Père Noël (Mythklok Interstitial)
Dec. 14th, 2010 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Père Noël (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Raziel gathers the gang for an important meeting
Warnings: AU, OCs, swearing.
Notes: 100% pure seasonal fluff. Insulin may be required.
Père Noël
"Raziel?"
"Yes?"
"We were never children. You are aware of that fact?"
"Yes! So now's your chance!"
“Now’s my chance for what?”
Raziel grinned.
"Added to the fact that you are many CENTURIES older than me, so you would hardly be my little sister."
"Will you skip with me?"
"No, in fact, I absolutely will not skip. Plus, I am fucking dying for a cigarette."
"You're 12 years old! You're too young to smoke! HI TOOOOKKKIIIIIIIII!"
“Hi, RAZIEL!”
Charles watched in horror as 10-year-old (more or less) Raziel caught an equally de-aged Toki in a tiny flying tackle.
She was wearing a school uniform, despite never having attended private school, due to the whole fact of being an angel who had never actually been a child.
"Do you know what you wants from Santas, Charles’?" Toki asked, wide-eyed. He wore a private school uniform as well, including adorable short pants. He had one arm curled protectively around a misshapen teddy bear.
"Marlboros.” Charles was clad for dream purposes in a navy blue school uniform as well – evidently from the same imaginary school – though he was grateful that Raziel had made him old enough to merit long pants.
“What ams Marble-rows?”
“He’s gonna get coal, Toki.” She grabbed the hand that was not locked to a plush toy and hurried on.
Charles regarded the watercolored streets in Raziel’s Christmas Dreamspace. “Hey, is this Paris?”
“Yep!”
“But, Toki’s Norwegian. What the hell would he be doing in Paris?”
“Madeline didn’t live in Norway!”
“OK, Raziel? I cannot imagine in my wildest imagination Dethklok in a Ludwig Bemelmans book!”
“What book would they be in?”
“I dunno. Did William S. Burroughs do any kids books?”
“HIIIII NATHANNNNNN!” Tiny Raziel and Tiny Toki both hugged Nathan – who was not tiny at all, despite being approximately grade school aged. He did not respond, but simply stood silently and glowered. He also wore a navy blue school uniform, though he looked like he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time dressing, as the jacket was unbuttoned and the tie was badly askew.
“OK, so, uh, Raziel wanted to see Santa, so, uh, that’s where we’re going,” Charles explained to Nathan, who simply stared menacingly. “Does that sound like something you’d like to do?” Nathan scowled. “Nothin’? Well, what if we just walk, and you can just lurk threateningly behind if that’s all right with you?” Nathan did not respond, but as Tiny Toki and Tiny Raziel skipped ahead, he noticed Not-So-Little Nathan remained in their wake like a looming shadow.
“HI SKWISGAAAAAAAAAR!”
“Don’t ams hugs me, Tokis!” the small Swede growled.
“I ams not ams hugs you, Skwisgaar! I ams hates you!”
“No I ams hates you!”
“Look, guys, do you think you could, uh, save killing each other until after Santa?”
Suddenly, Nathan leaned forward and focused his glower at Toki and Skwisgaar. The Scandanavians ceased bickering immediately.
“Uh, thanks Nathan,” Charles told him.
Raziel grabbed Toki's tiny hand and they were once more skipping down the improbably watercolored streets of 1960s era Paris.
“Wheres ams wes, dudes?” Skwisgaar asked Charles, fingering the collar of his navy blue school blazer.
“Raziel has made us all into Parisian schoolchildren.”
“Pfft. The Belgians,” Swkisgaar scoffed.
“You got any smokes?” Charles asked.
Skwisgaar sniffed. “You ams too youngs to smokes! Hey, you ams knows any hot 14s-years olds?”
“Still going for the older women, huh?”
"Hey, Pickles!" Raziel was shrieking. The little redhead was standing sullenly on the corner. A larger boy had him in a headlock.
"My mom sez we gotta take Set' t’ see Santa too," muttered Pickles, aged 11 and three quarters.
Seth laughed and gave Pickles some noogies. Tiny Raziel marched over. "What?" asked Seth. Raziel stood on tiptoe and glared a very tiny glare at the bigger boy, who backed off a step and released Pickles from his iron grip.
Raziel grabbed Pickles's hand in addition to Toki's and happily skipped off. "Wait, that little girl is crazy!" Seth protested. “She hit me! Did anybody see?" The other boys glared at Seth and walked off.
“You ams gots hits by a girls, dudes,” Skwisgaar snickered.
“HERE WE ARE!” Raziel called.
“SANTA WOWEE!” screamed Toki, breaking into a run.
“HO HO HO!” chucked Wotan Claus.
“Santa Odin?” Charles asked Raziel.
“The historical figure of Santa is arguably based on indigenous pagan traditions!” Tiny Raziel lectured.
“Uh. Did you really think ten year olds are aware of the word, ‘indigenous?’”
“I’m ten and a half!” she said, stomping a tiny foot.
But Charles had been distracted by a couple of elves.
“We’re Schanta’s Helpersch!” 12-year-old Murderface the Elf grinned. Standing beside him, 12-year-old Ganesh the Elf looked like he was on the verge of grinning himself, but he held his mouth tightly closed. They both wore grey school uniforms in addition to their bright red elf hats, and stood guard by two boxes filled with Christmas stockings, which they were carefully distributing to the children who had just visited Santa.
Seth had pushed in to see Santa first. “You get schomething from the schpecial boxsch!” Murderface the Elf told him, as Ganesh the Elf happily handed Seth a special stocking.
“I wanna sit in Santa’s lap!” Raziel shouted.
“Uh, Raziel,” Charles told her. “Your dream Santa is your future boyfriend. Don’t you think that’s at least a little creepy?”
But Raziel had already clambered up. “So what did YOU want for Christmas, Santa?” Little Raziel was asking cheerfully.
“Ho ho ho. And how old are YOU little girl?”
“Ten and a half!”
“Ask Santa again in about 8 years!”
“Raziel, that is definitely TOO FUCKING CREEPY.” Charles sighed and went back to talk with the elves.
Suddenly, firecrackers sounded. Seth cried out as smoke arose from his special Christmas stocking.
Little Ganesh finally broke into a grin. His mouth was encrusted in metal.
Charles blinked at the shine. “Uh. You had braces?”
“My tushks weren’t coming in shtraight,” Ganesh lisped, still grinning metallically.
“Metalmouth!” yelled 12-year-old Skanda, who had just come off Santa’s lap. Grinning, Murderface the Elf handed him a stocking.
“I think I musht have been a bit mischievoush ash a child,” Ganesh admitted, grinning at Little Murderface.
Skanda,suddenly emitted a girlie scream as a string of M-80s went off in his stocking.
“Heh. Maybe a lot mischevousch,” Murderface the Elf grinned at Ganesh the Elf.
“So, uh, why are you guys wearing grey uniforms?” Charles asked them.
“Oh, we’re from the exshclushive boysh school in the next arrondisshement,” Ganesh told him.
“Very schnooty!” Murderface added.
“Uh, the line’s dying down. You wanna get outta here?” Charles asked them.
“What did you wanna do?” Murderface the Elf lisped.
“Find a dream grownup to buy me some fucking dream Marlboros.”
“You’re too young to shmoke. I’ll shtunt your growth!” Ganesh the Elf spat.
“OK. OK. OK. Then you guys got any more M-80s?”
The exclusive boys school elves grinned lispfully at each other.
Somewhere in watercolored Paris, a doorbell rang.
“Merry Ca-ca-ca-ca….”
“Merry Christmas!”
“We’re elvsh!”
“Would you like a schpeschial schtocking?”
The three boys walked away slowly at first, but then broke into a frantic run when they heard the telltale report of firecrackers.
"You were a delinquent!" Charles laughed as they skidded around a corner.
"It wash your idea," Ganesh protested.
"You're obviously a bad influence!" The ground was suddenly slippery. Charles looked down. "Snow? Did Raziel transport us all to the North fucking pole-?" But his rant was truncated by a well-aimed snow ball, which caught him smack in the face and knocked him neatly off his feet. He rose in righteous fury. "WHO DID THAT?"
The culprit was rather obvious. Nathan Explosion stood across the street, his glower now transformed into a most triumphant grin.
"NATHAN? You're DEAD! I will rain down on you with great fiery vengeance-". But this time it was an icy missile tossed with surprising accuracy by a cackling Pickles that knocked him from his feet.
As the remainder of Dethklok, including a suddenly harmonious Skwisgaar and Toki, let fly, Murderface had grabbed Charles’ shoulder. "Lesch talk, more ammo," he said, placing a snowball in his hand.
Out on a metal fire escape high above, a little angel watched the snowball fight.
"Do you think they like my gift?" she asked.
"Ho ho ho," laughed her companion, leaning over the balcony for a better view. "You realize that's a goodly portion of the Fortune 500 you got pelting each other with snowballs?"
"Yes, they're so hard to shop for! Oh, and you need to play now, too!"
"Someone had to be Santa."
"Yes, well, Santa hours are over. Transform!”
"Will you be this imperious as queen?"
"I will be many orders of magnitude more imperious! Plus, evil. Oh! I’ve never seen you without the beard before!" She hopped off the balustrade for a better look. "And you were gangly?"
"I’m afraid it took me some years to fill out, yes."
She motioned for him to tilt his head down. "Curly," she giggled, putting a hand through his red blond hair.
"Yes, that is why I keep it short. Now, what would my evil queen like to do next?"
"Oh!" She popped open the fire escape trap door and began to climb down to the street level. "We're in Paris, so I thought a stroll down the Champs d'Elysée, followed by window shopping at Galeries Lafayette, and the maybe we could visit the Musée d’Orsay and take in the Impressionists."
“This is what you would like to do during your time as a child?” Wotan laughed, as Raziel reached the end of the fire escape and hopped down to street level.
“I am a civilized and refined child! Perhaps later we might deign to create snow angels, or get Toki and have a tea party where we discuss French-“
But her lecture was suddenly halted as her sailor hat flew off her head, victim of a deadly accurate snowball.
"MY LITTLE HAT!" Raziel shrieked. “WHO DID THIS?” The perpetrator was not difficult to identify, as Charles was currently laughing almost too hard to remain standing.
“SARIEL, I WILL RAIN DOWN ON UPON YOU WITH GREAT FIERY VENGEANCE!” Raziel shouted.
“Fiery vengeance? With a snowball?” Charles ran off laughing, a furious, snowball-wielding Raziel in hot pursuit.
Wotan barely ducked a snowball lobbed by Skwisgaar. “Now we’re down a man!” Murderface told him.
“Don’t worry, gentlemen, I am an expert in this enterprise!” Wotan bragged, just as he was caught in the back by another snowball tossed by a madly giggling Toki. “Hey! No fair!”
Raziel had caught Charles with a quite uncivilized flying tackle, only to have him shove and equally impolite snowball down the back of her jacket. He lay back laughing as she danced around shrieking and trying to shake it out.
“So, what about our parents?”
“What?” she asked.
“This is your fantasy,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “If we’re kids, where are our parents?”
“Um,” she said kneeling down beside him. “Our parents?”
He sat up. “I believe that usually goes with the whole human childhood experience.”
She suddenly smiled. “Our parents are missionaries!”
“Missionaries?”
“Yes! Yes! They are famous missionaries. And, they are off on a great journey!”
“They are?”
She grabbed his hand and tugged him up. “Yes! And, we’re staying here in Paris.” She pointed to a residence. “With, uh, grand-mère!”
As if on cue, a front door burst open, and a tiny woman stood there, arms crossed, smoking a pipe.
“Are you two coming in so I can close this door? I’m not paying to heat the entire arrondissement!”
“Oui, grand-mère!” Raziel sang, dragging Charles up the steps.
“Look at you, Raziel. Did you get into another snowball fight?”
“Mais non, grand-mère! Of course not!” Raziel grinned, running inside.
“And I suppose I’m making hot chocolate for the entire neighborhood again?” grand-mère asked Charles. He turned around to see the entire party from the evidently nonexistent snowball fight standing outside, trying to look innocent.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so?” he asked. Grand-mère beckoned, and soon the cosy living room of a small residence on an imaginary Parisian street was filled with children who weren’t children jostling each other over cups of sweet hot cocoa.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Raziel gathers the gang for an important meeting
Warnings: AU, OCs, swearing.
Notes: 100% pure seasonal fluff. Insulin may be required.
Père Noël
"Raziel?"
"Yes?"
"We were never children. You are aware of that fact?"
"Yes! So now's your chance!"
“Now’s my chance for what?”
Raziel grinned.
"Added to the fact that you are many CENTURIES older than me, so you would hardly be my little sister."
"Will you skip with me?"
"No, in fact, I absolutely will not skip. Plus, I am fucking dying for a cigarette."
"You're 12 years old! You're too young to smoke! HI TOOOOKKKIIIIIIIII!"
“Hi, RAZIEL!”
Charles watched in horror as 10-year-old (more or less) Raziel caught an equally de-aged Toki in a tiny flying tackle.
She was wearing a school uniform, despite never having attended private school, due to the whole fact of being an angel who had never actually been a child.
"Do you know what you wants from Santas, Charles’?" Toki asked, wide-eyed. He wore a private school uniform as well, including adorable short pants. He had one arm curled protectively around a misshapen teddy bear.
"Marlboros.” Charles was clad for dream purposes in a navy blue school uniform as well – evidently from the same imaginary school – though he was grateful that Raziel had made him old enough to merit long pants.
“What ams Marble-rows?”
“He’s gonna get coal, Toki.” She grabbed the hand that was not locked to a plush toy and hurried on.
Charles regarded the watercolored streets in Raziel’s Christmas Dreamspace. “Hey, is this Paris?”
“Yep!”
“But, Toki’s Norwegian. What the hell would he be doing in Paris?”
“Madeline didn’t live in Norway!”
“OK, Raziel? I cannot imagine in my wildest imagination Dethklok in a Ludwig Bemelmans book!”
“What book would they be in?”
“I dunno. Did William S. Burroughs do any kids books?”
“HIIIII NATHANNNNNN!” Tiny Raziel and Tiny Toki both hugged Nathan – who was not tiny at all, despite being approximately grade school aged. He did not respond, but simply stood silently and glowered. He also wore a navy blue school uniform, though he looked like he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time dressing, as the jacket was unbuttoned and the tie was badly askew.
“OK, so, uh, Raziel wanted to see Santa, so, uh, that’s where we’re going,” Charles explained to Nathan, who simply stared menacingly. “Does that sound like something you’d like to do?” Nathan scowled. “Nothin’? Well, what if we just walk, and you can just lurk threateningly behind if that’s all right with you?” Nathan did not respond, but as Tiny Toki and Tiny Raziel skipped ahead, he noticed Not-So-Little Nathan remained in their wake like a looming shadow.
“HI SKWISGAAAAAAAAAR!”
“Don’t ams hugs me, Tokis!” the small Swede growled.
“I ams not ams hugs you, Skwisgaar! I ams hates you!”
“No I ams hates you!”
“Look, guys, do you think you could, uh, save killing each other until after Santa?”
Suddenly, Nathan leaned forward and focused his glower at Toki and Skwisgaar. The Scandanavians ceased bickering immediately.
“Uh, thanks Nathan,” Charles told him.
Raziel grabbed Toki's tiny hand and they were once more skipping down the improbably watercolored streets of 1960s era Paris.
“Wheres ams wes, dudes?” Skwisgaar asked Charles, fingering the collar of his navy blue school blazer.
“Raziel has made us all into Parisian schoolchildren.”
“Pfft. The Belgians,” Swkisgaar scoffed.
“You got any smokes?” Charles asked.
Skwisgaar sniffed. “You ams too youngs to smokes! Hey, you ams knows any hot 14s-years olds?”
“Still going for the older women, huh?”
"Hey, Pickles!" Raziel was shrieking. The little redhead was standing sullenly on the corner. A larger boy had him in a headlock.
"My mom sez we gotta take Set' t’ see Santa too," muttered Pickles, aged 11 and three quarters.
Seth laughed and gave Pickles some noogies. Tiny Raziel marched over. "What?" asked Seth. Raziel stood on tiptoe and glared a very tiny glare at the bigger boy, who backed off a step and released Pickles from his iron grip.
Raziel grabbed Pickles's hand in addition to Toki's and happily skipped off. "Wait, that little girl is crazy!" Seth protested. “She hit me! Did anybody see?" The other boys glared at Seth and walked off.
“You ams gots hits by a girls, dudes,” Skwisgaar snickered.
“HERE WE ARE!” Raziel called.
“SANTA WOWEE!” screamed Toki, breaking into a run.
“HO HO HO!” chucked Wotan Claus.
“Santa Odin?” Charles asked Raziel.
“The historical figure of Santa is arguably based on indigenous pagan traditions!” Tiny Raziel lectured.
“Uh. Did you really think ten year olds are aware of the word, ‘indigenous?’”
“I’m ten and a half!” she said, stomping a tiny foot.
But Charles had been distracted by a couple of elves.
“We’re Schanta’s Helpersch!” 12-year-old Murderface the Elf grinned. Standing beside him, 12-year-old Ganesh the Elf looked like he was on the verge of grinning himself, but he held his mouth tightly closed. They both wore grey school uniforms in addition to their bright red elf hats, and stood guard by two boxes filled with Christmas stockings, which they were carefully distributing to the children who had just visited Santa.
Seth had pushed in to see Santa first. “You get schomething from the schpecial boxsch!” Murderface the Elf told him, as Ganesh the Elf happily handed Seth a special stocking.
“I wanna sit in Santa’s lap!” Raziel shouted.
“Uh, Raziel,” Charles told her. “Your dream Santa is your future boyfriend. Don’t you think that’s at least a little creepy?”
But Raziel had already clambered up. “So what did YOU want for Christmas, Santa?” Little Raziel was asking cheerfully.
“Ho ho ho. And how old are YOU little girl?”
“Ten and a half!”
“Ask Santa again in about 8 years!”
“Raziel, that is definitely TOO FUCKING CREEPY.” Charles sighed and went back to talk with the elves.
Suddenly, firecrackers sounded. Seth cried out as smoke arose from his special Christmas stocking.
Little Ganesh finally broke into a grin. His mouth was encrusted in metal.
Charles blinked at the shine. “Uh. You had braces?”
“My tushks weren’t coming in shtraight,” Ganesh lisped, still grinning metallically.
“Metalmouth!” yelled 12-year-old Skanda, who had just come off Santa’s lap. Grinning, Murderface the Elf handed him a stocking.
“I think I musht have been a bit mischievoush ash a child,” Ganesh admitted, grinning at Little Murderface.
Skanda,suddenly emitted a girlie scream as a string of M-80s went off in his stocking.
“Heh. Maybe a lot mischevousch,” Murderface the Elf grinned at Ganesh the Elf.
“So, uh, why are you guys wearing grey uniforms?” Charles asked them.
“Oh, we’re from the exshclushive boysh school in the next arrondisshement,” Ganesh told him.
“Very schnooty!” Murderface added.
“Uh, the line’s dying down. You wanna get outta here?” Charles asked them.
“What did you wanna do?” Murderface the Elf lisped.
“Find a dream grownup to buy me some fucking dream Marlboros.”
“You’re too young to shmoke. I’ll shtunt your growth!” Ganesh the Elf spat.
“OK. OK. OK. Then you guys got any more M-80s?”
The exclusive boys school elves grinned lispfully at each other.
Somewhere in watercolored Paris, a doorbell rang.
“Merry Ca-ca-ca-ca….”
“Merry Christmas!”
“We’re elvsh!”
“Would you like a schpeschial schtocking?”
The three boys walked away slowly at first, but then broke into a frantic run when they heard the telltale report of firecrackers.
"You were a delinquent!" Charles laughed as they skidded around a corner.
"It wash your idea," Ganesh protested.
"You're obviously a bad influence!" The ground was suddenly slippery. Charles looked down. "Snow? Did Raziel transport us all to the North fucking pole-?" But his rant was truncated by a well-aimed snow ball, which caught him smack in the face and knocked him neatly off his feet. He rose in righteous fury. "WHO DID THAT?"
The culprit was rather obvious. Nathan Explosion stood across the street, his glower now transformed into a most triumphant grin.
"NATHAN? You're DEAD! I will rain down on you with great fiery vengeance-". But this time it was an icy missile tossed with surprising accuracy by a cackling Pickles that knocked him from his feet.
As the remainder of Dethklok, including a suddenly harmonious Skwisgaar and Toki, let fly, Murderface had grabbed Charles’ shoulder. "Lesch talk, more ammo," he said, placing a snowball in his hand.
Out on a metal fire escape high above, a little angel watched the snowball fight.
"Do you think they like my gift?" she asked.
"Ho ho ho," laughed her companion, leaning over the balcony for a better view. "You realize that's a goodly portion of the Fortune 500 you got pelting each other with snowballs?"
"Yes, they're so hard to shop for! Oh, and you need to play now, too!"
"Someone had to be Santa."
"Yes, well, Santa hours are over. Transform!”
"Will you be this imperious as queen?"
"I will be many orders of magnitude more imperious! Plus, evil. Oh! I’ve never seen you without the beard before!" She hopped off the balustrade for a better look. "And you were gangly?"
"I’m afraid it took me some years to fill out, yes."
She motioned for him to tilt his head down. "Curly," she giggled, putting a hand through his red blond hair.
"Yes, that is why I keep it short. Now, what would my evil queen like to do next?"
"Oh!" She popped open the fire escape trap door and began to climb down to the street level. "We're in Paris, so I thought a stroll down the Champs d'Elysée, followed by window shopping at Galeries Lafayette, and the maybe we could visit the Musée d’Orsay and take in the Impressionists."
“This is what you would like to do during your time as a child?” Wotan laughed, as Raziel reached the end of the fire escape and hopped down to street level.
“I am a civilized and refined child! Perhaps later we might deign to create snow angels, or get Toki and have a tea party where we discuss French-“
But her lecture was suddenly halted as her sailor hat flew off her head, victim of a deadly accurate snowball.
"MY LITTLE HAT!" Raziel shrieked. “WHO DID THIS?” The perpetrator was not difficult to identify, as Charles was currently laughing almost too hard to remain standing.
“SARIEL, I WILL RAIN DOWN ON UPON YOU WITH GREAT FIERY VENGEANCE!” Raziel shouted.
“Fiery vengeance? With a snowball?” Charles ran off laughing, a furious, snowball-wielding Raziel in hot pursuit.
Wotan barely ducked a snowball lobbed by Skwisgaar. “Now we’re down a man!” Murderface told him.
“Don’t worry, gentlemen, I am an expert in this enterprise!” Wotan bragged, just as he was caught in the back by another snowball tossed by a madly giggling Toki. “Hey! No fair!”
Raziel had caught Charles with a quite uncivilized flying tackle, only to have him shove and equally impolite snowball down the back of her jacket. He lay back laughing as she danced around shrieking and trying to shake it out.
“So, what about our parents?”
“What?” she asked.
“This is your fantasy,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “If we’re kids, where are our parents?”
“Um,” she said kneeling down beside him. “Our parents?”
He sat up. “I believe that usually goes with the whole human childhood experience.”
She suddenly smiled. “Our parents are missionaries!”
“Missionaries?”
“Yes! Yes! They are famous missionaries. And, they are off on a great journey!”
“They are?”
She grabbed his hand and tugged him up. “Yes! And, we’re staying here in Paris.” She pointed to a residence. “With, uh, grand-mère!”
As if on cue, a front door burst open, and a tiny woman stood there, arms crossed, smoking a pipe.
“Are you two coming in so I can close this door? I’m not paying to heat the entire arrondissement!”
“Oui, grand-mère!” Raziel sang, dragging Charles up the steps.
“Look at you, Raziel. Did you get into another snowball fight?”
“Mais non, grand-mère! Of course not!” Raziel grinned, running inside.
“And I suppose I’m making hot chocolate for the entire neighborhood again?” grand-mère asked Charles. He turned around to see the entire party from the evidently nonexistent snowball fight standing outside, trying to look innocent.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so?” he asked. Grand-mère beckoned, and soon the cosy living room of a small residence on an imaginary Parisian street was filled with children who weren’t children jostling each other over cups of sweet hot cocoa.
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Date: 2010-12-15 05:45 am (UTC)