Playthings (Mythklok, Chapter 70)
Sep. 24th, 2011 02:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Playthings (Mythklok, Chapter 70)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's hard to be an evil mastermind when you've got a toddler. And other life lessons.
Warnings: Some reference to traumatic memories this time
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok started existence as a Metalocalypse AU. Now I'm not quite sure what it is. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,tikific, where you are welcome to come visit the bits I’ve written and maybe poke them with a pointed stick.
Last time: we had a bit of history on a certain guitar. And a not so pleasant being returned to earth.
Nathan Explosion awoke with a start, bolting straight up in bed.
A groupie muttered at him, annoyed, and rolled over.
Something was wrong!
He scrambled down from the enormous bed, annoying a few other female persons along the circuitous route from atop the great mattress to the floor of his room. He stopped to pull on some clothing that had been left crumpled in a pile. Unlike some people, he did not go wandering about the castle half-naked.
And then he was out the door, stalking down the corridor, heading towards a familiar office.
There was a light on under the door. A presence. Some unsettling presence.
He threw open the door.
“Nate-Nate!”
Elias sat in his high chair. His wings were out this morning, so Nathan got not only a big smile, but the little flutter than meant the boy was happy.
A small wing flap it may have been, but it managed to whack a small bowl of oatmeal clean off the tray. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, leaving a goo of warm cereal and milk to ooze out on the floor.
“BOON!” said Nathan in greeting.
“Oh. Good morning Nathan,” Charles said at last, without looking.. He picked up the spilled bowl of oatmeal and set it aside, ignoring the mess on the floor. His cheery child was blotched in oatmeal, as well as various other foodstuffs. Charles himself had a paper napkin dipped in water, and was worrying some kind of stain on his red tie.
“What's going on in here?” Nathan demanded.
“Breakfast,” Charles explained with a soft sigh. He finally looked up, glasses askew. “I can't seem to get any food from the bowl into the kid!”
Nathan strode boldly into the office. This was clearly a job for the metal master!
He sat down next to Elias and wondered why exactly was it that people didn't like kids? Kids were awesome. Look at this little guy! Nathan could go all day getting snarls from his grumpy band mates, or snotty stares from the manager, and even the groupies all wanted something from him. But Boon, you just hadda show up, and there he was with a big old sweet smile and fluttering his wings (although, yeah, it was a little bit weird for a kid to have wings, and the extra arm thing, but considering who he was related too, he was probably lucky he didn't end up with those creepy shiny-ass eyes). (Though, on the other hand, little glowing red eyes? That might be pretty brutal.)
“Does he look like he's gonna starve to death?” Charles asked. Actually, the kid looked plump and cheery: Charles was the one who looked like he hadn't eaten (or slept) in a week. Nathan cast a practiced eye at him. He must have been eating, given the current state of pie depletion, but it was something to keep a watch on.
“Let me DEMONSTRATE!” Nathan told Charles, plucking the spoon from his hand. That was another awesome thing about kids: look at his former smug son of a bitch manager! At one point, the guy had an uptight posture like you could only achieve by taking a red hot poker and jamming it right up your ass (which is probably what he did for fun, come to think of it). Now, here he was, in shirt sleeves (because he had figured out he could cover up most of the baby goo if he set the jacket on the back of his chair) slumped over in defeat over trying to get a teaspoon of applesauce from a tray in into a kid's pie hole.
“Booooon!” Nathan told the attentive tot. “THE DETHBUS IS COMING!” The boy was suddenly at full attention. Nathan took the spoon, poised, laden with fruit puree. “Here it comes,” he said, slowly veering it towards Elias's mouth. “INTO THE TUNNEL.”
As if on cue, Elias suddenly opened his mouth wide enough to fit not only a Dethbus, but perhaps a Dethjet and maybe a Dethaircraft carrier. Nathan stuck the spoon in, and the boy happily slurped up. He smacked and smiled.
“SEE?” asked Nathan.
Charles blinked, astonished. “That's all you gotta do?”
“Uh-huh. See, and you can mix it up.” Nathan took another glob of food on the spoon, and this time declared, “Here comes the Dethcopter, INTO THE TUNNEL!”
“Wait!” Suddenly, Charles had thrown one shirtsleeved arm between the Dethcopter and the yawning tunnel.
“What?”
“The Dethcopter? Is going into a TUNNEL? That doesn't sound like you've followed safety precautions!”
Elias, whose mouth was still opened, looked over at his father with what may just have been annoyance.
“Charles,” whispered Nathan. “The point is to get the FOOD into the KID.”
Charles crossed his arms. “Yes, but not at the risk of violating our health and safety procedures! Those are implemented for a reason!”
Nathan frowned, and then took up the spoon again. “Here comes the Dethcopter,” he said, spiraling the spoon, “Into the aircraft HANGAR following all the safety blah blah blah.”
Charles nodded happily, and the food-laden spoon once again ended up inside Elias' mouth.
Nathan now held the spoon handle towards Charles, questioning look on his face.
“Oh. Uh,” said Charles, taking up the spoon somewhat uncertainly. He took some food up on the spoon. “Uh, here's the Dethsubmarine! Going into … uh, and undersea cave!” Much to his delight, a good portion of the Dethsubarine's fruity cargo made it into the undersea cave.
“Do we have a Dethsubmarine?” asked Nathan suspiciously.
“Oh. Uh. I dunno. Do you want one?” asked Charles, semi-effectively dabbing the lower portion of Elias' face with a napkin. “We just sorta leased that one when you guys were recording.”
“We could go on UNDERSEA ADVENTURES!” Nathan enthused.
“All right. Well. Maybe we could talk about it when I get back.” Charles was up, grabbing his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“Gotta talk with some guys. The Hell Fries deal.”
“Why are you so set on the Hell Fries?”
“Merchandising!” explained Charles, tucking his tie into his jacket so the food stain wouldn't show. “That's our bread and butter.”
“I thought you said album sales was our bread and butter.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Nathan took off, thinking to go back to bed, or maybe to the kitchen. Or maybe to the kitchen, and then back to bed.
But then he lurched to a halt. He reversed course. He headed down to the other end of the the Haus. Nathan invited himself in to most any room in his castle, but he here he rapped politely but firmly on the door.
“Oh, Nathan! Can you perhaps give me one moment? We are finishing up here.” Ganesh smiled politely and ushered him into the suite.
Kam, the cheery angel who usually watched the kid, was there, sitting on the couch. Even though the kid was down the hall dumping his breakfast on Charles.
Nathan liked Kam. He was another smiling person who wasn't an asshole. See, it really wasn't that hard! Though Kam was looking different today.
“As I was saying, Kamuel,” Ganesh told him, “it is something for you to consider. I realize it is a very weighty decision, so you will want to give careful thought to the matter.”
Kam didn't reply, but nodded, frowning. He looked up and smiled. “Oh. Hello Nathan!”
“Hey Kam!” said Nathan as the Cherub stood. “I think your boss needs you.”
The smile broke into a grin. “That's no surprise. Are they covered in oatmeal?”
“And applesauce.”
“Oh. Well, tasty at least.”
Kam departed, laughing, and Ganesh courteously ushed Nathan into the bit of the suite he used as an office. Ganesh sat down opposite, effortlessly twisting his legs into a pretzel.
Ganesh was a weird contrast to Charles, Nathan thought. Whereas Charles tended to look either completely buttoned up and ramrod straight, or like a truck had just backed over him, Ganesh always looked just a little rumpled. Always. Always the same fucking rumpled.
It had been Skwisgaar who had pointed it out actually. Every once in a while, Ganesh would show up in the living room with a besotted groupie or two (or three) on his arms, and would somewhat apologetically explain, “These poor young ladies have obviously lost their way in this large establishment, so I have offered my assistance,” and then he would politely but firmly shoo them back to their respective band members. It was pretty cool. It's not as if people could keep track of every groupie, and Ganesh could have easily scored at least an occasional blow job from the deal. But, he acted like a dude, and didn't even appear to give a shit when the girls would gush about how “Your butler is REALLY COOL,” or some such.
“Man,” Nathan had said after one such occasion, when the haul was at least half a dozen giggling girls. “Think how much pussy that guy could get. If that guy got pussy!”
“Womens,” Skwisgaar had counseled. “Dey ams likes da tousled dudes.”
“Uh. What the fuck is tousled? Sounds kind of, you know....”
“You know how hims ams gots dat bits of hair dat hangs down?” asked Skwisgaar, pulling a strand of his own blond tresses over a clear blue eye.
“Yeah, like he should comb it back?”
“And, it ams always eggsactly da same bits of hairs?” added Skwisgaar, cocking a blond eyebrow.
“Uh. Yeah,” said Nathan.
“And his shirts ams untucked like so?”
Nathan merely frowned.
“And, always ams comes untucked da same places?”
Nathan searched his memories. “How does he do that?”
“And ams always slips off da shoes and goes barefoot. Pffft.”
Nathan was now sitting forward. “Yeah. What about it?”
“Womens,” sighed Skwisgaar, making himself more comfortable between a couple of especially cute females. “Dey ams likes da projects. Nots da big one, like Moiderfaces. Dey ams like da littles ones, like dey ams sticks back Ganesh's hair, and den tucks in his shirts, and den find where ams his shoes, and den deys rips off da clothes and sucks his cocks.”
“Ooooohhhh,” said Nathan. “So that's how it works.”
“Ja. Ams da femininical psycholgies!” stated Skwisgaar, pointing at his own blond noggin.
“Huh. I never knew that,” Nathan admitted.
“Pffff. Why you ams gives a shits? You ams da rocks stars.”
“Well, yeah, you gotta point,” Nathan admitted.
Ganesh was tousled this morning. Pretty much the same way he was always tousled. He had his shirt unbuttoned, as he had out the extra pair of arms. He seemed to like mooching around the castle in four armed mode, much as Charles would leave the wings out (and steal all the goddam pie. But you couldn't really bitch about having to stare at his beer gut, like you would with Murderface. Ganesh looked like, if you tried to toss a dime at his gut, it would bounce back and probably take out your eye. Whereas, you dropped a dime on Murderface's gut, it would settle in and get lost, and maybe you'd find it six years later when he belched.
Ganesh casually propped himself up on a pair of arms resting on the back of the couch, but also brought up another pair of hands steepled, as if listening attentively.
Hard to tell with this guy, Nathan though. Too many goddam arms.
“So, what may I do for you this morning, Nathan?”
“I was just wondering, what the fuck?”
Ganesh smiled. “There could be many answers to that question, my friend,” he said. The arms were all up now, with graceful open palms and pointing fingers.
“How you do that?” asked Nathan.
“I'm sorry?”
“Know where all your fucking hands are all the time?”
Ganesh cocked his head. He looked over at his hands, and broke into a genuine grin. “I do apologize. I have been told my family tend to talk with our hands,” he explained. There were now a couple more pairs of arms up. Rippling. The effect was hypnotic.
“It's like you're dancing when you're sitting down.”
“Well, my family are dancers.”
“I thought you dudes were gods?”
“We are! But music, singing, dancing – they are very powerful.” The arms settled down. “As you know.”
“We ain't gods,” Nathan told him.
“I have heard you described as such.” The multiple arms became just four. Just four. Like, normal, Nathan thought.
“Charles looks like shit.”
Suddenly, the dancing arms had ceased. It was just Ganesh, leaning forward slighting, looking concerned.
“Insomnia, actually. He's been having terrible dreams lately. Horrid. That angel,” Ganesh said.
“We need to kill that guy.”
The room had gotten quiet. And darkened slightly. “Yes,” Ganesh said. “But we will need to be careful. She has remade him. Given him a lot of her power. And we will have to achieve a permanent solution this time.”
Nathan thought for a moment, slightly taken aback. “Dude. You're not gonna treat me like I'm stupid?”
“No one thinks that. And if they do, it reflects more on themselves, I should think.”
“Why does Charles always change the fucking subject then?”
“Your relationship,” said Ganesh, now settling back on the couch again, “is different. I am not sure I can explain it adequately. He will not ask you – he cannot ask you – to assist him.”
“Who says?”
“Well.” One hand trailed out. “No one in particular. These are very old rules.”
“I don't understand.”
“Ours is not to understand them. They simply keep the universe in balance. Like the notion that angels may go as they will, but my kind are bound here,” he explained.
Nathan frowned. “Your kid – he's an angel”
“He definitely is,” Ganesh sighed, smiling nonetheless.
“Can he go, like, anywhere?”
Ganesh grinned a very big grin and arched an eyebrow. “Nathan Explosion. You excel in posing questions which I cannot answer.”
“You don't know?”
“No idea. Perhaps this is why there is such a fuss over our children? But now, if you will excuse me? I need to attend to Elias.” Ganesh was standing up. “Perhaps we may continue this conversation? At a later time?”
Nathan nodded. Ganesh appeared to be serious about it.
It was then that there was a soft knock at the door, and Kam returned, holding Boon's hand.
“Breakfast avec Daddy,” laughed Kamuel.
“Will we need to hose him off, or perhaps presoak him for an hour or so first?” grinned Ganesh, hefting his rather gooey child.
Nathan frowned as he left. That was another thing. Ganesh never seemed to get coated in baby goo. Like maybe he sprayed his whole body with Armor All?
Anyway, it was time. So he headed to the kitchen for some Explosion sauce chips (as he had missed his own breakfast, and thence to the basement recording studio.
Knubbler was there at the console, eyes blinking green. Good.
And one, two, three band mates.
One. Two. Three.
“WHERE'S PICKLES?” demanded Nathan.
“Oh,” said Toki, looking up from some crewel work. “No bigs deals. Hims ams goes wit' Lady Raziel for a moments up on da balksconies. Dey ams talksing.”
“WHAT!”
“Nathan. Bro. It'sch, you know,” Murderface leaned close, looking carefully either way. “Lady Razschiel.” He leaned back and, checking right and left again, went back to filing his nails with a hunting knife.
“Eh, I'll got get him,” grumbled Nathan.
“Nat'ans!” warned Skwisgaar, playing a nervous run on the Explorer. “You ams t'inks dats a good idea?”
“Nate, baby, just hang loose here with us,” counseled Knubber, his eyes blinking for a brief, almost subliminal moment to red. “For a mo', baby!”
Nathan glowered, turned, and left.
Those remaining shared a worried glance. Skwisgaar began picking out Chopin's Funeral March on his Gibson.
Nathan grumpily headed back up the stairs that he had just headed down. Backtracking sucked. He hit the floor above ground and took a turn towards the light. Yeah, there they were, standing out on the balcony, Lady Raz – in defiance of gravity and good sense – sitting on the balustrade, kicking her legs.
“PICKLES!” Nathan bellowed.
“Hiiieeee Nathan!” said Raziel. She was dressed as usual: there were shoes on her feet and a little hat on her head, but then what the fuck was happening in between, Nathan had no fucking idea. That must be because fashion and whatever.
What rankled Nathan though was how Pickles didn't even look up at his name being called. Instead, the drummer told Raziel, “I just dunno if I c'n do it, yoo know?”
“You never think you can do it, and then you can always do it,” Raziel told him. “This will be easy as pie! Easier than pie, because you don't have to worry about Sariel stealing it! You just get us from point A to point B, with a side trip to point C, and maybe we'll go around through point D and E if the weather is nice,” she said, demonstrating by pointing fingers all over the place.
“It's jest, I never done anyt'ing like that.”
“That's the beauty of it, it's unexpected!”
“Pickles!” Nathan reiterated, now growing even more annoyed at being ignored. “You need to get your ass down to the recording studio! We're recording!”
“We're almost finished!” Raziel said brightly.
“Nat'an,” Pickles told him. “Why don'tcha jest fuckin' go down wit'out me? Yoo don't need me t' punch da feckin' delete key.”
“I'm not punching the fucking delete button!” Nathan protested.
“Shure yoo are. I'll tell yoo wut yer gonna do. Yer gonna go down dere and sit an' bitch dat it ain't brootal fer 45 feckin' minutes, and den yer gonna delete it. An' I don't feel like wastin' my feckin' time today.”
Nathan stepped back, stunned. “No. No kidding, dude. I think we've done it.”
“Yer kiddin'.”
“I wouldn't joke about this!”
Pickles stared at Nathan for a long moment. “Are you t'roo wit' me fer now, Lady Raz?”
“I'll never be through with you, dear,” she giggled, hopping from the balustrade. “But you can run and play with Nathan now.”
Pickles nodded thoughtfully.
“But can I borrow Toki for a teeny tiny moment?” she asked Nathan. “He was going to show me crewel.”
“NO YOU CANNOT BORROW TOKI!” Nathan howled.
Raziel grinned, blew Nathan a kiss, and disappeared.
“Fuck! Where did she go? Did she go get Toki to do her shit?” Nathan worried.
“Aw, I t'ink she's jest feckin' wit' yoo,” Pickles muttered. He inclined his head towards the stairway, and they both headed back towards the recording studio.
Toki was still down there.
However....
“WHERE THE FUCK IS SKWISGAAR!”
Nathan received several sheepish glances.
“Oh, hims ams talking to his dads. No big deals,” Toki informed him.
“AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa....” wailed Nathan as he once again tore out of the studio.
“You guysch think he'sch pissched?” Murderface asked.
“Naw, he's jest blowin' off steam,” said Pickles, who was mooching over to the snacks table in hopes in cinnamon buns or at least french toast. “He claims we've finished da album.”
“WHAT?” said Murderface. “Wasch he joking?”
“He sez he ain't,” Pickles munched.
“We ams not finished wit' da album,” Toki sighed. “Skwisgaar ams not re-re-re-re-re-recorded alls my gee-tars parts.”
“This is the first Dick Knubbler has heard about this, babies, yeah,” confessed the producer.
“All right, are we all FUCKING HERE?” exploded Nathan, as he strode back into the studio, Skwisgaar, along with Wotan and Phanuel the Grey, in his wake.
“So,” said Wotan, pulling out a cigar, “this is a modern recording studio? Looks splendid!”
“Hi Lords Wotans!” said Toki brightly. “You ams comes to see your kids re-re-re-re-re-record my gee-tars parts?”
“We're not re-re-re-re-re-record ANYTHING!” Nathan told them. “We're done.”
“Whats?” asked Skwisgaar. “You ams pulling my guitars strings.”
“It ain't brootal enough. It c'n never be brootal enough,” sighed Pickles. “It's like, existential. Or, somethin'.” He popped a bit of sticky sweet cinnamon bun into his mouth and licked his fingers.
“Why doesn't anybody believe me?” asked Nathan.
“You ams nots believeisgable!” said Skwisgaar.
“You guys wanted me down here?” asked Charles, who had come down with Elias in tow.
“WE'RE FINISHING THE ALBUM.”
Charles looked around. “Uh. Yeah. OK. And, why did you really want me down here?”
“The album,” said Nathan. “Charles. IT'S DONE.”
Charles blinked. He looked around the room. And then back to Nathan. “Yeah. You're pulling my wings, right?”
“I'm not pulling anybody's fucking anything!”
“The album. Is done?” asked Charles.
“It's DONE.”
“And we ams not goings to re-re-re-re-re-record nothings?” asked Toki.
“It's DONE.”
“No bullschit?” asked Murderface.
“No bullshit!”
“Done as in, done, dood?” inquired Pickles. “Er, is dere anudder sense o' done I'm not familiar wit'?”
Skwisgaar simply sneered.
“An' done, Nate-Nate?” inquired Elias.
“What, even you?” Nathan asked the boy, who only smiled sweetly. “IT'S DONE!”
Charles looked around from face to face.
He pushed a button on his communicator. “Black smoke. Yeah. No, I'm not pulling your hood. The black smoke. NOW!”
Lord Ganesh breezed past his beguiling receptionist with a quick nod and entered his office in the Eastern Kingdom's high office tower. So much to do with Elias's Naming on the horizon. It was not unlike launching a military campaign. He grabbed his trembling cell phone from a pocket and donned reading glasses to squint at the text message. He smiled. Sariel had good news. There was no further specification: it could have been solving the Mideast crisis, or Elias eating his vegetables. That was fine. His angel had grown so worried and drawn lately. There was a looming threat, to all of them, it was true.
He sensed the presence. Somewhere near the door. How the blazes had they – whoever they were – gotten all the way up here, past all the magicks and security personnel? Someone very powerful. Or very determined.
As casually as possible, back to the door, he set the phone down on the desk.
And kicked off his shoes.
And then he was turned, sabers in two of his hands, trident in another.
But then just as suddenly, it had all clattered to the floor.
“Bréagán!” She was nearly as tall as Ganesh, but his hearty four-armed embrace still pulled her off her feet.
“Reading glasses? Really, Ganesh!” she asked as he finally returned her to earth. She had rather a lot of curly red hair, pulled carelessly into a pony tail, and piercing dark blue eyes.
“Oh, I only really need them to read human electronic devices,” he apologized, tossing the glasses to his desk. “Bréagán! Where ever have you been? What have you been doing? I have so much to tell you! So much has happened!”
“You know me, boyo” she said, now looking around the office. “Here. And there.” Her voice carried a light lilt.
“I don't even know where to begin,” he told her, sitting back on the desk.
“I've been monitoring events,” she told him.
“What? Monitoring?” he asked. The office doors opened with a whoosh, and he was up off the desk. “But, look who's here, this is wonderful!” He strode over to the new arrivals. “Bréagán, this is Sariel!” he said, holding the somewhat puzzled angel by his shoulders.
Bréagán tilted her head, causing a tide of curls to shift. “Do you prefer Sariel? Or Charles?” she asked him curtly.
Charles didn't answer, but behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed.
“And this,” said Ganesh, ignoring the both of them, “is our little Boon!”
Bréagán's whole manner suddenly changed. “Ah!” she said, suddenly looking for all the world like an angel confronted with a slice of strawberry rhubarb. She walked closer to Elias, and, as Charles clutched his son tighter to his legs, actually made an entire circle around them.
“It's all right,” Ganesh told a disbelieving Charles.
Bréagán came to stand before Elias, and then quite suddenly had sat down in front of him, cross-legged, on the carpet. They locked eyes, the boy now fascinated.
Bréagán brought out two hands, clutched in in fists, as if grasping something, in front of the boy.
Elias looked up questioningly at Sariel. “It's all right, go ahead,” urged Ganesh.
It was all he needed. Elias stood before the two hands. Grinning, Bréagán held up one a fraction of an inch, and then the other. Elias made his little Charles face of concentration. And then he reached out and tapped her left hand.
She drew both hands in, and, with a magician's flourish, extended out her left hand to him.
He looked at the little wooden harlequin figure in his hands. It had little strings coming out the top and bottom. Bréagán reached out and gently pulled the strings. The figure's little wooden arms and legs bounced up and down.
Elias gasped, and fell down to sit on his bottom. He pulled the strings as well, and gazed in wonder as he too made the figure dance.
“Uh, Ganesh,” whispered Charles as the two beings played on the floor. “What exactly is this?”
“She is my great friend! My university flatmate!”
“She's a supernatural?”
“Oh! You do not know? She is an Elemental.”
Charles looked skeptically at Ganesh. “What? You mean like a gnome?”
Ganesh chuckled. “There are others. You cannot tell me you have never before heard of playing god?”
Charles looked over to where Bréagán and Elias now had the little wooden figure popped open, and his son was busily taking the mechanism apart. “Playing...? Ganesh, that's a philosophical concept, not an entity.”
He glanced over. Bréagán was looking up at him. “Bréagán. God o' playing. Pleased to meetcha. Oh, and your kid?” She hitched a thumb at Elias, who was now sitting happily against her legs, snapping the harlequin back together. He pulled the strings, and now the arm and leg on one side jigged up, while the other side jigged down. “He's brilliant.”
“You should see his installations,” puffed Ganesh.
“His what now?” she asked.
Ganesh's phone rang, so Charles supplied. “He does murals. Uh. Full scale murals. And, uh, other works.”
“An soshul wealizm, an Diego Wibewa, an mobement!” Elias lectured. Bréagán merely nodded uncertainly.
“Lady Raziel,” Ganesh was telling the phone, “I swear to you on my life, I have not been keeping from you the fact that I am acquainted with an Elemental. No! She just showed up, moments ago!”
“How the fuck does Raziel know!” Charles sighed.
“Queen Raziel, y' mean?” Bréagán asked.
“Oh, don't call her that, it just feeds her ego!” Charles warned her.
“You will agree to join us in Valhalla?” Ganesh pleaded, holding a finger to the mute button. “It shall make my life immeasurably easier.”
Bréagán had risen and stood looking down at a smiling Elias. “Will the Lady's children be there?” she asked.
“I believe that is the point,” Ganesh sighed.
“T'would be my honor then,” Bréagán told him, talking Elias' hand.
“You gonna put on shoes?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“I was just going to ask you the same question,” Ganesh chuckled, pointing at Charles' stockinging feet.
“SHIT DID I DO IT AGAIN!”
Bréagán looked from one man to the other. “You boys – you're both mad as hatters, ain't you?”
“Lady Raziel, this is one of my dearest friends, the goddess Bréagán,” said Ganesh, presenting his friend.
“Hey Bréagán! I'm Raziel. You can call me Raz if you want,” she told the tall goddess. She then stuck a finger and a thumb in her mouth and emitted a shrill whistle.
“Raziel, that's a dog whistle,” Charles told her.
“It works for the wolves,” she grinned. And true to her word, there was the sound of what sounded like a thundering tribe of toddlers, whereupon the twins stumbled into the doorway. They lurched ahead in excitement upon spotting their cousin, but then lurched again to a halt when they jointly realized he was in the company of a tall stranger.
“Hmmm,” said Bréagán. And then she led a giggling Elias around as she once again made a circle fully around the children. She dropped to the floor. “We'll start with you,” she told Abby, raising up two clenched hands. Abby cautiously moved towards the goddess, thoughtfully sucking on a thumb. She looked searchingly at the hands, and then met Bréagán's eyes. Then she pointed one imperious finger. The right hand.
The goddess flourished her hands. She held up a small toy.
It was a knight in shining armor, mounted on an armored steed. It looked to be made of tin.
All three children gasped at the pretty toy, and thumped to the floor in front of Bréagán. She pulled Abby into her lap, and pressed her little hand to the small key on the side of the knight. “You wind it like this. Gently. And not too far.”
“Nawt too fah,” repeated Abby, who was rather good with instructions. They placed the knight down on the floor, and, with the flick of another switch, he was riding off with a very small clatter of tiny hooves and a flash of a very small lance. The children squealed and pattered off after him.
“We gotta show this to Wotan. Only he'll want one,” Raziel told Bréagán.
The goddess smiled and looked back at the toddlers. She was slightly surprised to see Liam had somehow stationed himself directly in front of her, grinning like a tiny madman.
“I suppose you'll want something too?” He nodded so violently it looked as if his head would shake from his neck. Bréagán didn't put her hands up, however, she simply rubbed her chin. “Hrm, you're more difficult. All rightie, let's try this.” And so saying, raised two hands.
Liam goggled, putting his chubby hands up to his mouth. Bréagán grinned, and then very slowly brought one fist right in front of his face, where she waved it slightly. Liam grinned back, and reached out to grab her other hand.
Bréagán flourished her hands, and gave Liam something. He picked it up to show to Mommy.
“Liam's Book,” read Raziel. She extended her own well-manicured hand, and Liam handed it up . She ruffled through the pages. “You gave my kid a blank book?” she asked Bréagán curiously.
“No, Mummy!” Liam protested, grabbing the book back. “MONSTAH!” He held it up. His sister and his cousin had now ambled back as well. The cover of the book showed a rather large cartoon monster with big bloody fangs.
“Oooo,” said an appreciative Elias. And now all three children were on the floor with Bréagán, as the other adults huddled around curiously. Liam opened the book to the first page. “Gee-tar!” he said. It was indeed a picture of him and his big brother, Skwisgaar, playing guitars. “An' an' monstah!” he said, turning the page. Indeed, a hideous monster (the same one from the front cover) had now arrived to terrify Skwisgaar. “An', chomp!” concluded Liam, as the next page revealed the monster now had the guitarist in its fangs.
There was an awful lot of rude giggling, not all of it emitting from the toddlers.
“Liam Odinsson,” said Raziel. “Is that a nice thing to do to your brother?”
Liam managed to look a trifle sheepish. “No, Mummy,” he grinned. He went back to the first page. “Gee-tar. Monstah.” And then he turned to the last page. “Pway!” he said triumphantly. The picture had now changed so all three, Liam, Skwisgaar, and the monster now had guitars. Ganesh applauded.
“All right. What do we say?” prompted Raziel.
Both twins sprang to attention. “T'ank 'oo!” they chorused to Bréagán.
“You're welcome, both of ye,” Bréagán told them, ruffing Liam's hair. “Good to have an appreciative audience.”
“What's all the fuss and holler!” The twins now ran screaming over to their father. “Ye've not been giving my spoiled Seraphim more toys, have ye?” he boomed.
“Uncle, this is my very dear friend, Bréagán,” said Ganesh.
“Splendid! Splendid, Lady Bréagán!” he said, pumping her hand as she stood.
“Just Bréagán is fine, Lord,” she told him.
“This is quite an occasion! It's been a dog's age since we've had an Elemental in these halls!”
“The naiads,” dear, Lady Raziel reminded him, as he wrapped a large arm around her.
“Oh, yes, what a mess! Saltwater everywhere! You! Promise me you'll NEVER bring home a naiad!” he instructed tiny Liam, who nodded a bit bemusedly. “And you knew our Ganesh in college? Well, you'll have some stories to tell.”
“Er, now, Uncle,” warned Ganesh.
“The boy didn't write us – not a word! Drove his poor mother to fits!” Wotan attested.
“I may just have a story or two,” grinned Bréagán.
“Oh, I doubt it's even two,” worried Ganesh.
“You'll stay for dinner, then!” Wotan told Bréagán. “You can't refuse! Our kind need to stick together. I'm surrounded here by angels on all sides!” he said, giving Raziel a squeeze.
“Want me to tell the cook?” asked Raziel.
“Tell them to get some pies cooking!”
“BIE!” came several small squeals of agreement.
“We're liable to run out!”
“Oh, not for me, I don't like pie, I like little cakes,” said Raziel. “C'mon kids, you can give suggestions,” she told them, herding toddlers in her wake.
“You do so like pie, Raziel, you just wanna pretend to be different!” Sariel called as he pursued her as well.
“Now, no blood feuds in the kitchen!” said Wotan, who followed Sariel. “Hey, what did I tell you two about running on the ceiling!” his voice boomed from down the hall.
Ganesh sighed. “You know, I am not entirely certain whether Uncle is yelling at his twins, or at Sariel and Raziel.”
Bréagán stood for a moment, searching Ganesh. “So, your friends? They're all completely mad?”
Ganesh grinned. “Yes, I believe that succinctly sums up the situation.”
“And you're now consortin' with angels?”
Ganesh's grin faded. “I am bound to one. And my son – my heir – is part angel.” There was a hint of warning in his tone.
“I've heard tell. About that one,” she told Ganesh.
“You do not know him. Not as I do.”
“He ain't exactly a boy scout.”
“Neither am I.”
“Powerful one, that. You were always attracted to the powerful ones-”
“Khilona,” said Ganesh quietly. “Be nice, yaar.” She stopped and looked at him. “He's a fine father. And has been a loyal guardian to his boys.”
The blue eyes blazed. “You remember when we were at university? How we said we'd change the world?”
“We were idiots when we were at university, Bréagán. As is every university student in all the world.” She appeared to want to speak again, but hesitated. “Come,” said Ganesh. “Let's discuss this over dinner. Angels in the midst of mass pie consumption is something I believe everyone should witness.”
And angel and a god were settled in one of the sitting rooms at Valhalla, one contentedly sipping the whiskey, the other, irritably puffing on one of Wotan's cigars.
“If you guys are settled, I gotta get to the game room,” Raziel told them. “Bréagán is totally kicking Wotan's ass at Zombie Slayer.”
“Zombie Slayer 4: Backyard Patio of the Dead? I didn't think he played that game any more. Not after Father....” Ganesh began, sipping his whiskey.
“No. He doesn't. I think this is good for him,” said Raziel.
“Yes. It is good,” agreed Ganesh as she left.
“So, that's your best friend?” said Charles as soon as Raziel was gone. “Why the fuck have I never heard of her before?”
“She was my university flatmate,” Ganesh told him, a smile now tracing his features. “Yes, and a great friend. But, you understand, her kind, she doesn't have a pantheon, nor a home territory. She was terrifically hard to keep in touch with, and has grown yet more elusive in recent years.”
“So. After this, she'll go back to being elusive?”
“Sariel! You two shall be great friends!”
“What's up with all her idealistic crap? She's worse than you!'
“Sariel, you know how people are at university....”
“No. I have no fucking idea. All I have is a bunch of fake trophies Raziel and I made, that my son has converted into an impressionist artwork!”
“A bit more postmodern than impressionist I'd say,” smiled Ganesh.
“I hate it when my damn toddler makes me feel like an idiot.”
“I think we will all feel better when the Naming is complete,” Ganesh said. Charles looked miserable for a second or two. “You know,” said Ganesh quietly, “this is the first you've eaten a decent meal in a time.”
“I was too fucking distracted by your friend saying idiot things to worry!” Charles squawked, waving his cigar irritably.
“Oh, and what was your good news?” Ganesh asked. “I am sorry, it completely slipped my mind!”
“We finished the album!”
“What? No!”
“Yes!”
Ganesh narrowed his eyes. “You are pulling several of my arms!”
“No! And, Raziel says Nathan's poll numbers are skyrocketing. I wouldn't think that's all it took.”
“YOU GUYS!” said Raziel, who had suddenly reappeared. “You gotta see this! Bréagán's gonna top the high score!”
“Wotan's high score?” laughed Charles.
“No! The top score ever!”
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a puzzled glance. “You pacifist buddy?” Charles asked.
Down in the game room, Wotan had actually retired. Bréagán, wearing a pair of VR glasses, had in her hands two different controllers, which resembled AKs. She was wielding them to great effect, creating an undead mincemeat on the screen, and popping up the score to scarce fit on the readout.
“Record high score!” Wotan told the newly arrived parties. “I need to take this one on a hunt!”
Bréagán suddenly hit a complicated series of buttons on her controller, which paused the action and brought up a screen filled with text. She typed in a few words, and the game went back to play. She took off the glasses and dropped them onto Liam's head. “A back door. It's on free play now,” she said, handing the tot her controller.
“You've played this game before I see!” laughed Wotan.
Bréagán looked serious. “I wrote this game.”
“I didn't know you worked in the video game industry,” said Ganesh.
“I don't. Not anymore,” she told them. She looked sadly at Ganesh. “This is why I've come to you. Why I've come out of hiding,” she confessed. “I need your help, you see.”
“So, here we go!” said Raziel.
Charles looked up. Three familiar beings had just appeared in his office, in addition to one unfamiliar one.
“Uh, and who is this?” he inquired of the stranger.
“This is the head of Bréagán's video game company!” she told him. “The guys who made Zombie Slayer 4: Backyard Patio of the Dead?”
“Hi!” said the video game dude brightly.
“We kidnapped him!” Raziel bragged.
“You...?”
“Chango, darling, give dear Charles one our cards?” said Orula, who was one of the other familiar faces.
“Yes, mahster,” agreed Chango, eagerly proffered a small bit of cardstock to Charles.
Charles, who was very busy rubbing his forehead with one hand, took the card in the other hand, and read, “'Chango and Orula, kidnappers of video game fellows who might be involved in very big mysterious conspiracies of dubious import involving the military-industrial complex...' You realize, the ink is still wet?” he asked, rubbing his thumb on the card.
“Bit of a rush job, this,” said Orula.
“Oi! I got toner under me fingernails!” lamented Chango.
“All right,” said Charles. “OK. Raziel. While I appreciate your enthusiasm....”
“Can we torture him now? We're not gonna get anything good unless we torture him!” Raziel stated hopefully.
“Raziel, I don't think....”
“Oh, may we offer our assistance?” inquired Orula.
“I don't think I bought the right card, Mahster,” mused Chango, looking over a fan of brightly colored business cards.
“Oh, here,” said Raziel, pulling out a lavendar card with an embossed border. “'Connoisseurs of fine teas!' Why don't you brew us some tea?”
“Tea and torture! Oh, that sounds a splendid idea!” cheered Orula. “What do you say, old chap?”
“Well,” mulled the video game guy, “I'm more of a coffee person. You know, up all night gaming?”
“Oi! We will brew you a concoction to tickle the senses!” bragged Chango.
“I guess I'm always open to new experiences,” the video game guy gamely allowed.
“Splendid!” said Orula, as the vodouisants disappeared.
“Ya know, I really think if we're gonna torture him, I gotta go home and change my boots. These shoes really don't shout, 'torturer' at all.”
“Uh. Yeah. Raziel. Sure. Go ahead,” moaned Charles.
“Toodles,” said Raziel.
“DADA!”
Charles smiled faintly as his son hurtled into the room, wielding a picture book. “Oh, hey Boon.”
“Dada, wead an Widdly Piddly?” inquired the child, pulling on his leg.
“You wanna read the Wiggly Piggly book. Uh. Again?” Charles smiled blankly.
Elias suddenly became aware of a new adult presence in the room. Before Charles could stop him he had slipped around the desk and stood in front of the video game guy, tugging on his trouser leg and babbling, “Widdly Piddly!”
“Hey, little dude!” grinned the video game guy.
“Uh. That's my son,” Charles explained. “Elias! No! He, uh, likes to read the Wiggly Piggly book.”
“Is this the one where the Wiggly Pigglies go to Jiggly Giggly land?” enthused the video game dude.
“Uh. I believe so.”
“That's the best book in the series!” approved the video game guy, making himself at home in a guest chair. Elias, gripping the book, scrambled into his lap.
“Here we go,” said Orula, suddenly reappearing in the room with Chango.
Chango held a full formal tea service on a lovely silver tray. “Lapsang souchong!” he said as he poured. “A great favorite for fans of mocha java. Cream?”
“Do you have milk?” inquired the video game dude as he and Elias pored over the Wiggly Pigglies as they ate figgies and danced little jiggies.
“I could toddle off back to the kitchen and fetch some!” Chango offered. “Whole milk?”
“Yes please!”
“So waddya think?” asked Raziel, appearing as Chango poofed away. “I have some Valentinos, but I think these more shout, 'I'm gonna do you bodily injury!'”
“Uh, yeah, Raziel,” agreed Charles, who, oddly enough, had his hands over his eyes, which one might have suspected, would impair his vision of Raziel's footwear choices.
“IS THAT THE WIGGLY PIGGLY BOOK?” she squealed at the video game dude.
“Oh, yeah, this book is righteous! They're getting all giggly over little squigglies!” answered the video game guy.
“Piddies!” explained Elias.
“Aw, you mind if I bring my kids? They LOVE this book!”
“Oh, yeah, sure!” said the video game guy. “I like kids. They're awesome.”
“Here we go, whole milk,” gushed Orula. “And we have some turbinado sugar.”
“Piddies!” squealed Liam and Abby, who had just appeared with their mother, who now in addition wore a splendid little torturing hat.
“Oi, that's an amazing hat, love!” said Chango.
“Oh, thanks!” said Raziel. “I thought it said, 'No mercy!'”
“Er,” said Ganesh.
Charles sighed a very deep sigh at the soft sound of Ganesh's voice. “This is the guy from the video game company Bréagán worked for,” Charles explained, though it was all a bit muffled, as he did not removed his head from where it was, in his hands, down on the desk. “We're torturing information from him.”
“Ah. Yes,” said Ganesh, sitting down beside the video game guy, where Chango quickly offered him tea. “With, er, tea and picture books. Very devious.”
Charles merely sighed.
“Erm, I hate to interfere in your terribly evil plot, dear, but, had you considered simply asking him?”
A hand was waved.
“Er,” Ganesh told the video game guy.
“You wanna know about the military dudes?” asked the guy.
“Well. Er. Yes?”
“Dude! It was so bad!” said the video game guy. “I run this awesome gaming company. Me and my buds! And, we had a chick programmer. A chick programmer! And she was cool, with all this red hair. I think she was from somewhere, like Holland or some shit? But then these military dudes swoop in and want everything, our programs, our programmer. They were harshing our buzz, dude!”
“Military? Someon named Crozier?” asked Charles, who had finally come up off the desk.
“That's the dude! Cranky ass old son of a bitch! It was like my dad had come to bring everybody down. My dad!”
“So, what happened then?” asked Ganesh, sipping his tea. “Rather good tea, by the way.” Chango and Orula smiled and nodded at each other.
“My chick programmer split, and took the programs with her. Now these uptight dudes in black suits are all sitting around my company all day long. It's total suckitude!”
“What would you think....” Charles began. He seemed to be gathering himself. “Do you think, if I could promise you your programmer back, that you guys might wanna work on a Dethklok game.”
“DUDE!” the guy exclaimed. “A DETHKLOK GAME! That would be so bitchin' and metal!”
“I would play that!” Raziel grinned.
Charles nodded, winding up. “I have lawyers. We would have to get you guys reorganized.”
“Could we use Nathan's voice?” asked the video game guy.
“I think I can promise you the use of Nathan's voice,” Charles said. “We have a new album. And an upcoming tour. If we could get something out there at a rapid pace....”
“We have shit we can adapt,” said the video game dude. “A software death march! Or a Dethmarch, I guess. And if you can get that programmer, she is righteous! Oh fuck yeah Dethklok!”
Charles smiled.
“Might I ask something?” inquied Orula.
“Yeah?”
“I am growing increasingly concerned over the fates of the Wiggly Pigglies now that they have strayed into the Ziggly Twiggly woods!” the vodouisant confessed. Chango twirled his indigo feather boa around his neck and nodded as well.
Charles scanned several concerned faces. “Uh, yeah. We can work out details later I guess. Would you, uh, mind?” he asked the video game dude.
“Oh, sure dude!” said the guy, cheerily taking up the picture book again, as several toddlers, angels, and voodoo priests crowded around.
Ganesh rose, inclining his head. Charles followed him out of the office.
“Lady Raziel has agreed to take Elias for the evening. You are to accompany me to my residence.”
Charles stopped short. “Wait. What? No! Ganesh, I got shit to do!”
Ganesh walked back a couple of steps and linked arms with Charles. “My employer, Mr. Nathan Explosion, who is paying me the princely sum of 100 rupees per month, has requested this service from me.”
“No.”
Ganesh grinned. “Stubborn as a Seraph, as my uncle would say. You need to sleep, dear. And I believe I have an idea.”
“I'm starting a video game company,” said Charles. “I don't fucking believe it.”
“It seems a good fit,” said Ganesh. They were sitting on the couch at his residence. The room's ambience had been altered by the large mural, courtesy of their son, that now covered one wall, but Ganesh had already developed an affection for the piece.
“It's a good fit if I don't murder your friend,” Charles grumbled.
Ganesh pulled the angel over into his lap, receiving almost no protest. “Bréagán? You two shall be fast friends. I guarantee it.”
“Snippy bitch,” Charles muttered into Ganesh's chest.
“Upon reflection, she is probably a bit too much like you for your comfort,” Ganesh chuckled.
“What?”
Ganesh had practiced, physicians hands. He found the spot on Charles' back. It was right where the wings emerged. One simply applied pressure with a thumb, down the invisible seam. It generally worked to sooth Elias. He felt the knot of tensed muscles slowly relaxing. A sigh. And a bit of trembling.
“I don't wanna sleep,” Charles said, very very softly. “He gets in my dreams.”
“I said I had an idea,” Ganesh told him, removing Charles' eyeglasses. “I would like you to try coming into my mind while you fall asleep.”
“I don't think I can do that!”
“Of course you can. It will be no problem at all,” Ganesh soothed. He was easing Charles down now, so he was lying down, his head in Ganesh's lap. “Come on. I'll just go along with you for a bit.” Charles was drowsing, so tired, almost asleep already. He felt Ganesh's hand running through his hair. He reached out.
And then he fell.
He was all alone. Shivering. Naked and alone and small.
The horrible angel had abandoned him. All alone in a new world, cold and terrified and waiting to die.
He pulled his ugly silver wings around himself, huddling for warmth.
And then....
Dark hair and eyes. So beautiful!
“Will you come along with me?”
A hand, reaching towards him.
He grasped it, letting himself be pulled up.
But then he was different, the being. Sariel had never seen anything like. A little boy, like himself, only with the head of an elephant.
The kind, intelligent eyes blinked. “Will you be my friend? I think we shall be great friends!”
“Oh. Oh yes. Please!” A friend? He had never had a friend before. “Should I transform?” he asked, indicating the wings.
“I think you are very lovely like that,” said his new friend.
“Oh. All right.”
“Let's go!”
And so the went, arm in arm.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's hard to be an evil mastermind when you've got a toddler. And other life lessons.
Warnings: Some reference to traumatic memories this time
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok started existence as a Metalocalypse AU. Now I'm not quite sure what it is. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal,
tikific, where you are welcome to come visit the bits I’ve written and maybe poke them with a pointed stick.Last time: we had a bit of history on a certain guitar. And a not so pleasant being returned to earth.
Nathan Explosion awoke with a start, bolting straight up in bed.
A groupie muttered at him, annoyed, and rolled over.
Something was wrong!
He scrambled down from the enormous bed, annoying a few other female persons along the circuitous route from atop the great mattress to the floor of his room. He stopped to pull on some clothing that had been left crumpled in a pile. Unlike some people, he did not go wandering about the castle half-naked.
And then he was out the door, stalking down the corridor, heading towards a familiar office.
There was a light on under the door. A presence. Some unsettling presence.
He threw open the door.
“Nate-Nate!”
Elias sat in his high chair. His wings were out this morning, so Nathan got not only a big smile, but the little flutter than meant the boy was happy.
A small wing flap it may have been, but it managed to whack a small bowl of oatmeal clean off the tray. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, leaving a goo of warm cereal and milk to ooze out on the floor.
“BOON!” said Nathan in greeting.
“Oh. Good morning Nathan,” Charles said at last, without looking.. He picked up the spilled bowl of oatmeal and set it aside, ignoring the mess on the floor. His cheery child was blotched in oatmeal, as well as various other foodstuffs. Charles himself had a paper napkin dipped in water, and was worrying some kind of stain on his red tie.
“What's going on in here?” Nathan demanded.
“Breakfast,” Charles explained with a soft sigh. He finally looked up, glasses askew. “I can't seem to get any food from the bowl into the kid!”
Nathan strode boldly into the office. This was clearly a job for the metal master!
He sat down next to Elias and wondered why exactly was it that people didn't like kids? Kids were awesome. Look at this little guy! Nathan could go all day getting snarls from his grumpy band mates, or snotty stares from the manager, and even the groupies all wanted something from him. But Boon, you just hadda show up, and there he was with a big old sweet smile and fluttering his wings (although, yeah, it was a little bit weird for a kid to have wings, and the extra arm thing, but considering who he was related too, he was probably lucky he didn't end up with those creepy shiny-ass eyes). (Though, on the other hand, little glowing red eyes? That might be pretty brutal.)
“Does he look like he's gonna starve to death?” Charles asked. Actually, the kid looked plump and cheery: Charles was the one who looked like he hadn't eaten (or slept) in a week. Nathan cast a practiced eye at him. He must have been eating, given the current state of pie depletion, but it was something to keep a watch on.
“Let me DEMONSTRATE!” Nathan told Charles, plucking the spoon from his hand. That was another awesome thing about kids: look at his former smug son of a bitch manager! At one point, the guy had an uptight posture like you could only achieve by taking a red hot poker and jamming it right up your ass (which is probably what he did for fun, come to think of it). Now, here he was, in shirt sleeves (because he had figured out he could cover up most of the baby goo if he set the jacket on the back of his chair) slumped over in defeat over trying to get a teaspoon of applesauce from a tray in into a kid's pie hole.
“Booooon!” Nathan told the attentive tot. “THE DETHBUS IS COMING!” The boy was suddenly at full attention. Nathan took the spoon, poised, laden with fruit puree. “Here it comes,” he said, slowly veering it towards Elias's mouth. “INTO THE TUNNEL.”
As if on cue, Elias suddenly opened his mouth wide enough to fit not only a Dethbus, but perhaps a Dethjet and maybe a Dethaircraft carrier. Nathan stuck the spoon in, and the boy happily slurped up. He smacked and smiled.
“SEE?” asked Nathan.
Charles blinked, astonished. “That's all you gotta do?”
“Uh-huh. See, and you can mix it up.” Nathan took another glob of food on the spoon, and this time declared, “Here comes the Dethcopter, INTO THE TUNNEL!”
“Wait!” Suddenly, Charles had thrown one shirtsleeved arm between the Dethcopter and the yawning tunnel.
“What?”
“The Dethcopter? Is going into a TUNNEL? That doesn't sound like you've followed safety precautions!”
Elias, whose mouth was still opened, looked over at his father with what may just have been annoyance.
“Charles,” whispered Nathan. “The point is to get the FOOD into the KID.”
Charles crossed his arms. “Yes, but not at the risk of violating our health and safety procedures! Those are implemented for a reason!”
Nathan frowned, and then took up the spoon again. “Here comes the Dethcopter,” he said, spiraling the spoon, “Into the aircraft HANGAR following all the safety blah blah blah.”
Charles nodded happily, and the food-laden spoon once again ended up inside Elias' mouth.
Nathan now held the spoon handle towards Charles, questioning look on his face.
“Oh. Uh,” said Charles, taking up the spoon somewhat uncertainly. He took some food up on the spoon. “Uh, here's the Dethsubmarine! Going into … uh, and undersea cave!” Much to his delight, a good portion of the Dethsubarine's fruity cargo made it into the undersea cave.
“Do we have a Dethsubmarine?” asked Nathan suspiciously.
“Oh. Uh. I dunno. Do you want one?” asked Charles, semi-effectively dabbing the lower portion of Elias' face with a napkin. “We just sorta leased that one when you guys were recording.”
“We could go on UNDERSEA ADVENTURES!” Nathan enthused.
“All right. Well. Maybe we could talk about it when I get back.” Charles was up, grabbing his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“Gotta talk with some guys. The Hell Fries deal.”
“Why are you so set on the Hell Fries?”
“Merchandising!” explained Charles, tucking his tie into his jacket so the food stain wouldn't show. “That's our bread and butter.”
“I thought you said album sales was our bread and butter.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Nathan took off, thinking to go back to bed, or maybe to the kitchen. Or maybe to the kitchen, and then back to bed.
But then he lurched to a halt. He reversed course. He headed down to the other end of the the Haus. Nathan invited himself in to most any room in his castle, but he here he rapped politely but firmly on the door.
“Oh, Nathan! Can you perhaps give me one moment? We are finishing up here.” Ganesh smiled politely and ushered him into the suite.
Kam, the cheery angel who usually watched the kid, was there, sitting on the couch. Even though the kid was down the hall dumping his breakfast on Charles.
Nathan liked Kam. He was another smiling person who wasn't an asshole. See, it really wasn't that hard! Though Kam was looking different today.
“As I was saying, Kamuel,” Ganesh told him, “it is something for you to consider. I realize it is a very weighty decision, so you will want to give careful thought to the matter.”
Kam didn't reply, but nodded, frowning. He looked up and smiled. “Oh. Hello Nathan!”
“Hey Kam!” said Nathan as the Cherub stood. “I think your boss needs you.”
The smile broke into a grin. “That's no surprise. Are they covered in oatmeal?”
“And applesauce.”
“Oh. Well, tasty at least.”
Kam departed, laughing, and Ganesh courteously ushed Nathan into the bit of the suite he used as an office. Ganesh sat down opposite, effortlessly twisting his legs into a pretzel.
Ganesh was a weird contrast to Charles, Nathan thought. Whereas Charles tended to look either completely buttoned up and ramrod straight, or like a truck had just backed over him, Ganesh always looked just a little rumpled. Always. Always the same fucking rumpled.
It had been Skwisgaar who had pointed it out actually. Every once in a while, Ganesh would show up in the living room with a besotted groupie or two (or three) on his arms, and would somewhat apologetically explain, “These poor young ladies have obviously lost their way in this large establishment, so I have offered my assistance,” and then he would politely but firmly shoo them back to their respective band members. It was pretty cool. It's not as if people could keep track of every groupie, and Ganesh could have easily scored at least an occasional blow job from the deal. But, he acted like a dude, and didn't even appear to give a shit when the girls would gush about how “Your butler is REALLY COOL,” or some such.
“Man,” Nathan had said after one such occasion, when the haul was at least half a dozen giggling girls. “Think how much pussy that guy could get. If that guy got pussy!”
“Womens,” Skwisgaar had counseled. “Dey ams likes da tousled dudes.”
“Uh. What the fuck is tousled? Sounds kind of, you know....”
“You know how hims ams gots dat bits of hair dat hangs down?” asked Skwisgaar, pulling a strand of his own blond tresses over a clear blue eye.
“Yeah, like he should comb it back?”
“And, it ams always eggsactly da same bits of hairs?” added Skwisgaar, cocking a blond eyebrow.
“Uh. Yeah,” said Nathan.
“And his shirts ams untucked like so?”
Nathan merely frowned.
“And, always ams comes untucked da same places?”
Nathan searched his memories. “How does he do that?”
“And ams always slips off da shoes and goes barefoot. Pffft.”
Nathan was now sitting forward. “Yeah. What about it?”
“Womens,” sighed Skwisgaar, making himself more comfortable between a couple of especially cute females. “Dey ams likes da projects. Nots da big one, like Moiderfaces. Dey ams like da littles ones, like dey ams sticks back Ganesh's hair, and den tucks in his shirts, and den find where ams his shoes, and den deys rips off da clothes and sucks his cocks.”
“Ooooohhhh,” said Nathan. “So that's how it works.”
“Ja. Ams da femininical psycholgies!” stated Skwisgaar, pointing at his own blond noggin.
“Huh. I never knew that,” Nathan admitted.
“Pffff. Why you ams gives a shits? You ams da rocks stars.”
“Well, yeah, you gotta point,” Nathan admitted.
Ganesh was tousled this morning. Pretty much the same way he was always tousled. He had his shirt unbuttoned, as he had out the extra pair of arms. He seemed to like mooching around the castle in four armed mode, much as Charles would leave the wings out (and steal all the goddam pie. But you couldn't really bitch about having to stare at his beer gut, like you would with Murderface. Ganesh looked like, if you tried to toss a dime at his gut, it would bounce back and probably take out your eye. Whereas, you dropped a dime on Murderface's gut, it would settle in and get lost, and maybe you'd find it six years later when he belched.
Ganesh casually propped himself up on a pair of arms resting on the back of the couch, but also brought up another pair of hands steepled, as if listening attentively.
Hard to tell with this guy, Nathan though. Too many goddam arms.
“So, what may I do for you this morning, Nathan?”
“I was just wondering, what the fuck?”
Ganesh smiled. “There could be many answers to that question, my friend,” he said. The arms were all up now, with graceful open palms and pointing fingers.
“How you do that?” asked Nathan.
“I'm sorry?”
“Know where all your fucking hands are all the time?”
Ganesh cocked his head. He looked over at his hands, and broke into a genuine grin. “I do apologize. I have been told my family tend to talk with our hands,” he explained. There were now a couple more pairs of arms up. Rippling. The effect was hypnotic.
“It's like you're dancing when you're sitting down.”
“Well, my family are dancers.”
“I thought you dudes were gods?”
“We are! But music, singing, dancing – they are very powerful.” The arms settled down. “As you know.”
“We ain't gods,” Nathan told him.
“I have heard you described as such.” The multiple arms became just four. Just four. Like, normal, Nathan thought.
“Charles looks like shit.”
Suddenly, the dancing arms had ceased. It was just Ganesh, leaning forward slighting, looking concerned.
“Insomnia, actually. He's been having terrible dreams lately. Horrid. That angel,” Ganesh said.
“We need to kill that guy.”
The room had gotten quiet. And darkened slightly. “Yes,” Ganesh said. “But we will need to be careful. She has remade him. Given him a lot of her power. And we will have to achieve a permanent solution this time.”
Nathan thought for a moment, slightly taken aback. “Dude. You're not gonna treat me like I'm stupid?”
“No one thinks that. And if they do, it reflects more on themselves, I should think.”
“Why does Charles always change the fucking subject then?”
“Your relationship,” said Ganesh, now settling back on the couch again, “is different. I am not sure I can explain it adequately. He will not ask you – he cannot ask you – to assist him.”
“Who says?”
“Well.” One hand trailed out. “No one in particular. These are very old rules.”
“I don't understand.”
“Ours is not to understand them. They simply keep the universe in balance. Like the notion that angels may go as they will, but my kind are bound here,” he explained.
Nathan frowned. “Your kid – he's an angel”
“He definitely is,” Ganesh sighed, smiling nonetheless.
“Can he go, like, anywhere?”
Ganesh grinned a very big grin and arched an eyebrow. “Nathan Explosion. You excel in posing questions which I cannot answer.”
“You don't know?”
“No idea. Perhaps this is why there is such a fuss over our children? But now, if you will excuse me? I need to attend to Elias.” Ganesh was standing up. “Perhaps we may continue this conversation? At a later time?”
Nathan nodded. Ganesh appeared to be serious about it.
It was then that there was a soft knock at the door, and Kam returned, holding Boon's hand.
“Breakfast avec Daddy,” laughed Kamuel.
“Will we need to hose him off, or perhaps presoak him for an hour or so first?” grinned Ganesh, hefting his rather gooey child.
Nathan frowned as he left. That was another thing. Ganesh never seemed to get coated in baby goo. Like maybe he sprayed his whole body with Armor All?
Anyway, it was time. So he headed to the kitchen for some Explosion sauce chips (as he had missed his own breakfast, and thence to the basement recording studio.
Knubbler was there at the console, eyes blinking green. Good.
And one, two, three band mates.
One. Two. Three.
“WHERE'S PICKLES?” demanded Nathan.
“Oh,” said Toki, looking up from some crewel work. “No bigs deals. Hims ams goes wit' Lady Raziel for a moments up on da balksconies. Dey ams talksing.”
“WHAT!”
“Nathan. Bro. It'sch, you know,” Murderface leaned close, looking carefully either way. “Lady Razschiel.” He leaned back and, checking right and left again, went back to filing his nails with a hunting knife.
“Eh, I'll got get him,” grumbled Nathan.
“Nat'ans!” warned Skwisgaar, playing a nervous run on the Explorer. “You ams t'inks dats a good idea?”
“Nate, baby, just hang loose here with us,” counseled Knubber, his eyes blinking for a brief, almost subliminal moment to red. “For a mo', baby!”
Nathan glowered, turned, and left.
Those remaining shared a worried glance. Skwisgaar began picking out Chopin's Funeral March on his Gibson.
Nathan grumpily headed back up the stairs that he had just headed down. Backtracking sucked. He hit the floor above ground and took a turn towards the light. Yeah, there they were, standing out on the balcony, Lady Raz – in defiance of gravity and good sense – sitting on the balustrade, kicking her legs.
“PICKLES!” Nathan bellowed.
“Hiiieeee Nathan!” said Raziel. She was dressed as usual: there were shoes on her feet and a little hat on her head, but then what the fuck was happening in between, Nathan had no fucking idea. That must be because fashion and whatever.
What rankled Nathan though was how Pickles didn't even look up at his name being called. Instead, the drummer told Raziel, “I just dunno if I c'n do it, yoo know?”
“You never think you can do it, and then you can always do it,” Raziel told him. “This will be easy as pie! Easier than pie, because you don't have to worry about Sariel stealing it! You just get us from point A to point B, with a side trip to point C, and maybe we'll go around through point D and E if the weather is nice,” she said, demonstrating by pointing fingers all over the place.
“It's jest, I never done anyt'ing like that.”
“That's the beauty of it, it's unexpected!”
“Pickles!” Nathan reiterated, now growing even more annoyed at being ignored. “You need to get your ass down to the recording studio! We're recording!”
“We're almost finished!” Raziel said brightly.
“Nat'an,” Pickles told him. “Why don'tcha jest fuckin' go down wit'out me? Yoo don't need me t' punch da feckin' delete key.”
“I'm not punching the fucking delete button!” Nathan protested.
“Shure yoo are. I'll tell yoo wut yer gonna do. Yer gonna go down dere and sit an' bitch dat it ain't brootal fer 45 feckin' minutes, and den yer gonna delete it. An' I don't feel like wastin' my feckin' time today.”
Nathan stepped back, stunned. “No. No kidding, dude. I think we've done it.”
“Yer kiddin'.”
“I wouldn't joke about this!”
Pickles stared at Nathan for a long moment. “Are you t'roo wit' me fer now, Lady Raz?”
“I'll never be through with you, dear,” she giggled, hopping from the balustrade. “But you can run and play with Nathan now.”
Pickles nodded thoughtfully.
“But can I borrow Toki for a teeny tiny moment?” she asked Nathan. “He was going to show me crewel.”
“NO YOU CANNOT BORROW TOKI!” Nathan howled.
Raziel grinned, blew Nathan a kiss, and disappeared.
“Fuck! Where did she go? Did she go get Toki to do her shit?” Nathan worried.
“Aw, I t'ink she's jest feckin' wit' yoo,” Pickles muttered. He inclined his head towards the stairway, and they both headed back towards the recording studio.
Toki was still down there.
However....
“WHERE THE FUCK IS SKWISGAAR!”
Nathan received several sheepish glances.
“Oh, hims ams talking to his dads. No big deals,” Toki informed him.
“AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa....” wailed Nathan as he once again tore out of the studio.
“You guysch think he'sch pissched?” Murderface asked.
“Naw, he's jest blowin' off steam,” said Pickles, who was mooching over to the snacks table in hopes in cinnamon buns or at least french toast. “He claims we've finished da album.”
“WHAT?” said Murderface. “Wasch he joking?”
“He sez he ain't,” Pickles munched.
“We ams not finished wit' da album,” Toki sighed. “Skwisgaar ams not re-re-re-re-re-recorded alls my gee-tars parts.”
“This is the first Dick Knubbler has heard about this, babies, yeah,” confessed the producer.
“All right, are we all FUCKING HERE?” exploded Nathan, as he strode back into the studio, Skwisgaar, along with Wotan and Phanuel the Grey, in his wake.
“So,” said Wotan, pulling out a cigar, “this is a modern recording studio? Looks splendid!”
“Hi Lords Wotans!” said Toki brightly. “You ams comes to see your kids re-re-re-re-re-record my gee-tars parts?”
“We're not re-re-re-re-re-record ANYTHING!” Nathan told them. “We're done.”
“Whats?” asked Skwisgaar. “You ams pulling my guitars strings.”
“It ain't brootal enough. It c'n never be brootal enough,” sighed Pickles. “It's like, existential. Or, somethin'.” He popped a bit of sticky sweet cinnamon bun into his mouth and licked his fingers.
“Why doesn't anybody believe me?” asked Nathan.
“You ams nots believeisgable!” said Skwisgaar.
“You guys wanted me down here?” asked Charles, who had come down with Elias in tow.
“WE'RE FINISHING THE ALBUM.”
Charles looked around. “Uh. Yeah. OK. And, why did you really want me down here?”
“The album,” said Nathan. “Charles. IT'S DONE.”
Charles blinked. He looked around the room. And then back to Nathan. “Yeah. You're pulling my wings, right?”
“I'm not pulling anybody's fucking anything!”
“The album. Is done?” asked Charles.
“It's DONE.”
“And we ams not goings to re-re-re-re-re-record nothings?” asked Toki.
“It's DONE.”
“No bullschit?” asked Murderface.
“No bullshit!”
“Done as in, done, dood?” inquired Pickles. “Er, is dere anudder sense o' done I'm not familiar wit'?”
Skwisgaar simply sneered.
“An' done, Nate-Nate?” inquired Elias.
“What, even you?” Nathan asked the boy, who only smiled sweetly. “IT'S DONE!”
Charles looked around from face to face.
He pushed a button on his communicator. “Black smoke. Yeah. No, I'm not pulling your hood. The black smoke. NOW!”
Lord Ganesh breezed past his beguiling receptionist with a quick nod and entered his office in the Eastern Kingdom's high office tower. So much to do with Elias's Naming on the horizon. It was not unlike launching a military campaign. He grabbed his trembling cell phone from a pocket and donned reading glasses to squint at the text message. He smiled. Sariel had good news. There was no further specification: it could have been solving the Mideast crisis, or Elias eating his vegetables. That was fine. His angel had grown so worried and drawn lately. There was a looming threat, to all of them, it was true.
He sensed the presence. Somewhere near the door. How the blazes had they – whoever they were – gotten all the way up here, past all the magicks and security personnel? Someone very powerful. Or very determined.
As casually as possible, back to the door, he set the phone down on the desk.
And kicked off his shoes.
And then he was turned, sabers in two of his hands, trident in another.
But then just as suddenly, it had all clattered to the floor.
“Bréagán!” She was nearly as tall as Ganesh, but his hearty four-armed embrace still pulled her off her feet.
“Reading glasses? Really, Ganesh!” she asked as he finally returned her to earth. She had rather a lot of curly red hair, pulled carelessly into a pony tail, and piercing dark blue eyes.
“Oh, I only really need them to read human electronic devices,” he apologized, tossing the glasses to his desk. “Bréagán! Where ever have you been? What have you been doing? I have so much to tell you! So much has happened!”
“You know me, boyo” she said, now looking around the office. “Here. And there.” Her voice carried a light lilt.
“I don't even know where to begin,” he told her, sitting back on the desk.
“I've been monitoring events,” she told him.
“What? Monitoring?” he asked. The office doors opened with a whoosh, and he was up off the desk. “But, look who's here, this is wonderful!” He strode over to the new arrivals. “Bréagán, this is Sariel!” he said, holding the somewhat puzzled angel by his shoulders.
Bréagán tilted her head, causing a tide of curls to shift. “Do you prefer Sariel? Or Charles?” she asked him curtly.
Charles didn't answer, but behind his glasses, his eyes narrowed.
“And this,” said Ganesh, ignoring the both of them, “is our little Boon!”
Bréagán's whole manner suddenly changed. “Ah!” she said, suddenly looking for all the world like an angel confronted with a slice of strawberry rhubarb. She walked closer to Elias, and, as Charles clutched his son tighter to his legs, actually made an entire circle around them.
“It's all right,” Ganesh told a disbelieving Charles.
Bréagán came to stand before Elias, and then quite suddenly had sat down in front of him, cross-legged, on the carpet. They locked eyes, the boy now fascinated.
Bréagán brought out two hands, clutched in in fists, as if grasping something, in front of the boy.
Elias looked up questioningly at Sariel. “It's all right, go ahead,” urged Ganesh.
It was all he needed. Elias stood before the two hands. Grinning, Bréagán held up one a fraction of an inch, and then the other. Elias made his little Charles face of concentration. And then he reached out and tapped her left hand.
She drew both hands in, and, with a magician's flourish, extended out her left hand to him.
He looked at the little wooden harlequin figure in his hands. It had little strings coming out the top and bottom. Bréagán reached out and gently pulled the strings. The figure's little wooden arms and legs bounced up and down.
Elias gasped, and fell down to sit on his bottom. He pulled the strings as well, and gazed in wonder as he too made the figure dance.
“Uh, Ganesh,” whispered Charles as the two beings played on the floor. “What exactly is this?”
“She is my great friend! My university flatmate!”
“She's a supernatural?”
“Oh! You do not know? She is an Elemental.”
Charles looked skeptically at Ganesh. “What? You mean like a gnome?”
Ganesh chuckled. “There are others. You cannot tell me you have never before heard of playing god?”
Charles looked over to where Bréagán and Elias now had the little wooden figure popped open, and his son was busily taking the mechanism apart. “Playing...? Ganesh, that's a philosophical concept, not an entity.”
He glanced over. Bréagán was looking up at him. “Bréagán. God o' playing. Pleased to meetcha. Oh, and your kid?” She hitched a thumb at Elias, who was now sitting happily against her legs, snapping the harlequin back together. He pulled the strings, and now the arm and leg on one side jigged up, while the other side jigged down. “He's brilliant.”
“You should see his installations,” puffed Ganesh.
“His what now?” she asked.
Ganesh's phone rang, so Charles supplied. “He does murals. Uh. Full scale murals. And, uh, other works.”
“An soshul wealizm, an Diego Wibewa, an mobement!” Elias lectured. Bréagán merely nodded uncertainly.
“Lady Raziel,” Ganesh was telling the phone, “I swear to you on my life, I have not been keeping from you the fact that I am acquainted with an Elemental. No! She just showed up, moments ago!”
“How the fuck does Raziel know!” Charles sighed.
“Queen Raziel, y' mean?” Bréagán asked.
“Oh, don't call her that, it just feeds her ego!” Charles warned her.
“You will agree to join us in Valhalla?” Ganesh pleaded, holding a finger to the mute button. “It shall make my life immeasurably easier.”
Bréagán had risen and stood looking down at a smiling Elias. “Will the Lady's children be there?” she asked.
“I believe that is the point,” Ganesh sighed.
“T'would be my honor then,” Bréagán told him, talking Elias' hand.
“You gonna put on shoes?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“I was just going to ask you the same question,” Ganesh chuckled, pointing at Charles' stockinging feet.
“SHIT DID I DO IT AGAIN!”
Bréagán looked from one man to the other. “You boys – you're both mad as hatters, ain't you?”
“Lady Raziel, this is one of my dearest friends, the goddess Bréagán,” said Ganesh, presenting his friend.
“Hey Bréagán! I'm Raziel. You can call me Raz if you want,” she told the tall goddess. She then stuck a finger and a thumb in her mouth and emitted a shrill whistle.
“Raziel, that's a dog whistle,” Charles told her.
“It works for the wolves,” she grinned. And true to her word, there was the sound of what sounded like a thundering tribe of toddlers, whereupon the twins stumbled into the doorway. They lurched ahead in excitement upon spotting their cousin, but then lurched again to a halt when they jointly realized he was in the company of a tall stranger.
“Hmmm,” said Bréagán. And then she led a giggling Elias around as she once again made a circle fully around the children. She dropped to the floor. “We'll start with you,” she told Abby, raising up two clenched hands. Abby cautiously moved towards the goddess, thoughtfully sucking on a thumb. She looked searchingly at the hands, and then met Bréagán's eyes. Then she pointed one imperious finger. The right hand.
The goddess flourished her hands. She held up a small toy.
It was a knight in shining armor, mounted on an armored steed. It looked to be made of tin.
All three children gasped at the pretty toy, and thumped to the floor in front of Bréagán. She pulled Abby into her lap, and pressed her little hand to the small key on the side of the knight. “You wind it like this. Gently. And not too far.”
“Nawt too fah,” repeated Abby, who was rather good with instructions. They placed the knight down on the floor, and, with the flick of another switch, he was riding off with a very small clatter of tiny hooves and a flash of a very small lance. The children squealed and pattered off after him.
“We gotta show this to Wotan. Only he'll want one,” Raziel told Bréagán.
The goddess smiled and looked back at the toddlers. She was slightly surprised to see Liam had somehow stationed himself directly in front of her, grinning like a tiny madman.
“I suppose you'll want something too?” He nodded so violently it looked as if his head would shake from his neck. Bréagán didn't put her hands up, however, she simply rubbed her chin. “Hrm, you're more difficult. All rightie, let's try this.” And so saying, raised two hands.
Liam goggled, putting his chubby hands up to his mouth. Bréagán grinned, and then very slowly brought one fist right in front of his face, where she waved it slightly. Liam grinned back, and reached out to grab her other hand.
Bréagán flourished her hands, and gave Liam something. He picked it up to show to Mommy.
“Liam's Book,” read Raziel. She extended her own well-manicured hand, and Liam handed it up . She ruffled through the pages. “You gave my kid a blank book?” she asked Bréagán curiously.
“No, Mummy!” Liam protested, grabbing the book back. “MONSTAH!” He held it up. His sister and his cousin had now ambled back as well. The cover of the book showed a rather large cartoon monster with big bloody fangs.
“Oooo,” said an appreciative Elias. And now all three children were on the floor with Bréagán, as the other adults huddled around curiously. Liam opened the book to the first page. “Gee-tar!” he said. It was indeed a picture of him and his big brother, Skwisgaar, playing guitars. “An' an' monstah!” he said, turning the page. Indeed, a hideous monster (the same one from the front cover) had now arrived to terrify Skwisgaar. “An', chomp!” concluded Liam, as the next page revealed the monster now had the guitarist in its fangs.
There was an awful lot of rude giggling, not all of it emitting from the toddlers.
“Liam Odinsson,” said Raziel. “Is that a nice thing to do to your brother?”
Liam managed to look a trifle sheepish. “No, Mummy,” he grinned. He went back to the first page. “Gee-tar. Monstah.” And then he turned to the last page. “Pway!” he said triumphantly. The picture had now changed so all three, Liam, Skwisgaar, and the monster now had guitars. Ganesh applauded.
“All right. What do we say?” prompted Raziel.
Both twins sprang to attention. “T'ank 'oo!” they chorused to Bréagán.
“You're welcome, both of ye,” Bréagán told them, ruffing Liam's hair. “Good to have an appreciative audience.”
“What's all the fuss and holler!” The twins now ran screaming over to their father. “Ye've not been giving my spoiled Seraphim more toys, have ye?” he boomed.
“Uncle, this is my very dear friend, Bréagán,” said Ganesh.
“Splendid! Splendid, Lady Bréagán!” he said, pumping her hand as she stood.
“Just Bréagán is fine, Lord,” she told him.
“This is quite an occasion! It's been a dog's age since we've had an Elemental in these halls!”
“The naiads,” dear, Lady Raziel reminded him, as he wrapped a large arm around her.
“Oh, yes, what a mess! Saltwater everywhere! You! Promise me you'll NEVER bring home a naiad!” he instructed tiny Liam, who nodded a bit bemusedly. “And you knew our Ganesh in college? Well, you'll have some stories to tell.”
“Er, now, Uncle,” warned Ganesh.
“The boy didn't write us – not a word! Drove his poor mother to fits!” Wotan attested.
“I may just have a story or two,” grinned Bréagán.
“Oh, I doubt it's even two,” worried Ganesh.
“You'll stay for dinner, then!” Wotan told Bréagán. “You can't refuse! Our kind need to stick together. I'm surrounded here by angels on all sides!” he said, giving Raziel a squeeze.
“Want me to tell the cook?” asked Raziel.
“Tell them to get some pies cooking!”
“BIE!” came several small squeals of agreement.
“We're liable to run out!”
“Oh, not for me, I don't like pie, I like little cakes,” said Raziel. “C'mon kids, you can give suggestions,” she told them, herding toddlers in her wake.
“You do so like pie, Raziel, you just wanna pretend to be different!” Sariel called as he pursued her as well.
“Now, no blood feuds in the kitchen!” said Wotan, who followed Sariel. “Hey, what did I tell you two about running on the ceiling!” his voice boomed from down the hall.
Ganesh sighed. “You know, I am not entirely certain whether Uncle is yelling at his twins, or at Sariel and Raziel.”
Bréagán stood for a moment, searching Ganesh. “So, your friends? They're all completely mad?”
Ganesh grinned. “Yes, I believe that succinctly sums up the situation.”
“And you're now consortin' with angels?”
Ganesh's grin faded. “I am bound to one. And my son – my heir – is part angel.” There was a hint of warning in his tone.
“I've heard tell. About that one,” she told Ganesh.
“You do not know him. Not as I do.”
“He ain't exactly a boy scout.”
“Neither am I.”
“Powerful one, that. You were always attracted to the powerful ones-”
“Khilona,” said Ganesh quietly. “Be nice, yaar.” She stopped and looked at him. “He's a fine father. And has been a loyal guardian to his boys.”
The blue eyes blazed. “You remember when we were at university? How we said we'd change the world?”
“We were idiots when we were at university, Bréagán. As is every university student in all the world.” She appeared to want to speak again, but hesitated. “Come,” said Ganesh. “Let's discuss this over dinner. Angels in the midst of mass pie consumption is something I believe everyone should witness.”
And angel and a god were settled in one of the sitting rooms at Valhalla, one contentedly sipping the whiskey, the other, irritably puffing on one of Wotan's cigars.
“If you guys are settled, I gotta get to the game room,” Raziel told them. “Bréagán is totally kicking Wotan's ass at Zombie Slayer.”
“Zombie Slayer 4: Backyard Patio of the Dead? I didn't think he played that game any more. Not after Father....” Ganesh began, sipping his whiskey.
“No. He doesn't. I think this is good for him,” said Raziel.
“Yes. It is good,” agreed Ganesh as she left.
“So, that's your best friend?” said Charles as soon as Raziel was gone. “Why the fuck have I never heard of her before?”
“She was my university flatmate,” Ganesh told him, a smile now tracing his features. “Yes, and a great friend. But, you understand, her kind, she doesn't have a pantheon, nor a home territory. She was terrifically hard to keep in touch with, and has grown yet more elusive in recent years.”
“So. After this, she'll go back to being elusive?”
“Sariel! You two shall be great friends!”
“What's up with all her idealistic crap? She's worse than you!'
“Sariel, you know how people are at university....”
“No. I have no fucking idea. All I have is a bunch of fake trophies Raziel and I made, that my son has converted into an impressionist artwork!”
“A bit more postmodern than impressionist I'd say,” smiled Ganesh.
“I hate it when my damn toddler makes me feel like an idiot.”
“I think we will all feel better when the Naming is complete,” Ganesh said. Charles looked miserable for a second or two. “You know,” said Ganesh quietly, “this is the first you've eaten a decent meal in a time.”
“I was too fucking distracted by your friend saying idiot things to worry!” Charles squawked, waving his cigar irritably.
“Oh, and what was your good news?” Ganesh asked. “I am sorry, it completely slipped my mind!”
“We finished the album!”
“What? No!”
“Yes!”
Ganesh narrowed his eyes. “You are pulling several of my arms!”
“No! And, Raziel says Nathan's poll numbers are skyrocketing. I wouldn't think that's all it took.”
“YOU GUYS!” said Raziel, who had suddenly reappeared. “You gotta see this! Bréagán's gonna top the high score!”
“Wotan's high score?” laughed Charles.
“No! The top score ever!”
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a puzzled glance. “You pacifist buddy?” Charles asked.
Down in the game room, Wotan had actually retired. Bréagán, wearing a pair of VR glasses, had in her hands two different controllers, which resembled AKs. She was wielding them to great effect, creating an undead mincemeat on the screen, and popping up the score to scarce fit on the readout.
“Record high score!” Wotan told the newly arrived parties. “I need to take this one on a hunt!”
Bréagán suddenly hit a complicated series of buttons on her controller, which paused the action and brought up a screen filled with text. She typed in a few words, and the game went back to play. She took off the glasses and dropped them onto Liam's head. “A back door. It's on free play now,” she said, handing the tot her controller.
“You've played this game before I see!” laughed Wotan.
Bréagán looked serious. “I wrote this game.”
“I didn't know you worked in the video game industry,” said Ganesh.
“I don't. Not anymore,” she told them. She looked sadly at Ganesh. “This is why I've come to you. Why I've come out of hiding,” she confessed. “I need your help, you see.”
“So, here we go!” said Raziel.
Charles looked up. Three familiar beings had just appeared in his office, in addition to one unfamiliar one.
“Uh, and who is this?” he inquired of the stranger.
“This is the head of Bréagán's video game company!” she told him. “The guys who made Zombie Slayer 4: Backyard Patio of the Dead?”
“Hi!” said the video game dude brightly.
“We kidnapped him!” Raziel bragged.
“You...?”
“Chango, darling, give dear Charles one our cards?” said Orula, who was one of the other familiar faces.
“Yes, mahster,” agreed Chango, eagerly proffered a small bit of cardstock to Charles.
Charles, who was very busy rubbing his forehead with one hand, took the card in the other hand, and read, “'Chango and Orula, kidnappers of video game fellows who might be involved in very big mysterious conspiracies of dubious import involving the military-industrial complex...' You realize, the ink is still wet?” he asked, rubbing his thumb on the card.
“Bit of a rush job, this,” said Orula.
“Oi! I got toner under me fingernails!” lamented Chango.
“All right,” said Charles. “OK. Raziel. While I appreciate your enthusiasm....”
“Can we torture him now? We're not gonna get anything good unless we torture him!” Raziel stated hopefully.
“Raziel, I don't think....”
“Oh, may we offer our assistance?” inquired Orula.
“I don't think I bought the right card, Mahster,” mused Chango, looking over a fan of brightly colored business cards.
“Oh, here,” said Raziel, pulling out a lavendar card with an embossed border. “'Connoisseurs of fine teas!' Why don't you brew us some tea?”
“Tea and torture! Oh, that sounds a splendid idea!” cheered Orula. “What do you say, old chap?”
“Well,” mulled the video game guy, “I'm more of a coffee person. You know, up all night gaming?”
“Oi! We will brew you a concoction to tickle the senses!” bragged Chango.
“I guess I'm always open to new experiences,” the video game guy gamely allowed.
“Splendid!” said Orula, as the vodouisants disappeared.
“Ya know, I really think if we're gonna torture him, I gotta go home and change my boots. These shoes really don't shout, 'torturer' at all.”
“Uh. Yeah. Raziel. Sure. Go ahead,” moaned Charles.
“Toodles,” said Raziel.
“DADA!”
Charles smiled faintly as his son hurtled into the room, wielding a picture book. “Oh, hey Boon.”
“Dada, wead an Widdly Piddly?” inquired the child, pulling on his leg.
“You wanna read the Wiggly Piggly book. Uh. Again?” Charles smiled blankly.
Elias suddenly became aware of a new adult presence in the room. Before Charles could stop him he had slipped around the desk and stood in front of the video game guy, tugging on his trouser leg and babbling, “Widdly Piddly!”
“Hey, little dude!” grinned the video game guy.
“Uh. That's my son,” Charles explained. “Elias! No! He, uh, likes to read the Wiggly Piggly book.”
“Is this the one where the Wiggly Pigglies go to Jiggly Giggly land?” enthused the video game dude.
“Uh. I believe so.”
“That's the best book in the series!” approved the video game guy, making himself at home in a guest chair. Elias, gripping the book, scrambled into his lap.
“Here we go,” said Orula, suddenly reappearing in the room with Chango.
Chango held a full formal tea service on a lovely silver tray. “Lapsang souchong!” he said as he poured. “A great favorite for fans of mocha java. Cream?”
“Do you have milk?” inquired the video game dude as he and Elias pored over the Wiggly Pigglies as they ate figgies and danced little jiggies.
“I could toddle off back to the kitchen and fetch some!” Chango offered. “Whole milk?”
“Yes please!”
“So waddya think?” asked Raziel, appearing as Chango poofed away. “I have some Valentinos, but I think these more shout, 'I'm gonna do you bodily injury!'”
“Uh, yeah, Raziel,” agreed Charles, who, oddly enough, had his hands over his eyes, which one might have suspected, would impair his vision of Raziel's footwear choices.
“IS THAT THE WIGGLY PIGGLY BOOK?” she squealed at the video game dude.
“Oh, yeah, this book is righteous! They're getting all giggly over little squigglies!” answered the video game guy.
“Piddies!” explained Elias.
“Aw, you mind if I bring my kids? They LOVE this book!”
“Oh, yeah, sure!” said the video game guy. “I like kids. They're awesome.”
“Here we go, whole milk,” gushed Orula. “And we have some turbinado sugar.”
“Piddies!” squealed Liam and Abby, who had just appeared with their mother, who now in addition wore a splendid little torturing hat.
“Oi, that's an amazing hat, love!” said Chango.
“Oh, thanks!” said Raziel. “I thought it said, 'No mercy!'”
“Er,” said Ganesh.
Charles sighed a very deep sigh at the soft sound of Ganesh's voice. “This is the guy from the video game company Bréagán worked for,” Charles explained, though it was all a bit muffled, as he did not removed his head from where it was, in his hands, down on the desk. “We're torturing information from him.”
“Ah. Yes,” said Ganesh, sitting down beside the video game guy, where Chango quickly offered him tea. “With, er, tea and picture books. Very devious.”
Charles merely sighed.
“Erm, I hate to interfere in your terribly evil plot, dear, but, had you considered simply asking him?”
A hand was waved.
“Er,” Ganesh told the video game guy.
“You wanna know about the military dudes?” asked the guy.
“Well. Er. Yes?”
“Dude! It was so bad!” said the video game guy. “I run this awesome gaming company. Me and my buds! And, we had a chick programmer. A chick programmer! And she was cool, with all this red hair. I think she was from somewhere, like Holland or some shit? But then these military dudes swoop in and want everything, our programs, our programmer. They were harshing our buzz, dude!”
“Military? Someon named Crozier?” asked Charles, who had finally come up off the desk.
“That's the dude! Cranky ass old son of a bitch! It was like my dad had come to bring everybody down. My dad!”
“So, what happened then?” asked Ganesh, sipping his tea. “Rather good tea, by the way.” Chango and Orula smiled and nodded at each other.
“My chick programmer split, and took the programs with her. Now these uptight dudes in black suits are all sitting around my company all day long. It's total suckitude!”
“What would you think....” Charles began. He seemed to be gathering himself. “Do you think, if I could promise you your programmer back, that you guys might wanna work on a Dethklok game.”
“DUDE!” the guy exclaimed. “A DETHKLOK GAME! That would be so bitchin' and metal!”
“I would play that!” Raziel grinned.
Charles nodded, winding up. “I have lawyers. We would have to get you guys reorganized.”
“Could we use Nathan's voice?” asked the video game guy.
“I think I can promise you the use of Nathan's voice,” Charles said. “We have a new album. And an upcoming tour. If we could get something out there at a rapid pace....”
“We have shit we can adapt,” said the video game dude. “A software death march! Or a Dethmarch, I guess. And if you can get that programmer, she is righteous! Oh fuck yeah Dethklok!”
Charles smiled.
“Might I ask something?” inquied Orula.
“Yeah?”
“I am growing increasingly concerned over the fates of the Wiggly Pigglies now that they have strayed into the Ziggly Twiggly woods!” the vodouisant confessed. Chango twirled his indigo feather boa around his neck and nodded as well.
Charles scanned several concerned faces. “Uh, yeah. We can work out details later I guess. Would you, uh, mind?” he asked the video game dude.
“Oh, sure dude!” said the guy, cheerily taking up the picture book again, as several toddlers, angels, and voodoo priests crowded around.
Ganesh rose, inclining his head. Charles followed him out of the office.
“Lady Raziel has agreed to take Elias for the evening. You are to accompany me to my residence.”
Charles stopped short. “Wait. What? No! Ganesh, I got shit to do!”
Ganesh walked back a couple of steps and linked arms with Charles. “My employer, Mr. Nathan Explosion, who is paying me the princely sum of 100 rupees per month, has requested this service from me.”
“No.”
Ganesh grinned. “Stubborn as a Seraph, as my uncle would say. You need to sleep, dear. And I believe I have an idea.”
“I'm starting a video game company,” said Charles. “I don't fucking believe it.”
“It seems a good fit,” said Ganesh. They were sitting on the couch at his residence. The room's ambience had been altered by the large mural, courtesy of their son, that now covered one wall, but Ganesh had already developed an affection for the piece.
“It's a good fit if I don't murder your friend,” Charles grumbled.
Ganesh pulled the angel over into his lap, receiving almost no protest. “Bréagán? You two shall be fast friends. I guarantee it.”
“Snippy bitch,” Charles muttered into Ganesh's chest.
“Upon reflection, she is probably a bit too much like you for your comfort,” Ganesh chuckled.
“What?”
Ganesh had practiced, physicians hands. He found the spot on Charles' back. It was right where the wings emerged. One simply applied pressure with a thumb, down the invisible seam. It generally worked to sooth Elias. He felt the knot of tensed muscles slowly relaxing. A sigh. And a bit of trembling.
“I don't wanna sleep,” Charles said, very very softly. “He gets in my dreams.”
“I said I had an idea,” Ganesh told him, removing Charles' eyeglasses. “I would like you to try coming into my mind while you fall asleep.”
“I don't think I can do that!”
“Of course you can. It will be no problem at all,” Ganesh soothed. He was easing Charles down now, so he was lying down, his head in Ganesh's lap. “Come on. I'll just go along with you for a bit.” Charles was drowsing, so tired, almost asleep already. He felt Ganesh's hand running through his hair. He reached out.
And then he fell.
He was all alone. Shivering. Naked and alone and small.
The horrible angel had abandoned him. All alone in a new world, cold and terrified and waiting to die.
He pulled his ugly silver wings around himself, huddling for warmth.
And then....
Dark hair and eyes. So beautiful!
“Will you come along with me?”
A hand, reaching towards him.
He grasped it, letting himself be pulled up.
But then he was different, the being. Sariel had never seen anything like. A little boy, like himself, only with the head of an elephant.
The kind, intelligent eyes blinked. “Will you be my friend? I think we shall be great friends!”
“Oh. Oh yes. Please!” A friend? He had never had a friend before. “Should I transform?” he asked, indicating the wings.
“I think you are very lovely like that,” said his new friend.
“Oh. All right.”
“Let's go!”
And so the went, arm in arm.
