Dog Days (Mythklok Interstitial)
Jan. 14th, 2012 04:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Dog Days (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Babysitting.
Warnings: Akvavit indulgence, meatballs.
Notes: Well, this one sort of takes Skwisgaar down a notch yet again. I wonder what the hell my problem is.
Once upon a time, there were two Scandanavian boys. And they played in a death metal band....
“Sooo, Skwisgaar,” said Charles.
“Pffft.”
“Yeah. Anyway, just one thing. Boon can pretty much amuse himself. But you guys keep Murgatroyd away from the yard wolves? OK? Your dad says it's too early to introduce him to the pack.”
“Pfffffffft,” repeated Skwisgaar, who was slumped in his usual spot the living room couch, noodling on his Gibson.
Toki and Boon sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, playing Team Fortress 2. The Medic had just cried out, “Ach!”
“So, you and Toki. Keep the dog away. From the yard. Wolves,” Charles repeated slowly, pointing to Murgatroyd, who cheerfully looked up and wagged his little tail.
“Pft.”
“OK. Skwisgaar. Was that a pffft of understanding, or a pffft of derision?” asked a now somewhat irritated Charles.
Ganesh, who had been quietly standing by Charles' side, said something to Skwisgaar in rapid-paced Swedish. Skwisgaar replied in kind, and there was a bit of a back and forth while Charles watched in surprised silence.
“Yes,” said Ganesh at length. “We are all set here. Come along.”
Charles frowned as the two men left the room. “Wait. Did I know you spoke Swedish?”
“I was for a time called in for consultation to the, er, film industry there,” Ganesh explained.
“A consultant?”
“The, er, adult film industry. The Kama Sutra thing. Did you wish me to relate the story?”
“Hell no, I want you to show me. Maybe tonight....” grinned Charles as the two men disappeared.
“You ams wants to play, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, clear blue eyes blinking hopefully.
“Nope,” sniffed Skwisgaar. “I ams nots.”
“OK, ja,” said Toki, though he sounded disappointed. “You could ams plays da Snipers! He ams way cools!”
“Nope.”
“Wunky Toke! Da wunchie?” asked Elias.
“You ams hungries Boom?” asked Toki.
“Uh-huh!” agreed the boy, rubbing his indeed often hungry angel tummy. “An da fistix!”
“Fishes Stick? No, you ams not wants dat crap. Maybe we ams asks Jean-Pierre about some nice kippers.”
“Noooo!” insisted Elias. “FISTIX!”
“No, onlies Pickle likes dat stuff,” laughed Toki.
“FISTIX FISTIX FISTIX!” insisted Elias, who emphasized the point by tackling Toki.
Murgatroyd the wolf pup also jumped on the guitarist, who wailed, “No, no ams fishes stick!”
Casting a disapproving glance at the ridiculous threesome, Skwisgaar stood with regal dignity. “All rights, since I am da adults heres today, I says we goes and has da serigous lunches. Maybes da kottbullar ands da raggmunk ands da blabbarssopa.”
“Ands da herringses?” inquired Toki.
“Ja, we gets da herringses,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“Fistix?” inquired Elias.
“Pffft! Booms, we ams gots to edumacatses you on da fines kwee-zeens! You cans not eats da pies all days like your papas!” lectured Skwisgaar, who strode off towards the kitchen.
Toki, now holding Elias on a hip, glanced skeptically at the child. “No bie?” asked Elias woefully.
“Maybe we has da pies for da desserts?” promised Toki. “Da nice fapples or key slime?”
“Uh-huh!” agreed Elias. And they too, Murgatroyd nipping at their heels, set off for the kitchen, and fine Swedish kwee-zeens.
Some time later, after much edumacatsing, four beings, bellies full, lolled about one of Mordhaus' balconies, enjoying the warmth of a clear mid-winter sun.
Skwisgaar brought his Explorer to his lap, but, after stifling a burp swiftly decided perhaps a nap was in order before his next practice session. As the adults had consumed perhaps more than their usual share of akvavit, in fitting with the Swedish-themed meal, Toki had fallen asleep as soon as he sprawled out on a chair, and was already softly snoring.
Elias, being much younger and blessed with his father Charles' quicksilver metabolism, was first to recover. He tossed a ball in the air. Being a toddler, it was a very small toss, and Murgatroyd the puppy snapped it an instant later and returned it to him, albeit a bit droolier than before.
Skwisgaar, drowsing but not asleep, found himself captivated by what was, to his eyes, a poorly executed example of the classic game of fetch. Sighing deeply at yet another example of the poor parenting skills of his pathetic angel manager, he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet.
“Come on, Booms! You ams t'rows likes da girl.”
Elias, who, alone among the Dethklok bandmates never referred to Skwisgaar as his uncle, and usually on the contrary gave him a healthy berth, looked up curiously at the guitarist. Elias' cousin, Abby, happened to be a girl, and he wasn't exactly certain why throwing like her should evince concern from this particular adult.
“Ams gives me dat ball,” declared Skwisgaar, snatching it away from Elias. Which action caused Murgatroyd the puppy into a paroxysm of dog happiness at playing fetch with the tall, lanky adult. The wolf pup set to yipping as Skwisgaar wound up, vamping like a Yankees relief pitcher.
“Skwisgaar?” muttered Toki, who had been more or less roused by the barking. “What you ams doing?”
“I ams edumacatsing dis one ons da fine points of da fetches games.”
“Skwisgaar, we ams up ons da balconies. You needs to be-”
But the ball had just been released. Skwisgaar, unfortunately, was not a relief pitcher, but a guitarist, so the ball slammed to earth only a few feet away, taking a funny bounce on the uneven stones of the balcony. It evaded Murgatroyd's skillful snap at it, bounced again, and disappeared between two balusters, and thence to parts unknown.
Elias and Skwisgaar were both at the balustrade moments later, Skwisgaar leaning at the handrail, Elias peeking between the balusters. The boy pointed to where the ball had come to rest, nestled in the crook of a gutter pipe that happened to run just under the balcony. “Ball?” he said. He stood and began to pull at his coat. Although Elias, like his father Charles, was a winged being, he did not have wing apertures in his overcoat, and so had been strictly instructed by both fathers against going True Form when wearing this garment. So Formed, he could have quite easily retrieved the ball from its placement.
Skwisgaar, girded by rather a lot of akvavit as well as more than one beer at lunchtime, was having none of it. “No, you ams stays puts, Booms! I ams in charges here, and I ams go gets da balls for you.”
“Ams dats da good ideas, Skwisgaar?” Toki sleepily inquired.
“Pffft! Leaves dis to da adults persons!” snapped Skwisgaar, who already had one leg over the balustrade. As Elias, Toki and Murgatroyd now watched with interest, Skwisgaar slipped one booted foot and then the other onto the fortunately fairly wide gutter pipe. Then, clinging closely to the wall, or at least as closely as one could after drinks and a belly-filling lunch, he slowly slid out, one foot after another, towards the pesky ball. Progress was slow, but surprisingly steady.
“Don't ams looks down!” warned Toki.
Which, inevitably, caused Skwisgaar to look down. Although fortunately he was only on the second floor, unfortunately he was on a side of Mordhaus that hadn't much land around it, so what he looked down to was not the garden some ten feet below, but rather rafts of floating clouds creating a gentle haze above the earth's surface, many many many meters below.
Skwisgaar looked back up, his heart suddenly rattling in his chest as he recalled that Mordhaus's angel-in-chief, and the only being who was capable of consistent success as flight, was currently gone, leaving him in charge. He stifled a burp, and suddenly wished he hadn't had those three servings of Jean Pierre's Swedish meatballs, along with that second, third and maybe fourth beer.
Fortunately, the ball was now near. Keeping one hand on the wall, and scrunching his eyes tightly closed against the height, he knelt down, feeling his knees creak, and felt for the ball. And there it was, rough and saliva-covered, right in his hand.
Grinning in triumph, he grasped it, and abruptly stood, causing a momentary bobble in his balance. But he quickly corrected and, giving a rakish smile, casually tossed it back to the cheering audience on the balcony.
There was a creak.
In the end, it was not the alcohol that did in Skwisgaar's acrobatic feat, but rather a combination of that last serving of Jean-Pierre's delicious meatballs and Mordhaus' somewhat spotty maintenance. The section of gutter upon which he had been standing suddenly gave way, sending Skwisgaar, flailing, into space.
There was a scream. Toki's, as it happened.
“Ouch!” Skwisgaar cried. For, as it turned out, he and the drainpipe had toppled right into a hedge. He opened his eyes, surveying the damage, and relief at his survival soon turned to annoyance. He wasn't certain of the species of flora into which he had landed, but it was something amply studded with thorns, and as he wrested one arm free (happily, a fully functional arm) bits of his sleeve stayed pinned to the bush, and there were now little flecks of blood – his blood – all up and down his arm. After a moment, he managed to similarly untangle all of his limbs, and to get himself, more or less, back to vertical.
Once again, his mood turned, annoyance now giving way to a bit of relief, as he saw that nothing appeared to be broken, and that all of his guitarists' fingers were blessedly intact.
And then he heard the low growl.
“Oh, shits!”
He turned to face the red-eyed beasts who were rapidly massing around him. “Um, OKs. I ams your masters, rights?” he pleaded. The group drew closer, hackles up, rumbling in menace.
“No, you ams not eats me now!” Skwisgaar reasoned, suddenly recalling the fate of the unfortunate Dr. Twinkletitts. “I cans not plays da geetar wit' da robot arms!”
They growled. And neared.
Skwisgaar backed a step, losing his balance on a stone. He fell to his butt. “Who ams pays for your wolf kibbles, den, huh?” he pleaded.
The biggest wolf, the alpha, was now looming within striking distance.
Skwisgaar threw up his hands and once again scrunched his eyes shut.
“Yip yip yip yip yip!”
The alpha and Skwisgaar both now looked down, confused, at the tiny puppy making a fuss between them.
“Uh, ja,” Skwisgaar apologized to the wolf. “Hims ams does dat.”
The alpha frowned a wolf frown, annoyed to be separated from a human – and one who smelled of enticing meatballs at that! - by a rat-sized canine. The alpha crouched, now growling at Murgatroyd.
“Yip yip yip GROOOOOWWWWWWL!”
Both the alpha and Skwisgaar jumped back. For a moment – it was just a moment, but quite clearly visible on this sunny day – it was not a small puppy barking a pathetic high-pitched yip, but something much much bigger. Something fucking monstrous.
The pack had all retreated. The alpha, now on the ground, paws over its nose, produced a rather pathetic wine.
“Yip yip yip!” insisted Murgatroyd, and the alpha turned tail and ran.
“SKWISGAAR!” said Toki, who had just run up. He put a careful hand on Skwisgaar's upper arm. “Ams you OKs?”
“You ams see dats, Toki?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Owchie!” said Skwisgaar.
“There we go,” said Ganesh, plucking out yet another thorn and flicking it into a small tray. He had two sets of arms going, all wielding tweezers over various areas of Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar was sitting on the exam table, naked except for a white towel thoughtfully draped over his nether regions.
“Carefuls!” scolded the Swede.
“It was actually good luck that the hedge broke your fall,” soothed Ganesh.
“Dat ams good lucks? I ams gots da thorns everywheres.”
“Can't wait 'til he starts digging 'em out of your ass,” laughed Raziel, who, along with Charles, was standing at one side of the room, enjoying the scenery.
“Why ams she gots to be in here?” Skwisgaar protested.
“Well, I'm kind of your mom!” Raziel reasoned. She readjusted the purse on her shoulder. The purse held a small dog, Murgatroyd, who was also watching the de-thorning with apparent pleasure. “I could probably spank you. For getting into trouble like that.”
“You woulds spanks me?” asked Skwisgaar. He and Raziel exchanged rather strange glances.
“OK, Raziel, this conversation is getting too fucking weird,” said Charles who, after a nod from Ganesh, took Raziel's arm and marched her out of the exam room.
“Could you fetch my lipstick, Mug-a-Toad?” Raziel asked the dog, who suddenly disappeared into what looked like a very small bag. The pup emerged a moment later, holding a lipstick in its mouth. “I mean the coral, sweetie,” she told the dog, who disappeared once more.
Curious, Charles leaned over and stared into the bag, Raziel suddenly catching him as he started to sway. “Whoa,” he told her.
“A lotta room in there, huh?” she grinned. “It's a TARDIS purse. They have 'em at DreamMart.”
Charles nodded as Murgatroyd emerged, once again, gripping the correct lipstick in his little teeth.
“So. My kid's dog?” asked Charles.
“Well, how Wotan explained it to me is, every dog has a bit of the She Wolf's spirit in him. You know, the archetype.” She had plucked Murgatroyd out of her bag and, after letting him give her a small kiss, set him down on the floor. “Some more than others. You've seen a poodle stand down a pit bull before, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, looks like this one is an outright reincarnation, probably one of the She Wolf's consorts, is what Wotan thinks.”
“So, you got my kid a wolf king?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, not the worst thing we gotta deal with. Hey,” he said, conspiratorially, “did you know Ganesh once worked for the Swedish film industry.”
“The adult film industry?” said Raziel, arching one elegantly plucked eyebrow. Charles nodded solemnly. “OK, tonight, here's what you do: order a pizza, and don't have money to pay for it.”
The two angels grinned at each other, and Raziel disappeared.
“So, Your Highness,” Charles told Murgatroyd. “I guess I should thank you for saving our guitarist's ass?”
There was a cry from within the exam room.
“Or, maybe not his ass, but at least his guitar-playing parts. Anyway, you wanna reward? I think Jean-Pierre probably has a soup bone or something.”
“Yip!”
“OK. Cool. Just, don't bully the yard wolves too much, OK? They got egos too.” There was another screech from the exam room. “They are not unlike death metal musicians in that regard.”
“Yip!” agreed Murgatroyd, and the two beings departed for the kitchen.
...And so let that be a lesson, to never feed angels after midnight.
Or, maybe that's a different story?
Sorry, we just sorta had a lot of akvavit at lunchtime. Maybe we'll go get a nap now....
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Babysitting.
Warnings: Akvavit indulgence, meatballs.
Notes: Well, this one sort of takes Skwisgaar down a notch yet again. I wonder what the hell my problem is.
Once upon a time, there were two Scandanavian boys. And they played in a death metal band....
“Sooo, Skwisgaar,” said Charles.
“Pffft.”
“Yeah. Anyway, just one thing. Boon can pretty much amuse himself. But you guys keep Murgatroyd away from the yard wolves? OK? Your dad says it's too early to introduce him to the pack.”
“Pfffffffft,” repeated Skwisgaar, who was slumped in his usual spot the living room couch, noodling on his Gibson.
Toki and Boon sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, playing Team Fortress 2. The Medic had just cried out, “Ach!”
“So, you and Toki. Keep the dog away. From the yard. Wolves,” Charles repeated slowly, pointing to Murgatroyd, who cheerfully looked up and wagged his little tail.
“Pft.”
“OK. Skwisgaar. Was that a pffft of understanding, or a pffft of derision?” asked a now somewhat irritated Charles.
Ganesh, who had been quietly standing by Charles' side, said something to Skwisgaar in rapid-paced Swedish. Skwisgaar replied in kind, and there was a bit of a back and forth while Charles watched in surprised silence.
“Yes,” said Ganesh at length. “We are all set here. Come along.”
Charles frowned as the two men left the room. “Wait. Did I know you spoke Swedish?”
“I was for a time called in for consultation to the, er, film industry there,” Ganesh explained.
“A consultant?”
“The, er, adult film industry. The Kama Sutra thing. Did you wish me to relate the story?”
“Hell no, I want you to show me. Maybe tonight....” grinned Charles as the two men disappeared.
“You ams wants to play, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, clear blue eyes blinking hopefully.
“Nope,” sniffed Skwisgaar. “I ams nots.”
“OK, ja,” said Toki, though he sounded disappointed. “You could ams plays da Snipers! He ams way cools!”
“Nope.”
“Wunky Toke! Da wunchie?” asked Elias.
“You ams hungries Boom?” asked Toki.
“Uh-huh!” agreed the boy, rubbing his indeed often hungry angel tummy. “An da fistix!”
“Fishes Stick? No, you ams not wants dat crap. Maybe we ams asks Jean-Pierre about some nice kippers.”
“Noooo!” insisted Elias. “FISTIX!”
“No, onlies Pickle likes dat stuff,” laughed Toki.
“FISTIX FISTIX FISTIX!” insisted Elias, who emphasized the point by tackling Toki.
Murgatroyd the wolf pup also jumped on the guitarist, who wailed, “No, no ams fishes stick!”
Casting a disapproving glance at the ridiculous threesome, Skwisgaar stood with regal dignity. “All rights, since I am da adults heres today, I says we goes and has da serigous lunches. Maybes da kottbullar ands da raggmunk ands da blabbarssopa.”
“Ands da herringses?” inquired Toki.
“Ja, we gets da herringses,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“Fistix?” inquired Elias.
“Pffft! Booms, we ams gots to edumacatses you on da fines kwee-zeens! You cans not eats da pies all days like your papas!” lectured Skwisgaar, who strode off towards the kitchen.
Toki, now holding Elias on a hip, glanced skeptically at the child. “No bie?” asked Elias woefully.
“Maybe we has da pies for da desserts?” promised Toki. “Da nice fapples or key slime?”
“Uh-huh!” agreed Elias. And they too, Murgatroyd nipping at their heels, set off for the kitchen, and fine Swedish kwee-zeens.
Some time later, after much edumacatsing, four beings, bellies full, lolled about one of Mordhaus' balconies, enjoying the warmth of a clear mid-winter sun.
Skwisgaar brought his Explorer to his lap, but, after stifling a burp swiftly decided perhaps a nap was in order before his next practice session. As the adults had consumed perhaps more than their usual share of akvavit, in fitting with the Swedish-themed meal, Toki had fallen asleep as soon as he sprawled out on a chair, and was already softly snoring.
Elias, being much younger and blessed with his father Charles' quicksilver metabolism, was first to recover. He tossed a ball in the air. Being a toddler, it was a very small toss, and Murgatroyd the puppy snapped it an instant later and returned it to him, albeit a bit droolier than before.
Skwisgaar, drowsing but not asleep, found himself captivated by what was, to his eyes, a poorly executed example of the classic game of fetch. Sighing deeply at yet another example of the poor parenting skills of his pathetic angel manager, he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet.
“Come on, Booms! You ams t'rows likes da girl.”
Elias, who, alone among the Dethklok bandmates never referred to Skwisgaar as his uncle, and usually on the contrary gave him a healthy berth, looked up curiously at the guitarist. Elias' cousin, Abby, happened to be a girl, and he wasn't exactly certain why throwing like her should evince concern from this particular adult.
“Ams gives me dat ball,” declared Skwisgaar, snatching it away from Elias. Which action caused Murgatroyd the puppy into a paroxysm of dog happiness at playing fetch with the tall, lanky adult. The wolf pup set to yipping as Skwisgaar wound up, vamping like a Yankees relief pitcher.
“Skwisgaar?” muttered Toki, who had been more or less roused by the barking. “What you ams doing?”
“I ams edumacatsing dis one ons da fine points of da fetches games.”
“Skwisgaar, we ams up ons da balconies. You needs to be-”
But the ball had just been released. Skwisgaar, unfortunately, was not a relief pitcher, but a guitarist, so the ball slammed to earth only a few feet away, taking a funny bounce on the uneven stones of the balcony. It evaded Murgatroyd's skillful snap at it, bounced again, and disappeared between two balusters, and thence to parts unknown.
Elias and Skwisgaar were both at the balustrade moments later, Skwisgaar leaning at the handrail, Elias peeking between the balusters. The boy pointed to where the ball had come to rest, nestled in the crook of a gutter pipe that happened to run just under the balcony. “Ball?” he said. He stood and began to pull at his coat. Although Elias, like his father Charles, was a winged being, he did not have wing apertures in his overcoat, and so had been strictly instructed by both fathers against going True Form when wearing this garment. So Formed, he could have quite easily retrieved the ball from its placement.
Skwisgaar, girded by rather a lot of akvavit as well as more than one beer at lunchtime, was having none of it. “No, you ams stays puts, Booms! I ams in charges here, and I ams go gets da balls for you.”
“Ams dats da good ideas, Skwisgaar?” Toki sleepily inquired.
“Pffft! Leaves dis to da adults persons!” snapped Skwisgaar, who already had one leg over the balustrade. As Elias, Toki and Murgatroyd now watched with interest, Skwisgaar slipped one booted foot and then the other onto the fortunately fairly wide gutter pipe. Then, clinging closely to the wall, or at least as closely as one could after drinks and a belly-filling lunch, he slowly slid out, one foot after another, towards the pesky ball. Progress was slow, but surprisingly steady.
“Don't ams looks down!” warned Toki.
Which, inevitably, caused Skwisgaar to look down. Although fortunately he was only on the second floor, unfortunately he was on a side of Mordhaus that hadn't much land around it, so what he looked down to was not the garden some ten feet below, but rather rafts of floating clouds creating a gentle haze above the earth's surface, many many many meters below.
Skwisgaar looked back up, his heart suddenly rattling in his chest as he recalled that Mordhaus's angel-in-chief, and the only being who was capable of consistent success as flight, was currently gone, leaving him in charge. He stifled a burp, and suddenly wished he hadn't had those three servings of Jean Pierre's Swedish meatballs, along with that second, third and maybe fourth beer.
Fortunately, the ball was now near. Keeping one hand on the wall, and scrunching his eyes tightly closed against the height, he knelt down, feeling his knees creak, and felt for the ball. And there it was, rough and saliva-covered, right in his hand.
Grinning in triumph, he grasped it, and abruptly stood, causing a momentary bobble in his balance. But he quickly corrected and, giving a rakish smile, casually tossed it back to the cheering audience on the balcony.
There was a creak.
In the end, it was not the alcohol that did in Skwisgaar's acrobatic feat, but rather a combination of that last serving of Jean-Pierre's delicious meatballs and Mordhaus' somewhat spotty maintenance. The section of gutter upon which he had been standing suddenly gave way, sending Skwisgaar, flailing, into space.
There was a scream. Toki's, as it happened.
“Ouch!” Skwisgaar cried. For, as it turned out, he and the drainpipe had toppled right into a hedge. He opened his eyes, surveying the damage, and relief at his survival soon turned to annoyance. He wasn't certain of the species of flora into which he had landed, but it was something amply studded with thorns, and as he wrested one arm free (happily, a fully functional arm) bits of his sleeve stayed pinned to the bush, and there were now little flecks of blood – his blood – all up and down his arm. After a moment, he managed to similarly untangle all of his limbs, and to get himself, more or less, back to vertical.
Once again, his mood turned, annoyance now giving way to a bit of relief, as he saw that nothing appeared to be broken, and that all of his guitarists' fingers were blessedly intact.
And then he heard the low growl.
“Oh, shits!”
He turned to face the red-eyed beasts who were rapidly massing around him. “Um, OKs. I ams your masters, rights?” he pleaded. The group drew closer, hackles up, rumbling in menace.
“No, you ams not eats me now!” Skwisgaar reasoned, suddenly recalling the fate of the unfortunate Dr. Twinkletitts. “I cans not plays da geetar wit' da robot arms!”
They growled. And neared.
Skwisgaar backed a step, losing his balance on a stone. He fell to his butt. “Who ams pays for your wolf kibbles, den, huh?” he pleaded.
The biggest wolf, the alpha, was now looming within striking distance.
Skwisgaar threw up his hands and once again scrunched his eyes shut.
“Yip yip yip yip yip!”
The alpha and Skwisgaar both now looked down, confused, at the tiny puppy making a fuss between them.
“Uh, ja,” Skwisgaar apologized to the wolf. “Hims ams does dat.”
The alpha frowned a wolf frown, annoyed to be separated from a human – and one who smelled of enticing meatballs at that! - by a rat-sized canine. The alpha crouched, now growling at Murgatroyd.
“Yip yip yip GROOOOOWWWWWWL!”
Both the alpha and Skwisgaar jumped back. For a moment – it was just a moment, but quite clearly visible on this sunny day – it was not a small puppy barking a pathetic high-pitched yip, but something much much bigger. Something fucking monstrous.
The pack had all retreated. The alpha, now on the ground, paws over its nose, produced a rather pathetic wine.
“Yip yip yip!” insisted Murgatroyd, and the alpha turned tail and ran.
“SKWISGAAR!” said Toki, who had just run up. He put a careful hand on Skwisgaar's upper arm. “Ams you OKs?”
“You ams see dats, Toki?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Owchie!” said Skwisgaar.
“There we go,” said Ganesh, plucking out yet another thorn and flicking it into a small tray. He had two sets of arms going, all wielding tweezers over various areas of Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar was sitting on the exam table, naked except for a white towel thoughtfully draped over his nether regions.
“Carefuls!” scolded the Swede.
“It was actually good luck that the hedge broke your fall,” soothed Ganesh.
“Dat ams good lucks? I ams gots da thorns everywheres.”
“Can't wait 'til he starts digging 'em out of your ass,” laughed Raziel, who, along with Charles, was standing at one side of the room, enjoying the scenery.
“Why ams she gots to be in here?” Skwisgaar protested.
“Well, I'm kind of your mom!” Raziel reasoned. She readjusted the purse on her shoulder. The purse held a small dog, Murgatroyd, who was also watching the de-thorning with apparent pleasure. “I could probably spank you. For getting into trouble like that.”
“You woulds spanks me?” asked Skwisgaar. He and Raziel exchanged rather strange glances.
“OK, Raziel, this conversation is getting too fucking weird,” said Charles who, after a nod from Ganesh, took Raziel's arm and marched her out of the exam room.
“Could you fetch my lipstick, Mug-a-Toad?” Raziel asked the dog, who suddenly disappeared into what looked like a very small bag. The pup emerged a moment later, holding a lipstick in its mouth. “I mean the coral, sweetie,” she told the dog, who disappeared once more.
Curious, Charles leaned over and stared into the bag, Raziel suddenly catching him as he started to sway. “Whoa,” he told her.
“A lotta room in there, huh?” she grinned. “It's a TARDIS purse. They have 'em at DreamMart.”
Charles nodded as Murgatroyd emerged, once again, gripping the correct lipstick in his little teeth.
“So. My kid's dog?” asked Charles.
“Well, how Wotan explained it to me is, every dog has a bit of the She Wolf's spirit in him. You know, the archetype.” She had plucked Murgatroyd out of her bag and, after letting him give her a small kiss, set him down on the floor. “Some more than others. You've seen a poodle stand down a pit bull before, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, looks like this one is an outright reincarnation, probably one of the She Wolf's consorts, is what Wotan thinks.”
“So, you got my kid a wolf king?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, not the worst thing we gotta deal with. Hey,” he said, conspiratorially, “did you know Ganesh once worked for the Swedish film industry.”
“The adult film industry?” said Raziel, arching one elegantly plucked eyebrow. Charles nodded solemnly. “OK, tonight, here's what you do: order a pizza, and don't have money to pay for it.”
The two angels grinned at each other, and Raziel disappeared.
“So, Your Highness,” Charles told Murgatroyd. “I guess I should thank you for saving our guitarist's ass?”
There was a cry from within the exam room.
“Or, maybe not his ass, but at least his guitar-playing parts. Anyway, you wanna reward? I think Jean-Pierre probably has a soup bone or something.”
“Yip!”
“OK. Cool. Just, don't bully the yard wolves too much, OK? They got egos too.” There was another screech from the exam room. “They are not unlike death metal musicians in that regard.”
“Yip!” agreed Murgatroyd, and the two beings departed for the kitchen.
...And so let that be a lesson, to never feed angels after midnight.
Or, maybe that's a different story?
Sorry, we just sorta had a lot of akvavit at lunchtime. Maybe we'll go get a nap now....
