The Fandom Menace (Mythklok, Chapter 89)
Feb. 29th, 2012 04:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: The Fandom Menace (Mythklok, Chapter 89)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Intarnets: it is a series of tubes.
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: the drink of choice among Gemini astronauts!
So last time, our A Team ventured with Mr. Ofdenson and Miss Murderface to the Island of Kar-Nacky, where I finally got to filk a whole lot of Elvis numbers, and they finally met the Hogfather. And Mordhaus got some angelic visitors, who didn't have any clue who they were up against.
Oh, and case it isn’t obvious, Homestuck is real, but I completely made up Bumblr out of my own imagination, because nothing like that really exists in reality, does it?
Charles poured orange juice out of a carton and into the Facebones sippy cup and, after carefully screwing down the horns, handed it to Elias. As the child drank, Charles, Elias and Pickles all turned their attention from the balcony down to the performance in the courtyard below.
“Baap!” said Elias between sips, causing a little rivulet of orange to creep down his chin.
“Yes, that's Baap,” said Charles, dabbig at his son's face with a napkin.
"An dancin Ek Pa K'Deena!” said Elias.
“Yes, he is dancing to Ek Pal Ka Jeena,” Charles agreed. Although sadly Charles' Hindi was still rusty, he was rapidly familiarizing himself with Ganesh's repertoire.
“Is dis every night now, dood?” inquired Pickles, who watched as Ganesh and a rather impressive panoply of backup dancers cut a rug down below in the courtyard to the sound of hypnotic trance music.
“Yeah, it seemed to get worse – or better – while you were away,” Charles told him.
“Bring on the BIKINI GIRLS!” came the shout from up above. Pickles peered up to Skwisgaar's balcony, which was filled to capacity with band members and various hangers on.
“Nathan knows that's a different number,” said Charles. “We've had to reinforce Skwisgaar's balcony,” he said, pointing to new-looking buttresses visible underneath.
“So he's makin' an impression,” grinned Pickles.
“Yeah, it's- Oh, wait a minute.” Charles picked up a remote control, and an awning unfolded to cover his own balcony just seconds before the rainstorm hit.
“Wul, looks like dey're having fun,” commented Pickles as the thrum of rain added to the ambient noise.
“Yeah, I know,” said Charles, sitting down and tugging Elias into his lap. “It's just.... I don't know.”
Pickles sat down opposite. “Wul, from wut I unnerstand, talkin' to him 'bout eart' gawds an dat, dose doods, dey ARE da dance. Like he wuz created from da dance?”
“But I thought he was just born, like you and me?”
“Wul, yeah, but it's somethin' t' do wit' his magic and dat kinda stuff.”
Charles nodded, and finally managed to ask the question he had been wanting to. “Do you think he's- Do you think he's happy?”
“He shure as feck looks happy,” laughed Pickles.
Elias let out a rather rude little burp, and Charles attended to more spurting OJ. “So, how's uh.... How's everything?”
“Dood.” Pickles nodded up towards Skwisgaar's balcony. The balcony was now obscured by the awning, which was black and covered with gears.
“Yeah?” said Charles quietly. “What about him.”
“Dood. Everybody wants t' bitch about all da ot'er douches in da band. But him?” Charles nodded. “Dood won't FECKING shut up! He feckin' folly's me down da hallway wit' dat feckin' geetar, 'An' Toki ams doin' dis, an' Nat'an ams doin' dat, an' Murderface ams doing wutever da feck.'”
“Oh. Uh. Like before he left the band before?”
Pickles nodded.
“You know what’s up?”
Pickles shook his head. “T’ink mebbe T’or’s getting on his nerves. Dunno why. Dat dood is a lawt of fun.”
“Oh, hey Ganesh!” said Charles, who was suddenly confronted by a dripping wet Hindu god. He handed Ganesh a towel: there was a stack of them, neatly folded, by the doorway.
“Did you enjoy my choreography, Pickles,” inquired Ganesh.
“I wanna come down an’ drum some time,” Pickles told him.
“Oh, that would be splendid!” said Ganesh. “Lady Raziel sometimes happens by and dances as well. And I have even been able to persuade this one to participate, on rare occasions,” he said, draping an arm around a blushing Charles.
“Rare occasions,” emphasized Charles.
“I definitely wanna see dat,” grinned Pickles.
“Why weren’t we invited to the AFTER PARTY?” demanded Nathan Explosion, who had just entered the suite along with William Murderface.
“I suppose it would be folly to point out you guys were just partying in Skwisgaar’s room five minute ago?” sighed Charles.
“But that was FIVE MINUTES AGO!” whined Nathan.
“You are of course welcome,” smiled Ganesh. “However, as I have explained to you on previous occasions, my backup dancers are unable to attend.”
Nathan looked sour, but nonetheless said, “Well, that wasn’t the reason we came here anyway.”
“What was the reason?” asked Charles.
“Hey, can I get one of these?” asked Nathan, picking up Elias’s Facebones cup. “I fucking love Facebones!”
“Nathan, that is a spill-proof cup. It is designed for small children.”
“I’m a small child!” insisted Nathan as Charles snatched back the cup to refill it. “I mean, I was a small child. I mean, why are we designing crap for little kids anyway. That’s not very metal.”
“Nate-Nate! Boonie id meta!” Elias insisted.
“Well, yeah, you’re metal, but I mean kids as a GENERAL CONCEPT.”
“Charles, bro,” asked Murderface, who seemed to be growing impatient. “What’sch up with that AZSCHITOTH dude?”
“Oh, well, there’s not much new to report,” said Charles.
“But he is schupposched to be headed to this univershce, schlated for revenge!” warned Murderface.
“Well, yes, we know that,” said Charles.
“Yes, we have had signs and portents,” sighed Ganesh.
“He juscht updated his FriendFace Schtatus,” said Murderface.
“He … what?” asked Charles.
Murderface held up his DethPhone. “Schee? It’sch gone from ‘Hangin’ with my peeps’ to ‘Planning unschpeakable atroschitiesch in your universche schoon!”
“Holy fuck,” said Charles, extracting his own DethPhone and punching some buttons. He was soon cursing a blue streak. “Fucking mobile site. Ganesh, can you get-” asked Charles.
“Yes, the laptop,” said Ganesh, who was already hurrying out with a computer. He opened the laptop and logged into FriendFace. He clicked around for a few moments. “This is amazing, actually! It looks like all of the Elder Gods have FriendFace accounts! Hrm.” He looked up. “The entries for several parties seem to cease about six months ago,” puzzled Ganesh.
“I wonder if that’s good or bad?” said Charles.
“Baap!” said Elias, who was hugging on to Ganesh’s legs.
“Yes, Beta?” asked Ganesh, pulling the boy into his lap. “Do we need more juice?” he asked, shaking the Facebones sippy cup.
“Dey an Bumbwa, Baap!” said Elias, who started typing on the computer.
“No, dear, Daddy is working-” began Ganesh, who suddenly stopped and stared.
“What?” said Charles, now hanging over Ganesh's shoulder.
“Sariel, a group of the Elder gods appeared to have left FriendFace and gotten … Bumblr accounts,” said Ganesh.
“Bumbwa!” said Elias, sipping his juice.
“Oh, yeah, schome of the hipschter asschholes descherted FriendFace lascht year. They all hang out on Bumblr now,” grumbled Murderface.
“Do you have an account, William?” asked Ganesh.
“Could never figure the fucking thing out,” groused Murderface.
“Er, Boonie?” asked Ganesh. “Have you an account, dear?”
“Uh-huh!” said the child, proudly clicking on the BOONIEFUCKYEAH site. “Weebwog! An’, Boonie has da fowwowahs!”
“Well, looks like we need to talk about your user name, but that is a pretty awesome layout,” commented Charles. Ganesh nodded. “Anyway, can you show us the Elder gods, Boon?”
Elias nodded and poked some of the computer keys with his little index fingers.
“Can't your kid TOUCH TYPE, Charles?” asked Nathan.
Charles glared.
“Oh,” said Ganesh. “It appears that Yog-Sothoth moved to Bumblr as IM-THE-ALL-IN-ONE-BITCHES along with a few others. It says in an early post, 'Those FriendFace bitches can kiss my tentacles because they are all bitches.' And there is a quite clever little animated GIF from Adventure Time to emphasize the point.”
“Venture Time!” agreed Elias, who was obviously another fan.
“But Azitoth stayed on FriendFace?” asked Charles.
“'Bumblr bitches are ableist douche bags,' it says here on FriendFace, from a posting a few months back,” read Ganesh.
“Can you tell what all the ruckus was about?” asked Charles.
“That … will be difficult. It appears some of this takes place on Chitter, and there are some other threads on ReplicantArt and BuzzTube.”
“Wait, they made videos?” asked Charles. “Aren't these guys supposed to be abominations so horrible they drive mortals insane with just a glance?”
“Hmmm, that would explain the great number of Thumbs Down ratings,” grinned Ganesh.
Ganesh clicked on a link, and the computer speakers started to emit a horrible “BLAAARRGHHH!” sound.
“What the hell is that?” demanded Charles, who had already snatched a bemused Elias out of Ganesh's lap, covering his son's eyes.
“Oh, that is actually a video from your last Fan Days of Nathan waking up in the morning,” smiled Ganesh.
“Oh. Ha. Probably for the best the kid doesn't see,” grinned Nathan.
“Look, we gotta stop messing around with this, we're due up in Valhalla,” said Charles, consulting his Vacheron Constantin.
“Perhaps we should table this for now?” said Ganesh.
“I would be pleasched to inveschtigate, Ganesch,” offered Murderface. “I believe I am the reschident Chitter exschpert!”
“Oh, that would be splendid William!” said Ganesh.
“Uh, are you sure-” asked Charles.
“Come along, Sariel,” said Ganesh, handing off the laptop to Murderface. Charles somewhat reluctantly put Elias down and, motioning to Pickles to follow, left.
“Now, Eliasch,” said Murderface, pulling the boy into his lap along with the computer. “Schow your Uncle William how to schign up for a Bumblr account....”
“Uh-huh!” grinned Elias.
“OK, Pickles,” said Charles as they reached a turn in the corridor. “You know where we're going. Ganesh and I think it might be for the best if we keep the two of you separated.”
“But we frankly do not know for certain,” continued Ganesh, who was leaning against the wall.
“And gods know you've violated these kinds of laws like crazy before,” noted Charles.
“As when you were seeking out Sariel,” said Ganesh.
Pickles looked back and forth and back and forth as if he were watching a tennis match. “Okee. Doods! I jest.... I wanna go. I wanna meet him.”
Ganesh nodded. “I cannot say as I blame you. I must admit, I am quite curious about one of my counterparts: the one who is bringing up the original Sariel.”
Charles looked down quickly, seeming embarrassed. “He's different. That's all I can say. Uh. Raziel calls them every once in a while.”
“Yes?” asked Ganesh.
“I guess I'm a hand full,” admitted Charles. Both Pickles and Ganesh burst out laughing.
“Yeah, like dat's a surprise,” grinned Pickles.
Charles looked up and glared at both of them. “Let's get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled.
Three beings were crowded around the table. And, as beings are often wont to do, they were playing cards.
Mr. Pickles peered up from his hand, carefully studying his opponents. They were like nothing he had ever seen, back in his own universe. He frankly wondered if such as they even existed, back where he had come from.
He steeled himself, fingering a matchstick in one hand, green eyes narrowing. He tossed the matchstick down to the table, making a decision.
He glared across the table.
“Yoo gawt any t'rees?”
“Go fis'!” giggled Liam. The twins looked at each other and grinned in triumph.
Pickles tossed his hand down in disgust. “I believe yoo twoo are cheatin'!” he declared.
“Well, it wouldn't surprise me much, they did learn cards from their mom,” laughed Wotan, who had just come into the room. He stopped to kiss each of his children on the tops of their heads.
“Oh. Uh. Sahry Lord Wotan,” said Mr. Pickles, nervously scratching the back of his head.
“Your legal team has arrived, so you'll have to cease these antics for the time being,” Wotan told him.
“Have you eaten?” asked Raziel, who greeted Charles, Pickles and Ganesh at the doorway to Valhalla.
Charles seized Raziel's elbow, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “You know those steak sandwiches...?” he asked as they walked inside.
“We could ask the cook to rustle some up,” she told him.
“Then I haven't eaten in three months.”
“Where's.... Uh....” began Pickles.
“Wotan is getting him. He's playing cards with the kids,” said Raziel.
“Oh! He likes da twins?” asked Pickles.
“No. He likes cards.”
“Oh.”
“He's, uh, the way you are with … substances, Pickles?” said Raziel. “He's that way with gambling.”
“Oh, an addictive personality?” said Ganesh curiously.
“But, I think you make a better user than you do a gambler,” continued Raziel. “He was losing his shirt to the Valkyries, so finally Wotan forbid him to play cards for anything but matchsticks.”
“Is he winning with your kids?” asked Charles.
“My kids? Hell no,” she grinned. “Here we are!” she said, arriving at a study. “I'll go chat with the cook about getting a platter of sandwiches or something.”
“I'll go with you,” said Charles, still glommed on to her arm. “To make sure you don't get lost!”
Raziel shook her head and led Charles off.
“Why is dat fecker so hungry?” asked Pickles.
“Hrm. I believe he might be molting right now. That usually causes a certain peckishness,” guessed Ganesh.
“Oh, dat's why I keep findin' dese,” grumbled Pickles, pulling a feather out of his dreadlocks.
Ganesh opened the study door, and immediately smelled the cigar smoke. “Erzulie!” he said, extending a hand.
“Good to see you again, Shri Ganesha,” said Erzulie. “The widows and orphans thank you. Is this our client?”
“No, actually, this is his counterpart in our universe, Pickles the Drummer, from Sariel's Dethklok band,” Ganesh explained. “Lady Erzulie....”
“Wuz Dick's lawyer. Yeah, yer a celebrity in da LA scene nowadays,” said Pickles.
“That was a most enjoyable case!” grinned the goddess, tapping off her cigar into one of Wotan's ash trays.
“Yoo t'ink yer gonna git dis guy off too?” asked Pickles.
“That is more problematic,” said Ganesh.
“Magical law is a bitch,” grumbled Erzulie.
“Ah, here we are!” said Wotan. “Looks like we have your team assembled.” He was leading in a man in a top hat. “Except where the hell is Sariel?”
“He went off t' feed his face,” said Pickles, who was studying the new arrival.
“All right, well, Mr. Pickles, these are your legal team, Lady Erzulie and Lord Ganesh....”
“Yoo brawght in royalty fer me?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“I wouldn't fuss about the titles,” Ganesh tutted.
“Lords know we don't,” said Erzulie, settling back into a chair.
“And I suppose you recognize this individual!” said Wotan, indicating Pickles.
Pickles extended his hand, but Mr. Pickles stared for a moment. He finally seemed to come to himself, and took Pickles' hand in a shake. “It's as seein' a twin t' myself, sirrah,” he told Wotan. “Yoo are an unexpected spect’cle,” he told Pickles.
“I heard yoo gawt us into sum trouble,” said Pickles. “I'm akshually good at doin' dat myself.”
“It's wha' he's best a',” slurred Charles, who had just entered, mouth crammed with sandwich.
“Sariel! Leave some for the other people! I swear to gods!” groused Raziel, who had followed him in with a platter of food, which she sat down in the middle of the room. “Those are the goat cheese baguettes,” Raziel pointed out, slapping Charles’ hand. “For the vegetarians!”
“I can eat them too!” said Charles. “I’m an omnivore.” He looked up to see Mr. Pickles was standing quite near.
“Yoo too sir are a marvel,” said Mr. Pickles. “You are like t’ our own Mr. Ahfdenson as his own brudder!”
“Yeah, there are definitely similarities,” agreed Charles, who had managed to grab a cheese baguette.
“Doo yoo know him, den?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Yeah, we met recently,” said Charles. “And I also had the misfortune of meeting Saa’itii.”
“I want to find dat fellow an’ slay him,” grumbled Mr. Pickles. “I t’ink he cheated me!”
“The bet?” asked Charles.
“Evidently the Hogfather claimed he could make the sun rise on the opposite side of the sky,” Wotan related. “Unfortunately for Mr. Pickles, he did.”
“Somet’in’ like dat, yeh,” said Mr. Pickles.
“I rather doubt he was successful,” said Ganesh. “From what I observed, he is simply not that powerful.”
“Can we use that, Erzulie?” asked Charles.
“Sadly, ‘tis doubtful,” said the Goddess, who had found a tasty roast fire demon sandwich. “Magical law is not straightforward like human law. There would be a great deal of sympathy for a trickster god.”
“Loki always used to take advantage of that,” grumbled Wotan, who was pouring drinks.
“So what can we do?” asked Charles.
“The simplest course is to return the deception to the individual in question,” said Erzulie. “Make another wager.”
“Well, that can’t be too hard,” said Charles. “He didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the drawer.”
“On the other hand, he is now aware of us,” noted Ganesh. “And I am certain Mr. Pickles’ absence has been noted wherever he escaped from.”
“I woudln’ be certain o’ that, gennulmen,” said Mr. Pickles.
“How is that?” asked Ganesh, who had just sat back with a nice little glass of Scotch whiskey.
“All da gawds, when I was first dere, we wud play sweet music until da dawn. But recently, dey all bin payin’ attention to dese remarkable d’vices,” Mr. Pickles explained.
“Devices?” asked Charles.
“It wuz magic! You cud hold it in a hand, and it wud talk do da person across da room, or even on da other side of da house!”
Raziel held up her iPhone. “Wait, you mean this?”
“Yeh! Is it sumthin’ only da gawds may know about?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Something like that,” grinned Raziel.
“All the ruckus on FriendFace!” laughed Ganesh. “So, did you notice that a group of them departed?”
“Nope. Dey all remained at da residence, as far as I can reckon,” said Mr. Pickles. “But dey wud only communicate t’rough da d’vices.”
“That’s nuts!” said Charles. “Nobody was talking to each other?”
“Dat wuz when I ‘scaped. I cudn’t stand it no more. An’ dey wudn’ give me a d’vice.”
Charles shook his head.
“I believe as a preliminary strategy, I will look into magical precedents,” said Erzulie. “I am not optimistic about that course. Could I get one of you gentlemen to investigate laws local to Saa’itii’s new universe? It might pay to cover all our bases.”
“Certainly. I shall look into it,” agreed Ganesh. “I do enjoy foreign law.”
As the group stood up to leave, Pickles pulled Mr. Pickles aside. “Dood. Is dere anyt’ing you need? Waitin’ can be boring?”
“Dere is one t’ing!” said Mr. Pickles brightly, hunching over to whisper to Pickles.
“Yeh, dood, I c’n definitely do dat fer yoo!”
“Really?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“An’ I’ll bring a friend!” promised Pickles.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Charles, taking his usual seat at the head of the meeting room table. He was not surprised to see no one was paying attention, however, he was interested to see that, instead of handheld games, knitting, or crossword puzzles – the usual diversions – everyone sitting around was seemingly engrossed in some kind of portable device, either a DethPhone, DethPad, or DethLaptop. Even Skwisgaar had put his guitar aside to type rapidly on a laptop.
And Charles had one more observation: nobody looked particularly happy. But, for once, they appeared to be glaring at each other and not at him.
“Uh, do I need to text everybody to call the meeting to order?” asked Charles. Hearing no response, he shrugged and pulled out his Dethphone.
“Whats?” said Skwisgaar, looking up.
“Where’s the BIKINI GIRLS, Charles?” demanded Nathan.
“Pfft,” said Skwisgaar, “You ams not deserves to looks at da bikinky girls after what you ams said about me on da Bumblrs!”
“What I said about YOU?” said Nathan. “You started Nathan_ams_a_douche Bumblr!”
“Ams not me!” protested Skwisgaar.
Toki giggled.
“TOKI!” said Nathan.
“Wait! Were you da anonymous who tol’ me I’m a ladyperson, Toki?” asked Pickles.
“No, dat ams me,” grinned Skwisgaar.
“Thanks,” said Charles who had just whispered something into his wrist communicator.
“HEY!” rumbled Nathan. “What happened to the DethWiFi!”
“Where ams da t'ree gees?” wailed Toki.
“No more internet until further notice,” said Charles.
The room erupted once again.
“DOOD!”
“Charlesch!”
“You cans not do dats!” said Skwisgaar.
“I just did!” scolded Charles. “Now, we are going to sit here, and we are going to talk to each other, and we are going to have a band meeting, like a normal family! I mean, like a normal band!”
Laptops and smart phones were snapped shut. Charles looked around to a room full of sullen glares.
“Good, that’s more like it,” he said. “William, can you tell me anything about what you discovered about Azitoth.”
“He’sch a prude,” said Murderface.
“He, uh, doesn’t like explicit content?” asked Charles.
“No, bro! Don’t you know anything?”
“Apparently not?”
“Dood. A prood is a male fan o’ da Pretty Princess cartoon t’ing,” supplied Pickles.
“You’re asking me to believe the elder gods all sit around watching children’s TV?” asked Charles.
Murderface nodded. “They’re all fansch. And there wasch schome kind of flame war. And they all took schides. Opposite schides! It wasch much like our own Schivil War, brother againscht brother. Though I schupposche not many Schivil War generalsch had tentacles….”
“Over a kids cartoon? I kids cartoon?” asked Charles.
“This is scherious buschinessch,” averred Murderface.
“So you’re telling me,” said Charles, “the universe might end … over a Pretty Pretty Princess fucking doll?”
“Come on kids, it's time!” yelled Raziel. The twins roared in from wherever they were and plopped down in front of the television, where Liam and Abby expertly shuffled through a small basket of remote controls to turn on the monitor and select the correct channel.
“Liam watches too?” asked Charles.
“Yeah! There's tons of guy fans for the show. They call themselves Prudes.”
“Proods?” asked Charles.
“Prudes. Princess Dudes!”
“Okaaaaaay,” said Charles. He listened to a cheery pop song that sounded not terribly like Toki Wartooth singing with AutoTune.
Princess
Is truly contumelious
Truly truly truly contumelious
“It's catchy,” he admitted.
“Oh, I like it too. I hate the fucking dolls, but they toned down the pink, and got some good writers. I guess about half the people who watch the show are grownups,” she explained.
“Some people need jobs,” Charles muttered.
They watched in silence for a few moments as Princess and her friends had some magical adventures. “I guess it's not so bad actually. Kind of engrossing,” Charles admitted.
“Oh, here we go! Liam! Pause!”
“PAWD!” said Liam, punching a key on one of the remotes. Both twins looked up at the adults.
“OK, you see that princess in the background, the one the buckteeth?”
“Yeah?”
“OK, so, she's in every episode, in the background somewhere. It's like a joke or something?”
“Animators are idiots,” said Charles, shaking his head.
“And some fans on Bumblr noticed and started calling her, 'Bucky,' and making up stories for her.”
“OK. They're idiots too,” grumbled Charles.
“Go ahead, Liam,” urged Raziel, and the twins once again became absorbed in the show. “But!” said Raziel. “The cool part? The animators all have Bumblr accounts too, so they wrote an episode where she finally gets to speak, and they actually call her Bucky and gave her a cute little lisp.”
“And, let me guess, there were parades and the sacrifice of goats?” asked Charles.
“Almost!”
“You're fucking kidding me.”
“Bumblr went nuclear!” said Raziel.
“You have a Bumblr too, Raziel?”
“Naw, Liam showed me. I can't figure out the fucking thing. Anyway, the Bumblr Prudes all accused the show of being prejudiced against people with dental issues, that they were orthodont-ist!”
“I thought they came up with the name on Bumblr!”
“But it gets better!” said Raziel. “So because of the controversy, they pulled the episode from circulation, redubbed the voice, and renamed the Princess, Lucky!”
“So, everybody is happy now? That's not what happened, is it?”
“Sooooo, the Proods are now divided along party lines, pro-Bucky and pro-Lucky! Flame wars erupt daily! Friendships ended! Death threats have been issued!”
Charles was silent for a long moment. “Raziel. This is all an ass pull, right? NO ONE could get that involved in a FUCKING CARTOON SHOW!”
“Wanna see the Bumblr threads? Liam could show you. I mean, after his cartoon is over.”
“I do not fucking believe this.”
“Yeah, it's not as if it's Corazon de Azul, or something important!” agreed Raziel. “You sure you don’t wanna see Bumblr?”
“I’ve had just about enough of it.” sighed Charles.
“But there was this great fan art I saw the other day of your boys dressed up as all the Pretty Pretty Princess characters!”
“I think I can skip that,” said Charles.
“There was one with glasses too that I’m sure was supposed to be you! I mean, you’re sort of generic.”
“Thank you, Raziel.”
“But you’ve got some pretty deranged fangirls too. You should see!”
“I need to go, Raziel. I need to consult someone: my resident fandom expert.”
“Hey, kids! Unky Sariel is going!”
“Don’t interrupt them-“ but Charles was stalled by two very enthusiastic glomps. “BYE UNKY SAR!!!”
“Oh. They’d interrupt Pretty Princess for me?” asked Charles, who actually half-smiled.
Liam grinned and held up a remote control. “PAWD!” he said.
“Yoo gawt hold of Uncle Pickles’ hand?” Pickles asked.
“Uh-huh Unky Bickuh!” Elias told him.
“Now, dis is a friend o’ mine, so yoo be nice to him,” urged Pickles.
“Uh-huh!” The two had just arrived at a room in one of the lesser used wings of Valhalla. It looked as if it had been set up as a makeshift rehearsal studio: there were soundproof tiles, and instruments everywhere.
“Oh, Pickles! It wuz very kind o’ yoo to have dem send along dese moosical accoutrements!” said Mr. Pickles, who had been beating cheerily on some conga drums.
“Yeh, I wuz gone a while, dis wuz what I missed most,” said Pickles. “Oh, an’ have yoo met Boon yet? He’s Charles’ kid. I mean, our Charles.”
“No, we have not met,” said Mr. Pickles. “I wuz not aware dat yer Mr. Ahfdenson had a child.”
“Yeh, it’s a lawng story. But I’m teachin’ him t’ play drums, dough his feet can’t reach da pedals yet.”
“He seems as yet a bit smahl,” opined Mr. Pickles, who was much impressed when Elias pulled out four arms, all eagerly clutching drumsticks. “Uhhhh….”
“Boonie pway da dwums fo Unky Bickuh!” said Elias.
Pickles grinned. “He gits dat frum his udder fadder,” he laughed.
“Uh, sirrah, his udder fadder?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Like I said, long story,” grinned Pickles.
“Is there a particular reason why I have not yet met this fellow?” asked Ganesh.
“Because I love you,” sighed Charles. Casting a glance up and down the hallway, as he always did, he simultaneously pushed the up and down elevator buttons.
Ganesh smiled wryly and mounted the elevator along with Charles. They soon arrived in a subterranean room filled with computer terminals and monitors. There was one man in the room: a stout, bearded man suspended from some kind of harness.
“I will be with you shortly!” announced the man. “I have important matters to attend to!”
“Important matters, Edgar?” asked Charles.
“Someone has been casting aspersions on my Homestuck fanfic!” snorted Edgar, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Edgar, we need your help,” said Charles.
“Well, of course you need my help. It is difficult to see how anything gets done in this organization with the current poor quality of leadership. Do you see this burrito?” he demanded
“Yeah?” asked Charles, regarding the soggy dish.
“It’s cold.”
“Uh-huh. How long has it been sitting there?” asked Charles. “I mean, how many Homestuck fics. Which you wrote. On my time.”
“That is not the point,” insisted Edgar.
“By the way, this is my husband, Shri Ganesha.”
“Of course I recognize this individual,” fussed Edgar, picking up the cold burrito and taking a satisfied bite. “Do you suppose I have grown stupid?”
“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” smiled Ganesh.
“You were a very poor decision!” scolded Edgar, picking a bit of cilantro from between his teeth. “A very poor decision.”
“I’m sorry?” asked Ganesh.
“The fan base did not approve of Charles settling down like that. Especially with a highly suspicious foreigner.”
“You’re suspicious, dear,” said Charles.
“And I am not even going to venture into the area of the child!” declared Edgar.
“Yeah, we’ll try and do something with him. Wouldn’t wanna be left out of the Pretty Pretty Princess artwork,” said Charles.
“The what?” asked Ganesh. “Oh!” he exclaimed, as Edgar had called it up on the monitors. “Well, er, that is actually a very good likeness.”
“Edgar, we actually wanted to talk to you about Bumblr,” said Charles.
“Idiots! I had this idea ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO!”
“Are you aware who is running the company at present?” asked Ganesh, still regarding Charles’ image in the monitors.
“Does it matter?” harrumphed Edgar, who nevertheless neglected his burrito for a few moments in order to type on one of his ergonomic keyboards. “Hmpf. It is a shell company!”
“Who does the shell belong to?” asked Ganesh, who now leaned over Edgar’s shoulder.
“Personal space!” barked Edgar, although Ganesh ignored him.
“Remember, he’s a foreigner,” chuckled Charles.
“This is highly interesting Sariel,” commented Ganesh, who was now rather further discomfiting Edgar Jomfru by leaning over him and typing on his keyboard. “This is a shell inside another shell company!”
“Yes, yes, of course, I could have told you that,” fussed Edgar, who had now taken out a spray bottle of disinfectant and was fussily spritzing his keyboard where Ganesh had touched it.
“What else could you have told us, Edgar?” asked Ganesh.
“Well,” sniffed Edgar, who had followed up the spray bottle with some cleaner wipes. “If you would allow me time and space to work.
“And finish your fiction?” asked Charles.
“Oh, perhaps we should share literary endeavors?” suggested Ganesh.
“Hmpf! I would scarcely call your self-insert piffle a literary effort!” said Edgar.
“If one were being unkind, one could take your version of Peregrine Mendicant as a Mary Sue, specifically a God Mode one.”
Edgar ceased fussing with his keyboard, turned his harness device around and stared at Ganesh.
“You’ve read my Homestuck fic cycle?” asked Edgar, whose confidence, for the very first time that meeting, seemed to crumble, if only slightly.
“I cannot claim to have taken in every word,” Ganesh told him. “Boonie showed me.”
“Your child?”
“Yeah, the kid we’re trying to jettison. For the fandom’s sake,” smiled Charles. “You’ll look into the Bumblr ownership question, right?”
Edgar nodded: he seemed lost for words.
Charles nodded at Ganesh and the two men left the room.
“I don’t believe that,” said Charles as the elevator doors whooshed shut. “You charmed a Jomfru!”
“Well, I have met less pleasant people. In my time,” said Ganesh.
“Is there anything happening with Saa’itii?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Ganesh, “we require your expertise!”
“How is that?”
Charles looked up from a veritable sea of accounting.
“I need to RETURN SOMETHING!” Nathan boomed, setting down a giggling Elias right in the middle of his desk. Murgatroyd the puppy yipped around.
Charles attempted to look annoyed, but didn’t succeed terribly well. “What have you been up to all day?” he asked the child.
“Boonie pway da dwums an Unky Bickuh an Nate-Nate an da nother Unky Bickuh…”
“You guys all still up at Valhalla?”
“Yeah, the sound is TOTALLY METAL with THREE DRUMMERS, one of whom has a lot of arms.”
“Well that’s nice,” said Charles, pulling Elias off his desk and into his lap, sending papers scattering everywhere. “What the hell time is it anyway?” he asked, looking at your watch. “Past your bedtime anyway. And my bedtime.”
“What are you guys doing up so late anyway?”
“Don’t ask!” yelled Ganesh from one of the couches. “I have reached my limit!”
“We’re working on the Mr. Pickles issue,” said Charles.
“Yeah, that’s one thing I wanted to talk about,” confided Nathan.
“What did you wanna talk about?”
“He fits in GREAT! Can we just keep him here?”
“Nathan! He’s not a lost puppy!”
“But Chaaaaaaarles!”
“Taaaaarl!” giggled Elias.
“No, Nathan, not even if you whine,” vowed Charles. “He needs to get back to his universe. We all agree it’s very important they have their Dethklok!”
“But he’s better than our Pickles. He’s LESS WHINEY! Maybe we could just pack up our Pickles and send him? I mean, no one would ever know.”
“No, Nathan.”
“Awwwwwwwwww!”
“Yeah, I know, I’m mean.”
“And you shout!” said Nathan.
“And you express impatience!” yelled Ganesh from behind the couch.
“Thanks for having my back, Ganesh!” grumbled Charles.
“Any time!”
“Well, uh,” said Nathan, leaning over the desk, “could we swap him out for Skwisgaar?”
“What? No. We cannot substitute Skwisgaar. Nathan, what has gotten into you?”
“Me? What’s gotten into them?” grunted Nathan. “Douche bags. Well, anyway, I’m heading back now,” said Nathan. “Let me know if you come to your senses, about, you know!”
Charles sighed as he watched Nathan storm out. He let Elias wriggle of his lap, and the boy dashed behind the couch, shouting, “Baap!”
“Oof!” came a cry.
“He’s getting heavy,” laughed Charles. “Hey, whatever you’re doing back there, I know fucking well it’s not forensic accounting.”
Ganesh sat up. “Oh, I was just taking a small break.” He held up his laptop. “Edgar had invited me to his RP.”
“Wait, you’ve been role playing with Edgar Jomfru?”
“Mmmm. He’s terribly out of character.”
“Who is he playing?”
“Nathan Explosion. But so far, he hasn’t cast out any other band members.”
“Wait! It’s a Dethklok RP? They have those?” Charles frowned. “And, why the fuck do they have those?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“And who are you?”
“Well,” said Ganesh, sitting back, “I offered to play myself, but I am evidently non-canonical. Or a Marty Stu. Or perhaps both.”
“But you’re a real person! Or god or whatever.”
“Well, be that as it may. I am playing Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh.
“Ah.”
“It’s not terribly taxing. I simply type ‘Pffft’ every five minutes or so.”
“Who’s playing me?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, suddenly acting uncomfortable. “We don’t have a you. Currently.”
“Really?”
“Yes, there’s a person who normally plays you…. But her grandson has the sniffles so she is off babysitting.”
“Where is this?” asked Charles, seizing his own laptop.
“Sariel! Er. Jaanu. I would not recommend this!”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“Er,” said Ganesh.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY KICKED ME OUT OF MY OWN ROLE PLAY!”
“Now, Sariel,” soothed Ganesh. “Technically, you know, it was Edgar’s RP….”
“They told me I was being OUT OF CHARACTER!” raved Charles.
“Well…. Yes….”
“How can I be out of character? I’M ME?”
“Perhaps. You were being a little bit short with them.”
“But that’s what I do! I yell at the band! THAT’S MY JOB!” huffed Charles.
“Do not be so upset, jaanu.”
“Ingrates!”
“Well, perhaps…” Ganesh sighed. “At any rate, we are here.”
“Good, someone to yell at,” groused Charles, throwing open the door to the study at Valhalla.
“Hello, friends,” said Ezrulie. “I have just been passing a pleasant evening with our newest friend.”
“Will someone PLEASE tell this little lady to get her SWORD away from my NECK!” wailed the Elder god, who was dressed, as always, in a leather outfit that looked to be within seconds of splitting some very important seams.
“Aw, quit your bitching,” giggled Raziel, who was in fact the person wielding the sword.
“Dat’s him! DAT’S DA FELLOW!” said Mr. Pickles, who had just arrived accompanied by Wotan. “Dat fellow is da reason fer my present circumstances!”
“Now, calm down son,” said Wotan, large hand on Mr. Pickles' shoulder. “We’re gonna see if we can figure some of this out, right now, just between us.”
“What is this about? You folks are the sourest cats I've ever met!” said Saa'itii.
“We simply have a few questions,” said Ganesh.
“You're a musician, are you not, Mr. Pickles?” asked Erzulie.
“Of course little lady! I mean, not that you're such a little lady.”
“So that is your main income? You are a working musician?” continued Erzulie.
“My music is famed across the known universe! And several unknown universes!” bragged Saa’itii.
“Sooo,” said Charles. “We were wondering why, during all your time in Pickles' universe, you've failed to file your income taxes on your publishing royalties?”
“Uhhhhh,” explained Saa'itii.
“It is said,” said Erzulie, “that there is nothing certain but death and taxes.”
“I'm a music man! I can't be expected to know accounting!” protested Saa'itii.
“Yeah, that's why you hire a guy like me,” said Charles. “I'm a lawyer, and I'm an angel. But my favorite thing by far is accounting. I run the world's sixth largest economy.”
“I thought it was seventh?” said Raziel.
“We just passed the UK,” said Charles smugly. “I could make all this go away for you. If the price were right?” he told Saa'itii.
“What do you want?” asked the Hogfather.
“We would like to make another wager!” said Wotan.
“A wager? Sure, man!” said Saa'itii, reaching into his leather jacket for a handkerchief with which to dry the sweat from his forehead. “Lay it on me.”
“Which way do you suppose the sun will rise here?” asked Wotan.
Saa'itii looked carefully around the room as he dabbed the handkerchief. “Whichever way you say it does, big daddy!”
“Well, it would technically be to the south this time of year,” said Ganesh, peering up over the reading glasses he swore up and down he did not really need. “But that begs the question of whether there is a proper southern direction at Valhalla.”
“Seriously,” said Charles, coming out of the bathroom, “do you think it was the tax debt or Raziel's sword in his gut that made up his mind?”
Ganesh stretched out his long legs on the bed and grinned.
“I gawt a package!” declared Pickles from the bedroom doorway. He was carrying Elias, riding on his hip. Pickles carefully deposited the drowsy child on the bed.
“Well, look at you!” said Ganesh, reaching out his arms.
Elias crawled over to his father and then collapsed into him. Murgatroyd, who was trying to follow along, made a couple of unsuccessful leaps at the bed, finally achieving it on the third attempt.
“You were playing the drums again?” Ganesh asked Elias.
“Uh-huh,” muttered the child into Ganesh's side.
“Think someone's ready for bed. You were at the goodbye party in Valhalla for Mr. Pickles?” asked Charles.
“Yeah, dood. I wunnered why yoo guys weren't dere! It wuz a good gig!”
“After going through Saa'itii's taxes?” asked Charles. “I feel like THAT!” he said, pointing to Elias, who was already snoring softly.
“Boon is gittin really gud! He shud be a professional musician!” said Pickles.
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance.
“Absolutely not,” said Ganesh.
“Not on your life,” said Charles. “Not while there is still breath in my body!”
“Wul, it looks like we should put da little guy down fer da night,” laughed Pickles, attempting to pick up Elias, who only burrowed into Ganesh deeper.
“Noooooo, no bedtime,” Elias snored.
Between Pickles and Ganesh, they finally managed to get the child into Pickles' arms once again, and he headed towards the door. Pickles paused at the doorway. “Yoo know, kinda missed da little guy when I wuz gone.” And then he departed.
Charles waited a beat. “He never said he missed me!”
“I am certain he did, darling,” said Ganesh, turning back to his laptop. “At least he does not feel our child is non-canonical,” he laughed.
Charles grimaced.
“Oh, you're not still angry about that RP are you?” asked Ganesh.
“Yes,” said Charles, sliding into bed next to Ganesh. “And what are you doing?”
“Simply checking my Bumblr!”
“Oh, not you too!”
“Well, someone has to supervise our child when he is online!” said Ganesh.
“Someone needs to supervise the online world when Boon is there. What's your user name?”
“Well, despite having a thousand Holy Names, most of the best ones were already taken. So I settled for this,” said Ganesh, tipping over the computer screen.
“HinduLoveGod?”
“Yes. I have already had several users inquire if I am some fellow by the name of Peter Buck, and where they can obtain a Raspberry Beret.”
“What? Bumblr users all need to get jobs.”
“You really need a cane, dear.”
“Why?”
“So you can shake it when you say such things,” grinned Ganesh.
“I'm hip! Guess who else has a Bumblr?”
“You are kidding,” said Ganesh.
“You monitor Boon, I monitor my boys,” averred Charles.
“And what is your user name?”
“Uh.....”
“What?”
“It's.... It's a little weird.”
“DeadSexyCFO,” laughed Pickles from the doorway.
“How the bloody hell did you come up with that one?” said Ganesh.
“Toki an' I did it,” laughed Pickles, sprawling on the bed. “We gawt drunk one naight an' started a blog fer Charles.
“Wait, don't log into it!” said Charles, unsuccessfully trying to snatch the laptop from Ganesh. It is not recommended to try this maneuver when your opponent has four arms.
“Hrm, there seem to be an awful lot of images of you lying around on days when you have forgotten to button up your shirt!” commented Ganesh.
“THAT'S NOT ME!” protested Charles, who was still grabbing feebly for the computer. “The guys hack it!”
“We doo nawt,” grinned Pickles. “Look at dat one, Gannish, he fergawt his pants that day.”
“Oh, that's awfully nice,” said Ganesh.
“You guys, I'm right here!” protested Charles, who irritably rolled off the bed to catch his ringing DethPhone.
“An' dis one has a soun'track!” said Pickles, reaching over Ganesh to click on the link. Suddenly, the voice of Whitney Houston was blaring from the laptop's tinny speakers.
“What?” asked Charles, plugging an ear with one finger as he held the DethPhone as close to his head as he could without piercing his brain. “What is it Edgar?”
“Edgur?” asked Pickles over the din of “I Will Always Love You.”
“Who- Who owns Bumblr?” Charles shouted into the phone.
Pickles and Ganesh exchanged a glance.
“This ought to be good,” said Ganesh.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Intarnets: it is a series of tubes.
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: the drink of choice among Gemini astronauts!
So last time, our A Team ventured with Mr. Ofdenson and Miss Murderface to the Island of Kar-Nacky, where I finally got to filk a whole lot of Elvis numbers, and they finally met the Hogfather. And Mordhaus got some angelic visitors, who didn't have any clue who they were up against.
Oh, and case it isn’t obvious, Homestuck is real, but I completely made up Bumblr out of my own imagination, because nothing like that really exists in reality, does it?
Charles poured orange juice out of a carton and into the Facebones sippy cup and, after carefully screwing down the horns, handed it to Elias. As the child drank, Charles, Elias and Pickles all turned their attention from the balcony down to the performance in the courtyard below.
“Baap!” said Elias between sips, causing a little rivulet of orange to creep down his chin.
“Yes, that's Baap,” said Charles, dabbig at his son's face with a napkin.
"An dancin Ek Pa K'Deena!” said Elias.
“Yes, he is dancing to Ek Pal Ka Jeena,” Charles agreed. Although sadly Charles' Hindi was still rusty, he was rapidly familiarizing himself with Ganesh's repertoire.
“Is dis every night now, dood?” inquired Pickles, who watched as Ganesh and a rather impressive panoply of backup dancers cut a rug down below in the courtyard to the sound of hypnotic trance music.
“Yeah, it seemed to get worse – or better – while you were away,” Charles told him.
“Bring on the BIKINI GIRLS!” came the shout from up above. Pickles peered up to Skwisgaar's balcony, which was filled to capacity with band members and various hangers on.
“Nathan knows that's a different number,” said Charles. “We've had to reinforce Skwisgaar's balcony,” he said, pointing to new-looking buttresses visible underneath.
“So he's makin' an impression,” grinned Pickles.
“Yeah, it's- Oh, wait a minute.” Charles picked up a remote control, and an awning unfolded to cover his own balcony just seconds before the rainstorm hit.
“Wul, looks like dey're having fun,” commented Pickles as the thrum of rain added to the ambient noise.
“Yeah, I know,” said Charles, sitting down and tugging Elias into his lap. “It's just.... I don't know.”
Pickles sat down opposite. “Wul, from wut I unnerstand, talkin' to him 'bout eart' gawds an dat, dose doods, dey ARE da dance. Like he wuz created from da dance?”
“But I thought he was just born, like you and me?”
“Wul, yeah, but it's somethin' t' do wit' his magic and dat kinda stuff.”
Charles nodded, and finally managed to ask the question he had been wanting to. “Do you think he's- Do you think he's happy?”
“He shure as feck looks happy,” laughed Pickles.
Elias let out a rather rude little burp, and Charles attended to more spurting OJ. “So, how's uh.... How's everything?”
“Dood.” Pickles nodded up towards Skwisgaar's balcony. The balcony was now obscured by the awning, which was black and covered with gears.
“Yeah?” said Charles quietly. “What about him.”
“Dood. Everybody wants t' bitch about all da ot'er douches in da band. But him?” Charles nodded. “Dood won't FECKING shut up! He feckin' folly's me down da hallway wit' dat feckin' geetar, 'An' Toki ams doin' dis, an' Nat'an ams doin' dat, an' Murderface ams doing wutever da feck.'”
“Oh. Uh. Like before he left the band before?”
Pickles nodded.
“You know what’s up?”
Pickles shook his head. “T’ink mebbe T’or’s getting on his nerves. Dunno why. Dat dood is a lawt of fun.”
“Oh, hey Ganesh!” said Charles, who was suddenly confronted by a dripping wet Hindu god. He handed Ganesh a towel: there was a stack of them, neatly folded, by the doorway.
“Did you enjoy my choreography, Pickles,” inquired Ganesh.
“I wanna come down an’ drum some time,” Pickles told him.
“Oh, that would be splendid!” said Ganesh. “Lady Raziel sometimes happens by and dances as well. And I have even been able to persuade this one to participate, on rare occasions,” he said, draping an arm around a blushing Charles.
“Rare occasions,” emphasized Charles.
“I definitely wanna see dat,” grinned Pickles.
“Why weren’t we invited to the AFTER PARTY?” demanded Nathan Explosion, who had just entered the suite along with William Murderface.
“I suppose it would be folly to point out you guys were just partying in Skwisgaar’s room five minute ago?” sighed Charles.
“But that was FIVE MINUTES AGO!” whined Nathan.
“You are of course welcome,” smiled Ganesh. “However, as I have explained to you on previous occasions, my backup dancers are unable to attend.”
Nathan looked sour, but nonetheless said, “Well, that wasn’t the reason we came here anyway.”
“What was the reason?” asked Charles.
“Hey, can I get one of these?” asked Nathan, picking up Elias’s Facebones cup. “I fucking love Facebones!”
“Nathan, that is a spill-proof cup. It is designed for small children.”
“I’m a small child!” insisted Nathan as Charles snatched back the cup to refill it. “I mean, I was a small child. I mean, why are we designing crap for little kids anyway. That’s not very metal.”
“Nate-Nate! Boonie id meta!” Elias insisted.
“Well, yeah, you’re metal, but I mean kids as a GENERAL CONCEPT.”
“Charles, bro,” asked Murderface, who seemed to be growing impatient. “What’sch up with that AZSCHITOTH dude?”
“Oh, well, there’s not much new to report,” said Charles.
“But he is schupposched to be headed to this univershce, schlated for revenge!” warned Murderface.
“Well, yes, we know that,” said Charles.
“Yes, we have had signs and portents,” sighed Ganesh.
“He juscht updated his FriendFace Schtatus,” said Murderface.
“He … what?” asked Charles.
Murderface held up his DethPhone. “Schee? It’sch gone from ‘Hangin’ with my peeps’ to ‘Planning unschpeakable atroschitiesch in your universche schoon!”
“Holy fuck,” said Charles, extracting his own DethPhone and punching some buttons. He was soon cursing a blue streak. “Fucking mobile site. Ganesh, can you get-” asked Charles.
“Yes, the laptop,” said Ganesh, who was already hurrying out with a computer. He opened the laptop and logged into FriendFace. He clicked around for a few moments. “This is amazing, actually! It looks like all of the Elder Gods have FriendFace accounts! Hrm.” He looked up. “The entries for several parties seem to cease about six months ago,” puzzled Ganesh.
“I wonder if that’s good or bad?” said Charles.
“Baap!” said Elias, who was hugging on to Ganesh’s legs.
“Yes, Beta?” asked Ganesh, pulling the boy into his lap. “Do we need more juice?” he asked, shaking the Facebones sippy cup.
“Dey an Bumbwa, Baap!” said Elias, who started typing on the computer.
“No, dear, Daddy is working-” began Ganesh, who suddenly stopped and stared.
“What?” said Charles, now hanging over Ganesh's shoulder.
“Sariel, a group of the Elder gods appeared to have left FriendFace and gotten … Bumblr accounts,” said Ganesh.
“Bumbwa!” said Elias, sipping his juice.
“Oh, yeah, schome of the hipschter asschholes descherted FriendFace lascht year. They all hang out on Bumblr now,” grumbled Murderface.
“Do you have an account, William?” asked Ganesh.
“Could never figure the fucking thing out,” groused Murderface.
“Er, Boonie?” asked Ganesh. “Have you an account, dear?”
“Uh-huh!” said the child, proudly clicking on the BOONIEFUCKYEAH site. “Weebwog! An’, Boonie has da fowwowahs!”
“Well, looks like we need to talk about your user name, but that is a pretty awesome layout,” commented Charles. Ganesh nodded. “Anyway, can you show us the Elder gods, Boon?”
Elias nodded and poked some of the computer keys with his little index fingers.
“Can't your kid TOUCH TYPE, Charles?” asked Nathan.
Charles glared.
“Oh,” said Ganesh. “It appears that Yog-Sothoth moved to Bumblr as IM-THE-ALL-IN-ONE-BITCHES along with a few others. It says in an early post, 'Those FriendFace bitches can kiss my tentacles because they are all bitches.' And there is a quite clever little animated GIF from Adventure Time to emphasize the point.”
“Venture Time!” agreed Elias, who was obviously another fan.
“But Azitoth stayed on FriendFace?” asked Charles.
“'Bumblr bitches are ableist douche bags,' it says here on FriendFace, from a posting a few months back,” read Ganesh.
“Can you tell what all the ruckus was about?” asked Charles.
“That … will be difficult. It appears some of this takes place on Chitter, and there are some other threads on ReplicantArt and BuzzTube.”
“Wait, they made videos?” asked Charles. “Aren't these guys supposed to be abominations so horrible they drive mortals insane with just a glance?”
“Hmmm, that would explain the great number of Thumbs Down ratings,” grinned Ganesh.
Ganesh clicked on a link, and the computer speakers started to emit a horrible “BLAAARRGHHH!” sound.
“What the hell is that?” demanded Charles, who had already snatched a bemused Elias out of Ganesh's lap, covering his son's eyes.
“Oh, that is actually a video from your last Fan Days of Nathan waking up in the morning,” smiled Ganesh.
“Oh. Ha. Probably for the best the kid doesn't see,” grinned Nathan.
“Look, we gotta stop messing around with this, we're due up in Valhalla,” said Charles, consulting his Vacheron Constantin.
“Perhaps we should table this for now?” said Ganesh.
“I would be pleasched to inveschtigate, Ganesch,” offered Murderface. “I believe I am the reschident Chitter exschpert!”
“Oh, that would be splendid William!” said Ganesh.
“Uh, are you sure-” asked Charles.
“Come along, Sariel,” said Ganesh, handing off the laptop to Murderface. Charles somewhat reluctantly put Elias down and, motioning to Pickles to follow, left.
“Now, Eliasch,” said Murderface, pulling the boy into his lap along with the computer. “Schow your Uncle William how to schign up for a Bumblr account....”
“Uh-huh!” grinned Elias.
“OK, Pickles,” said Charles as they reached a turn in the corridor. “You know where we're going. Ganesh and I think it might be for the best if we keep the two of you separated.”
“But we frankly do not know for certain,” continued Ganesh, who was leaning against the wall.
“And gods know you've violated these kinds of laws like crazy before,” noted Charles.
“As when you were seeking out Sariel,” said Ganesh.
Pickles looked back and forth and back and forth as if he were watching a tennis match. “Okee. Doods! I jest.... I wanna go. I wanna meet him.”
Ganesh nodded. “I cannot say as I blame you. I must admit, I am quite curious about one of my counterparts: the one who is bringing up the original Sariel.”
Charles looked down quickly, seeming embarrassed. “He's different. That's all I can say. Uh. Raziel calls them every once in a while.”
“Yes?” asked Ganesh.
“I guess I'm a hand full,” admitted Charles. Both Pickles and Ganesh burst out laughing.
“Yeah, like dat's a surprise,” grinned Pickles.
Charles looked up and glared at both of them. “Let's get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled.
Three beings were crowded around the table. And, as beings are often wont to do, they were playing cards.
Mr. Pickles peered up from his hand, carefully studying his opponents. They were like nothing he had ever seen, back in his own universe. He frankly wondered if such as they even existed, back where he had come from.
He steeled himself, fingering a matchstick in one hand, green eyes narrowing. He tossed the matchstick down to the table, making a decision.
He glared across the table.
“Yoo gawt any t'rees?”
“Go fis'!” giggled Liam. The twins looked at each other and grinned in triumph.
Pickles tossed his hand down in disgust. “I believe yoo twoo are cheatin'!” he declared.
“Well, it wouldn't surprise me much, they did learn cards from their mom,” laughed Wotan, who had just come into the room. He stopped to kiss each of his children on the tops of their heads.
“Oh. Uh. Sahry Lord Wotan,” said Mr. Pickles, nervously scratching the back of his head.
“Your legal team has arrived, so you'll have to cease these antics for the time being,” Wotan told him.
“Have you eaten?” asked Raziel, who greeted Charles, Pickles and Ganesh at the doorway to Valhalla.
Charles seized Raziel's elbow, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “You know those steak sandwiches...?” he asked as they walked inside.
“We could ask the cook to rustle some up,” she told him.
“Then I haven't eaten in three months.”
“Where's.... Uh....” began Pickles.
“Wotan is getting him. He's playing cards with the kids,” said Raziel.
“Oh! He likes da twins?” asked Pickles.
“No. He likes cards.”
“Oh.”
“He's, uh, the way you are with … substances, Pickles?” said Raziel. “He's that way with gambling.”
“Oh, an addictive personality?” said Ganesh curiously.
“But, I think you make a better user than you do a gambler,” continued Raziel. “He was losing his shirt to the Valkyries, so finally Wotan forbid him to play cards for anything but matchsticks.”
“Is he winning with your kids?” asked Charles.
“My kids? Hell no,” she grinned. “Here we are!” she said, arriving at a study. “I'll go chat with the cook about getting a platter of sandwiches or something.”
“I'll go with you,” said Charles, still glommed on to her arm. “To make sure you don't get lost!”
Raziel shook her head and led Charles off.
“Why is dat fecker so hungry?” asked Pickles.
“Hrm. I believe he might be molting right now. That usually causes a certain peckishness,” guessed Ganesh.
“Oh, dat's why I keep findin' dese,” grumbled Pickles, pulling a feather out of his dreadlocks.
Ganesh opened the study door, and immediately smelled the cigar smoke. “Erzulie!” he said, extending a hand.
“Good to see you again, Shri Ganesha,” said Erzulie. “The widows and orphans thank you. Is this our client?”
“No, actually, this is his counterpart in our universe, Pickles the Drummer, from Sariel's Dethklok band,” Ganesh explained. “Lady Erzulie....”
“Wuz Dick's lawyer. Yeah, yer a celebrity in da LA scene nowadays,” said Pickles.
“That was a most enjoyable case!” grinned the goddess, tapping off her cigar into one of Wotan's ash trays.
“Yoo t'ink yer gonna git dis guy off too?” asked Pickles.
“That is more problematic,” said Ganesh.
“Magical law is a bitch,” grumbled Erzulie.
“Ah, here we are!” said Wotan. “Looks like we have your team assembled.” He was leading in a man in a top hat. “Except where the hell is Sariel?”
“He went off t' feed his face,” said Pickles, who was studying the new arrival.
“All right, well, Mr. Pickles, these are your legal team, Lady Erzulie and Lord Ganesh....”
“Yoo brawght in royalty fer me?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“I wouldn't fuss about the titles,” Ganesh tutted.
“Lords know we don't,” said Erzulie, settling back into a chair.
“And I suppose you recognize this individual!” said Wotan, indicating Pickles.
Pickles extended his hand, but Mr. Pickles stared for a moment. He finally seemed to come to himself, and took Pickles' hand in a shake. “It's as seein' a twin t' myself, sirrah,” he told Wotan. “Yoo are an unexpected spect’cle,” he told Pickles.
“I heard yoo gawt us into sum trouble,” said Pickles. “I'm akshually good at doin' dat myself.”
“It's wha' he's best a',” slurred Charles, who had just entered, mouth crammed with sandwich.
“Sariel! Leave some for the other people! I swear to gods!” groused Raziel, who had followed him in with a platter of food, which she sat down in the middle of the room. “Those are the goat cheese baguettes,” Raziel pointed out, slapping Charles’ hand. “For the vegetarians!”
“I can eat them too!” said Charles. “I’m an omnivore.” He looked up to see Mr. Pickles was standing quite near.
“Yoo too sir are a marvel,” said Mr. Pickles. “You are like t’ our own Mr. Ahfdenson as his own brudder!”
“Yeah, there are definitely similarities,” agreed Charles, who had managed to grab a cheese baguette.
“Doo yoo know him, den?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Yeah, we met recently,” said Charles. “And I also had the misfortune of meeting Saa’itii.”
“I want to find dat fellow an’ slay him,” grumbled Mr. Pickles. “I t’ink he cheated me!”
“The bet?” asked Charles.
“Evidently the Hogfather claimed he could make the sun rise on the opposite side of the sky,” Wotan related. “Unfortunately for Mr. Pickles, he did.”
“Somet’in’ like dat, yeh,” said Mr. Pickles.
“I rather doubt he was successful,” said Ganesh. “From what I observed, he is simply not that powerful.”
“Can we use that, Erzulie?” asked Charles.
“Sadly, ‘tis doubtful,” said the Goddess, who had found a tasty roast fire demon sandwich. “Magical law is not straightforward like human law. There would be a great deal of sympathy for a trickster god.”
“Loki always used to take advantage of that,” grumbled Wotan, who was pouring drinks.
“So what can we do?” asked Charles.
“The simplest course is to return the deception to the individual in question,” said Erzulie. “Make another wager.”
“Well, that can’t be too hard,” said Charles. “He didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the drawer.”
“On the other hand, he is now aware of us,” noted Ganesh. “And I am certain Mr. Pickles’ absence has been noted wherever he escaped from.”
“I woudln’ be certain o’ that, gennulmen,” said Mr. Pickles.
“How is that?” asked Ganesh, who had just sat back with a nice little glass of Scotch whiskey.
“All da gawds, when I was first dere, we wud play sweet music until da dawn. But recently, dey all bin payin’ attention to dese remarkable d’vices,” Mr. Pickles explained.
“Devices?” asked Charles.
“It wuz magic! You cud hold it in a hand, and it wud talk do da person across da room, or even on da other side of da house!”
Raziel held up her iPhone. “Wait, you mean this?”
“Yeh! Is it sumthin’ only da gawds may know about?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Something like that,” grinned Raziel.
“All the ruckus on FriendFace!” laughed Ganesh. “So, did you notice that a group of them departed?”
“Nope. Dey all remained at da residence, as far as I can reckon,” said Mr. Pickles. “But dey wud only communicate t’rough da d’vices.”
“That’s nuts!” said Charles. “Nobody was talking to each other?”
“Dat wuz when I ‘scaped. I cudn’t stand it no more. An’ dey wudn’ give me a d’vice.”
Charles shook his head.
“I believe as a preliminary strategy, I will look into magical precedents,” said Erzulie. “I am not optimistic about that course. Could I get one of you gentlemen to investigate laws local to Saa’itii’s new universe? It might pay to cover all our bases.”
“Certainly. I shall look into it,” agreed Ganesh. “I do enjoy foreign law.”
As the group stood up to leave, Pickles pulled Mr. Pickles aside. “Dood. Is dere anyt’ing you need? Waitin’ can be boring?”
“Dere is one t’ing!” said Mr. Pickles brightly, hunching over to whisper to Pickles.
“Yeh, dood, I c’n definitely do dat fer yoo!”
“Really?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“An’ I’ll bring a friend!” promised Pickles.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Charles, taking his usual seat at the head of the meeting room table. He was not surprised to see no one was paying attention, however, he was interested to see that, instead of handheld games, knitting, or crossword puzzles – the usual diversions – everyone sitting around was seemingly engrossed in some kind of portable device, either a DethPhone, DethPad, or DethLaptop. Even Skwisgaar had put his guitar aside to type rapidly on a laptop.
And Charles had one more observation: nobody looked particularly happy. But, for once, they appeared to be glaring at each other and not at him.
“Uh, do I need to text everybody to call the meeting to order?” asked Charles. Hearing no response, he shrugged and pulled out his Dethphone.
“Whats?” said Skwisgaar, looking up.
“Where’s the BIKINI GIRLS, Charles?” demanded Nathan.
“Pfft,” said Skwisgaar, “You ams not deserves to looks at da bikinky girls after what you ams said about me on da Bumblrs!”
“What I said about YOU?” said Nathan. “You started Nathan_ams_a_douche Bumblr!”
“Ams not me!” protested Skwisgaar.
Toki giggled.
“TOKI!” said Nathan.
“Wait! Were you da anonymous who tol’ me I’m a ladyperson, Toki?” asked Pickles.
“No, dat ams me,” grinned Skwisgaar.
“Thanks,” said Charles who had just whispered something into his wrist communicator.
“HEY!” rumbled Nathan. “What happened to the DethWiFi!”
“Where ams da t'ree gees?” wailed Toki.
“No more internet until further notice,” said Charles.
The room erupted once again.
“DOOD!”
“Charlesch!”
“You cans not do dats!” said Skwisgaar.
“I just did!” scolded Charles. “Now, we are going to sit here, and we are going to talk to each other, and we are going to have a band meeting, like a normal family! I mean, like a normal band!”
Laptops and smart phones were snapped shut. Charles looked around to a room full of sullen glares.
“Good, that’s more like it,” he said. “William, can you tell me anything about what you discovered about Azitoth.”
“He’sch a prude,” said Murderface.
“He, uh, doesn’t like explicit content?” asked Charles.
“No, bro! Don’t you know anything?”
“Apparently not?”
“Dood. A prood is a male fan o’ da Pretty Princess cartoon t’ing,” supplied Pickles.
“You’re asking me to believe the elder gods all sit around watching children’s TV?” asked Charles.
Murderface nodded. “They’re all fansch. And there wasch schome kind of flame war. And they all took schides. Opposite schides! It wasch much like our own Schivil War, brother againscht brother. Though I schupposche not many Schivil War generalsch had tentacles….”
“Over a kids cartoon? I kids cartoon?” asked Charles.
“This is scherious buschinessch,” averred Murderface.
“So you’re telling me,” said Charles, “the universe might end … over a Pretty Pretty Princess fucking doll?”
“Come on kids, it's time!” yelled Raziel. The twins roared in from wherever they were and plopped down in front of the television, where Liam and Abby expertly shuffled through a small basket of remote controls to turn on the monitor and select the correct channel.
“Liam watches too?” asked Charles.
“Yeah! There's tons of guy fans for the show. They call themselves Prudes.”
“Proods?” asked Charles.
“Prudes. Princess Dudes!”
“Okaaaaaay,” said Charles. He listened to a cheery pop song that sounded not terribly like Toki Wartooth singing with AutoTune.
Princess
Is truly contumelious
Truly truly truly contumelious
“It's catchy,” he admitted.
“Oh, I like it too. I hate the fucking dolls, but they toned down the pink, and got some good writers. I guess about half the people who watch the show are grownups,” she explained.
“Some people need jobs,” Charles muttered.
They watched in silence for a few moments as Princess and her friends had some magical adventures. “I guess it's not so bad actually. Kind of engrossing,” Charles admitted.
“Oh, here we go! Liam! Pause!”
“PAWD!” said Liam, punching a key on one of the remotes. Both twins looked up at the adults.
“OK, you see that princess in the background, the one the buckteeth?”
“Yeah?”
“OK, so, she's in every episode, in the background somewhere. It's like a joke or something?”
“Animators are idiots,” said Charles, shaking his head.
“And some fans on Bumblr noticed and started calling her, 'Bucky,' and making up stories for her.”
“OK. They're idiots too,” grumbled Charles.
“Go ahead, Liam,” urged Raziel, and the twins once again became absorbed in the show. “But!” said Raziel. “The cool part? The animators all have Bumblr accounts too, so they wrote an episode where she finally gets to speak, and they actually call her Bucky and gave her a cute little lisp.”
“And, let me guess, there were parades and the sacrifice of goats?” asked Charles.
“Almost!”
“You're fucking kidding me.”
“Bumblr went nuclear!” said Raziel.
“You have a Bumblr too, Raziel?”
“Naw, Liam showed me. I can't figure out the fucking thing. Anyway, the Bumblr Prudes all accused the show of being prejudiced against people with dental issues, that they were orthodont-ist!”
“I thought they came up with the name on Bumblr!”
“But it gets better!” said Raziel. “So because of the controversy, they pulled the episode from circulation, redubbed the voice, and renamed the Princess, Lucky!”
“So, everybody is happy now? That's not what happened, is it?”
“Sooooo, the Proods are now divided along party lines, pro-Bucky and pro-Lucky! Flame wars erupt daily! Friendships ended! Death threats have been issued!”
Charles was silent for a long moment. “Raziel. This is all an ass pull, right? NO ONE could get that involved in a FUCKING CARTOON SHOW!”
“Wanna see the Bumblr threads? Liam could show you. I mean, after his cartoon is over.”
“I do not fucking believe this.”
“Yeah, it's not as if it's Corazon de Azul, or something important!” agreed Raziel. “You sure you don’t wanna see Bumblr?”
“I’ve had just about enough of it.” sighed Charles.
“But there was this great fan art I saw the other day of your boys dressed up as all the Pretty Pretty Princess characters!”
“I think I can skip that,” said Charles.
“There was one with glasses too that I’m sure was supposed to be you! I mean, you’re sort of generic.”
“Thank you, Raziel.”
“But you’ve got some pretty deranged fangirls too. You should see!”
“I need to go, Raziel. I need to consult someone: my resident fandom expert.”
“Hey, kids! Unky Sariel is going!”
“Don’t interrupt them-“ but Charles was stalled by two very enthusiastic glomps. “BYE UNKY SAR!!!”
“Oh. They’d interrupt Pretty Princess for me?” asked Charles, who actually half-smiled.
Liam grinned and held up a remote control. “PAWD!” he said.
“Yoo gawt hold of Uncle Pickles’ hand?” Pickles asked.
“Uh-huh Unky Bickuh!” Elias told him.
“Now, dis is a friend o’ mine, so yoo be nice to him,” urged Pickles.
“Uh-huh!” The two had just arrived at a room in one of the lesser used wings of Valhalla. It looked as if it had been set up as a makeshift rehearsal studio: there were soundproof tiles, and instruments everywhere.
“Oh, Pickles! It wuz very kind o’ yoo to have dem send along dese moosical accoutrements!” said Mr. Pickles, who had been beating cheerily on some conga drums.
“Yeh, I wuz gone a while, dis wuz what I missed most,” said Pickles. “Oh, an’ have yoo met Boon yet? He’s Charles’ kid. I mean, our Charles.”
“No, we have not met,” said Mr. Pickles. “I wuz not aware dat yer Mr. Ahfdenson had a child.”
“Yeh, it’s a lawng story. But I’m teachin’ him t’ play drums, dough his feet can’t reach da pedals yet.”
“He seems as yet a bit smahl,” opined Mr. Pickles, who was much impressed when Elias pulled out four arms, all eagerly clutching drumsticks. “Uhhhh….”
“Boonie pway da dwums fo Unky Bickuh!” said Elias.
Pickles grinned. “He gits dat frum his udder fadder,” he laughed.
“Uh, sirrah, his udder fadder?” asked Mr. Pickles.
“Like I said, long story,” grinned Pickles.
“Is there a particular reason why I have not yet met this fellow?” asked Ganesh.
“Because I love you,” sighed Charles. Casting a glance up and down the hallway, as he always did, he simultaneously pushed the up and down elevator buttons.
Ganesh smiled wryly and mounted the elevator along with Charles. They soon arrived in a subterranean room filled with computer terminals and monitors. There was one man in the room: a stout, bearded man suspended from some kind of harness.
“I will be with you shortly!” announced the man. “I have important matters to attend to!”
“Important matters, Edgar?” asked Charles.
“Someone has been casting aspersions on my Homestuck fanfic!” snorted Edgar, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Edgar, we need your help,” said Charles.
“Well, of course you need my help. It is difficult to see how anything gets done in this organization with the current poor quality of leadership. Do you see this burrito?” he demanded
“Yeah?” asked Charles, regarding the soggy dish.
“It’s cold.”
“Uh-huh. How long has it been sitting there?” asked Charles. “I mean, how many Homestuck fics. Which you wrote. On my time.”
“That is not the point,” insisted Edgar.
“By the way, this is my husband, Shri Ganesha.”
“Of course I recognize this individual,” fussed Edgar, picking up the cold burrito and taking a satisfied bite. “Do you suppose I have grown stupid?”
“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” smiled Ganesh.
“You were a very poor decision!” scolded Edgar, picking a bit of cilantro from between his teeth. “A very poor decision.”
“I’m sorry?” asked Ganesh.
“The fan base did not approve of Charles settling down like that. Especially with a highly suspicious foreigner.”
“You’re suspicious, dear,” said Charles.
“And I am not even going to venture into the area of the child!” declared Edgar.
“Yeah, we’ll try and do something with him. Wouldn’t wanna be left out of the Pretty Pretty Princess artwork,” said Charles.
“The what?” asked Ganesh. “Oh!” he exclaimed, as Edgar had called it up on the monitors. “Well, er, that is actually a very good likeness.”
“Edgar, we actually wanted to talk to you about Bumblr,” said Charles.
“Idiots! I had this idea ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO!”
“Are you aware who is running the company at present?” asked Ganesh, still regarding Charles’ image in the monitors.
“Does it matter?” harrumphed Edgar, who nevertheless neglected his burrito for a few moments in order to type on one of his ergonomic keyboards. “Hmpf. It is a shell company!”
“Who does the shell belong to?” asked Ganesh, who now leaned over Edgar’s shoulder.
“Personal space!” barked Edgar, although Ganesh ignored him.
“Remember, he’s a foreigner,” chuckled Charles.
“This is highly interesting Sariel,” commented Ganesh, who was now rather further discomfiting Edgar Jomfru by leaning over him and typing on his keyboard. “This is a shell inside another shell company!”
“Yes, yes, of course, I could have told you that,” fussed Edgar, who had now taken out a spray bottle of disinfectant and was fussily spritzing his keyboard where Ganesh had touched it.
“What else could you have told us, Edgar?” asked Ganesh.
“Well,” sniffed Edgar, who had followed up the spray bottle with some cleaner wipes. “If you would allow me time and space to work.
“And finish your fiction?” asked Charles.
“Oh, perhaps we should share literary endeavors?” suggested Ganesh.
“Hmpf! I would scarcely call your self-insert piffle a literary effort!” said Edgar.
“If one were being unkind, one could take your version of Peregrine Mendicant as a Mary Sue, specifically a God Mode one.”
Edgar ceased fussing with his keyboard, turned his harness device around and stared at Ganesh.
“You’ve read my Homestuck fic cycle?” asked Edgar, whose confidence, for the very first time that meeting, seemed to crumble, if only slightly.
“I cannot claim to have taken in every word,” Ganesh told him. “Boonie showed me.”
“Your child?”
“Yeah, the kid we’re trying to jettison. For the fandom’s sake,” smiled Charles. “You’ll look into the Bumblr ownership question, right?”
Edgar nodded: he seemed lost for words.
Charles nodded at Ganesh and the two men left the room.
“I don’t believe that,” said Charles as the elevator doors whooshed shut. “You charmed a Jomfru!”
“Well, I have met less pleasant people. In my time,” said Ganesh.
“Is there anything happening with Saa’itii?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Ganesh, “we require your expertise!”
“How is that?”
Charles looked up from a veritable sea of accounting.
“I need to RETURN SOMETHING!” Nathan boomed, setting down a giggling Elias right in the middle of his desk. Murgatroyd the puppy yipped around.
Charles attempted to look annoyed, but didn’t succeed terribly well. “What have you been up to all day?” he asked the child.
“Boonie pway da dwums an Unky Bickuh an Nate-Nate an da nother Unky Bickuh…”
“You guys all still up at Valhalla?”
“Yeah, the sound is TOTALLY METAL with THREE DRUMMERS, one of whom has a lot of arms.”
“Well that’s nice,” said Charles, pulling Elias off his desk and into his lap, sending papers scattering everywhere. “What the hell time is it anyway?” he asked, looking at your watch. “Past your bedtime anyway. And my bedtime.”
“What are you guys doing up so late anyway?”
“Don’t ask!” yelled Ganesh from one of the couches. “I have reached my limit!”
“We’re working on the Mr. Pickles issue,” said Charles.
“Yeah, that’s one thing I wanted to talk about,” confided Nathan.
“What did you wanna talk about?”
“He fits in GREAT! Can we just keep him here?”
“Nathan! He’s not a lost puppy!”
“But Chaaaaaaarles!”
“Taaaaarl!” giggled Elias.
“No, Nathan, not even if you whine,” vowed Charles. “He needs to get back to his universe. We all agree it’s very important they have their Dethklok!”
“But he’s better than our Pickles. He’s LESS WHINEY! Maybe we could just pack up our Pickles and send him? I mean, no one would ever know.”
“No, Nathan.”
“Awwwwwwwwww!”
“Yeah, I know, I’m mean.”
“And you shout!” said Nathan.
“And you express impatience!” yelled Ganesh from behind the couch.
“Thanks for having my back, Ganesh!” grumbled Charles.
“Any time!”
“Well, uh,” said Nathan, leaning over the desk, “could we swap him out for Skwisgaar?”
“What? No. We cannot substitute Skwisgaar. Nathan, what has gotten into you?”
“Me? What’s gotten into them?” grunted Nathan. “Douche bags. Well, anyway, I’m heading back now,” said Nathan. “Let me know if you come to your senses, about, you know!”
Charles sighed as he watched Nathan storm out. He let Elias wriggle of his lap, and the boy dashed behind the couch, shouting, “Baap!”
“Oof!” came a cry.
“He’s getting heavy,” laughed Charles. “Hey, whatever you’re doing back there, I know fucking well it’s not forensic accounting.”
Ganesh sat up. “Oh, I was just taking a small break.” He held up his laptop. “Edgar had invited me to his RP.”
“Wait, you’ve been role playing with Edgar Jomfru?”
“Mmmm. He’s terribly out of character.”
“Who is he playing?”
“Nathan Explosion. But so far, he hasn’t cast out any other band members.”
“Wait! It’s a Dethklok RP? They have those?” Charles frowned. “And, why the fuck do they have those?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“And who are you?”
“Well,” said Ganesh, sitting back, “I offered to play myself, but I am evidently non-canonical. Or a Marty Stu. Or perhaps both.”
“But you’re a real person! Or god or whatever.”
“Well, be that as it may. I am playing Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh.
“Ah.”
“It’s not terribly taxing. I simply type ‘Pffft’ every five minutes or so.”
“Who’s playing me?”
“Er,” said Ganesh, suddenly acting uncomfortable. “We don’t have a you. Currently.”
“Really?”
“Yes, there’s a person who normally plays you…. But her grandson has the sniffles so she is off babysitting.”
“Where is this?” asked Charles, seizing his own laptop.
“Sariel! Er. Jaanu. I would not recommend this!”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“Er,” said Ganesh.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY KICKED ME OUT OF MY OWN ROLE PLAY!”
“Now, Sariel,” soothed Ganesh. “Technically, you know, it was Edgar’s RP….”
“They told me I was being OUT OF CHARACTER!” raved Charles.
“Well…. Yes….”
“How can I be out of character? I’M ME?”
“Perhaps. You were being a little bit short with them.”
“But that’s what I do! I yell at the band! THAT’S MY JOB!” huffed Charles.
“Do not be so upset, jaanu.”
“Ingrates!”
“Well, perhaps…” Ganesh sighed. “At any rate, we are here.”
“Good, someone to yell at,” groused Charles, throwing open the door to the study at Valhalla.
“Hello, friends,” said Ezrulie. “I have just been passing a pleasant evening with our newest friend.”
“Will someone PLEASE tell this little lady to get her SWORD away from my NECK!” wailed the Elder god, who was dressed, as always, in a leather outfit that looked to be within seconds of splitting some very important seams.
“Aw, quit your bitching,” giggled Raziel, who was in fact the person wielding the sword.
“Dat’s him! DAT’S DA FELLOW!” said Mr. Pickles, who had just arrived accompanied by Wotan. “Dat fellow is da reason fer my present circumstances!”
“Now, calm down son,” said Wotan, large hand on Mr. Pickles' shoulder. “We’re gonna see if we can figure some of this out, right now, just between us.”
“What is this about? You folks are the sourest cats I've ever met!” said Saa'itii.
“We simply have a few questions,” said Ganesh.
“You're a musician, are you not, Mr. Pickles?” asked Erzulie.
“Of course little lady! I mean, not that you're such a little lady.”
“So that is your main income? You are a working musician?” continued Erzulie.
“My music is famed across the known universe! And several unknown universes!” bragged Saa’itii.
“Sooo,” said Charles. “We were wondering why, during all your time in Pickles' universe, you've failed to file your income taxes on your publishing royalties?”
“Uhhhhh,” explained Saa'itii.
“It is said,” said Erzulie, “that there is nothing certain but death and taxes.”
“I'm a music man! I can't be expected to know accounting!” protested Saa'itii.
“Yeah, that's why you hire a guy like me,” said Charles. “I'm a lawyer, and I'm an angel. But my favorite thing by far is accounting. I run the world's sixth largest economy.”
“I thought it was seventh?” said Raziel.
“We just passed the UK,” said Charles smugly. “I could make all this go away for you. If the price were right?” he told Saa'itii.
“What do you want?” asked the Hogfather.
“We would like to make another wager!” said Wotan.
“A wager? Sure, man!” said Saa'itii, reaching into his leather jacket for a handkerchief with which to dry the sweat from his forehead. “Lay it on me.”
“Which way do you suppose the sun will rise here?” asked Wotan.
Saa'itii looked carefully around the room as he dabbed the handkerchief. “Whichever way you say it does, big daddy!”
“Well, it would technically be to the south this time of year,” said Ganesh, peering up over the reading glasses he swore up and down he did not really need. “But that begs the question of whether there is a proper southern direction at Valhalla.”
“Seriously,” said Charles, coming out of the bathroom, “do you think it was the tax debt or Raziel's sword in his gut that made up his mind?”
Ganesh stretched out his long legs on the bed and grinned.
“I gawt a package!” declared Pickles from the bedroom doorway. He was carrying Elias, riding on his hip. Pickles carefully deposited the drowsy child on the bed.
“Well, look at you!” said Ganesh, reaching out his arms.
Elias crawled over to his father and then collapsed into him. Murgatroyd, who was trying to follow along, made a couple of unsuccessful leaps at the bed, finally achieving it on the third attempt.
“You were playing the drums again?” Ganesh asked Elias.
“Uh-huh,” muttered the child into Ganesh's side.
“Think someone's ready for bed. You were at the goodbye party in Valhalla for Mr. Pickles?” asked Charles.
“Yeah, dood. I wunnered why yoo guys weren't dere! It wuz a good gig!”
“After going through Saa'itii's taxes?” asked Charles. “I feel like THAT!” he said, pointing to Elias, who was already snoring softly.
“Boon is gittin really gud! He shud be a professional musician!” said Pickles.
Charles and Ganesh exchanged a glance.
“Absolutely not,” said Ganesh.
“Not on your life,” said Charles. “Not while there is still breath in my body!”
“Wul, it looks like we should put da little guy down fer da night,” laughed Pickles, attempting to pick up Elias, who only burrowed into Ganesh deeper.
“Noooooo, no bedtime,” Elias snored.
Between Pickles and Ganesh, they finally managed to get the child into Pickles' arms once again, and he headed towards the door. Pickles paused at the doorway. “Yoo know, kinda missed da little guy when I wuz gone.” And then he departed.
Charles waited a beat. “He never said he missed me!”
“I am certain he did, darling,” said Ganesh, turning back to his laptop. “At least he does not feel our child is non-canonical,” he laughed.
Charles grimaced.
“Oh, you're not still angry about that RP are you?” asked Ganesh.
“Yes,” said Charles, sliding into bed next to Ganesh. “And what are you doing?”
“Simply checking my Bumblr!”
“Oh, not you too!”
“Well, someone has to supervise our child when he is online!” said Ganesh.
“Someone needs to supervise the online world when Boon is there. What's your user name?”
“Well, despite having a thousand Holy Names, most of the best ones were already taken. So I settled for this,” said Ganesh, tipping over the computer screen.
“HinduLoveGod?”
“Yes. I have already had several users inquire if I am some fellow by the name of Peter Buck, and where they can obtain a Raspberry Beret.”
“What? Bumblr users all need to get jobs.”
“You really need a cane, dear.”
“Why?”
“So you can shake it when you say such things,” grinned Ganesh.
“I'm hip! Guess who else has a Bumblr?”
“You are kidding,” said Ganesh.
“You monitor Boon, I monitor my boys,” averred Charles.
“And what is your user name?”
“Uh.....”
“What?”
“It's.... It's a little weird.”
“DeadSexyCFO,” laughed Pickles from the doorway.
“How the bloody hell did you come up with that one?” said Ganesh.
“Toki an' I did it,” laughed Pickles, sprawling on the bed. “We gawt drunk one naight an' started a blog fer Charles.
“Wait, don't log into it!” said Charles, unsuccessfully trying to snatch the laptop from Ganesh. It is not recommended to try this maneuver when your opponent has four arms.
“Hrm, there seem to be an awful lot of images of you lying around on days when you have forgotten to button up your shirt!” commented Ganesh.
“THAT'S NOT ME!” protested Charles, who was still grabbing feebly for the computer. “The guys hack it!”
“We doo nawt,” grinned Pickles. “Look at dat one, Gannish, he fergawt his pants that day.”
“Oh, that's awfully nice,” said Ganesh.
“You guys, I'm right here!” protested Charles, who irritably rolled off the bed to catch his ringing DethPhone.
“An' dis one has a soun'track!” said Pickles, reaching over Ganesh to click on the link. Suddenly, the voice of Whitney Houston was blaring from the laptop's tinny speakers.
“What?” asked Charles, plugging an ear with one finger as he held the DethPhone as close to his head as he could without piercing his brain. “What is it Edgar?”
“Edgur?” asked Pickles over the din of “I Will Always Love You.”
“Who- Who owns Bumblr?” Charles shouted into the phone.
Pickles and Ganesh exchanged a glance.
“This ought to be good,” said Ganesh.
