Anatomy Lesson (Mythklok, Chapter 32)
Feb. 26th, 2011 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Anatomy Lesson (Mythklok, Chapter 32)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regarding angel wings
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking
Notes: Notes after the jump.
OK, put away the pointed sticks, time for your Mythkklok.
This week marks the return of that beloved Metalocalypse character, NICK IBSEN! I knew you would be thrilled.
Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
capslokdethklok.
Z drew arts for this!
Mythklok is a Metalocalypse AU in which Charles is Sariel, an angel who fell to earth and subsequently got adopted by a death metal band. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tikific, where you are welcome to come visit the bits I’ve written and maybe poke them with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.
Last time, the crew had dinner with Ganesh's eccentric Uncle Brahma and Auntie Sarasvati, which in turn prompted Charles and Pickles to go poking around in Uriah's head for more of Sariel's origin story (hint: massively screwed up). Raziel baked cookies for some of Lucifer's relatives, and Seth got quite steamed when he found out he'd been passed over for a job as Satan. Oh, and the angels are still fighting - so what else is new?
Just an FYI, in order to understand something that happens here, you need to have read the Interstitial Clarence Sends His Regards. I expected that to be a one shot back when I wrote it but as it turns out, it’s gonna be important.
Anatomy Lesson
"YOU DRAW PORNOGRAPHY?"
Ganesh smiled and crawled to the end of the bed, where he could place his chin on two hands and comfortably overlook Sariel poring through his drawing notebooks.
"As you know, Great Brahma has sent me back to this existence left-handed. Although it has unfavorably impacted my sword fighting abilities, I find I do have an increased aptitude for illustration."
"You draw porn!"
Ganesh sent a hand down and grabbed one of the drawings. "I had been considering for some time to add another chapter to the Kama Sutra, dealing with winged beings."
"You weren't exaggerating about being one of the original co-authors?"
Ganesh rolled to his back and held up the drawing to the light. "Unlike Lady Raziel, many of my stories have a basis in fact."
"But this is US!" Sariel wailed.
"I have altered any identifying features."
"Oh, yeah, it's just ANY angel who's fucking an eight-armed god!"
Ganesh turned over again and let the drawing slide to the floor. "And the purpose is less erotic than illustrative. The Kama Sutra is an instruction manual, recall."
Sariel quietly shuffled through the drawings for a moment. "Is that why you did these?"
Ganesh plucked the notebook up from Sariel's hands. "Yes, these were just a best guess. I hope I wasn't too far off?"
Sariel blinked. "I.... I don't know, actually."
"You don't know how your wings function? Really?"
Sariel shook his head.
"Well!" Ganesh crawled over to the nightstand to grab his reading glasses, and then dropped down next to Sariel, pulling the angel and a notebook close. "I believe the joint attachment to be just here, operated by a major set of musculature like so," he rambled, pointing simultaneously to an illustration and Sariel's actual back.
Sariel sat, utterly rapt. After a time, he asked, "So, does it work like your extra arms?"
"Excellent question!" Ganesh replied, sending an angel and some notebooks tumbling as he dove for an additional notebook. "Although," he continued, grabbing back angels and notebooks, "I have never considered them to be extras, but here is the jointing system...."
It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, Ganesh thought. Maybe not quite as gorgeous as the angelic library, but still amazing.
His angelic engineers, godly architects, and human construction workers were all glaring at each other, but they had managed to come together to create the new office tower headquarters for the EKC. It looked like nothing else on earth - nothing else in the universe, Ganesh thought proudly.
It was a grand day. This was the first step to rebuilding his ruined city. And it would be even better than before. The entire city had stopped bustling madly about to attend the ribbon cutting ceremony.
And then he saw them, in the distance.
"No," he whispered.
They fell out of the sky, wings unfurled, swords already aflame. A small group of Seraphim. But you only needed a few.
"Did you hope to rebuild, little earth god? I don't remember anyone asking permission," one said in awkward English.
"Whose permission should we have sought? Yours?" Ganesh grumbled. He was acting bolder than he felt. He could have made a mess of them with his destructive powers, but he held off, trying desperately to calculate how he could spare the new building. He didn't want this all to be a waste. It would kill his people, starting all over again.
It would kill him.
His godly soldiers were arrayed, angry, behind him, swords already drawn.
"What do you assholes think you're doing?" the big Seraph asked. He was looking not at Ganesh, and not at the gods, but over his other shoulder.
Ganesh became aware of another group. Phanuel's angelic engineers had all pulled out their wings. And they seemed even more furious than the gods.
"You Seraph fuckheads fuck with our building, you fuck with us!" one of them shouted.
"You idiots think to challenge us?" sneered the Seraph.
"Try us."
"We've taken shit from you fucking Seraphim for eons," bellowed another engineer. "I'd say some payback was in order."
“You think you’re better than us, you can’t even speak our fucking language!” shouted another.
“Dickless motherfuckers!” screamed yet another engineer. This last was in High Angelic, but it was a phrase Ganesh had picked up from Sariel. It was one of the angel’s favorites.
Ganesh noted with interest that the Seraphim seemed confused by the resistance. "I might suggest," he interjected, "that you fellows consider departing. While there is still time. I am only their supervisor on this architectural project, and not their commanding general. I know they are courageous soldiers, and I have noted that, being engineers, they have some quite interesting and sharp angelic tools at their disposal. If they should get it into their head a that some Seraphim need their wings clipped, it would not be my place to restrain them."
The Seraphim exchanged glances, obviously losing their nerve. A couple of the more cowardly took this as their cue to fly off, and the rest soon scattered, to howls and cheers from the surrounding crowd.
"Seraphim. What a bunch of pussies." It was Sariel's voice. Ganesh looked up. Sariel and Raziel were perched up on a low wall, overlooking the exchange.
"I didn't realize you were here," Ganesh told them. "How much did you see?"
"Everything from ‘Did you hope to rebuild, little earth god, bwa-ha-ha,’" Raziel grinned, rubbing her stomach.
"So Wotan's sentry system worked?" Ganesh asked.
The angels nodded. "But you looked like you were doing OK."
"Better to be here and not be needed than the opposite," Raziel said.
"Speaking of which...." said Sariel. He was scowling at his Dethphone. Ganesh wondered where he carried it, as he wasn't currently wearing a jacket.
"Your Cherubim demanding more sheet cakes?" Raziel giggled.
"Could you come with me?" he asked her.
She frowned. “I’ll need to fly again. This one doesn’t like me jumping,” she said, jerking a thumb at Ganesh.
“Am I needed?” Ganesh asked.
“I think we’ll be OK. Go back to your ribbon cutting. That’s a pretty cool building, by the way. Do you use magic to hold it up?”
“Not a scrap!” Ganesh said with pride.
“Fuck. I need me some angelic engineers.” Sariel nodded at Raziel, and they flew.
Nathan Explosion sat scowling at the angels.
He thought Charles hated the wings, but their manager seemed to be going around like that more and more these days.
Thing is, if it was just a guy he knew who sometime had big ass silver wings flapping around, that would be one thing. Nathan was a death metal musician, and he’d certainly seen weirder stuff. It was just, he knew Charles, and this angel guy wasn't quite Charles. Well, half angel guy. Or whatever. It had gotten confusing.
Charles was someone who barely ever broke the surface. And it had gotten worse since he had started hiding behind tinted glasses. Which were cool, if a bit creepy. He was just someone you need to pump with a couple of drinks to figure out what the fuck was going on with him. And Nathan knew people like that. His dad could be like that, actually. He’d go around and not fucking tell you something for years, and then you’d crack open a couple of brews, and the floodgates would open.
And Charles, when he took out the wings – that was the thing, it was like he’d just downed a whole case, with maybe a couple of whiskey chasers and smoked a bowl with Pickles.
So, today, Charles had flown here, and that was OK, but then he kept standing on the back of a bench to talk to Pickles. It was a place nobody normal would or could stand, except maybe a weird gay Cirque du Soleil douche bag in white face paint. And he hated fucking guys in white face paint. And then Raziel had come to land beside him, and the thing about her was, you could tell she didn't give a shit whether anybody saw her as this strange winged thing, she seemed to enjoy it, and despite being obviously pregnant now, she was perched (that was the only word for it) on the back of a bench too, like everybody just went around balancing on a two inch wide surface.
And then they started jabbering in the funny, musical talk (he could read it, but he still couldn't quite understand when they spoke quickly like that) and - here was where it really got strange - they'd rattle their wings at each other when they were pissed, or sort of unfurl them partway when they were making a point. Like a bunch of Italians talking with their hands, only even bigger.
Charles was upset. Rattled.
And Nathan could tell Charles was upset. Without even getting him very, very drunk.
And that by itself was unsettling.
Pickles had finished talking with them and was walking by. He was looking miserable. As he always did when Seth was involved.
Nathan stopped him. He nodded towards Raziel. "So, when she has the kids, is she gonna lay eggs, or what?" Nathan asked.
Pickles went quiet. For a time. For quite a long time. Finally he said, "Nat'an, dood. Jist...."
"What?"
"Jist promise dat yoo'll never change, dood." And then Pickles grinned.
"Seth sent Seraphim?"
"That kind of sounds like a song title, huh?" Raziel grinned.
"Not from my band."
"Seth sent Seraphim, who subsequently got caught in a meat grinder!"
"That might work."
"You know, I might just be developing a taste for death metal music after all."
"The ones who just threatened Ganesh? At the Imperial City? Where did they come from?"
"Headquarters?"
"Evacuated."
"You're fucking kidding me."
“Some of the Dominions who work in the kitchen told me.”
“And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest.”
Raziel and Sariel turned. It was Samael, raving in Common. “What?” Sariel asked. Raziel translated. “Does he need to go to IKEA?” Sariel asked.
Murderface came huffing up behind him. “You dudes juscht….” He puffed. “Juscht come schee the TV.”
There were scenes of devastation, but it all seemed to be aerial shots.
“New Zealand?” Sariel asked, “What the fuck?” To an immediate shushing.
And then a familiar face came on the TV, the smoking remains of the Sydney Opera House in the background.
“We have taken over here in f*bleep*ing Australia, and from this f*bleep*ing day forth, you will submit to our f*bleep*ing authority, or suffer the f*bleep*ing consequences, like new f*bleep*ing Zealand.”
“That asshole needs a public speaking class,” Sariel grumbled, to more shushing.
“I got my f*bleep*ing Seraphim, and they’re gonna f*bleep*ing cut you,” Seth continued, as a group of hulking angels landed behind him. Seth made a slashing gesture across his throat, and the picture suddenly cut off.
“I tol’ yoo not t’ piss him off,” Pickles said.
“Yeah, but New Zealand?” Sariel persisted. “I mean, who gives a fuck? Who lives in fucking New Zealand? Sheep and fucking Hobbits? What next? Oh no, angels attacked Belize!”
“I t’ink people will give a shit,” Pickles said grimly.
“What I wanna know is, how the fuck did he get a buncha Seraphs working for him?”
“Seraphim are dumb as rocks,” Raziel commented. “You know that.”
“And Set’ can be very persuasive. He convinced my mom ‘n dad dat he’s perfect.”
“Your mom and dad are assholes,” Sariel grumbled.
Pickles frowned, but then shrugged and nodded. “Anyway, I t’ink people are gonna give a fuck.”
Charles had stopped smoking, except for Wotan's cigars. But he still liked watching cigarettes burn. He had one in his hand. It was a comfort, really, watching it slowly, relentlessly go to ash. Like entropy at work. He wondered if children nowadays had less of an intuitive grasp of thermodynamics, due to the stupid trend of everybody giving up smoking. Fucking quitters.
He vowed to get Raziel's twins hooked. What better task for an evil uncle?
At some point, Raziel had called him on the telephone. They weren't talking, neither of them, but he cradled his phone on his shoulder while he watched the cigarette burn.
"Did anything else happen?" Nathan boomed, crashing down on the couch next to him and Pickles (who had courteously supplied the cigarette and the light).
"We turned da sound down dood," Pickles told him as he tipped back another beer.
"I hate stupid news," Charles grumbled, still watching his cigarette. "Nothing has happened for hours. And still they won’t shut the fuck up.”
Pickles kicked a foot pedal, and the sound flooded the room. "This is Connie Conehead speaking from Meathead, Kansas, where an angry mob has just stormed and burned down the house of a couple people here claim were really angels living among us." There were aerial shots of what indeed looked like a smoking ruin in the middle of a rural area.
The scene switched to a group of residents. People held up signs, the most benign of which was, "ANGLES GO 2 HEL!"
Charles smirked and told the phone, “I’m a ninety degree angel!”
A red faced woman was howling, "It's not natural! What about my children!"
"She got kids? Dat's scary, dood," Pickles muttered.
"Connie, can you get a read on the mood of neighbors right now?" said the anchor, who was safe in New York City.
"They're a bunch of vicious, small-minded assholes, Dan," Connie opined.
"Heh. Connie Conehead is awesome," Nathan chuckled.
"Nat'an, yoo know, dey killed dose angel guys in da house," Pickles asked.
"Yeah, but, they're just angels, right? They come back!"
"No," Charles said patiently, "We don't come back."
"But Ganesh dude came back!"
"Dood. He ain't an angel," Pickles told him.
"Wait, he's not?"
Charles was carefully tapping some ashes into a beer bottle. "That's correct. He is not an angel."
"He's something else?"
"Yes. He is a god."
"Oh. I sometimes get messed up with all the weird guys around here. Not that he's weird. Or, uh, you're weird. Or anything."
"That's fine."
"But, you know, what if those people are right? I mean, what if we have angels move in nearby?"
"Wut? Yoo worried about da children too?" Pickles asked.
"No. It's just. You know. Charles is OK. But what about the other guys? Like Seth?"
"Set' is human."
"How do you know that?"
"He's my brudder, Nat'an!"
"Oh, yeah, I tend to lose track of stuff like that. He's kind of weird and creepy, you know."
"And, angels run our accounting department," Charles told him as he popped his cigarette butt into his beer bottle. "Your accounting department. That takes care of your money. Plus they're in the kitchen. Preparing your food. And some are in the library. Cataloging your books."
"Dood! Did we get some o' da Ophanim?" pickles wondered.
"The what?" Nathan asked.
"Yes. I persuaded a few of the workers to come here following the destruction of their library. If nothing else, they have knowledge of the Angelic language, so can help organize that section."
"Nat’an, dood, I'll take you t' see 'em. Dey're totally weird! Dey're better dan drugs."
"I'm pleased you find us entertaining." Charles stood.
Pickles was standing too. "Whoa. Charles. Siddown."
"Maybe I'll have my mother look over our cataloguing. Maybe you'd find that funny."
"Your mom?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah" Charles said to Nathan, though he continued to lock eyes with Pickles. "She's an angel too. How about that."
"Cool. Is she coming to visit this Christmas?" Nathan asked, cheerily oblivious to Charles and Pickles staring each other down.
"She doesn't travel," Charles told him.
"Does she have iMovie?" Nathan asked.
"What?"
"Don't give her iMovie! Does my mom have her number?"
"Nathan-" Charles found he couldn't concentrate on arguing with Pickles. "Why would my mother talk to your mother?"
Nathan was already on the phone. "BECAUSE THEY ALL CALL EACH OTHER. Really. It sucks."
"I t'ink she's already got da number," Pickles grinned.
"Why would..." Charles sputtered. "When did my mother get a cell phone?"
"I had Lady Raz get her one," Pickles explained.
"They've got really good reception at Valhalla. WOTAN BUILT A TOWER!" Nathan averred.
"So den I could give her number to my mom."
"Yeah, my mom ALREADY HAS THE NUMBER!" Nathan boomed, somewhat ineffectively holding his hand over the receiver. "Lady Raz is gonna have them all visit. Because CHARLES' MOM DOESN'T TRAVEL."
"I don't have my own mother's cell phone number," Charles muttered, suddenly sitting back on the couch. "All your moms ... are going to Valhalla?"
"Yeah, dey hang togedder out an' talk aboot us," Pickles told him, also sitting.
"It's really BRUTAL!" Nathan groused, rudely slamming down his Dethphone on the coffee table.
Charles silently opened another beer and took a rather large gulp.
Ganesh looked up from his desk. His brand new desk. In his brand new office. Atop one of the world’s most gorgeous buildings.
The view was not yet equally splendid – too much of the devastation remained, but he was now hopeful.
He recognized the beings who shuffled apologetically into his office – it was a few of Phanuel’s engineers. He smiled. Their time here had bound them to this universe. The unspoken part of the bargain was that they would make their new home in Ganesh’s imperial city, something which had gnawed upon him until the confrontation with the Seraphim. He held out hope now that it would work. Though prejudice being what it was, it wouldn’t be easy.
“Shri Ganesha,” the one began. “We have a request. But, it would be a favor. We really don’t have any way of repaying you.”
“This is a jolly good time to ask. I am rather impressed by my new surroundings.” He waved his hand for them to proceed.
“I suppose you’ve heard what’s happened at Headquarters?”
Ganesh nodded. “I believe one might say burnt to the ground, if it were indeed on the ground.”
“We all know people. Refugees.” By "people" he meant other angels, of course. Beings always thought of themselves as people.
“And you’ve seen the news? About what’s happening out there?” another angel interjected.
Ganesh nodded. Pogroms, might be one description. Some of the beings who had been killed probably weren't even angels. It was quite certain that almost none of them had been been a danger to anyone. Still, there had been calls in some quarters for registration, camps, that kind of thing. Typical human misbehavior.
Ganesh suddenly sensed what was coming. He decided to let them broach it.
“We wondered…. If they could come here…. Some of them….”
Ganesh folded his hands. “We may certainly discuss this. My city – our city – is in desperate need of skilled tradesmen. I DO NOT WANT TO PROMISE ANYTHING!” They were going to speak, but halted. “I have a couple of acquaintances who are also in need of assistance. I need a very precise accounting of their skills!” He stabbed the table with his finger. “And, I cannot promise your safety. You saw the Seraphim, the same as I. They are easily startled, but they will be back. And in greater numbers. And, in addition, I cannot force our citizens to accept you. That is up to you. Are all of these things understood?”
They nodded. Well, of course they nodded. They were desperate. He guessed that they hadn’t heard a single word after “discuss.”
He passed them off to an aide, wondering if Uncle Wotan might have some cousins who were also in need of angelic assistance. Probably something they needed to prepare for, if they didn’t want another Australia. It was just the Seraphim being Seraphim, true, but it looked bad for everybody.
Ganesh picked up at the first ring, smiling. “Jaanu! I may be a little late. I have an intriguing story to tell…. Press conference?" He brought out a remote control and turned on a television monitor in his office. "No, I haven’t had time to watch the news today. The band spoke? Nathan-“
Ganesh gawped at his phone, holding it away from himself as if that would make it change its output.
He blinked.
He raised the phone back to his ear.
“Nathan said WHAT?”
Charles looked at the pile of paperwork by his side. And then he looked at the Marlboro, slowly turning to ash in his hand.
His last ever meeting with Dethklok, he mused.
He was being sentimental, he thought. Realistically, it would take more than one meeting to disentangle himself from this corporation - the corporation he'd built. But this was the beginning of the end.
He needed to stop doing this, but he just couldn't help himself. He grabbed the remote control and flipped on his monitor. And then he pushed PLAY.
Nathan Explosion was at a podium, glaring his mightiest scowl across one and all.
Charles couldn't hear the question. He wondered sadly if even Nathan had properly heard the question. But there was no mistaking the answer.
"Angels? What the fuck? Angels are AWESOME! Our manager is an angel. People who don't like 'em can come BLEEP my BLEEP BLEEP."
Only, Nathan didn't say bleep of course.
He clicked off the remote. He stood, picking up the paperwork. He stabbed out his cigarette.
Pickles squinted at Charles. He looked like he had been knocked over by a truck.
Pickles was annoyed. Charles had barricaded himself in his office for the last two days, with no word. And then he had laid down some kind of nasty misdirection spell, so Pickles couldn't Walk in. He figured maybe he'd had Ganesh (who was also suddenly incommunicado) down to cast it for him, because it was a doozy, and he didn't think Charles was all that good at spell stuff.
Pickles was half figuring to drag Murderface along - he was good at that breaking and entering shit - when Charles called the band meeting.
"I have started the paperwork for my transition out of the organization. Unfortunately, it's extremely complicated, and will take a couple of days to complete...."
"Fer wut?" Pickles asked, confused.
"I have press releases prepared indicating that I am no longer associated with Dethklok."
"Dethklok? THAT'S US! We're Dethklok!" Nathan insisted.
"Guys. I have been ... outed as a supernatural being. I need to leave."
“You can’t leave,” Murderface threatened, stabbing the table with his hunting knife. “Don’t you turn into a frog or schomething? Dick told me you have to schtay and protect usch!”
“William, that’s it, there won’t be an ‘us’ if I stay,” Charles explained.
“Huh?”
"There won't be a Dethklok."
"We ams disappear?" Toki sounded honestly afraid.
"No, Toki. No one will buy your records any more. No one will come to your concerts. No one will buy your merchandise. People hate angels.”
"Oh,” Nathan reasoned, “well, you just tell everybody you’re not an angel any more because you left, and it'll be fine."
"Uh, Nathan, I am Fallen. That's even worse."
"Wait. Dood. Wit' OUR fans?" Pickles asked.
"With everybody."
"Includin' our fans?"
"Yes, I think last time I looked 'everybody' included our fans," Charles said irritably.
"Our fans who worship Sat’n?" Pickles insisted.
"Schatan getsch asch much fan mail as we do, actually," Murderface pointed out.
"Ohhhhhh yeah," agreed Nathan, the light going on in his eyes. "And our fans who wear pentagrams?"
"An' da fans what waves da hooks ‘em horns," chuckled Skwisgaar.
Dethklok, or at least the four members who were not terrified of disappearing into nothing, exchanged excited glances.
"This is AWESOME!" Nathan exclaimed.
"Charles, dood, let us take care o' dis one!” Pickles told him.
Skwisgaar was already on his Dethphone. "I ams callings Nick Ibsen," he said.
"How the hell did you get Nick Ibsen's phone number?" Nathan demanded. "That's supposed to be like a secret or something."
"I ams dated his daughters. Or maybe it ams been his third wife? I ams not knows."
“Wait,” Charles asked. “Skwisgaar! What exactly is he doing?”
“You’ll go talk to Nick Ibsen,” Nathan explained, “and tell everybody about how you’re like half demon half angel and you manage us and we’ll be the most popular death metal band in the whole world.”
“You’re already…. I’m not half demon!”
“Oh, you’re not?” Nathan asked.
“I’m half…. It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I’m comfortable….”
“Dood, dis is seriously metal! I t’ink it may be da most metal ever!” Pickles laughed.
“It hasch potentschial to be record breaking in it’sch brutality!” Murderface mused.
“WHY DIDN'T WE THINK OF THIS BEFORE?" Nathan growled.
"Okey, goodbye, beautiful lady," Skwsgaar murmured in his patented sexy foreign guy voice, putting down his Dethphone.
“Dood, what happened?”
“I ams makes da dates wit’ Nick Ibsen’s third wife. She ams da hot babe!”
“Skwisgaar! The INTERVIEW!” Nathan boomed.
“Oh. Ja. And Nick ams interviews Charle. You shoulds ams lets Raziel dresses you, ‘cause we wants you to looks sharps.”
“Good idea, I’ll call Lady Raz,” Nathan said, taking out his own phone. “YOU’RE GOING SHOPPING!” he growled into his phone. "Yeah, yeah, your brother gonna be on TV." He covered the receiver with his hand. “She says you need to go to Milan to get measured, and if you lost any weight she’ll hack your wings off with a flaming sword.” Nathan went back to the phone. “Hey, you can’t hack his wings off yet, he’s gotta go on Nick Ibsen! Uh-huh. And NO FUCKING GREEN TIES! I don’t give a fuck. Yeah? Yeah? I’ll tell him.” Nathan hung up the phone. “Our moms found out your mom likes sherry, so you need to bring her a bottle next time you’re up.”
“Your moms. Got my mom. Drinking?” Charles asked. He no longer looked like he’d been knocked over by a truck. Now he looked like he’d been knocked over by a steamroller.
"Nervous?"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Raziel?"
"Wardrobe consultant."
"You know, I am a professional publicist!"
"Yeah, what do they say about a lawyer who takes himself for a client?" She addressed the makeup girl, who was, to Charles' utter dismay, currently futzing around with his hair. "Here, sweep it back like that."
"Oh, that looks sharp," the girl agreed.
"But that makes the fucking silver fucking obvious!"
"That's what we're trying to do."
"Make me look weird?"
"Yes," Raziel agreed, trying a new pair of eyeglasses on Charles for size.
The makeup girl frowned.
"I'm going for stylish but a bit nerdy," Raziel explained to her.
"Do you have any other frames?" the girl asked.
Charles pulled off the eyeglasses. "These don't have my tinted lenses!" He complained.
"Tinted lenses make you look like you got something to hide. How about these?" she asked, trying a second pair.
"Awwww!" cooed the makeup girl.
"I'm going for professional, but with a certain dweebish vulnerability?"
"Yeah. I kinda wanna hug his ass and then have him do my taxes," the makeup girl agreed.
"Cool."
"I don't wanna look like a fucking cuddly toy!” Charles protested. “What the fuck?"
"Yeah you do," said Raziel, breathing on the eyeglasses and wiping them on her blouse. "That's why I had the suit cut slightly too big."
"Aw, shit, you didn't? Thank Christ! I thought Ganesh was gonna have my ass for losing weight again."
“This is important. A lot of people are watching,” Raziel said.
"When are you due, Sugar?" the makeup girl asked.
"We're almost halfway now,” Raziel told her, patting her tummy. “Twins!"
"Aw, ain't that sweet. Names?"
"Too many! Every relative wants into the Naming!"
"Always the same. I gotta go see to Nick, but I'll be back to spritz him just before airtime. Don’t let him get mussed!" And she darted off.
"Was she speaking Common Angelic?" Charles asked Raziel.
"Yup."
"Damn."
"Like I said, there's a lot of people gonna be watching you today," Raziel told him.
Nick Ibsen still exhibited signs of his previous encounter with Dethklok, when he had been nearly beheaded by a lamp and then bloodrocuted. There was a huge scar - ragged enough it couldn't be completely covered by makeup - running down the right side of his neck. Charles noticed he now kept that side turned away from the camera. And despite the application of what must have been an entire gallon tub of hair gel, he still looked ... singed.
In addition, Charles could swear he smelled something like Surtr's barbecue in the air.
Despite all this, and despite the fact that Skwisgaar had contacted Ibsen through a particularly contentious ex-wife, whom the guitarist had apparently fucked before she had divorced Ibsen, the show had seemed rather desperate to book Charles as a guest. Under normal circumstances, Charles would have used to obvious bargaining power to negotiate a lot of concessions. But these were not normal circumstances, so the only caveat was that he would take the entire hour of the program.
"We're talking to Charles Foster Ofdensen, manager-lawyer-CFO of the band, Dethklok. You're currently, considered, what, the earth's seventh largest economy."
"I think, uh, in the new reports, we've moved up to sixth."
"Sixth largest economy. But, you know, we tried to find some old interview clips of you, because, if nothing else, I like to show my guests with bad hair and shoulder pads…." Nick Ibsen didn't have a studio audience, but was famous for having a fairly raucous crew, and several of them now could be heard in the studio, chuckling. "But my crack team could find nothing on you. And we could find very little in print. I think up until this point, you've been very good at avoiding the spotlight. Some have even called you, 'shadowy.'"
"I think it just means I'm good at my job."
"How is that?"
"The boys - Deklok - they're the stars. They're who you should be paying attention to. My job, as I see it, is to stay ... the heck ... out of the way."
There was some scattered chuckling from the crew, which turned to laughter when Nick told him, "We're on a five second tape delay, so you can say what you mean here."
"My job is to stay the fuck out of the way," Charles supplied, to much appreciation. "And to let them do their job."
"Here’s the very first question everybody was asking me when I told them I would get to talk to you today: you got anything to say about a release date for that next album?"
"I wish I did have something to announce. But, Nathan Explosion is very particular about our product. And I'd like to support him in every way. When it's released, you will be pleased. I truly believe this will be our best work yet."
"Nathan! Now, Nathan recently made some remarks, and it's been getting a lot of play. Do we have the clip?"
Of course you have the fucking clip, Charles thought bitterly as he listened for the thousandth time to Nathan outing him. Else some of your staff is gonna end up boiled in oil.
"Your reaction, Charles?"
"Nathan gets ... enthusiastic. Sometimes."
"But you don't deny it."
"No. Absolutely not."
"You are an angel, living among us."
"That's more or less correct."
"More or less?"
"Well, remember, I'm not only a supernatural being, I'm an attorney..." Ibsen's crew howled with laughter. "I'm not completely certain you could call me an angel any more. I was ... cast out."
"You're Fallen?"
"I don't care for that term. You don't really fall so much as you're … pushed." There was laughter.
"Wanna tell us what happened?"
"I shot my mouth off. When I shouldn't have."
"Could happen to any of us. So, you've been down here a long time?"
"Yes."
"Wanna say how long?"
"Well, I'm actually older than you, Nick." Ibsen's crew snorted. It had been Raziel’s joke, and he had to admit, it was pretty good.
Nick was grinning too. He smelled ratings. "And before that? What did you do?"
"Well, believe it or not, I was a soldier."
"In the army! Were you a pretty good soldier?"
"Maybe you can be the judge of that one. I can't see very well, I need these eyeglasses. And you may have noticed I'm physically smaller than some of the individuals they've been showing on TV."
"So, you're not perfect?"
"Oh, hell no. You can ask my band about that one."
"Let's take our first caller. Petaluma, California! Hello!"
"Are you a harbinger?" a timid voice asked.
"Harbinger! Got some signs and portents for us?" Nick supplied.
"I guess I'd have to ask, harbinger of what? A harbinger is just a sign of something. So, if you mean a harbinger of the world's most brutal band, then, yes."
"Some people have speculated about a connection between your band and the end of the world,” Nick noted. “There's been some reference to an ancient Sumerian prophecy. Do we have the slide?"
"Oh. Yeah. The Metalocalypse."
"The...?"
"Metalocalypse. Please don't make me spell it." The crew chuckled. "We get letters from those people every single day."
"Like metal apocalypse?"
"Yeah. An apocalypse of metal. There was, at least for a time, some kind of governmental commission of some sort looking into it."
"Your tax dollars at work," Nick snickered.
"Your tax dollars at play, more like. What I like to ask people, as we discussed, Dethklok is now the sixth largest economy in the world. The band is doing well, and I'm doing well. You said I can speak freely? Why the fuck would any of us want an apocalypse?"
"You're doing well."
"What I want is single malt Scotch. And a good cigar."
"Let's take another caller. Spokane, Washington, hello!"
"Uhhhhhhh, hi," said a crackly voice. "So, will you, uh, show your wings for us."
"Show your wings!" Nick repeated.
"The answer is no. And, I will tell you why. It's just considered very impolite. To do that. Among ourselves. So, I don't."
"Just don't wanna be rude!" Nick nodded.
"But I seen some of dem angels in Australia an they got wings flapping!" the caller insisted.
"Look, that's fine for them," Charles told them. "But the way I was brought up, showing your wings was considered the height of rudeness. If people do it nowadays, that's fine."
"So, you were brought up?" Nick Ibsen asked.
"Yeah."
Ibsen pounced like a hungry tiger. "You were a child?"
"Yes."
"Tell us about it."
"Well, I didn't really know about my parents until recently."
"Really?"
"Long story," he shrugged.
Nick Ibsen called for a commercial break. He leaned over, his hand on mute, and whispered, "You've got to milk this!"
"Milk what?"
"Being an orphan!"
"I wasn't an orphan."
"it doesn't matter. People in the fucking red states are gonna suck up this kinda shit! The sympathy!"
"But I'm a rich guy! Who the he'll is gonna be sympathetic to me?"
"Shit, I'm fucking loaded too. Rags to riches! Believe me, this is gonna play in the boonies."
"I'm kind of uncomfortable talking about this."
"Even better. Let me drag it out of you." And then Nick abruptly sat back and announced, "We're back! I'm talking with Charles Ofdensen, manager-lawyer-CFO of Dethklok. Charles, you were just telling me you only recently learned about your parents. Why was that?"
He tried to pick his words carefully. "They, uh, weren't married. And, uh, that was a pretty big scandal. Back where I'm from."
"Very old school?"
"The oldest. And…. My father wasn't an angel. Evidently."
"Forbidden love?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"Missoula, Montana, hello!"
"WILL YOU MARRY ME?"
The entire studio erupted in laughter.
"Well, people seem to be embracing this announcement!"
"I guess so."
"You wanna tell us anything about your personal life? We always hear who the band is dating."
"Yeah. I prefer to keep at side of my life private. I'm, uh, currently in a committed relationship. And that's all I feel comfortable saying. But, uh, the boys are all still single."
"Hear that ladies? There's still hope at catching Nathan Explosion! Would you say he's still the world's most eligible bachelor?"
"I'd say I live with the world's five most eligible bachelors. And, uh, none of them pick up their socks."
"I'd like to speak about one of them, in particular. I'm talking about Pickles the drummer, and specifically, a relative of his who's been getting a lot of media attention."
"You're talking about his brother, Seth, I take it?"
"Yes, the, uh, Grand Duke of Australia?"
"Oh, just Duke wasn't big enough?” The crew chuckled. “Huh. Well, I don't like to comment publicly, as he's no longer with the organization."
"But he did work for the organization, as you call it, for you, for a number of years."
"Yes, what happened was very simple. Seth was getting back on his feet after some, uh, personal setbacks...."
"Including prison time."
"At the time, he expressed interest in getting involved with our organization. And Pickles, being a compassionate brother, asked whether we could find an appropriate position for him."
"Like hiring your nephew!"
"A little bit. And, that worked out fine. Until recently, when we learned that he had grown unhappy with the organization, so I requested his resignation."
"Is that a lawyer's way of saying you canned him?"
"Now, as you might imagine, we have pretty strict agreements we have everybody sign before they can work in our organization. And, we're very egalitarian about it, so Seth was the same as anyone else, and it was determined that there had been violations. So we sought a separation. For cause.”
"And, what is Pickles' take in all this? Was he supportive? We've heard a lot of rumors over the years regarding bad blood between those two...."
"Now, I'm really not going to comment here on family relationships. Pickles is an intelligent individual, and he understood the reason for the separation. I believe he has behaved in a compassionate manner. I was shocked – as he was shocked – and saddened at the recent developments in Australia.”
“Moab, Utah, HELLO!”
“Are you watching over us?”
“Are you watching them?”
“Why? What are you doing?”
Nick studied some memos his assistants had brought in while technicians pulled their mikes off.
"These are the best ratings we've gotten since Princess Di. Any time you wanna come back, my door is open."
"Thank you. But I am hoping that next time, you'll be back to interviewing the boys."
"Charles. Speaking frankly. You should do this more. You're a natural."
"As I said, I do my job so they can do theirs."
"You weren't lying about staying in the background?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"You are genuinely humble?"
Charles laughed. "I am anything but. I just prefer to remain out of the spotlight."
Nick arched an eyebrow. “I assume you saw what happened with your record sales?
“What, just during the interview?” One of Nick’s assistants showed him a memo. Charles whistled.
Nick leaned across the table and shook his hand.
One assistant said thank you.
So did the other. But he spoke in Common Angelic.
The crew was still milling around. Though his Common was still rusty (it had gotten better since he'd started hiring in refugees from The Host), he recognized the scattered "Thank you's" and "Good job's" as he made his way from the studio. Raziel, who was now rather openly gossiping in Common with a couple of the producers, accompanied him.
"They need to be careful," he told her. "I have my own army. They just have ... Neighbors with pitchforks."
“Someone needs to go kick Seth’s fucking ass,” Raziel trilled.
His office, alas, was not empty.
"Lucifer."
"So, Brother Sariel. They tell me you have become a rare sight within these premises."
"Lucifer? I'm not your fucking brother. And whoever the fuck 'they' are, they're full of shit. Which wouldn't surprise me for your friends."
“I saw the interview. You are very skillful.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And speaking of skill, I was pleased to meet your newest intrigue the other day. Surprising to find a feather bedder in the Eastern Pantheon."
Charles knit his hands together and glared. "Ganesh? He usually doesn't date angels. I think he customarily goes for supermodels."
"You must tell me, how in the world did you manage to land such a sweet piece of ass?"
"OK, Brother, just for informational purposes, last guy who fucking laid a hand on Ganesh ended up in my volcano. While it was erupting. Are we clear?"
Lucifer smiled and fixed his one good eye on Sariel. "You realize I cannot help myself. It is my nature."
"No. It's not in your nature any more than it's in mine."
"I am you. A pale copy, but you. Only made without certain elements of your irascible nature."
"Uh-huh. You just told me I'm too much of an asshole to be Satan? Are you going to give me a reason why I'm not on the phone with Security?"
"Something you will need to discuss with your psychotherapist. I simply supposed, now that I am restored to my fitful position, we two are confined together in a small universe. And circumstances are changing. Perhaps it would be ... unproductive to continue ignoring one another."
"OK, Lucifer. You exist. Congratulations. Don't let the door hit you, etc." Charles opened his laptop and turned his attention to the screen.
Lucifer paused. "You're happy?"
"I'm never happy. If you really were me, you would know that."
Lucifer turned towards the door.
"Lucifer, I don't know why Ganesh is with me. He doesn't want an angel. He wants me. I have no idea why. He's a child of earth gods. Like I was a child. We weren't made for any purpose. We just ... are. Maybe there isn't an explanation." And he looked up, not having any idea why he had just said this, nor why of all people he had told Satan.
"Do you know why I was sent down here?" Lucifer asked. "I and my Brothers?"
Charles shook his head, intrigued.
"To create beauty. That was our assignment. The Creator was unhappy. His lovely children could not themselves have children."
"But, humans mate! They've filled the fucking planet with their spawn."
"NOT his disobedient children. They are ill favored. His perfect children."
Sariel paused. "He wanted his angels to have children? With humans? He wanted the Nephilim?"
"They say that, unlike you, I do not have free will. This may be so. But I did create something. We created something. Something wild and beautiful. They are my greatest work. My treasure. My children. And then He took them away from me." Lucifer looked at him. "You cannot have my loyalty, that is not possible. You have restored my children to me. You do have my regard."
"What are you gonna do? With the Nephilim?"
"They will have a garden. Ganesh put me in touch with his uncle, who is an enthusiastic gardener."
"I didn't think Brahma and you, uh, got along?"
"Brahma detests me. But I have several Financial Times editors under my, er, care, and he wished to have the opportunity to interface with them."
"Former Financial Times editors?"
"Yes. And current." Satan grinned, and, rattling his golden wings, departed, leaving only the smell of brimstone.
"I can't do this if you're going to keep fidgeting!"
"I'm not fidgeting! I'm just having a drink."
"Oh. All right then."
"Can I see, or are you gonna just let me freeze to death?"
"I thought you weren't affected by temperature in your True Form?"
"I am less affected. I don't usually have to sit on my ass stuck in a pose."
And then Ganesh was standing over his shoulder, sneaking a sip of Sariel's martini. "I could fix you a hot toddy instead."
"I'm OK," Sariel muttered, glancing back at the drawings under one of Ganesh's arms. It was weird. His life had gotten really weird. Well, weirder. Here he was, sitting quite comfortably (or at least more comfortably than he would admit), True Formed, while his boyfriend drew picture after picture of his exposed wings.
He had tried to communicate to Ganesh just how odd this all was by comparing it to someone making a series of drawings of his dick. This had evoked from Ganesh a heartfelt lecture on the glories of the reproductive system. And so, Sariel had dropped the matter.
The drawings were interesting, actually. Ganesh seemed fascinated by the mechanics of it all, so he had a series on how he thought the joints worked, and the opposing musculature, and where he thought there were the various tendons and sinews connecting everything. Sariel had never really put much thought into this - wings appeared when you wanted them, and then you put them away - but now he wondered why.
Ganesh currently held a wing tip and was very gently flexing it. He could touch Sariel's wings now. He had asked permission. And Sariel couldn't for the life of him figure out why someone who routinely stuck fingers up his ass couldn't touch his damn wings. It was just, no one else had ever touched his wings. They must have, back when he was a small child, but of course he no longer had those memories. Even Raziel, who was the rudest being on earth, hadn't tried. You just didn't.
But the thing with Ganesh was, you had to explain things to Ganesh. He was always unfailingly polite, of course. But he did this terrible, insidious thing: when you would talk to him, instead of getting multiple "Pfft's!" like you would with his band, Ganesh would fix those kind brown eyes on you. It was awful. It was usually easier just to give up and let him do as he asked.
It didn't feel bad. Ganesh had very gentle hands, so it felt OK. And anyway, Sariel’s wings weren’t delicate. They weren’t like bird wings. They were used for fighting, and were actually quite tough. They were resistant to sword blows: it had taken a magicked up flaming chainsaw to relieve Lucifer of his. Angels didn’t get broken wings. Of if they did, they didn’t long survive it.
As Ganesh dropped the wing and began distractedly scribbling something on his drawing pad, Sariel frowned over at him. He experimentally poked Ganesh in the stomach with a wing tip. Ganesh started, and then suddenly got the most terribly disarming smile on his face, like a three year old who'd been shown a panda bear.
"Did you want to take a look?" Ganesh was asking, holding up the drawing pad.
Sariel nodded and slipped off the stool. But he didn't Court Form. He sat back on the bed, and extended one wing.
Ganesh dropped down beside him, inside the wing. He spread the drawings out before them on the bed and they both looked them over, intrigued.
Far, far away....
It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought.
It was the angelic library.
It was still standing in this universe. As, in this universe, the angels were not currently at war. Due to a dozen dozen other things, large and small.
He looked for the thousandth time to the book clutched closely to his chest. He had waited patiently for her to be left all alone. And then, seeing his chance, he boldly stepped up to the counter, thumping the book down before her.
“Hey, are you back again?” she grinned, but then looked up and blinked. “Whoa. Come here often, hon?”
“I have never been here before.”
“Twice in one week for this book? That’s weird. So, are you guys buddies or something?”
“You guys?”
She held up The Book. “The angel who tried to return this a couple days ago. Do you know him?”
‘You actually saw him?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“He wasn’t from this universe.”
She pushed herself back, so he could see the wheelchair, and looked him up and down. “No, he wasn’t.”
“You have trouble walking?”
“Nah. I just like doin’ wheelies.”
“I am a doctor.”
She leaned forward and gave him an evil smile. “You wanna play doctor?” He tried desperately not to smile, but there was something about her grin.
“You are actually quite lovely, but I prefer men.”
“Oh? I like ‘em too. So, we got that in common.” She arched an eyebrow. She looked right and left and then told him, “I’m on a break in 20 minutes.” She said it in Hindi.
“Out front?” he asked.
She nodded, and, handing him The Book, said loudly, “And have a pleasant day.” She winked and snapped her gum.
Ganesh tucked The Book under an arm and headed outside. He wasn’t a big fan of bubble gum. On the other hand….
On the other hand….
Well, he wasn’t sure. But he certainly had a lot of other hands. So he stood in the sun, and waited for her.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regarding angel wings
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking
Notes: Notes after the jump.
OK, put away the pointed sticks, time for your Mythkklok.
This week marks the return of that beloved Metalocalypse character, NICK IBSEN! I knew you would be thrilled.
Cross-posted to
capslokdethklok.Z drew arts for this!
Mythklok is a Metalocalypse AU in which Charles is Sariel, an angel who fell to earth and subsequently got adopted by a death metal band. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,
tikific, where you are welcome to come visit the bits I’ve written and maybe poke them with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.Last time, the crew had dinner with Ganesh's eccentric Uncle Brahma and Auntie Sarasvati, which in turn prompted Charles and Pickles to go poking around in Uriah's head for more of Sariel's origin story (hint: massively screwed up). Raziel baked cookies for some of Lucifer's relatives, and Seth got quite steamed when he found out he'd been passed over for a job as Satan. Oh, and the angels are still fighting - so what else is new?
Just an FYI, in order to understand something that happens here, you need to have read the Interstitial Clarence Sends His Regards. I expected that to be a one shot back when I wrote it but as it turns out, it’s gonna be important.
Anatomy Lesson
"YOU DRAW PORNOGRAPHY?"
Ganesh smiled and crawled to the end of the bed, where he could place his chin on two hands and comfortably overlook Sariel poring through his drawing notebooks.
"As you know, Great Brahma has sent me back to this existence left-handed. Although it has unfavorably impacted my sword fighting abilities, I find I do have an increased aptitude for illustration."
"You draw porn!"
Ganesh sent a hand down and grabbed one of the drawings. "I had been considering for some time to add another chapter to the Kama Sutra, dealing with winged beings."
"You weren't exaggerating about being one of the original co-authors?"
Ganesh rolled to his back and held up the drawing to the light. "Unlike Lady Raziel, many of my stories have a basis in fact."
"But this is US!" Sariel wailed.
"I have altered any identifying features."
"Oh, yeah, it's just ANY angel who's fucking an eight-armed god!"
Ganesh turned over again and let the drawing slide to the floor. "And the purpose is less erotic than illustrative. The Kama Sutra is an instruction manual, recall."
Sariel quietly shuffled through the drawings for a moment. "Is that why you did these?"
Ganesh plucked the notebook up from Sariel's hands. "Yes, these were just a best guess. I hope I wasn't too far off?"
Sariel blinked. "I.... I don't know, actually."
"You don't know how your wings function? Really?"
Sariel shook his head.
"Well!" Ganesh crawled over to the nightstand to grab his reading glasses, and then dropped down next to Sariel, pulling the angel and a notebook close. "I believe the joint attachment to be just here, operated by a major set of musculature like so," he rambled, pointing simultaneously to an illustration and Sariel's actual back.
Sariel sat, utterly rapt. After a time, he asked, "So, does it work like your extra arms?"
"Excellent question!" Ganesh replied, sending an angel and some notebooks tumbling as he dove for an additional notebook. "Although," he continued, grabbing back angels and notebooks, "I have never considered them to be extras, but here is the jointing system...."
It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, Ganesh thought. Maybe not quite as gorgeous as the angelic library, but still amazing.
His angelic engineers, godly architects, and human construction workers were all glaring at each other, but they had managed to come together to create the new office tower headquarters for the EKC. It looked like nothing else on earth - nothing else in the universe, Ganesh thought proudly.
It was a grand day. This was the first step to rebuilding his ruined city. And it would be even better than before. The entire city had stopped bustling madly about to attend the ribbon cutting ceremony.
And then he saw them, in the distance.
"No," he whispered.
They fell out of the sky, wings unfurled, swords already aflame. A small group of Seraphim. But you only needed a few.
"Did you hope to rebuild, little earth god? I don't remember anyone asking permission," one said in awkward English.
"Whose permission should we have sought? Yours?" Ganesh grumbled. He was acting bolder than he felt. He could have made a mess of them with his destructive powers, but he held off, trying desperately to calculate how he could spare the new building. He didn't want this all to be a waste. It would kill his people, starting all over again.
It would kill him.
His godly soldiers were arrayed, angry, behind him, swords already drawn.
"What do you assholes think you're doing?" the big Seraph asked. He was looking not at Ganesh, and not at the gods, but over his other shoulder.
Ganesh became aware of another group. Phanuel's angelic engineers had all pulled out their wings. And they seemed even more furious than the gods.
"You Seraph fuckheads fuck with our building, you fuck with us!" one of them shouted.
"You idiots think to challenge us?" sneered the Seraph.
"Try us."
"We've taken shit from you fucking Seraphim for eons," bellowed another engineer. "I'd say some payback was in order."
“You think you’re better than us, you can’t even speak our fucking language!” shouted another.
“Dickless motherfuckers!” screamed yet another engineer. This last was in High Angelic, but it was a phrase Ganesh had picked up from Sariel. It was one of the angel’s favorites.
Ganesh noted with interest that the Seraphim seemed confused by the resistance. "I might suggest," he interjected, "that you fellows consider departing. While there is still time. I am only their supervisor on this architectural project, and not their commanding general. I know they are courageous soldiers, and I have noted that, being engineers, they have some quite interesting and sharp angelic tools at their disposal. If they should get it into their head a that some Seraphim need their wings clipped, it would not be my place to restrain them."
The Seraphim exchanged glances, obviously losing their nerve. A couple of the more cowardly took this as their cue to fly off, and the rest soon scattered, to howls and cheers from the surrounding crowd.
"Seraphim. What a bunch of pussies." It was Sariel's voice. Ganesh looked up. Sariel and Raziel were perched up on a low wall, overlooking the exchange.
"I didn't realize you were here," Ganesh told them. "How much did you see?"
"Everything from ‘Did you hope to rebuild, little earth god, bwa-ha-ha,’" Raziel grinned, rubbing her stomach.
"So Wotan's sentry system worked?" Ganesh asked.
The angels nodded. "But you looked like you were doing OK."
"Better to be here and not be needed than the opposite," Raziel said.
"Speaking of which...." said Sariel. He was scowling at his Dethphone. Ganesh wondered where he carried it, as he wasn't currently wearing a jacket.
"Your Cherubim demanding more sheet cakes?" Raziel giggled.
"Could you come with me?" he asked her.
She frowned. “I’ll need to fly again. This one doesn’t like me jumping,” she said, jerking a thumb at Ganesh.
“Am I needed?” Ganesh asked.
“I think we’ll be OK. Go back to your ribbon cutting. That’s a pretty cool building, by the way. Do you use magic to hold it up?”
“Not a scrap!” Ganesh said with pride.
“Fuck. I need me some angelic engineers.” Sariel nodded at Raziel, and they flew.
Nathan Explosion sat scowling at the angels.
He thought Charles hated the wings, but their manager seemed to be going around like that more and more these days.
Thing is, if it was just a guy he knew who sometime had big ass silver wings flapping around, that would be one thing. Nathan was a death metal musician, and he’d certainly seen weirder stuff. It was just, he knew Charles, and this angel guy wasn't quite Charles. Well, half angel guy. Or whatever. It had gotten confusing.
Charles was someone who barely ever broke the surface. And it had gotten worse since he had started hiding behind tinted glasses. Which were cool, if a bit creepy. He was just someone you need to pump with a couple of drinks to figure out what the fuck was going on with him. And Nathan knew people like that. His dad could be like that, actually. He’d go around and not fucking tell you something for years, and then you’d crack open a couple of brews, and the floodgates would open.
And Charles, when he took out the wings – that was the thing, it was like he’d just downed a whole case, with maybe a couple of whiskey chasers and smoked a bowl with Pickles.
So, today, Charles had flown here, and that was OK, but then he kept standing on the back of a bench to talk to Pickles. It was a place nobody normal would or could stand, except maybe a weird gay Cirque du Soleil douche bag in white face paint. And he hated fucking guys in white face paint. And then Raziel had come to land beside him, and the thing about her was, you could tell she didn't give a shit whether anybody saw her as this strange winged thing, she seemed to enjoy it, and despite being obviously pregnant now, she was perched (that was the only word for it) on the back of a bench too, like everybody just went around balancing on a two inch wide surface.
And then they started jabbering in the funny, musical talk (he could read it, but he still couldn't quite understand when they spoke quickly like that) and - here was where it really got strange - they'd rattle their wings at each other when they were pissed, or sort of unfurl them partway when they were making a point. Like a bunch of Italians talking with their hands, only even bigger.
Charles was upset. Rattled.
And Nathan could tell Charles was upset. Without even getting him very, very drunk.
And that by itself was unsettling.
Pickles had finished talking with them and was walking by. He was looking miserable. As he always did when Seth was involved.
Nathan stopped him. He nodded towards Raziel. "So, when she has the kids, is she gonna lay eggs, or what?" Nathan asked.
Pickles went quiet. For a time. For quite a long time. Finally he said, "Nat'an, dood. Jist...."
"What?"
"Jist promise dat yoo'll never change, dood." And then Pickles grinned.
"Seth sent Seraphim?"
"That kind of sounds like a song title, huh?" Raziel grinned.
"Not from my band."
"Seth sent Seraphim, who subsequently got caught in a meat grinder!"
"That might work."
"You know, I might just be developing a taste for death metal music after all."
"The ones who just threatened Ganesh? At the Imperial City? Where did they come from?"
"Headquarters?"
"Evacuated."
"You're fucking kidding me."
“Some of the Dominions who work in the kitchen told me.”
“And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest.”
Raziel and Sariel turned. It was Samael, raving in Common. “What?” Sariel asked. Raziel translated. “Does he need to go to IKEA?” Sariel asked.
Murderface came huffing up behind him. “You dudes juscht….” He puffed. “Juscht come schee the TV.”
There were scenes of devastation, but it all seemed to be aerial shots.
“New Zealand?” Sariel asked, “What the fuck?” To an immediate shushing.
And then a familiar face came on the TV, the smoking remains of the Sydney Opera House in the background.
“We have taken over here in f*bleep*ing Australia, and from this f*bleep*ing day forth, you will submit to our f*bleep*ing authority, or suffer the f*bleep*ing consequences, like new f*bleep*ing Zealand.”
“That asshole needs a public speaking class,” Sariel grumbled, to more shushing.
“I got my f*bleep*ing Seraphim, and they’re gonna f*bleep*ing cut you,” Seth continued, as a group of hulking angels landed behind him. Seth made a slashing gesture across his throat, and the picture suddenly cut off.
“I tol’ yoo not t’ piss him off,” Pickles said.
“Yeah, but New Zealand?” Sariel persisted. “I mean, who gives a fuck? Who lives in fucking New Zealand? Sheep and fucking Hobbits? What next? Oh no, angels attacked Belize!”
“I t’ink people will give a shit,” Pickles said grimly.
“What I wanna know is, how the fuck did he get a buncha Seraphs working for him?”
“Seraphim are dumb as rocks,” Raziel commented. “You know that.”
“And Set’ can be very persuasive. He convinced my mom ‘n dad dat he’s perfect.”
“Your mom and dad are assholes,” Sariel grumbled.
Pickles frowned, but then shrugged and nodded. “Anyway, I t’ink people are gonna give a fuck.”
Charles had stopped smoking, except for Wotan's cigars. But he still liked watching cigarettes burn. He had one in his hand. It was a comfort, really, watching it slowly, relentlessly go to ash. Like entropy at work. He wondered if children nowadays had less of an intuitive grasp of thermodynamics, due to the stupid trend of everybody giving up smoking. Fucking quitters.
He vowed to get Raziel's twins hooked. What better task for an evil uncle?
At some point, Raziel had called him on the telephone. They weren't talking, neither of them, but he cradled his phone on his shoulder while he watched the cigarette burn.
"Did anything else happen?" Nathan boomed, crashing down on the couch next to him and Pickles (who had courteously supplied the cigarette and the light).
"We turned da sound down dood," Pickles told him as he tipped back another beer.
"I hate stupid news," Charles grumbled, still watching his cigarette. "Nothing has happened for hours. And still they won’t shut the fuck up.”
Pickles kicked a foot pedal, and the sound flooded the room. "This is Connie Conehead speaking from Meathead, Kansas, where an angry mob has just stormed and burned down the house of a couple people here claim were really angels living among us." There were aerial shots of what indeed looked like a smoking ruin in the middle of a rural area.
The scene switched to a group of residents. People held up signs, the most benign of which was, "ANGLES GO 2 HEL!"
Charles smirked and told the phone, “I’m a ninety degree angel!”
A red faced woman was howling, "It's not natural! What about my children!"
"She got kids? Dat's scary, dood," Pickles muttered.
"Connie, can you get a read on the mood of neighbors right now?" said the anchor, who was safe in New York City.
"They're a bunch of vicious, small-minded assholes, Dan," Connie opined.
"Heh. Connie Conehead is awesome," Nathan chuckled.
"Nat'an, yoo know, dey killed dose angel guys in da house," Pickles asked.
"Yeah, but, they're just angels, right? They come back!"
"No," Charles said patiently, "We don't come back."
"But Ganesh dude came back!"
"Dood. He ain't an angel," Pickles told him.
"Wait, he's not?"
Charles was carefully tapping some ashes into a beer bottle. "That's correct. He is not an angel."
"He's something else?"
"Yes. He is a god."
"Oh. I sometimes get messed up with all the weird guys around here. Not that he's weird. Or, uh, you're weird. Or anything."
"That's fine."
"But, you know, what if those people are right? I mean, what if we have angels move in nearby?"
"Wut? Yoo worried about da children too?" Pickles asked.
"No. It's just. You know. Charles is OK. But what about the other guys? Like Seth?"
"Set' is human."
"How do you know that?"
"He's my brudder, Nat'an!"
"Oh, yeah, I tend to lose track of stuff like that. He's kind of weird and creepy, you know."
"And, angels run our accounting department," Charles told him as he popped his cigarette butt into his beer bottle. "Your accounting department. That takes care of your money. Plus they're in the kitchen. Preparing your food. And some are in the library. Cataloging your books."
"Dood! Did we get some o' da Ophanim?" pickles wondered.
"The what?" Nathan asked.
"Yes. I persuaded a few of the workers to come here following the destruction of their library. If nothing else, they have knowledge of the Angelic language, so can help organize that section."
"Nat’an, dood, I'll take you t' see 'em. Dey're totally weird! Dey're better dan drugs."
"I'm pleased you find us entertaining." Charles stood.
Pickles was standing too. "Whoa. Charles. Siddown."
"Maybe I'll have my mother look over our cataloguing. Maybe you'd find that funny."
"Your mom?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah" Charles said to Nathan, though he continued to lock eyes with Pickles. "She's an angel too. How about that."
"Cool. Is she coming to visit this Christmas?" Nathan asked, cheerily oblivious to Charles and Pickles staring each other down.
"She doesn't travel," Charles told him.
"Does she have iMovie?" Nathan asked.
"What?"
"Don't give her iMovie! Does my mom have her number?"
"Nathan-" Charles found he couldn't concentrate on arguing with Pickles. "Why would my mother talk to your mother?"
Nathan was already on the phone. "BECAUSE THEY ALL CALL EACH OTHER. Really. It sucks."
"I t'ink she's already got da number," Pickles grinned.
"Why would..." Charles sputtered. "When did my mother get a cell phone?"
"I had Lady Raz get her one," Pickles explained.
"They've got really good reception at Valhalla. WOTAN BUILT A TOWER!" Nathan averred.
"So den I could give her number to my mom."
"Yeah, my mom ALREADY HAS THE NUMBER!" Nathan boomed, somewhat ineffectively holding his hand over the receiver. "Lady Raz is gonna have them all visit. Because CHARLES' MOM DOESN'T TRAVEL."
"I don't have my own mother's cell phone number," Charles muttered, suddenly sitting back on the couch. "All your moms ... are going to Valhalla?"
"Yeah, dey hang togedder out an' talk aboot us," Pickles told him, also sitting.
"It's really BRUTAL!" Nathan groused, rudely slamming down his Dethphone on the coffee table.
Charles silently opened another beer and took a rather large gulp.
Ganesh looked up from his desk. His brand new desk. In his brand new office. Atop one of the world’s most gorgeous buildings.
The view was not yet equally splendid – too much of the devastation remained, but he was now hopeful.
He recognized the beings who shuffled apologetically into his office – it was a few of Phanuel’s engineers. He smiled. Their time here had bound them to this universe. The unspoken part of the bargain was that they would make their new home in Ganesh’s imperial city, something which had gnawed upon him until the confrontation with the Seraphim. He held out hope now that it would work. Though prejudice being what it was, it wouldn’t be easy.
“Shri Ganesha,” the one began. “We have a request. But, it would be a favor. We really don’t have any way of repaying you.”
“This is a jolly good time to ask. I am rather impressed by my new surroundings.” He waved his hand for them to proceed.
“I suppose you’ve heard what’s happened at Headquarters?”
Ganesh nodded. “I believe one might say burnt to the ground, if it were indeed on the ground.”
“We all know people. Refugees.” By "people" he meant other angels, of course. Beings always thought of themselves as people.
“And you’ve seen the news? About what’s happening out there?” another angel interjected.
Ganesh nodded. Pogroms, might be one description. Some of the beings who had been killed probably weren't even angels. It was quite certain that almost none of them had been been a danger to anyone. Still, there had been calls in some quarters for registration, camps, that kind of thing. Typical human misbehavior.
Ganesh suddenly sensed what was coming. He decided to let them broach it.
“We wondered…. If they could come here…. Some of them….”
Ganesh folded his hands. “We may certainly discuss this. My city – our city – is in desperate need of skilled tradesmen. I DO NOT WANT TO PROMISE ANYTHING!” They were going to speak, but halted. “I have a couple of acquaintances who are also in need of assistance. I need a very precise accounting of their skills!” He stabbed the table with his finger. “And, I cannot promise your safety. You saw the Seraphim, the same as I. They are easily startled, but they will be back. And in greater numbers. And, in addition, I cannot force our citizens to accept you. That is up to you. Are all of these things understood?”
They nodded. Well, of course they nodded. They were desperate. He guessed that they hadn’t heard a single word after “discuss.”
He passed them off to an aide, wondering if Uncle Wotan might have some cousins who were also in need of angelic assistance. Probably something they needed to prepare for, if they didn’t want another Australia. It was just the Seraphim being Seraphim, true, but it looked bad for everybody.
Ganesh picked up at the first ring, smiling. “Jaanu! I may be a little late. I have an intriguing story to tell…. Press conference?" He brought out a remote control and turned on a television monitor in his office. "No, I haven’t had time to watch the news today. The band spoke? Nathan-“
Ganesh gawped at his phone, holding it away from himself as if that would make it change its output.
He blinked.
He raised the phone back to his ear.
“Nathan said WHAT?”
Charles looked at the pile of paperwork by his side. And then he looked at the Marlboro, slowly turning to ash in his hand.
His last ever meeting with Dethklok, he mused.
He was being sentimental, he thought. Realistically, it would take more than one meeting to disentangle himself from this corporation - the corporation he'd built. But this was the beginning of the end.
He needed to stop doing this, but he just couldn't help himself. He grabbed the remote control and flipped on his monitor. And then he pushed PLAY.
Nathan Explosion was at a podium, glaring his mightiest scowl across one and all.
Charles couldn't hear the question. He wondered sadly if even Nathan had properly heard the question. But there was no mistaking the answer.
"Angels? What the fuck? Angels are AWESOME! Our manager is an angel. People who don't like 'em can come BLEEP my BLEEP BLEEP."
Only, Nathan didn't say bleep of course.
He clicked off the remote. He stood, picking up the paperwork. He stabbed out his cigarette.
Pickles squinted at Charles. He looked like he had been knocked over by a truck.
Pickles was annoyed. Charles had barricaded himself in his office for the last two days, with no word. And then he had laid down some kind of nasty misdirection spell, so Pickles couldn't Walk in. He figured maybe he'd had Ganesh (who was also suddenly incommunicado) down to cast it for him, because it was a doozy, and he didn't think Charles was all that good at spell stuff.
Pickles was half figuring to drag Murderface along - he was good at that breaking and entering shit - when Charles called the band meeting.
"I have started the paperwork for my transition out of the organization. Unfortunately, it's extremely complicated, and will take a couple of days to complete...."
"Fer wut?" Pickles asked, confused.
"I have press releases prepared indicating that I am no longer associated with Dethklok."
"Dethklok? THAT'S US! We're Dethklok!" Nathan insisted.
"Guys. I have been ... outed as a supernatural being. I need to leave."
“You can’t leave,” Murderface threatened, stabbing the table with his hunting knife. “Don’t you turn into a frog or schomething? Dick told me you have to schtay and protect usch!”
“William, that’s it, there won’t be an ‘us’ if I stay,” Charles explained.
“Huh?”
"There won't be a Dethklok."
"We ams disappear?" Toki sounded honestly afraid.
"No, Toki. No one will buy your records any more. No one will come to your concerts. No one will buy your merchandise. People hate angels.”
"Oh,” Nathan reasoned, “well, you just tell everybody you’re not an angel any more because you left, and it'll be fine."
"Uh, Nathan, I am Fallen. That's even worse."
"Wait. Dood. Wit' OUR fans?" Pickles asked.
"With everybody."
"Includin' our fans?"
"Yes, I think last time I looked 'everybody' included our fans," Charles said irritably.
"Our fans who worship Sat’n?" Pickles insisted.
"Schatan getsch asch much fan mail as we do, actually," Murderface pointed out.
"Ohhhhhh yeah," agreed Nathan, the light going on in his eyes. "And our fans who wear pentagrams?"
"An' da fans what waves da hooks ‘em horns," chuckled Skwisgaar.
Dethklok, or at least the four members who were not terrified of disappearing into nothing, exchanged excited glances.
"This is AWESOME!" Nathan exclaimed.
"Charles, dood, let us take care o' dis one!” Pickles told him.
Skwisgaar was already on his Dethphone. "I ams callings Nick Ibsen," he said.
"How the hell did you get Nick Ibsen's phone number?" Nathan demanded. "That's supposed to be like a secret or something."
"I ams dated his daughters. Or maybe it ams been his third wife? I ams not knows."
“Wait,” Charles asked. “Skwisgaar! What exactly is he doing?”
“You’ll go talk to Nick Ibsen,” Nathan explained, “and tell everybody about how you’re like half demon half angel and you manage us and we’ll be the most popular death metal band in the whole world.”
“You’re already…. I’m not half demon!”
“Oh, you’re not?” Nathan asked.
“I’m half…. It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I’m comfortable….”
“Dood, dis is seriously metal! I t’ink it may be da most metal ever!” Pickles laughed.
“It hasch potentschial to be record breaking in it’sch brutality!” Murderface mused.
“WHY DIDN'T WE THINK OF THIS BEFORE?" Nathan growled.
"Okey, goodbye, beautiful lady," Skwsgaar murmured in his patented sexy foreign guy voice, putting down his Dethphone.
“Dood, what happened?”
“I ams makes da dates wit’ Nick Ibsen’s third wife. She ams da hot babe!”
“Skwisgaar! The INTERVIEW!” Nathan boomed.
“Oh. Ja. And Nick ams interviews Charle. You shoulds ams lets Raziel dresses you, ‘cause we wants you to looks sharps.”
“Good idea, I’ll call Lady Raz,” Nathan said, taking out his own phone. “YOU’RE GOING SHOPPING!” he growled into his phone. "Yeah, yeah, your brother gonna be on TV." He covered the receiver with his hand. “She says you need to go to Milan to get measured, and if you lost any weight she’ll hack your wings off with a flaming sword.” Nathan went back to the phone. “Hey, you can’t hack his wings off yet, he’s gotta go on Nick Ibsen! Uh-huh. And NO FUCKING GREEN TIES! I don’t give a fuck. Yeah? Yeah? I’ll tell him.” Nathan hung up the phone. “Our moms found out your mom likes sherry, so you need to bring her a bottle next time you’re up.”
“Your moms. Got my mom. Drinking?” Charles asked. He no longer looked like he’d been knocked over by a truck. Now he looked like he’d been knocked over by a steamroller.
"Nervous?"
"What the fuck are you doing here, Raziel?"
"Wardrobe consultant."
"You know, I am a professional publicist!"
"Yeah, what do they say about a lawyer who takes himself for a client?" She addressed the makeup girl, who was, to Charles' utter dismay, currently futzing around with his hair. "Here, sweep it back like that."
"Oh, that looks sharp," the girl agreed.
"But that makes the fucking silver fucking obvious!"
"That's what we're trying to do."
"Make me look weird?"
"Yes," Raziel agreed, trying a new pair of eyeglasses on Charles for size.
The makeup girl frowned.
"I'm going for stylish but a bit nerdy," Raziel explained to her.
"Do you have any other frames?" the girl asked.
Charles pulled off the eyeglasses. "These don't have my tinted lenses!" He complained.
"Tinted lenses make you look like you got something to hide. How about these?" she asked, trying a second pair.
"Awwww!" cooed the makeup girl.
"I'm going for professional, but with a certain dweebish vulnerability?"
"Yeah. I kinda wanna hug his ass and then have him do my taxes," the makeup girl agreed.
"Cool."
"I don't wanna look like a fucking cuddly toy!” Charles protested. “What the fuck?"
"Yeah you do," said Raziel, breathing on the eyeglasses and wiping them on her blouse. "That's why I had the suit cut slightly too big."
"Aw, shit, you didn't? Thank Christ! I thought Ganesh was gonna have my ass for losing weight again."
“This is important. A lot of people are watching,” Raziel said.
"When are you due, Sugar?" the makeup girl asked.
"We're almost halfway now,” Raziel told her, patting her tummy. “Twins!"
"Aw, ain't that sweet. Names?"
"Too many! Every relative wants into the Naming!"
"Always the same. I gotta go see to Nick, but I'll be back to spritz him just before airtime. Don’t let him get mussed!" And she darted off.
"Was she speaking Common Angelic?" Charles asked Raziel.
"Yup."
"Damn."
"Like I said, there's a lot of people gonna be watching you today," Raziel told him.
Nick Ibsen still exhibited signs of his previous encounter with Dethklok, when he had been nearly beheaded by a lamp and then bloodrocuted. There was a huge scar - ragged enough it couldn't be completely covered by makeup - running down the right side of his neck. Charles noticed he now kept that side turned away from the camera. And despite the application of what must have been an entire gallon tub of hair gel, he still looked ... singed.
In addition, Charles could swear he smelled something like Surtr's barbecue in the air.
Despite all this, and despite the fact that Skwisgaar had contacted Ibsen through a particularly contentious ex-wife, whom the guitarist had apparently fucked before she had divorced Ibsen, the show had seemed rather desperate to book Charles as a guest. Under normal circumstances, Charles would have used to obvious bargaining power to negotiate a lot of concessions. But these were not normal circumstances, so the only caveat was that he would take the entire hour of the program.
"We're talking to Charles Foster Ofdensen, manager-lawyer-CFO of the band, Dethklok. You're currently, considered, what, the earth's seventh largest economy."
"I think, uh, in the new reports, we've moved up to sixth."
"Sixth largest economy. But, you know, we tried to find some old interview clips of you, because, if nothing else, I like to show my guests with bad hair and shoulder pads…." Nick Ibsen didn't have a studio audience, but was famous for having a fairly raucous crew, and several of them now could be heard in the studio, chuckling. "But my crack team could find nothing on you. And we could find very little in print. I think up until this point, you've been very good at avoiding the spotlight. Some have even called you, 'shadowy.'"
"I think it just means I'm good at my job."
"How is that?"
"The boys - Deklok - they're the stars. They're who you should be paying attention to. My job, as I see it, is to stay ... the heck ... out of the way."
There was some scattered chuckling from the crew, which turned to laughter when Nick told him, "We're on a five second tape delay, so you can say what you mean here."
"My job is to stay the fuck out of the way," Charles supplied, to much appreciation. "And to let them do their job."
"Here’s the very first question everybody was asking me when I told them I would get to talk to you today: you got anything to say about a release date for that next album?"
"I wish I did have something to announce. But, Nathan Explosion is very particular about our product. And I'd like to support him in every way. When it's released, you will be pleased. I truly believe this will be our best work yet."
"Nathan! Now, Nathan recently made some remarks, and it's been getting a lot of play. Do we have the clip?"
Of course you have the fucking clip, Charles thought bitterly as he listened for the thousandth time to Nathan outing him. Else some of your staff is gonna end up boiled in oil.
"Your reaction, Charles?"
"Nathan gets ... enthusiastic. Sometimes."
"But you don't deny it."
"No. Absolutely not."
"You are an angel, living among us."
"That's more or less correct."
"More or less?"
"Well, remember, I'm not only a supernatural being, I'm an attorney..." Ibsen's crew howled with laughter. "I'm not completely certain you could call me an angel any more. I was ... cast out."
"You're Fallen?"
"I don't care for that term. You don't really fall so much as you're … pushed." There was laughter.
"Wanna tell us what happened?"
"I shot my mouth off. When I shouldn't have."
"Could happen to any of us. So, you've been down here a long time?"
"Yes."
"Wanna say how long?"
"Well, I'm actually older than you, Nick." Ibsen's crew snorted. It had been Raziel’s joke, and he had to admit, it was pretty good.
Nick was grinning too. He smelled ratings. "And before that? What did you do?"
"Well, believe it or not, I was a soldier."
"In the army! Were you a pretty good soldier?"
"Maybe you can be the judge of that one. I can't see very well, I need these eyeglasses. And you may have noticed I'm physically smaller than some of the individuals they've been showing on TV."
"So, you're not perfect?"
"Oh, hell no. You can ask my band about that one."
"Let's take our first caller. Petaluma, California! Hello!"
"Are you a harbinger?" a timid voice asked.
"Harbinger! Got some signs and portents for us?" Nick supplied.
"I guess I'd have to ask, harbinger of what? A harbinger is just a sign of something. So, if you mean a harbinger of the world's most brutal band, then, yes."
"Some people have speculated about a connection between your band and the end of the world,” Nick noted. “There's been some reference to an ancient Sumerian prophecy. Do we have the slide?"
"Oh. Yeah. The Metalocalypse."
"The...?"
"Metalocalypse. Please don't make me spell it." The crew chuckled. "We get letters from those people every single day."
"Like metal apocalypse?"
"Yeah. An apocalypse of metal. There was, at least for a time, some kind of governmental commission of some sort looking into it."
"Your tax dollars at work," Nick snickered.
"Your tax dollars at play, more like. What I like to ask people, as we discussed, Dethklok is now the sixth largest economy in the world. The band is doing well, and I'm doing well. You said I can speak freely? Why the fuck would any of us want an apocalypse?"
"You're doing well."
"What I want is single malt Scotch. And a good cigar."
"Let's take another caller. Spokane, Washington, hello!"
"Uhhhhhhh, hi," said a crackly voice. "So, will you, uh, show your wings for us."
"Show your wings!" Nick repeated.
"The answer is no. And, I will tell you why. It's just considered very impolite. To do that. Among ourselves. So, I don't."
"Just don't wanna be rude!" Nick nodded.
"But I seen some of dem angels in Australia an they got wings flapping!" the caller insisted.
"Look, that's fine for them," Charles told them. "But the way I was brought up, showing your wings was considered the height of rudeness. If people do it nowadays, that's fine."
"So, you were brought up?" Nick Ibsen asked.
"Yeah."
Ibsen pounced like a hungry tiger. "You were a child?"
"Yes."
"Tell us about it."
"Well, I didn't really know about my parents until recently."
"Really?"
"Long story," he shrugged.
Nick Ibsen called for a commercial break. He leaned over, his hand on mute, and whispered, "You've got to milk this!"
"Milk what?"
"Being an orphan!"
"I wasn't an orphan."
"it doesn't matter. People in the fucking red states are gonna suck up this kinda shit! The sympathy!"
"But I'm a rich guy! Who the he'll is gonna be sympathetic to me?"
"Shit, I'm fucking loaded too. Rags to riches! Believe me, this is gonna play in the boonies."
"I'm kind of uncomfortable talking about this."
"Even better. Let me drag it out of you." And then Nick abruptly sat back and announced, "We're back! I'm talking with Charles Ofdensen, manager-lawyer-CFO of Dethklok. Charles, you were just telling me you only recently learned about your parents. Why was that?"
He tried to pick his words carefully. "They, uh, weren't married. And, uh, that was a pretty big scandal. Back where I'm from."
"Very old school?"
"The oldest. And…. My father wasn't an angel. Evidently."
"Forbidden love?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"Missoula, Montana, hello!"
"WILL YOU MARRY ME?"
The entire studio erupted in laughter.
"Well, people seem to be embracing this announcement!"
"I guess so."
"You wanna tell us anything about your personal life? We always hear who the band is dating."
"Yeah. I prefer to keep at side of my life private. I'm, uh, currently in a committed relationship. And that's all I feel comfortable saying. But, uh, the boys are all still single."
"Hear that ladies? There's still hope at catching Nathan Explosion! Would you say he's still the world's most eligible bachelor?"
"I'd say I live with the world's five most eligible bachelors. And, uh, none of them pick up their socks."
"I'd like to speak about one of them, in particular. I'm talking about Pickles the drummer, and specifically, a relative of his who's been getting a lot of media attention."
"You're talking about his brother, Seth, I take it?"
"Yes, the, uh, Grand Duke of Australia?"
"Oh, just Duke wasn't big enough?” The crew chuckled. “Huh. Well, I don't like to comment publicly, as he's no longer with the organization."
"But he did work for the organization, as you call it, for you, for a number of years."
"Yes, what happened was very simple. Seth was getting back on his feet after some, uh, personal setbacks...."
"Including prison time."
"At the time, he expressed interest in getting involved with our organization. And Pickles, being a compassionate brother, asked whether we could find an appropriate position for him."
"Like hiring your nephew!"
"A little bit. And, that worked out fine. Until recently, when we learned that he had grown unhappy with the organization, so I requested his resignation."
"Is that a lawyer's way of saying you canned him?"
"Now, as you might imagine, we have pretty strict agreements we have everybody sign before they can work in our organization. And, we're very egalitarian about it, so Seth was the same as anyone else, and it was determined that there had been violations. So we sought a separation. For cause.”
"And, what is Pickles' take in all this? Was he supportive? We've heard a lot of rumors over the years regarding bad blood between those two...."
"Now, I'm really not going to comment here on family relationships. Pickles is an intelligent individual, and he understood the reason for the separation. I believe he has behaved in a compassionate manner. I was shocked – as he was shocked – and saddened at the recent developments in Australia.”
“Moab, Utah, HELLO!”
“Are you watching over us?”
“Are you watching them?”
“Why? What are you doing?”
Nick studied some memos his assistants had brought in while technicians pulled their mikes off.
"These are the best ratings we've gotten since Princess Di. Any time you wanna come back, my door is open."
"Thank you. But I am hoping that next time, you'll be back to interviewing the boys."
"Charles. Speaking frankly. You should do this more. You're a natural."
"As I said, I do my job so they can do theirs."
"You weren't lying about staying in the background?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"You are genuinely humble?"
Charles laughed. "I am anything but. I just prefer to remain out of the spotlight."
Nick arched an eyebrow. “I assume you saw what happened with your record sales?
“What, just during the interview?” One of Nick’s assistants showed him a memo. Charles whistled.
Nick leaned across the table and shook his hand.
One assistant said thank you.
So did the other. But he spoke in Common Angelic.
The crew was still milling around. Though his Common was still rusty (it had gotten better since he'd started hiring in refugees from The Host), he recognized the scattered "Thank you's" and "Good job's" as he made his way from the studio. Raziel, who was now rather openly gossiping in Common with a couple of the producers, accompanied him.
"They need to be careful," he told her. "I have my own army. They just have ... Neighbors with pitchforks."
“Someone needs to go kick Seth’s fucking ass,” Raziel trilled.
His office, alas, was not empty.
"Lucifer."
"So, Brother Sariel. They tell me you have become a rare sight within these premises."
"Lucifer? I'm not your fucking brother. And whoever the fuck 'they' are, they're full of shit. Which wouldn't surprise me for your friends."
“I saw the interview. You are very skillful.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And speaking of skill, I was pleased to meet your newest intrigue the other day. Surprising to find a feather bedder in the Eastern Pantheon."
Charles knit his hands together and glared. "Ganesh? He usually doesn't date angels. I think he customarily goes for supermodels."
"You must tell me, how in the world did you manage to land such a sweet piece of ass?"
"OK, Brother, just for informational purposes, last guy who fucking laid a hand on Ganesh ended up in my volcano. While it was erupting. Are we clear?"
Lucifer smiled and fixed his one good eye on Sariel. "You realize I cannot help myself. It is my nature."
"No. It's not in your nature any more than it's in mine."
"I am you. A pale copy, but you. Only made without certain elements of your irascible nature."
"Uh-huh. You just told me I'm too much of an asshole to be Satan? Are you going to give me a reason why I'm not on the phone with Security?"
"Something you will need to discuss with your psychotherapist. I simply supposed, now that I am restored to my fitful position, we two are confined together in a small universe. And circumstances are changing. Perhaps it would be ... unproductive to continue ignoring one another."
"OK, Lucifer. You exist. Congratulations. Don't let the door hit you, etc." Charles opened his laptop and turned his attention to the screen.
Lucifer paused. "You're happy?"
"I'm never happy. If you really were me, you would know that."
Lucifer turned towards the door.
"Lucifer, I don't know why Ganesh is with me. He doesn't want an angel. He wants me. I have no idea why. He's a child of earth gods. Like I was a child. We weren't made for any purpose. We just ... are. Maybe there isn't an explanation." And he looked up, not having any idea why he had just said this, nor why of all people he had told Satan.
"Do you know why I was sent down here?" Lucifer asked. "I and my Brothers?"
Charles shook his head, intrigued.
"To create beauty. That was our assignment. The Creator was unhappy. His lovely children could not themselves have children."
"But, humans mate! They've filled the fucking planet with their spawn."
"NOT his disobedient children. They are ill favored. His perfect children."
Sariel paused. "He wanted his angels to have children? With humans? He wanted the Nephilim?"
"They say that, unlike you, I do not have free will. This may be so. But I did create something. We created something. Something wild and beautiful. They are my greatest work. My treasure. My children. And then He took them away from me." Lucifer looked at him. "You cannot have my loyalty, that is not possible. You have restored my children to me. You do have my regard."
"What are you gonna do? With the Nephilim?"
"They will have a garden. Ganesh put me in touch with his uncle, who is an enthusiastic gardener."
"I didn't think Brahma and you, uh, got along?"
"Brahma detests me. But I have several Financial Times editors under my, er, care, and he wished to have the opportunity to interface with them."
"Former Financial Times editors?"
"Yes. And current." Satan grinned, and, rattling his golden wings, departed, leaving only the smell of brimstone.
"I can't do this if you're going to keep fidgeting!"
"I'm not fidgeting! I'm just having a drink."
"Oh. All right then."
"Can I see, or are you gonna just let me freeze to death?"
"I thought you weren't affected by temperature in your True Form?"
"I am less affected. I don't usually have to sit on my ass stuck in a pose."
And then Ganesh was standing over his shoulder, sneaking a sip of Sariel's martini. "I could fix you a hot toddy instead."
"I'm OK," Sariel muttered, glancing back at the drawings under one of Ganesh's arms. It was weird. His life had gotten really weird. Well, weirder. Here he was, sitting quite comfortably (or at least more comfortably than he would admit), True Formed, while his boyfriend drew picture after picture of his exposed wings.
He had tried to communicate to Ganesh just how odd this all was by comparing it to someone making a series of drawings of his dick. This had evoked from Ganesh a heartfelt lecture on the glories of the reproductive system. And so, Sariel had dropped the matter.
The drawings were interesting, actually. Ganesh seemed fascinated by the mechanics of it all, so he had a series on how he thought the joints worked, and the opposing musculature, and where he thought there were the various tendons and sinews connecting everything. Sariel had never really put much thought into this - wings appeared when you wanted them, and then you put them away - but now he wondered why.
Ganesh currently held a wing tip and was very gently flexing it. He could touch Sariel's wings now. He had asked permission. And Sariel couldn't for the life of him figure out why someone who routinely stuck fingers up his ass couldn't touch his damn wings. It was just, no one else had ever touched his wings. They must have, back when he was a small child, but of course he no longer had those memories. Even Raziel, who was the rudest being on earth, hadn't tried. You just didn't.
But the thing with Ganesh was, you had to explain things to Ganesh. He was always unfailingly polite, of course. But he did this terrible, insidious thing: when you would talk to him, instead of getting multiple "Pfft's!" like you would with his band, Ganesh would fix those kind brown eyes on you. It was awful. It was usually easier just to give up and let him do as he asked.
It didn't feel bad. Ganesh had very gentle hands, so it felt OK. And anyway, Sariel’s wings weren’t delicate. They weren’t like bird wings. They were used for fighting, and were actually quite tough. They were resistant to sword blows: it had taken a magicked up flaming chainsaw to relieve Lucifer of his. Angels didn’t get broken wings. Of if they did, they didn’t long survive it.
As Ganesh dropped the wing and began distractedly scribbling something on his drawing pad, Sariel frowned over at him. He experimentally poked Ganesh in the stomach with a wing tip. Ganesh started, and then suddenly got the most terribly disarming smile on his face, like a three year old who'd been shown a panda bear.
"Did you want to take a look?" Ganesh was asking, holding up the drawing pad.
Sariel nodded and slipped off the stool. But he didn't Court Form. He sat back on the bed, and extended one wing.
Ganesh dropped down beside him, inside the wing. He spread the drawings out before them on the bed and they both looked them over, intrigued.
Far, far away....
It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought.
It was the angelic library.
It was still standing in this universe. As, in this universe, the angels were not currently at war. Due to a dozen dozen other things, large and small.
He looked for the thousandth time to the book clutched closely to his chest. He had waited patiently for her to be left all alone. And then, seeing his chance, he boldly stepped up to the counter, thumping the book down before her.
“Hey, are you back again?” she grinned, but then looked up and blinked. “Whoa. Come here often, hon?”
“I have never been here before.”
“Twice in one week for this book? That’s weird. So, are you guys buddies or something?”
“You guys?”
She held up The Book. “The angel who tried to return this a couple days ago. Do you know him?”
‘You actually saw him?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“He wasn’t from this universe.”
She pushed herself back, so he could see the wheelchair, and looked him up and down. “No, he wasn’t.”
“You have trouble walking?”
“Nah. I just like doin’ wheelies.”
“I am a doctor.”
She leaned forward and gave him an evil smile. “You wanna play doctor?” He tried desperately not to smile, but there was something about her grin.
“You are actually quite lovely, but I prefer men.”
“Oh? I like ‘em too. So, we got that in common.” She arched an eyebrow. She looked right and left and then told him, “I’m on a break in 20 minutes.” She said it in Hindi.
“Out front?” he asked.
She nodded, and, handing him The Book, said loudly, “And have a pleasant day.” She winked and snapped her gum.
Ganesh tucked The Book under an arm and headed outside. He wasn’t a big fan of bubble gum. On the other hand….
On the other hand….
Well, he wasn’t sure. But he certainly had a lot of other hands. So he stood in the sun, and waited for her.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-02-26 07:27 pm (UTC)Charles isn't a big enough asshole to be Satan.
I'm not all that sure what's going on at the end. I assume AU Raz, but AU or MK Ganesh?
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Date: 2011-02-26 07:42 pm (UTC)God, I had such fun writing that bit. :D I love Larry King, he's so bizarre!
Charles isn't a big enough asshole to be Satan.
That's not what Lucifer thinks!
I'm not all that sure what's going on at the end. I assume AU Raz, but AU or MK Ganesh?
That was AU Ganesh, from the Clarence Sends His Regards story. Yeah, my AU has an AU now. Really, this will pay off in a couple chapters, I promise.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-26 08:03 pm (UTC)Oh, and:
Sariel nodded and slipped off the stool. But he didn't Court Form. He sat back on the bed, and extended one wing.
Ganesh dropped down beside him, inside the wing. He spread the drawings out before them on the bed and they both looked them over, intrigued.
This made me smile way too much. In my series, spreading one wing around a partner is part of the angels' commitment ceremony. (They don't marry, but they take human and Nefil consorts.) So, in my mind, Sariel and Ganesh are now married.
And Charles TOTALLY needs to give more interviews.
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Date: 2011-02-26 08:34 pm (UTC)So, in my mind, Sariel and Ganesh are now married.
Interestingly, Wotan would agree with you. Or at least consider that to constitute an engagement. Or a promise of an engagement. But, that's several chapters up the pike. :D
And Charles TOTALLY needs to give more interviews.
Quite honestly, I can see the character behaving like that in an interview, but I think it would have been completely OOC for canon!Charles to ever agree to something like that. I justify it by saying the characters have all grown away from canon now, and Sariel was somewhat desperate to find an excuse to stay with Dethklok
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Date: 2011-02-26 11:03 pm (UTC)That has got to be one of the greatest openings to a chapter that I have ever read. X3
Nathan stopped him. He nodded towards Raziel. "So, when she has the kids, is she gonna lay eggs, or what?" Nathan asked.
Pickles went quiet. For a time. For quite a long time. Finally he said, "Nat'an, dood. Jist...."
"What?"
"Jist promise dat yoo'll never change, dood." And then Pickles grinned.
...I am now helplessly imagining a couple of babies hatching out of eggs--cartoon-style, with the shells just kind of splitting in half and popping off like Tupperware lids--and then proceeding to start peeping like little birdies. XD Thanks, Nathan!
“And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest.”
Raziel and Sariel turned. It was Samael, raving in Common. “What?” Sariel asked. Raziel translated. “Does he need to go to IKEA?” Sariel asked.
...Yes, Sariel. Then he and Toki can compare moopflops.
*realizes, a beat later, how what I just said sounded*
"You're Fallen?"
"I don't care for that term. You don't really fall so much as you're … pushed."
I love that quote.
And oh man, Charles handled himself awesomely during that interview.
*realizes, a beat later, how what I just said there sounded*
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Date: 2011-02-26 11:41 pm (UTC)Believe it or not, the lamp stands quote is directly from the Book of Revelation. I don't think there's anything about moopflops in there though.
realizes a beat later how what I just said there sounded
Well, probably my fault for starting the chapter with the pornography line. :D
I sort of wish they'd have Charles do an interview like that on the show - like go on Larry King and explain why he was dead for nine months. I mean, he's supposed to be a lawyer, you'd think he could come up with a ton of non-answer answers.
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Date: 2011-02-27 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:23 am (UTC)Seth is an ASS!
I don't get Lucifer's game, is he actually trying to be nice??
So I'm confuzzed, Does our Sariel's universe have the Book anymore? Or have they been left Bookless? I know Nathan is the only one who really "got" it, but it still seems like a handy thing to have.
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Date: 2011-02-27 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 06:28 am (UTC)Maybe. But, he *is* Satan. There's a bit of evil that goes with the territory. :D
So I'm confuzzed, Does our Sariel's universe have the Book anymore? Or have they been left Bookless? I know Nathan is the only one who really "got" it, but it still seems like a handy thing to have.
Good question! Yeah, there are still Books in our universe. Remember, this other AU Book has angelic library markings, so it originated at an angelic library, though I'm not certain how it originally got into Sariel's hands. And remember, the copy under Nathan's bed has all the pages torn out and rearranged, which would have really annoyed Librarian Raziel, so I'm pretty sure it's a different copy, and still safely under Nathan's bed. :D I don't know whether I've written this, but I also believe that Wotan and probably Ganesh have copies of the Book somewhere.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 09:55 pm (UTC)