. “Yes. That’s how it works here.”
“No it doesn’t! Not with me! I mean, of course, I would take my vengeance! I would strike him down, he and the next seven generations! And I would burn his habitation, and plow the earth with salt! But…. But….”
“Wotan would still be dead.”
She looked horrified.
“Yes. Dead. And don’t give me that Bette Davis look! You’re a 50 foot Seraph, and you just beheaded the fourth most powerful being in the fucking galaxy.”
“Bette Davis? Really?” She smiled.
"Yes, Bette fucking Davis, and yes, she was really stylish human, quit making the eyes and fucking listen! I’ve lived here, you haven’t. No, don’t even start, you have not lived here, you’ve just checked in every couple of centuries to see if there’s anything pretty here to amuse you. I’ve had to live here, you listen to me, because here is how it works. In this universe, you find something you want, and you hold onto it, and then you spend your time defending it from all the other motherfuckers. Because in this universe, there are a lot of motherfuckers. And that’s how it works.”
“But, I could still lose him?”
“Yes. That’s how it works. Everything can go tits up and you lose it anyway. Especially with humans. They die. And you can go look for a similar one, but you never quite get them back. Not the same one.”
“But how do you live with that?”
He shrugged.
“This universe is…. This universe could stand some rethinking,” she declared.
“Yeah. Take it up with Our Father.”
“Oh, not Him. That asshole.”
She sighed. She jumped out of the chair. “Well, I have to start getting ready for dinner.”
“Wotan said an hour.”
“It takes me a while! I have to get dressed!”
“You’re wearing fucking clothes now.”
“Yes. At least one of us prefers to stay clothed in public.”
He glared. “Anyway. I might stay here. Just for the next day or so."
She stuck out her hands. “Come on! The cook is preparing something they’ve sliced off a really happy, fat, ridiculous cow. Just for you.”
“You can’t just leave me in this room? Maybe for the next month?” He found he really liked the idea, magicked into a nice, cosy, windowless room.
“No. Up.” He reluctantly let her help yank him to a standing position. “Hey! You know what’s wrong with you? You have Parvati head!” She knocked on her own head. Ofdensen was surprised that no hollow sound was produced.
“No. Absolutely not. Parvati does not have that effect on me.”
“Parvati has that effect on everyone! Look, tell you what,” she said, letting them out of the room, “Wotan is taking out a hunting party tomorrow morning, but I’m going to stay here with Parvati and catch up. Why don’t you just sleep in? Maybe you could get lunch with me and Parvati. Ha! See? She does have that effect!”
He realized with dismay that the mere thought of lunching with Parvati had turned his facial expression into a horrible bright smile. He tried to rearrange his features back into a scowl so he could flash Raziel the dark look she so richly deserved, but found he was having trouble. So he simply muttered, “OK. OK. Maybe.”
Nathan Explosion was annoyed. They had nearly missed the hunt. Fucking Skwisgaar. The dude was being a douche.
If Nathan had been the thinking sort, which he wasn't, he may have expressed his feelings regarding his band mates as a general theory of conservation of douchebaggery. It's like they had all gotten the same amount of douche-hood, but then meted it out as they saw fit. Now, Murderface, you could count on that guy to be a douche every single goddam day. Like a fucking Swiss douche watch or some shit. Pickles, on the other hand, he could go maybe a week and have you even thinking he was a cool guy, and then some shit would set him off and he'd double down on the douchery.
On the other hand, Skwisgaar, that guy, it was like he actually stored up his douche quotient, like those thrifty Swedish douchebags saved up to buy themselves that weird ass furniture that no one knew how to assemble because it just came with some little gay paperclip thing instead of a fucking screwdriver. Like, for months or years, he could go, and then he would explode with a fountain of douchery, "OH I AMS QUITSING THE BAND CAUSE I'M A GIANT SWEDISH DILDO!" Dumbass.
Anyway, Nathan could barely get the bastard out of bed that morning. To go demon hunting! Was it Nathan's fault he was up humping Valkyries or whatever all night? And then he was all sullen, like a chick, where you've done something and now they're gonna snarl at you until you figure out what the fuck it is you did. Only, Skwisgaar wasn't a chick, so Nathan couldn't even look forward to some nasty make up sex when he figured it out. And, had he just thought “make up sex” in the same sentence as “Skwisgaar,” 'cause that was fucking weird, dude.
He almost wished their manager had come along instead. Even though he was still the world's biggest asshole and everybody here made it worse calling him by that stupid gay angel name, at least you could count on him to consistently be a dick. Consistency of douchebaggery! That was Nathan’s new rule.
So, there were some new dudes along on the hunt, and they hadn’t really had time for an introduction. They were weird dudes, sorta like Ganesh with his human body and elephant head. There was a big dude with the head of a bear, and a small skinny dude with the head of some kinda bird. But, Nathan guessed, this was kind of a weird place, so weird was actually kind of not weird. Or, something.
They had been having not great luck looking for demons, so they had all stopped for a bit, and since Skwisgaar was still pouting, Nathan decided to check out the new dudes. They seemed friendly enough.
“I’m Hon,” the big bear dude said. “This is Kwahu.” The eagle flashed his eyes at Nathan. “We’re Kachinas.”
“I’m Nathan. Um, of Dethklok.” Nathan always found himself a little befuddled at Valhalla having to introduce himself as a mere human. Though, oddly, no one ever seemed to mind, he wondered if Ofdensen might get him promoted to a god. It seemed a fairly reasonable request.
“Hey, Nathan of Dethklok, you don’t know who that fine looking lady back at Valhalla is do you?”
“Oh, Parvati? She’s his girlfriend,” he waved over towards where Shiva was babbling with Wotan. “But, I’ve been told I gotta stay away from her.”
“Who told you something like that?”
“Uh, Ofdensen. I think you god dudes call him Sariel?”
“What, that angel homeboy?”
“Yeah.”
“He seems uptight, man,” Hon stated.
“He’s totally uptight. He manages my band.”
“I don’t trust angels,” Kwahu hissed.
“Yeah. How did you end up working with a fuckin’ angel, man?” Hon asked, his bear eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Oh, he’s not one anymore. He got kicked out or something? I dunno.”
“He’s Fallen?” Nathan nodded. Hon and Kwahu nodded at each other. “He might be OK,” Hon allowed.
“They usually don’t cast out the biggest assholes,” Kwahu said.
“But you don’t wanna trust an angel. They’re bastards,” Hon said.
“Wotan’s girlfriend….”
Hon and Kwahu hooted with laughter.
“She’s an angel girl, dude,” Hon said.
“We like angel girls. To damn bad they’re not all angel girls,” Kwahu laughed.
“Hey, that’s just what we were thinking the other day!” Nathan told them. “What if that whole Legion army was angel chicks?”
“Hey!” said Hon, smiling a bear smile.
“An angel chick army,” whistled Kwahu, his eagle eyes getting kind of misty.
“I like how you think, Nathan dude!” Hon said. He squinted at the singer. “Hey, you’re not of the Nations, are you dude?”
Nathan looked puzzled, so Kwahu said, “He means Indian. Not like the blue dude,” waving at Shiva again. “We mean real Indian.”
“Oh! My grandfather was Yanamango!”
“OH!” both Hon and Kwahu exclaimed.
“Excellent! Yanamango are party dudes!” Hon approved.
“We went down to visit them once,” Nathan bragged. “I even tried yopo.”
“Oh, Nathan dude, not yopo! With the blow pipe? That shit will kill you!” Hon said.
“Harsh,” hissed Kwahu.
“Yeah, you should try some of our stuff. Far more mellow.”
“Heh,” Nathan laughed. “Maybe you should meet my friend, Pickles.” Cool dudes, he thought.
Ofdensen arose late that morning. Actually, it was more like early afternoon. As Raziel had promised, no one had disturbed him, and now, following the departure of the hunting party, Valhalla felt deserted.
He padded around, heading vaguely towards the wing where the kitchen was located. He wondered if they might rustle up something to eat that hadn’t originated with some horrible fire-breathing monster. He actually felt mildly hungry, which was pleasant. He hadn’t had the stomach for food for a while.
He heard the laughter and found them in a small room off the kitchen area. Parvati and Raziel were gossiping and … knitting?
“Hey, Sariel, did you sleep OK?” Raziel called.
“Sariel,” Parvati said. He had never noticed it before, but his angel Name was really sort of pretty and musical and maybe he ought to change back to it? Or maybe he could just have Parvati say it. Like, one hundred more times.
“Parvati” he smiled, collapsing a little unsteadily onto the couch. Maybe he hadn’t had quite enough sleep after all? “You guys are, uh, knitting?”
“Yes, we are incorporating some love charms into the patterning,” Parvati explained. “It will be quite lovely and functional.”
“You guys? Love charms? Isn’t that … overkill?” He evoked some more laughter. Parvati, he noticed, had the world’s prettiest, most musical laugh. She almost managed to make Raziel not annoying.
“Maybe we’ll start a business!” Raziel told him.
“You? Business?” He went ahead and lay down on the couch, laughing. It was the funniest and best joke ever.
“The world’s loveliest knits?” Parvati ventured.
“I’m gonna call Dolce about it!” Raziel laughed.
“Their knitwear line this year was perfectly witty! Did you get to the Milan show?”
“Barely! You wouldn’t believe the problems this year. You really should come along with me next time. I think Stella McCartney is coming up. I’m devoted to Stella,” Raziel said.
“I appreciate the styling, I just don’t think her hemlines work on me,” Parvati noted.
“Really? I should think you could wear anything.”
“Oh, it looks perfectly darling on you,” Parvati assured her. “I just prefer more classical lines, like Givenchy. Though, it’s simply not been the same since Hubert retired.”
“Did you get to see a show while Hubert was still running the company?” Raziel looked like she might faint from the pure couture.
“Oh, indeed!”
“You must tell me every detail!” Raziel insisted. “It’s a deep regret, not witnessing Twentieth Century couture.” She held up her half-completed scarf. “What do you think?”
“Oh, my dear,” Parvati laughed softly. “I think perhaps you should only wear that one in your bedroom!”
Raziel took a look. “A little strong on the magic, huh?” Both women giggled. “I suppose I could pull it all out and try again.”
“’Tis the joy of knitting,” Parvati laughed. She glanced over at the couch. “Oh dear!” she said. “Did I do this?”
Raziel set down her knitting and went over to look at Ofdensen’s prone form. She experimentally picked up his hand, which had fallen off the couch, and let it drop. He was like a rag doll - there was absolutely no resistance.
“Wow. He’s totally out,” said Raziel.
“Oh!” said Parvati. “That’s a bad burn. Ganesh could fix that hand for him!”
“Yeah, he had an accident with a flaming sword, I think. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Hmm. Should we take him into another room to sober up?”
“Ah. He looks happy. He’s been under a bit of stress. Why don’t we let him be for a bit?”
“Well,” said Parvati. “Shall he have nice dreams?”
Raziel grinned. “I can see no reason why he should not have nice dreams.” The two women giggled, and went back to knitting love charms.
Ofdensen blinked. He was striding along Valhalla’s corridors with Wotan. The god was half carrying him along. But he didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten there.
They diverted into Wotan’s office, where the god deposited him in a chair.
“What was I…? Where was I…?”
“Scotch,” said the All-Father, setting a glass in front of him, and then pouring one for himself. Ofdensen took a drink. The burning did seem to revive him.
“Parvati,” the god said, a bit apologetically. “I can’t say no to her visiting, Raziel dotes on her so. But the two of them, sometimes they don’t know their own strength.”
“Parvati and … Raziel?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll come with us tomorrow on a hunt. We’ll stab something, and maybe smoke cigars, and you’ll be put to rights.”
“What…. I shouldn’t be affected!”
Wotan laughed. “Why not? God or angel, you’re a man. Just, for now, do what I do, try to avoid getting caught in a small room with the both of ‘em, especially if it’s just you alone.”
“I don’t believe this….”
“Ha! My Raziel, she’s got a bit of the mischief to her. I did tell you how we met, didn’t I?” Ofdensen shook his head, afraid now he’d be forced to hear. “She came to a gathering up here some time back. Of course I knew the Lady by reputation, but she came striding on up to me, not a hint of coyness to her at all, and she looked me right in the eyes, bold as brass, and I said to her, I said, ‘You don’t even come up as high as my chin, and you look as though you could knock me right over!” And she says, ‘Well, do you need knocking over?’ Do you need knocking over?” Wotan roared with laughter. “Well, I guess we’re all in need of some knocking over, from time to time.”
Ofdensen moaned quietly. It sounded exactly like the kind of cringe-worthy nonsense that would come out of Raziel’s mouth. “I do not need any knocking over, thank you,” he grumbled.
“Come on,” the god said, standing. “The hunt this morning was a right bust! Not a demon in sight. I’ll have to send out Huginn to spot for us before tomorrow. But, let’s go have the kitchen make us a decent lunch! A good steak sandwich will always set things right I’ve found.” Ofdensen rose, following the god. And then he remembered. He’d been dreaming….
Oh, fuck!
Nathan Explosion wasn’t dreaming.
At least, he didn’t think so.
Unless of course, he was.
What had happened was, the hunt had failed to locate any demons, so he had prowled around Valhalla a bit with Hon and Kwahu, seeing if they could spot the cute Indian chick. Meaning, India Indian, not Hopi Indian. Like those crazy movies where everybody danced and sang in whiney voices. But, she wasn’t around anywhere, though they spotted her tiger in the stables, so Hon and Kwahu said they’d show him some medicine, even though Nathan had told them he wasn’t really sick, it was just one of those summer colds that had kind of hung on forever.
So, instead of an Indian chick, there was this spider chick, and she kept telling him she was gonna show him the Back Door, and he tried to tell her, that’s not really my thing, maybe you need to talk to my friend, Skwisgaar.
And she (the spider chick) had told him, “Oh, Skwisgaar Odinsson? Whoa, that’s kind of bad medicine. You sure that’s what you wanna see? I’ve got a real trippy flying serpent I could show you!”
And Nathan was like, “Whoa, flying serpent! Like a dragon? We saw a dragon here last month, and I had to have an elephant put out my hair with his trunk!”
And the spider chick was all, “Cool, you sound like your life is even weirder than mine!” And so, they went to see the flying serpent: the spider chick, Nathan, and their friend, a bear, who had an eagle riding on his shoulder.
Ofdensen noticed with some relief that Parvati was not at Wotan’s conclave, although Shiva was there with, of course, Ganesh at his side. The Kachinas, Hon the Bear and Kwahu the Eagle were there, sitting and palling around with Nathan. Nathan’s pupils were looking a little dilated. In fact, the whole crew frankly looked a bit stoned. Good, thought Ofdensen, if they’re off abusing drugs, at least they’re not doing anything likely to get them murdered by Shiva. Ofdensen hadn’t been actively avoiding the Kachinas, but he also didn’t go out of his way to introduce himself, and he noticed some wary looks from them.
He was a bit puzzled that Nathan had shown up, but Skwisgaar had not. He wasn’t certain whether Wotan had asked his son or not, and didn’t think it polite to inquire (though he was quite certain Raziel would blab about it freely at a later point).
Speaking of Raziel, she was seated, as was her custom, on the broad arm of Wotan’s chair. She had, of course, changed her outfit, to a dark 1940s style dress with severe shoulder pads and a striking triangular white collar. And she wore a truly ridiculous straw hat. He frowned. He recognized that outfit from somewhere.
“Feeling better?” she asked, peering under the brim of the ridiculous hat.
He scowled, though it probably wasn’t one of his better scowls. He stifled a burp. Quite frankly, he found it difficult to keep up a certain level of irritation when his stomach was filled with several utterly delicious steak sandwiches from Wotan’s kitchen and probably one too many glasses of his rare single malt.
“Raziel, do NOT pull that shit on me ever again!” he said, though he may have lessened the impact of his stern tone somewhat by finishing with another only semi-stifled burp.
“What? Knitting?” she laughed. “In my defense, you did assure me Parvati has absolutely no effect on you.”
“OK. OK. Point.”
He sighed and pulled out his cigarettes.
“Oh, could I get one?”
“You don’t smoke!”
“I need it to complete my ensemble!”
He regarded her outfit again. “Wait. That isn’t….?” he asked.
“Now Voyager!” she said happily.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, knocked two Marlboros out of the pack and handed one to her.
“You have to light it!” she told him.
“Um. I don’t think Charlotte Vale would’ve bounced up and down like that,” he told her. She grinned and stopped fidgeting, and he successfully lit the cigarette for her. She started coughing immediately, as she did not actually smoke cigarettes.
Wotan entered, holding under his arm a cabinet much like the one Uriah now called home. He sat the box down on a table near his chair, and Ofdensen noticed Raziel edging away.
“I wanted to chat with you friends today because I think we all share an interest in the activities of The Legion. As you all know, they have left us in peace for a brief period, but we have reason to believe that there may be plans afoot to intervene in this universe again sometime soon. On occasion, in the past, we have found it profitable to briefly ally ourselves with The Legion, but, as has happened with our good friend and ally Shiva, we have mostly found it profitable to keep at arm’s length.” Shiva nodded.
The god opened the cabinet. Raziel cringed back, but Nathan and the Kachinas all leaned forward.
“Whoa!” Hon said.
The box contained a head. It appeared that the head had once belonged to a bearded, middle-aged man. Or a god who appeared as such. The eyes were closed, but as the king opened the cabinet door, they snapped open and searched around the room. The effect was a bit disquieting.
“This is Mimir, who is one of my most trusted advisors,” Wotan said. “We’re talking of the Legion, Mimir.”
“Yes, I have been thinking upon it,” the head in the box murmured.
Ofdensen noticed Raziel was quite suddenly sitting on the couch next to him instead of on the arm of Wotan’s chair. “I thought Mimir lived in the well?” he whispered to her.
“Yes. But he’d make Wotan leave an eye there. It was getting inconvenient. No depth perception, you know? So, he just brought him up here.” She shuddered.
“I was wondering if My Lady Raziel could tell me more about the death of Uriah?” Mimir whispered.
Raziel visibly cringed. “Uh, sure Mimir. Anything.”
‘You used our magic to defeat Uriah, is that correct, Lady Raziel?” Mimir asked.
“Yeah, that’s correct. One of Surtr’s flame spells.”
“And how was his resistance?”
“Nonexistant. He was, as the humans might say, toast.” She grinned.
“Wait,” said Hon. “You mean Bette Davis here killed fucking Uriah?”
“Yes, and I broke a fingernail doing it,” Raziel told him, snottily. She then ruined the effect by taking a drag on the cigarette and dissolving into a coughing fit.
“My angel is a Seraph,” Wotan said, with no little amount of pride.
“Holy shit. You’re kidding. There are girl seraphim?” Hon asked.
“Yeah,” Raziel coughed. “Well, me and one other.”
“Wasn’t Uriah one of your Cardinals or some shit?” Hon asked Ofdensen.
“He wasn’t my Cardinal. I’m not … associated with the Legion any longer. But, yes, he was highly ranked. Lady Raziel stood in my stead in the matter of a Blood Feud.”
“You had him killed, homeboy?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. But essentially, yes. It was a legal duel.”
“Complicated? Yeah. Why aren’t you dead?”
“Well, that’s actually a very good question,” Ofdensen admitted. “Oh, and regarding Surtr’s spell, when I talked to him later about it, Michael seemed very interested in what he kept calling my ‘pagan magic.’”
“I thought you weren’t ‘associated’ with the Legion anymore?” Hon demanded.
“I was summoned. Not a smart summons to ignore, I’d think. Anyway, I carefully explained the situation to him. And, he yelled a bit. So finally I flashed my wings at him and told him to fuck off.”
“You didn’t?” Raziel demanded, in exactly the tone that implied she dearly hoped he did.
“I did.”
“Haha. Asshole.” She took another drag of her cigarette, and immediately regretted it.
“I have a question or two for the honored Kachinas,” Mimir said.
“We weren’t exactly sure why you invited us here, Wotan dude,” Hon laughed. “Maybe we’re affirmative action?”
“Hon and Kwahu, my honored friends, you’re here as my guests, to join me on the hunt. And because I am interested in hearing what you have to say. Maybe you might begin by stating your experiences with the Legion?”
“All respect, we had this same damn conversation about the goddam Legion like a couple hundred years ago. Nobody ever fucking listens. Sorry, Miss.”
“Don’t mind me,” Raziel assured them, blowing smoke. She stifled a cough.
“Well, the thing is with angels,” and here Hon sent a sharp look at Ofdensen, “It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do.”
“They wiped us out. Extinguished us,” Kwahu hissed.
“And for no fucking reason. We were a nation, man. When my brothers and sisters danced, it was a dance that spread over an entire fucking hemisphere, from up in Nome to down in Tierra del Fuego. And, then one day we wake up and the Legion is there, slaughtering us. All of us. There's so few of us left. We spend our days trying to get quarters out of little old blue haired ladies, that’s what we do now.”
“But, you all knew about the Genocide,” said Kwahu, eagle eyes flashing.
“I have heard the stories. It’s always enlightening I find to hear a story directly from someone who was there,” Wotan said.
“Hon and Kwahu, what can you tell me of the rumors? Of the powerful Old Ones among the gods of the New World? There has been some speculation the Legion sought them out. That this was the real motivation behind the Holocaust.” Mimir asked.
“Hey, if we had access to a big powerfully buddy, like Bette Davis here, don’t you think we would’ve used them to keep from getting killed?” Hon asked.
“If you’re looking for Old Ones, maybe you should contact our friend Nathan’s relatives,” Kwahu said. Nathan looked puzzled. Hon just frowned.
“So, the South?”
Hon’s frown darkened a few degrees, but Kwahu answered, “That was what I heard. Amazon. And maybe some way up north, around our Back Door.”
“Wait. Arctic. Are you sure?” Raziel asked.
“Like Hon said, if I actually knew, we would’ve sent their ass against some angel dickheads. No offense.”
“I didn’t get out to this universe much during that period. Too much yucky Black Plague,” Raziel shuddered.
“I didn’t actually make it over to the New World until far later,” Ofdensen commented. “Oh, and by the way, if you should see him, could you give my kind regards to Eototo?”
“Wait, you know The Chief?” Hon asked. Kwahu narrowed his eagle pupils suspiciously.
"Yeah."
"How do you know him?" Kwahu asked.
"Uh. I'd prefer not to say." Ofdensen smiled and looked a bit far off. "Just, like I said, tell him I said hi." He shrugged.
"I need to think upon matters some more," Mimir said quietly.
"Certainly, friend," Wotan told him. “And here are the questions I would like all of us to consider, if you would be so kind. Do you think we should consider ourselves under an imminent threat from the Legion, and if so, what, if anything, should we do about it?”
“Shiva would like to have Michael’s fine neck at the end of his saber,” the blue god spat.
“You ain’t the only one,” Raziel puffed.
“As I’ve said before, that might be a bit aggressive, my friend,” Wotan told Shiva.
“I’m just not sure it’s a great move to stir up trouble right now,” Ofdensen noted.
“What are you talking about?” Hon asked. “Bette Davis just offed an archangel with her fingernail. Why are we still so scared of those Legion pussies?”
“I think it’s a great mistake to be dismissive of the Legion,” Ofdensen said. “Raziel is one of the most accomplished swordsmen in this universe. Or, any universe.” Raziel puffed up.
“The angel girl? Look, it’s nice that you bring in your girlfriend, Wotan, but is she even old enough to smoke?”
“Why don’t I go True Form, we’ll see who can smoke?” Raziel asked him irritably.
“My pet, don’t get winged towards our guests, it’s rude,” Wotan soothed. “Perhaps we should continue our discussion at a later time? For now, is anyone else here quite ready for an aperitif?"
The assembled slowly evacuated the room, variously gossiping and bickering.
Except for one.
An ex-angel was watching over him.
“Nathan?”
The singer looked up at the sound of his name. “We were going to see the winged serpent!” he explained.
“Uh-huh.”
“No, the Spider Lady!”
“Yep.”
“She was taking us.”
“That sounds great. Want some dinner?”
“Uh. Yeah?”
Ofdensen waited a long moment, and then reached out a hand. Nathan somewhat blearily took it, and Ofdensen managed to get the singer yanked up to a standing position.
“I’m pretty stoned, huh?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah. That seems to be a growing problem here. C’mon. Wotan has Scotch.”
End of Part 1
