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tikificTitle: Everybody Comes to Sariel’s (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A totally true and very romantic story of WWII era North Africa, as related by the world’s least reliable angel
Warnings: Slash, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking, silly.
Notes: Since everybody has been so patient with my VERY LONG chapters, I am giving you - MORE TO READ! Don't worry, this is short and completely silly.
During the story, Little Wing (Mythklok Chapter 12, which should be posted next week), it is mentioned in passing that CFO (who is an immortal angel in this AU) spent at least some time in North Africa during WW II. Since he is the moody sort in this universe, he pretty much refused to elaborate any further. So, this is Lady Raziel’s version of the story, which she assures us is completely, absolutely and totally 100% true.
Just one more note: in order to have a clue, you REALLY need to have seen, or at least be familiar with, a certain classic movie.
Everybody Comes to Sariel’s
Rick stood in the window of his dusty gin joint in Morocco and lit a cigarette. He watched a convoy of Gestapo pass. “Nazis. I hate those fucking guys.”
The piano player, a dude with long brown hair and a Fu Manch moustache, began to sing, “You ams musts remembers this, a kisses ams just a kisses, a sighs ams justs a sighs….”
“Uhhhh, Sam, could you maybe not play that song?”
“Because it ams reminds you of da goil you loved and lost?” sighed Sam.
“Uh, no, because your Auto-Tune singing sounds kinda anachronistic.”
Just then, Ugarte, a petty thief with weird triangular hair, sneaked into the club. He waved a manila envelope at Rick.
“Hey, Rick! Will you hide thesche conschert ticketsch for me? Juscht for a day or scho. Scho I can schell them and make lotsch of money, and you’ll take all the rischk.”
“Ugarte, are you scalping tickets again?” scolded Rick.
“Uh, yesch! I mean, no!”
“Because, I’m gonna ask you to watch this informational video….”
“Oh, no,” Ugarte interrupted, “it’s the corrupt copsch! Gotta go!”
Captain Louis Renault floated in. Captain Renault wore red dreadlocks and a dazed expression.
“Dood! I am, like, so totally corrupt!” said Renault. “Where’s dat Ugarte dood?”
“Uh, nothing will get me to tell you,” said Rick, pointing his arm, “that he’s right over there.”
Renault immediately pulled out a gun and plugged Ugarte.
“Dude! You fuckin’ schot me!” Ugarte protested.
“Eh, it’s just a tranquilizer gun. Hey, corrupt police doods! Dat guy’s been shot! Round up da usual doods!”
“Do you enjoy being a corrupt public official, Renault?” Rick asked as the unconscious Ugarte was ushered out by corrupt police dudes.
“Hey, Rick, dood, yoo know yoo got a really cute ass?
“OK, Renault? Get your corrupt hand off my ass before I rip your arm out of its socket.”
“Geez, touchy!”
Suddenly, a small dark haired girl wearing a totally cute jumper and a precious little straw hat was sitting atop Sam’s piano, kicking her legs.
“Play it, Sam!” she urged.
“You ams must remembers this….”
“No, no, not that one! The cute one!”
“Oh!” said Sam. He suddenly switched to a bouncier number. “Underwater friends, you’re my underwater friends….”
“Sam, I told you to quit playing that Auto-Tune crap!” scolded Rick. Then he looked up at the girl sitting on the piano. “Oh, shit!”
“Hi Rick! Did you miss me?”
“Ilsa, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why the fuck did you walk into mine?”
“You’re just lucky I guess. Do you like my hat? It’s Orry-Kelly! Oh, this is my totally hot husband, the heroic Czech resistance fighter, Victor Laszlo!” Ilsa pointed to a guy who was indeed totally hot, although he looked a little bit more like an Indian dude than a Czech. Actually, he looked a lot more like an Indian dude than a Czech.
“Uh, hey Victor,” said Rick.
“Well, hello there!“ said Victor Laszlo. “And what’s your name?”
“Uh, Rick.”
“Do you come here often, Rick?””
“Uh, this is Rick’s. I own the place.”
“Hey!” yelled Ilsa. “You’re not supposed to flirt with Rick.”
“But he’s awfully cute!” pouted Victor Laszlo.
“You’re both supposed to be infatuated with me! I’m wearing Orry-Kelly!”
“OK, whats ams goings ons here?” asked the evil blond Nazi, Major Strasser, who had just burst in. “Actuallys, I should be playings Victor Lazlo, as I ams handsomest.”
“Nazis. I fucking hate those guys.”
“Ams you Ricks?”
“Yes, I am Rick, and this is my place.”
“Ams you works out dudes? You got da nice ass.”
“Hands off my ass, Nazi scum!”
“OK, bes like dat. Maybe I ams arrests dat Indian dudes, just ‘cause I ams in da bad Nazi moods.”
“He’s not Indian, he’s supposed to be Czech,” Ilsa told him.
‘Ja, whatevers. You wants him back, you ams better comes down to da evil Nazi place.”
“But, but, I was supposed to go to the concert!” Victor protested.
“It’s OK, Victor, sweetie pie!” called Ilsa. “I know the local ticket scalper! You’ll be back together with me, your true love, very soon.”
“Eh, go ahead and take your time, Ilsa,” said Victor. “Hey, I’ll see you again, right, Rick?” And Victor Laszlo put his hand to his head in a “call me” gesture at Rick.
“Uh,” said Rick.
“Well, we’ll always have Paris!” Ilsa told Rick.
“Ilsa, PLEASE don’t make me do a flashback. Oh, crap!”
Flashback!Rick stood in a crowded, rainy train station while Flashback!Sam happily hummed “Underwater Friends.” Suddenly, he heard a ringing.
“OK, Flashback!Ilsa? People in the 1940s did not have cell phones!” he yelled into his anachronistic phone.
“Flashback!Rick!” came Ilsa’s voice. “I can’t flee Paris with you today! I’m still packing my steamer trunks with cute little hats! Here’s looking at you, kid!”
“Goddammit, Flashback!Ilsa, YOU STOLE MY BEST LINE!”
“C’mon, Present Day Rick, let’s go see Ferrari the ticket scalper,” urged Ilsa, grabbing his arm.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be in this part,” Rick protested.
“Underwater friends, you’re my underwater friends,” sang Sam in his delightful Auto-Tune voice.
“On second thought….”
After Ilsa had changed into another totally cute Orry-Kelly gown, she and Rick pulled up to a mysterious residence. The proprietor was a really big dude.
“You wanna go to the concert? That’s AWESOME!” he commented. “Can you dudes get me tickets?”
“But we came to you to get us tickets!” wailed Ilsa.
“Well, I heard there might be tickets. I heard there was some crazy dude with triangular hair and he came into a place with some dude with a nice ass who really liked to smoke and dropped off the tickets only he got caught by some totally stoned corrupt official who was trying to interfere with this Czech resistance fighter dude who actually looked more like and Indian only then he got arrested by a Swedish Nazi. Anyway, that’s what I heard.”
“Rick, why didn’t you tell me you had the concert tickets?” Ilsa demanded.
“If I give them to you, will you FUCKING GO AWAY!” Rick asked.
“Sure!”
“OK, meet me at the airport.”
“Hey, Rick dude,” Ferrari asked, “Before you go, would it be totally gay to tell you you have a really cute ass?”
One title card later, plus another complete costume change for Ilsa, she and Victor Laszlo and Renault met Rick at the helipad.
“Uh, ya know Ilsa,” said Rick, “Helicopters weren’t in general use until later in the 1940s.”
“OK, I ams gonna stop you guys, ‘cause I ams a Nazi dudes,” said Major Strasser, who had suddenly driven up to be evil and stuff. Ilsa ran him through with her sword. “OW! You angel bitch!”
“Stupid Nazi! You got blood on my Orry-Kelly!” Ilsa snorted.
“OK, Ilsa,” said Rick, handing her the tickets, “here’s the damn concert tickets, will you get on the fucking helicopter and leave now?”
Suddenly, Victor Laszlo rushed down the tarmac to talk to Rick. “My life doesn’t amount to a hill of beans without you, Rick!” At which point he swept Rick into a very romantic 40s-style clinch.
“Whoa! Dood, were dey supposed to do tongue kissing in dese 40s movies?” asked Renault.
“Huh,” said Ilsa, watching for a few more moments. “I definitely don’t think you were supposed to do THAT in these 40s movies! Though, it’s kinda hot.”
“Yeah, totally.”
“Well, anyway,” Ilsa said, waving to Rick and Victor Laszlo as their anachronistic helicopter took off. “Bye you guys! Have fun at the concert!” She turned to Renault. “So, what to you wanna do about the dead Nazi?”
“Dat guy’s been shot! Or, uh, actually, she poked him wit’ her sword t’ing. Round up da usual doods!”
“Oh, yeah, that will totally fool the Gestapo!”
“I ams not deads yet, actuallys!” moaned Major Strasser.
“Stupid Nazis,” groused Ilsa. “Hey,” she asked Renault, linking arms with him. “Wanna go shoe shopping with me? I know a great place up by the Milky Way Galaxy!”
“Could we get high?”
“We’ll get very high!”
“Sure!”
“Renault, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”
“And that’s EXACTLY how it happened,” Raziel concluded.
“Dood,” said Pickles, “I don’t remember da movie bein’ dat way.”
“What movie?”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A totally true and very romantic story of WWII era North Africa, as related by the world’s least reliable angel
Warnings: Slash, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking, silly.
Notes: Since everybody has been so patient with my VERY LONG chapters, I am giving you - MORE TO READ! Don't worry, this is short and completely silly.
During the story, Little Wing (Mythklok Chapter 12, which should be posted next week), it is mentioned in passing that CFO (who is an immortal angel in this AU) spent at least some time in North Africa during WW II. Since he is the moody sort in this universe, he pretty much refused to elaborate any further. So, this is Lady Raziel’s version of the story, which she assures us is completely, absolutely and totally 100% true.
Just one more note: in order to have a clue, you REALLY need to have seen, or at least be familiar with, a certain classic movie.
Everybody Comes to Sariel’s
Rick stood in the window of his dusty gin joint in Morocco and lit a cigarette. He watched a convoy of Gestapo pass. “Nazis. I hate those fucking guys.”
The piano player, a dude with long brown hair and a Fu Manch moustache, began to sing, “You ams musts remembers this, a kisses ams just a kisses, a sighs ams justs a sighs….”
“Uhhhh, Sam, could you maybe not play that song?”
“Because it ams reminds you of da goil you loved and lost?” sighed Sam.
“Uh, no, because your Auto-Tune singing sounds kinda anachronistic.”
Just then, Ugarte, a petty thief with weird triangular hair, sneaked into the club. He waved a manila envelope at Rick.
“Hey, Rick! Will you hide thesche conschert ticketsch for me? Juscht for a day or scho. Scho I can schell them and make lotsch of money, and you’ll take all the rischk.”
“Ugarte, are you scalping tickets again?” scolded Rick.
“Uh, yesch! I mean, no!”
“Because, I’m gonna ask you to watch this informational video….”
“Oh, no,” Ugarte interrupted, “it’s the corrupt copsch! Gotta go!”
Captain Louis Renault floated in. Captain Renault wore red dreadlocks and a dazed expression.
“Dood! I am, like, so totally corrupt!” said Renault. “Where’s dat Ugarte dood?”
“Uh, nothing will get me to tell you,” said Rick, pointing his arm, “that he’s right over there.”
Renault immediately pulled out a gun and plugged Ugarte.
“Dude! You fuckin’ schot me!” Ugarte protested.
“Eh, it’s just a tranquilizer gun. Hey, corrupt police doods! Dat guy’s been shot! Round up da usual doods!”
“Do you enjoy being a corrupt public official, Renault?” Rick asked as the unconscious Ugarte was ushered out by corrupt police dudes.
“Hey, Rick, dood, yoo know yoo got a really cute ass?
“OK, Renault? Get your corrupt hand off my ass before I rip your arm out of its socket.”
“Geez, touchy!”
Suddenly, a small dark haired girl wearing a totally cute jumper and a precious little straw hat was sitting atop Sam’s piano, kicking her legs.
“Play it, Sam!” she urged.
“You ams must remembers this….”
“No, no, not that one! The cute one!”
“Oh!” said Sam. He suddenly switched to a bouncier number. “Underwater friends, you’re my underwater friends….”
“Sam, I told you to quit playing that Auto-Tune crap!” scolded Rick. Then he looked up at the girl sitting on the piano. “Oh, shit!”
“Hi Rick! Did you miss me?”
“Ilsa, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why the fuck did you walk into mine?”
“You’re just lucky I guess. Do you like my hat? It’s Orry-Kelly! Oh, this is my totally hot husband, the heroic Czech resistance fighter, Victor Laszlo!” Ilsa pointed to a guy who was indeed totally hot, although he looked a little bit more like an Indian dude than a Czech. Actually, he looked a lot more like an Indian dude than a Czech.
“Uh, hey Victor,” said Rick.
“Well, hello there!“ said Victor Laszlo. “And what’s your name?”
“Uh, Rick.”
“Do you come here often, Rick?””
“Uh, this is Rick’s. I own the place.”
“Hey!” yelled Ilsa. “You’re not supposed to flirt with Rick.”
“But he’s awfully cute!” pouted Victor Laszlo.
“You’re both supposed to be infatuated with me! I’m wearing Orry-Kelly!”
“OK, whats ams goings ons here?” asked the evil blond Nazi, Major Strasser, who had just burst in. “Actuallys, I should be playings Victor Lazlo, as I ams handsomest.”
“Nazis. I fucking hate those guys.”
“Ams you Ricks?”
“Yes, I am Rick, and this is my place.”
“Ams you works out dudes? You got da nice ass.”
“Hands off my ass, Nazi scum!”
“OK, bes like dat. Maybe I ams arrests dat Indian dudes, just ‘cause I ams in da bad Nazi moods.”
“He’s not Indian, he’s supposed to be Czech,” Ilsa told him.
‘Ja, whatevers. You wants him back, you ams better comes down to da evil Nazi place.”
“But, but, I was supposed to go to the concert!” Victor protested.
“It’s OK, Victor, sweetie pie!” called Ilsa. “I know the local ticket scalper! You’ll be back together with me, your true love, very soon.”
“Eh, go ahead and take your time, Ilsa,” said Victor. “Hey, I’ll see you again, right, Rick?” And Victor Laszlo put his hand to his head in a “call me” gesture at Rick.
“Uh,” said Rick.
“Well, we’ll always have Paris!” Ilsa told Rick.
“Ilsa, PLEASE don’t make me do a flashback. Oh, crap!”
Flashback!Rick stood in a crowded, rainy train station while Flashback!Sam happily hummed “Underwater Friends.” Suddenly, he heard a ringing.
“OK, Flashback!Ilsa? People in the 1940s did not have cell phones!” he yelled into his anachronistic phone.
“Flashback!Rick!” came Ilsa’s voice. “I can’t flee Paris with you today! I’m still packing my steamer trunks with cute little hats! Here’s looking at you, kid!”
“Goddammit, Flashback!Ilsa, YOU STOLE MY BEST LINE!”
“C’mon, Present Day Rick, let’s go see Ferrari the ticket scalper,” urged Ilsa, grabbing his arm.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be in this part,” Rick protested.
“Underwater friends, you’re my underwater friends,” sang Sam in his delightful Auto-Tune voice.
“On second thought….”
After Ilsa had changed into another totally cute Orry-Kelly gown, she and Rick pulled up to a mysterious residence. The proprietor was a really big dude.
“You wanna go to the concert? That’s AWESOME!” he commented. “Can you dudes get me tickets?”
“But we came to you to get us tickets!” wailed Ilsa.
“Well, I heard there might be tickets. I heard there was some crazy dude with triangular hair and he came into a place with some dude with a nice ass who really liked to smoke and dropped off the tickets only he got caught by some totally stoned corrupt official who was trying to interfere with this Czech resistance fighter dude who actually looked more like and Indian only then he got arrested by a Swedish Nazi. Anyway, that’s what I heard.”
“Rick, why didn’t you tell me you had the concert tickets?” Ilsa demanded.
“If I give them to you, will you FUCKING GO AWAY!” Rick asked.
“Sure!”
“OK, meet me at the airport.”
“Hey, Rick dude,” Ferrari asked, “Before you go, would it be totally gay to tell you you have a really cute ass?”
One title card later, plus another complete costume change for Ilsa, she and Victor Laszlo and Renault met Rick at the helipad.
“Uh, ya know Ilsa,” said Rick, “Helicopters weren’t in general use until later in the 1940s.”
“OK, I ams gonna stop you guys, ‘cause I ams a Nazi dudes,” said Major Strasser, who had suddenly driven up to be evil and stuff. Ilsa ran him through with her sword. “OW! You angel bitch!”
“Stupid Nazi! You got blood on my Orry-Kelly!” Ilsa snorted.
“OK, Ilsa,” said Rick, handing her the tickets, “here’s the damn concert tickets, will you get on the fucking helicopter and leave now?”
Suddenly, Victor Laszlo rushed down the tarmac to talk to Rick. “My life doesn’t amount to a hill of beans without you, Rick!” At which point he swept Rick into a very romantic 40s-style clinch.
“Whoa! Dood, were dey supposed to do tongue kissing in dese 40s movies?” asked Renault.
“Huh,” said Ilsa, watching for a few more moments. “I definitely don’t think you were supposed to do THAT in these 40s movies! Though, it’s kinda hot.”
“Yeah, totally.”
“Well, anyway,” Ilsa said, waving to Rick and Victor Laszlo as their anachronistic helicopter took off. “Bye you guys! Have fun at the concert!” She turned to Renault. “So, what to you wanna do about the dead Nazi?”
“Dat guy’s been shot! Or, uh, actually, she poked him wit’ her sword t’ing. Round up da usual doods!”
“Oh, yeah, that will totally fool the Gestapo!”
“I ams not deads yet, actuallys!” moaned Major Strasser.
“Stupid Nazis,” groused Ilsa. “Hey,” she asked Renault, linking arms with him. “Wanna go shoe shopping with me? I know a great place up by the Milky Way Galaxy!”
“Could we get high?”
“We’ll get very high!”
“Sure!”
“Renault, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”
“And that’s EXACTLY how it happened,” Raziel concluded.
“Dood,” said Pickles, “I don’t remember da movie bein’ dat way.”
“What movie?”
