Elias, Part 1 (Mythklok, Chapter 74)
Oct. 22nd, 2011 06:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Elias, Part 1 (Mythklok, Chapter 74)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A cruise in the dreamtime
Warnings: Teh sechs: don't read this one at work. Or anywhere.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok has been banned in 23 countries. No, not really.
Last time: we learned a little bit more about a guitarist and a bassist.
Also: this is probably gonna be the first part of two.
Those mad dancer's legs.
Charles had dreams about those legs.
Come to think of it, the dreams weren't much different from his present reality: those amazing, absurdly long legs draped over his shoulders, the rest of Ganesh writhing in front of him: one arm thrown back, elegant long-fingered hand clutching, seeking some kind of purchase on the bed.
Charles paused, one brief moment, placing a palm flat on Ganesh's stomach. Under the hair's breadth of sweat, the muscles were all strung as tight as guitar strings.
I'll take out the wings, I'll show you, Charles thought. He smiled slightly, True Forming in mid-thrust. The moans now turned to a small, strangled scream. Ganesh's eyes fluttered open, his head straining up. He was desperate to see now. He loved seeing all the magic, adored the power. It made him crazy and hard.
A cosmic joke, the gentle vegetarian elephant god, massively turned on by power.
Angels so desired lovely things, beautiful things. And here was the loveliest one of all, all spread out before him. He watched the single sweat drop, sliding down the sparse black hairs on Ganesh's brown chest. Charles paused, letting one of Ganesh's legs fall, and strained over, greedily licking the salty sweat off Ganesh's nipple. Ganesh was now desperately clutched him, hands all over. “Don't stop now don't stop. Ever.”
No. Not ever.
“Shower?” said Ganesh. He was being pleasantly smothered by post-coital angel and feathers. He so wanted to stay there, all warm and tangled and all smelling of sex. But, things to do. So many things to do.
“Don't wanna,” muttered Sariel into his chest.
“No?”
“No. Don't wanna move.”
“Come on, don't be Seraphic about this,” Ganesh laughed. He chuckled and rose, physically picked up Sariel by his angelic ass. Sariel, despite his reluctance, Court Formed to make things a bit easier.
“Don't want the wings washed?” Ganesh asked, pushing the angel under the hot shower.
“Naw.”
Ganesh poured shampoo on his hands. He looked at the back of Sariel's head, regarding the silvery hair.
“You didn't properly Court Form,” Ganesh remarked.
“Didn't feel like it.”
Ganesh washed Sariel's hair. Angels and their moods, he thought. And Sariel – sometimes he would grow – well he acted churlish, but seemed very fragile, in a way.
Ganesh, who had been able to view magical fields since birth, had never encountered anything quite like Sariel. Gods – the powerful ones, anyway – generally ratcheted up and down their power as different occasions demanded. It was a smooth sliding scale. Angels worked rather differently: when they went to what they called their Court Form, a substantial chunk of magic got tucked away, out of sight, along with the wings. But Sariel was an extreme even when compared to other angels. In his powerful Form, his magic seemed nigh unlimited. The only other individual Ganesh could compare it to was his kinsman, Lady Raziel. But unlike the Lady, when Sariel went to ground in his human Form, he appeared to be able to conceal almost all of it, in order to truly resemble a human. Which he most definitely was not.
But the other thing Ganesh had noted was that the transition was not always a smooth, automatic one. At some points, Ganesh observed, when Sariel was agitated, when he claimed he found it troublesome to Court Form, he was actually fizzing power, like a shaken carbonated drink, sometimes literally for hours afterwards. There seemed to be a connection with emotion, although it was a complicated one, and one Ganesh hadn't completely worked out yet. He had definitely seen Sariel True Form when he was emotional, and in turn become emotional in True Form. But he also realized insult or injury could shock angels out of True Form.
So, Sariel was probably upset over something tonight. But as to what: well, any obvious attempt at fishing that one out was only going to burrow it in deeper.
Ganesh very carefully washed Sariel from head to toe, as one would a child, and then turned off the tap and helped him wrap in a large towel. Ganesh pulled on a robe and returned to the bedroom, and Sariel was instantly in his lap.
“We'll be together forever, right?”
Ganesh swallowed hard. He took Sariel's face in two hands. “You know, as do I, dear, what's about to happen? It is so terribly important that at least one of us is around for Elias....”
The look in those eyes. Ganesh stumbled. He caught his breath. He soldiered on. “If something were to happen to me, you know I would do EVERYTHING.... But, as you also realize, my Uncle Brahma can be a right bastard when he wants to be....”
“You'd be all right – without me?”
“I will carry on without you. As we have discussed.” They had talked it over endlessly, it seemed. Endlessly!
“You wouldn't be sad?” The silver eyes seemed filled with curiosity.
Ganesh suddenly frowned. “Of course I would be sad, you great clot!” Ganesh found he was blubbering – exactly what he did not want to be doing. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe, trying to cram the emotions back into the stiff upper lip facade he had been desperately trying to stretch over his fear for the last few weeks as they were supposedly making clear-eyed appraisals regarding potential events in the near future. Potential horrible, terrible events in the near future.
“You would miss me?” said Sariel, who oddly, now seemed a bit cheered up.
“I would miss you awfully,” sniffed Ganesh.
“Oh, well, you'd be OK! And, I always come back too!”
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah!”
Ganesh blinked, but not just from the tears, not precisely certain for a moment whether he had his husband or his little son, Elias, on his lap. “We need to quit fucking around and get going!” Sariel told him.
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, very softly, but Sariel was already up and grabbing his clothes.
“It seems a strange choice. Are you certain our informants are correct?” asked Gabriel.
“My informants,” smacked Uriah, who did not look up from his dinner at the Seraph standing irritably in back of him, “are invariably correct.”
“Lady Raziel....”
“Our Little Sister has always been a troublesome little bint. Nothing more,” said Uriah, sawing at his steak. He liked his steak quite rare. Quite rare. Bloody juice seeped from the cut muscle as his knife worked.
“Lady Raziel is the daughter of your Venerated Brother Phanuel,” purred Garbriel.
Uriah's eyes suddenly flicked up towards Gabriel. Among things that did not please him were any mention of Raziel, and any reminder that he was, in fact, outranked in the Host. By anyone.
“Think, Uriah! Think!” urged Gabriel, now that he'd caught the big angel's attention. “Why didn't they choose Valhalla? Or the Eastern Kingdom?”
“Because Sariel has always been an arrogant little prick,” said Uriah, tonguing a juicy morsel of meat. “He thinks he owns the world. He must be put in his place.”
“Uriah. You are obviously letting your personal feelings about Sariel get in the way of planning!”
Uriah was up, wineglass overturned, staining the white tablecloth a dark red. “Personal feelings?” he growled, now nose to nose with Gabriel.
Gabriel did not flinch. This seemed to put Uriah off momentarily.
Gabriel seized the opportunity. “You are obsessed with Sariel,” he pressed.
Uriah stepped back and cast his eyes away. When he looked up, his voice was quiet but tense. “Do you have any idea what could happen if he is allowed free reign with that group of … abominations?”
“That makes is all the more important we succeed with this, Uriah!”
Uriah loomed over Gabriel. “We will succeed. We will succeed. We will crush Sariel, and his allies in one swift stroke. You are with me on this, Gabriel. Else you are against us.”
The two beings locked eyes for a moment, wavering, as if in a bare moment on and then the other would True Form, right in the dining room, wings and swords at ready.
Gabriel was the one who looked away. “I am with you,” he said, staring irritably at the floor.
And Uriah was striding away, leaving his dinnerplate, half eaten steak, spilled wine now pooling on the floor, running red.
The majestic airship Polypus Rubra, moored temporarily to a delicate, silvery post, hung lazily in the Dreamtime sky.
It was an improbably thing - a thing that merited apt description. However, if one were forced to come up with one word to encapsulate it, that word might well be “bumblebee,” fat and buzzing. The part that conveyed passengers resembled an ocean liner, but a chubby child's soft plastic bathtub version of an ocean liner, with a comically bulging middle, and all the sharp edges rounded off. One would have to be sharp eyed indeed to spot a straight line, or any acute corners.
And it hung suspended in the sky not on meathooks, but on myriad, delicate rotors, which produced a lovely buzzing noise as they relentlessly twirled.
There were no less than three promenade decks circling the entire vessel, one stacked right above the other, like a big wonderful Duplo set you got at Christmastime, extra pieces everwhere.
And there were tiny figures – little Duplo men – walking round the deck.
“A Naming cruise,” marveled Charles, as he and Ganesh strolled around the upper deck with Raziel. “I gotta hand it to you, Raziel, this was a good pick.”
“And you know the best part?” bragged Raziel, who had indeed engineered this occasion.
“NO DANCING ELEPHANTS!” shouted Ganesh. If this was what Raziel had meant, however, it was unclear, as Ganesh had now swept her literally off her small designer pumps and into a very enthusiastic, if smothering, multi-armed embrace.
“Sarrrrr?” she pleaded, when she had managed to turn her face somewhat to the side.
“Well, he's a hugger,” grinned Charles.
Raziel writhed a bit more and managed to wrest a few millimeters of space betwixt herself and the overjoyed elephant god. “Ganesh! Put me down! You're creasing my couture!”
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” sighed Ganesh, somewhat regretfully, as he set a scowling Raziel down with a thoughtful little pat to her head. The three then continued down the deck, Ganesh, whistling happily, slightly ahead of the two angels.
“He pulls that again,” Raziel hissed in High Angelic to Charles as she attempted to straighten out her outfit, “he's gonna be minus a few thousand arms.”
“He gets a bit, ya know, overwrought with these family things.”
“This is a McQueen!” she grumbled, indicating her complicated outfit.
“Oh, I thought maybe you were True Formed. Or going ice dancing.”
“Hmpf! Oh, hey Pickles!” sang Raziel, her demeanor instantly appearing to change as they came upon the drummer, standing moodily at the rail.
“Uh. Hey. Lady Raz. Doods,” he muttered, flicking ashes from his joint over the side.
“We're very grateful to you for letting us do this in your Dreamspace!” Raziel told him.
“Uh. Yeh.”
“Yes, so terribly grateful!” gushed Ganesh, who now had both Raziel and Pickles clasped in embraces.
“GANESH!” screamed Raziel. The elephant god let them down with quick, affectionate smooches to the tops of their heads. Fortunately for Ganesh's continued health, Wotan showed up at precisely that moment, walking the deck with Captain Aubrey.
Charles pulled a still stunned Pickles aside. “Whatever the fuck you're smoking, could you please feed some to Ganesh to calm him the fuck down? I think Raziel's gonna do bodily harm if her dress loses any more feather crap.”
Pickles blinked as if he had just walked into the bright sunlight. “I ain't sure about dis, chief,” he muttered.
“What do you mean, this?”
“Raz talked me into it. But I dunno. I never did nothin' like dis before.”
Charles steeled himself and gripped Pickles by the shoulders. He waited until Pickles found his eyes, and, exuding confidence he wasn't exactly certain he felt, said, “Pickles. There is no one else – no one else – I would trust to do this.”
The reaction was immediate. That was one thing about this guy, it was all there, on the surface. A small smile, a bit straighter stance.
“Raziel, Ganesh, all of us, we talked about this. There was never any doubt – not a moment's doubt.”
Pickles nodded as Charles wracked his brain to think of other bullshit he could lay on him. He was thankfully interrupted by a new presence thundering down the gangway. “I gotta go,” he told the drummer.
“A Naming on a ship! Such nonsense!”
“Hello. Uncle. Auntie,” sighed Ganesh, giving Sarasvati a quick peck on the cheek.
“And where is my little jaanu?” asked the large Hindu goddess. Fortunately for Ganesh, who could never tell whether his aunt was requesting his husband or his son, she immediately trilled, “Oh, Sariel, my dearest little thing!” on sight of the angel.
“Hello, Auntie!” smiled Charles.
“Has he been feeding you, my love?” Sarasvati worried, holding him by his hands and tutting. Despite the fact that Charles had been thin for almost two millennia, Sarasvati assigned the blame in this matter to Ganesh's vegetarian diet.
“Ganesh has been talking very good care of me, Auntie,” Charles assured her, having decided, for once, not to milk it.
“Where is your father?” Brahma demanded of Charles. “Isn't he coming to the Naming?”
“Jacque goes where he will,” Charles sighed. “You know that.”
“Harrumph,” harrumphed Great Brahma. “Sealing the boy without a Vodouisant present!”
“I am a fully qualified Vodouisant, Uncle,” interjected Ganesh.
“Well, See you don't set anything afire this time!” Brahma rumbled. “Not like at your wedding!”
“It was only that little bit of the altar,” Ganesh said petulantly. “And you and Uncle Vishnu had gotten me high!”
“WANTIE!”
“Oh, there you are my dearest!” trilled Sarasvati as Elias thundered towards her on clomping toddler feet. She plucked up the boy in her many arms. “Oh, look, Brahma, he's wearing the little elephant overalls we bought him.”
Charles sneaked a wink at Ganesh. There were worse things in the world than buttering up Auntie Sarasvati. “Yeah, and the little elephant shoes you got him,” Charles pointed out.
“Oh, aren't we darling!” cooed Sarasvati.
“How old is this infant, anyway?” demanded Brahma. “Ten? Twelve? Twenty-one.” Elias very solemnly held up two fingers. “You two waited long enough for this, that's for certain!”
“We had preparations to make, Uncle,” explained Ganesh.
“And your paperwork to fill out,” added Charles, with just the hint of a glower. It hadn't escaped him that getting paperwork from Hindu Hell had forced him to actually dance in public, a fate which Charles considered worse than death or spoiled pie.
“Well, are we getting on with it then?” asked Brahma.
“We gotta wait on a few more guests,” said Charles.
“Oh? More of your Hollywood types, I suppose?”
“Actually, it is Uncle Vishnu,” said Ganesh, with a slightly malicious smile.
“Oh, that old faker. And you can tell him I said that!” harrumphed Brahma. “Come, Sarasvati!” he said.
“I gotta say hi to someone,” said Charles, as he had just spotted a familiar figure on the gangway. Ganesh nodded and Charles, holding Elias' hand, went to intercept a couple who had just come aboard.
“Charles!”
“Hey, it's great you could make it.”
“I would like to introduce you to the next Mrs. Ibsen!” said the TV interviewer, courteously indicating the lovely woman on his arm. “Hello, little one!” said Ibsen, leaning over to pick up a very cooperative Elias.
“Unkynik!” answered Elias.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Charles. “He's been taught it's polite to call adults uncle and auntie. It's an Indian thing. Or something.”
“No, I don't mind at all! And this is Bunny!”
“Oh, uh, hi, Bunny,” said Charles. She blinked fetchingly at him.
“Nicky, you don't mind?” asked Bunny, pointing to a group of female Klokateers who had gathered nearby.
“Of course not, my precious flower,” grinned Ibsen, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before she ran over to giggle with the other women.
“So,” said Charles in mock seriousness, “depleting my Female Online Division?”
“You're the one who dressed her up in a cheerleader uniform,” Ibsen laughed.
“Well, that was Raziel, but, yeah,” agreed Charles.
“I can't thank you enough for inviting me along,” said Ibsen, watching a school of narwhals fly by. “I have no fucking idea where I am, but it's utterly magnificent!”
“Maybe you should wait to thank me 'til this is all over?” Charles asked.
“As I've told you, I've lived a long time. And there aren't a lot of things out there that are new. But this!” He waved at a flock of rather absurdly large, ridiculously colored hummingbirds nosing curiously round the deck. “Blows my fucking mind.”
“Well,” said Charles, “It's Pickles' dreamtime. So, yeah, it would tend to have that effect. Oh boy!” The last was not said at the hummingbirds, but rather the arrival of a very important guest. “It looks like we're gonna be needed,” he said, motioning for Elias.
“In-laws, hum?” asked Ibsen.
“Yeah, I've got, uh, an interesting set,” said Charles, taking Elias' hand. “C'mon, I think we gotta go help Baap.”
Lady's Parvati and her retinue were arriving, not via the gangway, as were the other guests, but the astride various tiger, bulls and rams. Flying tigers, bulls and rams that is.
Many of the guests had gathered at the railing to watch the show. This included two very tall figures, both of whom had many many arms extended.
Not a good sign, thought Charles, hurrying along with Elias. “Say hi to your Uncle Vishnu!” he urged, basically chucking Elias at the tall blue god.
“Bisnu!” giggled Elias, who, thankfully, was acting his most appealing. Unlike his cousin Abby, who could be rather shy, he adored meeting people and large gatherings. Charles sometimes considered his child to be some sort of alien visitor, or perhaps a mutant, but it worked out quite well in these kinds of situations.
“Well. Little Brahma,” said Vishnu, somewhat resentfully, it must be confessed.
“As I have told you, Uncle,” Ganesh said, extending a hand and a hand and a hand and a hand, “and as you can clearly see for yourself, there simply was not room for your usual coterie of dancing elephants.”
“You've NEVER liked my dancing elephants,” scolded Vishnu wagging a finger and a finger and etc.
“I have always regarded your dancing elephants will all the respect they deserved!” averred Ganesh.
Vishnu's hands suddenly ceased their own dance as he frowned, trying to completely work out the insult buried somewhere in the comment. He was however, interrupted.
“It is about time, Vishnu,” sniffed Lady Parvati as she dismounted and strode up.
“What can you mean, Parvs!” grumbled Vishnu.
“Gamma!” giggled Elias.
Parvati arched an eyebrow, though it was not clear if she was more peeved over being referred to as Parva or grandma. But once more, before the storm could break out, there was yet another convenient interruption.
“KITTY!”
Raziel's twins clumped down the deck, making a noise not unlike a herd of stampeding dancing elephants. They both very delicately petted Parvati's tiger, who agreeably lowered his great head for them.
“Do those two realize the importance of this occasion?” sniffed Vishnu.
“An da Name Day an Boon!” Elias told them breathlessly. The twins exchanged puzzled looks.
“They're too young to remember their own Name Day,” Raziel explained.
“Name?” asked Abby. “Names is Boonie?”
Elias shook his head. “Bwama Bisnu Maheswa-a Ewias Goon Sen Shel!” he announced.
“Holy crap,” said Charles. “I can never remember all those names.” Vishnu was frankly blinking in surprise as well.
“Wie-ass?” asked Liam.
“Yeah, kids, remember? You're Lady Signhild Leia Tzaphkiel Lakshmi Abigail and Lord Ragnar Luke Phanuel Krisna Liam.”
The twins, so armed, now exchanged sly glances. “Wabbygay!” Liam taunted his sister.
“Wagnar!” rejoinedered Abby, to much tongue sticking.
“Razzy, kitten,” said Vishnu, “Have you no control over your demon spawn?”
“OK, kids?” laughed Raziel. “Be good for a couple hours, well get frenchie fries. OK?”
“FWENCHIE!” howled all three cousins, including the one who wasn't being terribly naughty.
“You are bribing them?” asked Vishnu, folding many arms.
“Hey, it works,” rejoindered Raziel.
“The captain has announced we will be underway shortly,” said Wotan, who had just strode up. Despite millennia as a horseman, he looked very natural walking the deck of an airship.
“Shouldn't you get ready for your performance, Uncle?” asked Ganesh. Vishun threw up many hands and sashayed off, and slowly, the party scattered. “And have you taken your Dramamine, dear?” Ganesh asked of Charles when they were the last two left.
“I wanna stay sharp,” muttered Charles.
“So, that means no?” asked Ganesh, going into a jacket pocket and removing a small cardboard box. “You will hardly be of use to us hanging over a toilet.”
Charles reluctantly took the pill Ganesh had popped out of the tiny plastic bubble card. “You won't tell anyone, right? My dad's a sailor!”
“Doctor patient confidentiality,” said Ganesh. “Or if you prefer, lawyer-client confidentiality!”
“What the hell about husband-husband confidentiality?”
“In that case, I shall only text Lady Raziel,” grinned Ganesh, holding up a phone.
Charles was still conjuring a witty rejoinder when he heard his name called out by an unmistakeable voice. Thus, a whispered, “Shit!” audible only to Ganesh, was all that was able to escape. “Nathan,” said Charles, much more pleasantly, although he was most unhappy to see the entire band was now glaring at him.
“Guys,” he began again, “I'm so happy.... WE'RE so happy, that you could come and, uh, share this occasion with us.”
“Why is Ganesh's Uncle Vishnu playing BEFORE US?” Nathan demanded.
“We've talked about this, Nathan,” said Charles, even though he thought, ruefully, that asking Nathan Explosion to remember something for longer than a period of ten minutes was a fool's errand. “So, you don't want Vishnu as an OPENING ACT?”
“He just told us that means he's TOP BILLED!” Nathan complained.
“Ah, my uncle works fast,” sighed Ganesh.
'Uh, Nathan,” Charles tried. “There is no billing for a Naming ceremony.”
“What? We're not being billed? Are we not IMPORTANT ENOUGH? Hey, what's that?”
“What this?” asked Ganesh, innocently shaking a little wand and watching as tiny silver sparks came out the end.
“That'sch scho cool!” said Murderface.
“Oh, tis simply a small toy Breagan gave me,” Ganesh explained, puffing air on the silvery sparks, which turned them a shade of orange.
“Wowee!” said Toki, as Nathan grabbed the wand and the entire band gathered around.
“Hey, ams lets me plays!” said Skwisgaar, reaching around his Gibson.
“I HAVEN'T HAD A CHANCE YET!” Nathan complained.
“Have I told you lately I love you,” Charles whispered to Ganesh as they hastened away.
“I would advise you keep a pocketful always on hand for such encounters,” Ganesh told him.
“Thank you, thank you everyone for coming today!” announced Vishnu from the stage on the lido deck. His blue skin looked resplendent in his saffron robes. “Thank you, you are all too kind!” he said, bowing elaborately, many hands flashing.
“You did tell your uncle this for our kid,” Charles whispered to Ganesh as they stood in the front row of the applauding audience.
“I have found it is not wise to bother Uncle Vishnu with trivialities,” Ganesh laughed.
“I am going to continue tonight's entertainment with a little number I've written especially for the occasion,” Vishnu continued. Suddenly, he tore off his robes to reveal a bright silver shirt with many, many, many, many ruffled sleeves. And quite suddenly there was a chorus line of dancers in brightly colored costumes in line behind him. It was a little difficult to determine exactly what the dancers were supposed to be costumed as: a near guess might be elaborate pretzels dipped in radioactive yoghurt and then rolled in rhinestones and feathers. But that was just a guess.
Vishnu hopped up to sit on the grand piano some assistants had just wheeled onstage. “Hit it!” he ordered the pianist, who had also just been wheeled onstage.
His name is Sariel, he is an angel
With silver feathers in his wings and a taste for pies and things
Lemon merange and also dutch apple
And when he tried to eat some more, they would go back to the store
They made Nathan flip, 'cause they were out of chips
Not so young but they had Costco cards
So Sariel could snarf up more...
On the Poly-
Polypus Rubra
You might just be playing the tuba
On the Poly, Polypus Rubra!
It's a Naming so you're trapped, fill up on the bar snacks
On the Poly.... You won't get pie
“I don't eat that much pie!” grumbled Sariel, rubbing his stomach.
“I'm getting HUNGRY,” groused Nathan from the row behind.
“Aw, it is simply a gentle chiding, dear. Don't take it too seriously,” counseled Ganesh.
His name is Ganesh, he is a love god
He spent two hours on his hair to get it mussed up there
And when he finished he picked out couture
But Ganesh was too late, and his suit was out of date
By twenty minutes now, it was a big faux pas!
He's lucky he has Armani
On his speed dial now.
On the Poly-
Polypus Rubra
The hottest spot east of Vancouver
On the Poly, Polypus Rubra!
Move it on over it's his Vogue India cover
On the Poly.... Smile for the camera
“Hmpf!” hmpfed Ganesh. “I didn't know this would be a roast.”
“A what?” asked Charles.
“An exaggeration of our foibles for comic purposes!” said Ganesh.
“What part was exaggerated?”
Ganesh was just raising a finely arched eyebrow at Charles when there was a small explosion up on stage. Part of the set was now afire. As was part of Vishnu. Ganesh leapt up to throw his own designer jacket over his uncle as crew ran up with fire extinguishers. Ganesh leaned over to pluck something out of the piano player.
An arrow.
“Here we go,” Charles whispered to Raziel. “Stick to the plan!”
“I wanna green feather boa so Chango will be jealous,” Raziel announced.
“Later!” Charles cautioned. “Get the passengers below!' Raziel and Wotan went to evacuate the audience belowdecks as he and Ganesh rushed to the railing.
Heavenly charioteers approached, riding across the sky on magnificent white-winged beasts. Archers stood behind the drivers, angelic green and gold winged Powers bending large bows, loosing magicked arrows which flew with beauty and rage across the orangey dreamtime sky.
“Onward!” shouted Parvati, who had already mounted her tiger on the upper deck. A line of her retinue formed up behind her, magickal sabers now drawn.
“Wait just a minute, Sunshine!”
Parvati looked at Vishnu, standing on the deck with many many many ruffled arms – some of them still smoking – folded in approbation.
“You need something, Vishy?” said Parvati with a very slight smile.
“They botched my curtain call!” bitched Vishnu. “I demand satisfaction!”
Parvati smiled and nodded. Vinshu brought up a small jar out of his robes. He uncorked the jar, and there was a shimmering, and in a moment, the lovely bird, Garuda, stood before them.
“Let's get those suckers!” shouted Vishnu, mounting Garuda's back. And then with a battle cry, they were up, riding across the sky.
Charles and Ganesh were running along the deck. “Open the forward hatch!” Charles shouted.
A crew member threw open an exterior hatchway. There was the sound of humming, and suddenly, ranks of Klokateers mounted on flying machines were swarming the deck.
“Form up!” barked Pie, the Klokateer at the head.
“All assembled?” Ganesh asked Pie as the last soldier formed in a line.
“All present?” Pie demanded of his subordinate.
“All present and accounted for, sir!”
“You may proceed, Lord Ganesh.”
Ganesh closed his eyes, and slowly brought out more arms. He stood, raft of arms poised, as if he were going to suddenly launch into some complicated dance. And then with the abrupt flash many, many hands, and the guns mounted on the flying machines began to glow with magic.
“That did it,” Ganesh told Pie.
“We're armed!” shouted Pie. “Attack formation.” The flying machines and soldiers took off towards the angels.
“We need defensive positions around the rotors,” said Charles, as they watched the Klokateers in flight.
“We have that taken care of, don't you worry dear,” said the tall, red haired Goddess Breagan. She stood on deck, fiddling with what looked like a remote control. “Are we ready, little ones?” she asked.
Elias and the twins were sitting on the deck, also playing with remote control devices. “Uh-huh!” announced Elias. “Hewicoptah!” he added, as his little flying machine took to the air. As the sound of the air battle between the angels, Parvati's soldiers and the Klokateers sounded in the distance, four toy helicopters rose and took postions around the lovely but frail-seeming rotor blades that held the airship in the Dreamtime sky.
“There's one,” said Ganesh, as a fiery arrow streaked across the sky.
“Liam!” said Breagan. The small, curly haired boy worked his remote with furious concentration. High overhead, hovering over the starboard rotor, a small toy helicopter swooped and then stabilized. As the arrow approached, the toy craft suddenly let fly a terribly small projectile. The tiny missile intercepted the arrow some yards short of the rotor, and produced a small but satisfying explosion.
Liam grinned.
“I want one!” said Charles.
“Later, dear,” grinned Ganesh.
“I t'ink dey ams wants us to stay inside, Pickle,” Toki warned.
“Den go back inside,” Pickles told him.
“Seriously, dude,” said Nathan, who had also trailed after the drummer. “There's pissed off angels out there!”
“Den go da feck back indoors!” Pickles shouted. “Dis is my feckin' dream, and I ain't gonna let dem push me inside outta da way.”
Toki shrugged and walked back inside, but Nathan followed the drummer into the Dreamsunlight.
The battle not going well for the charioteers. Between Parvati's fighters slaughtering the occupants at close quarter and the Klokateers delivering magicked missiles to the chariots themselves, it looked like a retreat was imminent.
An angel turned and screamed as his green and gold wings suddenly erupted into flame. He dove from the chariot, and became a flaming fireball.
“Try to avoid hitting the mounts!” said Wotan, back aboard the Polypus Rubra.
“Yes, Uncle,” said Ganesh, who was standing at the railing, aiming his hands as Wotan hurled a spear. There was a delayed scream from very far off, and the two men smiled at each other.
“The mounted Klokateers was a good idea, I'll have to admit,” Charles told Raziel as they stood watching the end of the battle.
“That was Abby's idea!” Raziel said proudly.
“You're fucking kidding me!”
“Well, partly because she thinks they guys look cool in their flight uniforms, I think,” she grinned.
“Don't tell Boon that,” Charles warned her.
“Aw, is he a jealous little guy?”
“We still can't mention Toshiro Mifune without him breaking a crayon.”
Raziel laughed, but then frowned as she cast her eyes down the deck. “Aw, fuck, I warned them to stay the fuck inside.”
Charles followed her gaze to see death metal musicians at the railing some ways down the deck.
“You can't warn them, you gotta threaten them,” said Charles.
“I waved the sword at them.”
“The big sword?”
“Yeah, the broadsword.”
“That's pretty big,” agreed Charles.
“Arrow!” said Raziel, pointing out at the sky.
“One of the kids will get it,” said Charles.
“It's not going for a rotor, it's going for-”
“GET DOWN!” Charles screamed, too late.
Nathan, who was standing at the railing along with Pickles, marveling at the mid-air battle, whirled to the sound of the voice, facing Charles and Raziel, his back now to his band mate.
Pickles too, turned to the voice, turned to watch the running figures.
Did not see it until it hit him.
And then he did not see anything.
It was a one in a million shot, grazing Pickles right at the temple, creating a flash: gold magic, crimson blood and red dreadlocks.
It didn't kill him. But it knocked him out, and worse, knocked him off balance. One step back, to the railing, lower back hitting the top bar, and then his center of gravity shifted too far out, and he was plummeting, head first, Nathan's big hand, a fraction of a second too late, snatching air.
Charles was running in slow motion, to the rail, one breath too late.
And then there was a flash of dark: Raziel, up, over the railing, and down.
Nathan grabbed Charles' shoulder. He couldn't rip the man's hands from the railing though. The knuckles were white. Nathan looked down after, now two falling bodies. “Shouldn't she like do the wing thing for that?” Nathan shouted.
“It's too late,” said Charles. “It's too late. She can't get him. She can't.... We need to abandon.” He was already stalking off, shouting. “Captain!”
“He won't....” pleaded Nathan. “He can't.” But Charles was gone.
And he could no longer see anything over the side.
Equations danced through Raziel's mind. Thirty two feet per second per second. The coefficient of friction: she kept her body tight and fell head first. Pickles, unconscious, was splayed out: this might make a difference. She had added all the weight she could, increasing terminal velocity.
Interception a falling object: but this was a human, a leaky sack of twigs, more fragile than an egg. What was needed was a parabolic path. True Form at moment of capture, maximum wingspan, controlled dive, no sudden decelerations.
Could she do it? Lift: she could go weightless, but Pickles' body had a mass to it. Nothing to do. Distance left: too fucking short. Not time to think. Just do.
God how Pickles loved a carnival. And he had always loved these kinda rides. The sudden drops. Maybe because Seth hated them? Heh. It was like the bottom was dropping out. Amazing.
And this one? It just fucking seems to go on forever.
Like a dream really. His dream. Hey, his dream!
“Captain. You need to move to lifeboats. We need to move to other dreams. When Pickles.... When he dies....” Charles stuttered.
The Captain nodded, said something to his crew.
Charles couldn't make his mind hear, couldn't listen. If you die in a dream.... What if Pickles died in his own dream? Would they die as well? Would they end up scattered among other dreams?
There. Pickles. The ground. Don't think. Just do.
And Raziel actually shut her eyes as she reached out, dark wings straining, holding on, pulling the mad fall into a controlled dive, the craziest dive ever attempted by an angel. Her pinions were straining, onrushing air and hoping her back wouldn't burst.
Angel? thought Pickles.
An angel.
Groovy.
And then the last mighty pull, and she felt the grass brush her wingtips.
The landing, broken down, and tears. The body in her arms, it wasn't the body of a man, it was a boneless, broken thing. She hadn't crashed, hadn't hit the ground, but she'd pulled up too short. She had killed, him, shattered every bone, torn the delicate internal organs.
She had failed.
She opened her eyes.
And saw the little red octopus wiggling happily on her stomach.
“Holy fucking shit,” she said.
“Dood! Dat wuz awesome!”
Raziel flopped back onto her back. She didn't bother to Court Form. She breathed. In and out.
The octopus oozed off her stomach. And then he was Pickles, standing there, holding his head. “Ow. Wut da feck jest happened?” He pulled his hand away from his head, looking at the red stains on his fingers. “I'm bleedin'!”
She heard the hum of the motorized flyer. “Are you injured, Lady Raziel?” It was Pie's voice.
“No, I'm fine,” she said, not getting up.
“Pie, dood, I hurt mah head!” Pickles told him.
“31415. Two alpha. Repeat, two alpha,” Pie told his comm link. “We will escort you to receive medical attention, Master Pickles.” There were now a couple more flyer-mounted Klokateers buzzing nearby, one of whom landed near Pickles.
“Do you require assistance, Lady Raziel?” Pie asked her.
“Can I....” she stuttered. She sat up. “Can I please ride back up with you?”
“Ha! I knew my little angel could do it!” roared Wotan. Raziel hopped off the back of Pie's flying machine to a hearty shoulder clasp and a kiss from her husband.
Charles had found that his legs did not want to work, so he was sitting on the deck. “Yeah. Yeah. OK. All right.”
“Are you all right?” Raziel asked Charles.
“The boy will be fine,” said Wotan. “But we're getting you to Ganesh. Right now. No arguments.”
Raziel, on shaky legs, let Wotan lead her inside. “I leave you in good hands,” he told her. “Many good hands.”
“Yes, Uncle!” Ganesh was bandaging Pickles' head with one set of arms and waving another set of fingers in front of his face.
“Can you follow my finger with your eyes, please.”
“Which feckin' finger, Ganesh? You gaht about a hunnert an twenny-four of 'em out raight now!”
“Well, I believe your sight is unaffected,” Ganesh laughed. “Lady Raziel! What can I do for you? Have you an injury?”
“Are yoo OK dere, Lady Raz?” asked Pickles, peering under the bandage.
“Uh. Ganesh?”
“Yes my dear?”
“Uh. I think I need a hug?”
Ganesh paused only a bare moment, and then, crisply stepping over towards Raziel, wrapped several arms tightly around the small angel. “All righty, there we go.”
He felt a small shudder, and heard a very small sob, and then with a back pat, set her down. “All better now?” he inquired.
She wiped a tear and nodded. “I, uh, I think I need to change,” she muttered.
“Oh, yes! Hrm. Did you bring along a Stella McCartney?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did! You think it should be a Stella!”
“Yes, that would seem a good fashion solution at this point!”
“OK!” And with that, Raziel ran off.
“Oh,” said Pickles. “Can I git a hug too?”
Ganesh grinned, and wrapped the drummer in another hug.
“Wut about a blow jahb?”
Ganesh pushed Pickles back and roared with laughter. “I now pronounce you, cured,” he said.
“So we won, right?” Nathan asked Charles.
Charles stood holding Elias. What he wanted more than anything right now was to be back in his office, glass of brandy in his hand, Elias squirming on his lap, drawing a picture.
“What do you mean, Nathan?”
“The angels. They're gone now, right? So, we won?”
“We won the battle, Nathan. We still have a war to fight.”
“A war? What war?” Nathan asked. He suddenly shuddered, not knowing why.
A shadow crossed the deck, a line of dark blotting out the dream sunlight, blocking warmth. Blocking hope.
The two men looked up, towards the source, Charles gathering Elias more tightly to his body.
An air battleship, long and grey, immense, shark-shaped, prowling slowly, relentlessly their way.
“That war,” said Charles.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A cruise in the dreamtime
Warnings: Teh sechs: don't read this one at work. Or anywhere.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok has been banned in 23 countries. No, not really.
Last time: we learned a little bit more about a guitarist and a bassist.
Also: this is probably gonna be the first part of two.
Those mad dancer's legs.
Charles had dreams about those legs.
Come to think of it, the dreams weren't much different from his present reality: those amazing, absurdly long legs draped over his shoulders, the rest of Ganesh writhing in front of him: one arm thrown back, elegant long-fingered hand clutching, seeking some kind of purchase on the bed.
Charles paused, one brief moment, placing a palm flat on Ganesh's stomach. Under the hair's breadth of sweat, the muscles were all strung as tight as guitar strings.
I'll take out the wings, I'll show you, Charles thought. He smiled slightly, True Forming in mid-thrust. The moans now turned to a small, strangled scream. Ganesh's eyes fluttered open, his head straining up. He was desperate to see now. He loved seeing all the magic, adored the power. It made him crazy and hard.
A cosmic joke, the gentle vegetarian elephant god, massively turned on by power.
Angels so desired lovely things, beautiful things. And here was the loveliest one of all, all spread out before him. He watched the single sweat drop, sliding down the sparse black hairs on Ganesh's brown chest. Charles paused, letting one of Ganesh's legs fall, and strained over, greedily licking the salty sweat off Ganesh's nipple. Ganesh was now desperately clutched him, hands all over. “Don't stop now don't stop. Ever.”
No. Not ever.
“Shower?” said Ganesh. He was being pleasantly smothered by post-coital angel and feathers. He so wanted to stay there, all warm and tangled and all smelling of sex. But, things to do. So many things to do.
“Don't wanna,” muttered Sariel into his chest.
“No?”
“No. Don't wanna move.”
“Come on, don't be Seraphic about this,” Ganesh laughed. He chuckled and rose, physically picked up Sariel by his angelic ass. Sariel, despite his reluctance, Court Formed to make things a bit easier.
“Don't want the wings washed?” Ganesh asked, pushing the angel under the hot shower.
“Naw.”
Ganesh poured shampoo on his hands. He looked at the back of Sariel's head, regarding the silvery hair.
“You didn't properly Court Form,” Ganesh remarked.
“Didn't feel like it.”
Ganesh washed Sariel's hair. Angels and their moods, he thought. And Sariel – sometimes he would grow – well he acted churlish, but seemed very fragile, in a way.
Ganesh, who had been able to view magical fields since birth, had never encountered anything quite like Sariel. Gods – the powerful ones, anyway – generally ratcheted up and down their power as different occasions demanded. It was a smooth sliding scale. Angels worked rather differently: when they went to what they called their Court Form, a substantial chunk of magic got tucked away, out of sight, along with the wings. But Sariel was an extreme even when compared to other angels. In his powerful Form, his magic seemed nigh unlimited. The only other individual Ganesh could compare it to was his kinsman, Lady Raziel. But unlike the Lady, when Sariel went to ground in his human Form, he appeared to be able to conceal almost all of it, in order to truly resemble a human. Which he most definitely was not.
But the other thing Ganesh had noted was that the transition was not always a smooth, automatic one. At some points, Ganesh observed, when Sariel was agitated, when he claimed he found it troublesome to Court Form, he was actually fizzing power, like a shaken carbonated drink, sometimes literally for hours afterwards. There seemed to be a connection with emotion, although it was a complicated one, and one Ganesh hadn't completely worked out yet. He had definitely seen Sariel True Form when he was emotional, and in turn become emotional in True Form. But he also realized insult or injury could shock angels out of True Form.
So, Sariel was probably upset over something tonight. But as to what: well, any obvious attempt at fishing that one out was only going to burrow it in deeper.
Ganesh very carefully washed Sariel from head to toe, as one would a child, and then turned off the tap and helped him wrap in a large towel. Ganesh pulled on a robe and returned to the bedroom, and Sariel was instantly in his lap.
“We'll be together forever, right?”
Ganesh swallowed hard. He took Sariel's face in two hands. “You know, as do I, dear, what's about to happen? It is so terribly important that at least one of us is around for Elias....”
The look in those eyes. Ganesh stumbled. He caught his breath. He soldiered on. “If something were to happen to me, you know I would do EVERYTHING.... But, as you also realize, my Uncle Brahma can be a right bastard when he wants to be....”
“You'd be all right – without me?”
“I will carry on without you. As we have discussed.” They had talked it over endlessly, it seemed. Endlessly!
“You wouldn't be sad?” The silver eyes seemed filled with curiosity.
Ganesh suddenly frowned. “Of course I would be sad, you great clot!” Ganesh found he was blubbering – exactly what he did not want to be doing. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe, trying to cram the emotions back into the stiff upper lip facade he had been desperately trying to stretch over his fear for the last few weeks as they were supposedly making clear-eyed appraisals regarding potential events in the near future. Potential horrible, terrible events in the near future.
“You would miss me?” said Sariel, who oddly, now seemed a bit cheered up.
“I would miss you awfully,” sniffed Ganesh.
“Oh, well, you'd be OK! And, I always come back too!”
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah!”
Ganesh blinked, but not just from the tears, not precisely certain for a moment whether he had his husband or his little son, Elias, on his lap. “We need to quit fucking around and get going!” Sariel told him.
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, very softly, but Sariel was already up and grabbing his clothes.
“It seems a strange choice. Are you certain our informants are correct?” asked Gabriel.
“My informants,” smacked Uriah, who did not look up from his dinner at the Seraph standing irritably in back of him, “are invariably correct.”
“Lady Raziel....”
“Our Little Sister has always been a troublesome little bint. Nothing more,” said Uriah, sawing at his steak. He liked his steak quite rare. Quite rare. Bloody juice seeped from the cut muscle as his knife worked.
“Lady Raziel is the daughter of your Venerated Brother Phanuel,” purred Garbriel.
Uriah's eyes suddenly flicked up towards Gabriel. Among things that did not please him were any mention of Raziel, and any reminder that he was, in fact, outranked in the Host. By anyone.
“Think, Uriah! Think!” urged Gabriel, now that he'd caught the big angel's attention. “Why didn't they choose Valhalla? Or the Eastern Kingdom?”
“Because Sariel has always been an arrogant little prick,” said Uriah, tonguing a juicy morsel of meat. “He thinks he owns the world. He must be put in his place.”
“Uriah. You are obviously letting your personal feelings about Sariel get in the way of planning!”
Uriah was up, wineglass overturned, staining the white tablecloth a dark red. “Personal feelings?” he growled, now nose to nose with Gabriel.
Gabriel did not flinch. This seemed to put Uriah off momentarily.
Gabriel seized the opportunity. “You are obsessed with Sariel,” he pressed.
Uriah stepped back and cast his eyes away. When he looked up, his voice was quiet but tense. “Do you have any idea what could happen if he is allowed free reign with that group of … abominations?”
“That makes is all the more important we succeed with this, Uriah!”
Uriah loomed over Gabriel. “We will succeed. We will succeed. We will crush Sariel, and his allies in one swift stroke. You are with me on this, Gabriel. Else you are against us.”
The two beings locked eyes for a moment, wavering, as if in a bare moment on and then the other would True Form, right in the dining room, wings and swords at ready.
Gabriel was the one who looked away. “I am with you,” he said, staring irritably at the floor.
And Uriah was striding away, leaving his dinnerplate, half eaten steak, spilled wine now pooling on the floor, running red.
The majestic airship Polypus Rubra, moored temporarily to a delicate, silvery post, hung lazily in the Dreamtime sky.
It was an improbably thing - a thing that merited apt description. However, if one were forced to come up with one word to encapsulate it, that word might well be “bumblebee,” fat and buzzing. The part that conveyed passengers resembled an ocean liner, but a chubby child's soft plastic bathtub version of an ocean liner, with a comically bulging middle, and all the sharp edges rounded off. One would have to be sharp eyed indeed to spot a straight line, or any acute corners.
And it hung suspended in the sky not on meathooks, but on myriad, delicate rotors, which produced a lovely buzzing noise as they relentlessly twirled.
There were no less than three promenade decks circling the entire vessel, one stacked right above the other, like a big wonderful Duplo set you got at Christmastime, extra pieces everwhere.
And there were tiny figures – little Duplo men – walking round the deck.
“A Naming cruise,” marveled Charles, as he and Ganesh strolled around the upper deck with Raziel. “I gotta hand it to you, Raziel, this was a good pick.”
“And you know the best part?” bragged Raziel, who had indeed engineered this occasion.
“NO DANCING ELEPHANTS!” shouted Ganesh. If this was what Raziel had meant, however, it was unclear, as Ganesh had now swept her literally off her small designer pumps and into a very enthusiastic, if smothering, multi-armed embrace.
“Sarrrrr?” she pleaded, when she had managed to turn her face somewhat to the side.
“Well, he's a hugger,” grinned Charles.
Raziel writhed a bit more and managed to wrest a few millimeters of space betwixt herself and the overjoyed elephant god. “Ganesh! Put me down! You're creasing my couture!”
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” sighed Ganesh, somewhat regretfully, as he set a scowling Raziel down with a thoughtful little pat to her head. The three then continued down the deck, Ganesh, whistling happily, slightly ahead of the two angels.
“He pulls that again,” Raziel hissed in High Angelic to Charles as she attempted to straighten out her outfit, “he's gonna be minus a few thousand arms.”
“He gets a bit, ya know, overwrought with these family things.”
“This is a McQueen!” she grumbled, indicating her complicated outfit.
“Oh, I thought maybe you were True Formed. Or going ice dancing.”
“Hmpf! Oh, hey Pickles!” sang Raziel, her demeanor instantly appearing to change as they came upon the drummer, standing moodily at the rail.
“Uh. Hey. Lady Raz. Doods,” he muttered, flicking ashes from his joint over the side.
“We're very grateful to you for letting us do this in your Dreamspace!” Raziel told him.
“Uh. Yeh.”
“Yes, so terribly grateful!” gushed Ganesh, who now had both Raziel and Pickles clasped in embraces.
“GANESH!” screamed Raziel. The elephant god let them down with quick, affectionate smooches to the tops of their heads. Fortunately for Ganesh's continued health, Wotan showed up at precisely that moment, walking the deck with Captain Aubrey.
Charles pulled a still stunned Pickles aside. “Whatever the fuck you're smoking, could you please feed some to Ganesh to calm him the fuck down? I think Raziel's gonna do bodily harm if her dress loses any more feather crap.”
Pickles blinked as if he had just walked into the bright sunlight. “I ain't sure about dis, chief,” he muttered.
“What do you mean, this?”
“Raz talked me into it. But I dunno. I never did nothin' like dis before.”
Charles steeled himself and gripped Pickles by the shoulders. He waited until Pickles found his eyes, and, exuding confidence he wasn't exactly certain he felt, said, “Pickles. There is no one else – no one else – I would trust to do this.”
The reaction was immediate. That was one thing about this guy, it was all there, on the surface. A small smile, a bit straighter stance.
“Raziel, Ganesh, all of us, we talked about this. There was never any doubt – not a moment's doubt.”
Pickles nodded as Charles wracked his brain to think of other bullshit he could lay on him. He was thankfully interrupted by a new presence thundering down the gangway. “I gotta go,” he told the drummer.
“A Naming on a ship! Such nonsense!”
“Hello. Uncle. Auntie,” sighed Ganesh, giving Sarasvati a quick peck on the cheek.
“And where is my little jaanu?” asked the large Hindu goddess. Fortunately for Ganesh, who could never tell whether his aunt was requesting his husband or his son, she immediately trilled, “Oh, Sariel, my dearest little thing!” on sight of the angel.
“Hello, Auntie!” smiled Charles.
“Has he been feeding you, my love?” Sarasvati worried, holding him by his hands and tutting. Despite the fact that Charles had been thin for almost two millennia, Sarasvati assigned the blame in this matter to Ganesh's vegetarian diet.
“Ganesh has been talking very good care of me, Auntie,” Charles assured her, having decided, for once, not to milk it.
“Where is your father?” Brahma demanded of Charles. “Isn't he coming to the Naming?”
“Jacque goes where he will,” Charles sighed. “You know that.”
“Harrumph,” harrumphed Great Brahma. “Sealing the boy without a Vodouisant present!”
“I am a fully qualified Vodouisant, Uncle,” interjected Ganesh.
“Well, See you don't set anything afire this time!” Brahma rumbled. “Not like at your wedding!”
“It was only that little bit of the altar,” Ganesh said petulantly. “And you and Uncle Vishnu had gotten me high!”
“WANTIE!”
“Oh, there you are my dearest!” trilled Sarasvati as Elias thundered towards her on clomping toddler feet. She plucked up the boy in her many arms. “Oh, look, Brahma, he's wearing the little elephant overalls we bought him.”
Charles sneaked a wink at Ganesh. There were worse things in the world than buttering up Auntie Sarasvati. “Yeah, and the little elephant shoes you got him,” Charles pointed out.
“Oh, aren't we darling!” cooed Sarasvati.
“How old is this infant, anyway?” demanded Brahma. “Ten? Twelve? Twenty-one.” Elias very solemnly held up two fingers. “You two waited long enough for this, that's for certain!”
“We had preparations to make, Uncle,” explained Ganesh.
“And your paperwork to fill out,” added Charles, with just the hint of a glower. It hadn't escaped him that getting paperwork from Hindu Hell had forced him to actually dance in public, a fate which Charles considered worse than death or spoiled pie.
“Well, are we getting on with it then?” asked Brahma.
“We gotta wait on a few more guests,” said Charles.
“Oh? More of your Hollywood types, I suppose?”
“Actually, it is Uncle Vishnu,” said Ganesh, with a slightly malicious smile.
“Oh, that old faker. And you can tell him I said that!” harrumphed Brahma. “Come, Sarasvati!” he said.
“I gotta say hi to someone,” said Charles, as he had just spotted a familiar figure on the gangway. Ganesh nodded and Charles, holding Elias' hand, went to intercept a couple who had just come aboard.
“Charles!”
“Hey, it's great you could make it.”
“I would like to introduce you to the next Mrs. Ibsen!” said the TV interviewer, courteously indicating the lovely woman on his arm. “Hello, little one!” said Ibsen, leaning over to pick up a very cooperative Elias.
“Unkynik!” answered Elias.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Charles. “He's been taught it's polite to call adults uncle and auntie. It's an Indian thing. Or something.”
“No, I don't mind at all! And this is Bunny!”
“Oh, uh, hi, Bunny,” said Charles. She blinked fetchingly at him.
“Nicky, you don't mind?” asked Bunny, pointing to a group of female Klokateers who had gathered nearby.
“Of course not, my precious flower,” grinned Ibsen, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before she ran over to giggle with the other women.
“So,” said Charles in mock seriousness, “depleting my Female Online Division?”
“You're the one who dressed her up in a cheerleader uniform,” Ibsen laughed.
“Well, that was Raziel, but, yeah,” agreed Charles.
“I can't thank you enough for inviting me along,” said Ibsen, watching a school of narwhals fly by. “I have no fucking idea where I am, but it's utterly magnificent!”
“Maybe you should wait to thank me 'til this is all over?” Charles asked.
“As I've told you, I've lived a long time. And there aren't a lot of things out there that are new. But this!” He waved at a flock of rather absurdly large, ridiculously colored hummingbirds nosing curiously round the deck. “Blows my fucking mind.”
“Well,” said Charles, “It's Pickles' dreamtime. So, yeah, it would tend to have that effect. Oh boy!” The last was not said at the hummingbirds, but rather the arrival of a very important guest. “It looks like we're gonna be needed,” he said, motioning for Elias.
“In-laws, hum?” asked Ibsen.
“Yeah, I've got, uh, an interesting set,” said Charles, taking Elias' hand. “C'mon, I think we gotta go help Baap.”
Lady's Parvati and her retinue were arriving, not via the gangway, as were the other guests, but the astride various tiger, bulls and rams. Flying tigers, bulls and rams that is.
Many of the guests had gathered at the railing to watch the show. This included two very tall figures, both of whom had many many arms extended.
Not a good sign, thought Charles, hurrying along with Elias. “Say hi to your Uncle Vishnu!” he urged, basically chucking Elias at the tall blue god.
“Bisnu!” giggled Elias, who, thankfully, was acting his most appealing. Unlike his cousin Abby, who could be rather shy, he adored meeting people and large gatherings. Charles sometimes considered his child to be some sort of alien visitor, or perhaps a mutant, but it worked out quite well in these kinds of situations.
“Well. Little Brahma,” said Vishnu, somewhat resentfully, it must be confessed.
“As I have told you, Uncle,” Ganesh said, extending a hand and a hand and a hand and a hand, “and as you can clearly see for yourself, there simply was not room for your usual coterie of dancing elephants.”
“You've NEVER liked my dancing elephants,” scolded Vishnu wagging a finger and a finger and etc.
“I have always regarded your dancing elephants will all the respect they deserved!” averred Ganesh.
Vishnu's hands suddenly ceased their own dance as he frowned, trying to completely work out the insult buried somewhere in the comment. He was however, interrupted.
“It is about time, Vishnu,” sniffed Lady Parvati as she dismounted and strode up.
“What can you mean, Parvs!” grumbled Vishnu.
“Gamma!” giggled Elias.
Parvati arched an eyebrow, though it was not clear if she was more peeved over being referred to as Parva or grandma. But once more, before the storm could break out, there was yet another convenient interruption.
“KITTY!”
Raziel's twins clumped down the deck, making a noise not unlike a herd of stampeding dancing elephants. They both very delicately petted Parvati's tiger, who agreeably lowered his great head for them.
“Do those two realize the importance of this occasion?” sniffed Vishnu.
“An da Name Day an Boon!” Elias told them breathlessly. The twins exchanged puzzled looks.
“They're too young to remember their own Name Day,” Raziel explained.
“Name?” asked Abby. “Names is Boonie?”
Elias shook his head. “Bwama Bisnu Maheswa-a Ewias Goon Sen Shel!” he announced.
“Holy crap,” said Charles. “I can never remember all those names.” Vishnu was frankly blinking in surprise as well.
“Wie-ass?” asked Liam.
“Yeah, kids, remember? You're Lady Signhild Leia Tzaphkiel Lakshmi Abigail and Lord Ragnar Luke Phanuel Krisna Liam.”
The twins, so armed, now exchanged sly glances. “Wabbygay!” Liam taunted his sister.
“Wagnar!” rejoinedered Abby, to much tongue sticking.
“Razzy, kitten,” said Vishnu, “Have you no control over your demon spawn?”
“OK, kids?” laughed Raziel. “Be good for a couple hours, well get frenchie fries. OK?”
“FWENCHIE!” howled all three cousins, including the one who wasn't being terribly naughty.
“You are bribing them?” asked Vishnu, folding many arms.
“Hey, it works,” rejoindered Raziel.
“The captain has announced we will be underway shortly,” said Wotan, who had just strode up. Despite millennia as a horseman, he looked very natural walking the deck of an airship.
“Shouldn't you get ready for your performance, Uncle?” asked Ganesh. Vishun threw up many hands and sashayed off, and slowly, the party scattered. “And have you taken your Dramamine, dear?” Ganesh asked of Charles when they were the last two left.
“I wanna stay sharp,” muttered Charles.
“So, that means no?” asked Ganesh, going into a jacket pocket and removing a small cardboard box. “You will hardly be of use to us hanging over a toilet.”
Charles reluctantly took the pill Ganesh had popped out of the tiny plastic bubble card. “You won't tell anyone, right? My dad's a sailor!”
“Doctor patient confidentiality,” said Ganesh. “Or if you prefer, lawyer-client confidentiality!”
“What the hell about husband-husband confidentiality?”
“In that case, I shall only text Lady Raziel,” grinned Ganesh, holding up a phone.
Charles was still conjuring a witty rejoinder when he heard his name called out by an unmistakeable voice. Thus, a whispered, “Shit!” audible only to Ganesh, was all that was able to escape. “Nathan,” said Charles, much more pleasantly, although he was most unhappy to see the entire band was now glaring at him.
“Guys,” he began again, “I'm so happy.... WE'RE so happy, that you could come and, uh, share this occasion with us.”
“Why is Ganesh's Uncle Vishnu playing BEFORE US?” Nathan demanded.
“We've talked about this, Nathan,” said Charles, even though he thought, ruefully, that asking Nathan Explosion to remember something for longer than a period of ten minutes was a fool's errand. “So, you don't want Vishnu as an OPENING ACT?”
“He just told us that means he's TOP BILLED!” Nathan complained.
“Ah, my uncle works fast,” sighed Ganesh.
'Uh, Nathan,” Charles tried. “There is no billing for a Naming ceremony.”
“What? We're not being billed? Are we not IMPORTANT ENOUGH? Hey, what's that?”
“What this?” asked Ganesh, innocently shaking a little wand and watching as tiny silver sparks came out the end.
“That'sch scho cool!” said Murderface.
“Oh, tis simply a small toy Breagan gave me,” Ganesh explained, puffing air on the silvery sparks, which turned them a shade of orange.
“Wowee!” said Toki, as Nathan grabbed the wand and the entire band gathered around.
“Hey, ams lets me plays!” said Skwisgaar, reaching around his Gibson.
“I HAVEN'T HAD A CHANCE YET!” Nathan complained.
“Have I told you lately I love you,” Charles whispered to Ganesh as they hastened away.
“I would advise you keep a pocketful always on hand for such encounters,” Ganesh told him.
“Thank you, thank you everyone for coming today!” announced Vishnu from the stage on the lido deck. His blue skin looked resplendent in his saffron robes. “Thank you, you are all too kind!” he said, bowing elaborately, many hands flashing.
“You did tell your uncle this for our kid,” Charles whispered to Ganesh as they stood in the front row of the applauding audience.
“I have found it is not wise to bother Uncle Vishnu with trivialities,” Ganesh laughed.
“I am going to continue tonight's entertainment with a little number I've written especially for the occasion,” Vishnu continued. Suddenly, he tore off his robes to reveal a bright silver shirt with many, many, many, many ruffled sleeves. And quite suddenly there was a chorus line of dancers in brightly colored costumes in line behind him. It was a little difficult to determine exactly what the dancers were supposed to be costumed as: a near guess might be elaborate pretzels dipped in radioactive yoghurt and then rolled in rhinestones and feathers. But that was just a guess.
Vishnu hopped up to sit on the grand piano some assistants had just wheeled onstage. “Hit it!” he ordered the pianist, who had also just been wheeled onstage.
His name is Sariel, he is an angel
With silver feathers in his wings and a taste for pies and things
Lemon merange and also dutch apple
And when he tried to eat some more, they would go back to the store
They made Nathan flip, 'cause they were out of chips
Not so young but they had Costco cards
So Sariel could snarf up more...
On the Poly-
Polypus Rubra
You might just be playing the tuba
On the Poly, Polypus Rubra!
It's a Naming so you're trapped, fill up on the bar snacks
On the Poly.... You won't get pie
“I don't eat that much pie!” grumbled Sariel, rubbing his stomach.
“I'm getting HUNGRY,” groused Nathan from the row behind.
“Aw, it is simply a gentle chiding, dear. Don't take it too seriously,” counseled Ganesh.
His name is Ganesh, he is a love god
He spent two hours on his hair to get it mussed up there
And when he finished he picked out couture
But Ganesh was too late, and his suit was out of date
By twenty minutes now, it was a big faux pas!
He's lucky he has Armani
On his speed dial now.
On the Poly-
Polypus Rubra
The hottest spot east of Vancouver
On the Poly, Polypus Rubra!
Move it on over it's his Vogue India cover
On the Poly.... Smile for the camera
“Hmpf!” hmpfed Ganesh. “I didn't know this would be a roast.”
“A what?” asked Charles.
“An exaggeration of our foibles for comic purposes!” said Ganesh.
“What part was exaggerated?”
Ganesh was just raising a finely arched eyebrow at Charles when there was a small explosion up on stage. Part of the set was now afire. As was part of Vishnu. Ganesh leapt up to throw his own designer jacket over his uncle as crew ran up with fire extinguishers. Ganesh leaned over to pluck something out of the piano player.
An arrow.
“Here we go,” Charles whispered to Raziel. “Stick to the plan!”
“I wanna green feather boa so Chango will be jealous,” Raziel announced.
“Later!” Charles cautioned. “Get the passengers below!' Raziel and Wotan went to evacuate the audience belowdecks as he and Ganesh rushed to the railing.
Heavenly charioteers approached, riding across the sky on magnificent white-winged beasts. Archers stood behind the drivers, angelic green and gold winged Powers bending large bows, loosing magicked arrows which flew with beauty and rage across the orangey dreamtime sky.
“Onward!” shouted Parvati, who had already mounted her tiger on the upper deck. A line of her retinue formed up behind her, magickal sabers now drawn.
“Wait just a minute, Sunshine!”
Parvati looked at Vishnu, standing on the deck with many many many ruffled arms – some of them still smoking – folded in approbation.
“You need something, Vishy?” said Parvati with a very slight smile.
“They botched my curtain call!” bitched Vishnu. “I demand satisfaction!”
Parvati smiled and nodded. Vinshu brought up a small jar out of his robes. He uncorked the jar, and there was a shimmering, and in a moment, the lovely bird, Garuda, stood before them.
“Let's get those suckers!” shouted Vishnu, mounting Garuda's back. And then with a battle cry, they were up, riding across the sky.
Charles and Ganesh were running along the deck. “Open the forward hatch!” Charles shouted.
A crew member threw open an exterior hatchway. There was the sound of humming, and suddenly, ranks of Klokateers mounted on flying machines were swarming the deck.
“Form up!” barked Pie, the Klokateer at the head.
“All assembled?” Ganesh asked Pie as the last soldier formed in a line.
“All present?” Pie demanded of his subordinate.
“All present and accounted for, sir!”
“You may proceed, Lord Ganesh.”
Ganesh closed his eyes, and slowly brought out more arms. He stood, raft of arms poised, as if he were going to suddenly launch into some complicated dance. And then with the abrupt flash many, many hands, and the guns mounted on the flying machines began to glow with magic.
“That did it,” Ganesh told Pie.
“We're armed!” shouted Pie. “Attack formation.” The flying machines and soldiers took off towards the angels.
“We need defensive positions around the rotors,” said Charles, as they watched the Klokateers in flight.
“We have that taken care of, don't you worry dear,” said the tall, red haired Goddess Breagan. She stood on deck, fiddling with what looked like a remote control. “Are we ready, little ones?” she asked.
Elias and the twins were sitting on the deck, also playing with remote control devices. “Uh-huh!” announced Elias. “Hewicoptah!” he added, as his little flying machine took to the air. As the sound of the air battle between the angels, Parvati's soldiers and the Klokateers sounded in the distance, four toy helicopters rose and took postions around the lovely but frail-seeming rotor blades that held the airship in the Dreamtime sky.
“There's one,” said Ganesh, as a fiery arrow streaked across the sky.
“Liam!” said Breagan. The small, curly haired boy worked his remote with furious concentration. High overhead, hovering over the starboard rotor, a small toy helicopter swooped and then stabilized. As the arrow approached, the toy craft suddenly let fly a terribly small projectile. The tiny missile intercepted the arrow some yards short of the rotor, and produced a small but satisfying explosion.
Liam grinned.
“I want one!” said Charles.
“Later, dear,” grinned Ganesh.
“I t'ink dey ams wants us to stay inside, Pickle,” Toki warned.
“Den go back inside,” Pickles told him.
“Seriously, dude,” said Nathan, who had also trailed after the drummer. “There's pissed off angels out there!”
“Den go da feck back indoors!” Pickles shouted. “Dis is my feckin' dream, and I ain't gonna let dem push me inside outta da way.”
Toki shrugged and walked back inside, but Nathan followed the drummer into the Dreamsunlight.
The battle not going well for the charioteers. Between Parvati's fighters slaughtering the occupants at close quarter and the Klokateers delivering magicked missiles to the chariots themselves, it looked like a retreat was imminent.
An angel turned and screamed as his green and gold wings suddenly erupted into flame. He dove from the chariot, and became a flaming fireball.
“Try to avoid hitting the mounts!” said Wotan, back aboard the Polypus Rubra.
“Yes, Uncle,” said Ganesh, who was standing at the railing, aiming his hands as Wotan hurled a spear. There was a delayed scream from very far off, and the two men smiled at each other.
“The mounted Klokateers was a good idea, I'll have to admit,” Charles told Raziel as they stood watching the end of the battle.
“That was Abby's idea!” Raziel said proudly.
“You're fucking kidding me!”
“Well, partly because she thinks they guys look cool in their flight uniforms, I think,” she grinned.
“Don't tell Boon that,” Charles warned her.
“Aw, is he a jealous little guy?”
“We still can't mention Toshiro Mifune without him breaking a crayon.”
Raziel laughed, but then frowned as she cast her eyes down the deck. “Aw, fuck, I warned them to stay the fuck inside.”
Charles followed her gaze to see death metal musicians at the railing some ways down the deck.
“You can't warn them, you gotta threaten them,” said Charles.
“I waved the sword at them.”
“The big sword?”
“Yeah, the broadsword.”
“That's pretty big,” agreed Charles.
“Arrow!” said Raziel, pointing out at the sky.
“One of the kids will get it,” said Charles.
“It's not going for a rotor, it's going for-”
“GET DOWN!” Charles screamed, too late.
Nathan, who was standing at the railing along with Pickles, marveling at the mid-air battle, whirled to the sound of the voice, facing Charles and Raziel, his back now to his band mate.
Pickles too, turned to the voice, turned to watch the running figures.
Did not see it until it hit him.
And then he did not see anything.
It was a one in a million shot, grazing Pickles right at the temple, creating a flash: gold magic, crimson blood and red dreadlocks.
It didn't kill him. But it knocked him out, and worse, knocked him off balance. One step back, to the railing, lower back hitting the top bar, and then his center of gravity shifted too far out, and he was plummeting, head first, Nathan's big hand, a fraction of a second too late, snatching air.
Charles was running in slow motion, to the rail, one breath too late.
And then there was a flash of dark: Raziel, up, over the railing, and down.
Nathan grabbed Charles' shoulder. He couldn't rip the man's hands from the railing though. The knuckles were white. Nathan looked down after, now two falling bodies. “Shouldn't she like do the wing thing for that?” Nathan shouted.
“It's too late,” said Charles. “It's too late. She can't get him. She can't.... We need to abandon.” He was already stalking off, shouting. “Captain!”
“He won't....” pleaded Nathan. “He can't.” But Charles was gone.
And he could no longer see anything over the side.
Equations danced through Raziel's mind. Thirty two feet per second per second. The coefficient of friction: she kept her body tight and fell head first. Pickles, unconscious, was splayed out: this might make a difference. She had added all the weight she could, increasing terminal velocity.
Interception a falling object: but this was a human, a leaky sack of twigs, more fragile than an egg. What was needed was a parabolic path. True Form at moment of capture, maximum wingspan, controlled dive, no sudden decelerations.
Could she do it? Lift: she could go weightless, but Pickles' body had a mass to it. Nothing to do. Distance left: too fucking short. Not time to think. Just do.
God how Pickles loved a carnival. And he had always loved these kinda rides. The sudden drops. Maybe because Seth hated them? Heh. It was like the bottom was dropping out. Amazing.
And this one? It just fucking seems to go on forever.
Like a dream really. His dream. Hey, his dream!
“Captain. You need to move to lifeboats. We need to move to other dreams. When Pickles.... When he dies....” Charles stuttered.
The Captain nodded, said something to his crew.
Charles couldn't make his mind hear, couldn't listen. If you die in a dream.... What if Pickles died in his own dream? Would they die as well? Would they end up scattered among other dreams?
There. Pickles. The ground. Don't think. Just do.
And Raziel actually shut her eyes as she reached out, dark wings straining, holding on, pulling the mad fall into a controlled dive, the craziest dive ever attempted by an angel. Her pinions were straining, onrushing air and hoping her back wouldn't burst.
Angel? thought Pickles.
An angel.
Groovy.
And then the last mighty pull, and she felt the grass brush her wingtips.
The landing, broken down, and tears. The body in her arms, it wasn't the body of a man, it was a boneless, broken thing. She hadn't crashed, hadn't hit the ground, but she'd pulled up too short. She had killed, him, shattered every bone, torn the delicate internal organs.
She had failed.
She opened her eyes.
And saw the little red octopus wiggling happily on her stomach.
“Holy fucking shit,” she said.
“Dood! Dat wuz awesome!”
Raziel flopped back onto her back. She didn't bother to Court Form. She breathed. In and out.
The octopus oozed off her stomach. And then he was Pickles, standing there, holding his head. “Ow. Wut da feck jest happened?” He pulled his hand away from his head, looking at the red stains on his fingers. “I'm bleedin'!”
She heard the hum of the motorized flyer. “Are you injured, Lady Raziel?” It was Pie's voice.
“No, I'm fine,” she said, not getting up.
“Pie, dood, I hurt mah head!” Pickles told him.
“31415. Two alpha. Repeat, two alpha,” Pie told his comm link. “We will escort you to receive medical attention, Master Pickles.” There were now a couple more flyer-mounted Klokateers buzzing nearby, one of whom landed near Pickles.
“Do you require assistance, Lady Raziel?” Pie asked her.
“Can I....” she stuttered. She sat up. “Can I please ride back up with you?”
“Ha! I knew my little angel could do it!” roared Wotan. Raziel hopped off the back of Pie's flying machine to a hearty shoulder clasp and a kiss from her husband.
Charles had found that his legs did not want to work, so he was sitting on the deck. “Yeah. Yeah. OK. All right.”
“Are you all right?” Raziel asked Charles.
“The boy will be fine,” said Wotan. “But we're getting you to Ganesh. Right now. No arguments.”
Raziel, on shaky legs, let Wotan lead her inside. “I leave you in good hands,” he told her. “Many good hands.”
“Yes, Uncle!” Ganesh was bandaging Pickles' head with one set of arms and waving another set of fingers in front of his face.
“Can you follow my finger with your eyes, please.”
“Which feckin' finger, Ganesh? You gaht about a hunnert an twenny-four of 'em out raight now!”
“Well, I believe your sight is unaffected,” Ganesh laughed. “Lady Raziel! What can I do for you? Have you an injury?”
“Are yoo OK dere, Lady Raz?” asked Pickles, peering under the bandage.
“Uh. Ganesh?”
“Yes my dear?”
“Uh. I think I need a hug?”
Ganesh paused only a bare moment, and then, crisply stepping over towards Raziel, wrapped several arms tightly around the small angel. “All righty, there we go.”
He felt a small shudder, and heard a very small sob, and then with a back pat, set her down. “All better now?” he inquired.
She wiped a tear and nodded. “I, uh, I think I need to change,” she muttered.
“Oh, yes! Hrm. Did you bring along a Stella McCartney?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did! You think it should be a Stella!”
“Yes, that would seem a good fashion solution at this point!”
“OK!” And with that, Raziel ran off.
“Oh,” said Pickles. “Can I git a hug too?”
Ganesh grinned, and wrapped the drummer in another hug.
“Wut about a blow jahb?”
Ganesh pushed Pickles back and roared with laughter. “I now pronounce you, cured,” he said.
“So we won, right?” Nathan asked Charles.
Charles stood holding Elias. What he wanted more than anything right now was to be back in his office, glass of brandy in his hand, Elias squirming on his lap, drawing a picture.
“What do you mean, Nathan?”
“The angels. They're gone now, right? So, we won?”
“We won the battle, Nathan. We still have a war to fight.”
“A war? What war?” Nathan asked. He suddenly shuddered, not knowing why.
A shadow crossed the deck, a line of dark blotting out the dream sunlight, blocking warmth. Blocking hope.
The two men looked up, towards the source, Charles gathering Elias more tightly to his body.
An air battleship, long and grey, immense, shark-shaped, prowling slowly, relentlessly their way.
“That war,” said Charles.
