Dinner with Dharma (Mythklok, Chapter 67)
Sep. 5th, 2011 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Dinner with Dharma (Mythklok, Chapter 67)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chasing down paperwork.
Warnings: Swearing
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Shri Brahma Vishnu Maheshwara Elias Ogoun Sen Michel: that's a lot of names. The kid is gonna need three pages in the phone book. Anyways, they need to arrange the paperwork for his Naming ceremony, so last time, they all went to Hindu Hell. It took a bit of doing, as you need to get through the Hindu Dreamtime equivalent of American Idol (complete with snotty judges) to get in, and then the building was confusing as hell. Oh, and then they were stupid and left Boon alone for 10 minutes, so he sorta drew on the wall. Which drew the attention of a whole lotta Hindu demons, including their chief, Yama.
Here's some INFORMATION THAT IS IMPORTANT TO HAVE before you read: Hindu gods often have multiple names. Yama, the king of the underworld, is also known as Dharma. Also, trivia probably known ONLY TO TIKI: I originally based my concept of the character Ganesh on the Indian actor, Naveen Andrews. (This was back before Z found her awesome model for the painting up above on the homepage.) If you are unfamiliar with his oeuvre, go Google him now! I'll wait. :D
Oh, BTW, here's a pic I found of him with his kid, Elias. I mean, Joshua:
http://img2.timeinc.net/people/i/cbb/2007/12/21/naveenandrews122007_01_cbb.jpg
(Please feel free to skip if you don't like looking at pictures of hot Indian guys holding cute little babies.)
Not so many years ago....
"Toki dood, yoo gahta see dis show!" gushed Pickles, kicking the TV foot pedal remotes as he planted his ass firmly on the living room couch.
"Pickles, what are you doing changing the fucking channel? The national cheerleading championships were coming up!” demanded Nathan Explosion, who was sitting at the opposite end of the same couch, and enjoying a lovely spell of bliss that can only come from a rare combination of ample kettle cooked chips, plus the promise of many winsome girls wearing very short skirts bouncing skyward.
"Doooood!" insisted Pickles. "I gahta show dis t'ing t' Toki! It'll blow yer feckin' mind!"
"Girls in little tiny outfits JUMPING UP AND DOWN? That'll blow MY MIND just fucking fine thank you very much." The singer, however, did little to prevent the disruption of his television viewing plans, as that would have necessitated removing a bag of kettle chips from where it was comfortably and conveniently situated, in the middle of his expansive tummy region.
"C'mawn, Tok!" urged the drummer as the ABC logo blinked onto the meathook-impaled viewing screen.
Toki, standing in back of the couch, clutching his steady friend, Deddy, looked dubious. "I ams not knows about this, Pickle. I ams heard dis show ams SCARIES."
"Nawwwwww!" Pickles assured him as he cracked open a beer. "It's like philasawphical an' stuff like dat dere!" He patted the couch next to him, which caused the raising of a small cloud of kettle chip crumbs.
"Pfffft," opined Skwisgaar, who was sitting hunched over his own beloved friend, his Gibson. "Toki ams da scaredsycockles."
"I ams nots da scaredsycockles!" Toki retorted. He lurched over to the couch and thumped down, raising another cloud of chip particles. He contorted his head as the opening logo spun on. “TSOL?” he asked. “What kinda titles ams dat?”
“Keep watchin', dood! It'll blow yer feckin' mind!”
They viewed in silence for some time. "I dunno, this is sort of a weird show, Pickles, though that Kate chick is kind of a babe. Does she ever put on a short skirt and jump up and down?"
"Shhhhh!" answered Pickles, who was happily having his feckin' mind blown.
“Ooo, dere ams Hobbitses?” inquired Toki. “Maybe dis ams nots such a bads shows!”
“Pffft. Hims ams da rock star, Tokis,” snorted Skwisgaar.
“Da Hobbits ams in da rocks bands now? Does dey have da tinies guitars?” inquired Toki.
"Isch thisch the Hischtory Channel?" inquired Murderface, who had just wandered in.
"Naw," said Pickles.
"And it ain't cheersleaders neither," laughed Skwisgaar.
"Uschelessch," muttered Murderface.
"Hey isn't that Jack guy the same guy who had CANCER on that boring chick show a few years back but he never DIED?" inquiring Nathan wanted to know.
"Hey, yeah, that'sch the guy!" agreed Murderface.
"Why ams you seeings da chicks shows, Nat'ans?" inquired Skwisgaar as he furiously fingered strings.
"Ech. Rebecca liked that show and we always had to watch and CRY AT ALL THE BORING SHIT.” He cast a suspicious glance across the room. “Hey, why the hell did you watch it, MURDERFACE?"
"Uh...." stuttered the bassist. But Murderface's no doubt fascinating reason for familiarity with Fox teen drama Party of Five was lost to history, as the air (and indeed the still looming chip cloud) were pierced by a sudden Scandinavian scream of terror.
No less than three members of Dethklok stared in bemusement as slowly, the clear blue eyes of their rhythm guitarist emerged, as did the entire head of the trembling guitarist, over the back of the couch, where he had leapt in panic. "WHAT AMS DAT?" he demanded, gesturing frantically towards the TV monitor.
"Aw, Tok," said Pickles, whose eyes, alone amongst his bandmates', were still glued to the TV screen. "Dat's jest da MAHNSTER."
"Da monsters? You amn't tell me about da monster, Pickle!" Toki squealed.
"No one knows wut da t'ing is. It's always dere, lurkin', ready t' strike da unwary," explained Pickles.
"Dis ams da scaries shows!" Toki protested, hugging Deddy to him.
"Pffft. Toki ams da scaredsycockles," taunted Sskwisgaar, who played a particularly snotty riff.
"Ams not!" Toki insisted. "And..... And dis ams da ridiculabble show! Dat guys dere! Hims ams playing da Iraqi, but Hims ams da Indian guy! I ams seen him in da movies, dancings and singings!"
"Doin' wut? Dat sounds sorta gay Tok,” Pickles commented.
"No, Toki's right, I saw him in that chick flick that didn't make any fucking sense but I had to go with Rebecca and pretend it was romantic even though there was an AWESOME film about aliens blowing up Washington DC playing right next door. He's like an Indian dude with lots of hair wrapped up in bandages and the nurse chick likes him even though she's treating ANOTHER GUY with bandages who used to be that NAZI.”
"Uh, guys," said Charles, who had just shown up in the living room after spending a rather frustrating 20 minutes alone in the band meeting room.
"Why won't you leave us alone, Robot?" whined Murderface.
"Guys, uh-" said Charles.
"We're trying to figure out if THAT GUY is part of the Iraqi National Guard or if he dances in GAY INDIAN CHICK FLICKS that don't make any sense!" explained Nathan.
"That guy? What-? Uh...." said Charles, whose brain, upon regarding the actor in question on the suspended TV screen, seemed to have frozen in mid-thought.
"You ams not tells me it ams da scaries shows," Toki scolded Pickles, wagging his stuffed bear in an accusatory manner.
"Why don't you schimply schwitch to the Hischtory Channel?" urged Murderface.
"Or CHEERLEADERS!" Nathan put in.
"But, doooooods!" pleaded Pickles.
"Dis ams da philosophicals shows regardsing da duality of natures," lectured Skwisgaar, "ands includsings many literary motifses. You guys shoulds ams watches it, as it ams encapsulated da futilities of existences ins da uncaring univoise!"
"Yeh!" said Pickles. "Wut he said."
"Also, Toki ams da lady wit' da ladyproblems,” concluded Professor Skwigelf.
"Ams not da lady!" shrieked Toki.
"Could someone fucking WAKE UP CHARLES?" asked Nathan around a mouth of chips. "He's starting to drool on his tie."
Toki obligingly hit the dazed-looking manager over the head with his Deddy, knocking his glasses askew.
"Oh. Uh," said Charles, blearily rubbing his head.
"What did you want anyway?" asked Nathan.
"It was, uh, important, uh, stuff. And stuff. I'm, uh, going to take a shower. A cold shower. Uh, now," Charles muttered, suddenly wandering out.
"Huh weird guy," muttered Nathan, mouthing some tasty chips.
The present day....
The Goddess glared down at her top button. Open or closed? She must do this and do it precisely the right way. This was critical.
She glanced up over her shoulder in the mirror, arching one precisely-plucked dark eyebrow. “Gabriel! What the flip are you doing?”
“What is it, Lady?” he asked, reluctantly looking up from his Hello! Magazine article about Kate and Wills.
“Where' s my motherflipping Red Bull? You know I can't make a speech without my motherflipping Red Bull!” She demanded.
“I will have one of the Cherubs get your Red Bull, Lady,” sighed the Archangel, getting up.
“Unflippingbelievable,” muttered the Goddess, going back to the mirror and patting Her perfectly coiffed hair bun. She made a decision. A bold decision. The top button: unbuttoned. She smoothed her blouse.
“Your Red Bull, Lady,” said Gabriel, presenting her with a can.
“Friend Gabriel, this will be a day long remembered,” She said, cracking open the tasty, bubbly caffeinated goodness.
Hindu Hell....
"Hello, Uncle Yama," said Ganesh to the big green demon now surveying his son's newest work of art, which was scrawled upon the once blank corridor wall on the first floor of the madly sprawling palace of Naraka, more popularly known as Hindu Hell.
"And you lot! What do you think you're doing, lollygagging about the hallway!" Yama was scolding. The crowd of demons pressing into the corridor near Elias' mural suddenly scattered, including the rather annoying art critic demon who had been baiting Toki.
"Uncle Yama?" Charles whispered to Ganesh.
"Term of respect," Ganesh whispered back. Though, to be honest, the elephant god really did not look terribly respectful. “He's not actually a blood relative,” he explained. “Or at least my blood relative."
"What's with the coconuts?" Charles pointed to the smaller demon with the clipboard tucked under his arm, Chitragupta, who hurried along after Yama.
Ganesh looked embarrassed. "Er, Uncle Yama used to ride a water buffalo."
"What, inside?"
"Uh-huh. Until he lost his license. War wound, or so he claims,” he said, pointing to his own head.
“Uh. His water buffalo riding license?” asked Charles, now completely confused.
"Ganesha?" demanded Yama, finally turning his attention to the god. "What the dickens are you doing here? Finally found a way to make yourself useful, have you?"
Ganesh glowered. "I am sorry that you don't find running a multibillion dollar family corporation 'useful,' Uncle." Ganesh then winced, as he had just gotten stomped in the ankle by Charles. "We are, er, here today to complete paperwork for our son's Naming ceremony."
"Son? Since when do you have a son?"
"Since one year, seven months...."
“Ganesha! You know I can't remember a blasted thing since I got this war wound!” said Yama, rapping a green knuckle on his head. “Is this the new recruit then?" he demanded, snatching up the small boy. "Do you have him in your records, Chitragupta?" he asked of the smaller demon who had padded after him with the coconuts.
"Of course, sire,” said the small, bespectacled demon, suddenly wielding his clipboard. “This is Shri Brahma Vishnu Maheshwara Elias Ogoun Sen Michel."
"Whoa! I can't even always remember all those fucking names!" said Charles, who was impressed.
“And he is accompanied by his father, continued Chitragupta, “Shri Ganesha, in addition to his other father, the half angel being known as Sariel, a/k/a Charles Ofdensen, a/k/a Charles Offdensen, a/k/a Charles Ofdenson, a/k/a Snarles Sniffingdon, a/k/a Lars Cinnamonbun...”
“You guys gotta stop signing my contracts when you're high,” Charles grumbled to Nathan, who only chuckled.
“... a/k/a, Ogoun Charles: as well as Skwisgaar Skiwgelf, who is taller than a tree; Toki Warthooth, who is not a bumblebee; William Murderface, Murderface Murderface; Pickles, a drummer, doodily doo, ding dong doodily doo; and Nathan Explosion: all members of the death metal band, Dethklok. Abilities: the awesome power of metal. Alignment: chaotic neutral.”
“Dood knows his stuff,” commented Pickles.
"And is this YOUR DOING?" inquired Yama, addressing young Elias and gesturing at his building's newest artwork.
"Uh-huh!" agreed Elias, never one to shy from a patron of the arts, as he wiggled from Yama's hands. He stood before the painting and gestured. "An soshulreelzzm, an Riberra," he lectured.
"Er," said Ganesh, who had never more greatly regretted that he was not currently enjoying a cocktail, "He says he has chosen to create a social realistic piece, a la Diego Rivera. I do apologize, I realize the style has become a bit ... hackneyed."
Ganesh felt a tugging on his trouser leg. He looked down to face a furious artist. "Not hack yie, Dada!"
"Well," explained his father, "you'll have to admit, aesthetically and politically, the movement said its piece in the Twentieth Century!"
"An tomment!" insisted the child, stamping a small foot.
"Oh, well, if this serves as a comment on the style, then I suppose that lends a piquancy," Ganesh allowed.
"What the fuck?" Nathan whispered to Charles.
"Uhhhhh, my kid gets pissy if you don't comprehend his philosophical stance regarding his pieces," Charles confessed.
"Oh. Well. Kids that age," said Nathan.
"Yeah, whaddya gonna do?" said Charles.
"An Mabratta, an Yama an Yoodistheewa. An doggie!" Elias related.
"It is a depiction of your blessing of Yudhishthira, as related in the Mahabharata, when he would not ascend to heaven without his faithful hound," Ganesh interpreted.
"This is remarkable," commented Yama. "You are a fancier or canines as well, young sprout?" he inquired of Elias.
"Uh, you like doggies, Boonie?" asked Ganesh.
"Uh-huh, doggies an fech da baw!" agreed the artist.
"This is splendid!” said Yama.
“So, might we see about getting the form, Uncle?” inquired Ganesh.
“Form? What form?”
“Er, Form TK-421. For our son's Naming?”
“You know I can't remember a blasted thing,” Yama reminded him. “War wound,” he said, pointing to his head. “Chitragupta will see to it. Meanwhile, I must insist that all of you accompany me to a dinner banquet in honor of my new art acquisition!" boomed Yama.
Ganesh and Charles exchanged a panicked glance.
"Er. That would be lovely. But we are in haste...." said Ganesh.
"Dat ams true. I gots da dodge balls tourniquets," agreed Skwisgaar.
"And I left a bag of CHIPS open on the coffee table," Nathan recalled with a lonely melancholy.
"I do insist!" Yama told Ganesh. "Chitragupta! Form up! Everyone, march!"
Yama's assistant began once again clip-clopping coconuts, and so the reluctant party followed Yama down the corridors to whatever the floor was just below the first floor.
Chitragupta halted again as they came to a metal hatch in the floor. Pickles suddenly exchanged excited glances with Skwisgaaar and said, “Doooood!”
“I ams knows dis hatches!” Skwisgaar replied excitedly.
Charles looked puzzled. Ganesh just sighed and rolled his eyes. Charles noticed there was a strange octagonal marking on the side of the hatch. There was a stylized swan in the middle. The logo read, “Dharma Initiative.” Chitragupta opened the square metal door, and you could see a vertical ladder inside, going down and down and down and finally disappearing into the darkness below.
“All, right, fall in troops! And I want no silly business!” ordered Yama, whose broad shoulders barely fit as he squeezed down into the hole. Pickles and Skwisgaar, without any urging, climbed in right behind.
Nathan picked up Elias. “Remember,” Charles admonished him, “my kid's got wings. So you be careful. OK?” Nathan nodded, and the two disappeared down the hatch.
Murderface stared down the shaft, looking quite annoyed. He silently inclined his head towards Toki, who Charles suddenly noticed, was huddled in the back, trembling. Toki looked suddenly very small, and very young.
“Go on,” urged Charles. “I'll take care of this.”
“Buncha bullschit,” muttered Murderface, taking the ladder.
“Toki?” asked Charles.
“I don't wants to go downs dat holes, Charles!” Toki said.
“Is it like, uh, the one your dad....”
“Da punishments hole. Dere ams scary stuff down deres! I knows dere ams!”
Ganesh looked questioningly at Charles.
“Long story,” Charles told him.
“I don't think it would be a good idea to leave anybody back,” Ganesh whispered to him.
Charles shook his head. “I think I can deal with this. You better get down there with the rest of them.”
Ganesh nodded, and quickly slipped into the hatch. Charles walked over to Toki and started to unbutton his jacket and loosen his tie. “Toki. Would this be better?”
“Ja. Ja, if you ams stays with me!” he asked.
“I will.” And soon Charles was watching the nervous guitarist slip his feet into the rungs and descend into darkness. Charles pulled his silvery wings in very close, and followed. He was not keen on descending into the narrow hatchway True Formed like this: although there was room enough for little Elias to fly if needed, there certainly wasn't for Charles if he slipped, and the wings were a bloody nuisance. But it seemed the only thing to calm Toki, and after the near mob scene that developed from leaving him and Elias alone for a few moments, Charles wasn't inclined to leave anyone back. He frowned down into the darkness. Even with his keen night vision, he couldn't see all the way to the bottom.
Paschar frowned. He had heard the old saw that the bigger the Court Form, the dumber the Seraph. It definitely worked in Quaphsiel's case. But the big oaf had saved him a seat.
“There ya go, dude!” said the big, sandy-haired Seraph, waving him in.
Pashar, as short and dark as Quaphsiel was big and light, slipped into the seat beside his friend. The Goddess had picked a rather large venue for whatever she was announcing.
“What do you suppose the speech is about?” asked Quaphsiel.
“I dunno. I just heard she's wearing a really tight blouse,” Pashar answered.
“Oh, yeah. I wonder if you'll be able to see her tits?” wondered Quaphsiel.
“Shhhh!” urged Pashar. The hall, overfilled as it was with angelic beings, quieted as She came into view, far below, at the podium.
“My Fellow Supernaturals,” She began. “There is a time for politics, and a time for LEADERSHIP. I'm not a member of a permanent political establishment, but I come to you today, at a time of great moral crisis for our universe!”
“Damn, that blouse is tight, bro. It's a wonder she hasn't already popped out,” marveled Quaphsiel.
“Whoa,” agreed Pashar.
“There is a great evil afoot in our beloved universe today. There has been too much blood mixing, humans and angels!” Cheers rang in the hall.
“But, dude,” said Quaphsiel, “aren't we all angels?”
“Shhh!” said Paschar.
“It is immoral! And against His law!” She stated.
There were more cheers.
“But, didn't she, like, divorce Him or something?” inquired Quaphsiel.
“Will you shut the fuck up? I'm tryin' t' see her tits!”
“This blood mixing is the work of Satan!” She continued.
“Satan? Hey, isn't that Phanuel's job these days. He's a pretty good dude,” commented Quaphsiel.
“Yeah, he's not bad. I served under him for a while, in the Legion,” allowed Pashar.
“It's sad,” She opined, “that those who continue with this blasphemous lifestyle are not shunned by you good people, but rather are encouraged, and even taught in schools!”
“Whoa, they teach about angel sex in schools?” marveled Quaphsiel. “That's a class I'd like to take.”
“Uh, not really,” Pashar conceded. “That's like, you know, an exaggeration?”
“An exaggeration?”
“Well, you know, that thing where you say something that's not quite all true, to make a point that's true?”
Quaphsiel knitted together sandy eyebrows. “You mean a lie?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“The universe is in grave peril,” She was saying, “and we must act with bold urgency to save it.”
“She could undo another button,” Quaphsiel commented. Despite himself, Pashar snickered.
“And that is why, my fellow Supernaturals, I come before you today to announce my candidacy for President of the United States,” she said, suddenly throwing up her hands for emphasis.
“DUDE!' said Quaphsiel as the thunderous cheers rocked the stadium.
“I know, you could totally see her tits!” marveled Paschar as he cheered along.
Pickles was the first of the band to actually touch down at the bottom of the ladder. He was nearly knocked over by Skwisgaar, who was somewhat clumsily bearing his Gibson down, and stumbling around in the dim light.
“Chitragupta! Hit the damned light switch!” ordered Yama. Suddenly, Pickles and Skwisgaar were blinking in the bright fluorescent light.
As up in the main building, there appeared to be miles and miles of corridor down here. But unlike the wide hallways of the main building, this looked like a survivalist lunatic's pantry. It was a crazy wonderland of pantry shelves, chokablock with goods, all wrapped in white labels with an odd octagonal logo.
“Dood!” said Pickles.
“Da Dharmas Initiatives!” said Skwisgaar.
“You'd be better off watsching the Hischtory Channel,” muttered Murderface, who pushed past to follow Yama and Chitragupta.
Ganesh had just reached the bottom. Pickles and Skwisgaar stared at him inquisitively.
Ganesh glared back irritably at the two musicians. "No," he said, "In answer to the question you will no doubt ask, I do not have a dark past in the Republican Guard. For one thing, I am not human. But if I were human, I would be an Indian, not an Iraqi. It is a completely different nationality, not to mention ethnicity!" He strode off after Yama and the rest of the party.
"Whoa. Touchy,” Pickles told Skwisgaar.
"Do you suppose it ams because of his dark pasts in da Repubican Guardses?"
"Uh-huh," nodded Pickles.
“This way, gentlemen,” said Chitragupta, pointing towards where Yama had taken the rest of the part. The two musicians followed along.
Toki finally reached the bottom rung. “Oooo, wowee!” he said, casting his eyes around. “Charles, I ams knows dere ams polar bears here!”
Charles frowned. Well, forget Court Forming again, he thought. He gave his wings and irritable flap, and then quickly reached out to catch a box that he had knocked off one of the cluttered shelves. No matter how many times Raziel sat him down and tried to train him not to ruffle his feathers, he found it really difficult to keep himself furled when he was truly pissed off. And it looked every bit as constricted down here at the bottom as it had in the hatchway.
Charles took a look at the white box in his hand, which also bore the weird octagonal logo. “Dharma Initiative Frosted Cocoa Puffs,” it said.
“Will you come this way?” asked Chitragupta. Charles noticed for the first time that the small demon had bandages all over his hands and arms, as well as various other parts of his body.
“What are all the supplies for?” asked Charles, as they followed Chitragupta down the narrow corridor.
“The Colonel thinks we should be prepared!”
“Prepared for what, exactly?”
Chitragupta shrugged. “You got me, buddy.”
“Oh,” said Charles. He raised an eyebrow. “War wound?” he asked pointing to his head.
“It's not a war wound, you know. He got clocked on the head by a falling gallon jug of Dharma Initiative stuffed olives.”
“Ow,” said Charles, who became a bit peckish upon mention of mouth-watering olives.
But then, unexpectedly, the hallway opened into a truly cavernous room. Charles came to stand alongside Toki and the other boys. There was a long banquet table set up at one side, complete with the large metal plates Charles was used to using at Ganesh's residence. The rest of the room was so cavernous that one actually couldn't see to the other end. Charles looked around, confused. He hadn't passed a kitchen, nor any servants but Chitragupta, and he didn't smell anything cooking (and his sense of smell, at least where food was concerned, was quite good).
“Ganesha,” Yama was remarking. “What are you doing here? I suppose you're being silly again!”
“Uh, no, actually, Uncle, you invited us to dinner?” Ganesh explained.
“You know full well boy I don't remember trivia any more!” The big green demon knocked himself on his head. “Old war wound!”
“Er, yes, Uncle.”
“Well, sit down, sit down, everyone! Chitragupta, a feast for everyone! Bring the can opener!”
“The can opener?” Nathan whispered to Charles.
“Uh-oh,” said Charles, who suddenly knew what was coming.
“So, what did you boys learn today?” asked Yama from the head of the table when they were all seated.
“Uh. Nothin',” muttered Skwisgaar, who hadn't stopped fingering his guitar.
“Is the dinner table an appropriate place for that?”
“For whats?” grumbled the Swede.
“That guitar!”
“Whats guitars?”
“That guitar you're playing!” Yama told him.
“Whats about my guitars?” asked Skwisgaar.
“I don't know! What about your guitar?” asked Yama, who had obviously forgotten the north end of the conversation.
“Sariel,” whispered Ganesh, who had sat down by Charles' side, Elias in his lap. “I don't think it would be a good idea for us to eat anything here.”
“That's OK. I doubt I'm gonna WANT anything here,” Charles told him.
“No. You need to tell your boys!” Ganesh stressed.
“Can't you tell them?” pleaded Charles.
“They'll never listen to me!”
“They never listen to me either!” declared Charles. He sighed in defeat and turned to Nathan, seated on his other side. “Ganesh doesn't think we should eat anything here,” he whispered.
“But I have LOW BLOOD SUGAR!” declared the singer. “I might get CRANKY.”
“Nathan,” sighed Charles. “OK. Look, you wanna be stuck here? Forever? Away from your bag of chips and the groupies and cheerleader contests and whatever the fuck?”
“Yeah, I guess you're right dude, that would suck. But, how are we gonna avoid eating? Isn't the big green douche bag gonna get OFFENDED?”
“Ah, that part's easy. Just watch my kid!” As if on cue, Chitragupta opened a tin of something over Ganesh's plate. It made a rather unappetizing squicking sound as the jelly-coated meat-like substance slid out of the tin and landed, quivering, onto the metal plate.
Elias immediately seized up a fork and began to sculpt the gooey concoction into a rather nice scale representation of Devil's Tower.
“Should we stick to sculpting MONOLITHIC IGNEOUS INTRUSIONS?” Nathan asked as his own plate was plopped full of a glutinous wedge of protein.
“Uhhhh. I think most anything that involves pushing the stuff around your plate is gonna do,” Charles told him, catching an unappetizing mound of good in his own silverware.
“What ams dis?” asked Skwisgaar, as his own plate was invaded.
“Dharma Initiative SPAM!” said Yama. “Lovely SPAM, wonderful SPAM. “Will put hair on your chest!”
Ganesh, watching Elias sculp, unconsciously began humming “SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM....”
“Wut's dat?” whispered Pickles to Skwisgaar.
“Dat ams da Iraqi nationals anthem,” said the Swede authortatively.
“Oh, I think it's that time again!” declared Yama, as he brought out something that looked like a clock radio. He set it up on the table. It had a weird, old-fashioned flip-type digital dial. It was displaying the number 106 and, as they all watched, flipped over to 107.
“Doood!” said Pickles.
“Dat ams remarksable!” declared Skwisgaar.
“Yama, doood,” pleaded Pickles. “Can I push da button?”
“What button?” asked Yama.
“To ams prevents da ends of da woilds!” Skwisgaar told him.
“A button to prevent the end of the world?” huffed the big green demon. “That would be silly!”
“Boys, that is a bit silly,” Ganesh told them.
“DOOD! You wud say that!” Pickles told him suspiciously.
“Ams because of your darks past in da Iraqsi Guardses!” Skwisgaar insisted.
“I AM NOT...” Ganesh stuttered.
“I bet he ams wants to torture us now!” Skwisgaar told Pickles.
“Oh, you have NO IDEA,” Ganesh confessed.
As Skwisgaar and Pickles bit their nails, the counter flipped over to 108. “CHITRAGUPTA!” bellowed Yama, causing both musicians minor heart attacks.
“Yes, Colonel?” said the aide, who did not look terribly happy.
“RELEASE THE HOUNDS,” ordered Yama.
Charles looked up from where he was making a meat glop on meat glop collage. He heard barking.
And then there came the sound of running.
There appeared eight eyes. And eight legs.
They resembled large, dark mastiffs, but had four eyes each. And all four eyes seemed to be watching out in a different direction. The effect was unsettling.
There was the sound of a fork clattering on the floor. “Doggies!” squealed Elias, who had slipped from Ganesh's grasp.
“ELIAS!” called Charles in warning as his son barreled towards the barking hell hounds. But he needn't have been worried, as the child was much used to dealings with yard wolves, not to mention his Uncle Wotan's huge, ferocious pets. As soon as the animals snapped at him, he went True Form and winged up, giggling, just overhead.
Suddenly, and quite to everyone's surprise, Toki got up from the table, fishing in his pocket for something. “You ams wants to felch?” he asked the monster dogs, pulling out a well drooled-upon tennis ball. He gave it a good heave, and Elias skillfully moved to snatch it in midair, which further incensed Yama's hounds. After a couple of rounds, Elias hovered to let the dogs fight over the ball. The victor then happily romped over to Toki with his prize. Thereupon ensued a rousing game of “felch.” As the dogs, though hell hounds, were above all dogs.
Chitragupta watched in apparent disbelief for a little while, and then quickly scrambled to grab a couple of huge doggie dishes. He brought out his can opener, and several white-labeled cans that said Dharma Initiative Dog Yummies, and dumped the unappealing meat-like product (it didn't appear awfully different from what was being served at that moment up on the table) into the dish. He heaved a much relieved sigh and backed off. Charles gazed at him, suddenly understanding why the small demon's hands were bandaged up.
“Now,” said Yama, “you've all seen my favorite animal: the faithful hound! So, tell me, what are your favorite animals, boys?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, who immediately sensed trouble, “that is a very difficult question. There are so many to choose.”
“Uh, yeah, uh, Ganesh is right, it doesn't seem right to just pick one....” Charles tried.
“ALLIGATORS!” boomed Nathan.
“Oh, crap,” sighed Charles.
“I ams likes da bird of preys,” Skwisgaar echoed.
“Ahktopie!” chimed in Pickles.
“Are you getting this all down, Chitragupta?” barked Yama. “Where is that useless devil?” he wondered.
Chitragupta suddenly reappeared hovering over Ganesh's shoulder. “Um, here is clean fork for you, Shri Ganesha,” he said, hurriedly slipping something into Ganesh's hand. He scurried off, clipboard in hand, to stand behind Yama.
“Have you written this all down, Chitragupta?” Yama repeated.
Ganesh was unrolling the rolled up sheet of paper Chitragupta had slipped him on his lap, out of Yama's sight. He blinked, and then elbowed Charles, passing it into his husband's lap. Charles blinked in surprise. Refolding the paper and stuffing it away in his pants pocket, he stood up. “Well,” said Charles, “this has been a barrel of laughs, but we gotta head home now.” To his surprise, the band began actually following his lead and rising.
“Yeh, gahta go,” muttered Pickles.
“Ams gots stuffs to do,” agreed Skwisgaar.
Toki and Elias too had returned to the table, Ganesh immediately grabbing the boy up in his arms. “We are most grateful, Uncle....” he began.
“And where do you think you're going?” asked Yama, who did not rise.
“Uh, dude, we're just goin' back up the hatch and out the door and maybe then we'll check if that Paula chick has passed out yet because that would be cool or maybe stop and punch Vishnu but then we REALLY NEED TO GET BACK,” Nathan explained. “There's chips.”
“You boys aren't going ANYWHERE,” said Yama. “You need to wait for the reincarnation.”
“Uh, the what?” asked Charles.
“This isn't good,” whispered Ganesh.
“You're not getting back out the way you came. You're getting sent back in new forms. I have here,” he said, scanning Chitragupta's clipboard, “An alligator, a bird or prey, a socktopus, a silly rabbit...”
“Er, Uncle, I'm afraid, we have not time, and we have business.”
“YOU HAVE EATEN MY FOOD AND MUST DO AS I SAY,” boomed Yama.
“Eaten your food?” asked Charles. “When did we....”
Suddenly, all eyes were looking down towards the other end of the banquet table.
“BURRRRP!” belched a very contented looking Murderface. His plate looked licked clean. “What?” he asked as all eyes stared at him.
“Madarchod,” breathed Ganesh.
“YOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU!”
Charles looked up. “Oh, what the FUCK do you want now?” he asked the vengeful Italian ghost, who had chosen that very moment to show up.
“How the BLAZES did you get in here?” demanded Yama. “This area is restricted.”
“I'm DEEEEEAAAAAAD, you fucking DOOOOUUUUUUCHE. I can go where the FUUUUCKKKK I WAAANNNNNTTTTT!” howled the spirit.
“What's your problem,” sighed Charles.
“They put GREEN M&MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMs in my BOOOOWWWWWWLLLLL. Nothing but GREEN M&MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMssss! I need VEEEENGEAAAANNNNNCEEEEE!”
“Oh. Well. Ya know who did that?” asked Charles. Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance, and then both pointed at Yama. “THAT GUY! Yeah, he's, uh, MISTER GREEN M, in the M&Ms! THAT'S WHY HE'S GREEN!”
Ganesh shrugged.
“I'LL GET YOOUUUUUUU, YOU GREEEEN CANDY-COATED CHOCOLATE DOOOOUUUUCHHHE!” howled the ghost, suddenly diving at Yama.
“C'mon!' yelled Charles, and the band hustled out the door, and down the narrow hallway towards the hatch. Charles, who was still True Formed, took up the rear, this time let his wings spread out, knocking over boxes and bags and cans and tins in their wake, blocking the way. Despite the annoying Italian spirit's vengeance, he thought he heard the sound of barking in the distance.
The band was already crowded around the ladder by the time he made it to the room below the hatch. It was worryingly dark. “IT'S SHUT!” called Ganesh's voice, from far up the ladder.
“I thought you were fucking REMOVER OF OBSTACLES!” rumbled Nathan.
“STAND BACK!” Ganesh yelled down. And then an instant later, he had jumped down to the floor, tackling Nathan in the process to push the singer back. There was a giant crash, as the hatch lid landed just inches from their feet.
“Fuck,” opined Nathan.
“I am Lord Remover of Obstacles,” explained Ganesh, shaking dust from his hair, “but that had gotten a bit stuck.”
“I tell yoo, dat dood wuz in da Republican Guard,” Pickles whispered to Skwisgaar.
“Ja, definitelies!”
The Lord Remover of Obstacles glowered at them.
“Everybody! Up! Now” yelled Charles. “Or I'll have Ganesh fucking torture you!” Toki let Elias, who was still in winged form, go fly, and then pursued him up the ladder, nearly as quickly. Pickles and Skwisgaar were right behind, and even Nathan looked surprisingly spry on the ladder.
Murderface stifled a burp. “I'm feeling a bit bloated,” he told Charles and Ganesh.
Charles gave him a rather fierce silver glare, and Murderface turned and almost scampered up the ladder.
“Will you Court Form?” Ganesh asked.
“No. I gotta better idea,” Charles told him. “I need my night vision.” Ganesh nodded and hurried after the band. Charles had wrapped his shirt around his waist when he had True Formed. Now he unwrapped it, and started to fill it with the heaviest Dharma Initiative goods he could gather. Then he pulled the bundle together and hustled several meters up the ladder.
He heard the barking first. He paused and sighted, and sent down a jar of Dharma Initiative Kosher Pickles, which produced a satisfying crash and then a whimper. This was followed by a tin of Dharma Initiative lard, which got another yelp.
“COME BACK HERE, THIS IS GETTING TOO SILLY!” boomed Yama from the bottom.
Charles grabbed the 5 gallon barrel of Dharma Initiative Hot Mustard from his pouch and let fly.
“Aiiiii, my head!” came the cry.
“Always wear a helmet, asshole,” muttered Charles, continuing up.
It had grown deathly quiet at the top. Charles' night vision was such that it took him a moment to realize it was also completely dark. “Maybe it's, uh, after five and they all clocked out?” he ventured.
“Can you see, Charles?” Ganesh asked.
Charles nodded. “To.... Uh.... Whatever that fucking floor is that's on the ground.”
“The ground floor!” Ganesh sighed.
They hurried along the hallway after Charles. There was a small light up ahead: a very small transom above a blacked out window was wedged open. Nathan gave Pickles a leg up so he could peer out. “Dood. It's too feckin' high t' jump.”
“Because this is the first floor,” said Ganesh primly, “and not the ground floor.” There were several annoyed glares.
“It's too small to squeeze through anyway,” said Charles.
“Not for everybody,” said Nathan, holding up Elias. Charles nodded. Nathan then pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here, kid, show 'em this.”
“Bye-bye, Nate-Nate,” sang Elias, now darting out the window like a very strange, very large moth.
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a worried glance, and then, wordlessly, Charles took off towards what he hoped was the ground fucking floor. He screeched to a halt just at the top of the main staircase however, The reason there were no demons about in the buliding: they were all massed here, between Dethklok and the exit.
“OK,” said Charles. “Ideas? Anything? I don't think they look friendly enough for the Join Us dance.”
“Er, that would be a no,” Ganesh agreed.
There was a rustling of many leathery demon wings. And a very quiet scratching of claws and hooves. And Charles thought he could hear some very high pitched squeals, right at the upper edge of his hearing. The entryway below was like a wall made of writhing demons.
Charles took one bold step down the broad staircase. The demons directly down below all shuffled and fluttered. He stepped back.
But then Nathan, glowering his mightiest metal look of displeasure, stepped down. “Let us go. Before we get ANGRY,” he boomed.
There was more demon activity. Ganesh reached over to catch Nathan's shoulder, only to be stopped by Charles. The manager gestured back at the other band members. You could clearly see it in the dimness, the reddish glow that had come to all their eyes.
Nathan was slowly making his way down the stairs.
The building trembled, as if in a small earthquake. There were now cracking sounds in addition to the rustling.
“Er, if they bring down this structure,” Ganesh whispered to Charles, “we shall still be inside.”
“Uh, I don't suppose you have another job as Lord Stopper of Falling Rubble, or something like that?” Charles asked.
'Hm. Missed that one,” Ganesh told him.
But then there was another sound added to the mix of fluttering demons and rumbling enchanted death metal musicians. “Are they … chanting?” asked Charles.
And then there was a pounding. A pounding coming from the outside. Knocking on the doors, the windows, anything.
“They're chanting....” Suddenly, Ganesh laughed.
There was a great crash, and suddenly a beam of light sliced through the wall of demons and flashed into Nathan Explosion's eyes. He blinked, seeming to wake from a trance.
And then there were more crashes, and many more annoyed demons fluttered up into the air as bits of the building facade were pounded down by the literal mob pounding and chanting outside. And then some of the mob actually broke into the building itself, tossing chairs, and carrying placards. And the placards said....
“CHANESH CHANESH CHANESH!” they chanted.
They spotted the object of their pursuit standing up on the stairs and then swarmed in, knocking the demons aside in the great rush, picking up Charles and Ganesh, as well as the members of Dethklok, up on their shoulders, and then, like a mighty tsunami of Hindu Idol fans, washed everybody back outside, cheering.
The Hindu Idol judges panel was still set up at their table outside, still quaffing very large containers of Coke.
“So, what do you think of this mob scene, Rhandi?” inquired the Dethklok Minute guy.
“Their chanting is a bit pitchy, dawg,” growled the tiger-headed judge. “But, that rescue? That was da bomb!”
“Paulaji?”
“Can I dance with Ganesh this time?”
“Vishnu?”
“Baby, that was tripendicular, yeah!” said Dick Knubbler, who had just stolen the microphone.
“WhatEVER,” huffed Vishnu, putting his chin on many, many blue hands.
Raziel was also standing nearby, holding Elias. The boy was still clutching his little “CHANESH” placard.
“JANESS, Dada!” said Elias as his father grabbed him.
“Green M&M's, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Oopsie, SOMEONE must've slipped up on the recording studio order,” she grinned.
They both looked over to where, to Skwisgaar's playing, Ganesh was now dancing with Paulaji, and then Rhandi, and then the Dethklok Minute guy, who all seemed rather smitten.
“Why do I never get that reaction to my dancing?” groused Charles.
The remainder of Dethklok was hovering nearby. “You kept this placard in your pocket all that time?” Charles asked Nathan, holding up the CHANESH sign.
“RAZIEL GAVE IT TO ME,” Nathan protested. “But, after all this SHIT, you dudes never got your FORM!”
Charles grinned and pulled a heavily folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. It was headed, “TK-421.” “Chitragupta gave it to us. Signed by Yama himself.”
“Dood! It's gaht a Dharma Initiative stamp!” commented Pickles excitedly.
“So it does! Ganesh will love that,” Charles grinned.
“I'll give this to Pie,” said Raziel, grabbing the form.
“Why won't I give this to Pie?” asked Charles.
“We got the forms, now we gotta plan the Naming. So, you gotta try on your Naming suit!” She grinned triumphantly, donning her sunglasses.
“Oh, Christ, not that again!” he said as she disappeared. “I SAID LOW KEY, RAZIEL!”
“Dood! We're going to a Namin'?” asked Pickles.
“Goings to be awesome parties,” Skwisgaar agreed as he wandered over with Ganesh.
“Will dere ams be goddesses?” Toki inquired.
“Amn't you ams learned your lessons, Tokis?” Skwisgaar lectured.
“Nevers,” vowed Toki.
“Can I pick a NAME?” Nathan inquired.
“Nathan, we've already been through that,” Charles pleaded.
“BUT MURGATROYD IS AWESOME!”
“I already picked a name,” said Murderface very quietly.
“Why, yes, you did, William,” grinned Ganesh.
Charles handed off Elias to Murderface. “It's a very good name.”
Elias twined some arms around Murderface's neck. He yawned, and put a head on the musician's shoulder. It had been an eventful day.
Deep inside Ganesh's wardrobe, Charles let out a sigh as he regarded himself over his shoulder in the three way mirror there. The pants fit. The pants fit too well: that was the problem. Raziel seemed to have a preference for this body-revealing stuff. It wasn't really what he wanted a suit to do at all. He wanted to feel shielded. And – he forced himself to admit it – even after he'd finally gained back the weight following his illness, he still felt too damned scrawny. Not like Ganesh, with those amazing dancer's legs. He spent a quite contented moment wandering out of the wardrobe, contemplating Ganesh's legs, only to be confronted by the being himself, sitting on the bed, tilting his head in puzzlement.
“What ARE you doing, jaanu?”
Charles looked down at the offending trousers. “Oh. Uh, Raziel and her weird fashion shit again. I was an idiot and told her that Pie looked better dressed than me, so then five minutes later I got a new suit I didn't fucking ask for. She said I can wear it to the Naming, but I dunno. Maybe I'll just-”
“Turn around!”
Charles hesitated, but obeyed, turning his back Ganesh, and feeling somewhat like a douche bag. “I'm gonna, uh....”
“Back. That angel ass. Over here. NOW.”
“Uh. Wha-” But by then Charles felt himself literally lifted off his feet by many greedy hands. “Ganesh?”
The party in question, who had already halfway removed Charles' shirt, and was busily applying lips and hands to the exposed expanse of bare back, murmured, “I am going to give that angel ass. A pounding. Like it's never been pounded. Before.”
“Uh, ok,” said Charles. Well, it sounded like a feasible plan.
Wotan had a lap full of angel.
And, for the first time in what seemed a long while, it was not his children, delightful as that might be.
The god had to agree with something his nephew had once said. It really wasn't a bad way to pass an entire evening, kissing an angel. It was like nothing else. But still, the god's thoughts started to drift to other matters, such as potentially having a few more little angels around.
There was the issue of peanut butter. But, reasoned the god, he could always get a new damned saddle.
He looked down in irritation. The mother of his present children, as well as future imagined children, was reaching not for his ass, but rather over for that blasted cell phone.
“Not work again?” he huffed.
'You're the one who wanted me to get some honest work, sweetie,” Raziel grinned, peering at the caller ID. “And Sariel is gonna raise my salary to five bucks a month.”
“You are worth every penny,” Wotan chuckled.
“It's Pie. He knows not to call unless it's important. Hello, dear,” she said into the phone. “What? What.... Holy fucking shit! Yeah, thanks for calling, my dear.” She pressed the end call button.
“Well?” asked Wotan after a moment.
“Mommy Dearest,” said the angel.
“Oh. Shit.”
“We gotta get to a TV,” said Raziel, who still looked stunned.
Maybe, thought Charles, he would wear Raziel's stupid designer suit. Once a week.
Or, maybe twice.
That was it, twice a week!
Or three times. On special occasions.
He was lying inside Ganesh's standard post-coital embrace, too entangled in many Hindu god arms to think of extricating himself. Not that lying in the middle of Ganesh's chest was the worst place to be. It smelled so damned lovely, for one thing. Like being in a kitchen. A kitchen full of sexy men.
He managed to wriggle himself up onto his forearms. “Ganesh?”
“Mmmm?”
“Tell me about my band.”
One suspicious eye popped open. “What about your band, hmmmm?” Ganesh muttered, slightly tightening his grip.
“The magic.”
The eyes closed, and now Charles felt various fingers drumming on his back. Then Ganesh pushed himself back just a little, up on the pillow, so he could look down on Charles. For a moment Charles figured he was going to tell him to fuck off.
“It's like nothing I've ever seen. I don't know what to make of it.” Ganesh twined one arm in back of his head and leaned back on it. “You know about Skwisgaar, of course. He inherited a damn lot of magic. But the rest of them.... There's none of them human, Charles. Well, none of them fully human.”
“Really?” Charles had started distractingly kissing Ganesh's chest. Well, it was so near to his lips.
“Except.... And this is the thing that baffles me. Utterly baffles me. Nathan.”
“Nathan? What about him?”
“Among all of them, he could be human. Could be. But when the five of them are together.... Well, I can't compare it to anything in my experience. He seems to draw magic. From the other four. Like.... Like a lens? A magnet? I'm not certain.”
“And it's a lot?”
Ganesh nodded, though he seemed far off. Charles felt a hand brush through his hair. “You have a lot of magic. For a being. Even an angel. But yes. A veritable riot. I am unsure, actually, how Skwisgaar can visualize magical traces of other beings, through his own. Perhaps he is blind to his own magic? That is a possibility.”
“You've been thinking about this.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm....” Ganesh sent a hand out to retrieve the ringing cell phone. “Yours,” he said, tossing it to Charles.
Charles brought himself back up on his forearms, a bit irritated to be interrupted during his chest-nibbling. “Yeah, Raziel.... WHAT?” He sat bolt upright.
Ganesh looked at him questioningly.
“This is FUCKED UP SHIT,” said Connie Conehead through the television.
“We're listening to Connie Conehead, live from New York, where there has just been a surprise announcement,” explained Dan from Headquarters.
“It's fucked up shit, Dan,” explained Connie.
“Can you tell our listeners, just how fucked up, Connie?”
“Pretty fucking fucked up!” said Connie.
“Dood, dis is fecked up shit!” noted Pickles, listening to the feed from the living room couch.
Charles and Ganesh, standing behind the couch, exchanged a glance.
“Yes, Dan, we are in New York City....”
“New York Schity!” shouted an appreciative Murderface.
“...where She has just announced Her candidacy for the Presidency of the United States.'
“Connie, I'm wondering, is She even a United States Citizen?”
“With those tits? Are you serious Dan? Nobody give a flip shit!”
“Is this even gonna fly?” asked Charles.
“She has an undeniable effect on the male electorate,” commented Ganesh.
“I'm gonna vote for Her,” muttered Murderface, staring at Her image now flashing onscreen.
“On the basis of WHAT exactly?” asked Charles.
“Titsch....” muttered Murderface, who was now actually drooling.
“Hmpf,” tutted Ganesh. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed Murderface's chin, gazing deeply into his eyes.
“Whoa,” said Murderface when released. “Ganesch....”
“Ganesh, will you please stop seducing my band!” scolded Charles.
“Well, all righty,” said Ganesh. He snapped his fingers, and Murderface, who was hovering over his shoulder in a trance-like state, suddenly toppled over to the floor.
“Ow,” said Murderface.
“So, what,” said Charles. “We get you to run as Her opposing candidate?” The turned and began to walk out of the room and down the corridor.
“Well, as you know, were I human, I would be considered an Indian citizen. Besides which, I believe I am far too, er, refined a taste for the American electorate.”
“Then who? Who will be the opposing candidate?”
“Well, as we discussed last night,” opined Ganesh, just winding up, “I believe there is only one man for the job. Only one man to capture the imagination and the of the electorate. One man to speak for the beating heart and proud soul of the American people. Only one man to stand up to Her. Only one man with the charisma to guide us through this time of grave peril and pressing danger. One man to lead us from the darkness and into the promised land!”
Ganesh and Charles looked at each other, and then, shoulder to shoulder, pushed through the doorway where they had briefly stopped to let Ganesh finish his speech.
Nathan was flopped on his bead, clad only in his underpants, surrounded by groupies and chip crumbs.
“Yeah?” he said, mouthing some chips whilst squeezing some groupie bosom.
“Nathan Explosion” said Charles. “We have an important job for you.”
“Oh. Can I finish my chips?” he asked, flipping a chip crumb out of his belly button with a black-nailed finger.
“Sure.”
“Cool. Because, CHIPS ARE AWESOME.”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chasing down paperwork.
Warnings: Swearing
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Shri Brahma Vishnu Maheshwara Elias Ogoun Sen Michel: that's a lot of names. The kid is gonna need three pages in the phone book. Anyways, they need to arrange the paperwork for his Naming ceremony, so last time, they all went to Hindu Hell. It took a bit of doing, as you need to get through the Hindu Dreamtime equivalent of American Idol (complete with snotty judges) to get in, and then the building was confusing as hell. Oh, and then they were stupid and left Boon alone for 10 minutes, so he sorta drew on the wall. Which drew the attention of a whole lotta Hindu demons, including their chief, Yama.
Here's some INFORMATION THAT IS IMPORTANT TO HAVE before you read: Hindu gods often have multiple names. Yama, the king of the underworld, is also known as Dharma. Also, trivia probably known ONLY TO TIKI: I originally based my concept of the character Ganesh on the Indian actor, Naveen Andrews. (This was back before Z found her awesome model for the painting up above on the homepage.) If you are unfamiliar with his oeuvre, go Google him now! I'll wait. :D
Oh, BTW, here's a pic I found of him with his kid, Elias. I mean, Joshua:
http://img2.timeinc.net/people/i/cbb/2007/12/21/naveenandrews122007_01_cbb.jpg
(Please feel free to skip if you don't like looking at pictures of hot Indian guys holding cute little babies.)
Not so many years ago....
"Toki dood, yoo gahta see dis show!" gushed Pickles, kicking the TV foot pedal remotes as he planted his ass firmly on the living room couch.
"Pickles, what are you doing changing the fucking channel? The national cheerleading championships were coming up!” demanded Nathan Explosion, who was sitting at the opposite end of the same couch, and enjoying a lovely spell of bliss that can only come from a rare combination of ample kettle cooked chips, plus the promise of many winsome girls wearing very short skirts bouncing skyward.
"Doooood!" insisted Pickles. "I gahta show dis t'ing t' Toki! It'll blow yer feckin' mind!"
"Girls in little tiny outfits JUMPING UP AND DOWN? That'll blow MY MIND just fucking fine thank you very much." The singer, however, did little to prevent the disruption of his television viewing plans, as that would have necessitated removing a bag of kettle chips from where it was comfortably and conveniently situated, in the middle of his expansive tummy region.
"C'mawn, Tok!" urged the drummer as the ABC logo blinked onto the meathook-impaled viewing screen.
Toki, standing in back of the couch, clutching his steady friend, Deddy, looked dubious. "I ams not knows about this, Pickle. I ams heard dis show ams SCARIES."
"Nawwwwww!" Pickles assured him as he cracked open a beer. "It's like philasawphical an' stuff like dat dere!" He patted the couch next to him, which caused the raising of a small cloud of kettle chip crumbs.
"Pfffft," opined Skwisgaar, who was sitting hunched over his own beloved friend, his Gibson. "Toki ams da scaredsycockles."
"I ams nots da scaredsycockles!" Toki retorted. He lurched over to the couch and thumped down, raising another cloud of chip particles. He contorted his head as the opening logo spun on. “TSOL?” he asked. “What kinda titles ams dat?”
“Keep watchin', dood! It'll blow yer feckin' mind!”
They viewed in silence for some time. "I dunno, this is sort of a weird show, Pickles, though that Kate chick is kind of a babe. Does she ever put on a short skirt and jump up and down?"
"Shhhhh!" answered Pickles, who was happily having his feckin' mind blown.
“Ooo, dere ams Hobbitses?” inquired Toki. “Maybe dis ams nots such a bads shows!”
“Pffft. Hims ams da rock star, Tokis,” snorted Skwisgaar.
“Da Hobbits ams in da rocks bands now? Does dey have da tinies guitars?” inquired Toki.
"Isch thisch the Hischtory Channel?" inquired Murderface, who had just wandered in.
"Naw," said Pickles.
"And it ain't cheersleaders neither," laughed Skwisgaar.
"Uschelessch," muttered Murderface.
"Hey isn't that Jack guy the same guy who had CANCER on that boring chick show a few years back but he never DIED?" inquiring Nathan wanted to know.
"Hey, yeah, that'sch the guy!" agreed Murderface.
"Why ams you seeings da chicks shows, Nat'ans?" inquired Skwisgaar as he furiously fingered strings.
"Ech. Rebecca liked that show and we always had to watch and CRY AT ALL THE BORING SHIT.” He cast a suspicious glance across the room. “Hey, why the hell did you watch it, MURDERFACE?"
"Uh...." stuttered the bassist. But Murderface's no doubt fascinating reason for familiarity with Fox teen drama Party of Five was lost to history, as the air (and indeed the still looming chip cloud) were pierced by a sudden Scandinavian scream of terror.
No less than three members of Dethklok stared in bemusement as slowly, the clear blue eyes of their rhythm guitarist emerged, as did the entire head of the trembling guitarist, over the back of the couch, where he had leapt in panic. "WHAT AMS DAT?" he demanded, gesturing frantically towards the TV monitor.
"Aw, Tok," said Pickles, whose eyes, alone amongst his bandmates', were still glued to the TV screen. "Dat's jest da MAHNSTER."
"Da monsters? You amn't tell me about da monster, Pickle!" Toki squealed.
"No one knows wut da t'ing is. It's always dere, lurkin', ready t' strike da unwary," explained Pickles.
"Dis ams da scaries shows!" Toki protested, hugging Deddy to him.
"Pffft. Toki ams da scaredsycockles," taunted Sskwisgaar, who played a particularly snotty riff.
"Ams not!" Toki insisted. "And..... And dis ams da ridiculabble show! Dat guys dere! Hims ams playing da Iraqi, but Hims ams da Indian guy! I ams seen him in da movies, dancings and singings!"
"Doin' wut? Dat sounds sorta gay Tok,” Pickles commented.
"No, Toki's right, I saw him in that chick flick that didn't make any fucking sense but I had to go with Rebecca and pretend it was romantic even though there was an AWESOME film about aliens blowing up Washington DC playing right next door. He's like an Indian dude with lots of hair wrapped up in bandages and the nurse chick likes him even though she's treating ANOTHER GUY with bandages who used to be that NAZI.”
"Uh, guys," said Charles, who had just shown up in the living room after spending a rather frustrating 20 minutes alone in the band meeting room.
"Why won't you leave us alone, Robot?" whined Murderface.
"Guys, uh-" said Charles.
"We're trying to figure out if THAT GUY is part of the Iraqi National Guard or if he dances in GAY INDIAN CHICK FLICKS that don't make any sense!" explained Nathan.
"That guy? What-? Uh...." said Charles, whose brain, upon regarding the actor in question on the suspended TV screen, seemed to have frozen in mid-thought.
"You ams not tells me it ams da scaries shows," Toki scolded Pickles, wagging his stuffed bear in an accusatory manner.
"Why don't you schimply schwitch to the Hischtory Channel?" urged Murderface.
"Or CHEERLEADERS!" Nathan put in.
"But, doooooods!" pleaded Pickles.
"Dis ams da philosophicals shows regardsing da duality of natures," lectured Skwisgaar, "ands includsings many literary motifses. You guys shoulds ams watches it, as it ams encapsulated da futilities of existences ins da uncaring univoise!"
"Yeh!" said Pickles. "Wut he said."
"Also, Toki ams da lady wit' da ladyproblems,” concluded Professor Skwigelf.
"Ams not da lady!" shrieked Toki.
"Could someone fucking WAKE UP CHARLES?" asked Nathan around a mouth of chips. "He's starting to drool on his tie."
Toki obligingly hit the dazed-looking manager over the head with his Deddy, knocking his glasses askew.
"Oh. Uh," said Charles, blearily rubbing his head.
"What did you want anyway?" asked Nathan.
"It was, uh, important, uh, stuff. And stuff. I'm, uh, going to take a shower. A cold shower. Uh, now," Charles muttered, suddenly wandering out.
"Huh weird guy," muttered Nathan, mouthing some tasty chips.
The present day....
The Goddess glared down at her top button. Open or closed? She must do this and do it precisely the right way. This was critical.
She glanced up over her shoulder in the mirror, arching one precisely-plucked dark eyebrow. “Gabriel! What the flip are you doing?”
“What is it, Lady?” he asked, reluctantly looking up from his Hello! Magazine article about Kate and Wills.
“Where' s my motherflipping Red Bull? You know I can't make a speech without my motherflipping Red Bull!” She demanded.
“I will have one of the Cherubs get your Red Bull, Lady,” sighed the Archangel, getting up.
“Unflippingbelievable,” muttered the Goddess, going back to the mirror and patting Her perfectly coiffed hair bun. She made a decision. A bold decision. The top button: unbuttoned. She smoothed her blouse.
“Your Red Bull, Lady,” said Gabriel, presenting her with a can.
“Friend Gabriel, this will be a day long remembered,” She said, cracking open the tasty, bubbly caffeinated goodness.
Hindu Hell....
"Hello, Uncle Yama," said Ganesh to the big green demon now surveying his son's newest work of art, which was scrawled upon the once blank corridor wall on the first floor of the madly sprawling palace of Naraka, more popularly known as Hindu Hell.
"And you lot! What do you think you're doing, lollygagging about the hallway!" Yama was scolding. The crowd of demons pressing into the corridor near Elias' mural suddenly scattered, including the rather annoying art critic demon who had been baiting Toki.
"Uncle Yama?" Charles whispered to Ganesh.
"Term of respect," Ganesh whispered back. Though, to be honest, the elephant god really did not look terribly respectful. “He's not actually a blood relative,” he explained. “Or at least my blood relative."
"What's with the coconuts?" Charles pointed to the smaller demon with the clipboard tucked under his arm, Chitragupta, who hurried along after Yama.
Ganesh looked embarrassed. "Er, Uncle Yama used to ride a water buffalo."
"What, inside?"
"Uh-huh. Until he lost his license. War wound, or so he claims,” he said, pointing to his own head.
“Uh. His water buffalo riding license?” asked Charles, now completely confused.
"Ganesha?" demanded Yama, finally turning his attention to the god. "What the dickens are you doing here? Finally found a way to make yourself useful, have you?"
Ganesh glowered. "I am sorry that you don't find running a multibillion dollar family corporation 'useful,' Uncle." Ganesh then winced, as he had just gotten stomped in the ankle by Charles. "We are, er, here today to complete paperwork for our son's Naming ceremony."
"Son? Since when do you have a son?"
"Since one year, seven months...."
“Ganesha! You know I can't remember a blasted thing since I got this war wound!” said Yama, rapping a green knuckle on his head. “Is this the new recruit then?" he demanded, snatching up the small boy. "Do you have him in your records, Chitragupta?" he asked of the smaller demon who had padded after him with the coconuts.
"Of course, sire,” said the small, bespectacled demon, suddenly wielding his clipboard. “This is Shri Brahma Vishnu Maheshwara Elias Ogoun Sen Michel."
"Whoa! I can't even always remember all those fucking names!" said Charles, who was impressed.
“And he is accompanied by his father, continued Chitragupta, “Shri Ganesha, in addition to his other father, the half angel being known as Sariel, a/k/a Charles Ofdensen, a/k/a Charles Offdensen, a/k/a Charles Ofdenson, a/k/a Snarles Sniffingdon, a/k/a Lars Cinnamonbun...”
“You guys gotta stop signing my contracts when you're high,” Charles grumbled to Nathan, who only chuckled.
“... a/k/a, Ogoun Charles: as well as Skwisgaar Skiwgelf, who is taller than a tree; Toki Warthooth, who is not a bumblebee; William Murderface, Murderface Murderface; Pickles, a drummer, doodily doo, ding dong doodily doo; and Nathan Explosion: all members of the death metal band, Dethklok. Abilities: the awesome power of metal. Alignment: chaotic neutral.”
“Dood knows his stuff,” commented Pickles.
"And is this YOUR DOING?" inquired Yama, addressing young Elias and gesturing at his building's newest artwork.
"Uh-huh!" agreed Elias, never one to shy from a patron of the arts, as he wiggled from Yama's hands. He stood before the painting and gestured. "An soshulreelzzm, an Riberra," he lectured.
"Er," said Ganesh, who had never more greatly regretted that he was not currently enjoying a cocktail, "He says he has chosen to create a social realistic piece, a la Diego Rivera. I do apologize, I realize the style has become a bit ... hackneyed."
Ganesh felt a tugging on his trouser leg. He looked down to face a furious artist. "Not hack yie, Dada!"
"Well," explained his father, "you'll have to admit, aesthetically and politically, the movement said its piece in the Twentieth Century!"
"An tomment!" insisted the child, stamping a small foot.
"Oh, well, if this serves as a comment on the style, then I suppose that lends a piquancy," Ganesh allowed.
"What the fuck?" Nathan whispered to Charles.
"Uhhhhh, my kid gets pissy if you don't comprehend his philosophical stance regarding his pieces," Charles confessed.
"Oh. Well. Kids that age," said Nathan.
"Yeah, whaddya gonna do?" said Charles.
"An Mabratta, an Yama an Yoodistheewa. An doggie!" Elias related.
"It is a depiction of your blessing of Yudhishthira, as related in the Mahabharata, when he would not ascend to heaven without his faithful hound," Ganesh interpreted.
"This is remarkable," commented Yama. "You are a fancier or canines as well, young sprout?" he inquired of Elias.
"Uh, you like doggies, Boonie?" asked Ganesh.
"Uh-huh, doggies an fech da baw!" agreed the artist.
"This is splendid!” said Yama.
“So, might we see about getting the form, Uncle?” inquired Ganesh.
“Form? What form?”
“Er, Form TK-421. For our son's Naming?”
“You know I can't remember a blasted thing,” Yama reminded him. “War wound,” he said, pointing to his head. “Chitragupta will see to it. Meanwhile, I must insist that all of you accompany me to a dinner banquet in honor of my new art acquisition!" boomed Yama.
Ganesh and Charles exchanged a panicked glance.
"Er. That would be lovely. But we are in haste...." said Ganesh.
"Dat ams true. I gots da dodge balls tourniquets," agreed Skwisgaar.
"And I left a bag of CHIPS open on the coffee table," Nathan recalled with a lonely melancholy.
"I do insist!" Yama told Ganesh. "Chitragupta! Form up! Everyone, march!"
Yama's assistant began once again clip-clopping coconuts, and so the reluctant party followed Yama down the corridors to whatever the floor was just below the first floor.
Chitragupta halted again as they came to a metal hatch in the floor. Pickles suddenly exchanged excited glances with Skwisgaaar and said, “Doooood!”
“I ams knows dis hatches!” Skwisgaar replied excitedly.
Charles looked puzzled. Ganesh just sighed and rolled his eyes. Charles noticed there was a strange octagonal marking on the side of the hatch. There was a stylized swan in the middle. The logo read, “Dharma Initiative.” Chitragupta opened the square metal door, and you could see a vertical ladder inside, going down and down and down and finally disappearing into the darkness below.
“All, right, fall in troops! And I want no silly business!” ordered Yama, whose broad shoulders barely fit as he squeezed down into the hole. Pickles and Skwisgaar, without any urging, climbed in right behind.
Nathan picked up Elias. “Remember,” Charles admonished him, “my kid's got wings. So you be careful. OK?” Nathan nodded, and the two disappeared down the hatch.
Murderface stared down the shaft, looking quite annoyed. He silently inclined his head towards Toki, who Charles suddenly noticed, was huddled in the back, trembling. Toki looked suddenly very small, and very young.
“Go on,” urged Charles. “I'll take care of this.”
“Buncha bullschit,” muttered Murderface, taking the ladder.
“Toki?” asked Charles.
“I don't wants to go downs dat holes, Charles!” Toki said.
“Is it like, uh, the one your dad....”
“Da punishments hole. Dere ams scary stuff down deres! I knows dere ams!”
Ganesh looked questioningly at Charles.
“Long story,” Charles told him.
“I don't think it would be a good idea to leave anybody back,” Ganesh whispered to him.
Charles shook his head. “I think I can deal with this. You better get down there with the rest of them.”
Ganesh nodded, and quickly slipped into the hatch. Charles walked over to Toki and started to unbutton his jacket and loosen his tie. “Toki. Would this be better?”
“Ja. Ja, if you ams stays with me!” he asked.
“I will.” And soon Charles was watching the nervous guitarist slip his feet into the rungs and descend into darkness. Charles pulled his silvery wings in very close, and followed. He was not keen on descending into the narrow hatchway True Formed like this: although there was room enough for little Elias to fly if needed, there certainly wasn't for Charles if he slipped, and the wings were a bloody nuisance. But it seemed the only thing to calm Toki, and after the near mob scene that developed from leaving him and Elias alone for a few moments, Charles wasn't inclined to leave anyone back. He frowned down into the darkness. Even with his keen night vision, he couldn't see all the way to the bottom.
Paschar frowned. He had heard the old saw that the bigger the Court Form, the dumber the Seraph. It definitely worked in Quaphsiel's case. But the big oaf had saved him a seat.
“There ya go, dude!” said the big, sandy-haired Seraph, waving him in.
Pashar, as short and dark as Quaphsiel was big and light, slipped into the seat beside his friend. The Goddess had picked a rather large venue for whatever she was announcing.
“What do you suppose the speech is about?” asked Quaphsiel.
“I dunno. I just heard she's wearing a really tight blouse,” Pashar answered.
“Oh, yeah. I wonder if you'll be able to see her tits?” wondered Quaphsiel.
“Shhhh!” urged Pashar. The hall, overfilled as it was with angelic beings, quieted as She came into view, far below, at the podium.
“My Fellow Supernaturals,” She began. “There is a time for politics, and a time for LEADERSHIP. I'm not a member of a permanent political establishment, but I come to you today, at a time of great moral crisis for our universe!”
“Damn, that blouse is tight, bro. It's a wonder she hasn't already popped out,” marveled Quaphsiel.
“Whoa,” agreed Pashar.
“There is a great evil afoot in our beloved universe today. There has been too much blood mixing, humans and angels!” Cheers rang in the hall.
“But, dude,” said Quaphsiel, “aren't we all angels?”
“Shhh!” said Paschar.
“It is immoral! And against His law!” She stated.
There were more cheers.
“But, didn't she, like, divorce Him or something?” inquired Quaphsiel.
“Will you shut the fuck up? I'm tryin' t' see her tits!”
“This blood mixing is the work of Satan!” She continued.
“Satan? Hey, isn't that Phanuel's job these days. He's a pretty good dude,” commented Quaphsiel.
“Yeah, he's not bad. I served under him for a while, in the Legion,” allowed Pashar.
“It's sad,” She opined, “that those who continue with this blasphemous lifestyle are not shunned by you good people, but rather are encouraged, and even taught in schools!”
“Whoa, they teach about angel sex in schools?” marveled Quaphsiel. “That's a class I'd like to take.”
“Uh, not really,” Pashar conceded. “That's like, you know, an exaggeration?”
“An exaggeration?”
“Well, you know, that thing where you say something that's not quite all true, to make a point that's true?”
Quaphsiel knitted together sandy eyebrows. “You mean a lie?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“The universe is in grave peril,” She was saying, “and we must act with bold urgency to save it.”
“She could undo another button,” Quaphsiel commented. Despite himself, Pashar snickered.
“And that is why, my fellow Supernaturals, I come before you today to announce my candidacy for President of the United States,” she said, suddenly throwing up her hands for emphasis.
“DUDE!' said Quaphsiel as the thunderous cheers rocked the stadium.
“I know, you could totally see her tits!” marveled Paschar as he cheered along.
Pickles was the first of the band to actually touch down at the bottom of the ladder. He was nearly knocked over by Skwisgaar, who was somewhat clumsily bearing his Gibson down, and stumbling around in the dim light.
“Chitragupta! Hit the damned light switch!” ordered Yama. Suddenly, Pickles and Skwisgaar were blinking in the bright fluorescent light.
As up in the main building, there appeared to be miles and miles of corridor down here. But unlike the wide hallways of the main building, this looked like a survivalist lunatic's pantry. It was a crazy wonderland of pantry shelves, chokablock with goods, all wrapped in white labels with an odd octagonal logo.
“Dood!” said Pickles.
“Da Dharmas Initiatives!” said Skwisgaar.
“You'd be better off watsching the Hischtory Channel,” muttered Murderface, who pushed past to follow Yama and Chitragupta.
Ganesh had just reached the bottom. Pickles and Skwisgaar stared at him inquisitively.
Ganesh glared back irritably at the two musicians. "No," he said, "In answer to the question you will no doubt ask, I do not have a dark past in the Republican Guard. For one thing, I am not human. But if I were human, I would be an Indian, not an Iraqi. It is a completely different nationality, not to mention ethnicity!" He strode off after Yama and the rest of the party.
"Whoa. Touchy,” Pickles told Skwisgaar.
"Do you suppose it ams because of his dark pasts in da Repubican Guardses?"
"Uh-huh," nodded Pickles.
“This way, gentlemen,” said Chitragupta, pointing towards where Yama had taken the rest of the part. The two musicians followed along.
Toki finally reached the bottom rung. “Oooo, wowee!” he said, casting his eyes around. “Charles, I ams knows dere ams polar bears here!”
Charles frowned. Well, forget Court Forming again, he thought. He gave his wings and irritable flap, and then quickly reached out to catch a box that he had knocked off one of the cluttered shelves. No matter how many times Raziel sat him down and tried to train him not to ruffle his feathers, he found it really difficult to keep himself furled when he was truly pissed off. And it looked every bit as constricted down here at the bottom as it had in the hatchway.
Charles took a look at the white box in his hand, which also bore the weird octagonal logo. “Dharma Initiative Frosted Cocoa Puffs,” it said.
“Will you come this way?” asked Chitragupta. Charles noticed for the first time that the small demon had bandages all over his hands and arms, as well as various other parts of his body.
“What are all the supplies for?” asked Charles, as they followed Chitragupta down the narrow corridor.
“The Colonel thinks we should be prepared!”
“Prepared for what, exactly?”
Chitragupta shrugged. “You got me, buddy.”
“Oh,” said Charles. He raised an eyebrow. “War wound?” he asked pointing to his head.
“It's not a war wound, you know. He got clocked on the head by a falling gallon jug of Dharma Initiative stuffed olives.”
“Ow,” said Charles, who became a bit peckish upon mention of mouth-watering olives.
But then, unexpectedly, the hallway opened into a truly cavernous room. Charles came to stand alongside Toki and the other boys. There was a long banquet table set up at one side, complete with the large metal plates Charles was used to using at Ganesh's residence. The rest of the room was so cavernous that one actually couldn't see to the other end. Charles looked around, confused. He hadn't passed a kitchen, nor any servants but Chitragupta, and he didn't smell anything cooking (and his sense of smell, at least where food was concerned, was quite good).
“Ganesha,” Yama was remarking. “What are you doing here? I suppose you're being silly again!”
“Uh, no, actually, Uncle, you invited us to dinner?” Ganesh explained.
“You know full well boy I don't remember trivia any more!” The big green demon knocked himself on his head. “Old war wound!”
“Er, yes, Uncle.”
“Well, sit down, sit down, everyone! Chitragupta, a feast for everyone! Bring the can opener!”
“The can opener?” Nathan whispered to Charles.
“Uh-oh,” said Charles, who suddenly knew what was coming.
“So, what did you boys learn today?” asked Yama from the head of the table when they were all seated.
“Uh. Nothin',” muttered Skwisgaar, who hadn't stopped fingering his guitar.
“Is the dinner table an appropriate place for that?”
“For whats?” grumbled the Swede.
“That guitar!”
“Whats guitars?”
“That guitar you're playing!” Yama told him.
“Whats about my guitars?” asked Skwisgaar.
“I don't know! What about your guitar?” asked Yama, who had obviously forgotten the north end of the conversation.
“Sariel,” whispered Ganesh, who had sat down by Charles' side, Elias in his lap. “I don't think it would be a good idea for us to eat anything here.”
“That's OK. I doubt I'm gonna WANT anything here,” Charles told him.
“No. You need to tell your boys!” Ganesh stressed.
“Can't you tell them?” pleaded Charles.
“They'll never listen to me!”
“They never listen to me either!” declared Charles. He sighed in defeat and turned to Nathan, seated on his other side. “Ganesh doesn't think we should eat anything here,” he whispered.
“But I have LOW BLOOD SUGAR!” declared the singer. “I might get CRANKY.”
“Nathan,” sighed Charles. “OK. Look, you wanna be stuck here? Forever? Away from your bag of chips and the groupies and cheerleader contests and whatever the fuck?”
“Yeah, I guess you're right dude, that would suck. But, how are we gonna avoid eating? Isn't the big green douche bag gonna get OFFENDED?”
“Ah, that part's easy. Just watch my kid!” As if on cue, Chitragupta opened a tin of something over Ganesh's plate. It made a rather unappetizing squicking sound as the jelly-coated meat-like substance slid out of the tin and landed, quivering, onto the metal plate.
Elias immediately seized up a fork and began to sculpt the gooey concoction into a rather nice scale representation of Devil's Tower.
“Should we stick to sculpting MONOLITHIC IGNEOUS INTRUSIONS?” Nathan asked as his own plate was plopped full of a glutinous wedge of protein.
“Uhhhh. I think most anything that involves pushing the stuff around your plate is gonna do,” Charles told him, catching an unappetizing mound of good in his own silverware.
“What ams dis?” asked Skwisgaar, as his own plate was invaded.
“Dharma Initiative SPAM!” said Yama. “Lovely SPAM, wonderful SPAM. “Will put hair on your chest!”
Ganesh, watching Elias sculp, unconsciously began humming “SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM....”
“Wut's dat?” whispered Pickles to Skwisgaar.
“Dat ams da Iraqi nationals anthem,” said the Swede authortatively.
“Oh, I think it's that time again!” declared Yama, as he brought out something that looked like a clock radio. He set it up on the table. It had a weird, old-fashioned flip-type digital dial. It was displaying the number 106 and, as they all watched, flipped over to 107.
“Doood!” said Pickles.
“Dat ams remarksable!” declared Skwisgaar.
“Yama, doood,” pleaded Pickles. “Can I push da button?”
“What button?” asked Yama.
“To ams prevents da ends of da woilds!” Skwisgaar told him.
“A button to prevent the end of the world?” huffed the big green demon. “That would be silly!”
“Boys, that is a bit silly,” Ganesh told them.
“DOOD! You wud say that!” Pickles told him suspiciously.
“Ams because of your darks past in da Iraqsi Guardses!” Skwisgaar insisted.
“I AM NOT...” Ganesh stuttered.
“I bet he ams wants to torture us now!” Skwisgaar told Pickles.
“Oh, you have NO IDEA,” Ganesh confessed.
As Skwisgaar and Pickles bit their nails, the counter flipped over to 108. “CHITRAGUPTA!” bellowed Yama, causing both musicians minor heart attacks.
“Yes, Colonel?” said the aide, who did not look terribly happy.
“RELEASE THE HOUNDS,” ordered Yama.
Charles looked up from where he was making a meat glop on meat glop collage. He heard barking.
And then there came the sound of running.
There appeared eight eyes. And eight legs.
They resembled large, dark mastiffs, but had four eyes each. And all four eyes seemed to be watching out in a different direction. The effect was unsettling.
There was the sound of a fork clattering on the floor. “Doggies!” squealed Elias, who had slipped from Ganesh's grasp.
“ELIAS!” called Charles in warning as his son barreled towards the barking hell hounds. But he needn't have been worried, as the child was much used to dealings with yard wolves, not to mention his Uncle Wotan's huge, ferocious pets. As soon as the animals snapped at him, he went True Form and winged up, giggling, just overhead.
Suddenly, and quite to everyone's surprise, Toki got up from the table, fishing in his pocket for something. “You ams wants to felch?” he asked the monster dogs, pulling out a well drooled-upon tennis ball. He gave it a good heave, and Elias skillfully moved to snatch it in midair, which further incensed Yama's hounds. After a couple of rounds, Elias hovered to let the dogs fight over the ball. The victor then happily romped over to Toki with his prize. Thereupon ensued a rousing game of “felch.” As the dogs, though hell hounds, were above all dogs.
Chitragupta watched in apparent disbelief for a little while, and then quickly scrambled to grab a couple of huge doggie dishes. He brought out his can opener, and several white-labeled cans that said Dharma Initiative Dog Yummies, and dumped the unappealing meat-like product (it didn't appear awfully different from what was being served at that moment up on the table) into the dish. He heaved a much relieved sigh and backed off. Charles gazed at him, suddenly understanding why the small demon's hands were bandaged up.
“Now,” said Yama, “you've all seen my favorite animal: the faithful hound! So, tell me, what are your favorite animals, boys?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, who immediately sensed trouble, “that is a very difficult question. There are so many to choose.”
“Uh, yeah, uh, Ganesh is right, it doesn't seem right to just pick one....” Charles tried.
“ALLIGATORS!” boomed Nathan.
“Oh, crap,” sighed Charles.
“I ams likes da bird of preys,” Skwisgaar echoed.
“Ahktopie!” chimed in Pickles.
“Are you getting this all down, Chitragupta?” barked Yama. “Where is that useless devil?” he wondered.
Chitragupta suddenly reappeared hovering over Ganesh's shoulder. “Um, here is clean fork for you, Shri Ganesha,” he said, hurriedly slipping something into Ganesh's hand. He scurried off, clipboard in hand, to stand behind Yama.
“Have you written this all down, Chitragupta?” Yama repeated.
Ganesh was unrolling the rolled up sheet of paper Chitragupta had slipped him on his lap, out of Yama's sight. He blinked, and then elbowed Charles, passing it into his husband's lap. Charles blinked in surprise. Refolding the paper and stuffing it away in his pants pocket, he stood up. “Well,” said Charles, “this has been a barrel of laughs, but we gotta head home now.” To his surprise, the band began actually following his lead and rising.
“Yeh, gahta go,” muttered Pickles.
“Ams gots stuffs to do,” agreed Skwisgaar.
Toki and Elias too had returned to the table, Ganesh immediately grabbing the boy up in his arms. “We are most grateful, Uncle....” he began.
“And where do you think you're going?” asked Yama, who did not rise.
“Uh, dude, we're just goin' back up the hatch and out the door and maybe then we'll check if that Paula chick has passed out yet because that would be cool or maybe stop and punch Vishnu but then we REALLY NEED TO GET BACK,” Nathan explained. “There's chips.”
“You boys aren't going ANYWHERE,” said Yama. “You need to wait for the reincarnation.”
“Uh, the what?” asked Charles.
“This isn't good,” whispered Ganesh.
“You're not getting back out the way you came. You're getting sent back in new forms. I have here,” he said, scanning Chitragupta's clipboard, “An alligator, a bird or prey, a socktopus, a silly rabbit...”
“Er, Uncle, I'm afraid, we have not time, and we have business.”
“YOU HAVE EATEN MY FOOD AND MUST DO AS I SAY,” boomed Yama.
“Eaten your food?” asked Charles. “When did we....”
Suddenly, all eyes were looking down towards the other end of the banquet table.
“BURRRRP!” belched a very contented looking Murderface. His plate looked licked clean. “What?” he asked as all eyes stared at him.
“Madarchod,” breathed Ganesh.
“YOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU!”
Charles looked up. “Oh, what the FUCK do you want now?” he asked the vengeful Italian ghost, who had chosen that very moment to show up.
“How the BLAZES did you get in here?” demanded Yama. “This area is restricted.”
“I'm DEEEEEAAAAAAD, you fucking DOOOOUUUUUUCHE. I can go where the FUUUUCKKKK I WAAANNNNNTTTTT!” howled the spirit.
“What's your problem,” sighed Charles.
“They put GREEN M&MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMs in my BOOOOWWWWWWLLLLL. Nothing but GREEN M&MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMssss! I need VEEEENGEAAAANNNNNCEEEEE!”
“Oh. Well. Ya know who did that?” asked Charles. Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance, and then both pointed at Yama. “THAT GUY! Yeah, he's, uh, MISTER GREEN M, in the M&Ms! THAT'S WHY HE'S GREEN!”
Ganesh shrugged.
“I'LL GET YOOUUUUUUU, YOU GREEEEN CANDY-COATED CHOCOLATE DOOOOUUUUCHHHE!” howled the ghost, suddenly diving at Yama.
“C'mon!' yelled Charles, and the band hustled out the door, and down the narrow hallway towards the hatch. Charles, who was still True Formed, took up the rear, this time let his wings spread out, knocking over boxes and bags and cans and tins in their wake, blocking the way. Despite the annoying Italian spirit's vengeance, he thought he heard the sound of barking in the distance.
The band was already crowded around the ladder by the time he made it to the room below the hatch. It was worryingly dark. “IT'S SHUT!” called Ganesh's voice, from far up the ladder.
“I thought you were fucking REMOVER OF OBSTACLES!” rumbled Nathan.
“STAND BACK!” Ganesh yelled down. And then an instant later, he had jumped down to the floor, tackling Nathan in the process to push the singer back. There was a giant crash, as the hatch lid landed just inches from their feet.
“Fuck,” opined Nathan.
“I am Lord Remover of Obstacles,” explained Ganesh, shaking dust from his hair, “but that had gotten a bit stuck.”
“I tell yoo, dat dood wuz in da Republican Guard,” Pickles whispered to Skwisgaar.
“Ja, definitelies!”
The Lord Remover of Obstacles glowered at them.
“Everybody! Up! Now” yelled Charles. “Or I'll have Ganesh fucking torture you!” Toki let Elias, who was still in winged form, go fly, and then pursued him up the ladder, nearly as quickly. Pickles and Skwisgaar were right behind, and even Nathan looked surprisingly spry on the ladder.
Murderface stifled a burp. “I'm feeling a bit bloated,” he told Charles and Ganesh.
Charles gave him a rather fierce silver glare, and Murderface turned and almost scampered up the ladder.
“Will you Court Form?” Ganesh asked.
“No. I gotta better idea,” Charles told him. “I need my night vision.” Ganesh nodded and hurried after the band. Charles had wrapped his shirt around his waist when he had True Formed. Now he unwrapped it, and started to fill it with the heaviest Dharma Initiative goods he could gather. Then he pulled the bundle together and hustled several meters up the ladder.
He heard the barking first. He paused and sighted, and sent down a jar of Dharma Initiative Kosher Pickles, which produced a satisfying crash and then a whimper. This was followed by a tin of Dharma Initiative lard, which got another yelp.
“COME BACK HERE, THIS IS GETTING TOO SILLY!” boomed Yama from the bottom.
Charles grabbed the 5 gallon barrel of Dharma Initiative Hot Mustard from his pouch and let fly.
“Aiiiii, my head!” came the cry.
“Always wear a helmet, asshole,” muttered Charles, continuing up.
It had grown deathly quiet at the top. Charles' night vision was such that it took him a moment to realize it was also completely dark. “Maybe it's, uh, after five and they all clocked out?” he ventured.
“Can you see, Charles?” Ganesh asked.
Charles nodded. “To.... Uh.... Whatever that fucking floor is that's on the ground.”
“The ground floor!” Ganesh sighed.
They hurried along the hallway after Charles. There was a small light up ahead: a very small transom above a blacked out window was wedged open. Nathan gave Pickles a leg up so he could peer out. “Dood. It's too feckin' high t' jump.”
“Because this is the first floor,” said Ganesh primly, “and not the ground floor.” There were several annoyed glares.
“It's too small to squeeze through anyway,” said Charles.
“Not for everybody,” said Nathan, holding up Elias. Charles nodded. Nathan then pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here, kid, show 'em this.”
“Bye-bye, Nate-Nate,” sang Elias, now darting out the window like a very strange, very large moth.
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a worried glance, and then, wordlessly, Charles took off towards what he hoped was the ground fucking floor. He screeched to a halt just at the top of the main staircase however, The reason there were no demons about in the buliding: they were all massed here, between Dethklok and the exit.
“OK,” said Charles. “Ideas? Anything? I don't think they look friendly enough for the Join Us dance.”
“Er, that would be a no,” Ganesh agreed.
There was a rustling of many leathery demon wings. And a very quiet scratching of claws and hooves. And Charles thought he could hear some very high pitched squeals, right at the upper edge of his hearing. The entryway below was like a wall made of writhing demons.
Charles took one bold step down the broad staircase. The demons directly down below all shuffled and fluttered. He stepped back.
But then Nathan, glowering his mightiest metal look of displeasure, stepped down. “Let us go. Before we get ANGRY,” he boomed.
There was more demon activity. Ganesh reached over to catch Nathan's shoulder, only to be stopped by Charles. The manager gestured back at the other band members. You could clearly see it in the dimness, the reddish glow that had come to all their eyes.
Nathan was slowly making his way down the stairs.
The building trembled, as if in a small earthquake. There were now cracking sounds in addition to the rustling.
“Er, if they bring down this structure,” Ganesh whispered to Charles, “we shall still be inside.”
“Uh, I don't suppose you have another job as Lord Stopper of Falling Rubble, or something like that?” Charles asked.
'Hm. Missed that one,” Ganesh told him.
But then there was another sound added to the mix of fluttering demons and rumbling enchanted death metal musicians. “Are they … chanting?” asked Charles.
And then there was a pounding. A pounding coming from the outside. Knocking on the doors, the windows, anything.
“They're chanting....” Suddenly, Ganesh laughed.
There was a great crash, and suddenly a beam of light sliced through the wall of demons and flashed into Nathan Explosion's eyes. He blinked, seeming to wake from a trance.
And then there were more crashes, and many more annoyed demons fluttered up into the air as bits of the building facade were pounded down by the literal mob pounding and chanting outside. And then some of the mob actually broke into the building itself, tossing chairs, and carrying placards. And the placards said....
“CHANESH CHANESH CHANESH!” they chanted.
They spotted the object of their pursuit standing up on the stairs and then swarmed in, knocking the demons aside in the great rush, picking up Charles and Ganesh, as well as the members of Dethklok, up on their shoulders, and then, like a mighty tsunami of Hindu Idol fans, washed everybody back outside, cheering.
The Hindu Idol judges panel was still set up at their table outside, still quaffing very large containers of Coke.
“So, what do you think of this mob scene, Rhandi?” inquired the Dethklok Minute guy.
“Their chanting is a bit pitchy, dawg,” growled the tiger-headed judge. “But, that rescue? That was da bomb!”
“Paulaji?”
“Can I dance with Ganesh this time?”
“Vishnu?”
“Baby, that was tripendicular, yeah!” said Dick Knubbler, who had just stolen the microphone.
“WhatEVER,” huffed Vishnu, putting his chin on many, many blue hands.
Raziel was also standing nearby, holding Elias. The boy was still clutching his little “CHANESH” placard.
“JANESS, Dada!” said Elias as his father grabbed him.
“Green M&M's, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Oopsie, SOMEONE must've slipped up on the recording studio order,” she grinned.
They both looked over to where, to Skwisgaar's playing, Ganesh was now dancing with Paulaji, and then Rhandi, and then the Dethklok Minute guy, who all seemed rather smitten.
“Why do I never get that reaction to my dancing?” groused Charles.
The remainder of Dethklok was hovering nearby. “You kept this placard in your pocket all that time?” Charles asked Nathan, holding up the CHANESH sign.
“RAZIEL GAVE IT TO ME,” Nathan protested. “But, after all this SHIT, you dudes never got your FORM!”
Charles grinned and pulled a heavily folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. It was headed, “TK-421.” “Chitragupta gave it to us. Signed by Yama himself.”
“Dood! It's gaht a Dharma Initiative stamp!” commented Pickles excitedly.
“So it does! Ganesh will love that,” Charles grinned.
“I'll give this to Pie,” said Raziel, grabbing the form.
“Why won't I give this to Pie?” asked Charles.
“We got the forms, now we gotta plan the Naming. So, you gotta try on your Naming suit!” She grinned triumphantly, donning her sunglasses.
“Oh, Christ, not that again!” he said as she disappeared. “I SAID LOW KEY, RAZIEL!”
“Dood! We're going to a Namin'?” asked Pickles.
“Goings to be awesome parties,” Skwisgaar agreed as he wandered over with Ganesh.
“Will dere ams be goddesses?” Toki inquired.
“Amn't you ams learned your lessons, Tokis?” Skwisgaar lectured.
“Nevers,” vowed Toki.
“Can I pick a NAME?” Nathan inquired.
“Nathan, we've already been through that,” Charles pleaded.
“BUT MURGATROYD IS AWESOME!”
“I already picked a name,” said Murderface very quietly.
“Why, yes, you did, William,” grinned Ganesh.
Charles handed off Elias to Murderface. “It's a very good name.”
Elias twined some arms around Murderface's neck. He yawned, and put a head on the musician's shoulder. It had been an eventful day.
Deep inside Ganesh's wardrobe, Charles let out a sigh as he regarded himself over his shoulder in the three way mirror there. The pants fit. The pants fit too well: that was the problem. Raziel seemed to have a preference for this body-revealing stuff. It wasn't really what he wanted a suit to do at all. He wanted to feel shielded. And – he forced himself to admit it – even after he'd finally gained back the weight following his illness, he still felt too damned scrawny. Not like Ganesh, with those amazing dancer's legs. He spent a quite contented moment wandering out of the wardrobe, contemplating Ganesh's legs, only to be confronted by the being himself, sitting on the bed, tilting his head in puzzlement.
“What ARE you doing, jaanu?”
Charles looked down at the offending trousers. “Oh. Uh, Raziel and her weird fashion shit again. I was an idiot and told her that Pie looked better dressed than me, so then five minutes later I got a new suit I didn't fucking ask for. She said I can wear it to the Naming, but I dunno. Maybe I'll just-”
“Turn around!”
Charles hesitated, but obeyed, turning his back Ganesh, and feeling somewhat like a douche bag. “I'm gonna, uh....”
“Back. That angel ass. Over here. NOW.”
“Uh. Wha-” But by then Charles felt himself literally lifted off his feet by many greedy hands. “Ganesh?”
The party in question, who had already halfway removed Charles' shirt, and was busily applying lips and hands to the exposed expanse of bare back, murmured, “I am going to give that angel ass. A pounding. Like it's never been pounded. Before.”
“Uh, ok,” said Charles. Well, it sounded like a feasible plan.
Wotan had a lap full of angel.
And, for the first time in what seemed a long while, it was not his children, delightful as that might be.
The god had to agree with something his nephew had once said. It really wasn't a bad way to pass an entire evening, kissing an angel. It was like nothing else. But still, the god's thoughts started to drift to other matters, such as potentially having a few more little angels around.
There was the issue of peanut butter. But, reasoned the god, he could always get a new damned saddle.
He looked down in irritation. The mother of his present children, as well as future imagined children, was reaching not for his ass, but rather over for that blasted cell phone.
“Not work again?” he huffed.
'You're the one who wanted me to get some honest work, sweetie,” Raziel grinned, peering at the caller ID. “And Sariel is gonna raise my salary to five bucks a month.”
“You are worth every penny,” Wotan chuckled.
“It's Pie. He knows not to call unless it's important. Hello, dear,” she said into the phone. “What? What.... Holy fucking shit! Yeah, thanks for calling, my dear.” She pressed the end call button.
“Well?” asked Wotan after a moment.
“Mommy Dearest,” said the angel.
“Oh. Shit.”
“We gotta get to a TV,” said Raziel, who still looked stunned.
Maybe, thought Charles, he would wear Raziel's stupid designer suit. Once a week.
Or, maybe twice.
That was it, twice a week!
Or three times. On special occasions.
He was lying inside Ganesh's standard post-coital embrace, too entangled in many Hindu god arms to think of extricating himself. Not that lying in the middle of Ganesh's chest was the worst place to be. It smelled so damned lovely, for one thing. Like being in a kitchen. A kitchen full of sexy men.
He managed to wriggle himself up onto his forearms. “Ganesh?”
“Mmmm?”
“Tell me about my band.”
One suspicious eye popped open. “What about your band, hmmmm?” Ganesh muttered, slightly tightening his grip.
“The magic.”
The eyes closed, and now Charles felt various fingers drumming on his back. Then Ganesh pushed himself back just a little, up on the pillow, so he could look down on Charles. For a moment Charles figured he was going to tell him to fuck off.
“It's like nothing I've ever seen. I don't know what to make of it.” Ganesh twined one arm in back of his head and leaned back on it. “You know about Skwisgaar, of course. He inherited a damn lot of magic. But the rest of them.... There's none of them human, Charles. Well, none of them fully human.”
“Really?” Charles had started distractingly kissing Ganesh's chest. Well, it was so near to his lips.
“Except.... And this is the thing that baffles me. Utterly baffles me. Nathan.”
“Nathan? What about him?”
“Among all of them, he could be human. Could be. But when the five of them are together.... Well, I can't compare it to anything in my experience. He seems to draw magic. From the other four. Like.... Like a lens? A magnet? I'm not certain.”
“And it's a lot?”
Ganesh nodded, though he seemed far off. Charles felt a hand brush through his hair. “You have a lot of magic. For a being. Even an angel. But yes. A veritable riot. I am unsure, actually, how Skwisgaar can visualize magical traces of other beings, through his own. Perhaps he is blind to his own magic? That is a possibility.”
“You've been thinking about this.”
“Mmmm-hmmmm....” Ganesh sent a hand out to retrieve the ringing cell phone. “Yours,” he said, tossing it to Charles.
Charles brought himself back up on his forearms, a bit irritated to be interrupted during his chest-nibbling. “Yeah, Raziel.... WHAT?” He sat bolt upright.
Ganesh looked at him questioningly.
“This is FUCKED UP SHIT,” said Connie Conehead through the television.
“We're listening to Connie Conehead, live from New York, where there has just been a surprise announcement,” explained Dan from Headquarters.
“It's fucked up shit, Dan,” explained Connie.
“Can you tell our listeners, just how fucked up, Connie?”
“Pretty fucking fucked up!” said Connie.
“Dood, dis is fecked up shit!” noted Pickles, listening to the feed from the living room couch.
Charles and Ganesh, standing behind the couch, exchanged a glance.
“Yes, Dan, we are in New York City....”
“New York Schity!” shouted an appreciative Murderface.
“...where She has just announced Her candidacy for the Presidency of the United States.'
“Connie, I'm wondering, is She even a United States Citizen?”
“With those tits? Are you serious Dan? Nobody give a flip shit!”
“Is this even gonna fly?” asked Charles.
“She has an undeniable effect on the male electorate,” commented Ganesh.
“I'm gonna vote for Her,” muttered Murderface, staring at Her image now flashing onscreen.
“On the basis of WHAT exactly?” asked Charles.
“Titsch....” muttered Murderface, who was now actually drooling.
“Hmpf,” tutted Ganesh. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed Murderface's chin, gazing deeply into his eyes.
“Whoa,” said Murderface when released. “Ganesch....”
“Ganesh, will you please stop seducing my band!” scolded Charles.
“Well, all righty,” said Ganesh. He snapped his fingers, and Murderface, who was hovering over his shoulder in a trance-like state, suddenly toppled over to the floor.
“Ow,” said Murderface.
“So, what,” said Charles. “We get you to run as Her opposing candidate?” The turned and began to walk out of the room and down the corridor.
“Well, as you know, were I human, I would be considered an Indian citizen. Besides which, I believe I am far too, er, refined a taste for the American electorate.”
“Then who? Who will be the opposing candidate?”
“Well, as we discussed last night,” opined Ganesh, just winding up, “I believe there is only one man for the job. Only one man to capture the imagination and the of the electorate. One man to speak for the beating heart and proud soul of the American people. Only one man to stand up to Her. Only one man with the charisma to guide us through this time of grave peril and pressing danger. One man to lead us from the darkness and into the promised land!”
Ganesh and Charles looked at each other, and then, shoulder to shoulder, pushed through the doorway where they had briefly stopped to let Ganesh finish his speech.
Nathan was flopped on his bead, clad only in his underpants, surrounded by groupies and chip crumbs.
“Yeah?” he said, mouthing some chips whilst squeezing some groupie bosom.
“Nathan Explosion” said Charles. “We have an important job for you.”
“Oh. Can I finish my chips?” he asked, flipping a chip crumb out of his belly button with a black-nailed finger.
“Sure.”
“Cool. Because, CHIPS ARE AWESOME.”
