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Melancholia (Mythklok Interstitial)
Title: Melancholia (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nostalgia.
Warnings: I'm in a fluffy mood.
Notes: This is not only Halloween, it's my wedding anniversary, so as a present to myself, I'm posting something I've been saving for a while. It's mostly OCs, so it's not going to be a lot of interest to anyone else anyway.
“Nathan, whatever you were going go say, just DON'T SAY IT!”
Nathan frowned, obviously confused. “What was I gonna say?”
Charles didn't meet his eyes, but instead continued leaning over his desk, nervously opening drawers and pretending for a time to be utterly fascinated with his staple remover. “Whatever it was, just, whatever. Not now, please. I gotta get to this thing with Ganesh, and there's gonna be all those guys with their arms everywhere” - and here he held out his single pair, waving them in imitation - “and they're all HUGGERS. And kissers. And I have to sit there and look like a douche and NOT KILL ANYBODY.”
“Oh. Not kill anyone. Uh-huh. Or, punch anyone?”
“No,” Charles sighed, “No punching either.”
“Oh, that sucks,” said Nathan. “Well at least the robes and shit are pretty badass.”
Charles stopped fiddling with his tape dispenser and looked up over his eyeglasses at Nathan, searching for some trace of irony.
He remembered, then, that Nathan did not possess an ironic bone in his body.
He straightened, his great silvery wings giving an unconscious, nervous jerk. Instead of his customary grey business suit he was dressed in silver-braided crimson robes, which did make for a striking appearance.
“Uh. Yeah?” he said.
“Did your wings always do that?”
Charles extended a wing and regarded himself. On the underside of his wings, the pure silver feathers had been replaced by dark, silvery-tipped ones. They resembled the plumage of his small son, Elias, when the child was in his winged Form. “Uh. The dark you mean?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, shoulders and wings both. “It just started to get dark. We're not sure why.”
“Can you curse people when you're like this? Because maybe that would be better than punching people!”
“Uh, no, I can't really curse people.”
“Did you bring a flaming sword?”
“Well, yeah, actually, I do have a flaming sword....”
“Good morning, Nathan!”
“Oh, hey, Ganesh dude! You're doing the elephant thing.”
“Yes,” agreed Ganesh, who was in his elephant god Form. “Official business,” he said, smiling an elephant smile, and flapping his elephant ears.
“Nate-Nate!” said Elias, barreling across the room to hurl himself at a favorite uncle.
“Whoa, look at you!” said Nathan. The boy too was dressed in gold-braided red ceremonial robes – albeit, terribly small ones. Although he wore little light-up tennis shoes on his feet.
“Are these traditional?” asked Nathan, suspiciously.
“I couldn't get him out of them,” Ganesh laughed. “His cousins wear them.”
“Anyway, he beats the hell outta sandals,” Charles shrugged. He held up his Dethphone. “Raziel has been demanding pictures all morning.”
“I'LL TAKE THE PICTURE!” said Nathan.
“Really, that won't be necessary, Nathan. I think she just wanted....”
“No, stand right along here,” said Nathan, grabbing the Dethphone and gesturing. “You'll want this!”
Charles frowned, but reluctantly lined up. Ganesh hoisted up the boy to his hip. “Elias, I do not think we want our zombie expression!” Ganesh chided his son, who was growling for the camera. Elias looked up at Ganesh, blinking innocently, but then managed a laugh when Ganesh tickled him with his elephant trunk.
“See?” asked Nathan.
“Why, thank you Nathan! This is indeed very lovely!” said Ganesh, peering into the phone. “And now, we probably should be on our way.”
Charles took the phone back, tucking it away into his robes, but not without first giving the image a very melancholy glance.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“Huh?”
“You have been staring into this electronic photo frame....” said Ganesh, leaning forward and turning the frame so he could see. He had transformed back to his human head, although he was still dressed in his crimson robes. “I think it is a quite lovely picture. Do the robes make you uncomfortable? We could-”
“No, no, it's not that.” Charles, who had Court Formed, was also still in his fine robes. “These are OK I guess. It's just that. He's getting so big.”
“Yes he is!” Ganesh puffed proudly.
“You talk like that's a good thing?”
“Isn't it?” smiled Ganesh.
“He'll grow up and wanna move away and he won't wanna play blocks and you can't get him on your lap any more....” Charles trailed off miserably.
“Dear, you must learn to live in the now.”
“You sound like a fucking self-help tape!”
“Right now, he fits quite nicely in a lap, and I am certain would be most conducive to playing blocks with you.”
“Yeah....”
“And, if you are simply patient, I predict that at some point, his hands will grow sufficiently large to actually play that guitar you seem determined to teach him.”
Charles flexed his own hand, experimentally wiggling the fingers.
“All right?” urged Ganesh. Charles looked somewhat less suicidal. “You know, I had thought, at one point, you were quite uncertain regarding having a child?”
“I got used to him! Can you blame me?”
Ganesh pushed his hair out of his eyes to look at Charles. It stubbornly fell back. “Are you ready to come to bed?”
Charles nodded sadly, and, after casting another wistful look at the photograph, arose.
He was late.
He hurried across the grounds at Valhalla, and burst into the residence. He wasn't quite certain where he was going, but he knew he was expected.
Ganesh was standing at the doorway to a small room, dressed in his surgical scrubs. “He's perfect! Perfect!” he said, giving Charles a quick kiss.
The room was crowded around Raziel, who was lying in bed. No. It wasn't Raziel. It was blue-eyed Abby! She was grown up. She was pretty, but seemed a little pale, and a bit cross. “Mooooooom!” she was saying.
Raziel was standing across from her, rocking a bundle. “Awwww, can't I just keep him for a year or two?”
“Mooooom! It's MY baby! Go get your own.”
“But I like this way! I can still wear couture.”
“DAAAAD!” pleaded Abby.
“He's a fine boy, dear!” said Wotan. “And we shall teach him to ride! And to hunt!”
“Are you the cutest thing?” Raziel inquired of the infant, who did not reply.
Charles turned, feeling a hand clasping his shoulder.
Elias.
Elias was looking DOWN at him.
“Auntie Raz! My dad gets a chance,” the little boy who was not a little boy said.
“Awwww, OK,” said Raziel.
“Mom, don't BOGART MY KID!” wailed Abby. Elias hopped on the bed next to Abby, stretching out his now long legs, and putting a comforting arm around her.
“Here ya go,” said Raziel, plopping the bundle into Charles' arms. Charles stared. A bald kid? No, lots of hair, but it was.... It was....
The baby yawned. And blinked its little slivery eyes curiously at him.
Charles gawped.
“Sariel, meet Little Sariel!” giggled Raziel.
“He comes by it honestly, that coloring,” declared Wotan. “Related to two greys!”
“You can't.... You can't call him Little Sariel, Raziel” snapped Charles, bouncing the silver baby.
“My mom doesn't get to name my kid anyway!” pouted Abby.
“No. We'll call him Nice Sariel,” laughed Raziel.
“You can't call him Nice Sariel!” protested Charles.
“Even-tempered Sariel,” said Elias.
“Agreeable Sariel?” proposed Ganesh, putting an arm around Charles, who was admittedly not feeling such.
“Sane Sariel!” hooted Raziel.
“Oh, hey, am I late?” asked Liam, who had just appeared in the room along with another figure.
“You're late for everything!” snapped Abby.
“You know Monique?” said Liam, tentatively. He was nearly tall as Wotan, with more reddish hair, and a slighter build.
“Mais oui, enchante Monique!” said Raziel, giving the slim, dark-skinned girl air kisses.
“You brought a DATE to my birth?” asked Abby.
“Uh, she's not just a date,” muttered Liam, blushing crimson. He held up Monique's hand. There was an exquisite ring on one finger.
“ANOTHER WEDDING TO PLAN!” squealed Raziel, who looked ready to faint from happiness.
“YOU'RE UPSTAGING ME AT MY BABY!” said Abby, who nonetheless, recovered sufficiently to give the future bride and groom air kisses, and allowed Monique a turn at clucking over the baby, who was tentatively titled “Le Petit Sariel,” much to the angel's apparent displeasure.
“Let's go out and get some engagement photos!” said Raziel.
“Gimme back my damn kid,” growled Abby, who was quite obviously not suffering any postpartum depression. Slowly the crowd in the room thinned, until it was just Abby, the baby, and Charles.
“Unky Sar?” asked the girl.
“Uh-huh?” He slid onto the bed beside her.
“Do you think he'll be winged?” she whispered, cradling the child.
“Well. You know Boon came to us winged. But you kids didn't start True Forming until you were six months or so.”
“Uh-huh,” said Abby.
“You know the wings - they're a giant pain in the ass. They pick up everything!”
“Uh-huh.”
Charles looked over at the girl who was evidently now his daughter-in-law. A look of concern was on her face.
He held out his hands. “OK. Lemme show you something.” Abby placed the baby in his arms, and Charles held him so he could uncover the receiving blanket from his little back. “Ganesh figured this out. We used to be able to do this when Boon was tiny.” With practiced hands, he gently pushed a thumb down to rub the little one's back just off center, alongside the spine.
Abby gasped.
Charles handed back the child, now fluttering tiny silver-feathered wings. “Well, I guess so, huh?” he said as she nodded, teary-eyed.
“HOLY FUCK PHANNY THE LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER'S GOT YOUR WINGS!” boomed Papa Jacque from the doorway.
“He is most handsome,” agreed Phanuel the Grey. “Fortunately. He does not take after. Your side,” he told Papa Jacque.
Jacque cast a dark glance at Phanuel. “Don't worry, you little cocksucker,” he said, hoisting the baby. “We'll get you smoking cigars in no time!”
Charles smiled at his father, and found his own eyelids were fluttering. He leaned back on the bed.
“GANESH!”
“Uh. Oh. Yes, dear?” muttered Ganesh, who was by now at least somewhat accustomed to being awakened by reports of angel dreams.
“It'll be OK!”
“All right. Well. That is most comforting. Yes.” Ganesh stretched out an arm to turn the bedside digital alarm clock display his way.
“There will be more kids!”
“Will there? Well. Yes, that tends to happen.”
“But we can't call him Little Sariel! That would be stupid!”
“Oh, no, shan't. No. Definitely.”
“Maybe Basil?”
“Uh. Erm. Basil?”
“Oh, you don't like it! I can tell! I'll have to talk to Abby! She's reasonable.”
“She is? Well, yes. Defiitely. Maybe after her nap. You can call Raziel....” Ganesh yawned and stretched, wrapping several arms tightly around Charles.
“You'll see! Come with me!” said Charles, putting a hand to Ganesh's forehead as he drifted off.
“Oh. I see....” muttered Ganesh as his dream gently merged with Charles'. “Heh. Nice Sariel....”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nostalgia.
Warnings: I'm in a fluffy mood.
Notes: This is not only Halloween, it's my wedding anniversary, so as a present to myself, I'm posting something I've been saving for a while. It's mostly OCs, so it's not going to be a lot of interest to anyone else anyway.
“Nathan, whatever you were going go say, just DON'T SAY IT!”
Nathan frowned, obviously confused. “What was I gonna say?”
Charles didn't meet his eyes, but instead continued leaning over his desk, nervously opening drawers and pretending for a time to be utterly fascinated with his staple remover. “Whatever it was, just, whatever. Not now, please. I gotta get to this thing with Ganesh, and there's gonna be all those guys with their arms everywhere” - and here he held out his single pair, waving them in imitation - “and they're all HUGGERS. And kissers. And I have to sit there and look like a douche and NOT KILL ANYBODY.”
“Oh. Not kill anyone. Uh-huh. Or, punch anyone?”
“No,” Charles sighed, “No punching either.”
“Oh, that sucks,” said Nathan. “Well at least the robes and shit are pretty badass.”
Charles stopped fiddling with his tape dispenser and looked up over his eyeglasses at Nathan, searching for some trace of irony.
He remembered, then, that Nathan did not possess an ironic bone in his body.
He straightened, his great silvery wings giving an unconscious, nervous jerk. Instead of his customary grey business suit he was dressed in silver-braided crimson robes, which did make for a striking appearance.
“Uh. Yeah?” he said.
“Did your wings always do that?”
Charles extended a wing and regarded himself. On the underside of his wings, the pure silver feathers had been replaced by dark, silvery-tipped ones. They resembled the plumage of his small son, Elias, when the child was in his winged Form. “Uh. The dark you mean?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, shoulders and wings both. “It just started to get dark. We're not sure why.”
“Can you curse people when you're like this? Because maybe that would be better than punching people!”
“Uh, no, I can't really curse people.”
“Did you bring a flaming sword?”
“Well, yeah, actually, I do have a flaming sword....”
“Good morning, Nathan!”
“Oh, hey, Ganesh dude! You're doing the elephant thing.”
“Yes,” agreed Ganesh, who was in his elephant god Form. “Official business,” he said, smiling an elephant smile, and flapping his elephant ears.
“Nate-Nate!” said Elias, barreling across the room to hurl himself at a favorite uncle.
“Whoa, look at you!” said Nathan. The boy too was dressed in gold-braided red ceremonial robes – albeit, terribly small ones. Although he wore little light-up tennis shoes on his feet.
“Are these traditional?” asked Nathan, suspiciously.
“I couldn't get him out of them,” Ganesh laughed. “His cousins wear them.”
“Anyway, he beats the hell outta sandals,” Charles shrugged. He held up his Dethphone. “Raziel has been demanding pictures all morning.”
“I'LL TAKE THE PICTURE!” said Nathan.
“Really, that won't be necessary, Nathan. I think she just wanted....”
“No, stand right along here,” said Nathan, grabbing the Dethphone and gesturing. “You'll want this!”
Charles frowned, but reluctantly lined up. Ganesh hoisted up the boy to his hip. “Elias, I do not think we want our zombie expression!” Ganesh chided his son, who was growling for the camera. Elias looked up at Ganesh, blinking innocently, but then managed a laugh when Ganesh tickled him with his elephant trunk.
“See?” asked Nathan.
“Why, thank you Nathan! This is indeed very lovely!” said Ganesh, peering into the phone. “And now, we probably should be on our way.”
Charles took the phone back, tucking it away into his robes, but not without first giving the image a very melancholy glance.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“Huh?”
“You have been staring into this electronic photo frame....” said Ganesh, leaning forward and turning the frame so he could see. He had transformed back to his human head, although he was still dressed in his crimson robes. “I think it is a quite lovely picture. Do the robes make you uncomfortable? We could-”
“No, no, it's not that.” Charles, who had Court Formed, was also still in his fine robes. “These are OK I guess. It's just that. He's getting so big.”
“Yes he is!” Ganesh puffed proudly.
“You talk like that's a good thing?”
“Isn't it?” smiled Ganesh.
“He'll grow up and wanna move away and he won't wanna play blocks and you can't get him on your lap any more....” Charles trailed off miserably.
“Dear, you must learn to live in the now.”
“You sound like a fucking self-help tape!”
“Right now, he fits quite nicely in a lap, and I am certain would be most conducive to playing blocks with you.”
“Yeah....”
“And, if you are simply patient, I predict that at some point, his hands will grow sufficiently large to actually play that guitar you seem determined to teach him.”
Charles flexed his own hand, experimentally wiggling the fingers.
“All right?” urged Ganesh. Charles looked somewhat less suicidal. “You know, I had thought, at one point, you were quite uncertain regarding having a child?”
“I got used to him! Can you blame me?”
Ganesh pushed his hair out of his eyes to look at Charles. It stubbornly fell back. “Are you ready to come to bed?”
Charles nodded sadly, and, after casting another wistful look at the photograph, arose.
He was late.
He hurried across the grounds at Valhalla, and burst into the residence. He wasn't quite certain where he was going, but he knew he was expected.
Ganesh was standing at the doorway to a small room, dressed in his surgical scrubs. “He's perfect! Perfect!” he said, giving Charles a quick kiss.
The room was crowded around Raziel, who was lying in bed. No. It wasn't Raziel. It was blue-eyed Abby! She was grown up. She was pretty, but seemed a little pale, and a bit cross. “Mooooooom!” she was saying.
Raziel was standing across from her, rocking a bundle. “Awwww, can't I just keep him for a year or two?”
“Mooooom! It's MY baby! Go get your own.”
“But I like this way! I can still wear couture.”
“DAAAAD!” pleaded Abby.
“He's a fine boy, dear!” said Wotan. “And we shall teach him to ride! And to hunt!”
“Are you the cutest thing?” Raziel inquired of the infant, who did not reply.
Charles turned, feeling a hand clasping his shoulder.
Elias.
Elias was looking DOWN at him.
“Auntie Raz! My dad gets a chance,” the little boy who was not a little boy said.
“Awwww, OK,” said Raziel.
“Mom, don't BOGART MY KID!” wailed Abby. Elias hopped on the bed next to Abby, stretching out his now long legs, and putting a comforting arm around her.
“Here ya go,” said Raziel, plopping the bundle into Charles' arms. Charles stared. A bald kid? No, lots of hair, but it was.... It was....
The baby yawned. And blinked its little slivery eyes curiously at him.
Charles gawped.
“Sariel, meet Little Sariel!” giggled Raziel.
“He comes by it honestly, that coloring,” declared Wotan. “Related to two greys!”
“You can't.... You can't call him Little Sariel, Raziel” snapped Charles, bouncing the silver baby.
“My mom doesn't get to name my kid anyway!” pouted Abby.
“No. We'll call him Nice Sariel,” laughed Raziel.
“You can't call him Nice Sariel!” protested Charles.
“Even-tempered Sariel,” said Elias.
“Agreeable Sariel?” proposed Ganesh, putting an arm around Charles, who was admittedly not feeling such.
“Sane Sariel!” hooted Raziel.
“Oh, hey, am I late?” asked Liam, who had just appeared in the room along with another figure.
“You're late for everything!” snapped Abby.
“You know Monique?” said Liam, tentatively. He was nearly tall as Wotan, with more reddish hair, and a slighter build.
“Mais oui, enchante Monique!” said Raziel, giving the slim, dark-skinned girl air kisses.
“You brought a DATE to my birth?” asked Abby.
“Uh, she's not just a date,” muttered Liam, blushing crimson. He held up Monique's hand. There was an exquisite ring on one finger.
“ANOTHER WEDDING TO PLAN!” squealed Raziel, who looked ready to faint from happiness.
“YOU'RE UPSTAGING ME AT MY BABY!” said Abby, who nonetheless, recovered sufficiently to give the future bride and groom air kisses, and allowed Monique a turn at clucking over the baby, who was tentatively titled “Le Petit Sariel,” much to the angel's apparent displeasure.
“Let's go out and get some engagement photos!” said Raziel.
“Gimme back my damn kid,” growled Abby, who was quite obviously not suffering any postpartum depression. Slowly the crowd in the room thinned, until it was just Abby, the baby, and Charles.
“Unky Sar?” asked the girl.
“Uh-huh?” He slid onto the bed beside her.
“Do you think he'll be winged?” she whispered, cradling the child.
“Well. You know Boon came to us winged. But you kids didn't start True Forming until you were six months or so.”
“Uh-huh,” said Abby.
“You know the wings - they're a giant pain in the ass. They pick up everything!”
“Uh-huh.”
Charles looked over at the girl who was evidently now his daughter-in-law. A look of concern was on her face.
He held out his hands. “OK. Lemme show you something.” Abby placed the baby in his arms, and Charles held him so he could uncover the receiving blanket from his little back. “Ganesh figured this out. We used to be able to do this when Boon was tiny.” With practiced hands, he gently pushed a thumb down to rub the little one's back just off center, alongside the spine.
Abby gasped.
Charles handed back the child, now fluttering tiny silver-feathered wings. “Well, I guess so, huh?” he said as she nodded, teary-eyed.
“HOLY FUCK PHANNY THE LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER'S GOT YOUR WINGS!” boomed Papa Jacque from the doorway.
“He is most handsome,” agreed Phanuel the Grey. “Fortunately. He does not take after. Your side,” he told Papa Jacque.
Jacque cast a dark glance at Phanuel. “Don't worry, you little cocksucker,” he said, hoisting the baby. “We'll get you smoking cigars in no time!”
Charles smiled at his father, and found his own eyelids were fluttering. He leaned back on the bed.
“GANESH!”
“Uh. Oh. Yes, dear?” muttered Ganesh, who was by now at least somewhat accustomed to being awakened by reports of angel dreams.
“It'll be OK!”
“All right. Well. That is most comforting. Yes.” Ganesh stretched out an arm to turn the bedside digital alarm clock display his way.
“There will be more kids!”
“Will there? Well. Yes, that tends to happen.”
“But we can't call him Little Sariel! That would be stupid!”
“Oh, no, shan't. No. Definitely.”
“Maybe Basil?”
“Uh. Erm. Basil?”
“Oh, you don't like it! I can tell! I'll have to talk to Abby! She's reasonable.”
“She is? Well, yes. Defiitely. Maybe after her nap. You can call Raziel....” Ganesh yawned and stretched, wrapping several arms tightly around Charles.
“You'll see! Come with me!” said Charles, putting a hand to Ganesh's forehead as he drifted off.
“Oh. I see....” muttered Ganesh as his dream gently merged with Charles'. “Heh. Nice Sariel....”