Albinos (Mythklok, Chapter 86)
Feb. 10th, 2012 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Albinos (Mythklok, Chapter 86)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
Warnings:
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Sahry this is a little late this week. I've been busywatching Hrithik Rothan videos on YouTube at my new job!
Mythklok: just when you thought it was safe to leap back in the abyss.
Soooo, last time: Ganesh had a vision of some universal badness conveyed by whales; Mordhaus got yet another supernatural resident; Skwisgaar and Nathan confronted the undead and found him to be sort of icky, and Pickles smoked something.
There was just no way to tell where in hell you were.
No way in the world.
For one thing, in this part of the city, the old part - the ancient part really - there were at least three or four different sets of address numberings, black numbers and blue numbers and red numbers and maybe even green numbers and who knows what else. And the addresses on one side of the narrow, winding streets apparently had nothing to do with the numbers on the other side - just a few paces and a handshake away - as a red 23 posted atop a bar would find itself opposite a black 146 pasted over an apartment building.
So this particular place was a local coffee house in absolutely the strictest sense of the word. No one but a local could have possibly found their way here. Do you see the small group of men over at a table in the corner, speaking quietly in Italian over their cappuccinos? Locals – they must be.
It was a bit of a puzzlement, therefore, how the hell the couple sitting smack dab in the center table had found their way here this evening. Perhaps they had lost their way after a runway show? They were certainly fashionably dressed: in the woman’s case, possibly a bit too fashionably dressed, though it was difficult to imagine bringing up this subject with her. Something about her….
At any rate, male and female, one of each, though they didn’t have quite the right vibe to be called a couple. Companionable friends perhaps? Dark-haired and dark eyed, they both were, but somehow, neither seemed to be from this city, much less this country. They spoke pleasantly to each other, in a language that most certainly wasn’t Italian. It had a bit of an Asian lilt to it, something that had blown in from the east and was starting to take root.
And then, quite suddenly – as these things tend to happen in all haste – the little bar was not quite so deserted, as a sizeable group of male beings ducked their way through the doorway and dispersed themselves much as they could in a place so cramped.
At least three of them found themselves standing in front of the table in the center, there table where sat the couple-who-was-not-a-couple. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then the female half pushed her pair of oversized sunglasses down her nose – her eyes were really quite dark, like two pools of a deep mystery – and asked in quite good Italian, “You guys got a problem?”
The center most of the three beings crossed his arm and told her, “This is our table.” It was then – more specifically when he crossed his arms – that you noticed something a little out of the ordinary with this being, and indeed, a characteristic shared by all the beings that had so recently entered, mainly, a terribly pale skin tone, matched by pale hair, and pale eyes. Indeed, between perhaps a dozen of them, they did not seem to possess among them a single molecule of melanin.
“I’m sorry?” asked the male part of non-couple in quite good, British-accented English.
“Says it’s their table,” said the woman, now raising a carefully-plucked eyebrow.
“Kindly tell him I am so sorry for the misunderstanding, but I do not espy a nameplate on this particular portion of the café.”
She smiled up at the pale being. “Sorry. Go sit someplace else,” she told them, defiantly sliding the sunglasses back in place.
“You need to leave,” said the standing man, as his friends crowded closer.
“Oh, what now?” inquired the British accented man.
“Now he’s just being rude,” she told him.
“Tsk. I find rude people unbearable! How about you?”
“Why can’t people just be polite, ya know?”
“It is such a little thing. Please tell him to desist, or I shall be forced to become unpleasant myself!”
“My friend says to fuck off. Before he gets mad,” she cheerfully told them, wagging a scrupulously manicured fingernail.
The pale man didn't reply, but rather sort of growled, and grabbed the twosome's table, suddenly yanking it over, causing a lot of ruckus. The small group of Italians over in the corner ceased jabbering and began silently watching.
The man and woman regarded one another.
“He spilled my cappuccino,” she said.
“I find myself getting cross,” said the man, who nonetheless grinned.
“Oh no.”
“Sadly, yes.” He calmly stood. The room, which had already quieted down after the table was thrown, seemed to draw silent. And then it grew dark. The pale men looked around, confused, and some of them looked to their leader in apparent fright.
“You should inform this gentleman that I am not someone he should wish to anger,” said the man.
“Well, me too, ya know,” she told him. “Probably also not good to anger me.”
“True enough. You may convey that as well if you wish.”
Without bothering to rise, the woman leaned forward. “Go fuck your dead relatives,” she smiled.
And the pale man was not a pale man, he was a horrid, keening, red-eyed thing, terrible white wings spread, fangs barred, coiling back, reptilian, ready to strike.
But the man, who had been unarmed a moment ago, now held not one but two swords, one in each hand. They flew at each other, the creature literally so, and then they were practically nose to nose, dark eyes locked into the horrible bloodshot red eyes, swords improbably in the grip of impossibly strong and touch pale clawed hands.
And then the red eyes widened in surprise. The creature looked down, stabbed in the belly by the trident. The trident held in the man's third hand.
The man struck out with his fourth arm, smashing the creature back up against the wall, where it remained pinned by the trident blade.
The woman as well had pulled a silvery blade out of nowhere, and by now had neatly beheaded two of the other pale men, who had also somewhere along the line transformed into pale, bat-like creatures.
“Damn, I am falling behind,” grumbled the man, who quickly slipped out of his shoes and then began his own assault against the creatures. Between the two, they made swift work of the monsters, and soon stood in the middle of a once again very quiet bar.
“That was bracing!” said the man, who grinned. A grin that somehow seemed too large for his handsome face.
But the woman was now beset by another, very different group: the cluster of terribly handsome men who had been sitting in the corner now surrounded her, speaking in very rapid Italian.
“Yes, thank you so much, boys!” she to them as she received another continental air kiss.
“We were so grateful to be of service to you, Lady Raziel!” said one, as she stood on tip-toe so he could kiss either cheek.
“You are darlings all of you! And you saved us a lot of time!” Raziel told them.
“And please tell Lord Ganesha we would be pleased to sit for him once again!” they told her, which Raziel repeated, more or less accurately, to Ganesh.
“Oh, what a splendid idea! I am always honored at the opportunity to have the famous Renaissance angels as my models!” said Ganesh.
“You need to pose for his son, Boonie. He is a prodigy!” Raziel told them.
“Yes, that is actually a splendid idea,” agreed Ganesh to the many cries of “Bambino!”
Raziel had pulled out her cell phone and was sharing images with the chattering angels. “He is going to be an important new voice! Look at the mural he just completed for our den.”
“Is someone gonna let me off!” came a hissing.
“Oh, hush,” grumbled Raziel to the vampire, who was still stuck to the wall with Ganesh's trident. “You're lucky your not in the pile with your buddies.”
“RAZIEL!” wailed Ganesh.
“What is it, dear?”
Ganesh did not reply, but, seemingly stricken, held out an arm for her to regard.
“Tsk,” she tutted.
“Cappuccino?” he asked, seemingly beset.
“Definitely,” Raziel nodded sadly. “Maybe the dry cleaners could get it, sweetie?”
But the sleeve was now in the face of the impaled vampire. “Through your intemperate behavior, vampire, you have stained my couture!” Ganesh told the perplexed creature.
“What's going on now?” the vampire asked Raziel.
“You ruined his jacket.”
“HE PUT A FORK THROUGH ME!” protested the vampire, indicating its impaled belly.
“He thought you were done,” grinned Raziel to a perplexed looking ghoul.
“What did he say?” asked Ganesh.
“Your fork is annoying him.”
“It's a trident, actually,” Ganesh huffed at the vampire, extracting the same and grabbing the vampire by the scruff of the neck as he collapsed. “Please have more cultural awareness!”
“What?” asked the vampire.
“You’re truly fucked now, bitch,” Raziel told it.
Pickles sighed and tightened his grip. It wasn't easy, sleeping alone recently. Ever since they'd let him out of the clinic. They had claimed it was a bad reaction to the drug. But Pickles hadn't had a bad reaction to a drug in his entire life.
He stirred slightly. She stirred not at all. It was sort of weird, sleeping alongside Lavona. Kind of the opposite of Charles and all those roaring angel snores. She slept like.... Well, she literally slept like the dead. No snores, not even the sound of breathing, and he could swear to god, she was cold. Hard to tell with his face in that fucking scarf.
He relaxed his grip somewhat. That scarf. She kept the fucking thing on even in bed. Weird, weird chick. Not that he'd avoided weird chicks before, that was pretty much SOP for groupies.
Still....
Listening carefully to make sure she was fast asleep, Pickles put his skillful musicians hands to her neck. It was long and thin, of some fine material like silk, so there was a lot of it: it was like unwrapping a bandage. But he was patient and careful, and she seemed an unearthly deep sleeper.
And then it was the last layer. And that fine pale skin. Not exactly like angel skin, because that always seemed to have a kind of glow underneath. No, this was more pale like marble was pale: drained of color. And life.
Pickles shook his head. He was imagining things.
Pale and perfect! Except for....
He drew back.
Lavona's eyes. Wide open. Staring at him now.
Charles found himself lifted off his feet.
“Uh,” he stammered when Ganesh finally released him to go off and try on the gloriously unstained new jacket.
“He's happier about that damn jacket than he is seeing me,” he grumbled to Raziel.
“You're now jealous of a blazer?” she grinned.
“Now I know you're talking about me when you're speaking Angelic,” bustled Ganesh, striking a pose in the blazer.
“Well, that's egotistical enough!” said Raziel, who was, annoyingly, on her favorite perch, sitting atop Charles' desk.
“I know the word for jacket,” Ganesh told her.
“Really? You know Angelic couture?”
“I know couture,” said Ganesh, reaching out his arms to Charles again.
“Hugs!” warned Charles, waving a cautioning finger.
“Sorry, dear,” said Ganesh, instead kissing him on top of the head, which still appeared to cause a certain amount of feather ruffling.
“So, did you guys find out anything else?” asked Charles.
“Well, the neighborhood is gonna have a lot fewer butcher shops,” Raziel told him.
“I really do not understand the Italian’s obsession with dead animal carcasses,” mused Ganesh.
“Because it’s delicious,” laughed Raziel.
“So you think that’s why these characters ended up in that neighborhood?” asked Charles.
“It is quite possible,” said Ganesh. “It is a highly trafficked port area, so, as your father told us, that these represent a colony that was originally transported onboard a ship.”
“I got some nice Genoa salamis!” said Raziel.
“But after all that, we’re no closer,” grumbled Charles.
“There is another possibility. I am going to work with Anna to see if she can effect another possession.”
“But didn’t she fall into that other guy by accident?” asked Charles.
“We ought to be able to do it, intentionally this time,” said Ganesh.
“With nothing blowing up?” asked Charles. Raziel chuckled, and Ganesh glared.
“Anyway, time to check the news,” Charles sighed, clicking a remote control. A monitor lowered from the ceiling.
On the screen, two figures stood outside the courthouse: a tall black woman and, looking very pale and small beside her, a blond man wrapped up in a Nehru suit and sunglasses.
“Tell the DA we demand to know, what is going on at the county coroner's office?” bellowed Erzulie D'en Tort from behind a mircophone-studded podium. “Throw off the shroud of secrecy! We demand to know, where is the body!”
There were answers from the crowd, “Where is the body?” And several people held up signs that said “Where is the body?” and “Come clean coroner!”
“You have planted bystanders?” asked Ganesh.
“No, actually, this stuff has been spontaneous,” Charles told him proudly. “Dick's got a lot of fans, I guess.”
“Are you enjoying our little escapade?” asked a mellifluous voice.
“Erzulie!” grinned Charles, as she had just appeared in his office, sitting comfortably on a chair. “You got him bail! You kick ass!”
“Your operation was of great assistance,” said the Goddess, extracting a thin cigar from her jacket pocket. “I am still not quite certain how you managed getting into the coroner’s office like that.”
“Probably best you stay in the dark, but let's say, Ganesh's spell casting helped,” said Charles proudly.
Ganesh said nothing, but smiled.
Erzulie nodded quietly. “You are a surprising bunch,” she mused.
“And he hardly blew up anything this time,” giggled Raziel, to a glare from Ganesh.
Erzulie paused. She rose regally, and extended a hand. “Queen Raziel, is it?”
“Call me Raz! Everybody does!” said the little angel, bouncing off the desk in a quite unqueenly manner.
“I had hoped to make your acquaintance long before this,” Erzulie told her, taking her hand.
“Wotan's been impressed with your work. Maybe you could come up to Valhalla after this Dick Knubbler idiocy is over?”
“One hopes it will be soon.”
“But not so soon if Sariel's paying you by the hour,” Raziel grinned, hopping back up on the desk, where she ignored Charles’ glare.
“It's worth every penny, actually,” said Charles, sinking into his chair. “Interest in our concert tour has been crazy. I mean, even crazier than usual.”
“Charles, do you not need to deal with Pickles’, er, situation before your boys venture on tour?” asked Ganesh.
“We’re improvising!” said Charles. “Nothing stops Dethklok.”
“Vampires,” shuddered Skwisgaar, clutching at his Gibson.
“You’re not still bitching about THAT?” asked Nathan, twirling his microphone Roger Daltrey-style.
“Demons ams not pleasants eggsperiences.”
“What’sch wrong with demonsch?” demanded Murderface.
“Dey ams demonicockals!” insisted Skwisgaar. “And has da bads breaths.”
“WHO hasch bad breath?” asked Murderface, who nonetheless held up a hand to smell his own.
“Ams we gonna rehearse or not?” grumbled Toki.
“Yeah, we gotta quit acting like OLD LADIES. Hey, BOON, can you give us a DOWNBEAT?”
The toddler sitting in the drummer’s seat, all four arms holding drumsticks, legs swinging free, attacked the kit.
“Boy, dat kids ams goods!” said Skwisgaar, completely missing his cue.
“Yeah, imagine when he can reach the PEDALS,” mused Nathan.
“Skwisgaar, you ams missed da cue! Agains!” whined Toki.
“Pffft, Toki, you must starts ons da cues, I am fasts enough I cans catch up,” scoffed Skwisgaar, who indeed tossed off a mercury-quick riff, albeit, the wrong riff.
“Uh, what exactly is going on?” asked Charles.
“Daddy, look!” called Elias excitedly, going into another spectacular solo for his father, who had just come up on the rehearsal stage.
“Uh. You guys have my toddler sitting in on drums?” Charles asked Nathan.
“You wanted us to KEEP REHEARSING while Pickles is AWAY,” Nathan reminded him. “NOTHING stops DETHKLOK. Well, except maybe a lack of chips. That would be pretty bad.”
“Yes, but I had supposed you boys might find, uh, a drum machine, or something of the kind….”
There were groans all around at the mention of the d- m- word, or rather words.
“Oh, not dats again,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“I dunno guys,” said Nathan, his eyes lighting up. “Is there a Facebones instructional video? I fucking love Facebones.”
“I don’t actually have….” Charles started. “Look, this can’t be good for him!” he said, going to pick up his child.
“Why not?” asked Nathan.
“Well, I don’t know, Nathan. Because of…. Because of reasons!” said Charles, his son and many, many drumsticks now in hand.
“Oh, reasons,” said Nathan. “Yeah. Well, why didn’t you say so.”
Charles sighed very deeply and began to carry Elias out of the rehearsal area. “Wanna go see what Baap’s up to?”
“Uh-huh!”
“C’mon Murgatroyd!” he called to Elias’ wolf pup. Despite the racket, the small wolf had been dozing peacefully at Elias’ feet, but was actually already nipping at their heels.
Dealing with a kid – an actual kid – was all so much easier than dealing with a metal band, Charles thought as they walked. They found Ganesh chatting companionably with Anna’s ghost down on a lower level.
“We simply need you to do more or less exactly what you did the other night, a small possession, if you will,” Ganesh was saying.
“Those guys are icky,” Anna sighed. “Oh, hi Charles! Hi Boon!”
“Anna! Boonie pway da dwums an Defkwok!” the child told her as he climbed up on the couch next to her.
“Well, you sure have enough drumsticks, don’t you?” asked Anna, who seemed a little distraught at all the arms.
Ganesh chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. He stuck out an extra pair of arms and did some dance forms. “It runs in the family,” he laughed.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re an elephant got,” she mused. “Look, Charles, I don’t wanna seem like I’m ungrateful, but is all my stuff gonna be going inside those creepy things?”
“I shall remain here the whole time to lead you out,” Ganesh assured her.
“I don’t like ‘em much, either,” Charles told her. “But our friend has been accused of a murder. And we now think, thanks to you, that the person he supposedly murdered may actually be still alive. So we’re trying to find her as fast as we can. And, Ganesh thinks this may be connected to some worse stuff.”
“That Uriah guy?” said Anna, who suddenly seemed to shimmer a bit.
Ganesh nodded, though he also shot a worried glance at Charles.
“OK, but what if I can’t figure out what the heck I did?” Anna asked. She waved at the table in front of her, which contained the remains of some sandwiches. “I was so starved I was almost fainting!”
“Yes, we shall endeavor not to repeat that,” Ganesh told her. “If you would allow me, I believe I can in fact lead you in.”
She looked over to Charles. “Uh, he kinda does this Jedi mind trick thing,” Charles told her.
“Whoa. Cool! But,” she said, turning back to Ganesh, “I thought that only worked on the weak-minded.”
“Yes, that is actually true! And that is why you will have to allow me.”
“Oh. OK!” said Anna brightly.
“You wanna bring the guy in,” Charles said into his wrist communicator.
“I demand a jury trial of my peers!” the Italian vampire whined.
“Oi, quit being insufferable,” sighed Chango, who, along with his fellow vodouisant, Orula, led in the prisoner.
“These Italian people!” sighed Orula. “Always prattling away in Italian! What is he on about now?”
“Oi, ‘e’s just being a cunt.”
“Typical! Oh is this our spirit!” clapped Orula, sighting Anna, who seemed slightly boggled at the sight of two colorfully dressed men escorting a pale demon.
“Yeah, guys, this is Anna,” said Charles.
“Quite charmed indeed,” said Orula, making a sweeping bow.
“Cheers, luv!” piped Chango.
“These are Orula and Chango, our associates who delve into the world of voudoun,” Ganesh explained.
“You have voodoo dudes here?” asked an ever impressed Anna.
“Every home needs them,” Orula told her.
“And what have we here?” asked the vampire, who was suddenly looking over greedily at Elias and smacking his lips. “Aiii!” he screamed, as he had no sooner spoken than was being herded back by a rather insistent, if very small, dog. “Get it off me!” he protested.
“Tsk. Aswangs like to feast on small children. Yet another of their charming characteristics,” grumbled Orula.
“Oi! Give me my zombies, eh master?” said Chango.
“Yes, any day!” agreed Orula.
“Real zombies?” asked Anna. “Are they slow zombies or fast zombies?”
“That is a very astute question, young spirit!” said Orula.
“Should we maybe get on with the possession thing?” Charles interrupted. “I want this fucking thing out of my sight,” he said, as he grabbed Murgatroyd’s leash and glared at the vampire. “You touch my kid, I’ll feed you to my dog,” he growled. “While you’re still alive. Or undead. Or whatever the fuck you are.”
“You are a terrible group of very rude beings!” noted the vampire.
“Anna,” said Ganesh, who was suddenly leaning over, lightly holding her chin a hand.
“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes suddenly seeming to go out of focus.
“What I need you to do for me now, I need you to go to that fellow, take a quick look inside his soul, and then walk right back to me. All rightie?”
“Uh-huh!” she agreed, a funny little smile on her face. Dreamily, she rose and serenely crossed the room, towards the vampire.
“What fresh hell is this?” wailed the irritably vampire. But then Anna drew near, and then – well, she didn’t pass through him, but somehow, where there were two beings had been, there was only one. The vampire jerked, and then, for the first time in days, suddenly did not look so irritable.
“Whoa. Cool!” said the vampire.
“All rightie, Anna,” soothed Ganesh. “Come on out now.”
“It’s sort of cool, having a body again,” said the vampire, looking curiously at a claw. “Even though it’s kind of a gross body.”
“Anna,” said Ganesh quietly.
“Oh. Yeah,” said the vampire. And then there were two beings, Anna, and the vampire, which swiftly crumpled to the floor.
“Oh, oops! Did I do that?” asked Anna apologetically. She looked over to Chango and Orula, who were politely applauding.
“Bravo!” said Orula.
“Oi, that was some ace possession, Miss Anna!” agreed Chango.
“Did you see anything about Lavona Succuboso, or her whereabouts, dear?” asked Ganesh.
“I think the vampire was hungry or something!” said Anna. “Or pregnant?” she mused, casting a confused glance at him.
“What?” asked Charles.
“He kept thinking about pickles!”
Charles and Ganesh looked at each other.
“Everything,” said Ganesh urgently, catching her arm. “Tell us everything.”
“So, remember, he went willingly. He may not wanna leave,” said Charles.
“I am aware of that,” nodded Ganesh. “You are certain you won’t let me examine your wounds?” he asked Lavona Succuboso, who sat on a bunk in the isolation cell, glaring furiously at him. “I am a physician.”
Lavona clutched at the bandage on her neck and told him, “I simply vant out of here! I know my rights!”
“Lavona, you’re free to go any time,” Charles told her. “We just want you to help us with Dick.”
“Vhy should I help heem? He has confined me here!” she insisted.
“You honestly do not know?” asked Ganesh.
“Know vhat?”
Ganesh and Charles looked at one another. “Dick Knubbler has been accused of your murder,” Ganesh explained. “He has insisted though from the very beginning that another person had been substituted for you.”
Lavona looked suspiciously between the two men. Ganesh pulled out his cell phone, and flipped to a news page. He handed her the phone, and she read for a while.
“Is dis true?” she asked at last. “Dummkopfs! Dick did not kill me! I am here!”
“If you would be willing to assist us with this matter, then of course, you are free to go anywhere you like afterwards,” Ganesh told her.
“Ja! Dey vant to break me! Dat iss vhat dey vant! But dey vill not challenge my loyalty to da hogfadder, to great Saa’itii!” she declared. “All iss hog fat!”
“Sire?”
Charles turned to address the Klokateer standing at the doorway. “Yeah, Pie. You found him?”
“Yes, sire, we have located Master Pickles.”
“Great. Thanks, Lavona,” nodded Charles, who was soon hastening out of the room, Ganesh at his heels.
“Remember, he came here willingly,” Charles told Ganesh as he readjusted his tie for the dozenth time that morning.
“Yes, dear, you have reminded me of this fact on several recent occasions.”
“So, let me do the talking. We may have to use persuasion.”
“I can be quite persuasive, dear.”
“And don’t overreact!” warned Charles.
“I shall try not to,” Ganesh assured him.
Charles paused at an anonymous doorway in the seemingly nondescript building, readjusted his tie yet again, and then, at a nod from the Klokateer stationed there, charged inside.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” Charles bellowed.
Ganesh hastened inside, where he found Charles gripping Pickles by the collar.
“Yeh, sahry….” Pickles said softly.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA how worried we were? Did you think to fucking CALL or something?”
“Sariel,” said Ganesh.
“I COULD FUCKING KILL YOU!” raved Charles, who seemed to be rather winding up than calming down.
“Look. Charles. Dood.”
“ARE YOU AN IDIOT?”
“Sariel!” said Ganesh.
“Prolly.”
“I WANNA FUCKING-“
“SARIEL!” said Ganesh, who suddenly grabbed Charles, pulled him off Pickles, and manhandled him down into a chair. “SIT! STAY. BAD ANGEL!” Ganesh scolded as Charles irritably slumped into the chair.
“Charles,” said Pickles apologetically. “Dood. Yoo gaht to unnerstand, my parents asked fer me.”
“Your parents are ASSHOLES!” shouted Charles, who started to rise, but stayed down after a particularly sharp glare from Ganesh.
“I know. I know. I jest…. I still want da asshoes t’ love me fer some reason.”
“BUT I LOVE YOU!” Charles had leapt to his feet this time, and Ganesh didn’t stop him.
“I know dood, I jest….” Pickles was quite openly teary eyed now. “I’ll go wit’ yoo. It’s okee. Dere’s some bad shit goin’ down, an’ we gaht to talk.”
“We are aware of Lavona’s, er, condition,” Ganesh told him.
“Oh, yeh!” said Pickles, wiping his eyes on a wristband and actually cracking a small smile. “Feck, dat wuz weird. Is she gonna be a feckin’ vampire or some shit?”
“We don’t know at present. I would need to talk to Papa Jacque. And she must consent to our intervention.”
“But that wasn’t the bad shit you were talking about,” said Charles.
“Charles! I had a vision while I wuz here! Dere’s something bad happening.”
“A vision,” grumbled Charles, once again sitting down. “I thought this place was supposed to keep you away from your special blend?”
Pickles was pulling a cigarette pack out of his back pocket. “Dey did. Dey kept me away frum anyt’ing but dis!” he said.
Charles glowered, but then held out a hand. Pickles gestured with the pack.
“NO!” said Ganesh, once again coming between them. “Absolutely no cigarettes!” he said, wagging a finger at Charles.
“Ganesh,” said Charles, menace in his voice. “I need a fucking cigarette.”
Ganesh sighed, but stepped back, and then the two had lit cigarettes. “What was the vision, Pickles?” he asked.
“It’s sorta confused. In my head.”
“Let me guess,” said Charles. “There were seven swords, and seven golden lampstands.”
“Yeh, lamps frum IKEA dood. No, dere was a drummer.”
Charles sighed deeply and actually slumped down in his chair looking peevish.
“But he was not human?” asked Ganesh, who had suddenly perked up.
“No, dood, he wuz a gawd! Of sum kind. I mean, nawt like you….”
“But … like your brother?” asked Ganesh.
“Ganesh?” asked Charles, now sitting back up.
Pickles frowned. “He ain’t my brudder.” He flicked ashes and appeared to think about it. “But, mebbe. Yeh, mebbe somethin’ like dat. But dat ain’t da t’ing.”
“What is it?” Ganesh urged.
“Dere’s sumthin’ else. Waitin’,” said Pickles. Pickles was watching his cigarette tremble in his hand. Because his hand was trembling. And then he was watching the cigarette fall to the floor, because he could no longer hold it in his shaking hand.
And then Charles was at his side, holding on to his arm. “It’s big,” said Pickles. “An’ terrible.”
“Pickles. Can you say the name?” asked Ganesh.
“Don’t make him!” said Charles. “You’re coming home with us. Now,” said Charles. “You’re coming back to Mordhaus.”
Pickles looked to Ganesh. “Aza- Azalot’? Or sumthin’ like dat?”
Ganesh nodded, but did not reply.
“OK, OK,” said Charles. “All right.” He escorted Pickles to the door. “You’re going home. Right now,” he said, handing the still trembling drummer off to some Klokateers. He shut the door behind himself and turned to Ganesh.
“What?” asked Charles. “Tell me.”
Ganesh stared off in the distance. “We,” he said at last, “are in for a world of shit.”
“So is he settled in?” asked Ganesh.
Charles debated turning on a light. Ganesh was sitting in the dark inside their suite again, wearing the reading glasses he claimed he didn’t need, piles of dusty old books sitting opened before him on the coffee table. The one lamp – a good lamp, of course, a little Tiffany – cast a long shadow over the Hindu god.
He appeared to actually be reading this time, Charles thought.
“They’re killing ants with Thor’s hammer,” Charles told Ganesh.
“Well, that is a use for it I suppose.” Ganesh folded his legs up into the lotus position. “Sariel, did you ever touch upon the topic, with Your Father, regarding His origins?”
“We weren’t ever close,” grumbled Charles. “You might ask Raziel. They were buddies. For a while.”
“I have entertained the topic with her. She is if anything more resistant than yourself,” Ganesh said, smiling thinly.
Charles sat down next to Ganesh. “I know what my mom told us. That’s the most I’ve heard. I guess we didn’t really worry ourselves with what He’d been up to before He came here. He just always seemed … eternal or something, I guess. Why? What do you think?”
“My current working theory is that Your Father was an outcast of a sort from a group of very powerful Elder Gods. Little is known of them. The original group seems to have dispersed somewhat. But indications are, some of these individuals, who have remained dormant for many years, may be awakening.”
“Awakening? So, uh, they need coffee?”
Ganesh smiled. “Yes, it seems that they may be irritable.”
Charles sat back, wishing for another cigarette. “You know, you’re not gonna get a straight answer out of Our Father. He’s a slippery guy. Believe me, I know.”
“I thought perhaps he could lead us to someone who would give a straight answer,” said Ganesh, pushing a book in front of Charles.
Charles regarded the drawing. “Uh, to quote Anna, ‘Ewwww!’”
“Saa’itii,” said Ganesh. “Sometimes referred to as the Hogfather. Lavona mentioned him.”
“Wait, there’s really a Baconology god? I thought they just made all that shit up to sell books and bacon?”
Ganesh smiled widely now. “As I’ve said, I don’t understand the fascination with the consumption of dead flesh. But, yes.” He looked questioningly at Charles. “So, you would not mind, if I were to inquire…?”
“Do what you want. But Ganesh?”
“Yes?”
“Try not to murder the old fucker. You maybe wanna take someone along with you.”
Ganesh nodded. “Good advice. I have in fact someone in mind.”
Pickles tightened his grip somewhat.
Charles let out a particularly obnoxious snore, and then settled back very quickly.
Angels were annoying as hell but, Pickles had to admit, they were a lot more comforting than trying to sleep with a fucking vampire. Though it was sort of strange. Since he’d stopped smoking – or at least since he had ceased roaring through packs like they were going out of style – there was an actual substance to Charles’ body. He wasn’t a bony thing you thought might dry up and blow away. A husband and a kid, Pickles thought again. Strange that these eternal beings could change.
Pickles was thinking, not sleeping, so he loosened his grip, and slipped off the bed. He fumbled for and found sufficient clothes so he wouldn’t be stalking the Haus naked, and departed the suite, not certain where his feet might take him.
It wasn’t long before he ran into some more wanderers. Mordhaus never really slept. It was Skwisgaar. And Nathan. And…
“Hey, Pickle, ams you met Anna yets?”
Pickles was trying to be polite to the new groupie girl, but found himself truly confused. He could usually sense spirits, but something was very weird. She seemed to be all spirit.
“Um, hi Pickles. I dunno, can you see me?” Anna asked.
“Uh, why wouldn’ I be able t’ see yoo?”
“DAMN! You can see her too?” wailed Nathan.
“She ams da ghost!” said Skwisgaar smugly. “I can see her, because I ams da gods.”
“You’re a HALF GOD,” grumbled Nathan.
“Uh, okee,” said Pickles. He tentatively sent out a hand, and was surprised when she shook it. “Sahry, I ain’t gaht a lawt of experience wit’ ghosts,” he said, regarding his own hand. Wasn't she suppose to be all misty or something?
“I’m glad you can see me. A lot of the people here can’t, and it’s weird,” she told him. “Are you a god too?”
“Wul….”
“His brudder ams da jellies fishes,” chuckles Skwisgaar. Nathan laughed, but Anna shot the guitarist an annoyed glance.
“I’m like a shaman,” Pickles told her. “So I kin see spirits an’ stuff.”
“Shamans means hims ams stoned most of da times,” said Skwisgaar.
“We’re going to get snacks,” Anna told Pickles, now pointedly ignoring Skwisgaar. “I’m not supposed to get hungry, because it makes me weird, so Ganesh told me to eat lots of little meals. Did you want to come?”
Pickles smiled sympathetically. So, the one guy who could see her was annoying the hell out of her, evidently. “Yeh, I cud go fer sum ice cream er sumthin’.”
“Charles ams probably eats us outta da pies agains,” said Skwisgaar, who started off, Anna glaring after him. Pickles started to follow, but felt a hand on his arm.
“Uhhhh,” said Nathan.
Pickles glanced after the others’ retreating backs. He had been dreading this conversation.
“Okee. You wanna ask about Lavonuh?” sighed Pickles.
Nathan said nothing, but merely nodded.
“Look, dood? Take my advice, an’ steer clear o’ her.”
“What? Why?”
“Yoo heard about da vampire t’ing?”
“Yeah!” said Nathan, who leaned closer. “Pretty sexy.”
“Wait! I t’ought yoo an’ Skwisgaar saw ‘em?”
“Yeah, but Pickles, she’s a girl who got bit by a vampire and everybody knows that’s completely different!”
“Nat’an, dood. It ain’t dat attractive. When she’s sleepin’, it’s like she’s all cold an’ not alive.” Pickles shuddered at the memory, and then briefly wondered why he wasn’t currently in a warm bed sandwiched between a god and an angel, both of whom were very much alive.
“Sleeping?”
Pickles jerked out of his reverie to look at Nathan. Shit. “Uh. We gaht close, dood. I mean, dere togedder like?”
Nathan looked dark. Darker than usual. “Can’t you guys ever fucking leave off?” he growled. And then he was off.
“Sahry,” Pickles whispered to an empty hallway.
“Gampa!” sang Elias, hurtling cheerfully towards the old man, who hefted the child and the drawing the little one was carrying.
“Well, look at this, Elias! Is this your latest? Such good work!”
“Uh-huh!”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
The old man paused and looked at the large bearded man standing alongside Lord Ganesh in the latter’s living room. “Lord Wotan, I believe? I take it this is not to be entirely a social visit,” said the Creator.
Ganesh sat down on a couch and gestured for the others to do the same.
“We just wanted to chat,” said Wotan agreeably. He pulled a decanter closer to him and raised a glass. “You like a little Scotch?”
“I do not imbibe,” the Creator told him.
“Oh. I assumed,” said Wotan. “Your Son wouldn’t refuse a drop,” he continued, pouring glasses for himself and Ganesh.
“Is He to be the topic?” asked the Creator.
“No, just making conversation. The wife had Him up as a guest at the Naming of our twins,” said Wotan.
The Creator seemed to cringe at the mention of Raziel.
“We are currently looking into rumors concerning an old colleague of yours,” said Ganesh, swirling his whiskey.
“Azatoth,” said the Creator.
“So,” said Ganesh, “you can say his name. I was unclear on that matter.”
“Oh, don’t believe the bullshit,” grumbled the Creator. “You know, I think I will try one of those,” he said, pointing to the Scotch. Wotan cheerily filled a glass for him, which the Creator downed in one go.
Wotan refilled the Creator’s glass. “You won’t get much out of me,” he said, looking down at Elias and ruffing the boy’s hair. “Azatoth and I … I’m not close with that crowd. Was never close.”
“Then you must have heard as well that Skarl has grown unhappy.”
“Skarl was never happy,” sighed the Creator. “Creative differences. I think he’s just a self-important little asshole. Fucking hipsters.”
“I am sorry,” said Ganesh. “There is much we do not know.”
“We are unknowable to such as thee,” said the Creator. “Be glad for that small favor.”
“So, Ganesh here, he’s a bright boy, as you must know,” said Wotan, refilling glasses. “He had this idea to seek out another old acquaintance of yours, someone by the name of Saa’itii?”
The Creator scoffed. “The Hogfather? How do you propose to do that, little earth gods?” he smirked.
“You tell us,” said Ganesh, as the room suddenly darkened. He and the Creator, for just an instant, locked eyes.
The Creator blinked, sitting back. “He’s in a different universe,” he said. The room gradually lightened again. “I could tell you where, but I’m not sure you have anyone at your disposal who could bear the trip.”
Ganesh nodded, looking concerned, but Wotan said, “We’ll figure it out. We’re pretty resourceful like that.”
“But Saa’itii has many followers here, as you must know?” said Ganesh.
“Always meddling, that one,” grumbled the Creator. “Never knew his place.” He stood. “If you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to catch the opening credits of Corazon de Azul. It's a little peccadillo of mine.”
“Certainly,” said Ganesh, also standing.
“But, since I have you both here, would you mind telling me something?”
Wotan inclined his head. “What would that be?”
The Creator looked down at Elias. He did not meet their eyes. “My children. How do they abide?”
“Raz is happy as hell. Being a mom suits her,” said Wotan.
The Creator nodded. At length, he looked up at Ganesh.
“Sariel....” Ganesh began. “He is well. There are places in his heart I feel I will never know however.”
The Creator nodded. “Obliged for the drink. I'll have my man bring you specifics about Saa'itii's whereabouts.” And then he was no longer there.
“Bye!” called Elias.
“Asshole,” muttered Ganesh, downing his drink.
Wotan put a hand on his shoulder. “Sariel is fine, my boy. Don't overthink. Now, I need to get home myself.”
“How are we to get to see Saa'itii,” Ganesh asked him. “I had not forseen he was currently located in another universe. Many of our trusted people are now bound to earth.”
“Won’t be a problem,” said Wotan. “I need to talk to the ladywife,” he grinned. “Now,” he said, going to pick up Elias. “Are you gonna stay out trouble, young one?”
“Nooo!” promised Elias.
“Hmpf! Learning too much from my two he is!” Wotan laughed. He sat the boy back on the couch and then departed.
Ganesh sat down next to his son, who cheerfully clambered into his lap and started to doze. And he sat for a while, holding the boy, and thinking about the end of the world.
“Well, I can’t really get out to distant universe like I used to,” said Raziel.
Or at least Charles thought it was Raziel. It was spring cleaning time at Valhalla – no matter that spring would not show its face up there for another month or so – so what he addressed now was a capacious cupboard or pantry that occasionally emitted seemingly random objects being hurled into the growing pile outside: an eggbeater, a porcelain doll missing an eye, a whirligig, a ukulele, a hula girl bobble, a New York Giants pennant, something that looked a lot like a sonic screwdriver, 8 track tapes, brass knuckles, a mannequin head....
“Shit,” said Charles, picking up the uke and strumming a chord. “So who are we gonna get for that?”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she shouted out.
“Should be no problem!” Wotan shouted from somewhere in another room.
“Wait, I thought you said you couldn’t go any more?” asked Charles.
“No, I can’t, but I’m queen of Valhalla! I can take this place anywhere I damn please!” bragged Raziel.
“You’re going to … ride Valhalla?” asked Ganesh, who had picked up a katana from the pile and was feinting with it.
“Not all of it!” shouted Wotan.
“A piece of it,” said Raziel's voice. “Wotan hates it when you upset the laying hens.”
“Upsets the laying hens!” shouted Wotan.
“Yeah, you need eggs,” agreed Charles, rubbing his stomach and wondering if it was anywhere near breakfast time.
“So you and Sariel…?” inquired Ganesh, who seemed fascinated.
“You’re coming too, right Ganesh?” asked Razie, who had emerged from the cupboard. “We need you. You’re the only one who understands all this nonsense.”
“But, I cannot leave my own universe. I’m not like you two!”
“Naw, you’ll be fine!” Raziel assured him. “Your magic is all mixed up with Sariel’s now. Some arcane thing.”
“Arcane magic!” yelled Wotan.
“But you should be good to go,” Raziel assured him.
“Really?” asked Ganesh, a dreamy look now in his eyes. “I never had any hope of seeing another universe. Not... Not in this incarnation.”
“Aw, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, right Sariel?”
“Are you sure Ganesh will be OK, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Of course. The big thing is…”
“What?” asked Charles.
“Well, I have to find something decent to wear of course,” said Raziel
“Are you gonna be giving all my money to a bunch of Italians again?” demanded Wotan from the other room.
“No, I though the French this time,” mused Raziel. “You know those little lacy things you like…?”
“Oh, those thing!” shouted Wotan. “Aye, that ought to be OK.”
“I would pay money to erase this conversation from my mind forever,” sighed Charles. “Are you going too, Wotan?” he shouted.
“Nope! Someone’s gotta stay here to watch the kids!” Wotan replied.
“Aw, shit,” said Charles. “That’s right. I gotta find someone to watch the boys.”
“My father would probably help,” said Raziel.
“Perhaps you could inquire with your own father, Sariel,” suggested Ganesh.
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. The boys like Jacque. They’ll probably just spend the weekend playing cards.”
“Cards? I’m taking bets on whether Mordhaus is still standing when you return!” laughed Raziel.
“Well, that’s a problem ever day anyway,” shrugged Charles. “Look, are you guys sure Ganesh will be OK?”
“Oh, pish-posh, Sariel,” said Ganesh.
“He’ll be fine! We wouldn’t let anything happen to Ganesh! We love Ganesh!” said Raziel.
“He’s like the son I never had!” laughed Wotan from the other room.
“What?” said Raziel. “You have a million sons!”
“A son with brains,” said Wotan, who finally coming into the room.
“Liam has brains!” Raziel insisted.
“How did your son get peanut butter into my saddle again?”
“Oh, he’s my son?”
“When he gets his condiments in my tack, he is!”
“Well, have you thought, HOW did he get peanut butter up on the saddle? Huh?” asked Raziel, pointing to her head.
“Angels and their mischief!” scolded Wotan, putting an arm around Raziel. “No offense, Sariel!”
“None taken,” sighed Charles. “Look, we gotta discuss this, OK?”
“Discuss what, precisely?” asked a sweetly baffled Ganesh, but Charles was already hustling him off. “Er, isn't that Lady's Raziel's ukulele?”
“And that's her sword. Better us than Good Will.” They were between worlds now, in a funny place that looked like an old fashioned hall of mirrors, and alone. “You sure about this? You'll be OK going to another universe. And DON'T FUCKING say pish-posh, because I swear to gods....'
“We're not really going to an alternate universe, but rather bringing the universe to ourselves! All will work brilliantly!” said Ganesh, stabbing with the sword and unfortunately ending up slicing right through one of the mirrors. “Oh. Oops.”
Charles sighed and played the funeral march on his ukulele.
“We are now suing the county of Los Angeles for 666 million dollars-“
Erzulie D’en Tort paused dramatically. There were ooo’s and ahhh’s from the assembled crowd.
“-for wrongful imprisonment, false accusations, and defamation of character!”
“What do you make of this, Connie?” came Dan’s voice from the newsroom.
“They’re in a world of shit now! You don’t fuck with Dick Knubbler!” opined Connie Conehead, who was quite good at opining things.
“Unless you ams Murderfaces, ands you fucks Dick Knubbler,” laughed Skwisgaar.
For once, Murderface did not murder Skwisgaar. To the guitarist’s apparent dismay, the bassist actually sat back and laughed.
“I fucking love Connie Conehead,” grinned Nathan, washing down his breakfast chips with some beer.
“Dood! Did yoo come up wit’ dat amount?” asked Pickles, hitting the foot pedal mute button.
“Uh. Yeah,” said Charles, who stood off to this side, seeming distracted.
“Are you prepared, Sariel?” asked Ganesh, who had just come into the room, holding Elias, and being trailed by the ever faithful Murgatroyd.
“Uh,” said Charles, who nodded, but did not look anything like prepared. “OK. Guys?”
There were mutters and the sound of Skwisgaar jamming.
“Phanuel and my dad are gonna be here soon,” Charles continued.
“And we ams shows dems da same respects we shows you!” said Toki.
“Uh, no, Toki, I’d like you to actually listen to them,” said Charles to gales of laughter. He felt the hand on his elbow.
“They will be fine,” Ganesh told him. Charles nodded, and the small group Walked to Valhalla, where they found Raziel eyeing a sword that seemed almost as big as she.
“BOONIE!” squealed the twins, and Ganesh set down his son to run and play.
“You will be careful, my little raven?” asked Wotan, who was standing over her.
“Of course. You know me!”
“Sadly, I do!” laughed Wotan as she stood up on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye. She turned to face Ganesh and Charles.
“Sariel, you look like shit! Do we need to feed him breakfast first?”
“I’ll be fine. I just wanna get this over with,” he grumbled.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him, grabbing him by the elbow and walking off.
“It will be an adventure!” agreed Ganesh.
“Make certain you’re clear of the henhouses!” Wotan shouted after them as he herded kids and dogs and wolves and various other hangers on inside.
“All right!” said Raziel when they had gone a distance from the hall. “As Ganesh would say, this won’t hurt a bit.”
“Actually, he’s always warning me stuff will sting!” said Charles.
Raziel laughed and held out two well-manicured hands. Ganesh seized one, and Charles more reluctantly took the other. The small angel appeared to concentrate.
And then, quite suddenly – Charles didn’t really feel a physical jerk of any kind, but sensed that something had changed. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing.
They were no longer in Asgard. Or anywhere that looked like it.
“This looks like-“ Charles began.
“Another universe!” said Ganesh, who circled around once in wonderment.
“That was actually pretty slick, Raziel,” said Charles.
“Ganesh?” said Raziel.
As the two angels caught him by the arms, Ganesh abruptly doubled over, sinking to his knees.
He vomited.
And then collapsed.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary:
Warnings:
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Sahry this is a little late this week. I've been busy
Mythklok: just when you thought it was safe to leap back in the abyss.
Soooo, last time: Ganesh had a vision of some universal badness conveyed by whales; Mordhaus got yet another supernatural resident; Skwisgaar and Nathan confronted the undead and found him to be sort of icky, and Pickles smoked something.
There was just no way to tell where in hell you were.
No way in the world.
For one thing, in this part of the city, the old part - the ancient part really - there were at least three or four different sets of address numberings, black numbers and blue numbers and red numbers and maybe even green numbers and who knows what else. And the addresses on one side of the narrow, winding streets apparently had nothing to do with the numbers on the other side - just a few paces and a handshake away - as a red 23 posted atop a bar would find itself opposite a black 146 pasted over an apartment building.
So this particular place was a local coffee house in absolutely the strictest sense of the word. No one but a local could have possibly found their way here. Do you see the small group of men over at a table in the corner, speaking quietly in Italian over their cappuccinos? Locals – they must be.
It was a bit of a puzzlement, therefore, how the hell the couple sitting smack dab in the center table had found their way here this evening. Perhaps they had lost their way after a runway show? They were certainly fashionably dressed: in the woman’s case, possibly a bit too fashionably dressed, though it was difficult to imagine bringing up this subject with her. Something about her….
At any rate, male and female, one of each, though they didn’t have quite the right vibe to be called a couple. Companionable friends perhaps? Dark-haired and dark eyed, they both were, but somehow, neither seemed to be from this city, much less this country. They spoke pleasantly to each other, in a language that most certainly wasn’t Italian. It had a bit of an Asian lilt to it, something that had blown in from the east and was starting to take root.
And then, quite suddenly – as these things tend to happen in all haste – the little bar was not quite so deserted, as a sizeable group of male beings ducked their way through the doorway and dispersed themselves much as they could in a place so cramped.
At least three of them found themselves standing in front of the table in the center, there table where sat the couple-who-was-not-a-couple. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then the female half pushed her pair of oversized sunglasses down her nose – her eyes were really quite dark, like two pools of a deep mystery – and asked in quite good Italian, “You guys got a problem?”
The center most of the three beings crossed his arm and told her, “This is our table.” It was then – more specifically when he crossed his arms – that you noticed something a little out of the ordinary with this being, and indeed, a characteristic shared by all the beings that had so recently entered, mainly, a terribly pale skin tone, matched by pale hair, and pale eyes. Indeed, between perhaps a dozen of them, they did not seem to possess among them a single molecule of melanin.
“I’m sorry?” asked the male part of non-couple in quite good, British-accented English.
“Says it’s their table,” said the woman, now raising a carefully-plucked eyebrow.
“Kindly tell him I am so sorry for the misunderstanding, but I do not espy a nameplate on this particular portion of the café.”
She smiled up at the pale being. “Sorry. Go sit someplace else,” she told them, defiantly sliding the sunglasses back in place.
“You need to leave,” said the standing man, as his friends crowded closer.
“Oh, what now?” inquired the British accented man.
“Now he’s just being rude,” she told him.
“Tsk. I find rude people unbearable! How about you?”
“Why can’t people just be polite, ya know?”
“It is such a little thing. Please tell him to desist, or I shall be forced to become unpleasant myself!”
“My friend says to fuck off. Before he gets mad,” she cheerfully told them, wagging a scrupulously manicured fingernail.
The pale man didn't reply, but rather sort of growled, and grabbed the twosome's table, suddenly yanking it over, causing a lot of ruckus. The small group of Italians over in the corner ceased jabbering and began silently watching.
The man and woman regarded one another.
“He spilled my cappuccino,” she said.
“I find myself getting cross,” said the man, who nonetheless grinned.
“Oh no.”
“Sadly, yes.” He calmly stood. The room, which had already quieted down after the table was thrown, seemed to draw silent. And then it grew dark. The pale men looked around, confused, and some of them looked to their leader in apparent fright.
“You should inform this gentleman that I am not someone he should wish to anger,” said the man.
“Well, me too, ya know,” she told him. “Probably also not good to anger me.”
“True enough. You may convey that as well if you wish.”
Without bothering to rise, the woman leaned forward. “Go fuck your dead relatives,” she smiled.
And the pale man was not a pale man, he was a horrid, keening, red-eyed thing, terrible white wings spread, fangs barred, coiling back, reptilian, ready to strike.
But the man, who had been unarmed a moment ago, now held not one but two swords, one in each hand. They flew at each other, the creature literally so, and then they were practically nose to nose, dark eyes locked into the horrible bloodshot red eyes, swords improbably in the grip of impossibly strong and touch pale clawed hands.
And then the red eyes widened in surprise. The creature looked down, stabbed in the belly by the trident. The trident held in the man's third hand.
The man struck out with his fourth arm, smashing the creature back up against the wall, where it remained pinned by the trident blade.
The woman as well had pulled a silvery blade out of nowhere, and by now had neatly beheaded two of the other pale men, who had also somewhere along the line transformed into pale, bat-like creatures.
“Damn, I am falling behind,” grumbled the man, who quickly slipped out of his shoes and then began his own assault against the creatures. Between the two, they made swift work of the monsters, and soon stood in the middle of a once again very quiet bar.
“That was bracing!” said the man, who grinned. A grin that somehow seemed too large for his handsome face.
But the woman was now beset by another, very different group: the cluster of terribly handsome men who had been sitting in the corner now surrounded her, speaking in very rapid Italian.
“Yes, thank you so much, boys!” she to them as she received another continental air kiss.
“We were so grateful to be of service to you, Lady Raziel!” said one, as she stood on tip-toe so he could kiss either cheek.
“You are darlings all of you! And you saved us a lot of time!” Raziel told them.
“And please tell Lord Ganesha we would be pleased to sit for him once again!” they told her, which Raziel repeated, more or less accurately, to Ganesh.
“Oh, what a splendid idea! I am always honored at the opportunity to have the famous Renaissance angels as my models!” said Ganesh.
“You need to pose for his son, Boonie. He is a prodigy!” Raziel told them.
“Yes, that is actually a splendid idea,” agreed Ganesh to the many cries of “Bambino!”
Raziel had pulled out her cell phone and was sharing images with the chattering angels. “He is going to be an important new voice! Look at the mural he just completed for our den.”
“Is someone gonna let me off!” came a hissing.
“Oh, hush,” grumbled Raziel to the vampire, who was still stuck to the wall with Ganesh's trident. “You're lucky your not in the pile with your buddies.”
“RAZIEL!” wailed Ganesh.
“What is it, dear?”
Ganesh did not reply, but, seemingly stricken, held out an arm for her to regard.
“Tsk,” she tutted.
“Cappuccino?” he asked, seemingly beset.
“Definitely,” Raziel nodded sadly. “Maybe the dry cleaners could get it, sweetie?”
But the sleeve was now in the face of the impaled vampire. “Through your intemperate behavior, vampire, you have stained my couture!” Ganesh told the perplexed creature.
“What's going on now?” the vampire asked Raziel.
“You ruined his jacket.”
“HE PUT A FORK THROUGH ME!” protested the vampire, indicating its impaled belly.
“He thought you were done,” grinned Raziel to a perplexed looking ghoul.
“What did he say?” asked Ganesh.
“Your fork is annoying him.”
“It's a trident, actually,” Ganesh huffed at the vampire, extracting the same and grabbing the vampire by the scruff of the neck as he collapsed. “Please have more cultural awareness!”
“What?” asked the vampire.
“You’re truly fucked now, bitch,” Raziel told it.
Pickles sighed and tightened his grip. It wasn't easy, sleeping alone recently. Ever since they'd let him out of the clinic. They had claimed it was a bad reaction to the drug. But Pickles hadn't had a bad reaction to a drug in his entire life.
He stirred slightly. She stirred not at all. It was sort of weird, sleeping alongside Lavona. Kind of the opposite of Charles and all those roaring angel snores. She slept like.... Well, she literally slept like the dead. No snores, not even the sound of breathing, and he could swear to god, she was cold. Hard to tell with his face in that fucking scarf.
He relaxed his grip somewhat. That scarf. She kept the fucking thing on even in bed. Weird, weird chick. Not that he'd avoided weird chicks before, that was pretty much SOP for groupies.
Still....
Listening carefully to make sure she was fast asleep, Pickles put his skillful musicians hands to her neck. It was long and thin, of some fine material like silk, so there was a lot of it: it was like unwrapping a bandage. But he was patient and careful, and she seemed an unearthly deep sleeper.
And then it was the last layer. And that fine pale skin. Not exactly like angel skin, because that always seemed to have a kind of glow underneath. No, this was more pale like marble was pale: drained of color. And life.
Pickles shook his head. He was imagining things.
Pale and perfect! Except for....
He drew back.
Lavona's eyes. Wide open. Staring at him now.
Charles found himself lifted off his feet.
“Uh,” he stammered when Ganesh finally released him to go off and try on the gloriously unstained new jacket.
“He's happier about that damn jacket than he is seeing me,” he grumbled to Raziel.
“You're now jealous of a blazer?” she grinned.
“Now I know you're talking about me when you're speaking Angelic,” bustled Ganesh, striking a pose in the blazer.
“Well, that's egotistical enough!” said Raziel, who was, annoyingly, on her favorite perch, sitting atop Charles' desk.
“I know the word for jacket,” Ganesh told her.
“Really? You know Angelic couture?”
“I know couture,” said Ganesh, reaching out his arms to Charles again.
“Hugs!” warned Charles, waving a cautioning finger.
“Sorry, dear,” said Ganesh, instead kissing him on top of the head, which still appeared to cause a certain amount of feather ruffling.
“So, did you guys find out anything else?” asked Charles.
“Well, the neighborhood is gonna have a lot fewer butcher shops,” Raziel told him.
“I really do not understand the Italian’s obsession with dead animal carcasses,” mused Ganesh.
“Because it’s delicious,” laughed Raziel.
“So you think that’s why these characters ended up in that neighborhood?” asked Charles.
“It is quite possible,” said Ganesh. “It is a highly trafficked port area, so, as your father told us, that these represent a colony that was originally transported onboard a ship.”
“I got some nice Genoa salamis!” said Raziel.
“But after all that, we’re no closer,” grumbled Charles.
“There is another possibility. I am going to work with Anna to see if she can effect another possession.”
“But didn’t she fall into that other guy by accident?” asked Charles.
“We ought to be able to do it, intentionally this time,” said Ganesh.
“With nothing blowing up?” asked Charles. Raziel chuckled, and Ganesh glared.
“Anyway, time to check the news,” Charles sighed, clicking a remote control. A monitor lowered from the ceiling.
On the screen, two figures stood outside the courthouse: a tall black woman and, looking very pale and small beside her, a blond man wrapped up in a Nehru suit and sunglasses.
“Tell the DA we demand to know, what is going on at the county coroner's office?” bellowed Erzulie D'en Tort from behind a mircophone-studded podium. “Throw off the shroud of secrecy! We demand to know, where is the body!”
There were answers from the crowd, “Where is the body?” And several people held up signs that said “Where is the body?” and “Come clean coroner!”
“You have planted bystanders?” asked Ganesh.
“No, actually, this stuff has been spontaneous,” Charles told him proudly. “Dick's got a lot of fans, I guess.”
“Are you enjoying our little escapade?” asked a mellifluous voice.
“Erzulie!” grinned Charles, as she had just appeared in his office, sitting comfortably on a chair. “You got him bail! You kick ass!”
“Your operation was of great assistance,” said the Goddess, extracting a thin cigar from her jacket pocket. “I am still not quite certain how you managed getting into the coroner’s office like that.”
“Probably best you stay in the dark, but let's say, Ganesh's spell casting helped,” said Charles proudly.
Ganesh said nothing, but smiled.
Erzulie nodded quietly. “You are a surprising bunch,” she mused.
“And he hardly blew up anything this time,” giggled Raziel, to a glare from Ganesh.
Erzulie paused. She rose regally, and extended a hand. “Queen Raziel, is it?”
“Call me Raz! Everybody does!” said the little angel, bouncing off the desk in a quite unqueenly manner.
“I had hoped to make your acquaintance long before this,” Erzulie told her, taking her hand.
“Wotan's been impressed with your work. Maybe you could come up to Valhalla after this Dick Knubbler idiocy is over?”
“One hopes it will be soon.”
“But not so soon if Sariel's paying you by the hour,” Raziel grinned, hopping back up on the desk, where she ignored Charles’ glare.
“It's worth every penny, actually,” said Charles, sinking into his chair. “Interest in our concert tour has been crazy. I mean, even crazier than usual.”
“Charles, do you not need to deal with Pickles’, er, situation before your boys venture on tour?” asked Ganesh.
“We’re improvising!” said Charles. “Nothing stops Dethklok.”
“Vampires,” shuddered Skwisgaar, clutching at his Gibson.
“You’re not still bitching about THAT?” asked Nathan, twirling his microphone Roger Daltrey-style.
“Demons ams not pleasants eggsperiences.”
“What’sch wrong with demonsch?” demanded Murderface.
“Dey ams demonicockals!” insisted Skwisgaar. “And has da bads breaths.”
“WHO hasch bad breath?” asked Murderface, who nonetheless held up a hand to smell his own.
“Ams we gonna rehearse or not?” grumbled Toki.
“Yeah, we gotta quit acting like OLD LADIES. Hey, BOON, can you give us a DOWNBEAT?”
The toddler sitting in the drummer’s seat, all four arms holding drumsticks, legs swinging free, attacked the kit.
“Boy, dat kids ams goods!” said Skwisgaar, completely missing his cue.
“Yeah, imagine when he can reach the PEDALS,” mused Nathan.
“Skwisgaar, you ams missed da cue! Agains!” whined Toki.
“Pffft, Toki, you must starts ons da cues, I am fasts enough I cans catch up,” scoffed Skwisgaar, who indeed tossed off a mercury-quick riff, albeit, the wrong riff.
“Uh, what exactly is going on?” asked Charles.
“Daddy, look!” called Elias excitedly, going into another spectacular solo for his father, who had just come up on the rehearsal stage.
“Uh. You guys have my toddler sitting in on drums?” Charles asked Nathan.
“You wanted us to KEEP REHEARSING while Pickles is AWAY,” Nathan reminded him. “NOTHING stops DETHKLOK. Well, except maybe a lack of chips. That would be pretty bad.”
“Yes, but I had supposed you boys might find, uh, a drum machine, or something of the kind….”
There were groans all around at the mention of the d- m- word, or rather words.
“Oh, not dats again,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“I dunno guys,” said Nathan, his eyes lighting up. “Is there a Facebones instructional video? I fucking love Facebones.”
“I don’t actually have….” Charles started. “Look, this can’t be good for him!” he said, going to pick up his child.
“Why not?” asked Nathan.
“Well, I don’t know, Nathan. Because of…. Because of reasons!” said Charles, his son and many, many drumsticks now in hand.
“Oh, reasons,” said Nathan. “Yeah. Well, why didn’t you say so.”
Charles sighed very deeply and began to carry Elias out of the rehearsal area. “Wanna go see what Baap’s up to?”
“Uh-huh!”
“C’mon Murgatroyd!” he called to Elias’ wolf pup. Despite the racket, the small wolf had been dozing peacefully at Elias’ feet, but was actually already nipping at their heels.
Dealing with a kid – an actual kid – was all so much easier than dealing with a metal band, Charles thought as they walked. They found Ganesh chatting companionably with Anna’s ghost down on a lower level.
“We simply need you to do more or less exactly what you did the other night, a small possession, if you will,” Ganesh was saying.
“Those guys are icky,” Anna sighed. “Oh, hi Charles! Hi Boon!”
“Anna! Boonie pway da dwums an Defkwok!” the child told her as he climbed up on the couch next to her.
“Well, you sure have enough drumsticks, don’t you?” asked Anna, who seemed a little distraught at all the arms.
Ganesh chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. He stuck out an extra pair of arms and did some dance forms. “It runs in the family,” he laughed.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re an elephant got,” she mused. “Look, Charles, I don’t wanna seem like I’m ungrateful, but is all my stuff gonna be going inside those creepy things?”
“I shall remain here the whole time to lead you out,” Ganesh assured her.
“I don’t like ‘em much, either,” Charles told her. “But our friend has been accused of a murder. And we now think, thanks to you, that the person he supposedly murdered may actually be still alive. So we’re trying to find her as fast as we can. And, Ganesh thinks this may be connected to some worse stuff.”
“That Uriah guy?” said Anna, who suddenly seemed to shimmer a bit.
Ganesh nodded, though he also shot a worried glance at Charles.
“OK, but what if I can’t figure out what the heck I did?” Anna asked. She waved at the table in front of her, which contained the remains of some sandwiches. “I was so starved I was almost fainting!”
“Yes, we shall endeavor not to repeat that,” Ganesh told her. “If you would allow me, I believe I can in fact lead you in.”
She looked over to Charles. “Uh, he kinda does this Jedi mind trick thing,” Charles told her.
“Whoa. Cool! But,” she said, turning back to Ganesh, “I thought that only worked on the weak-minded.”
“Yes, that is actually true! And that is why you will have to allow me.”
“Oh. OK!” said Anna brightly.
“You wanna bring the guy in,” Charles said into his wrist communicator.
“I demand a jury trial of my peers!” the Italian vampire whined.
“Oi, quit being insufferable,” sighed Chango, who, along with his fellow vodouisant, Orula, led in the prisoner.
“These Italian people!” sighed Orula. “Always prattling away in Italian! What is he on about now?”
“Oi, ‘e’s just being a cunt.”
“Typical! Oh is this our spirit!” clapped Orula, sighting Anna, who seemed slightly boggled at the sight of two colorfully dressed men escorting a pale demon.
“Yeah, guys, this is Anna,” said Charles.
“Quite charmed indeed,” said Orula, making a sweeping bow.
“Cheers, luv!” piped Chango.
“These are Orula and Chango, our associates who delve into the world of voudoun,” Ganesh explained.
“You have voodoo dudes here?” asked an ever impressed Anna.
“Every home needs them,” Orula told her.
“And what have we here?” asked the vampire, who was suddenly looking over greedily at Elias and smacking his lips. “Aiii!” he screamed, as he had no sooner spoken than was being herded back by a rather insistent, if very small, dog. “Get it off me!” he protested.
“Tsk. Aswangs like to feast on small children. Yet another of their charming characteristics,” grumbled Orula.
“Oi! Give me my zombies, eh master?” said Chango.
“Yes, any day!” agreed Orula.
“Real zombies?” asked Anna. “Are they slow zombies or fast zombies?”
“That is a very astute question, young spirit!” said Orula.
“Should we maybe get on with the possession thing?” Charles interrupted. “I want this fucking thing out of my sight,” he said, as he grabbed Murgatroyd’s leash and glared at the vampire. “You touch my kid, I’ll feed you to my dog,” he growled. “While you’re still alive. Or undead. Or whatever the fuck you are.”
“You are a terrible group of very rude beings!” noted the vampire.
“Anna,” said Ganesh, who was suddenly leaning over, lightly holding her chin a hand.
“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes suddenly seeming to go out of focus.
“What I need you to do for me now, I need you to go to that fellow, take a quick look inside his soul, and then walk right back to me. All rightie?”
“Uh-huh!” she agreed, a funny little smile on her face. Dreamily, she rose and serenely crossed the room, towards the vampire.
“What fresh hell is this?” wailed the irritably vampire. But then Anna drew near, and then – well, she didn’t pass through him, but somehow, where there were two beings had been, there was only one. The vampire jerked, and then, for the first time in days, suddenly did not look so irritable.
“Whoa. Cool!” said the vampire.
“All rightie, Anna,” soothed Ganesh. “Come on out now.”
“It’s sort of cool, having a body again,” said the vampire, looking curiously at a claw. “Even though it’s kind of a gross body.”
“Anna,” said Ganesh quietly.
“Oh. Yeah,” said the vampire. And then there were two beings, Anna, and the vampire, which swiftly crumpled to the floor.
“Oh, oops! Did I do that?” asked Anna apologetically. She looked over to Chango and Orula, who were politely applauding.
“Bravo!” said Orula.
“Oi, that was some ace possession, Miss Anna!” agreed Chango.
“Did you see anything about Lavona Succuboso, or her whereabouts, dear?” asked Ganesh.
“I think the vampire was hungry or something!” said Anna. “Or pregnant?” she mused, casting a confused glance at him.
“What?” asked Charles.
“He kept thinking about pickles!”
Charles and Ganesh looked at each other.
“Everything,” said Ganesh urgently, catching her arm. “Tell us everything.”
“So, remember, he went willingly. He may not wanna leave,” said Charles.
“I am aware of that,” nodded Ganesh. “You are certain you won’t let me examine your wounds?” he asked Lavona Succuboso, who sat on a bunk in the isolation cell, glaring furiously at him. “I am a physician.”
Lavona clutched at the bandage on her neck and told him, “I simply vant out of here! I know my rights!”
“Lavona, you’re free to go any time,” Charles told her. “We just want you to help us with Dick.”
“Vhy should I help heem? He has confined me here!” she insisted.
“You honestly do not know?” asked Ganesh.
“Know vhat?”
Ganesh and Charles looked at one another. “Dick Knubbler has been accused of your murder,” Ganesh explained. “He has insisted though from the very beginning that another person had been substituted for you.”
Lavona looked suspiciously between the two men. Ganesh pulled out his cell phone, and flipped to a news page. He handed her the phone, and she read for a while.
“Is dis true?” she asked at last. “Dummkopfs! Dick did not kill me! I am here!”
“If you would be willing to assist us with this matter, then of course, you are free to go anywhere you like afterwards,” Ganesh told her.
“Ja! Dey vant to break me! Dat iss vhat dey vant! But dey vill not challenge my loyalty to da hogfadder, to great Saa’itii!” she declared. “All iss hog fat!”
“Sire?”
Charles turned to address the Klokateer standing at the doorway. “Yeah, Pie. You found him?”
“Yes, sire, we have located Master Pickles.”
“Great. Thanks, Lavona,” nodded Charles, who was soon hastening out of the room, Ganesh at his heels.
“Remember, he came here willingly,” Charles told Ganesh as he readjusted his tie for the dozenth time that morning.
“Yes, dear, you have reminded me of this fact on several recent occasions.”
“So, let me do the talking. We may have to use persuasion.”
“I can be quite persuasive, dear.”
“And don’t overreact!” warned Charles.
“I shall try not to,” Ganesh assured him.
Charles paused at an anonymous doorway in the seemingly nondescript building, readjusted his tie yet again, and then, at a nod from the Klokateer stationed there, charged inside.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” Charles bellowed.
Ganesh hastened inside, where he found Charles gripping Pickles by the collar.
“Yeh, sahry….” Pickles said softly.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA how worried we were? Did you think to fucking CALL or something?”
“Sariel,” said Ganesh.
“I COULD FUCKING KILL YOU!” raved Charles, who seemed to be rather winding up than calming down.
“Look. Charles. Dood.”
“ARE YOU AN IDIOT?”
“Sariel!” said Ganesh.
“Prolly.”
“I WANNA FUCKING-“
“SARIEL!” said Ganesh, who suddenly grabbed Charles, pulled him off Pickles, and manhandled him down into a chair. “SIT! STAY. BAD ANGEL!” Ganesh scolded as Charles irritably slumped into the chair.
“Charles,” said Pickles apologetically. “Dood. Yoo gaht to unnerstand, my parents asked fer me.”
“Your parents are ASSHOLES!” shouted Charles, who started to rise, but stayed down after a particularly sharp glare from Ganesh.
“I know. I know. I jest…. I still want da asshoes t’ love me fer some reason.”
“BUT I LOVE YOU!” Charles had leapt to his feet this time, and Ganesh didn’t stop him.
“I know dood, I jest….” Pickles was quite openly teary eyed now. “I’ll go wit’ yoo. It’s okee. Dere’s some bad shit goin’ down, an’ we gaht to talk.”
“We are aware of Lavona’s, er, condition,” Ganesh told him.
“Oh, yeh!” said Pickles, wiping his eyes on a wristband and actually cracking a small smile. “Feck, dat wuz weird. Is she gonna be a feckin’ vampire or some shit?”
“We don’t know at present. I would need to talk to Papa Jacque. And she must consent to our intervention.”
“But that wasn’t the bad shit you were talking about,” said Charles.
“Charles! I had a vision while I wuz here! Dere’s something bad happening.”
“A vision,” grumbled Charles, once again sitting down. “I thought this place was supposed to keep you away from your special blend?”
Pickles was pulling a cigarette pack out of his back pocket. “Dey did. Dey kept me away frum anyt’ing but dis!” he said.
Charles glowered, but then held out a hand. Pickles gestured with the pack.
“NO!” said Ganesh, once again coming between them. “Absolutely no cigarettes!” he said, wagging a finger at Charles.
“Ganesh,” said Charles, menace in his voice. “I need a fucking cigarette.”
Ganesh sighed, but stepped back, and then the two had lit cigarettes. “What was the vision, Pickles?” he asked.
“It’s sorta confused. In my head.”
“Let me guess,” said Charles. “There were seven swords, and seven golden lampstands.”
“Yeh, lamps frum IKEA dood. No, dere was a drummer.”
Charles sighed deeply and actually slumped down in his chair looking peevish.
“But he was not human?” asked Ganesh, who had suddenly perked up.
“No, dood, he wuz a gawd! Of sum kind. I mean, nawt like you….”
“But … like your brother?” asked Ganesh.
“Ganesh?” asked Charles, now sitting back up.
Pickles frowned. “He ain’t my brudder.” He flicked ashes and appeared to think about it. “But, mebbe. Yeh, mebbe somethin’ like dat. But dat ain’t da t’ing.”
“What is it?” Ganesh urged.
“Dere’s sumthin’ else. Waitin’,” said Pickles. Pickles was watching his cigarette tremble in his hand. Because his hand was trembling. And then he was watching the cigarette fall to the floor, because he could no longer hold it in his shaking hand.
And then Charles was at his side, holding on to his arm. “It’s big,” said Pickles. “An’ terrible.”
“Pickles. Can you say the name?” asked Ganesh.
“Don’t make him!” said Charles. “You’re coming home with us. Now,” said Charles. “You’re coming back to Mordhaus.”
Pickles looked to Ganesh. “Aza- Azalot’? Or sumthin’ like dat?”
Ganesh nodded, but did not reply.
“OK, OK,” said Charles. “All right.” He escorted Pickles to the door. “You’re going home. Right now,” he said, handing the still trembling drummer off to some Klokateers. He shut the door behind himself and turned to Ganesh.
“What?” asked Charles. “Tell me.”
Ganesh stared off in the distance. “We,” he said at last, “are in for a world of shit.”
“So is he settled in?” asked Ganesh.
Charles debated turning on a light. Ganesh was sitting in the dark inside their suite again, wearing the reading glasses he claimed he didn’t need, piles of dusty old books sitting opened before him on the coffee table. The one lamp – a good lamp, of course, a little Tiffany – cast a long shadow over the Hindu god.
He appeared to actually be reading this time, Charles thought.
“They’re killing ants with Thor’s hammer,” Charles told Ganesh.
“Well, that is a use for it I suppose.” Ganesh folded his legs up into the lotus position. “Sariel, did you ever touch upon the topic, with Your Father, regarding His origins?”
“We weren’t ever close,” grumbled Charles. “You might ask Raziel. They were buddies. For a while.”
“I have entertained the topic with her. She is if anything more resistant than yourself,” Ganesh said, smiling thinly.
Charles sat down next to Ganesh. “I know what my mom told us. That’s the most I’ve heard. I guess we didn’t really worry ourselves with what He’d been up to before He came here. He just always seemed … eternal or something, I guess. Why? What do you think?”
“My current working theory is that Your Father was an outcast of a sort from a group of very powerful Elder Gods. Little is known of them. The original group seems to have dispersed somewhat. But indications are, some of these individuals, who have remained dormant for many years, may be awakening.”
“Awakening? So, uh, they need coffee?”
Ganesh smiled. “Yes, it seems that they may be irritable.”
Charles sat back, wishing for another cigarette. “You know, you’re not gonna get a straight answer out of Our Father. He’s a slippery guy. Believe me, I know.”
“I thought perhaps he could lead us to someone who would give a straight answer,” said Ganesh, pushing a book in front of Charles.
Charles regarded the drawing. “Uh, to quote Anna, ‘Ewwww!’”
“Saa’itii,” said Ganesh. “Sometimes referred to as the Hogfather. Lavona mentioned him.”
“Wait, there’s really a Baconology god? I thought they just made all that shit up to sell books and bacon?”
Ganesh smiled widely now. “As I’ve said, I don’t understand the fascination with the consumption of dead flesh. But, yes.” He looked questioningly at Charles. “So, you would not mind, if I were to inquire…?”
“Do what you want. But Ganesh?”
“Yes?”
“Try not to murder the old fucker. You maybe wanna take someone along with you.”
Ganesh nodded. “Good advice. I have in fact someone in mind.”
Pickles tightened his grip somewhat.
Charles let out a particularly obnoxious snore, and then settled back very quickly.
Angels were annoying as hell but, Pickles had to admit, they were a lot more comforting than trying to sleep with a fucking vampire. Though it was sort of strange. Since he’d stopped smoking – or at least since he had ceased roaring through packs like they were going out of style – there was an actual substance to Charles’ body. He wasn’t a bony thing you thought might dry up and blow away. A husband and a kid, Pickles thought again. Strange that these eternal beings could change.
Pickles was thinking, not sleeping, so he loosened his grip, and slipped off the bed. He fumbled for and found sufficient clothes so he wouldn’t be stalking the Haus naked, and departed the suite, not certain where his feet might take him.
It wasn’t long before he ran into some more wanderers. Mordhaus never really slept. It was Skwisgaar. And Nathan. And…
“Hey, Pickle, ams you met Anna yets?”
Pickles was trying to be polite to the new groupie girl, but found himself truly confused. He could usually sense spirits, but something was very weird. She seemed to be all spirit.
“Um, hi Pickles. I dunno, can you see me?” Anna asked.
“Uh, why wouldn’ I be able t’ see yoo?”
“DAMN! You can see her too?” wailed Nathan.
“She ams da ghost!” said Skwisgaar smugly. “I can see her, because I ams da gods.”
“You’re a HALF GOD,” grumbled Nathan.
“Uh, okee,” said Pickles. He tentatively sent out a hand, and was surprised when she shook it. “Sahry, I ain’t gaht a lawt of experience wit’ ghosts,” he said, regarding his own hand. Wasn't she suppose to be all misty or something?
“I’m glad you can see me. A lot of the people here can’t, and it’s weird,” she told him. “Are you a god too?”
“Wul….”
“His brudder ams da jellies fishes,” chuckles Skwisgaar. Nathan laughed, but Anna shot the guitarist an annoyed glance.
“I’m like a shaman,” Pickles told her. “So I kin see spirits an’ stuff.”
“Shamans means hims ams stoned most of da times,” said Skwisgaar.
“We’re going to get snacks,” Anna told Pickles, now pointedly ignoring Skwisgaar. “I’m not supposed to get hungry, because it makes me weird, so Ganesh told me to eat lots of little meals. Did you want to come?”
Pickles smiled sympathetically. So, the one guy who could see her was annoying the hell out of her, evidently. “Yeh, I cud go fer sum ice cream er sumthin’.”
“Charles ams probably eats us outta da pies agains,” said Skwisgaar, who started off, Anna glaring after him. Pickles started to follow, but felt a hand on his arm.
“Uhhhh,” said Nathan.
Pickles glanced after the others’ retreating backs. He had been dreading this conversation.
“Okee. You wanna ask about Lavonuh?” sighed Pickles.
Nathan said nothing, but merely nodded.
“Look, dood? Take my advice, an’ steer clear o’ her.”
“What? Why?”
“Yoo heard about da vampire t’ing?”
“Yeah!” said Nathan, who leaned closer. “Pretty sexy.”
“Wait! I t’ought yoo an’ Skwisgaar saw ‘em?”
“Yeah, but Pickles, she’s a girl who got bit by a vampire and everybody knows that’s completely different!”
“Nat’an, dood. It ain’t dat attractive. When she’s sleepin’, it’s like she’s all cold an’ not alive.” Pickles shuddered at the memory, and then briefly wondered why he wasn’t currently in a warm bed sandwiched between a god and an angel, both of whom were very much alive.
“Sleeping?”
Pickles jerked out of his reverie to look at Nathan. Shit. “Uh. We gaht close, dood. I mean, dere togedder like?”
Nathan looked dark. Darker than usual. “Can’t you guys ever fucking leave off?” he growled. And then he was off.
“Sahry,” Pickles whispered to an empty hallway.
“Gampa!” sang Elias, hurtling cheerfully towards the old man, who hefted the child and the drawing the little one was carrying.
“Well, look at this, Elias! Is this your latest? Such good work!”
“Uh-huh!”
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
The old man paused and looked at the large bearded man standing alongside Lord Ganesh in the latter’s living room. “Lord Wotan, I believe? I take it this is not to be entirely a social visit,” said the Creator.
Ganesh sat down on a couch and gestured for the others to do the same.
“We just wanted to chat,” said Wotan agreeably. He pulled a decanter closer to him and raised a glass. “You like a little Scotch?”
“I do not imbibe,” the Creator told him.
“Oh. I assumed,” said Wotan. “Your Son wouldn’t refuse a drop,” he continued, pouring glasses for himself and Ganesh.
“Is He to be the topic?” asked the Creator.
“No, just making conversation. The wife had Him up as a guest at the Naming of our twins,” said Wotan.
The Creator seemed to cringe at the mention of Raziel.
“We are currently looking into rumors concerning an old colleague of yours,” said Ganesh, swirling his whiskey.
“Azatoth,” said the Creator.
“So,” said Ganesh, “you can say his name. I was unclear on that matter.”
“Oh, don’t believe the bullshit,” grumbled the Creator. “You know, I think I will try one of those,” he said, pointing to the Scotch. Wotan cheerily filled a glass for him, which the Creator downed in one go.
Wotan refilled the Creator’s glass. “You won’t get much out of me,” he said, looking down at Elias and ruffing the boy’s hair. “Azatoth and I … I’m not close with that crowd. Was never close.”
“Then you must have heard as well that Skarl has grown unhappy.”
“Skarl was never happy,” sighed the Creator. “Creative differences. I think he’s just a self-important little asshole. Fucking hipsters.”
“I am sorry,” said Ganesh. “There is much we do not know.”
“We are unknowable to such as thee,” said the Creator. “Be glad for that small favor.”
“So, Ganesh here, he’s a bright boy, as you must know,” said Wotan, refilling glasses. “He had this idea to seek out another old acquaintance of yours, someone by the name of Saa’itii?”
The Creator scoffed. “The Hogfather? How do you propose to do that, little earth gods?” he smirked.
“You tell us,” said Ganesh, as the room suddenly darkened. He and the Creator, for just an instant, locked eyes.
The Creator blinked, sitting back. “He’s in a different universe,” he said. The room gradually lightened again. “I could tell you where, but I’m not sure you have anyone at your disposal who could bear the trip.”
Ganesh nodded, looking concerned, but Wotan said, “We’ll figure it out. We’re pretty resourceful like that.”
“But Saa’itii has many followers here, as you must know?” said Ganesh.
“Always meddling, that one,” grumbled the Creator. “Never knew his place.” He stood. “If you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to catch the opening credits of Corazon de Azul. It's a little peccadillo of mine.”
“Certainly,” said Ganesh, also standing.
“But, since I have you both here, would you mind telling me something?”
Wotan inclined his head. “What would that be?”
The Creator looked down at Elias. He did not meet their eyes. “My children. How do they abide?”
“Raz is happy as hell. Being a mom suits her,” said Wotan.
The Creator nodded. At length, he looked up at Ganesh.
“Sariel....” Ganesh began. “He is well. There are places in his heart I feel I will never know however.”
The Creator nodded. “Obliged for the drink. I'll have my man bring you specifics about Saa'itii's whereabouts.” And then he was no longer there.
“Bye!” called Elias.
“Asshole,” muttered Ganesh, downing his drink.
Wotan put a hand on his shoulder. “Sariel is fine, my boy. Don't overthink. Now, I need to get home myself.”
“How are we to get to see Saa'itii,” Ganesh asked him. “I had not forseen he was currently located in another universe. Many of our trusted people are now bound to earth.”
“Won’t be a problem,” said Wotan. “I need to talk to the ladywife,” he grinned. “Now,” he said, going to pick up Elias. “Are you gonna stay out trouble, young one?”
“Nooo!” promised Elias.
“Hmpf! Learning too much from my two he is!” Wotan laughed. He sat the boy back on the couch and then departed.
Ganesh sat down next to his son, who cheerfully clambered into his lap and started to doze. And he sat for a while, holding the boy, and thinking about the end of the world.
“Well, I can’t really get out to distant universe like I used to,” said Raziel.
Or at least Charles thought it was Raziel. It was spring cleaning time at Valhalla – no matter that spring would not show its face up there for another month or so – so what he addressed now was a capacious cupboard or pantry that occasionally emitted seemingly random objects being hurled into the growing pile outside: an eggbeater, a porcelain doll missing an eye, a whirligig, a ukulele, a hula girl bobble, a New York Giants pennant, something that looked a lot like a sonic screwdriver, 8 track tapes, brass knuckles, a mannequin head....
“Shit,” said Charles, picking up the uke and strumming a chord. “So who are we gonna get for that?”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she shouted out.
“Should be no problem!” Wotan shouted from somewhere in another room.
“Wait, I thought you said you couldn’t go any more?” asked Charles.
“No, I can’t, but I’m queen of Valhalla! I can take this place anywhere I damn please!” bragged Raziel.
“You’re going to … ride Valhalla?” asked Ganesh, who had picked up a katana from the pile and was feinting with it.
“Not all of it!” shouted Wotan.
“A piece of it,” said Raziel's voice. “Wotan hates it when you upset the laying hens.”
“Upsets the laying hens!” shouted Wotan.
“Yeah, you need eggs,” agreed Charles, rubbing his stomach and wondering if it was anywhere near breakfast time.
“So you and Sariel…?” inquired Ganesh, who seemed fascinated.
“You’re coming too, right Ganesh?” asked Razie, who had emerged from the cupboard. “We need you. You’re the only one who understands all this nonsense.”
“But, I cannot leave my own universe. I’m not like you two!”
“Naw, you’ll be fine!” Raziel assured him. “Your magic is all mixed up with Sariel’s now. Some arcane thing.”
“Arcane magic!” yelled Wotan.
“But you should be good to go,” Raziel assured him.
“Really?” asked Ganesh, a dreamy look now in his eyes. “I never had any hope of seeing another universe. Not... Not in this incarnation.”
“Aw, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, right Sariel?”
“Are you sure Ganesh will be OK, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Of course. The big thing is…”
“What?” asked Charles.
“Well, I have to find something decent to wear of course,” said Raziel
“Are you gonna be giving all my money to a bunch of Italians again?” demanded Wotan from the other room.
“No, I though the French this time,” mused Raziel. “You know those little lacy things you like…?”
“Oh, those thing!” shouted Wotan. “Aye, that ought to be OK.”
“I would pay money to erase this conversation from my mind forever,” sighed Charles. “Are you going too, Wotan?” he shouted.
“Nope! Someone’s gotta stay here to watch the kids!” Wotan replied.
“Aw, shit,” said Charles. “That’s right. I gotta find someone to watch the boys.”
“My father would probably help,” said Raziel.
“Perhaps you could inquire with your own father, Sariel,” suggested Ganesh.
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. The boys like Jacque. They’ll probably just spend the weekend playing cards.”
“Cards? I’m taking bets on whether Mordhaus is still standing when you return!” laughed Raziel.
“Well, that’s a problem ever day anyway,” shrugged Charles. “Look, are you guys sure Ganesh will be OK?”
“Oh, pish-posh, Sariel,” said Ganesh.
“He’ll be fine! We wouldn’t let anything happen to Ganesh! We love Ganesh!” said Raziel.
“He’s like the son I never had!” laughed Wotan from the other room.
“What?” said Raziel. “You have a million sons!”
“A son with brains,” said Wotan, who finally coming into the room.
“Liam has brains!” Raziel insisted.
“How did your son get peanut butter into my saddle again?”
“Oh, he’s my son?”
“When he gets his condiments in my tack, he is!”
“Well, have you thought, HOW did he get peanut butter up on the saddle? Huh?” asked Raziel, pointing to her head.
“Angels and their mischief!” scolded Wotan, putting an arm around Raziel. “No offense, Sariel!”
“None taken,” sighed Charles. “Look, we gotta discuss this, OK?”
“Discuss what, precisely?” asked a sweetly baffled Ganesh, but Charles was already hustling him off. “Er, isn't that Lady's Raziel's ukulele?”
“And that's her sword. Better us than Good Will.” They were between worlds now, in a funny place that looked like an old fashioned hall of mirrors, and alone. “You sure about this? You'll be OK going to another universe. And DON'T FUCKING say pish-posh, because I swear to gods....'
“We're not really going to an alternate universe, but rather bringing the universe to ourselves! All will work brilliantly!” said Ganesh, stabbing with the sword and unfortunately ending up slicing right through one of the mirrors. “Oh. Oops.”
Charles sighed and played the funeral march on his ukulele.
“We are now suing the county of Los Angeles for 666 million dollars-“
Erzulie D’en Tort paused dramatically. There were ooo’s and ahhh’s from the assembled crowd.
“-for wrongful imprisonment, false accusations, and defamation of character!”
“What do you make of this, Connie?” came Dan’s voice from the newsroom.
“They’re in a world of shit now! You don’t fuck with Dick Knubbler!” opined Connie Conehead, who was quite good at opining things.
“Unless you ams Murderfaces, ands you fucks Dick Knubbler,” laughed Skwisgaar.
For once, Murderface did not murder Skwisgaar. To the guitarist’s apparent dismay, the bassist actually sat back and laughed.
“I fucking love Connie Conehead,” grinned Nathan, washing down his breakfast chips with some beer.
“Dood! Did yoo come up wit’ dat amount?” asked Pickles, hitting the foot pedal mute button.
“Uh. Yeah,” said Charles, who stood off to this side, seeming distracted.
“Are you prepared, Sariel?” asked Ganesh, who had just come into the room, holding Elias, and being trailed by the ever faithful Murgatroyd.
“Uh,” said Charles, who nodded, but did not look anything like prepared. “OK. Guys?”
There were mutters and the sound of Skwisgaar jamming.
“Phanuel and my dad are gonna be here soon,” Charles continued.
“And we ams shows dems da same respects we shows you!” said Toki.
“Uh, no, Toki, I’d like you to actually listen to them,” said Charles to gales of laughter. He felt the hand on his elbow.
“They will be fine,” Ganesh told him. Charles nodded, and the small group Walked to Valhalla, where they found Raziel eyeing a sword that seemed almost as big as she.
“BOONIE!” squealed the twins, and Ganesh set down his son to run and play.
“You will be careful, my little raven?” asked Wotan, who was standing over her.
“Of course. You know me!”
“Sadly, I do!” laughed Wotan as she stood up on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye. She turned to face Ganesh and Charles.
“Sariel, you look like shit! Do we need to feed him breakfast first?”
“I’ll be fine. I just wanna get this over with,” he grumbled.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him, grabbing him by the elbow and walking off.
“It will be an adventure!” agreed Ganesh.
“Make certain you’re clear of the henhouses!” Wotan shouted after them as he herded kids and dogs and wolves and various other hangers on inside.
“All right!” said Raziel when they had gone a distance from the hall. “As Ganesh would say, this won’t hurt a bit.”
“Actually, he’s always warning me stuff will sting!” said Charles.
Raziel laughed and held out two well-manicured hands. Ganesh seized one, and Charles more reluctantly took the other. The small angel appeared to concentrate.
And then, quite suddenly – Charles didn’t really feel a physical jerk of any kind, but sensed that something had changed. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing.
They were no longer in Asgard. Or anywhere that looked like it.
“This looks like-“ Charles began.
“Another universe!” said Ganesh, who circled around once in wonderment.
“That was actually pretty slick, Raziel,” said Charles.
“Ganesh?” said Raziel.
As the two angels caught him by the arms, Ganesh abruptly doubled over, sinking to his knees.
He vomited.
And then collapsed.
