Jitters (Mythklok, Chapter 54)
Jun. 15th, 2011 06:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Jitters (Mythklok, Chapter 54)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Getting ready for The Big Day.
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, cursing.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok is a Metalocalypse AU. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,tikific, where you are welcome to come 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 gang saved da yooniverse from evil Seth. But, at a high cost. And now everybody is getting ready for an important event. Else Raziel will skewer them alive. Oh, also please see note at the end...
Somewhere very far away….
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the universes….
Archangel Gabriel had found one that was satisfyingly sleazy.
The floor was particularly good: it looked like it hadn’t been washed in eons. He intended to end up on that floor, one way or another, before the evening was over. Either a few more of these boilermakers, or perhaps a good dustup. That would be pleasing.
He looked different, did Gabriel. He bore some scars from the recent wars, some visible, some not. He looked overall a bit leaner before. He looked a bit dangerous. He bent over his cold drink, scanning the crowd for someone who looked like they needed a punch in the face. There was always someone.
And then She walked in the door.
“Lady,” he said. The sight of Her brought him immediately - if unsteadily - to his feet.
“Gabriel. I understand there was a war,” she said, indicating that he should sit.
He nodded unhappily. "There was ... A bit of a kerfuffle."
She smiled slyly. “I also understand, you did not win this … kerfuffle.”
“Have you come to rub it in?” Gabriel grumbled, quickly returning to his moodiness. He looked at her. Although nowadays She unfortunately reminded him of that freak, Raziel, She was always the most beautiful of women. He wondered idly how she had ever ended up with someone as unlikely as Phanuel.
“Phanuel,” She said. He looked up in surprise. Had he spoken the name aloud? “You are aware,” She continued, “that the famed General Phanuel is no longer in the service of the Creator. Nor Michael?”
“That’s … interesting.”
“What are you drinking?” she asked signaling the bartender.
“Whiskey and beer. Lady, I need to ask, you didn’t wander into this joint at random, did you?”
"I think perhaps we have a mutual interest."
Gabriel frowned. And then each downed a shot of whiskey, Archangel and Goddess, and then they sipped their beer.
Mordhaus, the office of Charles Ofdensen....
"All right. The WEDDING BITCH FROM HELL is here."
Charles looked up from his laptop to regard the little angel, who was wearing a headset. "You been visiting your dad, Raziel?"
"Yeah. He says hi. OK. You. One last visit to my tailor in Milan. If you've lost weight again, we gotta take in your suit."
"I haven't lost weight."
"This is the social event of the season!" Raziel declared, flinging a newspaper onto Charles' desk. "All must be perfection."
"Wait, did you plant this newspaper story, Raziel?" asked Charles, flipping through the Immortal Pantheon Gazetteer and Public Advertiser.
"Just like you taught me! And I want everything to be ship shape!"
"Shouldn't it be wedding shaped?" asked Charles, narrowing his eyes.
"You!" She had already turned her attentions to Ganesh, who sat on a couch, holding his son and a reading book. Raziel deposited a men's shaving kit on the couch next to him. "Clean shaven by Monday. NO ARGUMENTS!"
"I like the beard," Ganesh said softly, rubbing the same.
"Ganesha. NO ONE looks good with a full beard except my husband. Beards are for George Clooney on vacation, not for a wedding."
"Clooney will never get married," Ganesh averred, glaring significantly at her.
"Maybe! If he meets the right woman," warned Raziel. "No beards in the wedding photos!"
"I don't look good with a beard?" Ganesh moped.
"I don't look good with fucking rug burns on my face," Charles grumbled, rubbing his sore chin.
Raziel picked up Elias. "How's my sweetie-sweetie?" she asked.
"WANTIE WUZZLE," burbled Elias.
"Wait, why doesn't Boon get a lecture?" asked Charles.
"Because you're perfect, aren't you sweetie? Aren't you Auntie's perfect baby?"
"BERFIC!" Elias agreed.
"He's not perfect! He drools! And, he can't pronounce the letter 'R.'"
"Hmpf! You mean like several members of your stupid band? Where is your stupid band?" Raziel asked.
"I dunno. Off being stupid."
"Let's go yell at them. Shall we Boon? Because they're stupid."
"TOOPIT!" Elias cheerily agreed. And they disappeared.
"Gods damn it, she ran off with the kid again," Charles grumbled.
"Do I really look unattractive with a beard?"
"Dear. Jaanu," Charles said, walking over to stand behind Ganesh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "You would still look attractive wrapped up in a garbage bag. Not that you would actually wear a garbage bag, unless it was Emporio Armani. But that's just ... you. Be that as it may, however, I think you will admit you tend to grow facial hair when you aren't happy. And, not to agree with Raziel, but do you think that is how you would like to be depicted in the photos?"
Ganesh rubbed his dubiously attractive beard and considered. His eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you been eating?"
"I’m not…. I've had.... There's been....."
"So, dude, you want us to play at the ceremony OR NOT?" Nathan Explosion demanded as he burst into the office. He had Elias in one of his meaty arms and Skwisgaar, Gibson slung on his back, Dethphone in hands, trailing behind.
Charles turned around to face them. "Guys. There is nothing I would like more. However, I'm not sure that Pickles-"
"Wut about me?" inquired the drummer, who also slouched in.
"Well, uh, would you feel up to playing? And, uh, isn't Raziel handling this?"
"Lady Raz is OUT THERE. Which is why we came IN HERE," Nathan noted.
"Oh boy."
"Can you pleasche aschk Lady Razschile to schtop YELLING AT US?" Murderface whined as he and Toki also found refuge."
.
"She ams made me drop da stitches!" Toki protested, unfurling a half-finished crafts project.
"I can ask, but...."
"There you are! Are you guys playing at my brother's fucking wedding or not?" Raziel demanded.
"Raziel, we have to make sure Pickles is ready-" Charles began.
"I'm standin' right here, yoo know," Pickles grumbled.
"Yeah, what's your fucking problem?" Raziel told Pickles, now going nose to nose. Or rather nose to somewhere in mid-chest.
"He's got performance anxiety," Charles supplied.
"CHARLES! Gahd! I said I'm right here!"
"All right. All right, Pickles."
"I've gaht performunce wutever!" Pickles told Raziel.
"Well FUCKING SNAP OUT OF IT!" Raziel barked.
"Raziel, you can't ask-" Charles started.
"I'm not asking," Raziel told him. "I'M TELLING!"
"Will you quit BULLYING MY FUCKING BAND?" Charles finally exploded, stepping between her and Pickles.. "THAT'S MY JOB! And take off that FUCKING HEADSET! It makes you look like a douche bag!"
"I will not take off my headset! I have a wedding to get ready, and a bunch of troops who need shaping up!"
"We're not your fucking troops!"
"I'm arranging logistics for a royal fucking wedding! It's like landing on Normandy beach!"
"Since WHEN did my commitment ceremony turn into a ROYAL FUCKING WEDDING!"
"An heir to the Eastern Pantheon marries a Voodoo Prince? That's not fucking royal enough for you?"
"I'm not a fucking voodoo prince! My baby is the fucking voodoo prince!" he said, waving at Elias in Nathan’s arms. Elias cheerily waved back.
"Jaanu, I do not believe it skips a generation," Ganesh supplied, to a withering look from Charles.
"And why the fuck are you still here? Why are you not at my tailor in Milan?" Raziel demanded.
"For the last fucking time," Charles yelled, jumping up on his desk, "I am not going to your FUCKING TAILOR IN MILAN!"
"Dude," said Nathan. "You're standing on your desk. Your own desk."
"Yeah? So what?"
"You have a rule against FEET ON THE DESK!"
"And since when have you guys ever given a shit about that?" Charles snapped, kicking some papers to the floor.
"Sariel, come down here this instant!" Raziel ordered.
"Raziel, you're not my fucking commanding general! I don't fucking need to!" Charles told her, suddenly flourishing his machetes.
"You do so fucking need to," yelled Raziel, who now held a sword.
"DUDES!" warned Nathan.
"Jaanu," said Ganesh, who was on his feet.
"You can't fucking order me around any more!" Charles yelled.
"You're go to my fucking tailor if I have to bring you along in pieces!" Raziel insisted.
"I don't need to go to your fucking tailor! I haven't lost any fucking weight!"
Raziel suddenly lowered her sword. "How much?" she asked.
Charles dropped his machetes and sighed. "I dunno exactly," he said miserably. "Five pounds. Maybe six."
Raziel shook her head. "Shit! Well, we'll just get it taken in. Again."
"Oh, hey, no," said Nathan. "You know what we'll do, Lady Raz? We'll just feed him some pie and shit and make him gain it back. Then you won't need to."
"Not hungry," Charles muttered sullenly.
"You're ALWAYS HUNGRY,” Nathan told him. “Just put your wings out. And we'll make him smoke that stuff Pickles got. That always gives him THE MUNCHIES."
"That sounds like a reasonable plan," Raziel told him. "And what about the beard?" she asked, pointing the sword towards Ganesh.
"GANESH DUDE," Nathan rumbled. "You look like that ASSHOLE in ZZ TOP!"
"WHAT?" squeaked Ganesh. "But.... But.... They're from TEXAS!"
"LOSE THE BEARD," Nathan told him, "or look like THE LONE STAR." Ganesh grabbed up the shaving kit and vanished.
"Pickles?" asked Raziel.
Nathan squinted at Pickles, as if in furious concentration, then he pulled Raziel aside and whispered to her.
"Cool!" said Raziel. Then without warning she grabbed Pickles, Toki, Murderface and Skwisgaar - who had been hunched over his PDA, furiously texting - by the collars and disappeared.
"Where did they go?" Charles asked, jumping off his own desk.
"Rehearsing. I figured if she throws his ass directly into his drum kit, he can't panic first."
"Oh. Shit. That was brilliant."
"Yeah. Now get your fucking WINGS OUT. We're gonna EAT."
"BIE!" clapped Elias, still happily in Nathan's arms.
"What about rehearsal?" Charles asked.
"Eh. I'll just make up some lyrics when we're there at the fucking wedding. No one can tell what I'm fucking saying anyway."
"Skwisgaar, GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE! Who do you think you are, MURDERFACE?"
"Pffft. I ams waitsing for Toki to finish his parts. Ams slower dan mole asses."
Charles sat near the back of Mordhaus's performance hall, in the shadows, Elias playing on his lap.
"Do you think he's going to be all right?"
Charles turned around to behold Ganesh. Clean-shaven Ganesh. He put a grateful
hand on his fiancé's gloriously smooth and stubble-free cheek. "It's gone," he said in wonder.
"Didn't want to look like a TEXAN," Ganesh grumbled, rubbing his face.
Up onstage, Pickles wiped a wristband over his forehead, half listening to his band mates squabbling. He looked over to the audience. Charles was seated in his usual spot, back where he thought no one could see him. But the drums were up on a riser. And Pickles could see a lot of stuff the others couldn't. Charles wasn't really watching them, though. He had the kid in his lap, and he was turned around in his seat, talking to Ganesh.
And then, without a sound, the three vanished.
So much for watching over.
Nathan somehow managed to marshall the grumpy musicians into one more run through, at which point he suggested retiring for a considered discussion at a local strip club.
Pickles took his time in getting up. He had been thinking about it, raising it with the others. It wouldn't be the first time they'd considered it, getting some new management. They wouldn't actually have to replace Charles. Maybe just get him some assistance. As he was getting too fucking distracted tom do his fucking job....
Just someone who actually paid attention. That was what they fucking needed.
"Ah...."
Pickles jumped. He hadn't see the three figures appear backstage.
"Pickles...." Ganesh started. The kid, who was in his arms, started to squirm, so Ganesh handed him off to Pickles.
"DIL!" jabbered the kid, latching on to a dreadlock.
"We were wondering," Charles began.
"We would appreciate it..." said Ganesh.
"But not if...."
"No, not if...."
"Wut are yoo guys, da feckin' scientist doods?" Pickles muttered, while he watched their kid coat a red braid in drool. "Yoo know dat ain't good eatin'?" he said, pulling away the hair.
"Sorry, he's teething," said Charles. "Everyone goes in the mouth."
The kid fluttered his little eyes appealingly. You're never gonna get lost in the shuffle, Pickles thought. "Look, if dat's wut yer worried about, I'm gonna play. It'll be OK. Ain't gonna be like one of our audiences." Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance. "Wut?"
“Uh. You know what Raziel was sayin’ about it being a … royal wedding?” Charles started.
“An’ yoo tol’ her she wuz fulla shit!”
“Er,” said Ganesh. “Every pantheon will have a representative there. And Lady Raziel has rented out the entire Upoer Caisse of San Serriffe."
"Raziel has sort of turned this into the event of the millennium."
"She is a dangerous woman to trust with a Rolodex."
"I wonder if I should hire her useless ass as a publicist after this?"
"Jaanu, do you really want to risk immortals attending Dethklok concerts? Given what happened when my family attended?"
"Well, that's true."
"ARE YOU COMING TO THE STRIP CLUB?" Nathan demanded. He had suddenly come back to the stage, surrounded by the remainder of the band.
"Can't," said Charles, "We've got the kid."
"So? Bring him along?"
"To a strip club?"
"About time he saw some fucking TITS. He's never gonna get the chance hanging around with you guys."
"TITS!" giggled Elias.
"He doesn't need to see tits! NO TITS! Not 'till you're 847!" he told his child.
"Now, I can hardly see how he could avoid such a thing growing up part time here,” Ganesh counseled.
"What?"
"Besides, breasts are beautiful and natural!"
"Tits aren't for babies!"
"Ofdenschen, I believe you will find that acschually, titsch are for babiesch,” Murderface grinned, grabbing Elias.
"Strip clubs are smoky. They're full of cigarette smoke! WHAT IF HE HAS ASTHMA?" Charles asked.
“Well, I guess that’s something to consider,” Ganesh allowed.
“But I thought you schaid Eliasch wasch a schigar afischionado?”
“FISHIN NADDO!” agreed Elias.
“Uh,” said Charles.
“You told me he only smoked the one?” Ganesh asked suspiciously.
“Well. Uh. Ah,” explained Charles.
“Why amsn’t Ganoshes just makes us da martinis here ands we stays in?” Skwisgaar reasoned as his swift fingers flew across his Dethphone.
“Skwisgaar, will you put down your FUCKING PHONE and practice your fucking guitar instead?” Nathan rumbled. “Seriously, dude, it’s getting fucking annoying.”
“Pfft,” agreed Skwisgaar.
“I could potentially be persuaded to mix a batch or two of martinis,” Ganesh allowed.
“Den I ams knits da wings cosies for Boom!” Toki announced.
“Well, that’s very nice of you, uh, Toki,” Charles told him.
“Pfft. Da kids ams not needs craps on da wings,” muttered Skwisgaar.
“De yams be lovelies wings cosies and you ams talks nicelies abouts It, Skwisgaar,” Toki threatened, suddenly looming over the texting Swede.
“TEX MESS!” babbled Elias.
“Will someone take his FUCKING PHONE AWAY before I STRANGLE something?” Nathan pleaded.
Charles had the phone in his hands before Skwisgaar could even look up. “OK,” said Charles. “It goes in my desk drawer. Until the end of the, uh, school semester. Or … whatever.”
“AND WHERE ARE YOU GOING PICKLES?” Nathan scolded as he grabbed the drummer by the collar.
“I wuz jest. Eh.”
“WE’RE GONNA ALL GO DRINK MARTINIS AND KNIT WING SHIT AND TELL BOON ABOUT TITS! And, you need to come too.”
“TITS!” burbled Elias.
“Will you quit using that word?” Charles asked Nathan, as they made their way to the bar in his suite.
“There is nothing wrong with appreciating the female form!” Ganesh lectured.
“You don’t hafta tell these guys that,” Charles muttered.
“Now, what is this I hear about cigars?” Ganesh asked.
“You wanna know what Freud would say?”
"Out of those pants! Now!"
"Raziel, of the long list of people from whom I'd like to hear at phrase, your name occurs frighteningly near the bottom."
Charles, along with Nathan Explosion, sat at a table in the kitchen at Mordhaus, consuming slices of pie. It was, depending on your point of view, either quite late at night, or quite early in the morning.
Charles was True Formed and, as was his current, regrettable custom, wearing a pair of ill-fitting pajama pants.
"Take your pants off. I brought a gift," said Raziel, flourishing a shopping bag.
"What, right fucking now?"
"Yes, NOW."
"Will you at least turn around?"
"Nothing I haven't seen before," Raziel sniffed.
"All right, all right! If it will make you leave!"
"Whoa!" said Nathan. "He really is silver all over when he's like that."
"Nathan, I thought you didn't wanna see my ass!" Charles protested, throwing the pajama pants on the table.
"Ain't your ass I'm talking about dude."
"Raziel!” Charles wailed as he suddenly found himself being molested by an angel. “I can dress myself! And you know I don't own any fucking pajamas!"
"These aren't pajamas. Don't you read Vogue?"
"Do I look like I read Vogue?" Charles asked.
"This is loungewear!" Raziel said triumphantly.
"Seriously," Nathan interjected, "you should read Vogue. How else can you keep ABREAST OF FASHION?"
"Wait, what are you doing?" asked Charles as Raziel continued to invade his personal space. "What are those?"
"There!" said Raziel, finishing with the buttons.
"Are these ... suspenders? On pajamas??"
“Loungewear!” Raziel corrected. “OOF!”
"Lady Raz! I love you!" Nathan thundered, giving the small angel a rather enthusiastic hug.
"These are a present?" Charles asked.
"Yeah," said Raziel, catching her breath. "Present. For Nathan. He said he'd help with the wedding if he didn't have to look at your ass crack any more."
"Traitor," Charles grumbled.
"Well, I gotta go, gotta argue with the caterers. Nobody seems to take me seriously when I tell them I need dancing elephant chow! You'll have him fattened up?"
"Yes ma'am," barked Nathan. Raziel grinned and disappeared.
"I look like a fucking douche bag. I'm going back to bed," Charles complained,
"No you're not! Sit down, smoke your pot, and FINISH YOUR PIE!"
Charles thumped down in the seat and resentfully took a drag of the spliff that was smoking in the ashtray.
“I dunno, Toks,” said Pickles, watching the smoke curl lazily towards the ceiling. “Dey say dere’s gonna be a lotta god doods dere, like even more den at Lady Raz’s weddin’. Wut if I, yoo know…”
“You ams be fines!” Toki assured him. Pickles looked up from Toki’s bed to where the guitarist was over cheerily assembling a model … something. Pickles had persuaded Toki to leave the party a bit early as he and Skwisgaar had started going at it again. They seemed to be fighting worse than ever. Pickles was pretty sure he knew why, but he also knew he didn’t wanna be in the middle of it.
“But wut if I’m nawt?”
“Maybe you ams talks to Doctors Winklebits again?”
“Toki! Twinkletits is an asshole. Dere ain’t enough banana stickers in da world t’ make me talk to dat douche again.”
“Oh!” said Toki, who had just glued the fingers of his left hand to his model rocket. “Maybe you ams talks to my dates at da weddings!”
“Uh, is dis anudder girl yoo met at da stitch club t’ing?”
“She ands here sisters ams weaves dat threads of fates!”
“Oh. Huh. Dat sounds a little heavy, dood.”
“Maybe she ams winds you up da better fates?”
“Uh, mebbe?”
“Or they could ams knits you da lovelies hats!”
A hat of fate? Pickles thought, lying back down on the bed. He sort of wanted to live in Toki’s brain. Just for a while.
Charles wandered back to his suite, a little drunk, a little stoned, and very, very, very full of pie. He tried to open the door quietly, but just then was overcome by the urge to belch. And angel belches, even under the best of circumstances, are not quiet things.
“OH MY GODS IS THAT LOUNGEWEAR!” came the cry from within.
“Uh. Yeah?”
And suddenly Charles’ suspenders were being pulled upon by many many many hands.
The door shut with an abrupt thump.
****
And just so you guys know I wasn't making this up:
Yes, they're real!
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Getting ready for The Big Day.
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, cursing.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok is a Metalocalypse AU. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,
tikific, where you are welcome to come 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 gang saved da yooniverse from evil Seth. But, at a high cost. And now everybody is getting ready for an important event. Else Raziel will skewer them alive. Oh, also please see note at the end...
Somewhere very far away….
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the universes….
Archangel Gabriel had found one that was satisfyingly sleazy.
The floor was particularly good: it looked like it hadn’t been washed in eons. He intended to end up on that floor, one way or another, before the evening was over. Either a few more of these boilermakers, or perhaps a good dustup. That would be pleasing.
He looked different, did Gabriel. He bore some scars from the recent wars, some visible, some not. He looked overall a bit leaner before. He looked a bit dangerous. He bent over his cold drink, scanning the crowd for someone who looked like they needed a punch in the face. There was always someone.
And then She walked in the door.
“Lady,” he said. The sight of Her brought him immediately - if unsteadily - to his feet.
“Gabriel. I understand there was a war,” she said, indicating that he should sit.
He nodded unhappily. "There was ... A bit of a kerfuffle."
She smiled slyly. “I also understand, you did not win this … kerfuffle.”
“Have you come to rub it in?” Gabriel grumbled, quickly returning to his moodiness. He looked at her. Although nowadays She unfortunately reminded him of that freak, Raziel, She was always the most beautiful of women. He wondered idly how she had ever ended up with someone as unlikely as Phanuel.
“Phanuel,” She said. He looked up in surprise. Had he spoken the name aloud? “You are aware,” She continued, “that the famed General Phanuel is no longer in the service of the Creator. Nor Michael?”
“That’s … interesting.”
“What are you drinking?” she asked signaling the bartender.
“Whiskey and beer. Lady, I need to ask, you didn’t wander into this joint at random, did you?”
"I think perhaps we have a mutual interest."
Gabriel frowned. And then each downed a shot of whiskey, Archangel and Goddess, and then they sipped their beer.
Mordhaus, the office of Charles Ofdensen....
"All right. The WEDDING BITCH FROM HELL is here."
Charles looked up from his laptop to regard the little angel, who was wearing a headset. "You been visiting your dad, Raziel?"
"Yeah. He says hi. OK. You. One last visit to my tailor in Milan. If you've lost weight again, we gotta take in your suit."
"I haven't lost weight."
"This is the social event of the season!" Raziel declared, flinging a newspaper onto Charles' desk. "All must be perfection."
"Wait, did you plant this newspaper story, Raziel?" asked Charles, flipping through the Immortal Pantheon Gazetteer and Public Advertiser.
"Just like you taught me! And I want everything to be ship shape!"
"Shouldn't it be wedding shaped?" asked Charles, narrowing his eyes.
"You!" She had already turned her attentions to Ganesh, who sat on a couch, holding his son and a reading book. Raziel deposited a men's shaving kit on the couch next to him. "Clean shaven by Monday. NO ARGUMENTS!"
"I like the beard," Ganesh said softly, rubbing the same.
"Ganesha. NO ONE looks good with a full beard except my husband. Beards are for George Clooney on vacation, not for a wedding."
"Clooney will never get married," Ganesh averred, glaring significantly at her.
"Maybe! If he meets the right woman," warned Raziel. "No beards in the wedding photos!"
"I don't look good with a beard?" Ganesh moped.
"I don't look good with fucking rug burns on my face," Charles grumbled, rubbing his sore chin.
Raziel picked up Elias. "How's my sweetie-sweetie?" she asked.
"WANTIE WUZZLE," burbled Elias.
"Wait, why doesn't Boon get a lecture?" asked Charles.
"Because you're perfect, aren't you sweetie? Aren't you Auntie's perfect baby?"
"BERFIC!" Elias agreed.
"He's not perfect! He drools! And, he can't pronounce the letter 'R.'"
"Hmpf! You mean like several members of your stupid band? Where is your stupid band?" Raziel asked.
"I dunno. Off being stupid."
"Let's go yell at them. Shall we Boon? Because they're stupid."
"TOOPIT!" Elias cheerily agreed. And they disappeared.
"Gods damn it, she ran off with the kid again," Charles grumbled.
"Do I really look unattractive with a beard?"
"Dear. Jaanu," Charles said, walking over to stand behind Ganesh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "You would still look attractive wrapped up in a garbage bag. Not that you would actually wear a garbage bag, unless it was Emporio Armani. But that's just ... you. Be that as it may, however, I think you will admit you tend to grow facial hair when you aren't happy. And, not to agree with Raziel, but do you think that is how you would like to be depicted in the photos?"
Ganesh rubbed his dubiously attractive beard and considered. His eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you been eating?"
"I’m not…. I've had.... There's been....."
"So, dude, you want us to play at the ceremony OR NOT?" Nathan Explosion demanded as he burst into the office. He had Elias in one of his meaty arms and Skwisgaar, Gibson slung on his back, Dethphone in hands, trailing behind.
Charles turned around to face them. "Guys. There is nothing I would like more. However, I'm not sure that Pickles-"
"Wut about me?" inquired the drummer, who also slouched in.
"Well, uh, would you feel up to playing? And, uh, isn't Raziel handling this?"
"Lady Raz is OUT THERE. Which is why we came IN HERE," Nathan noted.
"Oh boy."
"Can you pleasche aschk Lady Razschile to schtop YELLING AT US?" Murderface whined as he and Toki also found refuge."
.
"She ams made me drop da stitches!" Toki protested, unfurling a half-finished crafts project.
"I can ask, but...."
"There you are! Are you guys playing at my brother's fucking wedding or not?" Raziel demanded.
"Raziel, we have to make sure Pickles is ready-" Charles began.
"I'm standin' right here, yoo know," Pickles grumbled.
"Yeah, what's your fucking problem?" Raziel told Pickles, now going nose to nose. Or rather nose to somewhere in mid-chest.
"He's got performance anxiety," Charles supplied.
"CHARLES! Gahd! I said I'm right here!"
"All right. All right, Pickles."
"I've gaht performunce wutever!" Pickles told Raziel.
"Well FUCKING SNAP OUT OF IT!" Raziel barked.
"Raziel, you can't ask-" Charles started.
"I'm not asking," Raziel told him. "I'M TELLING!"
"Will you quit BULLYING MY FUCKING BAND?" Charles finally exploded, stepping between her and Pickles.. "THAT'S MY JOB! And take off that FUCKING HEADSET! It makes you look like a douche bag!"
"I will not take off my headset! I have a wedding to get ready, and a bunch of troops who need shaping up!"
"We're not your fucking troops!"
"I'm arranging logistics for a royal fucking wedding! It's like landing on Normandy beach!"
"Since WHEN did my commitment ceremony turn into a ROYAL FUCKING WEDDING!"
"An heir to the Eastern Pantheon marries a Voodoo Prince? That's not fucking royal enough for you?"
"I'm not a fucking voodoo prince! My baby is the fucking voodoo prince!" he said, waving at Elias in Nathan’s arms. Elias cheerily waved back.
"Jaanu, I do not believe it skips a generation," Ganesh supplied, to a withering look from Charles.
"And why the fuck are you still here? Why are you not at my tailor in Milan?" Raziel demanded.
"For the last fucking time," Charles yelled, jumping up on his desk, "I am not going to your FUCKING TAILOR IN MILAN!"
"Dude," said Nathan. "You're standing on your desk. Your own desk."
"Yeah? So what?"
"You have a rule against FEET ON THE DESK!"
"And since when have you guys ever given a shit about that?" Charles snapped, kicking some papers to the floor.
"Sariel, come down here this instant!" Raziel ordered.
"Raziel, you're not my fucking commanding general! I don't fucking need to!" Charles told her, suddenly flourishing his machetes.
"You do so fucking need to," yelled Raziel, who now held a sword.
"DUDES!" warned Nathan.
"Jaanu," said Ganesh, who was on his feet.
"You can't fucking order me around any more!" Charles yelled.
"You're go to my fucking tailor if I have to bring you along in pieces!" Raziel insisted.
"I don't need to go to your fucking tailor! I haven't lost any fucking weight!"
Raziel suddenly lowered her sword. "How much?" she asked.
Charles dropped his machetes and sighed. "I dunno exactly," he said miserably. "Five pounds. Maybe six."
Raziel shook her head. "Shit! Well, we'll just get it taken in. Again."
"Oh, hey, no," said Nathan. "You know what we'll do, Lady Raz? We'll just feed him some pie and shit and make him gain it back. Then you won't need to."
"Not hungry," Charles muttered sullenly.
"You're ALWAYS HUNGRY,” Nathan told him. “Just put your wings out. And we'll make him smoke that stuff Pickles got. That always gives him THE MUNCHIES."
"That sounds like a reasonable plan," Raziel told him. "And what about the beard?" she asked, pointing the sword towards Ganesh.
"GANESH DUDE," Nathan rumbled. "You look like that ASSHOLE in ZZ TOP!"
"WHAT?" squeaked Ganesh. "But.... But.... They're from TEXAS!"
"LOSE THE BEARD," Nathan told him, "or look like THE LONE STAR." Ganesh grabbed up the shaving kit and vanished.
"Pickles?" asked Raziel.
Nathan squinted at Pickles, as if in furious concentration, then he pulled Raziel aside and whispered to her.
"Cool!" said Raziel. Then without warning she grabbed Pickles, Toki, Murderface and Skwisgaar - who had been hunched over his PDA, furiously texting - by the collars and disappeared.
"Where did they go?" Charles asked, jumping off his own desk.
"Rehearsing. I figured if she throws his ass directly into his drum kit, he can't panic first."
"Oh. Shit. That was brilliant."
"Yeah. Now get your fucking WINGS OUT. We're gonna EAT."
"BIE!" clapped Elias, still happily in Nathan's arms.
"What about rehearsal?" Charles asked.
"Eh. I'll just make up some lyrics when we're there at the fucking wedding. No one can tell what I'm fucking saying anyway."
"Skwisgaar, GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE! Who do you think you are, MURDERFACE?"
"Pffft. I ams waitsing for Toki to finish his parts. Ams slower dan mole asses."
Charles sat near the back of Mordhaus's performance hall, in the shadows, Elias playing on his lap.
"Do you think he's going to be all right?"
Charles turned around to behold Ganesh. Clean-shaven Ganesh. He put a grateful
hand on his fiancé's gloriously smooth and stubble-free cheek. "It's gone," he said in wonder.
"Didn't want to look like a TEXAN," Ganesh grumbled, rubbing his face.
Up onstage, Pickles wiped a wristband over his forehead, half listening to his band mates squabbling. He looked over to the audience. Charles was seated in his usual spot, back where he thought no one could see him. But the drums were up on a riser. And Pickles could see a lot of stuff the others couldn't. Charles wasn't really watching them, though. He had the kid in his lap, and he was turned around in his seat, talking to Ganesh.
And then, without a sound, the three vanished.
So much for watching over.
Nathan somehow managed to marshall the grumpy musicians into one more run through, at which point he suggested retiring for a considered discussion at a local strip club.
Pickles took his time in getting up. He had been thinking about it, raising it with the others. It wouldn't be the first time they'd considered it, getting some new management. They wouldn't actually have to replace Charles. Maybe just get him some assistance. As he was getting too fucking distracted tom do his fucking job....
Just someone who actually paid attention. That was what they fucking needed.
"Ah...."
Pickles jumped. He hadn't see the three figures appear backstage.
"Pickles...." Ganesh started. The kid, who was in his arms, started to squirm, so Ganesh handed him off to Pickles.
"DIL!" jabbered the kid, latching on to a dreadlock.
"We were wondering," Charles began.
"We would appreciate it..." said Ganesh.
"But not if...."
"No, not if...."
"Wut are yoo guys, da feckin' scientist doods?" Pickles muttered, while he watched their kid coat a red braid in drool. "Yoo know dat ain't good eatin'?" he said, pulling away the hair.
"Sorry, he's teething," said Charles. "Everyone goes in the mouth."
The kid fluttered his little eyes appealingly. You're never gonna get lost in the shuffle, Pickles thought. "Look, if dat's wut yer worried about, I'm gonna play. It'll be OK. Ain't gonna be like one of our audiences." Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance. "Wut?"
“Uh. You know what Raziel was sayin’ about it being a … royal wedding?” Charles started.
“An’ yoo tol’ her she wuz fulla shit!”
“Er,” said Ganesh. “Every pantheon will have a representative there. And Lady Raziel has rented out the entire Upoer Caisse of San Serriffe."
"Raziel has sort of turned this into the event of the millennium."
"She is a dangerous woman to trust with a Rolodex."
"I wonder if I should hire her useless ass as a publicist after this?"
"Jaanu, do you really want to risk immortals attending Dethklok concerts? Given what happened when my family attended?"
"Well, that's true."
"ARE YOU COMING TO THE STRIP CLUB?" Nathan demanded. He had suddenly come back to the stage, surrounded by the remainder of the band.
"Can't," said Charles, "We've got the kid."
"So? Bring him along?"
"To a strip club?"
"About time he saw some fucking TITS. He's never gonna get the chance hanging around with you guys."
"TITS!" giggled Elias.
"He doesn't need to see tits! NO TITS! Not 'till you're 847!" he told his child.
"Now, I can hardly see how he could avoid such a thing growing up part time here,” Ganesh counseled.
"What?"
"Besides, breasts are beautiful and natural!"
"Tits aren't for babies!"
"Ofdenschen, I believe you will find that acschually, titsch are for babiesch,” Murderface grinned, grabbing Elias.
"Strip clubs are smoky. They're full of cigarette smoke! WHAT IF HE HAS ASTHMA?" Charles asked.
“Well, I guess that’s something to consider,” Ganesh allowed.
“But I thought you schaid Eliasch wasch a schigar afischionado?”
“FISHIN NADDO!” agreed Elias.
“Uh,” said Charles.
“You told me he only smoked the one?” Ganesh asked suspiciously.
“Well. Uh. Ah,” explained Charles.
“Why amsn’t Ganoshes just makes us da martinis here ands we stays in?” Skwisgaar reasoned as his swift fingers flew across his Dethphone.
“Skwisgaar, will you put down your FUCKING PHONE and practice your fucking guitar instead?” Nathan rumbled. “Seriously, dude, it’s getting fucking annoying.”
“Pfft,” agreed Skwisgaar.
“I could potentially be persuaded to mix a batch or two of martinis,” Ganesh allowed.
“Den I ams knits da wings cosies for Boom!” Toki announced.
“Well, that’s very nice of you, uh, Toki,” Charles told him.
“Pfft. Da kids ams not needs craps on da wings,” muttered Skwisgaar.
“De yams be lovelies wings cosies and you ams talks nicelies abouts It, Skwisgaar,” Toki threatened, suddenly looming over the texting Swede.
“TEX MESS!” babbled Elias.
“Will someone take his FUCKING PHONE AWAY before I STRANGLE something?” Nathan pleaded.
Charles had the phone in his hands before Skwisgaar could even look up. “OK,” said Charles. “It goes in my desk drawer. Until the end of the, uh, school semester. Or … whatever.”
“AND WHERE ARE YOU GOING PICKLES?” Nathan scolded as he grabbed the drummer by the collar.
“I wuz jest. Eh.”
“WE’RE GONNA ALL GO DRINK MARTINIS AND KNIT WING SHIT AND TELL BOON ABOUT TITS! And, you need to come too.”
“TITS!” burbled Elias.
“Will you quit using that word?” Charles asked Nathan, as they made their way to the bar in his suite.
“There is nothing wrong with appreciating the female form!” Ganesh lectured.
“You don’t hafta tell these guys that,” Charles muttered.
“Now, what is this I hear about cigars?” Ganesh asked.
“You wanna know what Freud would say?”
"Out of those pants! Now!"
"Raziel, of the long list of people from whom I'd like to hear at phrase, your name occurs frighteningly near the bottom."
Charles, along with Nathan Explosion, sat at a table in the kitchen at Mordhaus, consuming slices of pie. It was, depending on your point of view, either quite late at night, or quite early in the morning.
Charles was True Formed and, as was his current, regrettable custom, wearing a pair of ill-fitting pajama pants.
"Take your pants off. I brought a gift," said Raziel, flourishing a shopping bag.
"What, right fucking now?"
"Yes, NOW."
"Will you at least turn around?"
"Nothing I haven't seen before," Raziel sniffed.
"All right, all right! If it will make you leave!"
"Whoa!" said Nathan. "He really is silver all over when he's like that."
"Nathan, I thought you didn't wanna see my ass!" Charles protested, throwing the pajama pants on the table.
"Ain't your ass I'm talking about dude."
"Raziel!” Charles wailed as he suddenly found himself being molested by an angel. “I can dress myself! And you know I don't own any fucking pajamas!"
"These aren't pajamas. Don't you read Vogue?"
"Do I look like I read Vogue?" Charles asked.
"This is loungewear!" Raziel said triumphantly.
"Seriously," Nathan interjected, "you should read Vogue. How else can you keep ABREAST OF FASHION?"
"Wait, what are you doing?" asked Charles as Raziel continued to invade his personal space. "What are those?"
"There!" said Raziel, finishing with the buttons.
"Are these ... suspenders? On pajamas??"
“Loungewear!” Raziel corrected. “OOF!”
"Lady Raz! I love you!" Nathan thundered, giving the small angel a rather enthusiastic hug.
"These are a present?" Charles asked.
"Yeah," said Raziel, catching her breath. "Present. For Nathan. He said he'd help with the wedding if he didn't have to look at your ass crack any more."
"Traitor," Charles grumbled.
"Well, I gotta go, gotta argue with the caterers. Nobody seems to take me seriously when I tell them I need dancing elephant chow! You'll have him fattened up?"
"Yes ma'am," barked Nathan. Raziel grinned and disappeared.
"I look like a fucking douche bag. I'm going back to bed," Charles complained,
"No you're not! Sit down, smoke your pot, and FINISH YOUR PIE!"
Charles thumped down in the seat and resentfully took a drag of the spliff that was smoking in the ashtray.
“I dunno, Toks,” said Pickles, watching the smoke curl lazily towards the ceiling. “Dey say dere’s gonna be a lotta god doods dere, like even more den at Lady Raz’s weddin’. Wut if I, yoo know…”
“You ams be fines!” Toki assured him. Pickles looked up from Toki’s bed to where the guitarist was over cheerily assembling a model … something. Pickles had persuaded Toki to leave the party a bit early as he and Skwisgaar had started going at it again. They seemed to be fighting worse than ever. Pickles was pretty sure he knew why, but he also knew he didn’t wanna be in the middle of it.
“But wut if I’m nawt?”
“Maybe you ams talks to Doctors Winklebits again?”
“Toki! Twinkletits is an asshole. Dere ain’t enough banana stickers in da world t’ make me talk to dat douche again.”
“Oh!” said Toki, who had just glued the fingers of his left hand to his model rocket. “Maybe you ams talks to my dates at da weddings!”
“Uh, is dis anudder girl yoo met at da stitch club t’ing?”
“She ands here sisters ams weaves dat threads of fates!”
“Oh. Huh. Dat sounds a little heavy, dood.”
“Maybe she ams winds you up da better fates?”
“Uh, mebbe?”
“Or they could ams knits you da lovelies hats!”
A hat of fate? Pickles thought, lying back down on the bed. He sort of wanted to live in Toki’s brain. Just for a while.
Charles wandered back to his suite, a little drunk, a little stoned, and very, very, very full of pie. He tried to open the door quietly, but just then was overcome by the urge to belch. And angel belches, even under the best of circumstances, are not quiet things.
“OH MY GODS IS THAT LOUNGEWEAR!” came the cry from within.
“Uh. Yeah?”
And suddenly Charles’ suspenders were being pulled upon by many many many hands.
The door shut with an abrupt thump.
****
And just so you guys know I wasn't making this up:
Yes, they're real!
