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tikificTitle: Other People's Children (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Relatives
Warnings: Swearing
Notes: I don't use Skwisgaar a whole lot, because I just don't think I can write him very well. But, here's an attempt.
His fingers flew over the strings. He didn't even need to hear the music any more: each note sounded so strong and bright in his mind. He was lost. Lost inside the gorgeous sonic palace.
At one time, back when he was quite young, he had wished to show people what he saw when he played. But he couldn't form the words, and besides, he had never been too good with them, had he? So he just played. And let wood and stretched bits on nylon speak for him.
He blinked. There was a presence. A looming presence. He sat up and cast his eyes to the right. There it was, just over the soft, well-worn padding of the chair's arm, the two small blue eyes - so familiar - boring into him.
He stopped playing.
He heard soft chuckling. Nathan and Pickles, who were doing absolutely nothing of value over on the other side of the room, were grinning at him and his terrible predicament.
Skwisgaar's expression turned to one of iron.
"Scats! Go way!" he called, waving a hand at the demon toddler, as if to ward off a pesky housefly.
The eyes were suddenly gone. Gripping his Gibson to his body, Skwisgaar leaned over, to see if the boy might be huddled on the floor below, lying in wait. But there was nothing on the floor, and, when he leaned over further to scan behind the chair, there was no trace at all of the hideous hovering kid.
Skwisgaar sighed in relief, and twisted back to face the front of the chair.
The eyes! His small foe had somehow teleported directly in front of him. Skwisgaar clutched madly at his Gibson and emitted a disappointingly girlie-ish scream or terror.
His ears stung. More of the idiot chuckling from across the room.
And then he saw it, one tiny, potentially peanut butter-encrusted toddler fist of death, raised, at the ready, poised horribly over the perfect veneer of his beloved Explorer.
"'TAR!" warbled the curly-haired hellion.
"LIAM ODINSSON!"
Skwisgaar froze. But, mercifully, so did the sticky little hand.
"Are you bothering Skwisgaar?" continued Raziel, now staring down at her blue-eyed demon spawn. The chubby hands were suddenly drawn behind the back, eyes wide as windowpanes to a guiltless soul.
"No, Mummy."
"I know you're up to something!" Raziel told him, "You look much too innocent for your own good." She grabbed a paw in her somewhat bigger hand. "Sorry if my horrible kid was acting horrible," she apologized to the guitarist.
"Oh, ah, it ams not'ing," muttered the guitarist, grateful that his hour of danger had past. "I guess. All ams Oks, ja."
"Now, you don't annoy your brother!" Raziel scolded Liam as she started towards the door.
At the last word, Skwisgaar cringed. And then grimaced. "Dat kids ams horribles," he muttered under his breath.
Raziel froze. She turned.
"What did you say?" she whispered.
Skwisgaar opened his mouth, but then the breath was knocked out of him as he was physically lifted out of the chair by a hurrying parade of death metal musicians.
"Aw look at the time gotta get to the band meeting see ya later Lady Raz," Nathan was rattling.
"Yep! Gahta go 'r Charles wul kill us, yoo know how he is," agreed Pickles as they frog marched the baffled guitarist towards the band meeting room.
"What you ams doings?" sputtered Skwisgaar as his band mates deposited him at the meeting table. "Dere ain't no meeting!"
"Skwisgaar! Dood!" said Pickles as he scanned down the corridors for any possibility of pursuing angels.
"Skwisgaar are you STUPID you don't tell someone their kid is horrible," Nathan fumed.
"Whats?" asked Skwisgaar. "But she ams just said he ams horribles!"
"Dood! People c'n call deir own brats horrible."
"But you don't do it to someone else's kid!" Nathan concluded.
"'Specially if she's a feckin' vengeance angel chick," added Pickles.
"Pffft."
"Look," said Nathhan, "You're his totally AWESOME older brother, so it figures he LOOKS UP TO YOU."
"Hims ams horribles," Skwisgaar sulked, fingering his guitar. "I ams not asked for da brother!" He began to pull strings, surrounding himself in an agitated cloud of music.
"Wut's yer problem, dood?" asked Pickles.
"Yeah! Your brothers are all cool gods and shit!" said Nathan.
"Yoo gaht awesome brothers! I jest gaht stuck wit' an evil feckin' jellyfish dood."
"And Ganesh dude's brother," muttered Nathan, shaking his head. Pickles shook his head as well, and flashed the L sign.
"I wouldn't have minded having a BROTHER," said Nathan.
"No kiddin'?" asked Pickles. "Why din't yer folks have more kids?"
"Eh, my mom claims I ruined ... her vagina," he whispered. "Or something like that."
"Ewwwww," agreed Pickles.
"Nate-Nate!" came a voice. Nathan raised his arms an instant before Elias bolted into his lap.
"Was there a meeting?" asked Charles, who was standing in the doorway looking confused.
"Hiding from RAZIEL," whispered Nathan. Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Skwisgaar said her kid sucked," whispered Pickles, pointing at the pouting Swede.
Charles gave a slightly frightened look up and down the hallway, and then entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. "Uh. Yeah. Let's give is a couple minutes, shall we?" He slumped into a chair. Nathan delightedly noticed that he was slouching.
“See?” said Nathan, hefting Elias. “I wouldn't mind a brother like this. They're pretty small, and you can hold them IN ONE HAND!” He demonstrated, much to the boy's delight.
“Yoo doods gonna git a brudder fer him?” Pickles grinned.
“Oh hey yeah ONE FOR EACH HAND!” Nathan cheered.
Charles went pale – or rather, paler – and slouched even further into the chair's recesses. “Two of them,” he muttered.
“Dood. Wut happened now?”
Charles scootched up in the chair somewhat. “Ah. Are you gentlemen familiar with the name, Claes Oldenburg?”
Pickles and Nathan shook their heads. “Well, some guy Ganesh slept with. Or Raziel. Or both. Anyway....”
“Ams da artists,” Skwisgaar muttered.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles. “Well, anyway, the guy does, uh, collages? And Ganesh was showing our young artist some of his constructions. And....”
“And what? And what?” urged Nathan. “What did you do, BOON DUDE?” he asked the kid, who only giggled in response.
“You, uh, remember that wall of my office, where, uh, I had some fencing trophies?”
“Doooooood.....”
Having decided that it was worth crossing paths with a possibly incensed Lady Raziel, the party from the meeting room had retired to Charles' office. Plus, there was booze there.
“That's....” said Nathan.
“Doooood,” repeated Pickles.
Skwisgaar merely fingered his guitar.
“I mean, it was mostly crap, fake trophies Raziel and I rigged up anyway. So....” Charles was already pouring himself his second glass. “Anyway. Ganesh's studio is supposed to be finished pretty soon,” he sighed, slumping into his office chair.
“I LIKE IT!” Nathan declared, helping himself to a generous portion of Scotch. “It's got cool swords and shit!”
Skwisgaar had stopped playing. The wall. It had just been a wall. But now.... There was something. He couldn't say it, so instead he asked, “Why ams he do dis, Charles?”
“Well,” said Charles, leaning back a bit to let Elias clamber into his lap. “According to Ganesh, they don't express themselves too well at this age. They can't speak yet, so they get frustrated. I dunno if you've noticed, but Boon doesn't really have a lot of temper tantrums. Not a lot of them. He just.... He does this....”
“Hims ams not got words?” Skwisgaar asked.
“Uh, no. No words.”
“Uh, thanks for doing this, Skwisgaar,” said Raziel.
“Let me ams see dems hands!!! BOTHS SIDE!” Skwisgaar looked sternly down as Liam solemnly turned his hands over. “Pffft. All right, you ams passed inspections. Sit!”
Liam sat and let Skwisgaar hand him the small acoustic guitar. He looked up at his mother, who nodded, and put his hands on the instrument.
“You ams readies?”
Liam eagerly shook his head.
“Hims ams not talks much?” Skisgaar asked.
“Naw. Not as much as his sister. Boys take a little longer.”
“Dat's OK. No prattling and rattling like Tokis. Now see, your finger ams here, and you ams takes your thumb dere....” he said, pressing the boy's hands in position.
Liam, hunched over the guitar with tremendous concentration, did as instructed. He carefully rubbed his thumb against a string.
One note. Just one note.
His head shot up, mouth round in surprise and delight.
“See?” said Skwisgaar smugly. “You ams not needs to talks, when you gots da guitars. Now puts da hands dere.....”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Relatives
Warnings: Swearing
Notes: I don't use Skwisgaar a whole lot, because I just don't think I can write him very well. But, here's an attempt.
His fingers flew over the strings. He didn't even need to hear the music any more: each note sounded so strong and bright in his mind. He was lost. Lost inside the gorgeous sonic palace.
At one time, back when he was quite young, he had wished to show people what he saw when he played. But he couldn't form the words, and besides, he had never been too good with them, had he? So he just played. And let wood and stretched bits on nylon speak for him.
He blinked. There was a presence. A looming presence. He sat up and cast his eyes to the right. There it was, just over the soft, well-worn padding of the chair's arm, the two small blue eyes - so familiar - boring into him.
He stopped playing.
He heard soft chuckling. Nathan and Pickles, who were doing absolutely nothing of value over on the other side of the room, were grinning at him and his terrible predicament.
Skwisgaar's expression turned to one of iron.
"Scats! Go way!" he called, waving a hand at the demon toddler, as if to ward off a pesky housefly.
The eyes were suddenly gone. Gripping his Gibson to his body, Skwisgaar leaned over, to see if the boy might be huddled on the floor below, lying in wait. But there was nothing on the floor, and, when he leaned over further to scan behind the chair, there was no trace at all of the hideous hovering kid.
Skwisgaar sighed in relief, and twisted back to face the front of the chair.
The eyes! His small foe had somehow teleported directly in front of him. Skwisgaar clutched madly at his Gibson and emitted a disappointingly girlie-ish scream or terror.
His ears stung. More of the idiot chuckling from across the room.
And then he saw it, one tiny, potentially peanut butter-encrusted toddler fist of death, raised, at the ready, poised horribly over the perfect veneer of his beloved Explorer.
"'TAR!" warbled the curly-haired hellion.
"LIAM ODINSSON!"
Skwisgaar froze. But, mercifully, so did the sticky little hand.
"Are you bothering Skwisgaar?" continued Raziel, now staring down at her blue-eyed demon spawn. The chubby hands were suddenly drawn behind the back, eyes wide as windowpanes to a guiltless soul.
"No, Mummy."
"I know you're up to something!" Raziel told him, "You look much too innocent for your own good." She grabbed a paw in her somewhat bigger hand. "Sorry if my horrible kid was acting horrible," she apologized to the guitarist.
"Oh, ah, it ams not'ing," muttered the guitarist, grateful that his hour of danger had past. "I guess. All ams Oks, ja."
"Now, you don't annoy your brother!" Raziel scolded Liam as she started towards the door.
At the last word, Skwisgaar cringed. And then grimaced. "Dat kids ams horribles," he muttered under his breath.
Raziel froze. She turned.
"What did you say?" she whispered.
Skwisgaar opened his mouth, but then the breath was knocked out of him as he was physically lifted out of the chair by a hurrying parade of death metal musicians.
"Aw look at the time gotta get to the band meeting see ya later Lady Raz," Nathan was rattling.
"Yep! Gahta go 'r Charles wul kill us, yoo know how he is," agreed Pickles as they frog marched the baffled guitarist towards the band meeting room.
"What you ams doings?" sputtered Skwisgaar as his band mates deposited him at the meeting table. "Dere ain't no meeting!"
"Skwisgaar! Dood!" said Pickles as he scanned down the corridors for any possibility of pursuing angels.
"Skwisgaar are you STUPID you don't tell someone their kid is horrible," Nathan fumed.
"Whats?" asked Skwisgaar. "But she ams just said he ams horribles!"
"Dood! People c'n call deir own brats horrible."
"But you don't do it to someone else's kid!" Nathan concluded.
"'Specially if she's a feckin' vengeance angel chick," added Pickles.
"Pffft."
"Look," said Nathhan, "You're his totally AWESOME older brother, so it figures he LOOKS UP TO YOU."
"Hims ams horribles," Skwisgaar sulked, fingering his guitar. "I ams not asked for da brother!" He began to pull strings, surrounding himself in an agitated cloud of music.
"Wut's yer problem, dood?" asked Pickles.
"Yeah! Your brothers are all cool gods and shit!" said Nathan.
"Yoo gaht awesome brothers! I jest gaht stuck wit' an evil feckin' jellyfish dood."
"And Ganesh dude's brother," muttered Nathan, shaking his head. Pickles shook his head as well, and flashed the L sign.
"I wouldn't have minded having a BROTHER," said Nathan.
"No kiddin'?" asked Pickles. "Why din't yer folks have more kids?"
"Eh, my mom claims I ruined ... her vagina," he whispered. "Or something like that."
"Ewwwww," agreed Pickles.
"Nate-Nate!" came a voice. Nathan raised his arms an instant before Elias bolted into his lap.
"Was there a meeting?" asked Charles, who was standing in the doorway looking confused.
"Hiding from RAZIEL," whispered Nathan. Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Skwisgaar said her kid sucked," whispered Pickles, pointing at the pouting Swede.
Charles gave a slightly frightened look up and down the hallway, and then entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. "Uh. Yeah. Let's give is a couple minutes, shall we?" He slumped into a chair. Nathan delightedly noticed that he was slouching.
“See?” said Nathan, hefting Elias. “I wouldn't mind a brother like this. They're pretty small, and you can hold them IN ONE HAND!” He demonstrated, much to the boy's delight.
“Yoo doods gonna git a brudder fer him?” Pickles grinned.
“Oh hey yeah ONE FOR EACH HAND!” Nathan cheered.
Charles went pale – or rather, paler – and slouched even further into the chair's recesses. “Two of them,” he muttered.
“Dood. Wut happened now?”
Charles scootched up in the chair somewhat. “Ah. Are you gentlemen familiar with the name, Claes Oldenburg?”
Pickles and Nathan shook their heads. “Well, some guy Ganesh slept with. Or Raziel. Or both. Anyway....”
“Ams da artists,” Skwisgaar muttered.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles. “Well, anyway, the guy does, uh, collages? And Ganesh was showing our young artist some of his constructions. And....”
“And what? And what?” urged Nathan. “What did you do, BOON DUDE?” he asked the kid, who only giggled in response.
“You, uh, remember that wall of my office, where, uh, I had some fencing trophies?”
“Doooooood.....”
Having decided that it was worth crossing paths with a possibly incensed Lady Raziel, the party from the meeting room had retired to Charles' office. Plus, there was booze there.
“That's....” said Nathan.
“Doooood,” repeated Pickles.
Skwisgaar merely fingered his guitar.
“I mean, it was mostly crap, fake trophies Raziel and I rigged up anyway. So....” Charles was already pouring himself his second glass. “Anyway. Ganesh's studio is supposed to be finished pretty soon,” he sighed, slumping into his office chair.
“I LIKE IT!” Nathan declared, helping himself to a generous portion of Scotch. “It's got cool swords and shit!”
Skwisgaar had stopped playing. The wall. It had just been a wall. But now.... There was something. He couldn't say it, so instead he asked, “Why ams he do dis, Charles?”
“Well,” said Charles, leaning back a bit to let Elias clamber into his lap. “According to Ganesh, they don't express themselves too well at this age. They can't speak yet, so they get frustrated. I dunno if you've noticed, but Boon doesn't really have a lot of temper tantrums. Not a lot of them. He just.... He does this....”
“Hims ams not got words?” Skwisgaar asked.
“Uh, no. No words.”
“Uh, thanks for doing this, Skwisgaar,” said Raziel.
“Let me ams see dems hands!!! BOTHS SIDE!” Skwisgaar looked sternly down as Liam solemnly turned his hands over. “Pffft. All right, you ams passed inspections. Sit!”
Liam sat and let Skwisgaar hand him the small acoustic guitar. He looked up at his mother, who nodded, and put his hands on the instrument.
“You ams readies?”
Liam eagerly shook his head.
“Hims ams not talks much?” Skisgaar asked.
“Naw. Not as much as his sister. Boys take a little longer.”
“Dat's OK. No prattling and rattling like Tokis. Now see, your finger ams here, and you ams takes your thumb dere....” he said, pressing the boy's hands in position.
Liam, hunched over the guitar with tremendous concentration, did as instructed. He carefully rubbed his thumb against a string.
One note. Just one note.
His head shot up, mouth round in surprise and delight.
“See?” said Skwisgaar smugly. “You ams not needs to talks, when you gots da guitars. Now puts da hands dere.....”
