The Gears (Mythklok, Chapter 80)
Dec. 3rd, 2011 03:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: The Gears (Mythklok, Chapter 80)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dethklok rehearses, Charles reveals a disturbing event from the past.
Warnings: There's a non-con type scene this time. It's not sexual, but it might be disturbing. Or maybe not as disturbing as my bad writing. Anyways, you decide. And, um, if you don't like bathroom humor, may wanna skip this one. Or, might not wanna read this one while you're eating dinner, ok? YOU AMS BEEN WARNED.
Notes: After jump.
Mythklok: it takes a licking and keeps on ticking.
Last time: Ganesh was briefly detained by people who had no clue how to brew a proper cup of tea. Engelbert the Power got to drink with Dethklok.
Charles awoke in a delightful tangle of Ganesh.
Ordinarily he was a being who, as a matter of pride, regarded the horrible human custom of “cuddling” with an altogether appropriate level of disdain. However, being a lawyer, and a damned good one, he granted himself an exception for similar bodily contact when it occurred in the immediate aftermath of an erotic event and/or events. Such as the events which had occurred this night. Some hours ago actually. In fact, many hours ago – wasn't that dawn's early light he glimpsed through the blinds?
He wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position atop Ganesh's chest and began to drift off, when he was once again startled awake by the knocking: someone gently tapping on their chamber door.
“Boon!” he said, suddenly sitting up. “We forgot to unlock the door!” he whispered to a now awakening Ganesh.
He skillfully hopped off the bed while simultaneously pulling on a pair of Ganesh's pajama pants. “Are ya decent?” he called over his shoulder. Ganesh was donning a dressing gown, as Sariel had once again stolen his pajamas.
“Coming, baby!” he said as he hastily unlocked the bedroom door, jerking it open.
He was greeted by the biggest bowl he had ever seen, slopping over with what must have been ten gallons of milk, and many bushels of Metal Flakes cereal (the kind Skwisgaar skwears by!).
“Befest fo daddy,” said the bowl, or rather, a voice that seemed to come from somewhere underneath the bowl, as it now wandered toward the bed, dribbling milk and Metal Flakes in a sloppy trail behind it.
“Well, look at you!” grinned Ganesh, sitting on the edge of the bed and speaking to his son, who was somewhere there underneath the great vat of perishable goods from the local food library. As he grabbed Boon around the waist, he mouthed over the boy's shoulder to Charles, “Go see if he tried coffee?”
Charles nodded, and picked his way along the trail of soggy dairy products out to their kitchen. It was amazing, as it appeared clearly more milk had been spilled in the transportation process than the capacity of the bowl, capacious as it might have been.
He reached the small kitchen inside their suite. Yes, indeed. He marveled at the scope of the destruction, hastily grabbing his cell phone to document all in images, to be sent to Raziel. It was a frequent area of disagreement, whose progeny could generate a greater depth and breadth of entropy to the dying universe. Raziel argued that twins, by their very nature, caused an order of magnitude more devastation than just one, but, as he often reminded her, his could not only fly, but was possessed multiple pairs of arms.
Charles was still clicking through the images when he arrived back at the bedroom. He looked up, meaning to speak, but saw instead Ganesh sitting cross-legged on the bed, completely enfolding their small son and his very large bowl, and assuring Elias that, yes, he was a very big boy.
Elias was getting bigger, it was true. Though he was nowhere near as large as Raziel's son, Liam, he was large enough you had to pay attention now when you picked him up, lest you strain your back. But sitting between Ganesh's knees, he still looked quite small indeed. And quite vulnerable.
“Befast Daddy!” Elias urged, pointing to the bowl.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles. “I forgot to grab a spoon.”
“Uh-huh!” giggled Elias. He suddenly waved out an arm.
Both Charles and Ganesh instinctively cringed. To an angel, or anybody who had ever fought an angel, the gesture was absolutely unmistakeable: drawing a sword.
Charles blinked at the glinting metal object that had appeared in his son's hand.
“Id da spoon, fo Daddy!” said Elias, proudly waving the same.
Charles sank down on the bed.
“Did you teach him … that?” asked Ganesh.
“No,” marveled Charles, taking the spoon from Elias and giving it a good look over. “Because I don't know how to do that. It's a good trick!”
“Why, yes! Very useful,” smiled Ganesh.
“Befast!” ordered Elias.
Charles took a spoonful of Metal Flakes. “Yes, it's delicious. You are a good cook.”
“And, er, the kitchen?” inquired Ganesh.
Charles shook his head. “I'll call a Klokateer,” he said, ruffling his boy's hair. “Maybe in an hour. Or so. After we finish breakfast.”
“Chaaaaaaaarles!”
Charles steepled his hands.
“You've got to do schomething about thisch.”
Charles looked down at the CD on his desk, struggling not to smile. He looked up again at the two miserable death metal musicians. “Well, I'm not sure exactly what it is you want me to do. Wanna tell me?”
“You know this is YOUR FAULT!” warned Nathan, now standing over him, doing his very best to be intimidating.
“You wanna siddown?” asked Charles.
“No we do not want to siddown!” thundered Nathan, a protestation which was slightly undercut by Murderface seating himself.
“Now, how exactly is it my fault?” asked Charles.
“You told us to STAY HERE!” whined Nathan.
“Yes,” said Charles, leaning back. “Remember, Ganesh had been abducted, so we were in a security lockdown. Knowing what I know now, I would have done the same exact thing.”
“But Dick schouldn't be doing thisch!” rumbled Murderface.
“And let me remind you, it was you guys – YOU GUYS – who decided it would be an awesome idea to take Lavona to Carpathians Castle!”
“It was an AWESOME IDEA!” retorted Nathan.
“Well....” said Charles.
“But he made her into a fucking Knubblerette!” wailed Nathan.
Just the edge of Charles' mouth twitched up as he glanced again at the CD, “Lady Sings the News, with Vonny Lee.” “She's NOT a Knubblerette. See? It says right here! She's a torch singer!” Though, even Charles had to admit, with the heavy eye makeup and lacquered hair, Lavona looked not unlike two or three of Knubbler's lead singers over the years, not to mention, some of his ex-wives. Which, come to think of it, was a heavily overlapping set of persons. He vowed not to bring this up with Murderface.
“I don't like it,” grumled Murderface. “Can't we re-kidnap her or schomething?”
“Look. Guys. William. You know Dick has been taking a while to heal. You guys don't have anything new. Don't you think this is therapeutic?” Murderface's beetle brow beetled some more. “And, Nathan? You told me personally you wanted her to forget the Baconology crap, right? Don't you think this has given her something else?”
The two men glared and pouted some more. Charles told them, “I think our security situation is resolved for the time being. I don't think the guys who got Ganesh actually pose much of a threat-”
“That is correct,” came a sigh. “It's not as if it presents any difficulty abducting a LOVE GOD.”
“Ganesh,” said Charles.
“Maybe they could next send a group of school children for me,” mourned the elephant god, popping his head up above the couch. “Or perhaps a bus load of old ladies could irritably poke me with their canes.”
“Ganesh-” said Charles.
“Aw, c'mon, Ganesh dude,” urged Nathan.
“You're pretty tough,” agreed Murderface. “I mean, in relative termsch.”
“Yes, I am well known to be as tough as a bit of tissue paper,” said Ganesh. “Soggy tissue paper.”
“Ganesh, have you shaved today?” asked Charles.
“You could fight tissue paper, Ganesh dude!” said Nathan.
“Yeah, eschpecially if it'sch not that kind with the loschtion,” said Murderface.
“Oh, yeah, that would be tough,” said Nathan.
“What's the point to it all?” asked Ganesh, flopping back down on the couch.
“Well, that'sch true asch well,” sighed Murderface.
Nathan just sighed miserably.
Charles found himself on his feet. “Guys. For fuck's sake! There will be no moping in Mordhaus!” He surveyed the sorry lot of beings in front of him. “Ganesh! You go an fucking shave that fucking stubble.”
“It's true, dude,” said Nathan, “No one looks really good with a beard, other than those guys in ZZ Top, who look pretty awesome.”
“Nathan!” barked Charles.
“What why are you shouting at me?”
“Murderface!”
“Schout at him, not at me bro!”
“You both have a tour coming up, go FUCKING REHEARSE!” He picked up his phone. “I gotta go.” And with that, he marched out of his office, slamming the door behind him.
“You don't have to yell,” muttered Murderface.
“So, in one brilliant stroke, I lost our nanny and Ganesh's house,” sighed Charles.
“Jyoti has been a lot to deal with?” asked Raziel, walking beside him on the wooded trail at Valhalla. The wolves padded by, and she reached out to pat the one who came closest. Then she placed a small hand in the crook of Charles' elbow.
“I mean, not more than we reckoned. Kam knew he had issues when he adopted him. I knew he had issues when I told Kam to do it. I guess I thought, we'll leave them alone at Ganesh's place a couple weeks, and then everything will be back to normal....”
There was a high-pitched screaming overhead, and then three soft thumps as a trio of winged children scudded into a nearby pile of fallen leaves. Elias and Abby sat, giggling, on top for a while, and then Liam, the heaviest, popped his head out of the pile, which just set off more giggling.
“I think you need to give it a couple decades to come back to normal,” Raziel laughed.
“I mean, we've been OK with Boon, he always has someone there-”
“The advantage of having an office in your castle.”
“...but Ganesh is getting … bitchy, being confined to Mordhaus so much. And, I can't say I blame him.”
“You're a bit isolated.”
“I hadn't realized. It's great being up like that, for security purposes. But it's a fucking nuisance. And he's also been moody since the kidnapping. He seems to think they decided he was some kind of pushover, so that's why they targeted him.”
“Aw, love gods can be moody. You should give him flowers or something.”
“FLOWERS! I'm not gonna give him fucking flowers.”
“Why not?”
“Raziel! He's a guy!”
“Yes, so he will realize and appreciate how difficult it was for you to make the gesture!”
“Raziel....”
“Oh, look at that! That’s a great leaf! Yeah, these are all great leaves!” said Raziel, taking up some fall foliage gifted to her by the children.
“They all seem so fucking happy here,” said Charles as the kids ran off again.
“Who wouldn't be happy at Valhalla?” said Raziel, twirling a brown leaf. “Your place … it was made to amuse your boys. And it does. And you wouldn't notice otherwise. Because you used to basically live for them. But now you've got even more stuff on your plate.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Look. As for Kam and Joyti: we could have 'em here,” said Raziel.
“Really?”
“I like Kam. He started out here. And I miss having your mom sometimes.” She felt Charles tense slightly under her hand, and so said nothing for a while longer. “Anyway. Wouldn't solve your tutor problem. But Ganesh would have his place back. Well, more or less,” she laughed, as Elias wheeled past once more.
Charles nodded. “We'd need to talk to Kam.”
“I can chat with him,” offered Raziel. “But, that's not why I asked you up here.”
“Didn't think so.”
“I have a request.”
“What?”
“Wotan needs to know about the nine months.”
“The agreement was,” Charles answered testily, “to share information going forward. As I've explained before-”
“That's a lawyer's answer.”
“I am a fucking lawyer.”
“I know. I sent you to law school.”
“Raziel. In case you hadn't noticed, your husband is more than a little interested in taking over the world.”
“Yep.”
They had stopped at a clearing. Raziel pulled a ball out of her pocket, and pitched it to Liam. He tossed to Elias, and thus began a spirited game of keepaway from the wolves.
Raziel sat down on a stone bench beside Charles. “Wotan is just a bit more subtle about that sort of stuff than you,” she told him.
Charles didn't answer.
“Look, I can't tell you what to do,” said Raziel. “I never could. But think of it this way. My husband is one powerful fucking guy. And a shrewd motherfucker. Maybe it would be in your interest.”
“It's definitely in Wotan's interest.”
“Our world is Wotan's interest, Sariel. Don't forget that.”
Charles sighed. And watched winged kids chase magical wolves for a while.
Contracts, contracts, everywhere.
Charles sighed at the paperwork spilling off his large desk. He hadn't felt this overwhelmed since they were building Mordhaus. An experience he really didn't wish to revisit. For so many reasons.
And the most annoying thing about it was, this stuff wasn't merchandising agreements or endorsement deals, the kind of this he loved and lived for, his adored bread and butter. This was Beatles breakup nightmare fare: easing out Magnus, and easing in Toki. Neither of which, really, was turning out at all easy.
Charles had taken the bullet for the ouster. He was hoping to hell it wouldn't produce real bullets among Magnus' adoring fans. But everyone could believe this was the machinations of an evil, black-hearted corporate-suited manager, much more than they could believe the simple truth: that Magnus had fucked one too many of Skwisgaar's groupies. Skwisgaar, the man who went through groupies like Nathan Explosion went through chips. Anyway, people liked Skwisgaar.
But people – some people – really liked Magnus.
Charles hoped they would transfer some of that affection to Toki. He appeared to be a nice kid, if a little naïve. OK, supernaturally naïve. Obscure Scandinavian religious cults probably didn't tend to produce worldly sorts, and one could argue, this represented a nice balance to the band. Now, Pickles – you could see his picture in the dictionary under “jaded.”
Oddly enough, Pickles seemed to be the one who had bonded the most genuinely with Toki. As for the rest of them, well, as Charles could tell you, they seemed most interested in taking the piss out of him, both personally and contractually. Charles made it a policy not to appear to interfere with personal relations, but as for negotiations: they had made damn sure (Pickles included) that Toki ended up with a tiny closet of a room at Mordhaus, and that he got the least vote in band matters, as well as the smallest share of the royalties, last pick on endorsement deals, and there was probably a clause somewhere that said he got the lowest shelf in the fridge.
Charles was hoping the kid could weather it because, frankly, and this was the weird part: the band seemed right now. Magnus, despite his considerable appeal and obvious musical talents, had always felt like a placeholder. Maybe it was the supernatural element. They hadn't discussed it, not since that day in Toki's hometown. But, Skwisgaar was Wotan's kid, whether or not either of them acknowledged it. Toki was some kind of winged being, even though, oddly enough, Charles had seen no evidence of this since that first day in Toki's village. And Charles had his suspicions that William was more than he appeared.
He wasn't completely sure, but his band, he felt, when they said it was magic – well, they meant it.
Charles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was particularly tired today because he'd had to spend considerable time presiding over the initiation ceremony for the new hires. It had turned out pretty cool, and the boys seemed to like it, which was great.
Some in the media had claimed it was a publicity stunt. No, actually, it had started in the best way possible: the fans had already started to get gear tattoos. He decided to make it official, as well as a condition of employment. It was like the pain waivers: their fans were the most extreme to be found.
He wasn't exactly sure why he had hit on the idea to employ a brand instead of a tattoo, but he had to pat himself on the back: it was brilliant. Very showy and quick. It was pure theater. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that angels could be branded too. Tattoos, like hair dye, just washed out when you True Formed. Scars – well, as he could attest, scars stayed with you.
Anyway, a silly thing, really. Something to give the office workers a bit of a thrill. Shuffling paper for Dethklok wasn't exactly what you could call a metal lifestyle. He should know!
He shrugged. He had replaced his glasses, but the words on the pages were swimming. Time to call it a night, whether or not the work was done. He turned off the lights in his office. It was very late, even for him. He hated to admit it, but when he ended his day, and made his way to his own small room, it always felt like he had extinguished part of himself. A little death, unhooking oneself from the Dethklok hive, he guessed, wondering why he was being so fucking philosophical all of a sudden. He had probably been throwing himself a bit too much into his work, since kicking out his ex for good. But, what the fuck else was there, really?
Fucking Raziel. It was partly that bitch's fault. True, she had got his ass through law school. She had even bought him his very first business suit. And then she'd fucked off, to wherever it was she always fucked off to. Raziel could go where he couldn't follow. And now, of all times, he needed somebody to talk to. Another being.
He had avoided other supernaturals during his confinement on earth, but especially this century, following the massive disaster that had been his relationship with Eototo. But now he found himself enmeshed with a group that was at least partly nonhuman, and he had no idea where to turn.
Anyway, he didn't need help, he thought as he finally dragged into his room. Of course not! Raziel could go fuck herself. Not that she ever needed any help there. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and carelessly tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. His bed looked really tempting. Maybe he would lie down, just for a moment, before he washed his face and brushed his teeth?
And then he was in another place.
He woke, his face deep in the pillow, not certain if he was waking or dreaming. He heard some muttering, some shuffling. What the fuck would Klokateers be doing in his room this early?
He raised his head to see what was going on, but there was a weight on top of him, smothering him. He tried to wrest them away, but was surprised by the strength. Angels? Couldn't be. His mind drifted to one particular angel. He shook off the memory.
They had pulled a hood over his head. And then were dragging him off somewhere. It was multiple beings, maybe half a dozen. Keep your head, count steps, he told himself, tamping down the sense of panic that had begun to arc through his nervous system.
They were taking him towards the big assembly room. Yes, he could feel the drafts – it felt right. So they probably weren't trying to abduct him. Magnus fans? Did Magnus have angelic fans?
And then he was forced to his knees, still being held down firmly by at least two sets of hands. The hood was tugged off.
Yes, it was the assembly area. He'd just been here this afternoon. He smelled something burning, and turned his head – the branding irons were still there, still hot.
Finally, one of them stepped in front of him, into his line of sight. Oh, gods no.
“You're one of us now,” Nathan Explosion told him, his impressive voice had taken on an echo in the great chamber.
“Nathan,” said Charles, as calmly as he possibly could, “Can you tell me what's going on?”
Nathan didn't reply, but cocked his head. Murderface, who had been standing in back, in the shadows, walked off to get something. As his eyes adjusted, Charles saw Pickles was there too. OK, that meant it was Toki and Skwisgaar who probably had ahold of him.
“Guys. Nathan. Pickles. Skwisgaar. Toki. Can we talk about this?”
The grip on his arms only tightened. Well, that probably meant he'd figured right about Toki and Skwisgaar. OK. “Nathan....”
But Nathan was turning towards Murderface. The bassist had just returned. Hefting a hot branding iron. The end of the iron glowed red. As did Murderface's eyes.
Whoa! Charles jerked back for a better look up at Nathan. Yes, eerie glow to his eyes as well. What the fuck? Magic. But he didn't know what kind. Not angelic. No idea. No idea....
“Guys. OK. This is important to you. All right. I acknowledge that. Could we talk about it? You don't need to hold me down. I'll do this. I'll do this for you.”
“I know you'll do it,” Nathan said simply. Murderface grabbed Charles by the hair and yanked his head down.
“Not- Nathan. Don't-” He saw the hot iron, now in Nathan's hand.
“Toki!” he suddenly shouted, using the High Angelic tongue. “LET ME GO!”
Whether from the order itself, or the sound of the language, Charles would never know, but he felt one set of hands abruptly loosen, and then wrested off Skwisgaar. He was on his feet, standing in front of Nathan. Don't run, he told himself, though that was all he wanted to do. Stand your ground. Some kind of magic. But here was the question: was Nathan controlling it, or was it controlling Nathan?
“OK,” he told Nathan. “You want me to join in the ritual. OK. That's fine. That's all right. Nathan, if you're in there, listen: I can't have a fucking brand on my fucking neck! I meet with straight business guys all the time. To do business. YOUR business. Do you understand? I can't have a fucking mark where it's gonna show.”
Court Formed, stocking feet, against the bulk that was Nathan. Charles was used to addressing much larger beings. He had fought alongside Seraphim for generations. That didn't intimidate. What threw him was that Nathan, of all of them, had always struck him as human. He wasn't used to encountering this much magic wielded by a mortal being. It was just fucking weird.
Nathan had cocked his head again. OK, he was listening. “Where?”
“How about.... Put it on my lower back. That oughta be.... Whoa!” He had already been grabbed again. He risked looking over at Skwisgaar and Toki. Yeah, same weird eye thing. This time, he let them force him to his knees. And then Pickles was back there, pulling up his shirt. He steeled himself for the brief pain. Lord knows he had been through much worse....
And then there was the horrible screaming. His own. His body was being torn in two, an icepick jammed in his head. Something horrible had seized him, breaking every bone.
He felt a stabbing through his chest.
He felt like he'd been beaten to a pulp, and left bleeding.
And then at last it subsided, and he felt the cold floor pressing on him. He whimpered, not able to stop the tears falling.
One arm worked. With a terrific effort, he pushed himself over onto his back, and stared for a while at the ceiling, utterly exhausted. They were standing over him, the five, regarding him silently, like he was some kind of doll, broken and cast aside. And then they turned.
He heard footsteps, and the soft thudding of the door. They had left him there alone.
“Gods. What have I done?” he whispered.
Charles looked with a start at his own hand. Raziel was there, sitting beside him on the couch, quietly holding it in hers. Not bothering to reach for a handkerchief, he drew the back of his hand over his eyes. He felt as spent and weak and empty as he had, all those years ago.
“I wanted you to be there. To talk to,” he whispered to her.
“I'm here now,” said Raziel. Her dark eyes flicked to the side. To her husband.
“Son,” came Wotan's voice. “You haven't told anyone about this before? Not a soul?”
Charles shook his head. Raziel gently let go of his hand, and Charles reached forward to grab his whiskey glass. “No. I mean, obviously, the band knows. But, I'm not sure how much they know! Or remember.”
“You still have the burn, I assume?”
'My gear?” asked Charles, his hand instinctively reaching for his back. “Of course!”
“Well,” said the Norse god, sinking back into the deep chair cushions, “what I think is needed, before we go on, I think you need to get yourself home. And tell Ganesh.”
“Oh. Fuck no! Not Ganesh! Believe me, he is not in the mood to hear this right now.”
“Well, he better get his elephant ass in the mood,” said Wotan.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “He's your husband. He needs to know this story.”
“No! No, you're both fucking wrong! This is business! My business. I'm not even sure why I told you!”
“Well, if it's business, then it's good business,” said Wotan. “That boy knows magic, better than all of us put together.”
“Wotan-”
“Sariel, listen to me,” said Wotan. “You've unhatched something, that's clear. It's also pretty clear you have no fucking idea what you've unhatched, or how to put the damn thing back. Now, we of the earth, we've lived a long damned time under the thumb of the Legion. Too long – a lot of us are plainly cowards. That's been ended, partly because of you. But there is a feeling – and I'm not the only one who thinks so – among the pantheons that we're all in for something worse. Potentially, something much worse. So, when I ask you to quit being such a stubborn bastard about these sorts of things, I am not just asking for me.”
Charles stared grimly at the floor.
“Sariel,” said Wotan, more softly now. “You have a son now.”
“Don't use Boon like that!” Charles exploded.
“You pull the world down now, he goes with you. You want that?”
Charles looked up, eyes silver in rage.
“Ams he has to be heres?” asked Skwisgaar.
“What that weird gay angel dude?” replied Nathan. They looked down from Dethklok's rehearsal stage to the seating area where, today, in addition to various GMILFs, supermodels and strippers, there was seated a slim, green and gold-haired fellow clutching a similarly outlandishly colored teddy bear. He was chattering with Toki about some fucking thing – probably plush toys or something gay like that.
“Ja dat weird angel dudes,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Aw he's OK, he's just kind of a weird angel dude,” lectured Nathan. “TOOOKIIIII! Come on up here we gotta start REHEARSALS are you delaying us again?”
“I ams bes right up!” chirped Toki. Oddly enough, the sometimes moody Norwegian had been in a cheerful mood since he had dragged a drunken Bert the Power to visit Mordhaus. Nathan wasn't exactly sure what the deal was, but anything that prevented fussy guitarists was all right with him.
“Aw, what ams dat guys doing?” protested Skwisgaar, pointing to Toki, who had been accompanied onstage by Bert.
Nathan sighed. Well, at least one non-fussy guitarist.
“What you ams does up here?” Skwisgaar demanded of Bert, who blinked green-lashed golden eyes at him.
“I'm onstage!” said Bert.
“What, ams you his Yoko now?”
“What's a Yoko?” inquired Bert, who was now nose to nose with Skwisgaar.
“You ams stays back!” warned Skwisgaar, stepping back and lifting up his guitar in a threatening manner. “Dey ams da concepts of personal spaces!”
“Do Yokos have a personal spaces?” asked Bert agreeably.
“Nat'ans!”
“Hey, look, Bert dude,” said Nathan.
“Yes Nathandude?” asked Bert.
“Soooooo,” said Nathan, draping a big arm around the angel's slim shoulders, and walking him a small distance away from Skwisgaar. “You know Skwisgaar?”
“Yes, I know him, he's right over THERE!” said an excited Bert, aiming an arm back at a frowning Skwisgaar.
“Yeah, right,” muttered Nathan. “So, uh, dude's an artist, and all that shit.”
“He is an artist and shit!”
“Yeah! You got that. You're a smart dude.”
“I'm Bert!” Engelbert reminded him.
“Yeah,” agreed Nathan, who had now walked Bert all the way to the edge of the stage. “So, anyway, now Skwisgaar's gotta do his shit, so, you can go sit down there and do your shit, whatever it is green angel dudes do, and he'll be up here doing his shit. Is that clear?”
“There is much shit!” said Bert.
“Yeah. Lotta shit. So, you'll go and do your shit?”
Bert nodded, green hair ruffling. “Yes! Maybe I will help Skwisgaar with his shit!” he said.
“Uhhhhh, no need to do THAT....” said Nathan. But, Bert had disappeared. Nathan looked around, momentarily confused. Well, angels, he decided. They did weird shit sometimes. He nodded to Skwisgaar, who was also glancing about suspiciously, and then took their places.
“OK, wanna go with that new one?” asked Nathan.
“Ja, we does da new ones!” Skwisgaar agreed. There was a solo that Skwisgaar was, uncharacteristically, actually worried about.
“Yeah, cool, OK, Skwis, now is your time to shine,” urged Nathan. Pickles counted down, and then they were, thankfully, finally, into the music. Chorus-verse-chorus (Nathan thought that was cool) and then they all took a breath and waited for Skwisgaar to rip the fucking cover off. For once, thank fucking God, Toki didn't come in late, and it was sounding brutal as Hell. Seriously, this one coulda shut that fucking gay musical notes gate in Hell for good and then melted it.
Later, Nathan wasn't exactly sure what tore his eyes off Skwisgaar and up to the ceiling. Some say, as demons sometimes carry the dark along with them, that angels have their own light. Charles thought it was bullshit, but he thought a lot of things were bullshit. So maybe it was a celestial light. But there was something up there. Yeah! It was Bert the weird ass angel, wings all beating and everything, hovering over the stage like a big green Dethcopter.
Nathan had to admit, the guy looked pretty badass all winged out like that. And he was holding something. It wasn't that stupid doll, it was shiny. It looked like a bucket.
A bucket.
What the-?
“Dude!” It was Murderface. He had stopped playing – not that you could tell – and was over, hand on Nathan's shoulder.
Pickles had stopped too, but Skwisgaar, in some kinda guitar trance, was still wailing. So he didn't see that Bert was flying directly overhead, nor that Bert was now tilting the bucket....
“STAND BACK!” howled Nathan, as both he and Murderface covered their eyes.
Skwisgaar finally looked up, just in time to be covered in a gooey brown slick from above.
He froze.
He stood, absolutely silent, and then blinked, his eyes two still blue pools in the brown.
It looked like mud. Or tar.
It wasn't.
“EWWWWW!” came Pickles' reaction from the drum kit.
“Dude,” said Murderface again.
“Dude,” said Nathan.
“It'sch like a schit Carrie!”
“I have helped him with his shit!” yelled a triumphant Bert, from up above, proudly waving the poo-encrusted bucket.
Charles looked somewhat miserably around the meeting room. Toki wasn't True Formed today, but unfortunately, Bert, who had been following him everywhere, was, and the Power was pretty damned distracting. And Murderface had once again chosen this occasion to manifest his yellow-eyed demon form, probably to piss off someone else. Charles cringed at the thought of “piss off” – he couldn't see very well what was going on in the darkened corner of the room.
“We needs to keep dat guys outta our rehearsals!” Skwisgaar was whining. He was so mad he was literally trembling. He shook out his blond mane which was, for some reason, still wet from the shower. “And.... Ands away from da Mordhaus! And, back in da Hell where he ams belongses!”
Charles was still dim on what exactly had gone on. He had just come down from Valhalla. He had decided, perhaps a bit rashly, that his shit day couldn't possibly get any shittier, so had immediately spilled his story of the branding to Ganesh. Who had sadly had the worst possible reaction, as far as Charles was concerned, which was no reaction at all. Ganesh had seemed to fold into some kind of grim spell of elephant concentration. Charles longed to shake him, to see what the hell was going on in that stubborn head, when he had been called out for some stupid emergency that the guys couldn't even describe. He had tried to pull the story from the guys, but they were either halfway hysterical, like Skwisgaar, or laughing too damned hard.
Boon, Charles thought. He would go to his son's room, pick him up, and the two of them would go away. To the South Pacific. Or something. That's what he would do. They would lie in the sun, and never have to listen to pouty elephant gods or see Skwisgaar's sneer, ever, ever again....
“Charles!” Skwisgaar was nattering. “You gots to murder dat guy!”
“I like Bert,” averred Toki. “He ams my cool angel pal!”
“Den maybe we ams gets da new rhythm geetarist!” snarled Skwisgaar.
“Should we smite him?” Bert asked Toki, golden eyes blinking. “He looks as if he needs to be smitten by the power of the Lord!”
“Bert!” barked Charles. “There will be no smiting in this office!”
“Does he always yell like that?” asked Bert.
“All the fucking time,” grumbled Murderface from somewhere in his darkened corner.
“Look, guys-” said Charles. But suddenly, the door was flung open so hard it literally cracked. “What the-?” said Charles. “Ganesh.” Oh. Fuck. Just what he needed.
Ganesh ignored him, instead storming over to stand before Nathan. “I demand to know what you THOUGHT you were doing branding Sariel!”
“What?” said Nathan, looking up over his reading glasses. “Oh that? Eh.”
“Ganesh!” cautioned Charles. “This is not the time....”
“Don't you take that tone with me!” Ganesh told Nathan.
“What crawled up your ass?” growled Nathan.
“Ganesh, could we-?”
Ganesh was leaning over now, nearly nose to nose with a Nathan. “You will remove that gear mark, or I WILL!”
“What?” Nathan was on his feet. “You can't take his gear.”
“I sure as fuck can,” said Ganesh.
“Wait, you can?” asked Charles, rubbing his back. “Really?”
“You can't take off our brand,” warned Nathan.
“He isn't yours! He's mine! This is HIGHLY INSULTING! I shall not stand for it!”
“What?” said Charles. “OK, wait, I don't actually belong to either of you guys.”
“No one. Touches. The gear,” said Nathan, glowering.
His eyes had begun to glow.
“OK, this is not good,” said Charles, now leaping between Ganesh and Nathan.
“You remove it. Or I will,” Ganesh snarled, and the room began to tremble.
Charles suddenly reached behind him. His lower back had begun to itch. He looked around the room, which suddenly seemed lighter, and noticed that William Murderface had returned to his human form. He also noticed that they eyes of the band burned red like coals.
“He is sealed to us!” Nathan insisted. And now wasn't Nathan. Not quite.
“Look, Nathan,” said Charles, but he felt a hand on his arm. Ganesh, who was continuing to stare down Nathan, was gently holding him back.
“What kind of seal?” asked Ganesh.
“He's one of us,” Nathan repeated.
Ganesh paused. His voice was lower. “One of you?”
“They were trying to take him!”
“Who was trying to take him?”
“He was! THAT GUY!”
Ganesh looked confused, but Charles quietly asked, “Uriah, you mean?”
Nathan nodded.
“You didn't want Uriah to harm him?” asked Ganesh.
Nathan shook his head.
“Then why didn't you simply tell him?” asked Ganesh.
“Dude that would be gay!” Nathan explained.
“What the fuck, Ganesh?” asked Charles.
“Well, I'll be!” said Ganesh, laughing and shaking his head. “You see what they were doing, Sariel? Or attempting to do at least.”
Charles shook his head. “Uh. I'm still not entirely sure.”
“I don't believe the intention was to enslave you,” said Ganesh. “They were attempting to protect you! I mean, doing a rum job of it. Amateurs!” he sniffed.
“Whaddya mean, amateurs?” asked Nathan. He seemed like someone just waking up from a nap. Or a hypnotic trance, Charles thought. And the eyes – burnishing to that magnificent emerald green once again.
“You were trying to achieve a protective spell, though, like most non-practitioners, you cocked it up a bit,” lectured Ganesh, arms everwhere.
“I ain't the one who destroyed my fucking house with rooster blood!” said Nathan, to a withering glance from Ganesh.
“Wait. Gannish. Dood,” said Pickles. “Wut should we o' done?”
“Well, that is an interesting question!” said Ganesh.
“Oh, no. Here we go,” sighed Nathan, sinking back in to his chair.
“Do you fellows have the marks as well?” asked Ganesh.
“Of course we ams don't,” grumbled Skwisgaar. “We ams knows who we ams!”
“Dat might be cool, though” allowed Pickles.
“Brandsch are badassch. They would go with my tatts,” mused Murderface, pulling up his T shirt to pat his ample belly.
“Huh,” said Nathan, nodding. “And we could have like a big brutal ceremony and shit!”
“Oh, well, you wouldn't need much of a ceremony....” Ganesh started to explain.
“Wait. No,” said Charles. “You guys wanna ceremony? We could have one.”
“Yeah, dood, we cud have a ceremony....” proposed Pickles. “Wit' lots o' strippers.”
“And ice creams?” said Toki.
“I like BOOZE!” supplied Bert.
“Booze. And girls. And ice cream,” said Charles, madly typing on his Dethphone. Ganesh looked at him skeptically, but Charles signaled him to STFU.
“My apologies, sire.”
“Oh, hey, Pie,” said Charles to the large Klokateer who had just entered the meeting room.
“You had left word to contact you personally with this,” said Klokateer 31415, handing Charles a note and swiftly departing.
Charles stood. “OK, I gotta go. This is from Rikki Kixx.”
“I'm going with you!” Ganesh and Nathan, who had both spoken up, now glared at each other.
“I don't need EITHER of you along,” said Charles.
“I am going anyway,” vowed Ganesh. “I have words with that gentleman!”
“Yeah, me too! Words with … that guy!” said Nathan.
“Both of you, I don't.....” said Charles, who appeared to think about it for a while. “OK. All right. Maybe I'll take you along. Both of you.”
“What right now?” asked Nathan, who had an infallible sense of when he was being rushed.
“Right fucking now,” said Charles.
“I might stop for a shave,” noted Ganesh, rubbing his stubbly beard.
“No, you are not stopping for a shave, you're not stopping for anything! You're gonna come with me, and you're gonna look pissed off. Come on!”
Charles looked curiously at the posters stuck around Rikki Kixx's grim headquarters. Some had obviously been positioned to hide the damage from the last weeks. One poster had been fixed over the spot where Raziel had cut down the painting to get to the hidden elevator.
The posters publicized a Science of Baconology mass marriage ceremony happening in a couple weeks. The cult was notorious for these kinds of ridiculous things.
Charles turned, shaking his head, but was surprised to see Nathan standing looking wistfully at the poster.
“What?” said Charles.
Nathan just looked more mournful.
“Ten thousand couples. Officiated by Rikki Kixx himself!” said Ganesh, whistling low. “Are they attempting a Guinness record?”
“They're sure as fuck not trying to marry people for love or any of that shit,” said Charles. “I heard you meet your new better half in line that day.”
“Arranged marriages are not uncommon in other cultures!” Ganesh noted. “Why in my own land-”
“These aren't even arranged, Ganesh,” said Charles. “Literally. They get a group of men and a group of women and-” he gestured with two palms coming together.
“Oh, really? So, you are expected to marry a women?” frowned Ganesh.
“Uh, yeah, Ganesh, that's what bothers you?”
“Why would they do that?” asked Nathan.
“Whaddya mean, Nathan?” said Charles.
“Get all these people married off in such a hurry?”
“This is another common theme of organized religions,” lectured Ganesh. “The married couples will be encouraged to PROCREATE-”
“Uh, he just means have kids,” Charles told Nathan, who was looking righteously shocked.
“Not doing that other thing?” whispered Nathan suspiciously.
“Well, I suppose if you're married, you can go ahead,” said Charles.
Nathan stared at him, open-eyed. “You mean being married is license to be FREAKY?”
“Well, why not?”
“AS I WAS SAYING,” continued Ganesh, glaring at both of them, “Encouraging marital relations means another generation of adherents!”
Nathan looked at Charles. “The kids will be Baconologists too. So, more Baconologists,” said Charles.
“Ohhhhh,” said Nathan. “Not that OTHER thing?”
“Naw, not that.”
“Do you two possess one track minds?” asked an exasperated sounding Ganesh.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think we do,” allowed Charles. He gazed at the poster for a time. Something occurred to him. No, he had the feeling that something should be occurring to him. What was it?
He turned as the elevator arrived. It was the main elevator this time. The three men got inside.
“OK,” said Charles as the doors slid shut. “I need you guys to look pissed off.”
“What?” asked Ganesh.
“Stand beside me and look pissy. I know you can do it,” Charles laughed.
“I am supposed to feign- OW!” Ganesh cried out at Charles had put a heel to his instep.
“Heh,” said Nathan, to a withering glare from Ganesh. Nathan glared back.
“Perfect!” said Charles. “Come on!” The elevator doors had snapped open, and Charles went marching into the receptionist's office, Ganesh and Nathan a half step behind. They followed Charles past the receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, half-rising.
“No,” said Charles, slamming open Rikki Kixx's office door.
“What do you think you're doing?” demanded Rikki Kixx, his ample jowls flapping. He started to rise, but then evidently gave it up as a bad job.
“You wanted to see me?” said Charles.
Kixx, with visible effort, calmed himself, and sad, interlacing his hands in his best supervillain manner. “I suppose you appreciated our little demonstration?”
“No. Not really. Ganesh went along with you because he was bored. And you succeeded in making him even more bored.” Charles leaned over, putting his hands flat on Kixx's desk. “And your men ran away from my little sister.”
“My men are the great hand that moves silently in the night!”
“Your morons couldn't pilfer a snickerdoodle from a cookie jar,” Charles told him. “Now, you gonna tell me the point of that little charade, or should I send some boys to show you how its done.”
“Are you threatening me?” demanded a red-faced Rikki.
“I have word. This building – this building – illegal download of MP3s,” said Charles.
Kixx looked around nervously. “That's illegal,” supplied Nathan.
“And the thing about my dungeons,” said Charles. “Gruel.”
Kixx blinked. He leaned forward. “Not even pork rinds?” he whispered.
“Nope,” said Charles.
“Damn,” said Nathan. “You are a bastard.”
Kixx swiveled, his chair squeaking underneath his great bulk. There was another full length painting of himself in the office. Like the one Raziel had destroyed, this one looked like it had been rendered back when Kixx believed rather more in Gold's Gym than hog fat. He sighed. “You couldn't have tracked him. I made sure of that.”
“No. That's why you used those angels. Even if they're pretty useless otherwise.” Charles considered for a moment, then exchanged a glance with Ganesh. “You guys know how we found him, don't you?”
“They want the game. And the girl,” said Kixx.
“Tell 'em to try Amazon.com. For the game I mean,” laughed Charles.
“What?”
Charles reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a shrink wrapped box, which he tossed onto Kixx's desk. “Just in time for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or Festivus,” he grinned.
Kixx picked up the box, sliding chubby fingers over the shrink wrap. “Is this real? You can't be serious!”
“Do I look like I'm joking,” said Charles. It was not a question.
“But- You can't-”
“I just did.” And with that, Charles turned and stormed out, Nathan and Ganesh at his heel.
“Good job, boys,” said Charles as the elevator doors closed.
“Whoa!” said Nathan. “That was pretty cool! That's an awesome game, only Raziel always insists on playing me so I gotta play Skwisgaar. Or one of the LAME characters.”
“Nathan, you don't gotta play with Raziel,” explained Charles.
“But she's really good on the ski slopes! I need her in my raiding party!”
Charles sighed.
“By the way, she's not really your little sister, right?” asked Nathan.
“Uh, technically, no.... But it's close enough!”
“Nevertheless,” smiled Ganesh, “you might not wish the Lady to find out that is how you referred to her.”
“She would laugh!” said Charles. “Uh. And then clobber me. But she would laugh first!”
As Bert had requested, the ceremony had included much booze.
Not to mention strippers. And ice cream.
In contrast to the evening long ago when Charles had received his brand, the actual procedure was relatively low impact, as Ganesh had insisted they wait until the alcohol had begun to take effect as an anesthetic. Although the elephant god had incurred some minor bitching by insisting on covering the “cool and awesome” burn marks with both an antibacterial ointment and a sterile bandage.
The girls had been a good idea, as parties who might otherwise have put up a bit of a fuss instead attempted to act stoic: even Murderface, who Ganesh couldn't talk out of getting the brand in the middle of his ample belly, had submitted with barely a grumble. Skwisgaar had utterly surprised Charles by marching up and insisting on getting his brand right in the middle of a bicep. He was instantly surrounded by impressed MILFs, GMILFs, and other feminine admirers of all ages. Nathan then did one better and asked for the brand right on his chest, which caused two of the groupies to literally faint dead away, then and there, from the sheer awesomeness.
Ganesh was quickly in attendance with smelling salts, as Skwisgaar pulled Charles aside. “You gots to get rids of DAT GUYS, Charles!” he pleaded, gesturing somewhat drunkenly at a blearly Bert.
“He's going, Skwisgaar. Don't worry, Phanuel is coming for him. I'm sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Angels can be assholes. And those guys....” He trailed off.
“You don't likes him neither?”
“It's not that!” Charles insisted. He regarded Skwisgaar. “Well. OK. Maybe some. We didn't use to mix, and I really don't know shit about him. Oh. Sorry,” he added, seeing Skwisgaar cringe at the mention of excrement.
“I ams still gettsing shit outta my Gibsons,” Skwisgaar snarled.
“Look, here's what we'll do: we'll send it down to Phanuel, along with our friend, and maybe have his guys at the guitar shop take it apart and give it a cleaning. How about that?”
Skwisgaar was looking shrewdly at him. “You mades it, ja?”
“Uh, yeah,” Charles admitted. “Uh. How long have you known?”
“Some time. Maybe you ams makes anudder? You makes one for your kid!”
“Well, I didn't know it was for Boon. But, yeah. Yeah. I could do that. It'll take a few days. Is that what you want?”
Skwisgaar nodded. “Ja.”
Across the room, Ganesh had thrown a friendly arm or two around the shoulders of a now solo and moping Nathan Explosion.
“Don't worry, Nathan, my friend! You are a capital fellow! You will certainly find a suitable match!”
“Eh, I dunno, Ganesh dude,” grumbled Nathan into his beer. “I never catch a fucking break.”
“Don't be so blue! Why, were I a woman, I would most certainly snap you up for myself!”
“What really?” asked Nathan.
“Yes of course! Though, sorrowfully, I am already married!” attested the elephant god, gesturing vaguely at a very confused Charles.
“Damn! Why are all the good ones TAKEN?' snarled Nathan as Ganesh sympathetically patted his back.
“Gannish dood,” said Pickles.
“Ganeshdude what?” inquired Ganesh, Nathan grabbing the back of the god's shirt as Ganesh had overbalanced just a tad.
Murderface held up a hot branding iron.
“What? ME?” asked Ganesh.
“Why nawt yoo?” asked Pickles.
“Because! Er. Sariel?” said Ganesh, now looking over to a madly grinning Charles.
“Ouch,” said Ganesh, sitting down on the bed but then immediately bouncing back up. He tried various sitting postures, glaring and grimacing, and finally sighed and lay down on his stomach.
“Whatsamatter?” said Charles, just coming into the bedroom, rubbing a towel on his freshly washed face.
“What's the matter? What is the matter? Your boys got me drunk and then made me get a tattoo!”
“A brand, but close enough.”
“My posterior is aching!”
“Well, that's where you wanted it. So it wouldn't show through your couture. You told Pickles.”
“I was inebriated.”
“I could kiss it and make it better!”
“That is NOT hygeinic,” pouted Ganesh. “And, by the way, what are those?” Ganesh gestured over to a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on the dresser.
“Oh. I sort of. Got those.” Charles felt the breath knocked out of him as he was suddenly thrown down on the bed.
“You? Bought flowers?” inquired Ganesh.
“Uh. Well. Yeah?”
“For me?”
“That was kind of the point.”said Charles. “Uh. They're supposed to be. You know. Some flowers. Like, grow in the mountains. Near you?”
“Flowers of the Himalayas?” asked Ganesh, as the groping suddenly increased in a not unpleasant manner.
“Yeah. Uh. Oh. Keep doing that, huh?”
“But that is so thoughtful!”
“I'm thoughtful,” attested Charles. “Know what I'm thinking now?”
“Be careful,” muttered Ganesh into Charles' neck.
“Careful?”
“Of my arse, you berk!” wailed Ganesh, rubbing his sore posterior.
Charles laughed and moved his foot down a bit.
He could smell the burning, even from where he perched.
A funeral pyre.
The staff were there. Social acquaintances. A few dignitaries. The media of course.
Friends and family? No. He didn't have anybody you could have called a friend.
And angels didn't have families.
In the dim light, his sight was relatively acute. He prayed that it not be. Even at this distance, he couldn't mistake the slumping postures of the five pallbearers.
They would be fine, he reminded himself. Everything would be fine. Everything was attended to, enough money hidden away in trusts. There was a limit to how much damage they could do themselves. Yes, even calamity-prone Dethklok.
And he would be back. He would be back in no time. No time at all.
But right now, he needed to get away. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk them. It was too fucking dangerous, if he had seen what he thought he had seen. If he had seen who he thought he had seen.
“You're taking off?” He imagined her, sitting in back of him, dark wings softly rustling.
“Yes. I have to.”
“Well. That's dumb.”
He frowned, nearly turning around to glare at the entity that wasn't there. “Yes, thank you for your strategic advice. It's always so helpful.”
He felt her sit, wrapping her wings around her, thoughtful. “You really think it was him?”
“It's gotta be. I can't think of anyone else....”
“Could be. He's been down here a long time, and nobody knows what the fuck. Did he see you?”
“I don't know. I think so. I'm afraid so.”
“Soooo. You're deserting your boys. To protect them?”
“Raziel, don't second guess me!”
“You're second guessing yourself, Little Brother.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah. You're right.” He stared down for a while, and then asked, “Why are you still small, but in your winged Form?”
“You tell me. This is going on in your head!”
“Where the fuck did you go? I need you.”
“You know I'm there. When you really need me.”
“So I don't really need you?”
“You tell me.”
“Fuck you, Raziel.”
He had turned around now. Nothing back there, of course. No one. He swallowed.
He stood.
He risked one more long glance at the scene below. A tall, dark man holding a flaming torch, head bowing in sorrow. In despair.
“I will be back!” he whispered, more to himself than anything.
If angels had possessed of a conscience, his would have ached, just then.
And then, feathered wings spread. Catching the air. Taking flight.
Leaving.
Gone.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dethklok rehearses, Charles reveals a disturbing event from the past.
Warnings: There's a non-con type scene this time. It's not sexual, but it might be disturbing. Or maybe not as disturbing as my bad writing. Anyways, you decide. And, um, if you don't like bathroom humor, may wanna skip this one. Or, might not wanna read this one while you're eating dinner, ok? YOU AMS BEEN WARNED.
Notes: After jump.
Mythklok: it takes a licking and keeps on ticking.
Last time: Ganesh was briefly detained by people who had no clue how to brew a proper cup of tea. Engelbert the Power got to drink with Dethklok.
Charles awoke in a delightful tangle of Ganesh.
Ordinarily he was a being who, as a matter of pride, regarded the horrible human custom of “cuddling” with an altogether appropriate level of disdain. However, being a lawyer, and a damned good one, he granted himself an exception for similar bodily contact when it occurred in the immediate aftermath of an erotic event and/or events. Such as the events which had occurred this night. Some hours ago actually. In fact, many hours ago – wasn't that dawn's early light he glimpsed through the blinds?
He wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position atop Ganesh's chest and began to drift off, when he was once again startled awake by the knocking: someone gently tapping on their chamber door.
“Boon!” he said, suddenly sitting up. “We forgot to unlock the door!” he whispered to a now awakening Ganesh.
He skillfully hopped off the bed while simultaneously pulling on a pair of Ganesh's pajama pants. “Are ya decent?” he called over his shoulder. Ganesh was donning a dressing gown, as Sariel had once again stolen his pajamas.
“Coming, baby!” he said as he hastily unlocked the bedroom door, jerking it open.
He was greeted by the biggest bowl he had ever seen, slopping over with what must have been ten gallons of milk, and many bushels of Metal Flakes cereal (the kind Skwisgaar skwears by!).
“Befest fo daddy,” said the bowl, or rather, a voice that seemed to come from somewhere underneath the bowl, as it now wandered toward the bed, dribbling milk and Metal Flakes in a sloppy trail behind it.
“Well, look at you!” grinned Ganesh, sitting on the edge of the bed and speaking to his son, who was somewhere there underneath the great vat of perishable goods from the local food library. As he grabbed Boon around the waist, he mouthed over the boy's shoulder to Charles, “Go see if he tried coffee?”
Charles nodded, and picked his way along the trail of soggy dairy products out to their kitchen. It was amazing, as it appeared clearly more milk had been spilled in the transportation process than the capacity of the bowl, capacious as it might have been.
He reached the small kitchen inside their suite. Yes, indeed. He marveled at the scope of the destruction, hastily grabbing his cell phone to document all in images, to be sent to Raziel. It was a frequent area of disagreement, whose progeny could generate a greater depth and breadth of entropy to the dying universe. Raziel argued that twins, by their very nature, caused an order of magnitude more devastation than just one, but, as he often reminded her, his could not only fly, but was possessed multiple pairs of arms.
Charles was still clicking through the images when he arrived back at the bedroom. He looked up, meaning to speak, but saw instead Ganesh sitting cross-legged on the bed, completely enfolding their small son and his very large bowl, and assuring Elias that, yes, he was a very big boy.
Elias was getting bigger, it was true. Though he was nowhere near as large as Raziel's son, Liam, he was large enough you had to pay attention now when you picked him up, lest you strain your back. But sitting between Ganesh's knees, he still looked quite small indeed. And quite vulnerable.
“Befast Daddy!” Elias urged, pointing to the bowl.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Charles. “I forgot to grab a spoon.”
“Uh-huh!” giggled Elias. He suddenly waved out an arm.
Both Charles and Ganesh instinctively cringed. To an angel, or anybody who had ever fought an angel, the gesture was absolutely unmistakeable: drawing a sword.
Charles blinked at the glinting metal object that had appeared in his son's hand.
“Id da spoon, fo Daddy!” said Elias, proudly waving the same.
Charles sank down on the bed.
“Did you teach him … that?” asked Ganesh.
“No,” marveled Charles, taking the spoon from Elias and giving it a good look over. “Because I don't know how to do that. It's a good trick!”
“Why, yes! Very useful,” smiled Ganesh.
“Befast!” ordered Elias.
Charles took a spoonful of Metal Flakes. “Yes, it's delicious. You are a good cook.”
“And, er, the kitchen?” inquired Ganesh.
Charles shook his head. “I'll call a Klokateer,” he said, ruffling his boy's hair. “Maybe in an hour. Or so. After we finish breakfast.”
“Chaaaaaaaarles!”
Charles steepled his hands.
“You've got to do schomething about thisch.”
Charles looked down at the CD on his desk, struggling not to smile. He looked up again at the two miserable death metal musicians. “Well, I'm not sure exactly what it is you want me to do. Wanna tell me?”
“You know this is YOUR FAULT!” warned Nathan, now standing over him, doing his very best to be intimidating.
“You wanna siddown?” asked Charles.
“No we do not want to siddown!” thundered Nathan, a protestation which was slightly undercut by Murderface seating himself.
“Now, how exactly is it my fault?” asked Charles.
“You told us to STAY HERE!” whined Nathan.
“Yes,” said Charles, leaning back. “Remember, Ganesh had been abducted, so we were in a security lockdown. Knowing what I know now, I would have done the same exact thing.”
“But Dick schouldn't be doing thisch!” rumbled Murderface.
“And let me remind you, it was you guys – YOU GUYS – who decided it would be an awesome idea to take Lavona to Carpathians Castle!”
“It was an AWESOME IDEA!” retorted Nathan.
“Well....” said Charles.
“But he made her into a fucking Knubblerette!” wailed Nathan.
Just the edge of Charles' mouth twitched up as he glanced again at the CD, “Lady Sings the News, with Vonny Lee.” “She's NOT a Knubblerette. See? It says right here! She's a torch singer!” Though, even Charles had to admit, with the heavy eye makeup and lacquered hair, Lavona looked not unlike two or three of Knubbler's lead singers over the years, not to mention, some of his ex-wives. Which, come to think of it, was a heavily overlapping set of persons. He vowed not to bring this up with Murderface.
“I don't like it,” grumled Murderface. “Can't we re-kidnap her or schomething?”
“Look. Guys. William. You know Dick has been taking a while to heal. You guys don't have anything new. Don't you think this is therapeutic?” Murderface's beetle brow beetled some more. “And, Nathan? You told me personally you wanted her to forget the Baconology crap, right? Don't you think this has given her something else?”
The two men glared and pouted some more. Charles told them, “I think our security situation is resolved for the time being. I don't think the guys who got Ganesh actually pose much of a threat-”
“That is correct,” came a sigh. “It's not as if it presents any difficulty abducting a LOVE GOD.”
“Ganesh,” said Charles.
“Maybe they could next send a group of school children for me,” mourned the elephant god, popping his head up above the couch. “Or perhaps a bus load of old ladies could irritably poke me with their canes.”
“Ganesh-” said Charles.
“Aw, c'mon, Ganesh dude,” urged Nathan.
“You're pretty tough,” agreed Murderface. “I mean, in relative termsch.”
“Yes, I am well known to be as tough as a bit of tissue paper,” said Ganesh. “Soggy tissue paper.”
“Ganesh, have you shaved today?” asked Charles.
“You could fight tissue paper, Ganesh dude!” said Nathan.
“Yeah, eschpecially if it'sch not that kind with the loschtion,” said Murderface.
“Oh, yeah, that would be tough,” said Nathan.
“What's the point to it all?” asked Ganesh, flopping back down on the couch.
“Well, that'sch true asch well,” sighed Murderface.
Nathan just sighed miserably.
Charles found himself on his feet. “Guys. For fuck's sake! There will be no moping in Mordhaus!” He surveyed the sorry lot of beings in front of him. “Ganesh! You go an fucking shave that fucking stubble.”
“It's true, dude,” said Nathan, “No one looks really good with a beard, other than those guys in ZZ Top, who look pretty awesome.”
“Nathan!” barked Charles.
“What why are you shouting at me?”
“Murderface!”
“Schout at him, not at me bro!”
“You both have a tour coming up, go FUCKING REHEARSE!” He picked up his phone. “I gotta go.” And with that, he marched out of his office, slamming the door behind him.
“You don't have to yell,” muttered Murderface.
“So, in one brilliant stroke, I lost our nanny and Ganesh's house,” sighed Charles.
“Jyoti has been a lot to deal with?” asked Raziel, walking beside him on the wooded trail at Valhalla. The wolves padded by, and she reached out to pat the one who came closest. Then she placed a small hand in the crook of Charles' elbow.
“I mean, not more than we reckoned. Kam knew he had issues when he adopted him. I knew he had issues when I told Kam to do it. I guess I thought, we'll leave them alone at Ganesh's place a couple weeks, and then everything will be back to normal....”
There was a high-pitched screaming overhead, and then three soft thumps as a trio of winged children scudded into a nearby pile of fallen leaves. Elias and Abby sat, giggling, on top for a while, and then Liam, the heaviest, popped his head out of the pile, which just set off more giggling.
“I think you need to give it a couple decades to come back to normal,” Raziel laughed.
“I mean, we've been OK with Boon, he always has someone there-”
“The advantage of having an office in your castle.”
“...but Ganesh is getting … bitchy, being confined to Mordhaus so much. And, I can't say I blame him.”
“You're a bit isolated.”
“I hadn't realized. It's great being up like that, for security purposes. But it's a fucking nuisance. And he's also been moody since the kidnapping. He seems to think they decided he was some kind of pushover, so that's why they targeted him.”
“Aw, love gods can be moody. You should give him flowers or something.”
“FLOWERS! I'm not gonna give him fucking flowers.”
“Why not?”
“Raziel! He's a guy!”
“Yes, so he will realize and appreciate how difficult it was for you to make the gesture!”
“Raziel....”
“Oh, look at that! That’s a great leaf! Yeah, these are all great leaves!” said Raziel, taking up some fall foliage gifted to her by the children.
“They all seem so fucking happy here,” said Charles as the kids ran off again.
“Who wouldn't be happy at Valhalla?” said Raziel, twirling a brown leaf. “Your place … it was made to amuse your boys. And it does. And you wouldn't notice otherwise. Because you used to basically live for them. But now you've got even more stuff on your plate.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Look. As for Kam and Joyti: we could have 'em here,” said Raziel.
“Really?”
“I like Kam. He started out here. And I miss having your mom sometimes.” She felt Charles tense slightly under her hand, and so said nothing for a while longer. “Anyway. Wouldn't solve your tutor problem. But Ganesh would have his place back. Well, more or less,” she laughed, as Elias wheeled past once more.
Charles nodded. “We'd need to talk to Kam.”
“I can chat with him,” offered Raziel. “But, that's not why I asked you up here.”
“Didn't think so.”
“I have a request.”
“What?”
“Wotan needs to know about the nine months.”
“The agreement was,” Charles answered testily, “to share information going forward. As I've explained before-”
“That's a lawyer's answer.”
“I am a fucking lawyer.”
“I know. I sent you to law school.”
“Raziel. In case you hadn't noticed, your husband is more than a little interested in taking over the world.”
“Yep.”
They had stopped at a clearing. Raziel pulled a ball out of her pocket, and pitched it to Liam. He tossed to Elias, and thus began a spirited game of keepaway from the wolves.
Raziel sat down on a stone bench beside Charles. “Wotan is just a bit more subtle about that sort of stuff than you,” she told him.
Charles didn't answer.
“Look, I can't tell you what to do,” said Raziel. “I never could. But think of it this way. My husband is one powerful fucking guy. And a shrewd motherfucker. Maybe it would be in your interest.”
“It's definitely in Wotan's interest.”
“Our world is Wotan's interest, Sariel. Don't forget that.”
Charles sighed. And watched winged kids chase magical wolves for a while.
Contracts, contracts, everywhere.
Charles sighed at the paperwork spilling off his large desk. He hadn't felt this overwhelmed since they were building Mordhaus. An experience he really didn't wish to revisit. For so many reasons.
And the most annoying thing about it was, this stuff wasn't merchandising agreements or endorsement deals, the kind of this he loved and lived for, his adored bread and butter. This was Beatles breakup nightmare fare: easing out Magnus, and easing in Toki. Neither of which, really, was turning out at all easy.
Charles had taken the bullet for the ouster. He was hoping to hell it wouldn't produce real bullets among Magnus' adoring fans. But everyone could believe this was the machinations of an evil, black-hearted corporate-suited manager, much more than they could believe the simple truth: that Magnus had fucked one too many of Skwisgaar's groupies. Skwisgaar, the man who went through groupies like Nathan Explosion went through chips. Anyway, people liked Skwisgaar.
But people – some people – really liked Magnus.
Charles hoped they would transfer some of that affection to Toki. He appeared to be a nice kid, if a little naïve. OK, supernaturally naïve. Obscure Scandinavian religious cults probably didn't tend to produce worldly sorts, and one could argue, this represented a nice balance to the band. Now, Pickles – you could see his picture in the dictionary under “jaded.”
Oddly enough, Pickles seemed to be the one who had bonded the most genuinely with Toki. As for the rest of them, well, as Charles could tell you, they seemed most interested in taking the piss out of him, both personally and contractually. Charles made it a policy not to appear to interfere with personal relations, but as for negotiations: they had made damn sure (Pickles included) that Toki ended up with a tiny closet of a room at Mordhaus, and that he got the least vote in band matters, as well as the smallest share of the royalties, last pick on endorsement deals, and there was probably a clause somewhere that said he got the lowest shelf in the fridge.
Charles was hoping the kid could weather it because, frankly, and this was the weird part: the band seemed right now. Magnus, despite his considerable appeal and obvious musical talents, had always felt like a placeholder. Maybe it was the supernatural element. They hadn't discussed it, not since that day in Toki's hometown. But, Skwisgaar was Wotan's kid, whether or not either of them acknowledged it. Toki was some kind of winged being, even though, oddly enough, Charles had seen no evidence of this since that first day in Toki's village. And Charles had his suspicions that William was more than he appeared.
He wasn't completely sure, but his band, he felt, when they said it was magic – well, they meant it.
Charles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was particularly tired today because he'd had to spend considerable time presiding over the initiation ceremony for the new hires. It had turned out pretty cool, and the boys seemed to like it, which was great.
Some in the media had claimed it was a publicity stunt. No, actually, it had started in the best way possible: the fans had already started to get gear tattoos. He decided to make it official, as well as a condition of employment. It was like the pain waivers: their fans were the most extreme to be found.
He wasn't exactly sure why he had hit on the idea to employ a brand instead of a tattoo, but he had to pat himself on the back: it was brilliant. Very showy and quick. It was pure theater. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that angels could be branded too. Tattoos, like hair dye, just washed out when you True Formed. Scars – well, as he could attest, scars stayed with you.
Anyway, a silly thing, really. Something to give the office workers a bit of a thrill. Shuffling paper for Dethklok wasn't exactly what you could call a metal lifestyle. He should know!
He shrugged. He had replaced his glasses, but the words on the pages were swimming. Time to call it a night, whether or not the work was done. He turned off the lights in his office. It was very late, even for him. He hated to admit it, but when he ended his day, and made his way to his own small room, it always felt like he had extinguished part of himself. A little death, unhooking oneself from the Dethklok hive, he guessed, wondering why he was being so fucking philosophical all of a sudden. He had probably been throwing himself a bit too much into his work, since kicking out his ex for good. But, what the fuck else was there, really?
Fucking Raziel. It was partly that bitch's fault. True, she had got his ass through law school. She had even bought him his very first business suit. And then she'd fucked off, to wherever it was she always fucked off to. Raziel could go where he couldn't follow. And now, of all times, he needed somebody to talk to. Another being.
He had avoided other supernaturals during his confinement on earth, but especially this century, following the massive disaster that had been his relationship with Eototo. But now he found himself enmeshed with a group that was at least partly nonhuman, and he had no idea where to turn.
Anyway, he didn't need help, he thought as he finally dragged into his room. Of course not! Raziel could go fuck herself. Not that she ever needed any help there. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and carelessly tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. His bed looked really tempting. Maybe he would lie down, just for a moment, before he washed his face and brushed his teeth?
And then he was in another place.
He woke, his face deep in the pillow, not certain if he was waking or dreaming. He heard some muttering, some shuffling. What the fuck would Klokateers be doing in his room this early?
He raised his head to see what was going on, but there was a weight on top of him, smothering him. He tried to wrest them away, but was surprised by the strength. Angels? Couldn't be. His mind drifted to one particular angel. He shook off the memory.
They had pulled a hood over his head. And then were dragging him off somewhere. It was multiple beings, maybe half a dozen. Keep your head, count steps, he told himself, tamping down the sense of panic that had begun to arc through his nervous system.
They were taking him towards the big assembly room. Yes, he could feel the drafts – it felt right. So they probably weren't trying to abduct him. Magnus fans? Did Magnus have angelic fans?
And then he was forced to his knees, still being held down firmly by at least two sets of hands. The hood was tugged off.
Yes, it was the assembly area. He'd just been here this afternoon. He smelled something burning, and turned his head – the branding irons were still there, still hot.
Finally, one of them stepped in front of him, into his line of sight. Oh, gods no.
“You're one of us now,” Nathan Explosion told him, his impressive voice had taken on an echo in the great chamber.
“Nathan,” said Charles, as calmly as he possibly could, “Can you tell me what's going on?”
Nathan didn't reply, but cocked his head. Murderface, who had been standing in back, in the shadows, walked off to get something. As his eyes adjusted, Charles saw Pickles was there too. OK, that meant it was Toki and Skwisgaar who probably had ahold of him.
“Guys. Nathan. Pickles. Skwisgaar. Toki. Can we talk about this?”
The grip on his arms only tightened. Well, that probably meant he'd figured right about Toki and Skwisgaar. OK. “Nathan....”
But Nathan was turning towards Murderface. The bassist had just returned. Hefting a hot branding iron. The end of the iron glowed red. As did Murderface's eyes.
Whoa! Charles jerked back for a better look up at Nathan. Yes, eerie glow to his eyes as well. What the fuck? Magic. But he didn't know what kind. Not angelic. No idea. No idea....
“Guys. OK. This is important to you. All right. I acknowledge that. Could we talk about it? You don't need to hold me down. I'll do this. I'll do this for you.”
“I know you'll do it,” Nathan said simply. Murderface grabbed Charles by the hair and yanked his head down.
“Not- Nathan. Don't-” He saw the hot iron, now in Nathan's hand.
“Toki!” he suddenly shouted, using the High Angelic tongue. “LET ME GO!”
Whether from the order itself, or the sound of the language, Charles would never know, but he felt one set of hands abruptly loosen, and then wrested off Skwisgaar. He was on his feet, standing in front of Nathan. Don't run, he told himself, though that was all he wanted to do. Stand your ground. Some kind of magic. But here was the question: was Nathan controlling it, or was it controlling Nathan?
“OK,” he told Nathan. “You want me to join in the ritual. OK. That's fine. That's all right. Nathan, if you're in there, listen: I can't have a fucking brand on my fucking neck! I meet with straight business guys all the time. To do business. YOUR business. Do you understand? I can't have a fucking mark where it's gonna show.”
Court Formed, stocking feet, against the bulk that was Nathan. Charles was used to addressing much larger beings. He had fought alongside Seraphim for generations. That didn't intimidate. What threw him was that Nathan, of all of them, had always struck him as human. He wasn't used to encountering this much magic wielded by a mortal being. It was just fucking weird.
Nathan had cocked his head again. OK, he was listening. “Where?”
“How about.... Put it on my lower back. That oughta be.... Whoa!” He had already been grabbed again. He risked looking over at Skwisgaar and Toki. Yeah, same weird eye thing. This time, he let them force him to his knees. And then Pickles was back there, pulling up his shirt. He steeled himself for the brief pain. Lord knows he had been through much worse....
And then there was the horrible screaming. His own. His body was being torn in two, an icepick jammed in his head. Something horrible had seized him, breaking every bone.
He felt a stabbing through his chest.
He felt like he'd been beaten to a pulp, and left bleeding.
And then at last it subsided, and he felt the cold floor pressing on him. He whimpered, not able to stop the tears falling.
One arm worked. With a terrific effort, he pushed himself over onto his back, and stared for a while at the ceiling, utterly exhausted. They were standing over him, the five, regarding him silently, like he was some kind of doll, broken and cast aside. And then they turned.
He heard footsteps, and the soft thudding of the door. They had left him there alone.
“Gods. What have I done?” he whispered.
Charles looked with a start at his own hand. Raziel was there, sitting beside him on the couch, quietly holding it in hers. Not bothering to reach for a handkerchief, he drew the back of his hand over his eyes. He felt as spent and weak and empty as he had, all those years ago.
“I wanted you to be there. To talk to,” he whispered to her.
“I'm here now,” said Raziel. Her dark eyes flicked to the side. To her husband.
“Son,” came Wotan's voice. “You haven't told anyone about this before? Not a soul?”
Charles shook his head. Raziel gently let go of his hand, and Charles reached forward to grab his whiskey glass. “No. I mean, obviously, the band knows. But, I'm not sure how much they know! Or remember.”
“You still have the burn, I assume?”
'My gear?” asked Charles, his hand instinctively reaching for his back. “Of course!”
“Well,” said the Norse god, sinking back into the deep chair cushions, “what I think is needed, before we go on, I think you need to get yourself home. And tell Ganesh.”
“Oh. Fuck no! Not Ganesh! Believe me, he is not in the mood to hear this right now.”
“Well, he better get his elephant ass in the mood,” said Wotan.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “He's your husband. He needs to know this story.”
“No! No, you're both fucking wrong! This is business! My business. I'm not even sure why I told you!”
“Well, if it's business, then it's good business,” said Wotan. “That boy knows magic, better than all of us put together.”
“Wotan-”
“Sariel, listen to me,” said Wotan. “You've unhatched something, that's clear. It's also pretty clear you have no fucking idea what you've unhatched, or how to put the damn thing back. Now, we of the earth, we've lived a long damned time under the thumb of the Legion. Too long – a lot of us are plainly cowards. That's been ended, partly because of you. But there is a feeling – and I'm not the only one who thinks so – among the pantheons that we're all in for something worse. Potentially, something much worse. So, when I ask you to quit being such a stubborn bastard about these sorts of things, I am not just asking for me.”
Charles stared grimly at the floor.
“Sariel,” said Wotan, more softly now. “You have a son now.”
“Don't use Boon like that!” Charles exploded.
“You pull the world down now, he goes with you. You want that?”
Charles looked up, eyes silver in rage.
“Ams he has to be heres?” asked Skwisgaar.
“What that weird gay angel dude?” replied Nathan. They looked down from Dethklok's rehearsal stage to the seating area where, today, in addition to various GMILFs, supermodels and strippers, there was seated a slim, green and gold-haired fellow clutching a similarly outlandishly colored teddy bear. He was chattering with Toki about some fucking thing – probably plush toys or something gay like that.
“Ja dat weird angel dudes,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Aw he's OK, he's just kind of a weird angel dude,” lectured Nathan. “TOOOKIIIII! Come on up here we gotta start REHEARSALS are you delaying us again?”
“I ams bes right up!” chirped Toki. Oddly enough, the sometimes moody Norwegian had been in a cheerful mood since he had dragged a drunken Bert the Power to visit Mordhaus. Nathan wasn't exactly sure what the deal was, but anything that prevented fussy guitarists was all right with him.
“Aw, what ams dat guys doing?” protested Skwisgaar, pointing to Toki, who had been accompanied onstage by Bert.
Nathan sighed. Well, at least one non-fussy guitarist.
“What you ams does up here?” Skwisgaar demanded of Bert, who blinked green-lashed golden eyes at him.
“I'm onstage!” said Bert.
“What, ams you his Yoko now?”
“What's a Yoko?” inquired Bert, who was now nose to nose with Skwisgaar.
“You ams stays back!” warned Skwisgaar, stepping back and lifting up his guitar in a threatening manner. “Dey ams da concepts of personal spaces!”
“Do Yokos have a personal spaces?” asked Bert agreeably.
“Nat'ans!”
“Hey, look, Bert dude,” said Nathan.
“Yes Nathandude?” asked Bert.
“Soooooo,” said Nathan, draping a big arm around the angel's slim shoulders, and walking him a small distance away from Skwisgaar. “You know Skwisgaar?”
“Yes, I know him, he's right over THERE!” said an excited Bert, aiming an arm back at a frowning Skwisgaar.
“Yeah, right,” muttered Nathan. “So, uh, dude's an artist, and all that shit.”
“He is an artist and shit!”
“Yeah! You got that. You're a smart dude.”
“I'm Bert!” Engelbert reminded him.
“Yeah,” agreed Nathan, who had now walked Bert all the way to the edge of the stage. “So, anyway, now Skwisgaar's gotta do his shit, so, you can go sit down there and do your shit, whatever it is green angel dudes do, and he'll be up here doing his shit. Is that clear?”
“There is much shit!” said Bert.
“Yeah. Lotta shit. So, you'll go and do your shit?”
Bert nodded, green hair ruffling. “Yes! Maybe I will help Skwisgaar with his shit!” he said.
“Uhhhhh, no need to do THAT....” said Nathan. But, Bert had disappeared. Nathan looked around, momentarily confused. Well, angels, he decided. They did weird shit sometimes. He nodded to Skwisgaar, who was also glancing about suspiciously, and then took their places.
“OK, wanna go with that new one?” asked Nathan.
“Ja, we does da new ones!” Skwisgaar agreed. There was a solo that Skwisgaar was, uncharacteristically, actually worried about.
“Yeah, cool, OK, Skwis, now is your time to shine,” urged Nathan. Pickles counted down, and then they were, thankfully, finally, into the music. Chorus-verse-chorus (Nathan thought that was cool) and then they all took a breath and waited for Skwisgaar to rip the fucking cover off. For once, thank fucking God, Toki didn't come in late, and it was sounding brutal as Hell. Seriously, this one coulda shut that fucking gay musical notes gate in Hell for good and then melted it.
Later, Nathan wasn't exactly sure what tore his eyes off Skwisgaar and up to the ceiling. Some say, as demons sometimes carry the dark along with them, that angels have their own light. Charles thought it was bullshit, but he thought a lot of things were bullshit. So maybe it was a celestial light. But there was something up there. Yeah! It was Bert the weird ass angel, wings all beating and everything, hovering over the stage like a big green Dethcopter.
Nathan had to admit, the guy looked pretty badass all winged out like that. And he was holding something. It wasn't that stupid doll, it was shiny. It looked like a bucket.
A bucket.
What the-?
“Dude!” It was Murderface. He had stopped playing – not that you could tell – and was over, hand on Nathan's shoulder.
Pickles had stopped too, but Skwisgaar, in some kinda guitar trance, was still wailing. So he didn't see that Bert was flying directly overhead, nor that Bert was now tilting the bucket....
“STAND BACK!” howled Nathan, as both he and Murderface covered their eyes.
Skwisgaar finally looked up, just in time to be covered in a gooey brown slick from above.
He froze.
He stood, absolutely silent, and then blinked, his eyes two still blue pools in the brown.
It looked like mud. Or tar.
It wasn't.
“EWWWWW!” came Pickles' reaction from the drum kit.
“Dude,” said Murderface again.
“Dude,” said Nathan.
“It'sch like a schit Carrie!”
“I have helped him with his shit!” yelled a triumphant Bert, from up above, proudly waving the poo-encrusted bucket.
Charles looked somewhat miserably around the meeting room. Toki wasn't True Formed today, but unfortunately, Bert, who had been following him everywhere, was, and the Power was pretty damned distracting. And Murderface had once again chosen this occasion to manifest his yellow-eyed demon form, probably to piss off someone else. Charles cringed at the thought of “piss off” – he couldn't see very well what was going on in the darkened corner of the room.
“We needs to keep dat guys outta our rehearsals!” Skwisgaar was whining. He was so mad he was literally trembling. He shook out his blond mane which was, for some reason, still wet from the shower. “And.... Ands away from da Mordhaus! And, back in da Hell where he ams belongses!”
Charles was still dim on what exactly had gone on. He had just come down from Valhalla. He had decided, perhaps a bit rashly, that his shit day couldn't possibly get any shittier, so had immediately spilled his story of the branding to Ganesh. Who had sadly had the worst possible reaction, as far as Charles was concerned, which was no reaction at all. Ganesh had seemed to fold into some kind of grim spell of elephant concentration. Charles longed to shake him, to see what the hell was going on in that stubborn head, when he had been called out for some stupid emergency that the guys couldn't even describe. He had tried to pull the story from the guys, but they were either halfway hysterical, like Skwisgaar, or laughing too damned hard.
Boon, Charles thought. He would go to his son's room, pick him up, and the two of them would go away. To the South Pacific. Or something. That's what he would do. They would lie in the sun, and never have to listen to pouty elephant gods or see Skwisgaar's sneer, ever, ever again....
“Charles!” Skwisgaar was nattering. “You gots to murder dat guy!”
“I like Bert,” averred Toki. “He ams my cool angel pal!”
“Den maybe we ams gets da new rhythm geetarist!” snarled Skwisgaar.
“Should we smite him?” Bert asked Toki, golden eyes blinking. “He looks as if he needs to be smitten by the power of the Lord!”
“Bert!” barked Charles. “There will be no smiting in this office!”
“Does he always yell like that?” asked Bert.
“All the fucking time,” grumbled Murderface from somewhere in his darkened corner.
“Look, guys-” said Charles. But suddenly, the door was flung open so hard it literally cracked. “What the-?” said Charles. “Ganesh.” Oh. Fuck. Just what he needed.
Ganesh ignored him, instead storming over to stand before Nathan. “I demand to know what you THOUGHT you were doing branding Sariel!”
“What?” said Nathan, looking up over his reading glasses. “Oh that? Eh.”
“Ganesh!” cautioned Charles. “This is not the time....”
“Don't you take that tone with me!” Ganesh told Nathan.
“What crawled up your ass?” growled Nathan.
“Ganesh, could we-?”
Ganesh was leaning over now, nearly nose to nose with a Nathan. “You will remove that gear mark, or I WILL!”
“What?” Nathan was on his feet. “You can't take his gear.”
“I sure as fuck can,” said Ganesh.
“Wait, you can?” asked Charles, rubbing his back. “Really?”
“You can't take off our brand,” warned Nathan.
“He isn't yours! He's mine! This is HIGHLY INSULTING! I shall not stand for it!”
“What?” said Charles. “OK, wait, I don't actually belong to either of you guys.”
“No one. Touches. The gear,” said Nathan, glowering.
His eyes had begun to glow.
“OK, this is not good,” said Charles, now leaping between Ganesh and Nathan.
“You remove it. Or I will,” Ganesh snarled, and the room began to tremble.
Charles suddenly reached behind him. His lower back had begun to itch. He looked around the room, which suddenly seemed lighter, and noticed that William Murderface had returned to his human form. He also noticed that they eyes of the band burned red like coals.
“He is sealed to us!” Nathan insisted. And now wasn't Nathan. Not quite.
“Look, Nathan,” said Charles, but he felt a hand on his arm. Ganesh, who was continuing to stare down Nathan, was gently holding him back.
“What kind of seal?” asked Ganesh.
“He's one of us,” Nathan repeated.
Ganesh paused. His voice was lower. “One of you?”
“They were trying to take him!”
“Who was trying to take him?”
“He was! THAT GUY!”
Ganesh looked confused, but Charles quietly asked, “Uriah, you mean?”
Nathan nodded.
“You didn't want Uriah to harm him?” asked Ganesh.
Nathan shook his head.
“Then why didn't you simply tell him?” asked Ganesh.
“Dude that would be gay!” Nathan explained.
“What the fuck, Ganesh?” asked Charles.
“Well, I'll be!” said Ganesh, laughing and shaking his head. “You see what they were doing, Sariel? Or attempting to do at least.”
Charles shook his head. “Uh. I'm still not entirely sure.”
“I don't believe the intention was to enslave you,” said Ganesh. “They were attempting to protect you! I mean, doing a rum job of it. Amateurs!” he sniffed.
“Whaddya mean, amateurs?” asked Nathan. He seemed like someone just waking up from a nap. Or a hypnotic trance, Charles thought. And the eyes – burnishing to that magnificent emerald green once again.
“You were trying to achieve a protective spell, though, like most non-practitioners, you cocked it up a bit,” lectured Ganesh, arms everwhere.
“I ain't the one who destroyed my fucking house with rooster blood!” said Nathan, to a withering glance from Ganesh.
“Wait. Gannish. Dood,” said Pickles. “Wut should we o' done?”
“Well, that is an interesting question!” said Ganesh.
“Oh, no. Here we go,” sighed Nathan, sinking back in to his chair.
“Do you fellows have the marks as well?” asked Ganesh.
“Of course we ams don't,” grumbled Skwisgaar. “We ams knows who we ams!”
“Dat might be cool, though” allowed Pickles.
“Brandsch are badassch. They would go with my tatts,” mused Murderface, pulling up his T shirt to pat his ample belly.
“Huh,” said Nathan, nodding. “And we could have like a big brutal ceremony and shit!”
“Oh, well, you wouldn't need much of a ceremony....” Ganesh started to explain.
“Wait. No,” said Charles. “You guys wanna ceremony? We could have one.”
“Yeah, dood, we cud have a ceremony....” proposed Pickles. “Wit' lots o' strippers.”
“And ice creams?” said Toki.
“I like BOOZE!” supplied Bert.
“Booze. And girls. And ice cream,” said Charles, madly typing on his Dethphone. Ganesh looked at him skeptically, but Charles signaled him to STFU.
“My apologies, sire.”
“Oh, hey, Pie,” said Charles to the large Klokateer who had just entered the meeting room.
“You had left word to contact you personally with this,” said Klokateer 31415, handing Charles a note and swiftly departing.
Charles stood. “OK, I gotta go. This is from Rikki Kixx.”
“I'm going with you!” Ganesh and Nathan, who had both spoken up, now glared at each other.
“I don't need EITHER of you along,” said Charles.
“I am going anyway,” vowed Ganesh. “I have words with that gentleman!”
“Yeah, me too! Words with … that guy!” said Nathan.
“Both of you, I don't.....” said Charles, who appeared to think about it for a while. “OK. All right. Maybe I'll take you along. Both of you.”
“What right now?” asked Nathan, who had an infallible sense of when he was being rushed.
“Right fucking now,” said Charles.
“I might stop for a shave,” noted Ganesh, rubbing his stubbly beard.
“No, you are not stopping for a shave, you're not stopping for anything! You're gonna come with me, and you're gonna look pissed off. Come on!”
Charles looked curiously at the posters stuck around Rikki Kixx's grim headquarters. Some had obviously been positioned to hide the damage from the last weeks. One poster had been fixed over the spot where Raziel had cut down the painting to get to the hidden elevator.
The posters publicized a Science of Baconology mass marriage ceremony happening in a couple weeks. The cult was notorious for these kinds of ridiculous things.
Charles turned, shaking his head, but was surprised to see Nathan standing looking wistfully at the poster.
“What?” said Charles.
Nathan just looked more mournful.
“Ten thousand couples. Officiated by Rikki Kixx himself!” said Ganesh, whistling low. “Are they attempting a Guinness record?”
“They're sure as fuck not trying to marry people for love or any of that shit,” said Charles. “I heard you meet your new better half in line that day.”
“Arranged marriages are not uncommon in other cultures!” Ganesh noted. “Why in my own land-”
“These aren't even arranged, Ganesh,” said Charles. “Literally. They get a group of men and a group of women and-” he gestured with two palms coming together.
“Oh, really? So, you are expected to marry a women?” frowned Ganesh.
“Uh, yeah, Ganesh, that's what bothers you?”
“Why would they do that?” asked Nathan.
“Whaddya mean, Nathan?” said Charles.
“Get all these people married off in such a hurry?”
“This is another common theme of organized religions,” lectured Ganesh. “The married couples will be encouraged to PROCREATE-”
“Uh, he just means have kids,” Charles told Nathan, who was looking righteously shocked.
“Not doing that other thing?” whispered Nathan suspiciously.
“Well, I suppose if you're married, you can go ahead,” said Charles.
Nathan stared at him, open-eyed. “You mean being married is license to be FREAKY?”
“Well, why not?”
“AS I WAS SAYING,” continued Ganesh, glaring at both of them, “Encouraging marital relations means another generation of adherents!”
Nathan looked at Charles. “The kids will be Baconologists too. So, more Baconologists,” said Charles.
“Ohhhhh,” said Nathan. “Not that OTHER thing?”
“Naw, not that.”
“Do you two possess one track minds?” asked an exasperated sounding Ganesh.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think we do,” allowed Charles. He gazed at the poster for a time. Something occurred to him. No, he had the feeling that something should be occurring to him. What was it?
He turned as the elevator arrived. It was the main elevator this time. The three men got inside.
“OK,” said Charles as the doors slid shut. “I need you guys to look pissed off.”
“What?” asked Ganesh.
“Stand beside me and look pissy. I know you can do it,” Charles laughed.
“I am supposed to feign- OW!” Ganesh cried out at Charles had put a heel to his instep.
“Heh,” said Nathan, to a withering glare from Ganesh. Nathan glared back.
“Perfect!” said Charles. “Come on!” The elevator doors had snapped open, and Charles went marching into the receptionist's office, Ganesh and Nathan a half step behind. They followed Charles past the receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, half-rising.
“No,” said Charles, slamming open Rikki Kixx's office door.
“What do you think you're doing?” demanded Rikki Kixx, his ample jowls flapping. He started to rise, but then evidently gave it up as a bad job.
“You wanted to see me?” said Charles.
Kixx, with visible effort, calmed himself, and sad, interlacing his hands in his best supervillain manner. “I suppose you appreciated our little demonstration?”
“No. Not really. Ganesh went along with you because he was bored. And you succeeded in making him even more bored.” Charles leaned over, putting his hands flat on Kixx's desk. “And your men ran away from my little sister.”
“My men are the great hand that moves silently in the night!”
“Your morons couldn't pilfer a snickerdoodle from a cookie jar,” Charles told him. “Now, you gonna tell me the point of that little charade, or should I send some boys to show you how its done.”
“Are you threatening me?” demanded a red-faced Rikki.
“I have word. This building – this building – illegal download of MP3s,” said Charles.
Kixx looked around nervously. “That's illegal,” supplied Nathan.
“And the thing about my dungeons,” said Charles. “Gruel.”
Kixx blinked. He leaned forward. “Not even pork rinds?” he whispered.
“Nope,” said Charles.
“Damn,” said Nathan. “You are a bastard.”
Kixx swiveled, his chair squeaking underneath his great bulk. There was another full length painting of himself in the office. Like the one Raziel had destroyed, this one looked like it had been rendered back when Kixx believed rather more in Gold's Gym than hog fat. He sighed. “You couldn't have tracked him. I made sure of that.”
“No. That's why you used those angels. Even if they're pretty useless otherwise.” Charles considered for a moment, then exchanged a glance with Ganesh. “You guys know how we found him, don't you?”
“They want the game. And the girl,” said Kixx.
“Tell 'em to try Amazon.com. For the game I mean,” laughed Charles.
“What?”
Charles reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a shrink wrapped box, which he tossed onto Kixx's desk. “Just in time for Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or Festivus,” he grinned.
Kixx picked up the box, sliding chubby fingers over the shrink wrap. “Is this real? You can't be serious!”
“Do I look like I'm joking,” said Charles. It was not a question.
“But- You can't-”
“I just did.” And with that, Charles turned and stormed out, Nathan and Ganesh at his heel.
“Good job, boys,” said Charles as the elevator doors closed.
“Whoa!” said Nathan. “That was pretty cool! That's an awesome game, only Raziel always insists on playing me so I gotta play Skwisgaar. Or one of the LAME characters.”
“Nathan, you don't gotta play with Raziel,” explained Charles.
“But she's really good on the ski slopes! I need her in my raiding party!”
Charles sighed.
“By the way, she's not really your little sister, right?” asked Nathan.
“Uh, technically, no.... But it's close enough!”
“Nevertheless,” smiled Ganesh, “you might not wish the Lady to find out that is how you referred to her.”
“She would laugh!” said Charles. “Uh. And then clobber me. But she would laugh first!”
As Bert had requested, the ceremony had included much booze.
Not to mention strippers. And ice cream.
In contrast to the evening long ago when Charles had received his brand, the actual procedure was relatively low impact, as Ganesh had insisted they wait until the alcohol had begun to take effect as an anesthetic. Although the elephant god had incurred some minor bitching by insisting on covering the “cool and awesome” burn marks with both an antibacterial ointment and a sterile bandage.
The girls had been a good idea, as parties who might otherwise have put up a bit of a fuss instead attempted to act stoic: even Murderface, who Ganesh couldn't talk out of getting the brand in the middle of his ample belly, had submitted with barely a grumble. Skwisgaar had utterly surprised Charles by marching up and insisting on getting his brand right in the middle of a bicep. He was instantly surrounded by impressed MILFs, GMILFs, and other feminine admirers of all ages. Nathan then did one better and asked for the brand right on his chest, which caused two of the groupies to literally faint dead away, then and there, from the sheer awesomeness.
Ganesh was quickly in attendance with smelling salts, as Skwisgaar pulled Charles aside. “You gots to get rids of DAT GUYS, Charles!” he pleaded, gesturing somewhat drunkenly at a blearly Bert.
“He's going, Skwisgaar. Don't worry, Phanuel is coming for him. I'm sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Angels can be assholes. And those guys....” He trailed off.
“You don't likes him neither?”
“It's not that!” Charles insisted. He regarded Skwisgaar. “Well. OK. Maybe some. We didn't use to mix, and I really don't know shit about him. Oh. Sorry,” he added, seeing Skwisgaar cringe at the mention of excrement.
“I ams still gettsing shit outta my Gibsons,” Skwisgaar snarled.
“Look, here's what we'll do: we'll send it down to Phanuel, along with our friend, and maybe have his guys at the guitar shop take it apart and give it a cleaning. How about that?”
Skwisgaar was looking shrewdly at him. “You mades it, ja?”
“Uh, yeah,” Charles admitted. “Uh. How long have you known?”
“Some time. Maybe you ams makes anudder? You makes one for your kid!”
“Well, I didn't know it was for Boon. But, yeah. Yeah. I could do that. It'll take a few days. Is that what you want?”
Skwisgaar nodded. “Ja.”
Across the room, Ganesh had thrown a friendly arm or two around the shoulders of a now solo and moping Nathan Explosion.
“Don't worry, Nathan, my friend! You are a capital fellow! You will certainly find a suitable match!”
“Eh, I dunno, Ganesh dude,” grumbled Nathan into his beer. “I never catch a fucking break.”
“Don't be so blue! Why, were I a woman, I would most certainly snap you up for myself!”
“What really?” asked Nathan.
“Yes of course! Though, sorrowfully, I am already married!” attested the elephant god, gesturing vaguely at a very confused Charles.
“Damn! Why are all the good ones TAKEN?' snarled Nathan as Ganesh sympathetically patted his back.
“Gannish dood,” said Pickles.
“Ganeshdude what?” inquired Ganesh, Nathan grabbing the back of the god's shirt as Ganesh had overbalanced just a tad.
Murderface held up a hot branding iron.
“What? ME?” asked Ganesh.
“Why nawt yoo?” asked Pickles.
“Because! Er. Sariel?” said Ganesh, now looking over to a madly grinning Charles.
“Ouch,” said Ganesh, sitting down on the bed but then immediately bouncing back up. He tried various sitting postures, glaring and grimacing, and finally sighed and lay down on his stomach.
“Whatsamatter?” said Charles, just coming into the bedroom, rubbing a towel on his freshly washed face.
“What's the matter? What is the matter? Your boys got me drunk and then made me get a tattoo!”
“A brand, but close enough.”
“My posterior is aching!”
“Well, that's where you wanted it. So it wouldn't show through your couture. You told Pickles.”
“I was inebriated.”
“I could kiss it and make it better!”
“That is NOT hygeinic,” pouted Ganesh. “And, by the way, what are those?” Ganesh gestured over to a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on the dresser.
“Oh. I sort of. Got those.” Charles felt the breath knocked out of him as he was suddenly thrown down on the bed.
“You? Bought flowers?” inquired Ganesh.
“Uh. Well. Yeah?”
“For me?”
“That was kind of the point.”said Charles. “Uh. They're supposed to be. You know. Some flowers. Like, grow in the mountains. Near you?”
“Flowers of the Himalayas?” asked Ganesh, as the groping suddenly increased in a not unpleasant manner.
“Yeah. Uh. Oh. Keep doing that, huh?”
“But that is so thoughtful!”
“I'm thoughtful,” attested Charles. “Know what I'm thinking now?”
“Be careful,” muttered Ganesh into Charles' neck.
“Careful?”
“Of my arse, you berk!” wailed Ganesh, rubbing his sore posterior.
Charles laughed and moved his foot down a bit.
He could smell the burning, even from where he perched.
A funeral pyre.
The staff were there. Social acquaintances. A few dignitaries. The media of course.
Friends and family? No. He didn't have anybody you could have called a friend.
And angels didn't have families.
In the dim light, his sight was relatively acute. He prayed that it not be. Even at this distance, he couldn't mistake the slumping postures of the five pallbearers.
They would be fine, he reminded himself. Everything would be fine. Everything was attended to, enough money hidden away in trusts. There was a limit to how much damage they could do themselves. Yes, even calamity-prone Dethklok.
And he would be back. He would be back in no time. No time at all.
But right now, he needed to get away. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk them. It was too fucking dangerous, if he had seen what he thought he had seen. If he had seen who he thought he had seen.
“You're taking off?” He imagined her, sitting in back of him, dark wings softly rustling.
“Yes. I have to.”
“Well. That's dumb.”
He frowned, nearly turning around to glare at the entity that wasn't there. “Yes, thank you for your strategic advice. It's always so helpful.”
He felt her sit, wrapping her wings around her, thoughtful. “You really think it was him?”
“It's gotta be. I can't think of anyone else....”
“Could be. He's been down here a long time, and nobody knows what the fuck. Did he see you?”
“I don't know. I think so. I'm afraid so.”
“Soooo. You're deserting your boys. To protect them?”
“Raziel, don't second guess me!”
“You're second guessing yourself, Little Brother.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah. You're right.” He stared down for a while, and then asked, “Why are you still small, but in your winged Form?”
“You tell me. This is going on in your head!”
“Where the fuck did you go? I need you.”
“You know I'm there. When you really need me.”
“So I don't really need you?”
“You tell me.”
“Fuck you, Raziel.”
He had turned around now. Nothing back there, of course. No one. He swallowed.
He stood.
He risked one more long glance at the scene below. A tall, dark man holding a flaming torch, head bowing in sorrow. In despair.
“I will be back!” he whispered, more to himself than anything.
If angels had possessed of a conscience, his would have ached, just then.
And then, feathered wings spread. Catching the air. Taking flight.
Leaving.
Gone.
