Prophecy Bop (Mythklok, Chapter 77)
Nov. 13th, 2011 01:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Prophecy Bop (Mythklok, Chapter 77)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Too many characters with godlike powers. Also, we have some more backstory on someone.
Warnings: I begin with some people you don't know. It gets explained later in the chapter.
Notes: Following el jumpo.
Four out of five dentists recommend Mythklok for their patients who chew fanfic. (The other dentist is a real douche bag.)
Last time: Ganesh met the Old Ones, and Charles dealt with wing issues.
Lise sat silently at the pew.
There was Lise, and there was God.
She watched the other parishioners file out. You could still see the damage from the winter storm, patched up as best they could. Some masons from the next village were here now, to effect repairs.
The men were here today. The masons. They had come to Pappa's sermon.
They had sat far away, in the back.
Lise sat up front, as she always did.
Nearer to Pappa.
And to God.
She glanced back.
One of the men remained sitting. Brown eyes staring boldly. At her.
Lise turned, her cheeks hot.
And God looked down upon her.
And so did Pappa.
“All right, guys? Guys?”
Charles had just seated himself at the head of the conference room table. It was late. It had been a long day. What he really wanted to do right now was stand up, walk back to his suite of rooms, get in the shower, throw on the faucets all the way and let the water wash it all away.
Maybe with Ganesh. Where was Ganesh right now? Yes, a hot shower and a good ass fucking. And then maybe they'd sit on the couch and watch an old movie. He would even let Ganesh put an arm around him, maybe if they made a lot of martinis....
“Toki ams poksing me wit' his wingses!”
Charles drifted back to reality. No gin-fueled haze, nor horny elephant gods. Only Skwisgaar, irritably pulling some brown feathers out of his Gibson strings
“Skwisgaar ams pokings my wings wit' dat geetar!” retorted Toki, flapping brown wings in irritation, which only snagged more feathers in the Explorer.
“Quit poksing me!”
“No you quit poksing me!”
“Guys! Guys!” Charles tried.
“CHARLES!” queried Nathan.
“Yeah, what?”
“Can you tell Murderface to put away the fucking wings? He's making it dark and I can't see my JUNIOR JUMBLE!” complained the singer, glaring over his reading glasses at his New York Times.
Murderface's corner of the room was indeed dark, blacker than the blackest black. Two eyes, amber circles, blinked from within the nothingness. “If Toki can get out his wingsch, then scho can I,” came the Murdervoice from within.
“He ams pulling focus!” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“He's.... He's what?” asked Charles.
“How can he pull focus when you can't even see him? That does seem like a SPURIOUS COMPLAINT,” Nathan told Skwisgaar.
“Ams you undercutsing me again?” Skwisgaar asked Nathan suspiciously. In contrast to Murderface's dark corner, there seemed to be a light gathering around the guitarist.
“Dude, cool it with the god business, it's slightly rude,” Nathan cautioned.
“Guys, we need to talk about the upcoming tour. Can you pull yourselves together- William, what is that?”
There was suddenly a small light in the darkness of Murderface's corner. “I'm taking a schell phone camera picschure scho my Chumbler followersch may schee me in my demon Form,” he explained.
“Why does he always get to be a demon? I wanna be a demon too. Hey, Charles, not on the table,” scolded Nathan, as their manager had abruptly hopped up on the conference room table and then lunged in a flying tackle upon their demon bass guitarist.
“Hey, that'sch my schell phone!” complained Murderface as Charles successfully wrested the device from him.
Charles stood above him. “William! No! No, you are not sending Chumbler pictures out when you're like this! Look! Everybody-”
“Maybe I ams takes da Chumbler pictures too for my anonymous crushes!” fumed Toki, once again flapping his wings into Skwisgaar's Gibson.
“Maybe I ams strikes you down!” warned Skwisgaar, leaping to his feet.
“I want my schell phone back!” whined Murderface, flapping his own leathery wings.
“I wanna be a demon! Or at least some kind of miscellaneous flying being with cool powers!” attested Nathan, who was now also on his feet.
But then all stepped back.
Charles was back on the tabletop. But this time, True Formed, wings arced out, silver eyes ablaze.
Sword ablaze.
“I am going. To count. To three!” he barked. “ONE. TWO.”
“SARIEL!”
The room trembled.
Now everybody turned instead to the doorway, where, silhouetted, stood an elephant god, who also happened to a part time Lord of Destruction.
Charles lowered his sword.
“Ganesh?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, now stepping into the light. “Elias. Something with Elias. Yes, that's what it is. Come with me. Come right along.”
“Is Boon OK?” asked Nathan as a very confused Charles hopped off the table.
“Oh, yes, everything will be just fine, just dandy,” Ganesh assured them. “You should come at once,” he said, grabbing Charles by an arm and dragging him from the room. Charles barely had time to flex his wings to fit through the narrow doorway.
“What's going on?” he asked Ganesh. “Is Boon OK?”
Ganesh pulled them around a corner and then stopped. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Boon. I am not so certain about his father however.” He pulled out his cell phone, and clicked on an image of Charles waving a sword. It was captioned, “G DUDE HELP P.”
Charles batted silver lashes in confusion.
“Yoo gaht my message?” Pickles asked. He had quietly come up behind them, and was now standing there, looking more than slightly sheepish.
“You BUSTED me?” Charles asked him, raising his sword.
“Sariel. Sword!” scolded Ganesh.
Charles looked at his hand, and then waved away the blade. “I was trying to conduct a meeting!” he protested.
“With a flaming sword?” asked Ganesh.
“Extreme measures! We have a tour coming up!”
“Charles. Dood,” said Pickles. “Yer nawt supposed t' get crazy like us.”
“You promised me you would relax after our son's Naming,” Ganesh reminded him, wagging several fingers.
“We've got a tour!” Charles protested, his wings now spread over the hallway. “No one understands this but me! I'm the only one. And the Naming? Look what we've done! Now I don't just run a lunatic asylum, they're angels and demons and gods and I don't know what the fuck!”
“Gannish t'inks I'm like an elder gahd,” Pickles explained.
“Oh. OK,” said Charles.
Ganesh crossed several arms. “Are you entirely certain there is nothing else upon your mind?” he asked.
Suddenly, Charles and Pickles exchanged a very guilty glance.
“I'm sorry?” said Ganesh.
“Uh. Nothing,” said Charles.
“You din't tell him,” said Pickles.
“Was trying to find the right time,” Charles muttered, his wings drooping.
“The time is now. Come along. Into the suite!” urged Ganesh.
“Uh. Are you in a good mood?” asked Charles.
“I am in a very very bad mood! I was in the throes of fixing my hair when Pickles' summons came! I am a hot mess!”
“But at least yer still hawt,” grinned Pickles. Ganesh looked daggers at him and urged both into his and Charles' suite, where Pickles and Charles (who was still True Formed) sat on the couch like guilty schoolboys and Ganesh, playing the stern headmaster, seated himself across from them.
“All right. Speak,” said Ganesh, twisting his legs up into a lotus.
“Well, it was, uh...” began Charles.
“Da Namin',” continued Pickles.
“And, I, uh, thought he was gonna die...” said Charles.
“I t'ought he wuz dead!” attested Pickles.
They exchanged a look.
“And I think we realized....”
“Yeh. Wuz like part o' me wuz dyin' too.”
Ganesh leaned back. He steepled one set of hands. “So, to summarize,” he said, gesturing with another set of hands. “We tried before, we three, and ended in a colossal mess. But your near death experiences helped you realize that, regardless, you still harbored feelings for one another.”
Both Charles and Pickles winced at the terrible F word, but nodded.
“There are important matters to consider,” said Ganesh. “You both realize this? We have a son. His well being is the most important thing.”
'Yeh, and I wanna be a gud uncle,” said Pickles. “He kin play da drums like crazy wit' all dose arms!”
“You have a tendency towards jealousy, Pickles,” warned Ganesh.
“Yeh. But. I felt like, after Boon Named me, like I cud start agen.”
“After Boon WHAT?” asked Charles, suddenly rounding on the drummer, his wings awkwardly flapping out on the couch.
“Yoo know, in da ceremony?” asked Pickles.
“Boon is a toddler,” said Charles. “He needs a stool to reach the potty!”
“But he's Protector o' da Eart'!”
“That's based on a board game!” said Charles sourly.
“Actually, an anime show,” corrected Ganesh.
“Whatever! It's a bunch of silly elephants,” grumbled Charles.
“Elephants are not silly! At any rate, I feel we must give these new developments due consideration,” said Ganesh as he arose.
“Wha- What are you doing?” asked Charles.
“Mmm. What does it look like I'm doing? My hair is already a mess.”
“Oh gawd yoo smell feckin' great,” Pickles sighed.
“GANESH!”
Ganesh grinned. “Come along. Get the angel,” he told Pickles. “Get to the bedroom.”
Pickles raised his head from where it was hanging off the bottom of the bed.
“Dada!” said the voice again.
“What's the matter?” came Charles' voice.
Pickles rolled over on his side, so he could watch Charles lift up Elias.
“An da bid boom, and da monstah!”
“No monsters here,” soothed Charles.
Clutching what seemed to be an entire cupboard full of stuffed animals, Elias, now up on the bed, crawled over Pickles' legs. “Unkybic!” he said pleasantly.
“Hey Boon,” said Pickles.
And then the boy had nestled into Ganesh's many arms and dropped almost instantly back to sleep, as did Charles, noisily sawing angel wood.
“Well, dat wuz different,” said Pickles, as he himself dozed off.
“You got him breakfast?” asked Charles.
“Bitamin, dada!” attested Elias, pointing to the cereal box in front of him. “An A an B an C an wibbofwabin....”
“Da little dood can really read,” said Pickles, sitting at the breakfast table nearby. Elias gripped his spoon and brought more Metal Flakes to his lips, where a great deal of it actually made it into his mouth.
“We've been teaching him,” said Charles, sleepily flapping his wings.
“Boon spells, B-O-O-O-O-O-O-N!” said Boon around a mouthful of Metal Flakes.
“Though sometimes he gets a little over enthusiastic. Is that coffee?” asked Charles, regarding Pickles' mug with great suspicion. “You make coffee now?”
“Yeh. I had a Klawkateer bring it in, ackshually,” Pickles admitted.
“Good enough,” said Charles, rooting in the cupboard for a mug.
“An Boon dwink coffee!” Elias attested.
“Uh, no, Boon definitely does NOT drink coffee,” said his father.
“I t'ought dat wuz outta da realm o' possibility,” said Pickles.
“An moning Dada gwumpy!” burbled Elias.
“Your Daddy is not grumpy,” Charles said. But he said it very softly, as he stood over Elias, wings folded, tousling the child's already rumpled hair.
Pickles set down his coffee cup. “Wud yoo guys adahpt me?” he asked, slight tremor in his voice.
“Adopt you? I think some of the stuff we did last night woulda been illegal.”
“Good morning, my dear,” said Ganesh, kissing Charles. “Good morning,” he said, kissing Pickles on top of his head. The elephant god was already sharply dressed and had his hair tousled just so.
Elias banged his spoon. “Kissy!” he urged.
“You wish a kiss too?” Ganesh smiled at him.
“Uh-huh! Dada kissy Boonie too!”
“Well, not if you're making such a racket!”
Elias put down his spoon and then formed his mouth into an incredibly exaggerated version of a pucker. Charles choked into his coffee mug, and Ganesh, stifling his own laughter, gave his son a kiss on the top of his head.
“All rightie. Be good.”
“Wait,” said Charles, who was still trying to catch his breath. “You don't wanna discuss.... Uh.... This?” he said, waving his hand vaguely around the room.
“Oh, heavens no,” said Ganesh. “Neither of you two is a talker, and it would just annoy the hell out of me.” He picked up the Metal Flakes cereal box. “Is this substance certified Fair Trade?”
“Nope. It's full of sugar and crap,” said Charles.
“Wibbofwabin!”
“And, uh, Riboflavin.”
“Oh, well then I suppose that will be all right,” allowed Ganesh. “I tell you what. You two work out some ground rules, and we will discuss it at some later time.” And with that, Ganesh vanished.
“ROOLZ?” gasped Pickles.
“I think he means like no altering the space-time continuum this time,” said Charles. He picked up Elias with a small grunt, and set himself down in Elias' chair, pulling the boy into his lap.
“Yoo know I'm sahry. For all dat.”
Charles had his wings folded protectively around the boy. “I get scared for him. I can't explain.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” yelled Charles.
“TUMMIN!” repeated Elias like a small second in command.
A Klokateer was there, holding a package. “31415 instructed me to give this to you immediately, sire,” said the hooded man.
“Oh, cool!” said Charles. “Thanks!”
“Tank oo!” echoed Elias.
“You're welcome, sires,” said the Klokateer, who just may have been grinning under the head covering.
“Wut is dat?” asked Pickles.
“C'mon, let's get to the media room. I wanna see this on the big screen.”
“Lemme get a shirt ahn,” said Pickles, who had only pulled on some jeans.
“Hurry it up!” Charles urged. And then he led Elias off and down the corridor as Pickles was still arranging himself in his T shirt. Pickles wondered for a moment if he had picked up one of Ganesh's shirts by mistake, as there appeared to be at least one armhole too many.
“Come on, hit the foot pedals, or whatever it is you do,” said Charles irritably. Pickles doffed the recalcitrant shirt and turned on the living room television.
“Hey, you guys!” rumbled Nathan. “You don't need to do that here!”
“Do what?” said Charles, who was distractedly slotting a disk into a machine.
“Play ANGEL PORN or whatever it is you guys are getting ready to do!”
Both Charles and Pickles stopped what they were doing to gape at Nathan.
“Dood. Ew,” said Pickles.
“Well, what is it then if that's not what it is?”
“Uh, I dunno, wut is it?” asked Pickles.
“It's a cartoon.”
“It's a- Wut?”
“You're not gonna have much luck putting it into the CD player then,” Nathan grumbled.
“Aw, shit!” said Charles, who had been wondering why the tray wasn't closing correctly.
“Dada!” said Elias, gesturing. “Bwu way!”
Charles awkwardly pulled the disk out of the tray and handed it off to his toddler, who skillfully loaded the Blu Ray player.
Suddenly, the speakers started blaring a cheery theme song, “PROTECTORS OF THE EARTH, HERE WE GO!” And the screen came up to an exciting montage of spaceships engaged in space battles, brightly costumed characters driving motorcycles, giant mechas assembling, and not so exciting scenes of what appeared to be an idol singer.
“Whoa,” said Charles, now sitting cross-legged on the floor with his son. It really was pretty danged exciting and colorful.
“Wut's dis supposed t' be about, chief?” Pickles asked after a few action-packed minutes, when an annoying girl started to sing.
“Oh, according to Ganesh, the Old Ones based Boon's role, Protector of the Earth, on this cartoon. But, it doesn't make a lot of sense.”
“Dis ams not one cartoon,” chuckled Skwisgaar, who was sitting back in the corner, practicing on his inevitable Gibson.
“Whaddya mean, not one cartoon?” asked Charles.
“I ams watched dis when I was a kid in Sweden,” Skwisgaar explained. “But dey ams different cartoons, all embuzzled togedder. See? Dey ams one wit' da space ship t'ings, dat ams one, and den da dudes on da motorscuzzles, dat ams anudder....”
“Are you insane?” asked Charles.
Nathan slipped on his reading glasses and squinted at the DVD package. “It says it's based on Incredible Super Team Ninja Rangers, Super Excellent Science Soldiers Ninja Ninja, Excellent Team of Glory Super Fighters, and Happy Loli Girl Lolly.”
“What? It's based on four different shows?” asked Charles, getting up to seize the DVD boxes.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“So the space battle and the giant robots, they're different shows?” Charles asked Skwisgaar.
“Ja. Unless you ams da Americanses, I ams guessing.”
“And the crappy girl singer? Is she from her own show.”
“No, dat is originals. But dat robots pal? I t'ink he ams da new interventions.”
Charles glared at the screen where, indeed, there was a slightly creepy small robot rendered in a style that didn't match any of the others. He continued watching for a few moments. What Skwisgaar had said appeared to be true. You could even discern the slightly different animation styles. “What a mess,” he sighed. Huh.” He scrutinized the box. “Produced by Merle Hatchet. Maybe I should go talk to this guy.”
“You should PUT SOME PANTS ON first,” Nathan wisely counseled.
“That isn't funny,” Charles told Elias, who was giggling.
“Pants,” said Elias. It was a pretty funny word.
Charles hiked up his pajama bottoms, which promptly slid down again, as he was a skinny bastard. “Boon. Give Daddy the Blu Ray, and we'll go finish breakfast.”
“Edect!” said Elias, hitting a button and then cheerily presenting the ejected disk to his father.
“C'mon,” said Charles, pulling Elias up on one hip. Giving his wings one last shake, he exited.
“And what's going on with you?” Nathan asked Pickles, who was finally struggling into his shirt.
“Wull...”
“NO DON'T TELL ME I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!” Nathan barked.
“Yoo asked dood!” protested Pickles. He also stood and wandered off.
Nathan merely grumbled.
“An, Mummy?” asked Liam.
“Yup!” said Raziel, pulling the little redhead into her lap.
“Da man? He go.... He go, bonk!”
“Oh, when he runs through the lava field?” asked Raziel, scrutinizing the monitor on the tabletop. Liam picked up the game controller, hit a series of buttons and tugged on the joystick, and a small figure (who looked more than a bit like a cartoon version of Nathan Explosion) hurtled through a lava field, only to slam into a bit of invisible scenery.
“You see that?” Raziel asked Breagan, who was peering over he shoulder, clipboard in hand.
“Yeah, darlin'. Another glitch for my boys.” The goddess grinned. “And has your bairn worked as a beta tester before?”
“Oh, Liam's not real verbal yet, but he's good at figuring out stuff. We have him program the VCR,” explained Raziel.
“I could use him myself!” said Breagan. The door somehow slammed open, and Charles stamped into the room. He tossed a cardboard box on the table in front of Breagan.
“What can you tell me about this?” he asked her.
“Prophecy Bop?” she asked. “It ain't one o' mine, darlin'.”
“Yeah, I know. Something Ganesh's nutty elephants used to come up with a prophecy about my band.”
Raziel raised an eyebrow. “This would fetch a pretty penny on your eBay. Of course, it's been opened.”
“What the hell do you know about eBay, Raziel?” demanded Charles.
“Oh, Wotan loves old strategy games, so I've been buying them there. Some of the sellers are real assholes though. I had to go talk to one of the guys because he was charging an arm and a leg on shipping. I said, 'You want my arm and leg? How about I take one of yours!'” Raziel laughed, miming waving a sword.
“That....” said Charles. “I would have paid to see that, actually.”
“Anywho, Prophecy Bop is by the Dunklehoff Brothers, see the label?” said Raziel.
“Dumbro?” asked Charles, looking at the distinctive blue label. It looked like a smile.
“Yeah. Wildly eccentric, or at least they were reputed to be,” Raziel explained.
“More eccentric than Ganesh's relatives?”
“Possibly! No one has seen or heard from them in decades!”
“Great. Fucking great,” muttered Charles, who really hated eccentric relatives. Especially the ones who liked to hug. “You know these guys, Breagan?”
“I know of them, but they were quite reclusive,” said the goddess, retying her red hair. “Refused to sell out to a conglomerate! Kept their operation in the family.”
“You know where to find them?”
“As Lady Raziel said, no one's seen hid nor hair of them in decades! Had you thought on askin' the Old Ones about it?”
Charles sighed deeply. “Ask some crazy motherfuckers about more crazy motherfuckers?”
“That's about the size of it!” laughed Breagan.
“How's my little beta tester dude!” said Kevin the video game guy, shambling into the room, skate board tucked under one arm.
“Kebbin!” squealed Liam, as they exchanged a hearty high five.
“We've got more issues in the lava field, love,” Breagan informed him.
“We'll get it straightened out. Maybe we'll have you learn C++!” Kevin told Liam.
“See pwus pwus?” the child asked.
“That's a bit high level for this one,” Raziel laughed. “Don't you use Java?”
“Uh-huh. Jabba,” agreed Liam.
“Dude, that would be rad, but you can't use Java on a console.”
“Liam … programs?” asked Charles, now worried his child was somehow being left behind.
“Aw, just little stuff like iPhone apps,” Raziel told him.
“Oh,” said Charles.
“Hey, should we get going?” Raziel asked.
Charles nodded glumly.
“You OK keeping Liam here for a bit, Breagan?” asked Raziel.
“I am certain we'll find a use for him,” Breagan laughed as Raziel grabbed Charles by the arm and dragged him out of the programmer's area.
“Hey, I just realized, I dunno where we're going!” said Raziel, suddenly skidding to a halt in the middle of a corridor. “And what's up with you, anyway?”
Charles extricated his arm from her little grasp and glared. But then his expression softened somewhat. “I suppose you'll figure it out eventually anyway. You know how Pickles was together with us.... Before....”
Raziel gawped. “I KNEW IT!” she declared, now hopping around the corridor. “I knew it I knew it I knew it!”
“Shhhhh!” said Charles, scanning both directions and pulling her over to the side of the corridor.
“I knew it!” she whispered needlessly. “I saw the way he looked at you on the Polypus Rubra when Ganesh brought you back from the dead.”
“Well, maybe....”
“Oh, what's the matter now?”
“I thought.... I honestly thought Ganesh would talk us out of it!”
It was Raziel's turn to frown. “You thought GANESH would talk you out of it.”
“Maybe!” He blinked.
“Well, just don't alter the space-time continuum this time, it's bad for my skin.”
“Yeah. Anyway. We gotta get to this training session.” Raziel shrugged and, trying not to smile too widely, followed Charles down the corridor to something that looked like a doorway on a gymnasium.
Toki was inside, glaring at them, arms folded.
“So,” said Charles, “Uh, Toki, you ready to begin?”
“I ams not does it, and you can not makes me!” said Toki.
“OK, Toki,” Charles soothed. “We're not gonna make you do anything.”
“Ams not proper!”
“Uh, it's not... What?”
“Ams skibobination!”
“Toki. OK. There's nothing good or bad about having your wings out. It's just something that happens. Naturally.”
“Ams not right, Charles.”
“Toki, I do not care what your Far told you-” said Charles, his teeth gritted.
“You ams not mentions my dads!” wailed Toki.
“You are not an abomination!” Charles told him, probably more loudly than he needed to. “You're just … magical!”
“I ams not magicksal! And I ams not doings not'ings!” Toki declared. And with that, he marched out of the room.
“Toki, wait!” Charles called.
The door slammed.
“Well, that went well!” said Raziel.
Charles looked daggers at her. “We got a tour coming up. I dunno what I'm gonna do.”
“Maybe what Breagan suggested, go talk to the Old Ones?” asked Raziel.
“More eccentric relatives? No way,” grumbled Charles. “No FUCKING way.”
We should have brought Breagan, thought Charles.
Because I feel like a toy.
It was a cozy English cottage, perfect in every detail, from the delicate doilies on the couches to the wallpapered ceilings.
It was perfect, except that everything – absolutely everything – was at least three times the scale of a human house.
Raziel's brats had already gone winged from the excitement, but he had kept a tight hold on Elias' little hand as they approached. He didn't give a shit if they were adorable storybook creatures, as Ganesh and Raziel seemed to think: they had signed up his beloved only son for some sort of role as a defender of mankind or some such, and he would have none of it. As far as he was concerned, his kid was going to spend the next few years having a perfectly normal childhood: playing with blocks, cuddling his plush toys, painting Renaissance-influenced murals on empty wallspace, hunting demons, romping with death metal musicians.... Well, OK, maybe not exactly a normal childhood. But it was damn well a childhood. And Charles was more than prepared to bash some elephant skulls if anyone said otherwise.
He had paused at the entryway, waiting for the others to enter steeling himself. “OK, Dada,” Elias had told him, patting his hand. “Boonie pwotect da Dada!” said the boy, cheerfully.
Charles looked down in surprise. He crouched down, so he could be at eye level. “Boon. Listen to me. Daddy is protecting you now. OK? You let Daddy protect you.”
“Uh-huh!” Elias cheerfully agreed. Ganesh had popped his head back out the door, and was watching them curiously. Charles sighed and followed him inside, into the elephant dollhouse, as he was starting to think of it.
“This is extraordinary!” Wotan was saying. He had an arm around Raziel as their kids fluttered excitedly nearby. “Absolutely extraordinary! I haven't seen such a sight since I used to play cards with the Jotnar!”
“Oh, you played cards with giants?” asked Raziel.
“Now, my dear, you don't want to go cheating with a Jotunn! They don't take kindly to it.”
“LELEFUN!” squealed Elias. He had dropped Charles' hand and hurtled towards the biggest goddam elephants Charles had ever seen.
“Elias,” he said, but It was barely a croak. And already, the very biggest one had snaked a trunk around his boy and gently placed Elias up upon his own head. Raziel's kids had flown up to watch and laugh along. Back down on the ground, Raziel and Ganesh were excitedly taking cell phone camera pictures and then showing them to Wotan, apparently to evaluate the relative cuteness.
Charles frowned. There were three elephants in all. Besides the big one, there was a smaller female, who was also getting a turn at evaluating the cell phone images, and a smaller male, who seems a bit offput at the whole business.
Sensing a potential for some common ground, Charles moved nearer to the annoyed Old One. “I'm Charles,” he said, not bothering to stick out a hand, as he wasn't certain what the elephant would do with it. To his great surprise, the Old One extended a trunk, so Charles shook.
“Mortimer,” said the Old One.
“I'm Elias' father,” said Charles.
“Ah. I apologize. I am not entirely comfortable around children.”
Charles shrugged. “I'm not either. I didn't think I liked 'em. Before we had him, I mean.”
Mortimer the Old One tilted his great head, letting his elephant ears fan out, as if listening to something he couldn't quite hear. Charles wondered if it was like flicking your wings. “You are the angel?” said Mortimer.
“Uh. Yeah. Some people know me as Sariel.”
Mortimer twitched his ears again. “I don't believe I have ever been at such close quarters with an angel before.”
“Sure you have,” said Charles. He gestured. “Raziel is an angel too.”
Mortimer scowled over at where Raziel was babbling with the female elephant. “Lady Raziel is an angel? She told them most delightful story! Is it possible that I am inclined towards angels?”
“Well, ya got me,” admitted Charles. “To be honest, I can't fucking stand most other angels.”
“Well, that is extraordinary,” said Mortimer.
“You will pardon me, everybody,” Ganesh was saying. “I fear I have been remiss. May I present the Lady Raziel, who you met last week, and her husband, King Wotan? And these are their children, the Lady Abigail, and Lord Liam!” he added, gesturing more or less in the direction where the twins were hovering. “And this is my husband, Sariel, and our own son, Elias,” he said, indicating where Basil had just replaced his son on the floor.
“BOOOOONIE!” shouted the twins.
“Yes, whom we have nicknamed, Boon,” Ganesh added. “And this is Basil, Azalea, and Mortimer, the Old Ones.”
“Shall we have tea?” inquired Azalea.
“I wouldn't mind something a little stronger!” boomed Basil. “Get the shaker, Mortimer!”
“Basil,” said Ganesh. “Not to be impertinent, but Charles was rather keen to know more about that charming game you showed us last time.”
“Prophecy Bop?” huffed Mortimer, who was running back into the room with the martini mixings. “By jove! I sensed you were a man of taste, Charles!”
“Ah, yes, the Dunklehoff brothers,” said Basil. “One of their masterpieces, if you ask me.”
Mortimer cantered off again while Basil began to mix martinis with his trunk. Charles looked around, and hopped up on one of the gigantic sofas. Ganesh had just tossed a giggling Elias up to the seat, and scrambled up after him.
Charles was pleased to discover that elephant martini glasses are quite capacious, and elephant martinis, quite dry. Meanwhile, Mortimer the elephant was already spreading out something that looked much like a game board on the vast coffee table.
“We'll roll for who goes first!” said Mortimer, shaking the odd multi-sided dice with his trunk. Charles squinted down at the coffee table, to the weird icons on the dice. “Uh, how the heck do you figure that out?” he asked.
“I have a scarab and a glyph! Let's see how you do!” he said, trunking the dice to Charles. “Uh,” said Charles, who had rather more wanted to discuss where to find the Dunklehoffs. “OK, I'll play.”
“Hrrrmm,” said Mortimer. “A trumpet and a harp?”
“Sariel wins!” said Raziel.
“Yes, good luck to you, old sport!” said Basil.
“Yes, you can roll first!” agreed Mortimer, holding up a small box of game pieces. Charles frowned, and then plucked out a small metal guitar.
“Uh. Where do I start?” he asked, staring at the game board.
“Where do you want to go, dear?” asked Azalea.
“I wanna find the Dunkehoff brothers,” Charles answered without even thinking.
“Oh, well start here then, and spin!” said Mortimer, handing over a spinning wheel piece.
Charles frowned, taking the spinning wheel. He looked at it curiously – once again, he had no idea about the markings. “Here,” he said, holding the wheel out to his son. “You spin, Boon.”
Elias got up on his knees, scrunched his eyes closed, and flicked the wheel with his fingers.
And then he opened his eyes, and he and Charles watched the metal arrow spin and spin.
“No luck with the back doors either,” Charles called.
“Or the side door!” said Raziel, coming around the corner.
They were standing on the grounds of an isolated estate, located, as Prophecy Bop had somehow foretold, somewhere on the outskirts of Krakow, Poland. The building appeared abandoned, as they grounds looked like they hadn't been attended in years, or even decades. And there were not lights visible inside the mansion. However, it was locked up tight, and had so far defied the housebreaking skills of two angels and a god.
“We shoulda brought Murderface,” Charles grumbled.
There was a crashing.
“I thought he was supposed to be Lord Remover of Obstacles?” said Raziel.
Charles shrugged, and they both ran around the other side of the house. They found Ganesh standing before two opened glass patio doors, looking slightly shocked.
The reason for his surprise was readily apparent. Beside him on the porch where he stood, an incredible pile of … stuff. Which all looked to have fallen out of the house when the doors were opened. There was a baby carriage, books, records, magazines, newspapers, a lute, a toaster, a teapot, and what looked like a skull.
“American Bison, it appears,” said Ganesh, tossing the skull back into the pile. “The glass was smoked up, so I didn't see the, er, ephemera piled up against the doorway.”
“Is this their burglar alarm?” asked Charles.
“It is certainly effective. If I had not my quick reflexes, I could possibly have sustained serious injury,” said Ganesh, as Charles picked up a bowling ball from the pile.
“Well, let's see what's in here,” said Raziel, climbing up the pile and skillfully slipping into the home.
“Raziel!” Charles called. “Be careful! We don't know what's in there.”
“Hey, you guys gotta come inside! It's incredible.”
“Take care, Raziel,” said Ganesh. “The Dunklehoffs may still be inside!”
“No way! No room!” came Raziel's voice.
Ganesh and Charles exchanged a confused glance and then followed Raziel inside. The stately home was completely filled up with … well, with a little bit of everything. The walls were all lined with bookshelves and curio cabinets, but all of these appeared to have overflowed their contents years – maybe decades – earlier. Raziel was standing not on the floor (which was nowhere visible) but on a pile of what looked like bound up newspapers, which came up at least to the level of what appeared to be a dining room table top.
“Is the whole house this way?” asked Ganesh.
“It can't be! They can't have filled up the whole thing with shit!”
“Whaddya wanna do, Sariel?” asked Raziel.
“Well, let's see if maybe one of 'em had an office?” suggested Charles. “I wanna see stuff connected to the toy company.” Raziel shrugged, and the three of them picked their way out of what had apparently once been a dining room area. They found themselves in the main entryway, standing at the landing of what had once been a grand staircase, which was now itself piled in ephemera of all sorts.
“OK, I'll take the downstairs. Raziel, you keep looking on the main floor. And Ganesh, you head upstairs I guess.”
It was difficult going. Space was too cramped to go True Form, so Charles had to half climb, half slide his way downstairs. He was glad of his excellent night vision, as this level, being windowless, was quite dim.
He picked his way through yet more trash – he hadn't encountered anything yet he considered to be of any value – and made his way down a hallway. There was a door, but it had been blocked by a great pile of what looked like shoeboxes. Because they were shoeboxes.
“Raziel would love it down here,” he muttered, digging through the boxes to gain purchase on the door. Fortunately, he discovered that it opened inward. “All right,” he said, gripping the knob and shoving a shoulder to it.
To his surprise, the door was not blocked in any way, so he ended up stumbling headfirst into a large room. He scrambled up, shaking his head, and gasped at the figure standing over him.
And another figure. And another. And another.
Standing perfectly still.
Charles blinked as his eyes adjusted. “Mannequins?” he sputtered. “They collected mannequins? Fucking creepy ass shit!”
After a few more non-discoveries, Charles picked his way back up the basement stairs. “Raziel? Are you around?”
“I found the swimming pool!” she shouted.
“What?” he said. He followed the direction of her voice, clambering over jet packs and stuffed animals and grocery bags and balls of string to arrive at another room stacked with junk.
“Where's the pool?” asked Charles.
Raziel grinned and tapped her foot on the floor.
“Holy shit,” said Charles, who shouldn't have been surprised. He squatted down. There was an indoor pool in this room, but it was completely filled up with boxes.
“This is just crazy,” sighed Charles. “They can't possibly live here any more.”
“Not if they wanna use the kitchen. Or the bathroom!” said Raziel.
“The bathrooms too?” asked Charles.
She nodded. “One of 'em is stacked up with record albums.”
“Any of ours?”
“Did Dethklok even make vinyl albums?”
“Sariel! Raziel!” The two angels regarded each other, and made their way back to the main entryway, where Ganesh was standing at the bannister up on the second floor.
“I think I've found what became of the Dunklehoffs!” said Ganesh. Charles and Raziel made their way to the main staircase. “But, no need to hurry. Absolutely no need to hurry.”
Charles and Raziel slowly picked their way up the main staircase, although they proceeded much more rapidly than when they had first arrived at the house, as they had all become considerably less careful around the “collection.”
Ganesh was waiting at a doorway a small slide down the hall.
Charles sniffed the air. “Did you magick this room?” he asked Ganesh.
Ganesh nodded. “Just a small spell to prevent objects from moving. You'll see why when you enter.”
Unlike many of the rooms they had been through, this one's purpose was still recognizable: it had been a bedroom. And the owner was still very much there, still in bed. He was sleeping rather peacefully, considering the chaos around him. Probably because there was nothing much left of him but bones.
“Wow. Well, that solves the mystery of at least one Dunklehoff,” said Charles.
“Both of them, I believe, from what I've been able to examine,” said Ganesh, waving an arm at a pile of debris on the floor. Two skeletal feet were sticking out from under the pile.
“Killed by his own stuff?” asked Raziel.
“Yes. I believe the objects were actually jury-rigged to fall down, perhaps upon an intruder,” said Ganesh. “The individual in the bed shows some signs of a degenerative disease. I surmise that perhaps he was confined there, and this other one was tending to him.”
“Holy hell,” said Charles.
“I have magicked the objects along that wall to stay in place, but I believe we should take care when we are moving about this room,” warned Ganesh.
“What's that in his hands?” asked Raziel, suddenly leaping up on the bed next to the ex-Dunkelhoff.
“Raziel be careful,” said Charles, but then he found himself hurrying over as well. Raziel was holding up a notebook that the Dunkel-skeleton had been gripping. It said on the cover, in handwritten letters, “PROPHECY BOP.”
A small swatch of paper, yellowed with age, fell from the notebook.
“Wait, what is that?” asked Charles.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lise....” read Raziel. “It's in Norwegian. It's....” She looked at Charles. “I thought these guys were Polish?”
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a look.
“Can you read it, Raziel?”
She wasn't a beautiful princess. She wasn't even very pretty. She was too tall. And bony. With mousy brown hair.
She was the preacher's daughter. And she was almost an old maid.
Because as she was the preacher's daughter, it was all right for her to bring lunch to the men working on the church. Strangers, they were. But they were good Godly men. They had attended Pappa's sermons. She had seen them.
The one.
He looked at her.
“And what is your name, young miss?” he had asked her when she gave him the basket of bread and cheese and fresh apples.
“I am Lise.”
“Lise,” he had said. And smiled a smile that was not quite a smile. Lise was a gentle girl, a sheltered girl. But it looked as if he had watched many men smile, and then cooked up one of his own, pushing and pulling his facial muscles, just so. Arranging a smile.
But his skin! Oh, that skin. He worked outside, but he did not look like the other men, their skin ruddy. There was a soft paleness to his skin. Fine alabaster, lit from within.
She wondered how it would feel, beneath her fingertips.
And then she made herself quit wondering.
And then one day, she brought him a basket for lunch.
“I must show you something, Lise.”
“What.... What would you like to show me?”
“Everything,” he whispered.
“I'm sorry?” she said, not knowing how to reply.
“Come along with me. It's along the riverside.” He held out a hand, but she did not take it, even though she longed to feel the texture of his palm. They walked down to the riverside, behind the stand of trees that grew there. Out of sight of the church.
Out of sight of God.
“Stand right there. Let me show you.”
Lise gasped as he started to unbutton his shirt. “No,” she said, covering her eyes. But then, for reasons she never knew, she peered up over her trembling hands.
The loveliest thing she had ever seen.
Her hand wanted touch. It needed to. Beyond her control, beyond the word of God, her hand reached out. Reached out to brush the lovely tawny feathers.
That such a thing would appear to her. She sunk to her knees, her hands laced together.
“No,” he said, pulling her up. “No. I still have something to show you.”
His hands. She couldn't believe how soft and fine the touch.
And he smiled the smile that was not a smile.
The next day, when she went to bring the men their lunch baskets, he was no longer there. She went every day, for a week, but he had gone.
And then the spring turned to summer. And everyone knew. Her shame.
“Who was it?” Pappa demanded. “Who has ruined you?”
“Pappa, you don't understand,” she told him. “It was a miracle. He was a miracle.”
“He was a trickster! And you have brought shame on the family.”
They found her a husband. He was from the next village. Their preacher. Twice her age. He and her father. Looking down on her. Condemning her.
There was Lise. And there was God.
And when he was born, she named the boy Aslaug. And like his father, he was born without knowing how to smile.
“Aslaug,” said Charles. “Are you sure?”
Raziel clutched the papers to her. “Yes.”
“How would they have.... I don't understand,” said Charles.
“I don't entirely understand either,” said Ganesh. “But I believe I have a clue. This body?”
“The skeleton?” said Charles.
“I have examined it closely. I do not believe the brothers were entirely human.”
“Really?” asked Raziel. “They sure developed a taste for human stuff!”
“Regard the spinal column,” said Ganesh, pointing a finger along the spine, beside the shoulder blades. “Even in Court Form, Angels have an extra foramen – a hole – within these thoracic vertebrae, in order to conduct nerve fiber bundles for your wings.” He reached back and ran a thumb down along Charles' back at just that spot. Charles involuntarily smiled.
“Hey, you gotta teach Wotan to do that!” said Raziel. Ganesh grinned.
“So. You think they started collecting angel stories?” asked Charles.
“It is possible.”
“Huh. Well. I'd say we collect all the paperwork we can find in this room and take it with us. They're not gonna be using it.”
“And the house?” asked Raziel, frowning.
Charles and Ganesh looked at one another.
“Like I said,” Charles told them. “Get every scrap of paper you think we can use.”
About an hour later, the three stood outside the house, a respectful distance away, cardboard boxes at their feet.
“Would you like to say anything?” asked Ganesh.
“Langley and Homer. You were weird bastards. But, thanks for the help,” said Charles. He nodded to Ganesh. The elephant god held up one hand and shut his eyes tight. And then he swept his hand along, and as he did, the Dunkelhoff's manor burst into orangey-red flames. They stood for a while, watching the pyre, listening to the crackling, none of them speaking. And then, without a word, the three picked up boxes, and disappeared.
“We will leave the materials at Valhalla?” asked Ganesh as they arrived back at their suite.
“Yeah, Raziel will be able to read it whatever language. Though I suspect what we're looking for will be in Norwegian. And I don't want Toki....” He trailed off.
“You can't keep your findings from him,” Ganesh warned.
“No, no, it's not that. You should have seen him with me and Raziel. I just think I need to understand more to figure out what's happening with him. I mean, fuck all the prophecy shit, I just want him well for our tour.”
“Charles,” said Ganesh.
Charles had thrown off his jacket, but paused. Ganesh rarely called him by his human name.
“Regarding your … issue. With your band members. Have you considered the possibility that Toki is not the problem?” asked Ganesh.
“What do you mean?” said Charles.
“Well, when I intercepted you the other day, Toki was True Forming, but isn't it also true that William was manifesting his demon Form? Ulp!”
Angels move in mysterious ways sometimes. Ganesh had utterly no idea how he had ended up flat on his back on the couch, with Charles straddling him.
“Ganesh. Tell me.”
“I didn't know you could do that,” Ganesh choked, more surprised than anything else.
“Please. PLEASE Ganesh. You need to tell me. No B.S.”
“You are in earnest, Sariel?”
“Yes! I am fucking in earnest!”
Ganesh considered him. “I told you before. I believe Nathan is human. He seems to focus the magic of the other four. But lately....”
“Lately what?”
Ganesh shook his head.
Charles was up, pulling Ganesh to his feet. “OK. OK. We gotta go.”
“You know, when you are like that...” Ganesh began.
“What?”
Ganesh shrugged and grinned. “I don't know. It is a little … exciting.”
Charles blinked in surprise. “OK. Shit. We don't have time for that now. Look. You gotta come with me. We gotta talk to Nathan.”
“Why do you need me?” asked Ganesh.
“He might need hugging or some shit,” said Charles half dragging Ganesh out of the room.
“I am not going to hug Nathan Explosion!” vowed Ganesh, being hurried along down the hall.
“NATHAN!” boomed Charles, bursting into the singer's room without knocking.
“You could knock,” grumbled the singer, who didn't bother rising from his monstrous bed.
“Nathan. What the fuck,” said Charles. The two glared at each other for a time.
“Er, what he means Nathan,” explained Ganesh. “Have you been feeling … out of sorts?”
“YES I'M FEELING OUT OF SORTS! Not that you guys would give a crap with all your talking elephants and crap.”
“Do you, er, wish to talk about this issue?” asked Ganesh.
“YES, I HAVE ISSUES!” said Nathan. “I have girl issues.”
“Well then!” smiled Ganesh. “I will be absolutely no help here. I'll just-” But Ganesh found himself being forcibly yanked back by Charles.
“Girl trouble,” said Charles steeling himself. “OK. All right. Is Rebecca-”
“NO NOT REBECCA! That bitch....” muttered Nathan.
“So,” said Charles. “Uh. Anyone I know?”
“Yes. You know her. You know where she is,” said Nathan suspiciously. “I know you do.”
Charles frowned. “OK. They why don't we find her?”
“You'll never do it.”
“Sure. Why not.”
Nathan glowered. And then he set his newspaper aside and leaned over, rooting in the drawer in his bedside table. He rummaged through the door for a bit, tossing out condoms, tubes of lube, dildos, and other such ephemera. And then he pulled out a newspaper clipping, which passed to Charles.
“Nathan. No!”
“SEEEE!” pouted the singer.
Ganesh hovered over Charles' shoulder. He looked at the photograph above the article. A woman's face glared back from under a gigantic black beehive.
“Nathan wants us to resurrect Amy Winehouse?” asked Ganesh. “Well, he does have good taste....”
“No, Ganesh. This chick is even more messed up,” sighed Charles. “Why the hell you wanna contact her, Nathan?” he asked the singer. “Why now?”
“You know where she is, don't you?” asked Nathan.
Charles stared stubbornly at the floor. He looked up at Nathan.
“Yes,” he said.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Too many characters with godlike powers. Also, we have some more backstory on someone.
Warnings: I begin with some people you don't know. It gets explained later in the chapter.
Notes: Following el jumpo.
Four out of five dentists recommend Mythklok for their patients who chew fanfic. (The other dentist is a real douche bag.)
Last time: Ganesh met the Old Ones, and Charles dealt with wing issues.
Lise sat silently at the pew.
There was Lise, and there was God.
She watched the other parishioners file out. You could still see the damage from the winter storm, patched up as best they could. Some masons from the next village were here now, to effect repairs.
The men were here today. The masons. They had come to Pappa's sermon.
They had sat far away, in the back.
Lise sat up front, as she always did.
Nearer to Pappa.
And to God.
She glanced back.
One of the men remained sitting. Brown eyes staring boldly. At her.
Lise turned, her cheeks hot.
And God looked down upon her.
And so did Pappa.
“All right, guys? Guys?”
Charles had just seated himself at the head of the conference room table. It was late. It had been a long day. What he really wanted to do right now was stand up, walk back to his suite of rooms, get in the shower, throw on the faucets all the way and let the water wash it all away.
Maybe with Ganesh. Where was Ganesh right now? Yes, a hot shower and a good ass fucking. And then maybe they'd sit on the couch and watch an old movie. He would even let Ganesh put an arm around him, maybe if they made a lot of martinis....
“Toki ams poksing me wit' his wingses!”
Charles drifted back to reality. No gin-fueled haze, nor horny elephant gods. Only Skwisgaar, irritably pulling some brown feathers out of his Gibson strings
“Skwisgaar ams pokings my wings wit' dat geetar!” retorted Toki, flapping brown wings in irritation, which only snagged more feathers in the Explorer.
“Quit poksing me!”
“No you quit poksing me!”
“Guys! Guys!” Charles tried.
“CHARLES!” queried Nathan.
“Yeah, what?”
“Can you tell Murderface to put away the fucking wings? He's making it dark and I can't see my JUNIOR JUMBLE!” complained the singer, glaring over his reading glasses at his New York Times.
Murderface's corner of the room was indeed dark, blacker than the blackest black. Two eyes, amber circles, blinked from within the nothingness. “If Toki can get out his wingsch, then scho can I,” came the Murdervoice from within.
“He ams pulling focus!” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“He's.... He's what?” asked Charles.
“How can he pull focus when you can't even see him? That does seem like a SPURIOUS COMPLAINT,” Nathan told Skwisgaar.
“Ams you undercutsing me again?” Skwisgaar asked Nathan suspiciously. In contrast to Murderface's dark corner, there seemed to be a light gathering around the guitarist.
“Dude, cool it with the god business, it's slightly rude,” Nathan cautioned.
“Guys, we need to talk about the upcoming tour. Can you pull yourselves together- William, what is that?”
There was suddenly a small light in the darkness of Murderface's corner. “I'm taking a schell phone camera picschure scho my Chumbler followersch may schee me in my demon Form,” he explained.
“Why does he always get to be a demon? I wanna be a demon too. Hey, Charles, not on the table,” scolded Nathan, as their manager had abruptly hopped up on the conference room table and then lunged in a flying tackle upon their demon bass guitarist.
“Hey, that'sch my schell phone!” complained Murderface as Charles successfully wrested the device from him.
Charles stood above him. “William! No! No, you are not sending Chumbler pictures out when you're like this! Look! Everybody-”
“Maybe I ams takes da Chumbler pictures too for my anonymous crushes!” fumed Toki, once again flapping his wings into Skwisgaar's Gibson.
“Maybe I ams strikes you down!” warned Skwisgaar, leaping to his feet.
“I want my schell phone back!” whined Murderface, flapping his own leathery wings.
“I wanna be a demon! Or at least some kind of miscellaneous flying being with cool powers!” attested Nathan, who was now also on his feet.
But then all stepped back.
Charles was back on the tabletop. But this time, True Formed, wings arced out, silver eyes ablaze.
Sword ablaze.
“I am going. To count. To three!” he barked. “ONE. TWO.”
“SARIEL!”
The room trembled.
Now everybody turned instead to the doorway, where, silhouetted, stood an elephant god, who also happened to a part time Lord of Destruction.
Charles lowered his sword.
“Ganesh?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, now stepping into the light. “Elias. Something with Elias. Yes, that's what it is. Come with me. Come right along.”
“Is Boon OK?” asked Nathan as a very confused Charles hopped off the table.
“Oh, yes, everything will be just fine, just dandy,” Ganesh assured them. “You should come at once,” he said, grabbing Charles by an arm and dragging him from the room. Charles barely had time to flex his wings to fit through the narrow doorway.
“What's going on?” he asked Ganesh. “Is Boon OK?”
Ganesh pulled them around a corner and then stopped. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Boon. I am not so certain about his father however.” He pulled out his cell phone, and clicked on an image of Charles waving a sword. It was captioned, “G DUDE HELP P.”
Charles batted silver lashes in confusion.
“Yoo gaht my message?” Pickles asked. He had quietly come up behind them, and was now standing there, looking more than slightly sheepish.
“You BUSTED me?” Charles asked him, raising his sword.
“Sariel. Sword!” scolded Ganesh.
Charles looked at his hand, and then waved away the blade. “I was trying to conduct a meeting!” he protested.
“With a flaming sword?” asked Ganesh.
“Extreme measures! We have a tour coming up!”
“Charles. Dood,” said Pickles. “Yer nawt supposed t' get crazy like us.”
“You promised me you would relax after our son's Naming,” Ganesh reminded him, wagging several fingers.
“We've got a tour!” Charles protested, his wings now spread over the hallway. “No one understands this but me! I'm the only one. And the Naming? Look what we've done! Now I don't just run a lunatic asylum, they're angels and demons and gods and I don't know what the fuck!”
“Gannish t'inks I'm like an elder gahd,” Pickles explained.
“Oh. OK,” said Charles.
Ganesh crossed several arms. “Are you entirely certain there is nothing else upon your mind?” he asked.
Suddenly, Charles and Pickles exchanged a very guilty glance.
“I'm sorry?” said Ganesh.
“Uh. Nothing,” said Charles.
“You din't tell him,” said Pickles.
“Was trying to find the right time,” Charles muttered, his wings drooping.
“The time is now. Come along. Into the suite!” urged Ganesh.
“Uh. Are you in a good mood?” asked Charles.
“I am in a very very bad mood! I was in the throes of fixing my hair when Pickles' summons came! I am a hot mess!”
“But at least yer still hawt,” grinned Pickles. Ganesh looked daggers at him and urged both into his and Charles' suite, where Pickles and Charles (who was still True Formed) sat on the couch like guilty schoolboys and Ganesh, playing the stern headmaster, seated himself across from them.
“All right. Speak,” said Ganesh, twisting his legs up into a lotus.
“Well, it was, uh...” began Charles.
“Da Namin',” continued Pickles.
“And, I, uh, thought he was gonna die...” said Charles.
“I t'ought he wuz dead!” attested Pickles.
They exchanged a look.
“And I think we realized....”
“Yeh. Wuz like part o' me wuz dyin' too.”
Ganesh leaned back. He steepled one set of hands. “So, to summarize,” he said, gesturing with another set of hands. “We tried before, we three, and ended in a colossal mess. But your near death experiences helped you realize that, regardless, you still harbored feelings for one another.”
Both Charles and Pickles winced at the terrible F word, but nodded.
“There are important matters to consider,” said Ganesh. “You both realize this? We have a son. His well being is the most important thing.”
'Yeh, and I wanna be a gud uncle,” said Pickles. “He kin play da drums like crazy wit' all dose arms!”
“You have a tendency towards jealousy, Pickles,” warned Ganesh.
“Yeh. But. I felt like, after Boon Named me, like I cud start agen.”
“After Boon WHAT?” asked Charles, suddenly rounding on the drummer, his wings awkwardly flapping out on the couch.
“Yoo know, in da ceremony?” asked Pickles.
“Boon is a toddler,” said Charles. “He needs a stool to reach the potty!”
“But he's Protector o' da Eart'!”
“That's based on a board game!” said Charles sourly.
“Actually, an anime show,” corrected Ganesh.
“Whatever! It's a bunch of silly elephants,” grumbled Charles.
“Elephants are not silly! At any rate, I feel we must give these new developments due consideration,” said Ganesh as he arose.
“Wha- What are you doing?” asked Charles.
“Mmm. What does it look like I'm doing? My hair is already a mess.”
“Oh gawd yoo smell feckin' great,” Pickles sighed.
“GANESH!”
Ganesh grinned. “Come along. Get the angel,” he told Pickles. “Get to the bedroom.”
Pickles raised his head from where it was hanging off the bottom of the bed.
“Dada!” said the voice again.
“What's the matter?” came Charles' voice.
Pickles rolled over on his side, so he could watch Charles lift up Elias.
“An da bid boom, and da monstah!”
“No monsters here,” soothed Charles.
Clutching what seemed to be an entire cupboard full of stuffed animals, Elias, now up on the bed, crawled over Pickles' legs. “Unkybic!” he said pleasantly.
“Hey Boon,” said Pickles.
And then the boy had nestled into Ganesh's many arms and dropped almost instantly back to sleep, as did Charles, noisily sawing angel wood.
“Well, dat wuz different,” said Pickles, as he himself dozed off.
“You got him breakfast?” asked Charles.
“Bitamin, dada!” attested Elias, pointing to the cereal box in front of him. “An A an B an C an wibbofwabin....”
“Da little dood can really read,” said Pickles, sitting at the breakfast table nearby. Elias gripped his spoon and brought more Metal Flakes to his lips, where a great deal of it actually made it into his mouth.
“We've been teaching him,” said Charles, sleepily flapping his wings.
“Boon spells, B-O-O-O-O-O-O-N!” said Boon around a mouthful of Metal Flakes.
“Though sometimes he gets a little over enthusiastic. Is that coffee?” asked Charles, regarding Pickles' mug with great suspicion. “You make coffee now?”
“Yeh. I had a Klawkateer bring it in, ackshually,” Pickles admitted.
“Good enough,” said Charles, rooting in the cupboard for a mug.
“An Boon dwink coffee!” Elias attested.
“Uh, no, Boon definitely does NOT drink coffee,” said his father.
“I t'ought dat wuz outta da realm o' possibility,” said Pickles.
“An moning Dada gwumpy!” burbled Elias.
“Your Daddy is not grumpy,” Charles said. But he said it very softly, as he stood over Elias, wings folded, tousling the child's already rumpled hair.
Pickles set down his coffee cup. “Wud yoo guys adahpt me?” he asked, slight tremor in his voice.
“Adopt you? I think some of the stuff we did last night woulda been illegal.”
“Good morning, my dear,” said Ganesh, kissing Charles. “Good morning,” he said, kissing Pickles on top of his head. The elephant god was already sharply dressed and had his hair tousled just so.
Elias banged his spoon. “Kissy!” he urged.
“You wish a kiss too?” Ganesh smiled at him.
“Uh-huh! Dada kissy Boonie too!”
“Well, not if you're making such a racket!”
Elias put down his spoon and then formed his mouth into an incredibly exaggerated version of a pucker. Charles choked into his coffee mug, and Ganesh, stifling his own laughter, gave his son a kiss on the top of his head.
“All rightie. Be good.”
“Wait,” said Charles, who was still trying to catch his breath. “You don't wanna discuss.... Uh.... This?” he said, waving his hand vaguely around the room.
“Oh, heavens no,” said Ganesh. “Neither of you two is a talker, and it would just annoy the hell out of me.” He picked up the Metal Flakes cereal box. “Is this substance certified Fair Trade?”
“Nope. It's full of sugar and crap,” said Charles.
“Wibbofwabin!”
“And, uh, Riboflavin.”
“Oh, well then I suppose that will be all right,” allowed Ganesh. “I tell you what. You two work out some ground rules, and we will discuss it at some later time.” And with that, Ganesh vanished.
“ROOLZ?” gasped Pickles.
“I think he means like no altering the space-time continuum this time,” said Charles. He picked up Elias with a small grunt, and set himself down in Elias' chair, pulling the boy into his lap.
“Yoo know I'm sahry. For all dat.”
Charles had his wings folded protectively around the boy. “I get scared for him. I can't explain.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” yelled Charles.
“TUMMIN!” repeated Elias like a small second in command.
A Klokateer was there, holding a package. “31415 instructed me to give this to you immediately, sire,” said the hooded man.
“Oh, cool!” said Charles. “Thanks!”
“Tank oo!” echoed Elias.
“You're welcome, sires,” said the Klokateer, who just may have been grinning under the head covering.
“Wut is dat?” asked Pickles.
“C'mon, let's get to the media room. I wanna see this on the big screen.”
“Lemme get a shirt ahn,” said Pickles, who had only pulled on some jeans.
“Hurry it up!” Charles urged. And then he led Elias off and down the corridor as Pickles was still arranging himself in his T shirt. Pickles wondered for a moment if he had picked up one of Ganesh's shirts by mistake, as there appeared to be at least one armhole too many.
“Come on, hit the foot pedals, or whatever it is you do,” said Charles irritably. Pickles doffed the recalcitrant shirt and turned on the living room television.
“Hey, you guys!” rumbled Nathan. “You don't need to do that here!”
“Do what?” said Charles, who was distractedly slotting a disk into a machine.
“Play ANGEL PORN or whatever it is you guys are getting ready to do!”
Both Charles and Pickles stopped what they were doing to gape at Nathan.
“Dood. Ew,” said Pickles.
“Well, what is it then if that's not what it is?”
“Uh, I dunno, wut is it?” asked Pickles.
“It's a cartoon.”
“It's a- Wut?”
“You're not gonna have much luck putting it into the CD player then,” Nathan grumbled.
“Aw, shit!” said Charles, who had been wondering why the tray wasn't closing correctly.
“Dada!” said Elias, gesturing. “Bwu way!”
Charles awkwardly pulled the disk out of the tray and handed it off to his toddler, who skillfully loaded the Blu Ray player.
Suddenly, the speakers started blaring a cheery theme song, “PROTECTORS OF THE EARTH, HERE WE GO!” And the screen came up to an exciting montage of spaceships engaged in space battles, brightly costumed characters driving motorcycles, giant mechas assembling, and not so exciting scenes of what appeared to be an idol singer.
“Whoa,” said Charles, now sitting cross-legged on the floor with his son. It really was pretty danged exciting and colorful.
“Wut's dis supposed t' be about, chief?” Pickles asked after a few action-packed minutes, when an annoying girl started to sing.
“Oh, according to Ganesh, the Old Ones based Boon's role, Protector of the Earth, on this cartoon. But, it doesn't make a lot of sense.”
“Dis ams not one cartoon,” chuckled Skwisgaar, who was sitting back in the corner, practicing on his inevitable Gibson.
“Whaddya mean, not one cartoon?” asked Charles.
“I ams watched dis when I was a kid in Sweden,” Skwisgaar explained. “But dey ams different cartoons, all embuzzled togedder. See? Dey ams one wit' da space ship t'ings, dat ams one, and den da dudes on da motorscuzzles, dat ams anudder....”
“Are you insane?” asked Charles.
Nathan slipped on his reading glasses and squinted at the DVD package. “It says it's based on Incredible Super Team Ninja Rangers, Super Excellent Science Soldiers Ninja Ninja, Excellent Team of Glory Super Fighters, and Happy Loli Girl Lolly.”
“What? It's based on four different shows?” asked Charles, getting up to seize the DVD boxes.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“So the space battle and the giant robots, they're different shows?” Charles asked Skwisgaar.
“Ja. Unless you ams da Americanses, I ams guessing.”
“And the crappy girl singer? Is she from her own show.”
“No, dat is originals. But dat robots pal? I t'ink he ams da new interventions.”
Charles glared at the screen where, indeed, there was a slightly creepy small robot rendered in a style that didn't match any of the others. He continued watching for a few moments. What Skwisgaar had said appeared to be true. You could even discern the slightly different animation styles. “What a mess,” he sighed. Huh.” He scrutinized the box. “Produced by Merle Hatchet. Maybe I should go talk to this guy.”
“You should PUT SOME PANTS ON first,” Nathan wisely counseled.
“That isn't funny,” Charles told Elias, who was giggling.
“Pants,” said Elias. It was a pretty funny word.
Charles hiked up his pajama bottoms, which promptly slid down again, as he was a skinny bastard. “Boon. Give Daddy the Blu Ray, and we'll go finish breakfast.”
“Edect!” said Elias, hitting a button and then cheerily presenting the ejected disk to his father.
“C'mon,” said Charles, pulling Elias up on one hip. Giving his wings one last shake, he exited.
“And what's going on with you?” Nathan asked Pickles, who was finally struggling into his shirt.
“Wull...”
“NO DON'T TELL ME I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!” Nathan barked.
“Yoo asked dood!” protested Pickles. He also stood and wandered off.
Nathan merely grumbled.
“An, Mummy?” asked Liam.
“Yup!” said Raziel, pulling the little redhead into her lap.
“Da man? He go.... He go, bonk!”
“Oh, when he runs through the lava field?” asked Raziel, scrutinizing the monitor on the tabletop. Liam picked up the game controller, hit a series of buttons and tugged on the joystick, and a small figure (who looked more than a bit like a cartoon version of Nathan Explosion) hurtled through a lava field, only to slam into a bit of invisible scenery.
“You see that?” Raziel asked Breagan, who was peering over he shoulder, clipboard in hand.
“Yeah, darlin'. Another glitch for my boys.” The goddess grinned. “And has your bairn worked as a beta tester before?”
“Oh, Liam's not real verbal yet, but he's good at figuring out stuff. We have him program the VCR,” explained Raziel.
“I could use him myself!” said Breagan. The door somehow slammed open, and Charles stamped into the room. He tossed a cardboard box on the table in front of Breagan.
“What can you tell me about this?” he asked her.
“Prophecy Bop?” she asked. “It ain't one o' mine, darlin'.”
“Yeah, I know. Something Ganesh's nutty elephants used to come up with a prophecy about my band.”
Raziel raised an eyebrow. “This would fetch a pretty penny on your eBay. Of course, it's been opened.”
“What the hell do you know about eBay, Raziel?” demanded Charles.
“Oh, Wotan loves old strategy games, so I've been buying them there. Some of the sellers are real assholes though. I had to go talk to one of the guys because he was charging an arm and a leg on shipping. I said, 'You want my arm and leg? How about I take one of yours!'” Raziel laughed, miming waving a sword.
“That....” said Charles. “I would have paid to see that, actually.”
“Anywho, Prophecy Bop is by the Dunklehoff Brothers, see the label?” said Raziel.
“Dumbro?” asked Charles, looking at the distinctive blue label. It looked like a smile.
“Yeah. Wildly eccentric, or at least they were reputed to be,” Raziel explained.
“More eccentric than Ganesh's relatives?”
“Possibly! No one has seen or heard from them in decades!”
“Great. Fucking great,” muttered Charles, who really hated eccentric relatives. Especially the ones who liked to hug. “You know these guys, Breagan?”
“I know of them, but they were quite reclusive,” said the goddess, retying her red hair. “Refused to sell out to a conglomerate! Kept their operation in the family.”
“You know where to find them?”
“As Lady Raziel said, no one's seen hid nor hair of them in decades! Had you thought on askin' the Old Ones about it?”
Charles sighed deeply. “Ask some crazy motherfuckers about more crazy motherfuckers?”
“That's about the size of it!” laughed Breagan.
“How's my little beta tester dude!” said Kevin the video game guy, shambling into the room, skate board tucked under one arm.
“Kebbin!” squealed Liam, as they exchanged a hearty high five.
“We've got more issues in the lava field, love,” Breagan informed him.
“We'll get it straightened out. Maybe we'll have you learn C++!” Kevin told Liam.
“See pwus pwus?” the child asked.
“That's a bit high level for this one,” Raziel laughed. “Don't you use Java?”
“Uh-huh. Jabba,” agreed Liam.
“Dude, that would be rad, but you can't use Java on a console.”
“Liam … programs?” asked Charles, now worried his child was somehow being left behind.
“Aw, just little stuff like iPhone apps,” Raziel told him.
“Oh,” said Charles.
“Hey, should we get going?” Raziel asked.
Charles nodded glumly.
“You OK keeping Liam here for a bit, Breagan?” asked Raziel.
“I am certain we'll find a use for him,” Breagan laughed as Raziel grabbed Charles by the arm and dragged him out of the programmer's area.
“Hey, I just realized, I dunno where we're going!” said Raziel, suddenly skidding to a halt in the middle of a corridor. “And what's up with you, anyway?”
Charles extricated his arm from her little grasp and glared. But then his expression softened somewhat. “I suppose you'll figure it out eventually anyway. You know how Pickles was together with us.... Before....”
Raziel gawped. “I KNEW IT!” she declared, now hopping around the corridor. “I knew it I knew it I knew it!”
“Shhhhh!” said Charles, scanning both directions and pulling her over to the side of the corridor.
“I knew it!” she whispered needlessly. “I saw the way he looked at you on the Polypus Rubra when Ganesh brought you back from the dead.”
“Well, maybe....”
“Oh, what's the matter now?”
“I thought.... I honestly thought Ganesh would talk us out of it!”
It was Raziel's turn to frown. “You thought GANESH would talk you out of it.”
“Maybe!” He blinked.
“Well, just don't alter the space-time continuum this time, it's bad for my skin.”
“Yeah. Anyway. We gotta get to this training session.” Raziel shrugged and, trying not to smile too widely, followed Charles down the corridor to something that looked like a doorway on a gymnasium.
Toki was inside, glaring at them, arms folded.
“So,” said Charles, “Uh, Toki, you ready to begin?”
“I ams not does it, and you can not makes me!” said Toki.
“OK, Toki,” Charles soothed. “We're not gonna make you do anything.”
“Ams not proper!”
“Uh, it's not... What?”
“Ams skibobination!”
“Toki. OK. There's nothing good or bad about having your wings out. It's just something that happens. Naturally.”
“Ams not right, Charles.”
“Toki, I do not care what your Far told you-” said Charles, his teeth gritted.
“You ams not mentions my dads!” wailed Toki.
“You are not an abomination!” Charles told him, probably more loudly than he needed to. “You're just … magical!”
“I ams not magicksal! And I ams not doings not'ings!” Toki declared. And with that, he marched out of the room.
“Toki, wait!” Charles called.
The door slammed.
“Well, that went well!” said Raziel.
Charles looked daggers at her. “We got a tour coming up. I dunno what I'm gonna do.”
“Maybe what Breagan suggested, go talk to the Old Ones?” asked Raziel.
“More eccentric relatives? No way,” grumbled Charles. “No FUCKING way.”
We should have brought Breagan, thought Charles.
Because I feel like a toy.
It was a cozy English cottage, perfect in every detail, from the delicate doilies on the couches to the wallpapered ceilings.
It was perfect, except that everything – absolutely everything – was at least three times the scale of a human house.
Raziel's brats had already gone winged from the excitement, but he had kept a tight hold on Elias' little hand as they approached. He didn't give a shit if they were adorable storybook creatures, as Ganesh and Raziel seemed to think: they had signed up his beloved only son for some sort of role as a defender of mankind or some such, and he would have none of it. As far as he was concerned, his kid was going to spend the next few years having a perfectly normal childhood: playing with blocks, cuddling his plush toys, painting Renaissance-influenced murals on empty wallspace, hunting demons, romping with death metal musicians.... Well, OK, maybe not exactly a normal childhood. But it was damn well a childhood. And Charles was more than prepared to bash some elephant skulls if anyone said otherwise.
He had paused at the entryway, waiting for the others to enter steeling himself. “OK, Dada,” Elias had told him, patting his hand. “Boonie pwotect da Dada!” said the boy, cheerfully.
Charles looked down in surprise. He crouched down, so he could be at eye level. “Boon. Listen to me. Daddy is protecting you now. OK? You let Daddy protect you.”
“Uh-huh!” Elias cheerfully agreed. Ganesh had popped his head back out the door, and was watching them curiously. Charles sighed and followed him inside, into the elephant dollhouse, as he was starting to think of it.
“This is extraordinary!” Wotan was saying. He had an arm around Raziel as their kids fluttered excitedly nearby. “Absolutely extraordinary! I haven't seen such a sight since I used to play cards with the Jotnar!”
“Oh, you played cards with giants?” asked Raziel.
“Now, my dear, you don't want to go cheating with a Jotunn! They don't take kindly to it.”
“LELEFUN!” squealed Elias. He had dropped Charles' hand and hurtled towards the biggest goddam elephants Charles had ever seen.
“Elias,” he said, but It was barely a croak. And already, the very biggest one had snaked a trunk around his boy and gently placed Elias up upon his own head. Raziel's kids had flown up to watch and laugh along. Back down on the ground, Raziel and Ganesh were excitedly taking cell phone camera pictures and then showing them to Wotan, apparently to evaluate the relative cuteness.
Charles frowned. There were three elephants in all. Besides the big one, there was a smaller female, who was also getting a turn at evaluating the cell phone images, and a smaller male, who seems a bit offput at the whole business.
Sensing a potential for some common ground, Charles moved nearer to the annoyed Old One. “I'm Charles,” he said, not bothering to stick out a hand, as he wasn't certain what the elephant would do with it. To his great surprise, the Old One extended a trunk, so Charles shook.
“Mortimer,” said the Old One.
“I'm Elias' father,” said Charles.
“Ah. I apologize. I am not entirely comfortable around children.”
Charles shrugged. “I'm not either. I didn't think I liked 'em. Before we had him, I mean.”
Mortimer the Old One tilted his great head, letting his elephant ears fan out, as if listening to something he couldn't quite hear. Charles wondered if it was like flicking your wings. “You are the angel?” said Mortimer.
“Uh. Yeah. Some people know me as Sariel.”
Mortimer twitched his ears again. “I don't believe I have ever been at such close quarters with an angel before.”
“Sure you have,” said Charles. He gestured. “Raziel is an angel too.”
Mortimer scowled over at where Raziel was babbling with the female elephant. “Lady Raziel is an angel? She told them most delightful story! Is it possible that I am inclined towards angels?”
“Well, ya got me,” admitted Charles. “To be honest, I can't fucking stand most other angels.”
“Well, that is extraordinary,” said Mortimer.
“You will pardon me, everybody,” Ganesh was saying. “I fear I have been remiss. May I present the Lady Raziel, who you met last week, and her husband, King Wotan? And these are their children, the Lady Abigail, and Lord Liam!” he added, gesturing more or less in the direction where the twins were hovering. “And this is my husband, Sariel, and our own son, Elias,” he said, indicating where Basil had just replaced his son on the floor.
“BOOOOONIE!” shouted the twins.
“Yes, whom we have nicknamed, Boon,” Ganesh added. “And this is Basil, Azalea, and Mortimer, the Old Ones.”
“Shall we have tea?” inquired Azalea.
“I wouldn't mind something a little stronger!” boomed Basil. “Get the shaker, Mortimer!”
“Basil,” said Ganesh. “Not to be impertinent, but Charles was rather keen to know more about that charming game you showed us last time.”
“Prophecy Bop?” huffed Mortimer, who was running back into the room with the martini mixings. “By jove! I sensed you were a man of taste, Charles!”
“Ah, yes, the Dunklehoff brothers,” said Basil. “One of their masterpieces, if you ask me.”
Mortimer cantered off again while Basil began to mix martinis with his trunk. Charles looked around, and hopped up on one of the gigantic sofas. Ganesh had just tossed a giggling Elias up to the seat, and scrambled up after him.
Charles was pleased to discover that elephant martini glasses are quite capacious, and elephant martinis, quite dry. Meanwhile, Mortimer the elephant was already spreading out something that looked much like a game board on the vast coffee table.
“We'll roll for who goes first!” said Mortimer, shaking the odd multi-sided dice with his trunk. Charles squinted down at the coffee table, to the weird icons on the dice. “Uh, how the heck do you figure that out?” he asked.
“I have a scarab and a glyph! Let's see how you do!” he said, trunking the dice to Charles. “Uh,” said Charles, who had rather more wanted to discuss where to find the Dunklehoffs. “OK, I'll play.”
“Hrrrmm,” said Mortimer. “A trumpet and a harp?”
“Sariel wins!” said Raziel.
“Yes, good luck to you, old sport!” said Basil.
“Yes, you can roll first!” agreed Mortimer, holding up a small box of game pieces. Charles frowned, and then plucked out a small metal guitar.
“Uh. Where do I start?” he asked, staring at the game board.
“Where do you want to go, dear?” asked Azalea.
“I wanna find the Dunkehoff brothers,” Charles answered without even thinking.
“Oh, well start here then, and spin!” said Mortimer, handing over a spinning wheel piece.
Charles frowned, taking the spinning wheel. He looked at it curiously – once again, he had no idea about the markings. “Here,” he said, holding the wheel out to his son. “You spin, Boon.”
Elias got up on his knees, scrunched his eyes closed, and flicked the wheel with his fingers.
And then he opened his eyes, and he and Charles watched the metal arrow spin and spin.
“No luck with the back doors either,” Charles called.
“Or the side door!” said Raziel, coming around the corner.
They were standing on the grounds of an isolated estate, located, as Prophecy Bop had somehow foretold, somewhere on the outskirts of Krakow, Poland. The building appeared abandoned, as they grounds looked like they hadn't been attended in years, or even decades. And there were not lights visible inside the mansion. However, it was locked up tight, and had so far defied the housebreaking skills of two angels and a god.
“We shoulda brought Murderface,” Charles grumbled.
There was a crashing.
“I thought he was supposed to be Lord Remover of Obstacles?” said Raziel.
Charles shrugged, and they both ran around the other side of the house. They found Ganesh standing before two opened glass patio doors, looking slightly shocked.
The reason for his surprise was readily apparent. Beside him on the porch where he stood, an incredible pile of … stuff. Which all looked to have fallen out of the house when the doors were opened. There was a baby carriage, books, records, magazines, newspapers, a lute, a toaster, a teapot, and what looked like a skull.
“American Bison, it appears,” said Ganesh, tossing the skull back into the pile. “The glass was smoked up, so I didn't see the, er, ephemera piled up against the doorway.”
“Is this their burglar alarm?” asked Charles.
“It is certainly effective. If I had not my quick reflexes, I could possibly have sustained serious injury,” said Ganesh, as Charles picked up a bowling ball from the pile.
“Well, let's see what's in here,” said Raziel, climbing up the pile and skillfully slipping into the home.
“Raziel!” Charles called. “Be careful! We don't know what's in there.”
“Hey, you guys gotta come inside! It's incredible.”
“Take care, Raziel,” said Ganesh. “The Dunklehoffs may still be inside!”
“No way! No room!” came Raziel's voice.
Ganesh and Charles exchanged a confused glance and then followed Raziel inside. The stately home was completely filled up with … well, with a little bit of everything. The walls were all lined with bookshelves and curio cabinets, but all of these appeared to have overflowed their contents years – maybe decades – earlier. Raziel was standing not on the floor (which was nowhere visible) but on a pile of what looked like bound up newspapers, which came up at least to the level of what appeared to be a dining room table top.
“Is the whole house this way?” asked Ganesh.
“It can't be! They can't have filled up the whole thing with shit!”
“Whaddya wanna do, Sariel?” asked Raziel.
“Well, let's see if maybe one of 'em had an office?” suggested Charles. “I wanna see stuff connected to the toy company.” Raziel shrugged, and the three of them picked their way out of what had apparently once been a dining room area. They found themselves in the main entryway, standing at the landing of what had once been a grand staircase, which was now itself piled in ephemera of all sorts.
“OK, I'll take the downstairs. Raziel, you keep looking on the main floor. And Ganesh, you head upstairs I guess.”
It was difficult going. Space was too cramped to go True Form, so Charles had to half climb, half slide his way downstairs. He was glad of his excellent night vision, as this level, being windowless, was quite dim.
He picked his way through yet more trash – he hadn't encountered anything yet he considered to be of any value – and made his way down a hallway. There was a door, but it had been blocked by a great pile of what looked like shoeboxes. Because they were shoeboxes.
“Raziel would love it down here,” he muttered, digging through the boxes to gain purchase on the door. Fortunately, he discovered that it opened inward. “All right,” he said, gripping the knob and shoving a shoulder to it.
To his surprise, the door was not blocked in any way, so he ended up stumbling headfirst into a large room. He scrambled up, shaking his head, and gasped at the figure standing over him.
And another figure. And another. And another.
Standing perfectly still.
Charles blinked as his eyes adjusted. “Mannequins?” he sputtered. “They collected mannequins? Fucking creepy ass shit!”
After a few more non-discoveries, Charles picked his way back up the basement stairs. “Raziel? Are you around?”
“I found the swimming pool!” she shouted.
“What?” he said. He followed the direction of her voice, clambering over jet packs and stuffed animals and grocery bags and balls of string to arrive at another room stacked with junk.
“Where's the pool?” asked Charles.
Raziel grinned and tapped her foot on the floor.
“Holy shit,” said Charles, who shouldn't have been surprised. He squatted down. There was an indoor pool in this room, but it was completely filled up with boxes.
“This is just crazy,” sighed Charles. “They can't possibly live here any more.”
“Not if they wanna use the kitchen. Or the bathroom!” said Raziel.
“The bathrooms too?” asked Charles.
She nodded. “One of 'em is stacked up with record albums.”
“Any of ours?”
“Did Dethklok even make vinyl albums?”
“Sariel! Raziel!” The two angels regarded each other, and made their way back to the main entryway, where Ganesh was standing at the bannister up on the second floor.
“I think I've found what became of the Dunklehoffs!” said Ganesh. Charles and Raziel made their way to the main staircase. “But, no need to hurry. Absolutely no need to hurry.”
Charles and Raziel slowly picked their way up the main staircase, although they proceeded much more rapidly than when they had first arrived at the house, as they had all become considerably less careful around the “collection.”
Ganesh was waiting at a doorway a small slide down the hall.
Charles sniffed the air. “Did you magick this room?” he asked Ganesh.
Ganesh nodded. “Just a small spell to prevent objects from moving. You'll see why when you enter.”
Unlike many of the rooms they had been through, this one's purpose was still recognizable: it had been a bedroom. And the owner was still very much there, still in bed. He was sleeping rather peacefully, considering the chaos around him. Probably because there was nothing much left of him but bones.
“Wow. Well, that solves the mystery of at least one Dunklehoff,” said Charles.
“Both of them, I believe, from what I've been able to examine,” said Ganesh, waving an arm at a pile of debris on the floor. Two skeletal feet were sticking out from under the pile.
“Killed by his own stuff?” asked Raziel.
“Yes. I believe the objects were actually jury-rigged to fall down, perhaps upon an intruder,” said Ganesh. “The individual in the bed shows some signs of a degenerative disease. I surmise that perhaps he was confined there, and this other one was tending to him.”
“Holy hell,” said Charles.
“I have magicked the objects along that wall to stay in place, but I believe we should take care when we are moving about this room,” warned Ganesh.
“What's that in his hands?” asked Raziel, suddenly leaping up on the bed next to the ex-Dunkelhoff.
“Raziel be careful,” said Charles, but then he found himself hurrying over as well. Raziel was holding up a notebook that the Dunkel-skeleton had been gripping. It said on the cover, in handwritten letters, “PROPHECY BOP.”
A small swatch of paper, yellowed with age, fell from the notebook.
“Wait, what is that?” asked Charles.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lise....” read Raziel. “It's in Norwegian. It's....” She looked at Charles. “I thought these guys were Polish?”
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a look.
“Can you read it, Raziel?”
She wasn't a beautiful princess. She wasn't even very pretty. She was too tall. And bony. With mousy brown hair.
She was the preacher's daughter. And she was almost an old maid.
Because as she was the preacher's daughter, it was all right for her to bring lunch to the men working on the church. Strangers, they were. But they were good Godly men. They had attended Pappa's sermons. She had seen them.
The one.
He looked at her.
“And what is your name, young miss?” he had asked her when she gave him the basket of bread and cheese and fresh apples.
“I am Lise.”
“Lise,” he had said. And smiled a smile that was not quite a smile. Lise was a gentle girl, a sheltered girl. But it looked as if he had watched many men smile, and then cooked up one of his own, pushing and pulling his facial muscles, just so. Arranging a smile.
But his skin! Oh, that skin. He worked outside, but he did not look like the other men, their skin ruddy. There was a soft paleness to his skin. Fine alabaster, lit from within.
She wondered how it would feel, beneath her fingertips.
And then she made herself quit wondering.
And then one day, she brought him a basket for lunch.
“I must show you something, Lise.”
“What.... What would you like to show me?”
“Everything,” he whispered.
“I'm sorry?” she said, not knowing how to reply.
“Come along with me. It's along the riverside.” He held out a hand, but she did not take it, even though she longed to feel the texture of his palm. They walked down to the riverside, behind the stand of trees that grew there. Out of sight of the church.
Out of sight of God.
“Stand right there. Let me show you.”
Lise gasped as he started to unbutton his shirt. “No,” she said, covering her eyes. But then, for reasons she never knew, she peered up over her trembling hands.
The loveliest thing she had ever seen.
Her hand wanted touch. It needed to. Beyond her control, beyond the word of God, her hand reached out. Reached out to brush the lovely tawny feathers.
That such a thing would appear to her. She sunk to her knees, her hands laced together.
“No,” he said, pulling her up. “No. I still have something to show you.”
His hands. She couldn't believe how soft and fine the touch.
And he smiled the smile that was not a smile.
The next day, when she went to bring the men their lunch baskets, he was no longer there. She went every day, for a week, but he had gone.
And then the spring turned to summer. And everyone knew. Her shame.
“Who was it?” Pappa demanded. “Who has ruined you?”
“Pappa, you don't understand,” she told him. “It was a miracle. He was a miracle.”
“He was a trickster! And you have brought shame on the family.”
They found her a husband. He was from the next village. Their preacher. Twice her age. He and her father. Looking down on her. Condemning her.
There was Lise. And there was God.
And when he was born, she named the boy Aslaug. And like his father, he was born without knowing how to smile.
“Aslaug,” said Charles. “Are you sure?”
Raziel clutched the papers to her. “Yes.”
“How would they have.... I don't understand,” said Charles.
“I don't entirely understand either,” said Ganesh. “But I believe I have a clue. This body?”
“The skeleton?” said Charles.
“I have examined it closely. I do not believe the brothers were entirely human.”
“Really?” asked Raziel. “They sure developed a taste for human stuff!”
“Regard the spinal column,” said Ganesh, pointing a finger along the spine, beside the shoulder blades. “Even in Court Form, Angels have an extra foramen – a hole – within these thoracic vertebrae, in order to conduct nerve fiber bundles for your wings.” He reached back and ran a thumb down along Charles' back at just that spot. Charles involuntarily smiled.
“Hey, you gotta teach Wotan to do that!” said Raziel. Ganesh grinned.
“So. You think they started collecting angel stories?” asked Charles.
“It is possible.”
“Huh. Well. I'd say we collect all the paperwork we can find in this room and take it with us. They're not gonna be using it.”
“And the house?” asked Raziel, frowning.
Charles and Ganesh looked at one another.
“Like I said,” Charles told them. “Get every scrap of paper you think we can use.”
About an hour later, the three stood outside the house, a respectful distance away, cardboard boxes at their feet.
“Would you like to say anything?” asked Ganesh.
“Langley and Homer. You were weird bastards. But, thanks for the help,” said Charles. He nodded to Ganesh. The elephant god held up one hand and shut his eyes tight. And then he swept his hand along, and as he did, the Dunkelhoff's manor burst into orangey-red flames. They stood for a while, watching the pyre, listening to the crackling, none of them speaking. And then, without a word, the three picked up boxes, and disappeared.
“We will leave the materials at Valhalla?” asked Ganesh as they arrived back at their suite.
“Yeah, Raziel will be able to read it whatever language. Though I suspect what we're looking for will be in Norwegian. And I don't want Toki....” He trailed off.
“You can't keep your findings from him,” Ganesh warned.
“No, no, it's not that. You should have seen him with me and Raziel. I just think I need to understand more to figure out what's happening with him. I mean, fuck all the prophecy shit, I just want him well for our tour.”
“Charles,” said Ganesh.
Charles had thrown off his jacket, but paused. Ganesh rarely called him by his human name.
“Regarding your … issue. With your band members. Have you considered the possibility that Toki is not the problem?” asked Ganesh.
“What do you mean?” said Charles.
“Well, when I intercepted you the other day, Toki was True Forming, but isn't it also true that William was manifesting his demon Form? Ulp!”
Angels move in mysterious ways sometimes. Ganesh had utterly no idea how he had ended up flat on his back on the couch, with Charles straddling him.
“Ganesh. Tell me.”
“I didn't know you could do that,” Ganesh choked, more surprised than anything else.
“Please. PLEASE Ganesh. You need to tell me. No B.S.”
“You are in earnest, Sariel?”
“Yes! I am fucking in earnest!”
Ganesh considered him. “I told you before. I believe Nathan is human. He seems to focus the magic of the other four. But lately....”
“Lately what?”
Ganesh shook his head.
Charles was up, pulling Ganesh to his feet. “OK. OK. We gotta go.”
“You know, when you are like that...” Ganesh began.
“What?”
Ganesh shrugged and grinned. “I don't know. It is a little … exciting.”
Charles blinked in surprise. “OK. Shit. We don't have time for that now. Look. You gotta come with me. We gotta talk to Nathan.”
“Why do you need me?” asked Ganesh.
“He might need hugging or some shit,” said Charles half dragging Ganesh out of the room.
“I am not going to hug Nathan Explosion!” vowed Ganesh, being hurried along down the hall.
“NATHAN!” boomed Charles, bursting into the singer's room without knocking.
“You could knock,” grumbled the singer, who didn't bother rising from his monstrous bed.
“Nathan. What the fuck,” said Charles. The two glared at each other for a time.
“Er, what he means Nathan,” explained Ganesh. “Have you been feeling … out of sorts?”
“YES I'M FEELING OUT OF SORTS! Not that you guys would give a crap with all your talking elephants and crap.”
“Do you, er, wish to talk about this issue?” asked Ganesh.
“YES, I HAVE ISSUES!” said Nathan. “I have girl issues.”
“Well then!” smiled Ganesh. “I will be absolutely no help here. I'll just-” But Ganesh found himself being forcibly yanked back by Charles.
“Girl trouble,” said Charles steeling himself. “OK. All right. Is Rebecca-”
“NO NOT REBECCA! That bitch....” muttered Nathan.
“So,” said Charles. “Uh. Anyone I know?”
“Yes. You know her. You know where she is,” said Nathan suspiciously. “I know you do.”
Charles frowned. “OK. They why don't we find her?”
“You'll never do it.”
“Sure. Why not.”
Nathan glowered. And then he set his newspaper aside and leaned over, rooting in the drawer in his bedside table. He rummaged through the door for a bit, tossing out condoms, tubes of lube, dildos, and other such ephemera. And then he pulled out a newspaper clipping, which passed to Charles.
“Nathan. No!”
“SEEEE!” pouted the singer.
Ganesh hovered over Charles' shoulder. He looked at the photograph above the article. A woman's face glared back from under a gigantic black beehive.
“Nathan wants us to resurrect Amy Winehouse?” asked Ganesh. “Well, he does have good taste....”
“No, Ganesh. This chick is even more messed up,” sighed Charles. “Why the hell you wanna contact her, Nathan?” he asked the singer. “Why now?”
“You know where she is, don't you?” asked Nathan.
Charles stared stubbornly at the floor. He looked up at Nathan.
“Yes,” he said.
