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tikificTitle: The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music (Mythklok, Chapter 90)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When in doubt, send the boys a-golfing. Plus some other stuff.
Warnings: Eagles and bogies and par, oh my!
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: play it cool. (This one is sort of obscure.)
So last time, we got lost on the internet, as everyone got Bumblr accounts and then started a giant flamewar. Which is what fans do best.
Not so many years ago….
The wall was amazing: fashioned of copper and iron by inhuman hands, O so many years ago. It was larger than the wall of China, larger than anything ever wrought by man. It disappeared off in either direction as far as the eye could make out.
And since that time, the time of its construction, Abaddon had manned the gate, looking out over the abyss.
Abaddon had long since forgotten why he was here. He had forgotten many things: who had built the wall, and whether it was supposed to keep somebody in, or somebody else out, or perhaps a bit of each?
Abaddon was a demon, so he did what he was told: exactly what he was told, no more, and no less.
Today he was involved in one of his favorite occupations, a crossword puzzle.
He looked up curiously at the approaching figure. Not specifically because the approaching figure was curious: a huge individual who sported no less than two heads. No, it was curious to encounter anyone at all out here. Abaddon thought about it for a moment, and couldn’t recall the last time he had received a visitor. Lucifer used to come by and check in every once in a while, it seemed. But that had been a while ago. Maybe a long time ago.
The visitor at last drew within speaking distance.
“The nineteen-eighties called. They’d like your outfit back,” sniffed one of the heads.
“What?” said Abaddon. He was a demon, but he hadn’t stolen anything. Not for a while. “Hey, do either of you guys know a six letter word for a ductile metal with a high thermal conductivity?” Abaddon was working on six hundred and sixty-six across. It was a rather large crossword puzzle, and he had worked on it for many decades now.
The giant gave out two long sighs. “Oh. My. Gawd. Don’t you know who we are?” the second head finally demanded.
“No. Should I?” inquired the demon.
“He is sooooo mainstream,” muttered the first head, as if Abaddon couldn’t hear them.
“I’m not Main Streem. I am Abaddon,” said Abaddon.
“Well, duh!” said the second head, rolling its eyes.
“What’s a duh?” asked Abaddon.
“You’re at the gate, guarding the abyss. Who else would you be?” huffed the first head.
“Oh. I could be many things. And many creatures,” reasoned Abaddon. He had been alone for a long time, and perhaps his reasoning had begun to fray just a bit.
“We are Gog and Magog,” announced the first head, who was Gog.
“Magog, and Gog,” repeated the second head, who was Magog.
“Da Glimma Twinz!” they chorused, striking a pose, sneering and poking fingers and thumbs every which way.
Abaddon examined the being, and its many tattoos and piercings. “Hadn’t heard of you,” he informed it. “But I haven’t heard of many things. I’ve been here a long time. I believe I’ve forgotten my own name.”
“Whoever you think you are or aren’t, we need to get through, so stand aside!” demanded Gog.
“Sorry,” said Abaddon, who set down his crossword puzzle and stood up.
“Sorry what?” asked Magog.
“Well, I can’t let you go through. I have a job here, and that’s to keep people from going through the gate.”
“But think!” reasoned Gog. “Why did these horrible creatures build a gate if you’re not supposed to go through? I mean, jeez!”
“Mine is not to reason…” smiled Abaddon, drawing his sword. “Mine is to slay all who try pass.”
“Oh. My. Gawd. You’re not going to make us kill you, are you?” sighed Magog.
“He is so annoying,” whispered Gog.
“I know, right?” agreed Magog, who now had his own sword.
“Not at all,” smiled Abaddon. “I am simply going to kill you.”
And Abaddon raised his sword.
And very soon, there was blood spilled on six hundred sixty-six across.
“Demons!” sighed Gog. “They’re just so…. You know….” And so saying, he kicked Abaddon’s lifeless body into the abyss.
“I know, they’re like…” agreed Magog.
And so the two headed giant opened the gate of the great copper and iron wall. And sauntered on right through.
Into our world….
“In all my existence, I’ve never heard of anything so stupid! What the hell got into you two!” roared Wotan.
”Skwisgaar thought it was a good idea,” tattled Thor.
”You are such an asshole! Skwisgaar told Thor.
”Did you boys want to end the universe?” asked Wotan, wagging a big finger. “Would that make you big men?”
”Noooo,” chorused Thor and Skwisgaar, both staring at something very interesting on Valhalla’s floor. Thor looked a bit abashed; Skwisgaar simply looked angry.
“My Swedish is rusty: I’m not following all of this,” Charles, sitting on the other side of the room, told Raziel.
“Wotan’s basically tearing them a new one,” said Raziel.
“Oh. Good.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that.”
Both angels leaned back on the couch and looked smug.
“It was a good investment!” protested Skwisgaar. ”I need to think about the future!”
”The future? What if you brought on the end of the world? What were you gonna do with the damn money?” roared Wotan.
“I hadn’t thought that far into the future. admitted Skwisgaar.
“You two are not too old to bend over my knee and give you a good smack!”
Raziel felt a hand go over her mouth just as she was going to guffaw. Charles, who was obviously struggling himself not to laugh, shook his head at her. Raziel pointed, and both of them dove out of the room, into the hallway, shutting the door squarely after themselves. Raziel started to hold her stomach and roar with laughter.
“You got that, I suspect?” asked Raziel when she could breathe again.
“The look on Skwisgaar’s face! You think he’d do it?” asked Charles.
“Naw. His worst with the kids is always saying, ‘Do you know how disappointed I am in you?’” Raziel told him, doing the best Wotan imitation a very small angel could manage.
“Oh. And that works?”
“When Wotan says it? Even I feel bad!”
“Wow.”
“There’s inevitably tears. And we need to get everybody ice cream afterwards.”
“Ice cream? Huh,” said Charles, looking thoughtful.
“What.”
“Oh. The being a parent thing? It’s just not that much different from managing a band.”
The door opened and Wotan emerged. There was the sound of much sniffing and whimpering in the room behind him.
“Uh-oh!” said Raziel. “You used the D word!”
Wotan shut the door. “I am very disappointed in those two,” he said, crossing his arms. “VERY disappointed.”
“Does this mean we get ice cream?” asked Charles hopefully.
“I’ll go get some,” said Raziel.
“See if there’s fudge ripple!” urged Charles.
“Not for you!” Raziel laughed as she walked off.
“So, what are they gonna do about Bumblr?” asked Charles.
“Well, evidently, from what I could get besides the piteous howling, the software developer has already left to do the InstaCoffee.com site.”
“Oh, he wanted to do other things?” asked Charles.
“Well, sort of. He was 14 years old at the time, and his mother got mad at him for staying up too much on school nights updating his Bumblr.”
“But she’s cool with a teenager doing a coffee site?” asked Charles.
“I guess it gets him up early in the morning,” explained Wotan.
“I don’t know why I didn’t have visibility into this,” worried Charles. “I run Skwisgaar’s company!”
“This is partly my fault,” sighed Wotan. “I have a trust set up for my boys.”
“So that’s where he got the money,” said Charles. “Any word the other investors Edgar uncovered?”
“Da Glimma Twinz?” asked Wotan, grinning despite himself.
“Does anyone even talk that way any more?” asked Charles.
“Ain’t my boys,” said Wotan. “But I reckon whoever it is, they’re up to no good.”
“ICE CREAM!” announced Raziel.
“COOL!” said Charles, momentarily abandoning his cares and woes (which were many) to a bowl of fudge ripple.
MurderPiss: So I thay we thould all go to the thouth thea islands to drink and party with thexy chickth!
NathanAwesome: That sounds brutal and metal!
xxPicklexx: That ams the goods ideas.
SexySkwis: Pffft.
TheRealCharles: You’re not doing the accent right, MP.
MurderPiss: I am sorry, what accent do you mean?
SexySkwis: I believe he is referring to the lisp. Er. Pffft.
MurderPiss: You are OOC again, Charles!
TheRealCharles: You were never in character, Edgar! “The schouth schea ilandsch!” That’s how William talks.
MurderPiss: Sir, I am the originator of the MurderPiss character, all rights reserved. And I will continue to play him as I see fit!
NathanAwesome: Some people just don’t have a good ear for accents, Sariel.
SexySkwis: It isn’t technically an accent. It is more a speech impediment. Pfft.
TheRealCharles: And you can’t be Skwisgaar just by saying Pffft every five minutes!
NathanAwesome: “It ams a speech impediment.”
SexySkwis: Yes, thank you Raziel. It ams a speech impediment.
TheRealCharles: No, he would say more like, “It ams a speeches impediments.”
MurderPiss: I believe he would say, “It ams a speeches impedimenticockles.”
SexySkwis: *rotfl*
NathanAwesome: LOLLOL
xxPicklexx: Ams we gets back to the RP dudes?
MurderPiss: Yes. We thall now board the DethJet.
NathanAwesome: I’m going to pack my machine gun, in case I need it!
SexySkwis: And I shall – ams – packs a small selection of ams geetarses.
TheRealCharles: You know we’d probably take a DethCopter, not the DethJet.
NathanAwesome: Sariel, WE ARE GOING TO MAKE YOU PLAY A GEAR AGAIN!
TheRealCharles: All right. All right. O I wonder what I should pack?
SexySkwis: Here, you can ams have your special tasers. Pfft!
TheRealCharles: Thank you, Skwisgaar.
xxPicklesxx: I ams brings da beers and da smelly drugses!
MurderPiss: And there will be thexy chichth.
**SexySkwisgaar has left the room**
Charles looked up from his laptop. “Was his accent driving you nuts too?”
Ganesh laughed softly and held up a drowsy Elias.
“Oh. When did you get in here?” asked an honestly puzzled Charles.
“This one needs to get to B-E-D,” Ganesh whispered.
“Nooooo B-E….” whined Elias, who was already snoring.
Charles shrugged and kissed his son goodnight. “If he can run a Bumblr site, he can probably spell, you know.”
“That is not a requirement. It certainly wasn’t for the founders!”
Charles heard a yipping at the foot of the bed. “You don’t get a kiss!” he told Murgatroyd.
“Are you going to go back to the RP?” smiled Ganesh.
“Yeah I guess … FUCK!”
“What now?” asked Ganesh.
“They all left in the Dethjet without me!” wailed Charles. “Just like they did that time…” he muttered.
Ganesh walked back over and, still holding a sleeping Elias, put a spare hand through Charles’ hair. “Then why don’t you follow them in the Dethcopter?” he whispered.
“Oh yeah! Great idea,” said Charles, once again seizing the lap top and rapidly typing.
Ganesh toted Elias out of the room. “Some people should really stick to playing Gears,” he whispered so only his sleeping son could hear.
“So,” said Nathan, “this is potentially the END OF THE WORLD, and we’re all gonna GO GOLFING?”
“Uh,” said Charles, looking nervously around the band meeting room. “Uh, yeah. Sort of. The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music is gonna be Dick Knubbler’s comeback….”
“AWESOME,” said Nathan. “I haven’t been golfing in fucking FOREVER. And that’s like a really long time, you know?”
“I too wisch to return to the linksch,” averred Murderface.
“Da linkses? You ams wants da sausages?” inquired Toki, squinting at a model zeppelin he was curently assembling with a glue gun.
“Murderfaces ams likes da sausages parties,” grinned Skwisgaar.
Charles sighed, a very deep sigh, that came from the depths of his soul. “Anyway. The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music is going to be the first event held on our brand new course.
“Dood. We have our own golf course?” asked Pickles. “Den why have we been teeing off over da side o’ Mordland.”
“Because it ams pointlessness. Likes da universes,” answered Skwisgaar.
“I wanna work on mah handicap!” protested Pickles.
“You ams da handy chops,” chuckled Skwisgaar.
“Yeah? Wul, at least I’m nawt gettin’ spanked by Wotan,” said Pickles.
“Who ams tolds you dat!” demanded Skwisgaar, narrowing his eyes. “Ams it Raziels?”
Pickles and Charles suddenly exchanged a glance. “Uh. Yeah. Wuz Lady Raz,” said Pickles.
“ANYWAY,” began Charles, “this is located at the site of the former Doritoland project….”
“YOU TOOK AWAY OUR DORITOS?” wailed Nathan.
“I didn’t take them away, Nathan,” snapped Charles. “They were…. They were stale!”
“How do you know they were stale?” asked Nathan. “Did you try them?”
“For your information, they were well past the expiration date,” said Charles.
“You knew all along our Doritoland Doritos were schtale?” asked Murderface.
“And you ams let us eats dem?” asked Toki, suddenly gluing his hand to the model.
“Can we get some acetone up here?” Charles told his wrist communicator as Toki flailed.
“An’ sum more beer!” called Pickles.
“Yeah,” Charles told the communicator. “No! No, do not put acetone in the beer!”
“Hey, shure, yoo cud put assatone in da beer!” Pickles assured him.
“Then how would we pry Toki off that dirigible?” asked Charles.
“He wud drink da assatone beer an’ den he wudn’ stick to nuttin’ no more!” explained Pickles, who was versed in the sciences of ingestion of arcane chemicals.
“Dat ams sounds reasonababble!” agreed Swisgaar.
Charles glowered. “We are going to rub acetone on Toki and release him that way,” he told Pickles as Toki suddenly found himself surrounded by burly Klokateers with a flask of acetone and rubbing cloths.
“YOU NEVER LET US DO ANYTHING!” Nathan wailed.
“Are you actually trying to get on my nerves, Nathan?” asked Charles.
“Yeah. It’s pretty easy. You need to mellow out. You could get like a stroke or something.”
“Angels don't get strokes!” said Charles, as the Klokateers freed Toki from the zeppelin, which promptly fell to pieces. As did Toki.
“Awww, Toki....” said Pickles.
“Oh, could I BORROW YOUR KID?” Nathan asked Charles.
“What?” said Charles.
“Just for The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music,” explained Nathan.
“Why would you need to borrow my kid for ... that?” asked Charles. “He doesn't golf! Well, yet. Not until he's three, I think....”
“My parents are gonna be there, Charles,” said Nathan, leaning over to speak softly into Charles' ear while the band and a couple of very confused Klokateers tried to reassemble Toki’s dirigible model. “They keep wanting me to have a KID. And I figured, well, BOON IS A KID!”
“Nathan, as your parents are surely aware, Boon is my kid!”
“Eh. He's still A KID.”
“All right,” said Charles. “All right. I guess we should help out here?” he said, gesturing at the zeppelin, which looked rather worse following the attentions of a gang of Mordhaus residents.
“You know the old saying,” whispered Nathan.
“What old saying?”
“Too many dudes trying to glue shit on to a broke blimp thing, you might as well go get a beer,” said Nathan.
“Oh,” said Charles. “Not sure I’ve heard that one.”
Nathan gestured, and both men tiptoed out of the meeting.
“See?” said Nathan.
Charles nodded, and they went their separate ways.
“Welcome, babies, to The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music, yeah!” announced Dick Knubbler to clapping and they sound of many, many camera shutters clicking.
Plus there might have been the sound of some automatic weapons fire.
“Did you really need to fire that machine gun into the air, William?” sighed Charles, regarding the small band of Klokateers who had just fallen dead and/or wounded from the plummeting ammunition.
“Aw!” said Murderface. “You don’t have to yell.”
“I am…” said Charles, who suddenly looked shrewd. “I am very disappointed in you William!”
Quite suddenly, Murderface seemed to wilt. Toki was there at his side, holding his shoulders. “What ams you says to him!” he demanded of Charles.
“Uh. I said, uh, after the tournament, we’ll go get ice cream?” tried Charles.
Murderface wiped his face with a sleeve. “OK,” he whispered. Two teary piss-yellow eyes looked up. “Raschberry brickle?”
“Yeah. We’ll all go get raspberry, uh, brickle cones. Sure,” said Charles.
“CHAAAAARLES!” boomed Nathan.
“I gotta go deal with this,” Charles told Toki and Murderface. “Come on,” he told Elias, extending a hand. “I think I know what this is about.”
Charles and his son walked over to where Nathan Explosion stood with his parents, Rose and Oscar. Oscar, like Nathan, was dressed in a golf outfit.
“Hello, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Explosion. It is very nice to see you today,” said Charles.
“Mom, this is BOON!” announced Nathan, while Charles looked on uncertainly.
Rose considered the small boy before her. “He's awfully dark, isn't he? Not that there's anything wrong with being dark. My aunt got dark. Just before she passed away from leprosy.”
Elias blinked his long-lashed little brown eyes. He held up two little arms towards Rose.
She scooped him up.
“Oh, he's JUST LIKE YOU when you were that age Nathan,” swooned Rose.
Nathan grinned at Charles, who raised his eyebrows. “I gotta go,” said Charles. He walked over to where Rose Explosion held his son. “Be good, right?” he told Elias.
“Oh, you're always a good boy, aren't you?” asked Rose.
“Uh-HUH!” said Elias with utmost sincerity.
“Yeah,” said Charles, scowling and muttering something about love god powers as he walked away.
“Oh, there you are, pati!” smiled Ganesh, who was standing with Skwisgaar and Pickles. “Are you quite ready to tee off?”
Charles looked Ganesh up and down. “OK, Ganesh? No one should look that good in a golf outfit!” he said.
“Armani!” bragged Ganesh as Skwisgaar and Pickles chuckled. “Do you like?” he asked, doing a quick twirl.
“We ams told him it ams against da laws of natures,” noted Skwisgaar.
“It’s like unnacheral, dood,” nodded Pickles. “Yer supposed t’ look like a douche when yoo gawlf,” he said, pulling at his own sweater. “It’s part of da game!”
“I really need to introduce you boys to classic couture,” sighed Ganesh as they walked to the first tee.
“Naw, we’ve had enough of that fashion stuff already,” grumbled Charles.
“For your information, there are numerous current designers working in the industry who are not homicidal sadists,” explained Ganesh.
“But who’s innerested in werkin’ wit dose doods?” scoffed Pickles, who was already pulling out a rolled something or other. Ganesh shrugged.
“Can we ams starts da games alreadies,” sighed Skwisgaar. There were grunts of agreement.
Their foursome was to start on top of a rise. In order to keep construction costs down, Charles had left some of the features of Doritoland standing. On this hole he had left one of the giant containers of Doritos (the Cool Ranch ones, as it happened) smack in the middle of course, meaning one would need to carefully drive around it to make the green. They teed off, one by one, Skwisgaar barely making it, Pickles smacking right into the container, and Charles banking off and landing in the rough beside the green (which was also made of Doritos, though these were of the Flaming Hot variety).
“You gentlemen will have to be patient with me,” warned Ganesh upon his turn, carefully placing his ball in the tee. “Golf isn’t a sport in which I regularly partake.”
Charles felt an elbow into his ribs. He turned to look at Pickles. “Dood, when he bends over like dat….”
“I know….” Said Charles, who really wasn’t at all certain what he knew. Love god husband. Plus kid who was a love god in training!
Ganesh teed off, looking much more like a commercial for some overly expensive men’s cologne than any golfer in the known world. Charles could have sworn he heard faint background music, and that at one point Ganesh went to slo-mo. For his part, Ganesh put a hand over his eyes, intently staring, and then chuckled, “Well, how very fortunate!” as his ball bounced onto the green, a three-foot putt from the hole.
“Uh. Oh,” said Charles, who suddenly realized that he along with Pickles and Skwisgaar had been quite frankly staring transfixed at Ganesh, and not his impossible shot.
“Dat ams imdepossible!” swore Skwisgaar, who also said a few more colorful terms in Swedish.
“You simply need the right equipment!” smiled Ganesh.
“He definitely gaht dat,” sighed Pickles.
Charles pulled out his Dethphone, which was vibrating like an irritable porcupine.
“Oh, can’t yoo turn dat t’ ing awf, Charles?” whined Pickles.
“Ja, puts on da voice smells!” lectured Skwisgaar.
“Yeah? She’s what? Yeah, I’ll go talk to her. Yeah. Thanks,” he told the phone. “Sorry, guys, I got to go see about something. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Would you like me to play for you if you are not back?” asked Ganesh.
“No, nawt Ganesh! Dat ain’t fair!” protested Pickles.
“I’ll be right back. I promise,” said Charles, storming off.
“No, he won’ts sighed Skwisgaar.”
"Which end do you use again? The pointy one, or the one with the wibbly bits?"
"Raziel, this is golf, not pool!" Charles told her.
"So, the other end?" inquired Raziel, looking up from where she had been queuing up a shot.
"The other end," sighed Charles.
"Well, all righty!" agreed Raziel, standing up and shaking off the grass. "I don't like the blobby end on this one. CADDIES!"
And just like that, two small angels fluttered by, holding between them Raziel's golf bag. Which, it probably doesn't need to be mentioned, was styled to match her golf outfit.
“Raziel, what are you doing?”
“Selecting another clubby thing?” said Raziel, prowling around the bag. She took out and discarded a broadsword and then a pike.
“No, I mean the kids!” said Charles, pointing to a giggling Liam and Abby.
“Yeah, it’s great to have them out here in the fresh air.”
“They’re True Formed, Raziel!”
“Silly Sariel! We’re miles from the crowds out here. Besides, they want pictures of celebrities, like your band.”
Charles sighed and regarded Raziel. “Do they really make high heeled golf shoes?” he asked her.
“Hee. For me, they do!”
“Helps if you have a broadsword I guess,” said Charles, holding up the discarded blade. “So, where’s Wotan anyway? I thought you guys were playing together?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t miss it! He’s just going to be a teensy tiny bit late!” said Raziel.
“Is there a problem?”
“Something with my father,” said Raziel.
“Do you know what?” asked Charles.
“Oh, you know those two. Probably a new brand of whiskey!” Charles sighed and went over to correct Raziel’s stance, as she was currently holding her golf club (a putter) more or less the way one would hold a baseball bat.
“OK,” said Charles, “first off, no,” he said, tossing away the putter, and grabbing a driver out of Raziel’s bag. “Now, stand like this,” he said, standing behind her and holding her arms in the correct position.
“Ooooo! I wondered how you hit the ball when it’s way down there!” Raziel laughed as the twins giggled.
“You draw it back like this, and then follow through,” said Charles, as he patiently guided Raziel through a couple of swings.
“Oh, this will be fun. Now, we gotta get it through the titties!” she said, pointing down the course. Charles cast his eyes down, finally realizing that this hole was furnished with the remains of the Super Tits Candy Snake project, a project that no one in the organization, despite years of trying, had ever been able to explain to him. Down the course were two very large plaster mammary glands, and in order to make the green, one had to aim the shot carefully through the deep cleavage, which was partially blocked by a plaster snake.
“This is the Cleopatra hole!” said Raziel. “Did I ever tell you about her?” she asked Charles. “What a queen bitch!”
“She sounds like your kinda girl.”
“Oh, yeah, she was a blast,” said Raziel, taking a couple of practice swings. “OK, here we go,” she announced, as Charles ducked his head and she suddenly spun and gave the ball a terrific whack. It careened down the field, smacked into a nipple, bounced off the snake’s head, caromed off the other tit, and took a couple of bounced right on to the green.
“Yay!” said Raziel.
“Whee!” echoed the twins.
“TITS!” echoed Nathan Explosion, who had just showed up with his family and Elias.
“Was that good?” Raziel asked Charles. “That was fun! Do I do another one?”
“Uh, no Raziel. You go down there now and try to get the ball into the little hole in the middle of the green,” explained Charles.
He looked around at Rose and Oscar. Oscar was busy selecting a club, but Rose was staring down at the twins, who were quite suddenly Court Formed, and looking uncharacteristically innocent.
“Uh, Mrs. Explosion, these are Boon’s cousins, Liam and Abigail,” said Charles.
“Oh, aren’t they precious!” said Rose.
“Naw, they’re actually pretty horrible,” said Raziel. “Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Lady Raziel, but you can call me Raz,” she said, sticking out a hand as the kids ran off to tackle Elias.
“This is my, uh, sister,” said Charles, who had decided to make things easy.
“You’re descended from royalty?” asked a now obviously impressed Rose, shaking Raziel’s hand.
“What, him?” asked Raziel, hiking a thumb at Charles. “Naw. My husband is a King.”
“Oh!” said Rose. “Like Kate Middleton.”
“I LOOOOOOOVE Kate Middleton!” squealed Raziel, taking Rose’s arm. “I can see we’re gonna get along.”
“Are you girls gonna keep jawin’, or can we tee off?” grumbled Oscar as he and Nathan lined up a shot.
“WHERE’S WOTAN, anyway, Lady Raz?” asked Nathan. “I thought he was gonna GOLF.”
“Oh, he’s a little late,” said Raziel.
“We’re a man short, why don’t you join the foursome, little lady?” asked Oscar.
“Hey, cool!” said Raziel. “You guys wanna play with Boonie?” she yelled.
“YEAH!” screamed all three kids, who were now somewhat obscured by mud and grass stains.
“I gotta get back to my game, Raziel,” said Charles. “Can you stay out of trouble?” he whispered.
“Oh, you worrywart! What could possibly happen?” scoffed Raziel, giving him a quick air kiss. “Thanks for the lesson!”
Charles sighed and started to trudge back to his own foursome. He found that they had moved on to their second hole, which wrapped around a familiar-looking lake.
“Uhhhh, the lake troll isn’t up, is it?” Charles asked worriedly.
“Ams no matters,” said Skwisgaar. “I ams broughts da grandpas geetars,” he said, pulling an acoustic guitar ot of his golf bag. “I ams seragrenades him back to sleeps.”
“Uh. Yeah, and failing that?”
The boys grinned. Pickles brought out a flamethrower (which he remarked, he had stolen from Toki), Skwisgaar a machine gun, and Ganesh a martini shaker, which he hurriedly put back, and extracted instead a small Gatling gun.
“Cool,” said Charles, lining up his shot. He watched it go. “All … right … all … right … SHIT!” The last was said not at the shot, as the ball cleared the lake with room to spare, but rather his howling Dethphone.
“Oh fer,” grumbled Pickles.
“Nots agains!” whined Skwisgaar.
“They’re doing WHAT? Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll be there,” sighed Charles into the phone. “I gotta go.”
The lake had begun to ripple. “Hey, doods, check out da lake!” said Pickles.
“Can you handle this?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“With pleasure,” grinned Ganesh, assembling his weapon. “Did anyone think to bring a grenade launcher?” he inquired as Charles hurried off once more.
Charles held back as he approached the group. This hole contained a souvenir of their Middle Eastern tour: a genuine pyramid. The hole was actually somewhere up near the top, which usually made it a bit of a challenge.
He watched with interest as William Murderface teed off. The bassist cast a sly glance around, then drew back, but, oddly, appeared to pause just as he was about to contact the ball. It looked strangely like a glitch in the Matrix. And then, despite what seemed only a small tap, the ball sailed off, looping up several levels on an oddly ungainly looking flight.
Charles cursed and quickly climbed around the back of the pyramid, where he was invisible to the foursome, which included Murderface as well as Toki. He found the level that was his best guess as to where the ball had landed. He quickly spotted it and hurried over. He picked it up and looked around.
“Anna,” he said.
“Hi Charles!” said Anna the ghost, suddenly becoming visible to him. “I’ve been working on this flying stuff. It’s pretty cool, huh?”
“Yes, you’re doing very well. Look, we have a problem. Wotan’s gonna be late, so Raziel is stuck with the kids. Could you get over to her and help out?”
“Hey, sure! But I need to tell William and Toki!”
“No, you don’t need to worry about that. You just get over there. They’ll be on the second hole, near the Circus of Death.”
“OK, I’ll get right over!” said Anna. “Tell the boys bye for me!” she said, disappearing again.
Charles tossed the ball up in the air.
“I ams tells you we ams being too obviouses!” came Toki’s voice.
“Naw, they’ll never figure thisch one out,” said Murderface.
Both suddenly came up to the level and both spotted Charles at the same time.
“Ulp,” said Toki.
“Buschted,” grumbled Murderface.
Charles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I am very, VERY disappointed in you!”
“I have been waiting for you, jaanu!”
“Where is everybody?” asked Charles, trudging wearily up to where Ganesh was relaxing on a chaise lounge with a frosty drink.
“The others decided to play through. I remained back, thinking you might wish company.”
“Thanks, that was nice of you. And where the hell did you get that chair?”
“Oh, Lady Raziel was insightful enough to bring along some lawn furniture,” the god cheerily told him, re-crossing his long legs.
“Did you guys deal with the lake troll?”
“Easy peasy,” said Ganesh. “And how did your mission go?”
“We’re gonna need about a million gallons of ice cream at the end of this shit,” Charles muttered.
“I am so very sorry, darling. Would you care for a martini?” asked Ganesh, holding up his cocktail.
“I just wanna get back to my fucking golf game!” sighed Charles.
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, putting away his copy of GQ, and then folding up the chair, which, conveniently enough, folded away to nothing at all.
“Have you teed off?” asked Charles.
“No. Would you mind terribly if I went first?”
“Go ahead. You’ve been waiting.” Charles watched as Ganesh, looking like a television advertisement for some ridiculously high priced soap, gracefully teed off, landing a difficult shot around a giant Facebones effigy safely in the green.
“No one should look that good in a fucking golf outfit,” Charles muttered as Ganesh winked at him. Charles set his own ball on the tee and got ready, trying and failing to clear his mind of all the bullshit of the past hours. He swung – and sliced.
“@#$%#$$^%&*@#$%!” said Charles.
“English is a very colorful language, isn’t it though?” asked Ganesh, as they watched Charles’ ball bounce off one of Facebones’ horns and disappear behind a stand of trees.
“$%^&#$%^$#%^&!!” said Charles.
“And so is High Angelic,” chuckled Ganesh. “Will you take the strokes…?”
“No, I’m gonna go find my fucking ball,” said Charles, who was already marching down the course, shaking his head and wishing for a cigarette. And perhaps Pickles’ blowtorch.
“Hrm,” said Ganesh as they ventured into the woodlands beside the course. “Perhaps you should look up there, and I shall look down here?”
Charles nodded, but instead of doing as Ganesh indicated, he stood for a moment and sulked and instead watched Ganesh searching. The designer golf duds, Charles reflected, really showed off Ganesh’s perfect ass, especially when he bent over like that.
Charles frowned. Quite suddenly, he set down his golf bag, and tugged his sweater vest off over his head, and then unbuttoned his shirt.
“Any luck dear?” inquired Ganesh, who was still doubled over, scanning the weedy ground.
“I think I’m gonna get very lucky,” said Charles, wrapping two silvery wings around Ganesh.
The only sound was Ganesh’s delighted laughter.
“Oh, look here!” said Ganesh some time later. Charles slightly released his grip so Ganesh could lean forward, grabbing at something in the weeds near his foot. Ganesh leaned back, once again making himself comfortable between Charles’ knees, leaning back against the angel’s chest.
“What is it?” asked Charles. Ganesh held up a golf ball. “Oh, that,” said Charles. Charles was currently wearing his wings and nothing else. Ganesh too had long since discarded the designer golf duds, which lay crumpled and balled up around them.
“Would you like to resume your game?” asked Ganesh.
“Fuck golf,” grumbled Charles, kissing Ganesh’s neck.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much my opinion too.”
“Raziel. DO YOU MIND?” asked Sariel, drawing in his wings at the appearance of the little angel.
“I’ve seen worse,” grinned Raziel. “Besides, might I point out the expectation of privacy is somewhat lessened on a public golf course.”
“Kindly allow me to locate my trousers,” said Ganesh, who scrambled up and began to root around on the ground.
“What did you want now, Raziel?” grumbled Charles, irritably regarding his golf ball.
“Not me. Someone needs to meet with you. Hey, is that your Armani?” asked Raziel, going to assist Ganesh with his shirt. Or rather what was left of his shirt.
“Sariel was rather in haste,” laughed Ganesh.
“How could he do that! This is designer!” wailed Raziel.
“Raziel, what is this about?” demanded Charles, ruffling his wings in irritation.
“One sartorial suggestion for you, dear,” said Raziel, experimentally tying up Ganesh’s shirt.
“What?”
“Where you’re going, you’re probably gonna want pants,” said Raziel.
“I would speak with you,” said Phanuel, indicating a chair in his comfortable office in First Circle of hell.
“This is great,” commented Charles. “Lucifer used to have offices down in the lowest Circle.
“There is a slightly better view here,” smiled Phanuel, indicating a row of windows.
“Oh, this is lovely!” agreed Ganesh, eagerly peering out. As he and Charles had headed down to hell straight from the golf course, he had thrown his a blazer over his ripped shirt, and actually (Charles noted) looked ridiculously fashionable.
“Look, I know you didn’t call us away from a golf game to look out the window,” said Charles, dusting at a grass stain on his butt.
“True,” said the Grey angel. “There is someone I wished you to meet. The story is still unclear to me, as he is a bit incoherent, and Lucifer’s record keeping left, ahem, something to be desired.”
“Who is he?” asked Charles.
“Alas, that appears a matter. Of much confusion,” explained Phanuel. “He crawled, half dead, from the abyss, the other day.”
“The abyss?” asked Charles.
“It is connected with the end of the world, Armageddon, if you will,” explained Ganesh.
“This doesn’t sound good,” said Charles, who tried not to cringe at the sight of the figure who now entered Phanuel’s office. He looked like a human (and not a terribly attractive one) had gotten its DNA mixed up with a goat, and the goat won. He had hindquarters like some animal, four arms, and prominent horns. And he had the usual leathery wings, these a shade that was a shade of yellow somewhere between mustard and pus.
“I need to finish my crossword!” the fellow wailed.
“I am truly sorry about that,” said Ganesh. “Why don’t you sit right down here, and we will talk about your crossword,” he said, indicating a chair. Ganesh started fussing around doing doctor-y things with lights in the bloodshot eyes and pulse taking.
“We believe whoever encountered him left him for dead,” Phanuel whispered to Charles.
“Yeah, how could you tell if this thing is alive anyway?” Charles whispered back. “Uh,” he asked the demon, “where do you think you left your crossword? Maybe we could find it.”
“It’s at the gate. I was on six hundred sixty-six! A six letter word for a ductile metal of high electrical and thermal conductivity.”
“Copper,” supplied Ganesh.
“Oh!” said the demon. “The wall is wrought of copper and iron, and none may pass! NONE MAY PASS!” he said, voice cracked, starting to rise, injured wings flailing out.
“All right, let’s settle down now,” said Charles.
“None may pass the sword of Abaddon!” whispered the demon.
“Abaddon?” said Phanuel.
“Oh, this is definitely not good,” said Charles.
“You know the name?” asked Ganesh, taking something from his jacket pocket. “Here you are,” he said, flipping through his Vogue Italia and opening it up to a certain page.
“Crossword!” said Abaddon.
“Yes it is in fact it is a crossword of famed haberdashers this month!” said Ganesh, handing along a pen. The demon appeared to settle down, putting the pen in his goat mouth and chewing a bit.
“Now, who is Abaddon?” Ganesh whispered to Charles and Phanuel.
“As you might know,” began Phanuel, who had sat back. “Not all of the Creators creature were, well, entirely successful.”
“You’ve heard of the race of giants who came here before man?” Charles asked.
“Why, yes, Uncle Wotan rules the Jotun,” said Ganesh. “In ancient times, my own kin defeated the Daityas. They are no longer around though.”
“They have a tendency to be contentious,” agreed Phanuel.
“There were two who were supposed to be worst of all, Gog and Magog,” said Sariel. “They were gone by my time, but the gossip was He’d built and abyss just to toss them into, and then went to the trouble of building a wall in case they ever escaped the abyss.”
“And then evidently manned the gate. With this half-mad bastard,” sighed Phanuel.
“So evidently He gave the job to Lucifer?” asked Charles.
“Who never relieved this poor demon,” said Phanuel. “That would explain something. Abaddon!” he called.
“A seven letter word for high heeled couture starting with M and ending in N?” asked Abaddon.
“McQueen,” said Charles. Ganesh grinned at him. “Uh, I pick up stuff.”
“Abaddon. Can you kindly tell. Ganesh and Sariel. Who you met. At the gate?” asked Phanuel.
“M-C-Q-U-E-E-N. Glimma twinz! They weren’t very nice!” said Abaddon. “They ruined my crossword.”
“Oh,” said Charles. “Oh. Fuck.”
“And the rockin’ tropy for The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music goes to Nathan Explosion and his Awesome Team of Awesome, yeah!”
Dick Knubbler eagerly presented a golden trophy of a figure who looked very much like, well, Dick Knubbler to a grinning Nathan Explosion.
“I knew you could do it, my little raven!” enthused Wotan, putting an arm around Raziel.
“He ams cheatsed,” muttered a very damp Toki, who was covered with something that looked very much like reeds from the Lake Troll’s lake.
“They muscht have,” agreed Murderface, who was similarly covered and sopping.
“We mighta won if half our team doods hadn’t fecking quit,” muttered Pickles, whose dreadlocks looked a bit singed, as if they had encountered a flamethrower.
“Quitsers,” agreed Skwisgaar, whose Gibson had multiple singe markes.
“Sorry, guys, but I had stuff,” explained Charles. “But, now, uh, ice cream!”
“You t’inks dat ams makes ups for stuffs?” glowered Skwisgaar.
“Dood, yoo can’t buy our affection!” insisted Pickles.
“ICE CREAM!” squealed Toki, who threw himself on Charles in a terrific hug. Charles, who usually disliked such body contact, nonetheless smirked at Pickles and Skwisgaar.
Charles disentangled himself from Norwegian guitarists in time to run after Elias, who was hurling himself towards Rose Explosion.
“Miss ‘Sposhun!” he called, tugging on her skirt.
“Oh, what is it you little dear?” asked Rose.
“Uh, I think he wants to give you a drawing,” said Charles, spotting the paper in his son’s hand. “Uh, Boon, let’s take a look at this first, shall we?” he asked, praying it was not a nude of Mrs. Explosion in the Restoration style. What he saw much surprised him. “Uh, yeah, it looks like he’s drawn your family for you,” he said, handing the depiction of three crude stick figures over to Rose.
“Oh, look! It’s me and Daddy and Nathan,” she said, pointing to the figures.
“Uh-huh!” said Elias, looking extremely innocent.
“How very lovely, Boonie” said Ganesh, sweeping Elias into his arms. “You’ve adapted the primitive style!”
“Uh-huh,” agreed Elias. “Pwim’tive! tyle”
“What’s that?” asked Rose.
“Oh, uh, nothing, it’s just very festive,” Charles told her. Rose gave Elias a quick kiss, and then left with Oscar.
“We gotta watch this one,” Charles told Ganesh, ruffling Elias’ hair.
“I was also very mischievous at his age!” Ganesh laughed.
“So, you guys wanna come for ice cream?” Charles asked Raziel and Wotan.
“I missed my damn golf game, might as well!” said Wotan, scooping up a twin in each arm. “What say ye, kids?”
“ICE CREAM!” wailed the twins.
“I can’t hear ye, must have something in my ear.”
“ICCCCE CREEEEEEEAM!” they squealed.
“They like it almost as much as Toki,” commented Charles.
“Hey, how did the meeting with Father go?” asked Raziel, who was cradling her personal golf trophy.
“Well, basically, we've gotta find these ancient giants, 'Da Glimma Twinz,' ASAP or possibly face the end of the world.”
“Oh, maybe we can talk to them at the parlor later,” said Raziel.
“Huh?” said Charles.
“Isn't that where we're going?”
“I'm not following.”
Raziel sighed and pulled out her smart phone. She showed Charles the screen. “Da Glimma Twinz … organic frozen novelties. Ice cream, not mainstream!”
“Icy and brutal,” muttered Charles. “GANESH!”
“Yes, dear?” answered the god.
“Get a DethJet. We're going to Vermont.”
Ganesh grinned very wide. “Don't you mean a DethCopter, jaanu?”
Charles glowered.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When in doubt, send the boys a-golfing. Plus some other stuff.
Warnings: Eagles and bogies and par, oh my!
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: play it cool. (This one is sort of obscure.)
So last time, we got lost on the internet, as everyone got Bumblr accounts and then started a giant flamewar. Which is what fans do best.
Not so many years ago….
The wall was amazing: fashioned of copper and iron by inhuman hands, O so many years ago. It was larger than the wall of China, larger than anything ever wrought by man. It disappeared off in either direction as far as the eye could make out.
And since that time, the time of its construction, Abaddon had manned the gate, looking out over the abyss.
Abaddon had long since forgotten why he was here. He had forgotten many things: who had built the wall, and whether it was supposed to keep somebody in, or somebody else out, or perhaps a bit of each?
Abaddon was a demon, so he did what he was told: exactly what he was told, no more, and no less.
Today he was involved in one of his favorite occupations, a crossword puzzle.
He looked up curiously at the approaching figure. Not specifically because the approaching figure was curious: a huge individual who sported no less than two heads. No, it was curious to encounter anyone at all out here. Abaddon thought about it for a moment, and couldn’t recall the last time he had received a visitor. Lucifer used to come by and check in every once in a while, it seemed. But that had been a while ago. Maybe a long time ago.
The visitor at last drew within speaking distance.
“The nineteen-eighties called. They’d like your outfit back,” sniffed one of the heads.
“What?” said Abaddon. He was a demon, but he hadn’t stolen anything. Not for a while. “Hey, do either of you guys know a six letter word for a ductile metal with a high thermal conductivity?” Abaddon was working on six hundred and sixty-six across. It was a rather large crossword puzzle, and he had worked on it for many decades now.
The giant gave out two long sighs. “Oh. My. Gawd. Don’t you know who we are?” the second head finally demanded.
“No. Should I?” inquired the demon.
“He is sooooo mainstream,” muttered the first head, as if Abaddon couldn’t hear them.
“I’m not Main Streem. I am Abaddon,” said Abaddon.
“Well, duh!” said the second head, rolling its eyes.
“What’s a duh?” asked Abaddon.
“You’re at the gate, guarding the abyss. Who else would you be?” huffed the first head.
“Oh. I could be many things. And many creatures,” reasoned Abaddon. He had been alone for a long time, and perhaps his reasoning had begun to fray just a bit.
“We are Gog and Magog,” announced the first head, who was Gog.
“Magog, and Gog,” repeated the second head, who was Magog.
“Da Glimma Twinz!” they chorused, striking a pose, sneering and poking fingers and thumbs every which way.
Abaddon examined the being, and its many tattoos and piercings. “Hadn’t heard of you,” he informed it. “But I haven’t heard of many things. I’ve been here a long time. I believe I’ve forgotten my own name.”
“Whoever you think you are or aren’t, we need to get through, so stand aside!” demanded Gog.
“Sorry,” said Abaddon, who set down his crossword puzzle and stood up.
“Sorry what?” asked Magog.
“Well, I can’t let you go through. I have a job here, and that’s to keep people from going through the gate.”
“But think!” reasoned Gog. “Why did these horrible creatures build a gate if you’re not supposed to go through? I mean, jeez!”
“Mine is not to reason…” smiled Abaddon, drawing his sword. “Mine is to slay all who try pass.”
“Oh. My. Gawd. You’re not going to make us kill you, are you?” sighed Magog.
“He is so annoying,” whispered Gog.
“I know, right?” agreed Magog, who now had his own sword.
“Not at all,” smiled Abaddon. “I am simply going to kill you.”
And Abaddon raised his sword.
And very soon, there was blood spilled on six hundred sixty-six across.
“Demons!” sighed Gog. “They’re just so…. You know….” And so saying, he kicked Abaddon’s lifeless body into the abyss.
“I know, they’re like…” agreed Magog.
And so the two headed giant opened the gate of the great copper and iron wall. And sauntered on right through.
Into our world….
“In all my existence, I’ve never heard of anything so stupid! What the hell got into you two!” roared Wotan.
”Skwisgaar thought it was a good idea,” tattled Thor.
”You are such an asshole! Skwisgaar told Thor.
”Did you boys want to end the universe?” asked Wotan, wagging a big finger. “Would that make you big men?”
”Noooo,” chorused Thor and Skwisgaar, both staring at something very interesting on Valhalla’s floor. Thor looked a bit abashed; Skwisgaar simply looked angry.
“My Swedish is rusty: I’m not following all of this,” Charles, sitting on the other side of the room, told Raziel.
“Wotan’s basically tearing them a new one,” said Raziel.
“Oh. Good.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that.”
Both angels leaned back on the couch and looked smug.
“It was a good investment!” protested Skwisgaar. ”I need to think about the future!”
”The future? What if you brought on the end of the world? What were you gonna do with the damn money?” roared Wotan.
“I hadn’t thought that far into the future. admitted Skwisgaar.
“You two are not too old to bend over my knee and give you a good smack!”
Raziel felt a hand go over her mouth just as she was going to guffaw. Charles, who was obviously struggling himself not to laugh, shook his head at her. Raziel pointed, and both of them dove out of the room, into the hallway, shutting the door squarely after themselves. Raziel started to hold her stomach and roar with laughter.
“You got that, I suspect?” asked Raziel when she could breathe again.
“The look on Skwisgaar’s face! You think he’d do it?” asked Charles.
“Naw. His worst with the kids is always saying, ‘Do you know how disappointed I am in you?’” Raziel told him, doing the best Wotan imitation a very small angel could manage.
“Oh. And that works?”
“When Wotan says it? Even I feel bad!”
“Wow.”
“There’s inevitably tears. And we need to get everybody ice cream afterwards.”
“Ice cream? Huh,” said Charles, looking thoughtful.
“What.”
“Oh. The being a parent thing? It’s just not that much different from managing a band.”
The door opened and Wotan emerged. There was the sound of much sniffing and whimpering in the room behind him.
“Uh-oh!” said Raziel. “You used the D word!”
Wotan shut the door. “I am very disappointed in those two,” he said, crossing his arms. “VERY disappointed.”
“Does this mean we get ice cream?” asked Charles hopefully.
“I’ll go get some,” said Raziel.
“See if there’s fudge ripple!” urged Charles.
“Not for you!” Raziel laughed as she walked off.
“So, what are they gonna do about Bumblr?” asked Charles.
“Well, evidently, from what I could get besides the piteous howling, the software developer has already left to do the InstaCoffee.com site.”
“Oh, he wanted to do other things?” asked Charles.
“Well, sort of. He was 14 years old at the time, and his mother got mad at him for staying up too much on school nights updating his Bumblr.”
“But she’s cool with a teenager doing a coffee site?” asked Charles.
“I guess it gets him up early in the morning,” explained Wotan.
“I don’t know why I didn’t have visibility into this,” worried Charles. “I run Skwisgaar’s company!”
“This is partly my fault,” sighed Wotan. “I have a trust set up for my boys.”
“So that’s where he got the money,” said Charles. “Any word the other investors Edgar uncovered?”
“Da Glimma Twinz?” asked Wotan, grinning despite himself.
“Does anyone even talk that way any more?” asked Charles.
“Ain’t my boys,” said Wotan. “But I reckon whoever it is, they’re up to no good.”
“ICE CREAM!” announced Raziel.
“COOL!” said Charles, momentarily abandoning his cares and woes (which were many) to a bowl of fudge ripple.
MurderPiss: So I thay we thould all go to the thouth thea islands to drink and party with thexy chickth!
NathanAwesome: That sounds brutal and metal!
xxPicklexx: That ams the goods ideas.
SexySkwis: Pffft.
TheRealCharles: You’re not doing the accent right, MP.
MurderPiss: I am sorry, what accent do you mean?
SexySkwis: I believe he is referring to the lisp. Er. Pffft.
MurderPiss: You are OOC again, Charles!
TheRealCharles: You were never in character, Edgar! “The schouth schea ilandsch!” That’s how William talks.
MurderPiss: Sir, I am the originator of the MurderPiss character, all rights reserved. And I will continue to play him as I see fit!
NathanAwesome: Some people just don’t have a good ear for accents, Sariel.
SexySkwis: It isn’t technically an accent. It is more a speech impediment. Pfft.
TheRealCharles: And you can’t be Skwisgaar just by saying Pffft every five minutes!
NathanAwesome: “It ams a speech impediment.”
SexySkwis: Yes, thank you Raziel. It ams a speech impediment.
TheRealCharles: No, he would say more like, “It ams a speeches impediments.”
MurderPiss: I believe he would say, “It ams a speeches impedimenticockles.”
SexySkwis: *rotfl*
NathanAwesome: LOLLOL
xxPicklexx: Ams we gets back to the RP dudes?
MurderPiss: Yes. We thall now board the DethJet.
NathanAwesome: I’m going to pack my machine gun, in case I need it!
SexySkwis: And I shall – ams – packs a small selection of ams geetarses.
TheRealCharles: You know we’d probably take a DethCopter, not the DethJet.
NathanAwesome: Sariel, WE ARE GOING TO MAKE YOU PLAY A GEAR AGAIN!
TheRealCharles: All right. All right. O I wonder what I should pack?
SexySkwis: Here, you can ams have your special tasers. Pfft!
TheRealCharles: Thank you, Skwisgaar.
xxPicklesxx: I ams brings da beers and da smelly drugses!
MurderPiss: And there will be thexy chichth.
**SexySkwisgaar has left the room**
Charles looked up from his laptop. “Was his accent driving you nuts too?”
Ganesh laughed softly and held up a drowsy Elias.
“Oh. When did you get in here?” asked an honestly puzzled Charles.
“This one needs to get to B-E-D,” Ganesh whispered.
“Nooooo B-E….” whined Elias, who was already snoring.
Charles shrugged and kissed his son goodnight. “If he can run a Bumblr site, he can probably spell, you know.”
“That is not a requirement. It certainly wasn’t for the founders!”
Charles heard a yipping at the foot of the bed. “You don’t get a kiss!” he told Murgatroyd.
“Are you going to go back to the RP?” smiled Ganesh.
“Yeah I guess … FUCK!”
“What now?” asked Ganesh.
“They all left in the Dethjet without me!” wailed Charles. “Just like they did that time…” he muttered.
Ganesh walked back over and, still holding a sleeping Elias, put a spare hand through Charles’ hair. “Then why don’t you follow them in the Dethcopter?” he whispered.
“Oh yeah! Great idea,” said Charles, once again seizing the lap top and rapidly typing.
Ganesh toted Elias out of the room. “Some people should really stick to playing Gears,” he whispered so only his sleeping son could hear.
“So,” said Nathan, “this is potentially the END OF THE WORLD, and we’re all gonna GO GOLFING?”
“Uh,” said Charles, looking nervously around the band meeting room. “Uh, yeah. Sort of. The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music is gonna be Dick Knubbler’s comeback….”
“AWESOME,” said Nathan. “I haven’t been golfing in fucking FOREVER. And that’s like a really long time, you know?”
“I too wisch to return to the linksch,” averred Murderface.
“Da linkses? You ams wants da sausages?” inquired Toki, squinting at a model zeppelin he was curently assembling with a glue gun.
“Murderfaces ams likes da sausages parties,” grinned Skwisgaar.
Charles sighed, a very deep sigh, that came from the depths of his soul. “Anyway. The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music is going to be the first event held on our brand new course.
“Dood. We have our own golf course?” asked Pickles. “Den why have we been teeing off over da side o’ Mordland.”
“Because it ams pointlessness. Likes da universes,” answered Skwisgaar.
“I wanna work on mah handicap!” protested Pickles.
“You ams da handy chops,” chuckled Skwisgaar.
“Yeah? Wul, at least I’m nawt gettin’ spanked by Wotan,” said Pickles.
“Who ams tolds you dat!” demanded Skwisgaar, narrowing his eyes. “Ams it Raziels?”
Pickles and Charles suddenly exchanged a glance. “Uh. Yeah. Wuz Lady Raz,” said Pickles.
“ANYWAY,” began Charles, “this is located at the site of the former Doritoland project….”
“YOU TOOK AWAY OUR DORITOS?” wailed Nathan.
“I didn’t take them away, Nathan,” snapped Charles. “They were…. They were stale!”
“How do you know they were stale?” asked Nathan. “Did you try them?”
“For your information, they were well past the expiration date,” said Charles.
“You knew all along our Doritoland Doritos were schtale?” asked Murderface.
“And you ams let us eats dem?” asked Toki, suddenly gluing his hand to the model.
“Can we get some acetone up here?” Charles told his wrist communicator as Toki flailed.
“An’ sum more beer!” called Pickles.
“Yeah,” Charles told the communicator. “No! No, do not put acetone in the beer!”
“Hey, shure, yoo cud put assatone in da beer!” Pickles assured him.
“Then how would we pry Toki off that dirigible?” asked Charles.
“He wud drink da assatone beer an’ den he wudn’ stick to nuttin’ no more!” explained Pickles, who was versed in the sciences of ingestion of arcane chemicals.
“Dat ams sounds reasonababble!” agreed Swisgaar.
Charles glowered. “We are going to rub acetone on Toki and release him that way,” he told Pickles as Toki suddenly found himself surrounded by burly Klokateers with a flask of acetone and rubbing cloths.
“YOU NEVER LET US DO ANYTHING!” Nathan wailed.
“Are you actually trying to get on my nerves, Nathan?” asked Charles.
“Yeah. It’s pretty easy. You need to mellow out. You could get like a stroke or something.”
“Angels don't get strokes!” said Charles, as the Klokateers freed Toki from the zeppelin, which promptly fell to pieces. As did Toki.
“Awww, Toki....” said Pickles.
“Oh, could I BORROW YOUR KID?” Nathan asked Charles.
“What?” said Charles.
“Just for The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music,” explained Nathan.
“Why would you need to borrow my kid for ... that?” asked Charles. “He doesn't golf! Well, yet. Not until he's three, I think....”
“My parents are gonna be there, Charles,” said Nathan, leaning over to speak softly into Charles' ear while the band and a couple of very confused Klokateers tried to reassemble Toki’s dirigible model. “They keep wanting me to have a KID. And I figured, well, BOON IS A KID!”
“Nathan, as your parents are surely aware, Boon is my kid!”
“Eh. He's still A KID.”
“All right,” said Charles. “All right. I guess we should help out here?” he said, gesturing at the zeppelin, which looked rather worse following the attentions of a gang of Mordhaus residents.
“You know the old saying,” whispered Nathan.
“What old saying?”
“Too many dudes trying to glue shit on to a broke blimp thing, you might as well go get a beer,” said Nathan.
“Oh,” said Charles. “Not sure I’ve heard that one.”
Nathan gestured, and both men tiptoed out of the meeting.
“See?” said Nathan.
Charles nodded, and they went their separate ways.
“Welcome, babies, to The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music, yeah!” announced Dick Knubbler to clapping and they sound of many, many camera shutters clicking.
Plus there might have been the sound of some automatic weapons fire.
“Did you really need to fire that machine gun into the air, William?” sighed Charles, regarding the small band of Klokateers who had just fallen dead and/or wounded from the plummeting ammunition.
“Aw!” said Murderface. “You don’t have to yell.”
“I am…” said Charles, who suddenly looked shrewd. “I am very disappointed in you William!”
Quite suddenly, Murderface seemed to wilt. Toki was there at his side, holding his shoulders. “What ams you says to him!” he demanded of Charles.
“Uh. I said, uh, after the tournament, we’ll go get ice cream?” tried Charles.
Murderface wiped his face with a sleeve. “OK,” he whispered. Two teary piss-yellow eyes looked up. “Raschberry brickle?”
“Yeah. We’ll all go get raspberry, uh, brickle cones. Sure,” said Charles.
“CHAAAAARLES!” boomed Nathan.
“I gotta go deal with this,” Charles told Toki and Murderface. “Come on,” he told Elias, extending a hand. “I think I know what this is about.”
Charles and his son walked over to where Nathan Explosion stood with his parents, Rose and Oscar. Oscar, like Nathan, was dressed in a golf outfit.
“Hello, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Explosion. It is very nice to see you today,” said Charles.
“Mom, this is BOON!” announced Nathan, while Charles looked on uncertainly.
Rose considered the small boy before her. “He's awfully dark, isn't he? Not that there's anything wrong with being dark. My aunt got dark. Just before she passed away from leprosy.”
Elias blinked his long-lashed little brown eyes. He held up two little arms towards Rose.
She scooped him up.
“Oh, he's JUST LIKE YOU when you were that age Nathan,” swooned Rose.
Nathan grinned at Charles, who raised his eyebrows. “I gotta go,” said Charles. He walked over to where Rose Explosion held his son. “Be good, right?” he told Elias.
“Oh, you're always a good boy, aren't you?” asked Rose.
“Uh-HUH!” said Elias with utmost sincerity.
“Yeah,” said Charles, scowling and muttering something about love god powers as he walked away.
“Oh, there you are, pati!” smiled Ganesh, who was standing with Skwisgaar and Pickles. “Are you quite ready to tee off?”
Charles looked Ganesh up and down. “OK, Ganesh? No one should look that good in a golf outfit!” he said.
“Armani!” bragged Ganesh as Skwisgaar and Pickles chuckled. “Do you like?” he asked, doing a quick twirl.
“We ams told him it ams against da laws of natures,” noted Skwisgaar.
“It’s like unnacheral, dood,” nodded Pickles. “Yer supposed t’ look like a douche when yoo gawlf,” he said, pulling at his own sweater. “It’s part of da game!”
“I really need to introduce you boys to classic couture,” sighed Ganesh as they walked to the first tee.
“Naw, we’ve had enough of that fashion stuff already,” grumbled Charles.
“For your information, there are numerous current designers working in the industry who are not homicidal sadists,” explained Ganesh.
“But who’s innerested in werkin’ wit dose doods?” scoffed Pickles, who was already pulling out a rolled something or other. Ganesh shrugged.
“Can we ams starts da games alreadies,” sighed Skwisgaar. There were grunts of agreement.
Their foursome was to start on top of a rise. In order to keep construction costs down, Charles had left some of the features of Doritoland standing. On this hole he had left one of the giant containers of Doritos (the Cool Ranch ones, as it happened) smack in the middle of course, meaning one would need to carefully drive around it to make the green. They teed off, one by one, Skwisgaar barely making it, Pickles smacking right into the container, and Charles banking off and landing in the rough beside the green (which was also made of Doritos, though these were of the Flaming Hot variety).
“You gentlemen will have to be patient with me,” warned Ganesh upon his turn, carefully placing his ball in the tee. “Golf isn’t a sport in which I regularly partake.”
Charles felt an elbow into his ribs. He turned to look at Pickles. “Dood, when he bends over like dat….”
“I know….” Said Charles, who really wasn’t at all certain what he knew. Love god husband. Plus kid who was a love god in training!
Ganesh teed off, looking much more like a commercial for some overly expensive men’s cologne than any golfer in the known world. Charles could have sworn he heard faint background music, and that at one point Ganesh went to slo-mo. For his part, Ganesh put a hand over his eyes, intently staring, and then chuckled, “Well, how very fortunate!” as his ball bounced onto the green, a three-foot putt from the hole.
“Uh. Oh,” said Charles, who suddenly realized that he along with Pickles and Skwisgaar had been quite frankly staring transfixed at Ganesh, and not his impossible shot.
“Dat ams imdepossible!” swore Skwisgaar, who also said a few more colorful terms in Swedish.
“You simply need the right equipment!” smiled Ganesh.
“He definitely gaht dat,” sighed Pickles.
Charles pulled out his Dethphone, which was vibrating like an irritable porcupine.
“Oh, can’t yoo turn dat t’ ing awf, Charles?” whined Pickles.
“Ja, puts on da voice smells!” lectured Skwisgaar.
“Yeah? She’s what? Yeah, I’ll go talk to her. Yeah. Thanks,” he told the phone. “Sorry, guys, I got to go see about something. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Would you like me to play for you if you are not back?” asked Ganesh.
“No, nawt Ganesh! Dat ain’t fair!” protested Pickles.
“I’ll be right back. I promise,” said Charles, storming off.
“No, he won’ts sighed Skwisgaar.”
"Which end do you use again? The pointy one, or the one with the wibbly bits?"
"Raziel, this is golf, not pool!" Charles told her.
"So, the other end?" inquired Raziel, looking up from where she had been queuing up a shot.
"The other end," sighed Charles.
"Well, all righty!" agreed Raziel, standing up and shaking off the grass. "I don't like the blobby end on this one. CADDIES!"
And just like that, two small angels fluttered by, holding between them Raziel's golf bag. Which, it probably doesn't need to be mentioned, was styled to match her golf outfit.
“Raziel, what are you doing?”
“Selecting another clubby thing?” said Raziel, prowling around the bag. She took out and discarded a broadsword and then a pike.
“No, I mean the kids!” said Charles, pointing to a giggling Liam and Abby.
“Yeah, it’s great to have them out here in the fresh air.”
“They’re True Formed, Raziel!”
“Silly Sariel! We’re miles from the crowds out here. Besides, they want pictures of celebrities, like your band.”
Charles sighed and regarded Raziel. “Do they really make high heeled golf shoes?” he asked her.
“Hee. For me, they do!”
“Helps if you have a broadsword I guess,” said Charles, holding up the discarded blade. “So, where’s Wotan anyway? I thought you guys were playing together?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t miss it! He’s just going to be a teensy tiny bit late!” said Raziel.
“Is there a problem?”
“Something with my father,” said Raziel.
“Do you know what?” asked Charles.
“Oh, you know those two. Probably a new brand of whiskey!” Charles sighed and went over to correct Raziel’s stance, as she was currently holding her golf club (a putter) more or less the way one would hold a baseball bat.
“OK,” said Charles, “first off, no,” he said, tossing away the putter, and grabbing a driver out of Raziel’s bag. “Now, stand like this,” he said, standing behind her and holding her arms in the correct position.
“Ooooo! I wondered how you hit the ball when it’s way down there!” Raziel laughed as the twins giggled.
“You draw it back like this, and then follow through,” said Charles, as he patiently guided Raziel through a couple of swings.
“Oh, this will be fun. Now, we gotta get it through the titties!” she said, pointing down the course. Charles cast his eyes down, finally realizing that this hole was furnished with the remains of the Super Tits Candy Snake project, a project that no one in the organization, despite years of trying, had ever been able to explain to him. Down the course were two very large plaster mammary glands, and in order to make the green, one had to aim the shot carefully through the deep cleavage, which was partially blocked by a plaster snake.
“This is the Cleopatra hole!” said Raziel. “Did I ever tell you about her?” she asked Charles. “What a queen bitch!”
“She sounds like your kinda girl.”
“Oh, yeah, she was a blast,” said Raziel, taking a couple of practice swings. “OK, here we go,” she announced, as Charles ducked his head and she suddenly spun and gave the ball a terrific whack. It careened down the field, smacked into a nipple, bounced off the snake’s head, caromed off the other tit, and took a couple of bounced right on to the green.
“Yay!” said Raziel.
“Whee!” echoed the twins.
“TITS!” echoed Nathan Explosion, who had just showed up with his family and Elias.
“Was that good?” Raziel asked Charles. “That was fun! Do I do another one?”
“Uh, no Raziel. You go down there now and try to get the ball into the little hole in the middle of the green,” explained Charles.
He looked around at Rose and Oscar. Oscar was busy selecting a club, but Rose was staring down at the twins, who were quite suddenly Court Formed, and looking uncharacteristically innocent.
“Uh, Mrs. Explosion, these are Boon’s cousins, Liam and Abigail,” said Charles.
“Oh, aren’t they precious!” said Rose.
“Naw, they’re actually pretty horrible,” said Raziel. “Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Lady Raziel, but you can call me Raz,” she said, sticking out a hand as the kids ran off to tackle Elias.
“This is my, uh, sister,” said Charles, who had decided to make things easy.
“You’re descended from royalty?” asked a now obviously impressed Rose, shaking Raziel’s hand.
“What, him?” asked Raziel, hiking a thumb at Charles. “Naw. My husband is a King.”
“Oh!” said Rose. “Like Kate Middleton.”
“I LOOOOOOOVE Kate Middleton!” squealed Raziel, taking Rose’s arm. “I can see we’re gonna get along.”
“Are you girls gonna keep jawin’, or can we tee off?” grumbled Oscar as he and Nathan lined up a shot.
“WHERE’S WOTAN, anyway, Lady Raz?” asked Nathan. “I thought he was gonna GOLF.”
“Oh, he’s a little late,” said Raziel.
“We’re a man short, why don’t you join the foursome, little lady?” asked Oscar.
“Hey, cool!” said Raziel. “You guys wanna play with Boonie?” she yelled.
“YEAH!” screamed all three kids, who were now somewhat obscured by mud and grass stains.
“I gotta get back to my game, Raziel,” said Charles. “Can you stay out of trouble?” he whispered.
“Oh, you worrywart! What could possibly happen?” scoffed Raziel, giving him a quick air kiss. “Thanks for the lesson!”
Charles sighed and started to trudge back to his own foursome. He found that they had moved on to their second hole, which wrapped around a familiar-looking lake.
“Uhhhh, the lake troll isn’t up, is it?” Charles asked worriedly.
“Ams no matters,” said Skwisgaar. “I ams broughts da grandpas geetars,” he said, pulling an acoustic guitar ot of his golf bag. “I ams seragrenades him back to sleeps.”
“Uh. Yeah, and failing that?”
The boys grinned. Pickles brought out a flamethrower (which he remarked, he had stolen from Toki), Skwisgaar a machine gun, and Ganesh a martini shaker, which he hurriedly put back, and extracted instead a small Gatling gun.
“Cool,” said Charles, lining up his shot. He watched it go. “All … right … all … right … SHIT!” The last was said not at the shot, as the ball cleared the lake with room to spare, but rather his howling Dethphone.
“Oh fer,” grumbled Pickles.
“Nots agains!” whined Skwisgaar.
“They’re doing WHAT? Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll be there,” sighed Charles into the phone. “I gotta go.”
The lake had begun to ripple. “Hey, doods, check out da lake!” said Pickles.
“Can you handle this?” Charles asked Ganesh.
“With pleasure,” grinned Ganesh, assembling his weapon. “Did anyone think to bring a grenade launcher?” he inquired as Charles hurried off once more.
Charles held back as he approached the group. This hole contained a souvenir of their Middle Eastern tour: a genuine pyramid. The hole was actually somewhere up near the top, which usually made it a bit of a challenge.
He watched with interest as William Murderface teed off. The bassist cast a sly glance around, then drew back, but, oddly, appeared to pause just as he was about to contact the ball. It looked strangely like a glitch in the Matrix. And then, despite what seemed only a small tap, the ball sailed off, looping up several levels on an oddly ungainly looking flight.
Charles cursed and quickly climbed around the back of the pyramid, where he was invisible to the foursome, which included Murderface as well as Toki. He found the level that was his best guess as to where the ball had landed. He quickly spotted it and hurried over. He picked it up and looked around.
“Anna,” he said.
“Hi Charles!” said Anna the ghost, suddenly becoming visible to him. “I’ve been working on this flying stuff. It’s pretty cool, huh?”
“Yes, you’re doing very well. Look, we have a problem. Wotan’s gonna be late, so Raziel is stuck with the kids. Could you get over to her and help out?”
“Hey, sure! But I need to tell William and Toki!”
“No, you don’t need to worry about that. You just get over there. They’ll be on the second hole, near the Circus of Death.”
“OK, I’ll get right over!” said Anna. “Tell the boys bye for me!” she said, disappearing again.
Charles tossed the ball up in the air.
“I ams tells you we ams being too obviouses!” came Toki’s voice.
“Naw, they’ll never figure thisch one out,” said Murderface.
Both suddenly came up to the level and both spotted Charles at the same time.
“Ulp,” said Toki.
“Buschted,” grumbled Murderface.
Charles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I am very, VERY disappointed in you!”
“I have been waiting for you, jaanu!”
“Where is everybody?” asked Charles, trudging wearily up to where Ganesh was relaxing on a chaise lounge with a frosty drink.
“The others decided to play through. I remained back, thinking you might wish company.”
“Thanks, that was nice of you. And where the hell did you get that chair?”
“Oh, Lady Raziel was insightful enough to bring along some lawn furniture,” the god cheerily told him, re-crossing his long legs.
“Did you guys deal with the lake troll?”
“Easy peasy,” said Ganesh. “And how did your mission go?”
“We’re gonna need about a million gallons of ice cream at the end of this shit,” Charles muttered.
“I am so very sorry, darling. Would you care for a martini?” asked Ganesh, holding up his cocktail.
“I just wanna get back to my fucking golf game!” sighed Charles.
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, putting away his copy of GQ, and then folding up the chair, which, conveniently enough, folded away to nothing at all.
“Have you teed off?” asked Charles.
“No. Would you mind terribly if I went first?”
“Go ahead. You’ve been waiting.” Charles watched as Ganesh, looking like a television advertisement for some ridiculously high priced soap, gracefully teed off, landing a difficult shot around a giant Facebones effigy safely in the green.
“No one should look that good in a fucking golf outfit,” Charles muttered as Ganesh winked at him. Charles set his own ball on the tee and got ready, trying and failing to clear his mind of all the bullshit of the past hours. He swung – and sliced.
“@#$%#$$^%&*@#$%!” said Charles.
“English is a very colorful language, isn’t it though?” asked Ganesh, as they watched Charles’ ball bounce off one of Facebones’ horns and disappear behind a stand of trees.
“$%^&#$%^$#%^&!!” said Charles.
“And so is High Angelic,” chuckled Ganesh. “Will you take the strokes…?”
“No, I’m gonna go find my fucking ball,” said Charles, who was already marching down the course, shaking his head and wishing for a cigarette. And perhaps Pickles’ blowtorch.
“Hrm,” said Ganesh as they ventured into the woodlands beside the course. “Perhaps you should look up there, and I shall look down here?”
Charles nodded, but instead of doing as Ganesh indicated, he stood for a moment and sulked and instead watched Ganesh searching. The designer golf duds, Charles reflected, really showed off Ganesh’s perfect ass, especially when he bent over like that.
Charles frowned. Quite suddenly, he set down his golf bag, and tugged his sweater vest off over his head, and then unbuttoned his shirt.
“Any luck dear?” inquired Ganesh, who was still doubled over, scanning the weedy ground.
“I think I’m gonna get very lucky,” said Charles, wrapping two silvery wings around Ganesh.
The only sound was Ganesh’s delighted laughter.
“Oh, look here!” said Ganesh some time later. Charles slightly released his grip so Ganesh could lean forward, grabbing at something in the weeds near his foot. Ganesh leaned back, once again making himself comfortable between Charles’ knees, leaning back against the angel’s chest.
“What is it?” asked Charles. Ganesh held up a golf ball. “Oh, that,” said Charles. Charles was currently wearing his wings and nothing else. Ganesh too had long since discarded the designer golf duds, which lay crumpled and balled up around them.
“Would you like to resume your game?” asked Ganesh.
“Fuck golf,” grumbled Charles, kissing Ganesh’s neck.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much my opinion too.”
“Raziel. DO YOU MIND?” asked Sariel, drawing in his wings at the appearance of the little angel.
“I’ve seen worse,” grinned Raziel. “Besides, might I point out the expectation of privacy is somewhat lessened on a public golf course.”
“Kindly allow me to locate my trousers,” said Ganesh, who scrambled up and began to root around on the ground.
“What did you want now, Raziel?” grumbled Charles, irritably regarding his golf ball.
“Not me. Someone needs to meet with you. Hey, is that your Armani?” asked Raziel, going to assist Ganesh with his shirt. Or rather what was left of his shirt.
“Sariel was rather in haste,” laughed Ganesh.
“How could he do that! This is designer!” wailed Raziel.
“Raziel, what is this about?” demanded Charles, ruffling his wings in irritation.
“One sartorial suggestion for you, dear,” said Raziel, experimentally tying up Ganesh’s shirt.
“What?”
“Where you’re going, you’re probably gonna want pants,” said Raziel.
“I would speak with you,” said Phanuel, indicating a chair in his comfortable office in First Circle of hell.
“This is great,” commented Charles. “Lucifer used to have offices down in the lowest Circle.
“There is a slightly better view here,” smiled Phanuel, indicating a row of windows.
“Oh, this is lovely!” agreed Ganesh, eagerly peering out. As he and Charles had headed down to hell straight from the golf course, he had thrown his a blazer over his ripped shirt, and actually (Charles noted) looked ridiculously fashionable.
“Look, I know you didn’t call us away from a golf game to look out the window,” said Charles, dusting at a grass stain on his butt.
“True,” said the Grey angel. “There is someone I wished you to meet. The story is still unclear to me, as he is a bit incoherent, and Lucifer’s record keeping left, ahem, something to be desired.”
“Who is he?” asked Charles.
“Alas, that appears a matter. Of much confusion,” explained Phanuel. “He crawled, half dead, from the abyss, the other day.”
“The abyss?” asked Charles.
“It is connected with the end of the world, Armageddon, if you will,” explained Ganesh.
“This doesn’t sound good,” said Charles, who tried not to cringe at the sight of the figure who now entered Phanuel’s office. He looked like a human (and not a terribly attractive one) had gotten its DNA mixed up with a goat, and the goat won. He had hindquarters like some animal, four arms, and prominent horns. And he had the usual leathery wings, these a shade that was a shade of yellow somewhere between mustard and pus.
“I need to finish my crossword!” the fellow wailed.
“I am truly sorry about that,” said Ganesh. “Why don’t you sit right down here, and we will talk about your crossword,” he said, indicating a chair. Ganesh started fussing around doing doctor-y things with lights in the bloodshot eyes and pulse taking.
“We believe whoever encountered him left him for dead,” Phanuel whispered to Charles.
“Yeah, how could you tell if this thing is alive anyway?” Charles whispered back. “Uh,” he asked the demon, “where do you think you left your crossword? Maybe we could find it.”
“It’s at the gate. I was on six hundred sixty-six! A six letter word for a ductile metal of high electrical and thermal conductivity.”
“Copper,” supplied Ganesh.
“Oh!” said the demon. “The wall is wrought of copper and iron, and none may pass! NONE MAY PASS!” he said, voice cracked, starting to rise, injured wings flailing out.
“All right, let’s settle down now,” said Charles.
“None may pass the sword of Abaddon!” whispered the demon.
“Abaddon?” said Phanuel.
“Oh, this is definitely not good,” said Charles.
“You know the name?” asked Ganesh, taking something from his jacket pocket. “Here you are,” he said, flipping through his Vogue Italia and opening it up to a certain page.
“Crossword!” said Abaddon.
“Yes it is in fact it is a crossword of famed haberdashers this month!” said Ganesh, handing along a pen. The demon appeared to settle down, putting the pen in his goat mouth and chewing a bit.
“Now, who is Abaddon?” Ganesh whispered to Charles and Phanuel.
“As you might know,” began Phanuel, who had sat back. “Not all of the Creators creature were, well, entirely successful.”
“You’ve heard of the race of giants who came here before man?” Charles asked.
“Why, yes, Uncle Wotan rules the Jotun,” said Ganesh. “In ancient times, my own kin defeated the Daityas. They are no longer around though.”
“They have a tendency to be contentious,” agreed Phanuel.
“There were two who were supposed to be worst of all, Gog and Magog,” said Sariel. “They were gone by my time, but the gossip was He’d built and abyss just to toss them into, and then went to the trouble of building a wall in case they ever escaped the abyss.”
“And then evidently manned the gate. With this half-mad bastard,” sighed Phanuel.
“So evidently He gave the job to Lucifer?” asked Charles.
“Who never relieved this poor demon,” said Phanuel. “That would explain something. Abaddon!” he called.
“A seven letter word for high heeled couture starting with M and ending in N?” asked Abaddon.
“McQueen,” said Charles. Ganesh grinned at him. “Uh, I pick up stuff.”
“Abaddon. Can you kindly tell. Ganesh and Sariel. Who you met. At the gate?” asked Phanuel.
“M-C-Q-U-E-E-N. Glimma twinz! They weren’t very nice!” said Abaddon. “They ruined my crossword.”
“Oh,” said Charles. “Oh. Fuck.”
“And the rockin’ tropy for The Dick Knubbler Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament to Benefit Aspiring Musicians in Projects to Help Change the World Through Music goes to Nathan Explosion and his Awesome Team of Awesome, yeah!”
Dick Knubbler eagerly presented a golden trophy of a figure who looked very much like, well, Dick Knubbler to a grinning Nathan Explosion.
“I knew you could do it, my little raven!” enthused Wotan, putting an arm around Raziel.
“He ams cheatsed,” muttered a very damp Toki, who was covered with something that looked very much like reeds from the Lake Troll’s lake.
“They muscht have,” agreed Murderface, who was similarly covered and sopping.
“We mighta won if half our team doods hadn’t fecking quit,” muttered Pickles, whose dreadlocks looked a bit singed, as if they had encountered a flamethrower.
“Quitsers,” agreed Skwisgaar, whose Gibson had multiple singe markes.
“Sorry, guys, but I had stuff,” explained Charles. “But, now, uh, ice cream!”
“You t’inks dat ams makes ups for stuffs?” glowered Skwisgaar.
“Dood, yoo can’t buy our affection!” insisted Pickles.
“ICE CREAM!” squealed Toki, who threw himself on Charles in a terrific hug. Charles, who usually disliked such body contact, nonetheless smirked at Pickles and Skwisgaar.
Charles disentangled himself from Norwegian guitarists in time to run after Elias, who was hurling himself towards Rose Explosion.
“Miss ‘Sposhun!” he called, tugging on her skirt.
“Oh, what is it you little dear?” asked Rose.
“Uh, I think he wants to give you a drawing,” said Charles, spotting the paper in his son’s hand. “Uh, Boon, let’s take a look at this first, shall we?” he asked, praying it was not a nude of Mrs. Explosion in the Restoration style. What he saw much surprised him. “Uh, yeah, it looks like he’s drawn your family for you,” he said, handing the depiction of three crude stick figures over to Rose.
“Oh, look! It’s me and Daddy and Nathan,” she said, pointing to the figures.
“Uh-huh!” said Elias, looking extremely innocent.
“How very lovely, Boonie” said Ganesh, sweeping Elias into his arms. “You’ve adapted the primitive style!”
“Uh-huh,” agreed Elias. “Pwim’tive! tyle”
“What’s that?” asked Rose.
“Oh, uh, nothing, it’s just very festive,” Charles told her. Rose gave Elias a quick kiss, and then left with Oscar.
“We gotta watch this one,” Charles told Ganesh, ruffling Elias’ hair.
“I was also very mischievous at his age!” Ganesh laughed.
“So, you guys wanna come for ice cream?” Charles asked Raziel and Wotan.
“I missed my damn golf game, might as well!” said Wotan, scooping up a twin in each arm. “What say ye, kids?”
“ICE CREAM!” wailed the twins.
“I can’t hear ye, must have something in my ear.”
“ICCCCE CREEEEEEEAM!” they squealed.
“They like it almost as much as Toki,” commented Charles.
“Hey, how did the meeting with Father go?” asked Raziel, who was cradling her personal golf trophy.
“Well, basically, we've gotta find these ancient giants, 'Da Glimma Twinz,' ASAP or possibly face the end of the world.”
“Oh, maybe we can talk to them at the parlor later,” said Raziel.
“Huh?” said Charles.
“Isn't that where we're going?”
“I'm not following.”
Raziel sighed and pulled out her smart phone. She showed Charles the screen. “Da Glimma Twinz … organic frozen novelties. Ice cream, not mainstream!”
“Icy and brutal,” muttered Charles. “GANESH!”
“Yes, dear?” answered the god.
“Get a DethJet. We're going to Vermont.”
Ganesh grinned very wide. “Don't you mean a DethCopter, jaanu?”
Charles glowered.
