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See My Friends (Mythklok, Chapter 35)
Title: See My Friends (Mythklok, Chapter 35)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tsk! Kidnapping again!
Warnings: Slash, AU, including an AU to the AU, OCs, tons of smoking, EXTRA SUPER BAD SWEARING, excessive cuteness (at the end) – this one just got totally out of control folks
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Yet more of the Santeria Arc of Mythklok. Featuring 30% MORE swearing, plus incredibly weird and improbable backstories.
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.
So, recently we’ve learned that both Charles and Raziel were not what they supposed. Raziel is a daughter of The Goddess, though we’re still not sure who her father was (we all suspect he was a Seraph). Charles’s mom is a Seraph named Tzaphkiel, who was once head librarian, before the stupid angels burned down their library. And last time we got to meet more of Charles' family. Unfortunately, thanks to said family, he's currently trapped in a dying universe that is about to explode. Bummer. So, he's trying to get that reality's version of Dethklok back together. This is difficult, as in this universe, Dethklok never formed. Nonexistence always makes thing extra complicated.
See My Friends
A bar somewhere in another universe....
"Kicked out by WILLIAM MURDERFACE?" Sariel stared into his beer bottle. "That is SO FUCKING FUCKED!"
Pickles smiled, amused, and knocked back his drink. It was an awesome dive at least - they hadn't even been offered glasses with their beers. "Eh, we don't need him, dood. Dat one has always been da diva."
"That's the trouble. I think we do need him. We need all of you. Even the guys we don't need."
Pickles frowned, confused. He kind of liked this angel dude, but he was barking mad. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.
"You shouldn't have asked him about the money." They looked up at the sound of the soft voice. It was Toki.
"Why not?" asked Sariel.
Toki took a seat. "He's funding the tour out of pocket. They don't want him doing that Appomattox shit. They want him to play his hits. Hit." A small, bitter smile.
"Huh. Interesting," Sariel told him. "Money seems to be a way to get to this Murderface as well as mine."
"Your Murderface?" Toki asked. The young Norwegian caught Pickles' eye and mouthed, "Is this guy crazy?"
Pickles grinned and shook his head. "Dood. He's our guardian angel!" Toki frowned.
"I need to think about what to do with Murderface. Meanwhile, we gotta find Nathan and Skwisgaar."
"Skwisgaar Skwigelf?" Toki asked. His expression changed completely, to one nearing religious devotion.
"Yeah," said Charles.
"One of his bands is playing tonight. Right next door."
"ONE of his bands?"
Meanwhile, back in our universe, Mordhaus....
Queen Raziel had arrived in their midst.
The small and now quite obviously pregnant angel led an impressive entourage.
Ganesh looked up in wonder at the mix of supernatural beings now assembled at attention in the office.
"Hey, hoodie guys, go round up the damned band," she barked at the burly Security personnel in the doorway. "Fucking now!" They scattered.
"These are Lady Tzaphkiel's personal Ophanim," she told Ganesh, indicated several fiery, wheel-like beings. "You give them everything you know about the spell we're searching for, and they'll canvass the library here. You guys," she turned and addressed a couple of Wotan's soldiers. "Get up Security's ass. I don't want Seth taking advantage. You! Get to the kitchen and get me a cheese sandwich. I'm eating for three! You guys, go back with Ganesh when he's ready, get him anything and everything he needs for his spells."
She turned to the three band members who had just arrived. "William, get your boyfriend and tell me why the fuck Satan had a copy of this," she said, tossing a CD jewel case at Murderface.
"Thisch isch our new album!" he sputtered.
"Nathan: notes, tapes, anything you have for the new songs, I wanna see 'em so I can tell what the fuck is going on. Toki, get off the fucking phone with Nephthys and get your goddam knitting bag, I'm not sitting here all alone in this fucking creepy castle. Why is everybody still fucking standing here? WHERE'S MY FUCKING CHEESE SAMMICH?"
Everyone scattered.
"It's good to be queen," Raziel grinned, putting her feet up on Sariel's desk and patting her stomach.
Back in that other universe....
As it turned out, this Skwisgaar Skwigelf was this universe's hardest working man in show business. He played in what appeared to be any band that would have him, as long as he got a fair share of the door and the lion's share of the groupies.
He was clearly the best thing about the band they were now watching, "I Asked for Decaf." Charles noticed from browsing the local music publication that the Swede was also listed as a member of at least half a dozen other bands, including Rainbow Ponies of Evil, and All Your Bass, which were, coincidentally, also playing tonight.
"Skwisgaar? Dood?" Pickles asked him as he ambled by the table.
"Who ams want to know?" Skwisgaar grinned.
Pickles hooked a thumb at an empty seat and unopened beer.
"So what ams your deal?" the blond asked, sitting down at their table. Toki had followed Pickles and Charles, somewhat in the manner of a lost puppy, so Charles paid the cover for everybody. He suspected Toki lived in a place not too different from the one where he'd first found this Pickles. "I ams not has much times before da next gigs," the guitarist breezily offered.
"I've been working with Pickles," Charles explained, "who I think you know. We were wondering if you might be interested in a new project?"
Skwisgaar paused, beer bottle halfway to his lips, and stared at Charles, seeming to see him for the very first time. "Dude," he said, "You ams not from around here."
Charles smiled. He wondered about Skwisgaar's parentage in this universe. "That's correct. I am from somewhere quite far away."
"And, you ams came here just to manages Pickle?"
"No, actually it was...." he glanced at Pickles, "a happy accident."
Skwisgaar finally broke off his stare and sucked at his beer. "Maybes I ams talks with you. Ams Pickles be the front guy?"
"No. We wanna go a completely new direction. We're considering another guy."
"Ams I knows him?"
Pickles started to speak, but Charles grabbed the music rag and flipped it over to the back cover. "This guy," he said pointing.
Skwisgaar sat back ad howled with laughter. "Dat guys? Ams you changes your life guys?"
"Yep."
"Charle, you ams da crazy bastards."
"Exactly."
Skwisgaar grinned and downed his beer.
Back on this side, Sydney, Australia....
You could smell the burning.
Seth found he liked this. It awoke in him something that might resemble actual feelings. So he had been sending troops out intermittently just to wreck more havoc.
Destruction smelled delicious. It smelled like victory.
Trouble was, if you kept destroying, and didn't bother to rebuild (and Seth really had no interest in the latter), at some point, you would run low on new and wonderful things to pull down.
The solution, of course, was to move his headquarters to more virgin ground. Seth had figured this out all by himself, of course. It was easy, he specialized in management solutions. And his troops, while large and terrifying, were not well favored in the area of brains.
Thus he was trying to explain his brilliant management solution to some rather thick sorts even now.
"We gotta fucking move to the interior. This continent is a fucking desert, and all we got are a few fucking miles of fucking coastline under our fucking control?
"Yes, Grand Duke Set," cowered the Court Formed Seraph. Seth liked this. He liked cowering.
"Well tell me why the fuck, I'm an ambitious fucking guy and all I got is fucking beaches and fucking dolphins."
"Yes, Duke Set," acknowledged another Seraph.
"Grand Duke Set."
The Seraph, who had become somewhat bored at the tirade, snapped to attention. He heard the rustling. "Grand Duke Set," he corrected hastily.
But the rustling increased. "It's too fucking moist over here. Moist! Do you not fucking get it? We gotta move some place dry!"
"But Grand Duke Set," the second Seraph attempted. "They're too powerful. The Dream Walkers."
Rustle. Rustle.
"Don't tell me how fucking powerful! It's a bunch of fucking Abos walking around in their fucking underwear painting with fucking fingerpaint!"
"They use a very old magic. It is an old place." The Seraph shivered, thinking of his burnt wings.
Rustle rustle rustle rustle.
"It's too fucking moist here! We need to get the fuck away from the water. I want fucking control of the fucking interior and no more fucking excuses."
The second Seraph saw them, briefly, out of the corner of his eye. You only ever saw them from the corner of your eye. The tentacles.
"As you wish Grand Duke Set!" He caught the terrified eye of the other Seraph, and they quickly hastened out of the office, being careful to back up until they were safely outside the door. They shut the door, both breathing hard, nearly weeping.
Better to risk burning again in the aboriginal magic than to deal with what Seth kept hidden in his room.
In another universe....
Nathan E. was the easiest band member to find: you simply had to sign up for one of his numerous motivational seminars.
They had worked it out ahead of time: Pickles would do the talking. They arrived late on purpose, so there weren't a lot of people still lingering at the studio.
He looked even bigger in real life than he did on those ridiculous infomercials. Pickles gulped, and wondered if he should ask the angel dude to approach him instead.
"Are you Nat'an E.?"
"WHO WANTS TO KNOW?"
Pickles sighed. He was a bit intimidated by the big guy, but on the other hand, he was getting sincerely tired of this reaction.
"I'm Pickles da drummer. From do old Snakes an' Barrels. I'm gettin' a new music project togedder." He looked back to Charles, who nodded silently. "Yoo have an ... interestin' stage presence ... An we wanted to talk to yoo."
Nathan turned up the glower index a fraction. He actually seemed to grow bigger. Almost involuntarily, Pickles took a step back.
"You wanna drag me back to the fucking music business?"
"Drag yoo back?" Puckles muttered.
"I'm through with that shit. I got my own thing going now. I'm independent. I'm making money. And no INDUSTRY HOMO telling me what to do." Pickles noticed the glare had shifted over his shoulder. He nervously turned to see Charles standing there, unblinking.
"Maybe if you would learn the business, we industry homos wouldn't have to tell you what to do," Charles stated amiably.
Nathan loomed. "What do you really want? Are you just here to SUCK MY DICK?"
Charles' eyes narrowed a fraction, his eyes locked with Nathan's. "Suck your dick? I'd have to find it first." He hooked a thumb at Pickles. "Maybe you wanna see me suck his dick? Then could we fucking talk?"
Pickles wanted to curl into a ball and then maybe melt throughout the floor.
The glower morphed to a grin. "HA!" Nathan roared. "You guys are all right." He gave Pickles a friendly tap on the back that would have sent him reeling if Charles had not skillfully side-stepped and caught his arm. "You wanna get a drink and talk?" Charles nodded assent.
"Lavo!" boomed Nathan. An unsmiling petite brunette stepped near. "This is my MAIN SQUEEZE, Lavo Boso," Nathan explained.
"Vhat deed you vant, my darlink?" she breathed.
"We're gonna go get a drink with THESE LOSERS, honey"
The brunette sighed and focused an intense and not terribly pleasant gaze on Charles and Pickles. "Ja, very vell, liebling," she agreed.
Pickles glanced back to Charles once again. To his surprise, the angel was now obviously trying to hide his astonishment.
"Yoo know her, dood?" Pickles whispered while Nathan and his grim faced girlfriend said their goodbyes.
"Yeah. Uh. In my universe.... They don't get along so well." Charles raised an eyebrow, but made no further explanation.
The place they ended up was anything but a dive: there were thin, pasty-faced people dressed in black reciting poetry. Evidently a drink to Nathan now meant horrible herb tea. Charles pretended to sip, while Pickles skillfully ended up ditching his in a potted plant - the advantage of having a childhood, Charles thought.
"Yeah, I was a mess until I met my Lavo!" Nathan was attesting. Charles had been stealing glances at Lavona. If her facial expression had changed even a whisper from her fixed glower during their conclave, he couldn't tell. He wasn't even entirely sure she blinked. But Nathan seemed quite taken with her. In fact, his entire discourse upon getting seated had been based on the many ways his life had improved since he had met "Lavo."
"You mentioned some disenchantment with the music business?" Charles finally interjected during a pause for breath. He didn't quite want to admit he wasn't familiar with Nathan's old bands in this universe.
"Yeah, I wasted a lot of time with the Frogs. It's good that Lavo found me and changed my direction..."
"Dood!" Pickles interjected. "Yoo weren't in Frog Dissectors were yoo?"
"I signed papers or some kinda shit that I'm not supposed to talk about it, but, yeah," Nathan admitted. "That was before...."
"I had every album! I loved yoo doods!"
"Yeah?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah, up until da Clownin' Around album. Dat was da other guy, huh?"
"Yeah, that motherdoucher..." Nathan trailed off as Lavona's stare threatened to go into meltdown. "Uhhhhhhh." Nathan stared down into his tea. "ButthatwasbeforeimetLavoandgotmyshittogether," he muttered.
"We have some other interested parties at this point," Charles explained. "Skwisgaar Skwigelf, for one."
"Skwisgaar?" Nathan said, looking up from his tea. "Shit! I've always wanted to play with that motherfucker! We tried to get him for Frogs, but he wouldn't wear the face paint! He's in every fucking band but mine!" He stole a glance at Lavona. "Er. Was in a band."
"Would you be amenable to a meeting?"
"Yeah, I could.... We could come.... Just to talk. No promises. I have my own thing now, you know."
Lavona sipped herb tea and silently seethed.
Meanwhile, in our universe....
Lord Ganesh lay on the floor of his residence, trying and failing to remember the last time he had slept.
He should be able to do this.
In a few hours, it would be morning, and he would shower and stuff himself into a suit and meet with some horrid people at work. He would look a bit more rumpled than usual. And he would definitely appear unshaven, as his face had not met a razor since Sariel had disappeared into the ether.
During his hours off from his many responsibilities running the EKC, he had been doing one thing: he was looking for a spell, a trapping spell or a binding spell or maybe even a misdirection or a concealment spell, something like that. Something that would account for as powerful a being as Sariel being spirited away to another universe and not able to get back. There were traces of such magic splattered around the office, or so Skwisgaar had sworn. But the musician was unfortunately not as skilled yet at identifying magic as he was tracking it through universes.
So, Ganesh was seeking an enchanted needle in a magickal haystack.
And then he would need to counteract it.
Not all immortals were necessarily magic users, and vice versa. But Ganesh's family had made rather a practice of it, not at all limited to their dance magic. And Ganesh considered himself a rather adept practitioner.
Well, he had considered himself such. They had gone through all of the usual suspects as far as a binding spell was concerned, and had lately entered strange territory. His usually immaculate residence was quite frankly beginning to reek from some of the more exotic ingredients, and he still hadn't cleaned up the fire extinguisher residue from where a misdirection spell had gotten quite out of hand too near the heater.
He sighed. The cell phone beside his ear had begun to squall the opening notes of "Lightning Crashes." He reached over an arm and picked it up. "Yes, Lady Raziel?"
"My wheelies found another one! It's a doozy!" came Raziel's cheerful voice. The angel had decamped to Mordhaus where, when she wasn't occupying her brother's office, feet up on his desk, busily giving herself a manicure, dealing with the peccadilloes of death metal musicians, and leafing through Vogue photoshoots of clothing she would have no prayer of fitting into for several months, she had dispatched the Ophanim, fiery wheel-like beings who served in the library to dredge up each and every tome that might hold a binding spell.
Ganesh wasn't precisely certain how the angelic beings reacted to being called "wheelies," but Raziel seemed to have been able to spur them on to their searches. And then her language gift served them, as, no matter what the origin of the book, she would offer a dramatic reading of the spell ingredients. These talents had further served when Ganesh confessed he had become so fatigued, his English was actually fading, and Raziel then cheerfully switched to Hindi.
"C'mon, Ganesha," she urged. "Up."
"Yes," he agreed, wearily rising. "I'm up. I'm up."
Meanwhile, in another universe....
They were back at Pickles' ramshackle apartment. Pickles' appearance since Charles' last visit to this universe had definitely improved, but the apartment, if anything, had grown worse. Possibly out of neglect, Charles thought. It would be no wonder if the drummer ended up spending most of his time now up at Ganesh's palace.
"So what's da deal wit' dat Lavo chick in yer yooniverse?" Pickles was asking as he sifted through piles of refuse.
"Well, back in my reality, Lavona was after Nathan's balls. In this universe, I guess she got 'em," Charles explained, toeing the very same pizza box he's seen on his first visit.
"Oh! Dood! Here it is! Ya gotta hear dis!" Pickles extracted the shiny CD and tossed the jewel case at Charles.
"Oh, they wore make up?" Charles asked.
"Yeh. No one knew who dey were. NO ONE!" He had somehow located a remote control and switched on the stereo.
Pickles was right, Charles mused. Frog Dissectors was pretty awesome. It didn't sound like a novelty act at all. And Nathan's voice was unmistakeable, clearly the best thing about the band.
"What happened to them?" Charles asked.
"Dey're still around, dood. Only dey swapped out Nat'an." Pickles flipped Charles another CD jewel case from the detritus on the floor. "Da bands's da same. Except now it SUCKS."
Charles goggled at the man in white face paint on the cover. "Yeah, I am actually, uh, familiar with this individual."
"Oh. Is he a douche in yer yooniverse too?"
"Yep." Charles scrutinized the fine print on an SnB jewel case that had surfaced in the detritus. "Hey, did this guy really produce your albums?"
"Oh, dooooood! Yeh, he's a mad man! The most awesome producer. Though, I ain't sure he's recovered from da gunshot wounds."
"The...?"
"Why are yoo innerested in dat dood, anyway?"
"I've gotta get Murderface to make this work. In was thinking.... I dunno...."
"Well, good luck findin' dis dood," Pickles said, holding up the jewel case. "Last I heard, he's servin' ten to twenny fer weapons violations an' shit."
That made sense, Charles thought. In this universe, no me, no Dethklok, he couldn't get his miserable ass out of trouble by spying on us.
The absence of himself just kept making things more and more complicated.
"Look," said Charles, "I think I need to go somewhere and think."
"Cool!" said Pickles, tossing the jewel case back on the floor. "Strip club, or dive bar?"
Back in our universe, Mordhaus....
Toki covered his head with his knitting project, peering nervously through fine loops of medium-weight lamb's wool.
He didn't want to see.
Lady Raziel had dragged him into Charles' office to keep her company, as she claimed she feared being left on her own in Mordhaus. Thus he had been sitting here - along with that cat lady person from Egypt, a couple of Valhallan soldiers, some spinning wheel guys who looked like they were out of one of Pickles' better acid trips, and several of the burlier Klokateer guys - when Dick Knubbler - or actually, Samael the Angel, as he was now in his winged form - had burst in, samurai swords in hand, Murderface chasing after him.
The angel had knelt before Raziel, long knife poised evidently to gore himself through the stomach in sacrifice before the queen.
Raziel finished off a row, and then looked up from her shawl. Or, Toki thought It was a shawl. It was sometimes difficult to tell with Lady Raziel. Maybe it was socks.
"Samael, I just want to say, on behalf of myself, as well as my absent brother, that we, speaking as the organization, appreciate your initiative! When I received information that you had been passing on unfinished Dethklok tracks, I became concerned. Your word to the contrary would have been sufficient to reassure me, but going to the extent of threatening to commit seppuku in Sariel's' office?" Raziel wiped a tear. "Sheer genius! I, like my Honored Brother, treasure loyalty to our organization, and nothing says team spirit like the threat of self immolation!"
"On behalf of myself, my absent brother, the band, and the entire Dethklok family, I wanna say, thank you. Oh, and you can put the sword away, I know you didn't do it.
Samael stood, Toki breathing a sigh of relief.
"Awesome katana, by the way."
Samael babbled something in Angelic.
"Oh, Kitsune? Yeah, he's an amazing swordsmith. And for future reference, you need another dude to stand ready to lop off your head."
Samael babbled something again.
"Well," Raziel said, "If you could use either your angelic powers or production skills to tell us who leaked the tracks on this CD, i'd be most grateful."
Samael departed, Murderface on his heels. "That kid is going places!" Raziel enthused.
A bar, somewhere in another universe....
They ended up in a dive.
"Dood, no offense...." Pickles was telling Charles.
Charles looked confused.
"I know yer an angel an' all dat. An' I'm glad yer helpin' us out. But...."
"But what."
"I dunno, dood. I jest don't t'ink yer MY angel, is all. I mean, no offense."
"None taken," Charles robotically answered, though of course he found he was a bit offended.
Pickles was soon spirited away by a group of people, though whether they were groupies, drug connections, industry hangers on, or total strangers, Charles never quite surmised. He found he didn't much sting at the abandonment. It was good to suck on a beer and think in relative peace.
"So what the fuck do you think you're doing, you little cocksucker?"
Charles looked up, and immediately regretted it. "They let you in here looking like that?" he asked pointing to the machetes on Jacques' belt.
Jacque laughed, inviting himself to sit down. "This is fucking Hollywood! Who's gonna notice a fucking machete?" Elegba tipped his hat and sat as well. Truly, they were nowhere near the weirdest people in this joint.
"Yeah, I guess not," Charles moped, downing his drink.
"What's the matter, anyway? You're acting like a complete asshole."
"You SHOT at me!"
"Aw. You're fine."
"You told me I was free to come and go!"
"You fucked up my fucking palace!"
"You're a fucking god! You'll un-fuck it."
Jacque grinned. "So, what the fuck are you doing with that fucking musician?" he asked, hooking his thumb in the direction Pickles had disappeared to. "That redheaded cocksucker makes me look respectable!"
Charles fixed Jacque with a withering stare. "I'm starting a band, Dad."
"Why the FUCK would you wanna do that? I thought you said you were trained as a fucking lawyer?"
Charles raised an eyebrow. "You remember I told you, back in my universe, I run the world's sixth largest economy?"
"Yeah, but...." Jacque started. Charles stared at him. "You're fucking kidding me."
"What, from selling fucking T shirts?" Elegba put in.
"Yeah. From selling fucking T shirts. And fucking Deth Cones. They're icy. And brutal."
"What the fuck is a fucking Deth Cone?" Jacque grumbled,
"Well, when I get back to my fucking universe, I'll fucking bring one back, and cram it up your lying motherfuking ass. Dad." Charles cheerily supplied.
"I don't know if I approve of music as your fucking career!" Jacque snorted.
"Well you know something?" Charles asked, his pitch suddenly jumping up two registers. "You're about TWO FUCKING THOUSAND YEARS TOO FUCKING LATE."
Jacque clucked his tongue. "Tsk. Just like his mother," he grumbled to Elegba.
"Jacque." Charles put his head in his hands. "Just leave me the fuck alone."
"Well, I'm just trying to fucking help," Jacque grumbled. "You could show some fucking gratitude." He nodded at Elegba, and the two departed.
Charles sat for a while, miserably twisting his beer bottle into the table.
"It's Celebrity Rehab, with Dr. John Twinkletits!"
Charles looked up at the television over the bar. He smiled thinly at the screen. As there was no Dethklok in this universe, and therefore, no yard wolves, Twinkletits still retained use of his arms.
"So, Dick, can you tell me who you think you have disappointed with your behavior?" Dr. John was lisping at someone offscreen.
"I'm not disappointed at all, Twinky baby, yeah!" said a very familiar blond, waving a gold-plated handgun at the flustered shrink before he was wrestled to the ground and dragged offstage by some burly security personnel.
Charles gawped.
And then he grinned, picking up the cell phone Raziel had loaned him. "Bonnie, I think I have a new caper for you and Clyde," he said.
******
Note: the word "Abo" is a very grave insult to use on a natives person in Australia. I had Seth/Set say it because he is an ass.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tsk! Kidnapping again!
Warnings: Slash, AU, including an AU to the AU, OCs, tons of smoking, EXTRA SUPER BAD SWEARING, excessive cuteness (at the end) – this one just got totally out of control folks
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Yet more of the Santeria Arc of Mythklok. Featuring 30% MORE swearing, plus incredibly weird and improbable backstories.
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.So, recently we’ve learned that both Charles and Raziel were not what they supposed. Raziel is a daughter of The Goddess, though we’re still not sure who her father was (we all suspect he was a Seraph). Charles’s mom is a Seraph named Tzaphkiel, who was once head librarian, before the stupid angels burned down their library. And last time we got to meet more of Charles' family. Unfortunately, thanks to said family, he's currently trapped in a dying universe that is about to explode. Bummer. So, he's trying to get that reality's version of Dethklok back together. This is difficult, as in this universe, Dethklok never formed. Nonexistence always makes thing extra complicated.
See My Friends
A bar somewhere in another universe....
"Kicked out by WILLIAM MURDERFACE?" Sariel stared into his beer bottle. "That is SO FUCKING FUCKED!"
Pickles smiled, amused, and knocked back his drink. It was an awesome dive at least - they hadn't even been offered glasses with their beers. "Eh, we don't need him, dood. Dat one has always been da diva."
"That's the trouble. I think we do need him. We need all of you. Even the guys we don't need."
Pickles frowned, confused. He kind of liked this angel dude, but he was barking mad. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.
"You shouldn't have asked him about the money." They looked up at the sound of the soft voice. It was Toki.
"Why not?" asked Sariel.
Toki took a seat. "He's funding the tour out of pocket. They don't want him doing that Appomattox shit. They want him to play his hits. Hit." A small, bitter smile.
"Huh. Interesting," Sariel told him. "Money seems to be a way to get to this Murderface as well as mine."
"Your Murderface?" Toki asked. The young Norwegian caught Pickles' eye and mouthed, "Is this guy crazy?"
Pickles grinned and shook his head. "Dood. He's our guardian angel!" Toki frowned.
"I need to think about what to do with Murderface. Meanwhile, we gotta find Nathan and Skwisgaar."
"Skwisgaar Skwigelf?" Toki asked. His expression changed completely, to one nearing religious devotion.
"Yeah," said Charles.
"One of his bands is playing tonight. Right next door."
"ONE of his bands?"
Meanwhile, back in our universe, Mordhaus....
Queen Raziel had arrived in their midst.
The small and now quite obviously pregnant angel led an impressive entourage.
Ganesh looked up in wonder at the mix of supernatural beings now assembled at attention in the office.
"Hey, hoodie guys, go round up the damned band," she barked at the burly Security personnel in the doorway. "Fucking now!" They scattered.
"These are Lady Tzaphkiel's personal Ophanim," she told Ganesh, indicated several fiery, wheel-like beings. "You give them everything you know about the spell we're searching for, and they'll canvass the library here. You guys," she turned and addressed a couple of Wotan's soldiers. "Get up Security's ass. I don't want Seth taking advantage. You! Get to the kitchen and get me a cheese sandwich. I'm eating for three! You guys, go back with Ganesh when he's ready, get him anything and everything he needs for his spells."
She turned to the three band members who had just arrived. "William, get your boyfriend and tell me why the fuck Satan had a copy of this," she said, tossing a CD jewel case at Murderface.
"Thisch isch our new album!" he sputtered.
"Nathan: notes, tapes, anything you have for the new songs, I wanna see 'em so I can tell what the fuck is going on. Toki, get off the fucking phone with Nephthys and get your goddam knitting bag, I'm not sitting here all alone in this fucking creepy castle. Why is everybody still fucking standing here? WHERE'S MY FUCKING CHEESE SAMMICH?"
Everyone scattered.
"It's good to be queen," Raziel grinned, putting her feet up on Sariel's desk and patting her stomach.
Back in that other universe....
As it turned out, this Skwisgaar Skwigelf was this universe's hardest working man in show business. He played in what appeared to be any band that would have him, as long as he got a fair share of the door and the lion's share of the groupies.
He was clearly the best thing about the band they were now watching, "I Asked for Decaf." Charles noticed from browsing the local music publication that the Swede was also listed as a member of at least half a dozen other bands, including Rainbow Ponies of Evil, and All Your Bass, which were, coincidentally, also playing tonight.
"Skwisgaar? Dood?" Pickles asked him as he ambled by the table.
"Who ams want to know?" Skwisgaar grinned.
Pickles hooked a thumb at an empty seat and unopened beer.
"So what ams your deal?" the blond asked, sitting down at their table. Toki had followed Pickles and Charles, somewhat in the manner of a lost puppy, so Charles paid the cover for everybody. He suspected Toki lived in a place not too different from the one where he'd first found this Pickles. "I ams not has much times before da next gigs," the guitarist breezily offered.
"I've been working with Pickles," Charles explained, "who I think you know. We were wondering if you might be interested in a new project?"
Skwisgaar paused, beer bottle halfway to his lips, and stared at Charles, seeming to see him for the very first time. "Dude," he said, "You ams not from around here."
Charles smiled. He wondered about Skwisgaar's parentage in this universe. "That's correct. I am from somewhere quite far away."
"And, you ams came here just to manages Pickle?"
"No, actually it was...." he glanced at Pickles, "a happy accident."
Skwisgaar finally broke off his stare and sucked at his beer. "Maybes I ams talks with you. Ams Pickles be the front guy?"
"No. We wanna go a completely new direction. We're considering another guy."
"Ams I knows him?"
Pickles started to speak, but Charles grabbed the music rag and flipped it over to the back cover. "This guy," he said pointing.
Skwisgaar sat back ad howled with laughter. "Dat guys? Ams you changes your life guys?"
"Yep."
"Charle, you ams da crazy bastards."
"Exactly."
Skwisgaar grinned and downed his beer.
Back on this side, Sydney, Australia....
You could smell the burning.
Seth found he liked this. It awoke in him something that might resemble actual feelings. So he had been sending troops out intermittently just to wreck more havoc.
Destruction smelled delicious. It smelled like victory.
Trouble was, if you kept destroying, and didn't bother to rebuild (and Seth really had no interest in the latter), at some point, you would run low on new and wonderful things to pull down.
The solution, of course, was to move his headquarters to more virgin ground. Seth had figured this out all by himself, of course. It was easy, he specialized in management solutions. And his troops, while large and terrifying, were not well favored in the area of brains.
Thus he was trying to explain his brilliant management solution to some rather thick sorts even now.
"We gotta fucking move to the interior. This continent is a fucking desert, and all we got are a few fucking miles of fucking coastline under our fucking control?
"Yes, Grand Duke Set," cowered the Court Formed Seraph. Seth liked this. He liked cowering.
"Well tell me why the fuck, I'm an ambitious fucking guy and all I got is fucking beaches and fucking dolphins."
"Yes, Duke Set," acknowledged another Seraph.
"Grand Duke Set."
The Seraph, who had become somewhat bored at the tirade, snapped to attention. He heard the rustling. "Grand Duke Set," he corrected hastily.
But the rustling increased. "It's too fucking moist over here. Moist! Do you not fucking get it? We gotta move some place dry!"
"But Grand Duke Set," the second Seraph attempted. "They're too powerful. The Dream Walkers."
Rustle. Rustle.
"Don't tell me how fucking powerful! It's a bunch of fucking Abos walking around in their fucking underwear painting with fucking fingerpaint!"
"They use a very old magic. It is an old place." The Seraph shivered, thinking of his burnt wings.
Rustle rustle rustle rustle.
"It's too fucking moist here! We need to get the fuck away from the water. I want fucking control of the fucking interior and no more fucking excuses."
The second Seraph saw them, briefly, out of the corner of his eye. You only ever saw them from the corner of your eye. The tentacles.
"As you wish Grand Duke Set!" He caught the terrified eye of the other Seraph, and they quickly hastened out of the office, being careful to back up until they were safely outside the door. They shut the door, both breathing hard, nearly weeping.
Better to risk burning again in the aboriginal magic than to deal with what Seth kept hidden in his room.
In another universe....
Nathan E. was the easiest band member to find: you simply had to sign up for one of his numerous motivational seminars.
They had worked it out ahead of time: Pickles would do the talking. They arrived late on purpose, so there weren't a lot of people still lingering at the studio.
He looked even bigger in real life than he did on those ridiculous infomercials. Pickles gulped, and wondered if he should ask the angel dude to approach him instead.
"Are you Nat'an E.?"
"WHO WANTS TO KNOW?"
Pickles sighed. He was a bit intimidated by the big guy, but on the other hand, he was getting sincerely tired of this reaction.
"I'm Pickles da drummer. From do old Snakes an' Barrels. I'm gettin' a new music project togedder." He looked back to Charles, who nodded silently. "Yoo have an ... interestin' stage presence ... An we wanted to talk to yoo."
Nathan turned up the glower index a fraction. He actually seemed to grow bigger. Almost involuntarily, Pickles took a step back.
"You wanna drag me back to the fucking music business?"
"Drag yoo back?" Puckles muttered.
"I'm through with that shit. I got my own thing going now. I'm independent. I'm making money. And no INDUSTRY HOMO telling me what to do." Pickles noticed the glare had shifted over his shoulder. He nervously turned to see Charles standing there, unblinking.
"Maybe if you would learn the business, we industry homos wouldn't have to tell you what to do," Charles stated amiably.
Nathan loomed. "What do you really want? Are you just here to SUCK MY DICK?"
Charles' eyes narrowed a fraction, his eyes locked with Nathan's. "Suck your dick? I'd have to find it first." He hooked a thumb at Pickles. "Maybe you wanna see me suck his dick? Then could we fucking talk?"
Pickles wanted to curl into a ball and then maybe melt throughout the floor.
The glower morphed to a grin. "HA!" Nathan roared. "You guys are all right." He gave Pickles a friendly tap on the back that would have sent him reeling if Charles had not skillfully side-stepped and caught his arm. "You wanna get a drink and talk?" Charles nodded assent.
"Lavo!" boomed Nathan. An unsmiling petite brunette stepped near. "This is my MAIN SQUEEZE, Lavo Boso," Nathan explained.
"Vhat deed you vant, my darlink?" she breathed.
"We're gonna go get a drink with THESE LOSERS, honey"
The brunette sighed and focused an intense and not terribly pleasant gaze on Charles and Pickles. "Ja, very vell, liebling," she agreed.
Pickles glanced back to Charles once again. To his surprise, the angel was now obviously trying to hide his astonishment.
"Yoo know her, dood?" Pickles whispered while Nathan and his grim faced girlfriend said their goodbyes.
"Yeah. Uh. In my universe.... They don't get along so well." Charles raised an eyebrow, but made no further explanation.
The place they ended up was anything but a dive: there were thin, pasty-faced people dressed in black reciting poetry. Evidently a drink to Nathan now meant horrible herb tea. Charles pretended to sip, while Pickles skillfully ended up ditching his in a potted plant - the advantage of having a childhood, Charles thought.
"Yeah, I was a mess until I met my Lavo!" Nathan was attesting. Charles had been stealing glances at Lavona. If her facial expression had changed even a whisper from her fixed glower during their conclave, he couldn't tell. He wasn't even entirely sure she blinked. But Nathan seemed quite taken with her. In fact, his entire discourse upon getting seated had been based on the many ways his life had improved since he had met "Lavo."
"You mentioned some disenchantment with the music business?" Charles finally interjected during a pause for breath. He didn't quite want to admit he wasn't familiar with Nathan's old bands in this universe.
"Yeah, I wasted a lot of time with the Frogs. It's good that Lavo found me and changed my direction..."
"Dood!" Pickles interjected. "Yoo weren't in Frog Dissectors were yoo?"
"I signed papers or some kinda shit that I'm not supposed to talk about it, but, yeah," Nathan admitted. "That was before...."
"I had every album! I loved yoo doods!"
"Yeah?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah, up until da Clownin' Around album. Dat was da other guy, huh?"
"Yeah, that motherdoucher..." Nathan trailed off as Lavona's stare threatened to go into meltdown. "Uhhhhhhh." Nathan stared down into his tea. "ButthatwasbeforeimetLavoandgotmyshittogether," he muttered.
"We have some other interested parties at this point," Charles explained. "Skwisgaar Skwigelf, for one."
"Skwisgaar?" Nathan said, looking up from his tea. "Shit! I've always wanted to play with that motherfucker! We tried to get him for Frogs, but he wouldn't wear the face paint! He's in every fucking band but mine!" He stole a glance at Lavona. "Er. Was in a band."
"Would you be amenable to a meeting?"
"Yeah, I could.... We could come.... Just to talk. No promises. I have my own thing now, you know."
Lavona sipped herb tea and silently seethed.
Meanwhile, in our universe....
Lord Ganesh lay on the floor of his residence, trying and failing to remember the last time he had slept.
He should be able to do this.
In a few hours, it would be morning, and he would shower and stuff himself into a suit and meet with some horrid people at work. He would look a bit more rumpled than usual. And he would definitely appear unshaven, as his face had not met a razor since Sariel had disappeared into the ether.
During his hours off from his many responsibilities running the EKC, he had been doing one thing: he was looking for a spell, a trapping spell or a binding spell or maybe even a misdirection or a concealment spell, something like that. Something that would account for as powerful a being as Sariel being spirited away to another universe and not able to get back. There were traces of such magic splattered around the office, or so Skwisgaar had sworn. But the musician was unfortunately not as skilled yet at identifying magic as he was tracking it through universes.
So, Ganesh was seeking an enchanted needle in a magickal haystack.
And then he would need to counteract it.
Not all immortals were necessarily magic users, and vice versa. But Ganesh's family had made rather a practice of it, not at all limited to their dance magic. And Ganesh considered himself a rather adept practitioner.
Well, he had considered himself such. They had gone through all of the usual suspects as far as a binding spell was concerned, and had lately entered strange territory. His usually immaculate residence was quite frankly beginning to reek from some of the more exotic ingredients, and he still hadn't cleaned up the fire extinguisher residue from where a misdirection spell had gotten quite out of hand too near the heater.
He sighed. The cell phone beside his ear had begun to squall the opening notes of "Lightning Crashes." He reached over an arm and picked it up. "Yes, Lady Raziel?"
"My wheelies found another one! It's a doozy!" came Raziel's cheerful voice. The angel had decamped to Mordhaus where, when she wasn't occupying her brother's office, feet up on his desk, busily giving herself a manicure, dealing with the peccadilloes of death metal musicians, and leafing through Vogue photoshoots of clothing she would have no prayer of fitting into for several months, she had dispatched the Ophanim, fiery wheel-like beings who served in the library to dredge up each and every tome that might hold a binding spell.
Ganesh wasn't precisely certain how the angelic beings reacted to being called "wheelies," but Raziel seemed to have been able to spur them on to their searches. And then her language gift served them, as, no matter what the origin of the book, she would offer a dramatic reading of the spell ingredients. These talents had further served when Ganesh confessed he had become so fatigued, his English was actually fading, and Raziel then cheerfully switched to Hindi.
"C'mon, Ganesha," she urged. "Up."
"Yes," he agreed, wearily rising. "I'm up. I'm up."
Meanwhile, in another universe....
They were back at Pickles' ramshackle apartment. Pickles' appearance since Charles' last visit to this universe had definitely improved, but the apartment, if anything, had grown worse. Possibly out of neglect, Charles thought. It would be no wonder if the drummer ended up spending most of his time now up at Ganesh's palace.
"So what's da deal wit' dat Lavo chick in yer yooniverse?" Pickles was asking as he sifted through piles of refuse.
"Well, back in my reality, Lavona was after Nathan's balls. In this universe, I guess she got 'em," Charles explained, toeing the very same pizza box he's seen on his first visit.
"Oh! Dood! Here it is! Ya gotta hear dis!" Pickles extracted the shiny CD and tossed the jewel case at Charles.
"Oh, they wore make up?" Charles asked.
"Yeh. No one knew who dey were. NO ONE!" He had somehow located a remote control and switched on the stereo.
Pickles was right, Charles mused. Frog Dissectors was pretty awesome. It didn't sound like a novelty act at all. And Nathan's voice was unmistakeable, clearly the best thing about the band.
"What happened to them?" Charles asked.
"Dey're still around, dood. Only dey swapped out Nat'an." Pickles flipped Charles another CD jewel case from the detritus on the floor. "Da bands's da same. Except now it SUCKS."
Charles goggled at the man in white face paint on the cover. "Yeah, I am actually, uh, familiar with this individual."
"Oh. Is he a douche in yer yooniverse too?"
"Yep." Charles scrutinized the fine print on an SnB jewel case that had surfaced in the detritus. "Hey, did this guy really produce your albums?"
"Oh, dooooood! Yeh, he's a mad man! The most awesome producer. Though, I ain't sure he's recovered from da gunshot wounds."
"The...?"
"Why are yoo innerested in dat dood, anyway?"
"I've gotta get Murderface to make this work. In was thinking.... I dunno...."
"Well, good luck findin' dis dood," Pickles said, holding up the jewel case. "Last I heard, he's servin' ten to twenny fer weapons violations an' shit."
That made sense, Charles thought. In this universe, no me, no Dethklok, he couldn't get his miserable ass out of trouble by spying on us.
The absence of himself just kept making things more and more complicated.
"Look," said Charles, "I think I need to go somewhere and think."
"Cool!" said Pickles, tossing the jewel case back on the floor. "Strip club, or dive bar?"
Back in our universe, Mordhaus....
Toki covered his head with his knitting project, peering nervously through fine loops of medium-weight lamb's wool.
He didn't want to see.
Lady Raziel had dragged him into Charles' office to keep her company, as she claimed she feared being left on her own in Mordhaus. Thus he had been sitting here - along with that cat lady person from Egypt, a couple of Valhallan soldiers, some spinning wheel guys who looked like they were out of one of Pickles' better acid trips, and several of the burlier Klokateer guys - when Dick Knubbler - or actually, Samael the Angel, as he was now in his winged form - had burst in, samurai swords in hand, Murderface chasing after him.
The angel had knelt before Raziel, long knife poised evidently to gore himself through the stomach in sacrifice before the queen.
Raziel finished off a row, and then looked up from her shawl. Or, Toki thought It was a shawl. It was sometimes difficult to tell with Lady Raziel. Maybe it was socks.
"Samael, I just want to say, on behalf of myself, as well as my absent brother, that we, speaking as the organization, appreciate your initiative! When I received information that you had been passing on unfinished Dethklok tracks, I became concerned. Your word to the contrary would have been sufficient to reassure me, but going to the extent of threatening to commit seppuku in Sariel's' office?" Raziel wiped a tear. "Sheer genius! I, like my Honored Brother, treasure loyalty to our organization, and nothing says team spirit like the threat of self immolation!"
"On behalf of myself, my absent brother, the band, and the entire Dethklok family, I wanna say, thank you. Oh, and you can put the sword away, I know you didn't do it.
Samael stood, Toki breathing a sigh of relief.
"Awesome katana, by the way."
Samael babbled something in Angelic.
"Oh, Kitsune? Yeah, he's an amazing swordsmith. And for future reference, you need another dude to stand ready to lop off your head."
Samael babbled something again.
"Well," Raziel said, "If you could use either your angelic powers or production skills to tell us who leaked the tracks on this CD, i'd be most grateful."
Samael departed, Murderface on his heels. "That kid is going places!" Raziel enthused.
A bar, somewhere in another universe....
They ended up in a dive.
"Dood, no offense...." Pickles was telling Charles.
Charles looked confused.
"I know yer an angel an' all dat. An' I'm glad yer helpin' us out. But...."
"But what."
"I dunno, dood. I jest don't t'ink yer MY angel, is all. I mean, no offense."
"None taken," Charles robotically answered, though of course he found he was a bit offended.
Pickles was soon spirited away by a group of people, though whether they were groupies, drug connections, industry hangers on, or total strangers, Charles never quite surmised. He found he didn't much sting at the abandonment. It was good to suck on a beer and think in relative peace.
"So what the fuck do you think you're doing, you little cocksucker?"
Charles looked up, and immediately regretted it. "They let you in here looking like that?" he asked pointing to the machetes on Jacques' belt.
Jacque laughed, inviting himself to sit down. "This is fucking Hollywood! Who's gonna notice a fucking machete?" Elegba tipped his hat and sat as well. Truly, they were nowhere near the weirdest people in this joint.
"Yeah, I guess not," Charles moped, downing his drink.
"What's the matter, anyway? You're acting like a complete asshole."
"You SHOT at me!"
"Aw. You're fine."
"You told me I was free to come and go!"
"You fucked up my fucking palace!"
"You're a fucking god! You'll un-fuck it."
Jacque grinned. "So, what the fuck are you doing with that fucking musician?" he asked, hooking his thumb in the direction Pickles had disappeared to. "That redheaded cocksucker makes me look respectable!"
Charles fixed Jacque with a withering stare. "I'm starting a band, Dad."
"Why the FUCK would you wanna do that? I thought you said you were trained as a fucking lawyer?"
Charles raised an eyebrow. "You remember I told you, back in my universe, I run the world's sixth largest economy?"
"Yeah, but...." Jacque started. Charles stared at him. "You're fucking kidding me."
"What, from selling fucking T shirts?" Elegba put in.
"Yeah. From selling fucking T shirts. And fucking Deth Cones. They're icy. And brutal."
"What the fuck is a fucking Deth Cone?" Jacque grumbled,
"Well, when I get back to my fucking universe, I'll fucking bring one back, and cram it up your lying motherfuking ass. Dad." Charles cheerily supplied.
"I don't know if I approve of music as your fucking career!" Jacque snorted.
"Well you know something?" Charles asked, his pitch suddenly jumping up two registers. "You're about TWO FUCKING THOUSAND YEARS TOO FUCKING LATE."
Jacque clucked his tongue. "Tsk. Just like his mother," he grumbled to Elegba.
"Jacque." Charles put his head in his hands. "Just leave me the fuck alone."
"Well, I'm just trying to fucking help," Jacque grumbled. "You could show some fucking gratitude." He nodded at Elegba, and the two departed.
Charles sat for a while, miserably twisting his beer bottle into the table.
"It's Celebrity Rehab, with Dr. John Twinkletits!"
Charles looked up at the television over the bar. He smiled thinly at the screen. As there was no Dethklok in this universe, and therefore, no yard wolves, Twinkletits still retained use of his arms.
"So, Dick, can you tell me who you think you have disappointed with your behavior?" Dr. John was lisping at someone offscreen.
"I'm not disappointed at all, Twinky baby, yeah!" said a very familiar blond, waving a gold-plated handgun at the flustered shrink before he was wrestled to the ground and dragged offstage by some burly security personnel.
Charles gawped.
And then he grinned, picking up the cell phone Raziel had loaned him. "Bonnie, I think I have a new caper for you and Clyde," he said.
******
Note: the word "Abo" is a very grave insult to use on a natives person in Australia. I had Seth/Set say it because he is an ass.
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Thrown out by Murderface, that really is a new low!
Epic! I love how you're taking little elements from the show and working them into this, it's great!
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Oh, please don't tell me that Seth's got what I think he's got. *iz skeerd*
"Well, good luck findin' dis dood," Pickles said, holding up the jewel case. "Last I heard, he's servin' ten to twenny fer weapons violations an' shit."
Is this a nod to the epic golfing fic from long ago? That was you, right?
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I DO NOT BELIEVE YOU REMEMBER THAT! Yep, that were me. (I think it's posted on the site somewhere.) It's like the second or third fic I EVER wrote.
Let's see, this universe has no Charles, and no Dethklok, so maybe that particular incident didn't happen? But I'm sure Dick got himself into trouble elsewhere. I'm sure he still has a rivalry with Gil Ejector!
I need to do another golf!fic some time. After reading a few of your stories, I kinda miss doing some silly gen fic stuff.
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Good golly, now that I think about it, out of the 13 stories I have written so far, only one of them is pr0n. Well, one and a half, offscreen pr0n doesn't really count.
Yes. Yes you should. More golfing, more Spanish novellas, all that good stuff.
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OMG, you know, I think you're right!
Funny how my takes on Charles always seem to pick out the same few characteristics - I almost always have him as a chain smoker, even though I think he smokes a total of once on the show. (And I don't think he even smokes, he just offers Melmord a cigar...) It's pretty obvious when reading through a couple of your fics with Charles, that there's a lot of other aspects I completely ignore.
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I GOT IT! I GOT IT! They send Charles to celebrity rehab for his pie addiction!!!
:D
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WHERE'S MY FUCKING CHEESE SAMMICH?
"Yeah. From selling fucking T shirts. And fucking Deth Cones. They're icy. And brutal."
I laughed so fricking hard when he quoted that slogan. XD
I have a very dark suspicion about what Seth's keeping around...
And oh man. Knubbler + weapons remains a glorious combination. And this chapter had two Knubblers with weapons! :D Awesome.
Re: WHERE'S MY FUCKING CHEESE SAMMICH?
In case you didn't know. :D
Knubbler is just all kinds of awesome! And now I have Knubbler + Knubbler!Angel + AU Knubbler.
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"It's Celebrity Rehab, with Dr. John Twinkletits!"
You know, I always thought that doctor in RehabKlok looked like an older, weathered version of Dr. Drew.
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I just love the whole concept of washed up minor celebrities trying to get famous again being in rehab or trying to be the apprentice.
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I did not know that about Lovecraft. I've only read one book of his - I'll have to pick up some more - but it seems like the Chtulhu stuff is a cultural thing everyone's familiar with. We've had this hanging in our wetlab for a number of years now. ;p