Down in a Hole (Mythklok, Chapter 91)
Mar. 14th, 2012 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Down in a Hole (Mythklok, Chapter 91)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The beginning and ending of various stringed instruments, tea with the Creator, and a fairy tale with no fairies.
Warnings: Nonsense poetry based on grunge lyrics
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Wanted to get a chapter up today in honor of National Pi Day (3/14).
Mythklok: home of the whopper.
So last time, Skwisgaar and Thor caught hell from Wotan for starting a hot web site that may bring on the end of the world. Some annoying hipster giants, Gog and Magog, escaped from the abyss, totally ruining Abaddon's crossword puzzle. Also, the guys played golf.
By the way, for those who care (Z), this is probably gonna run into two parts.
“So the wife said, why not just build a golf course up here in Asgard?”
“Hey, that’s a great idea, Wotan,” said Nathan. Lady Raziel usually had great ideas, Nathan thought. Maybe it was something to do with the tits.
“Do you mind? I’m lining up my schot!” huffed Murderface, who was indeed making a huge fuss about teeing up.
“Yeh, an’ yoo don’ have a ghost t’ do da work for yoo now,” laughed Pickles.
“You can’t even cheat right, MURDERFACE,” scolded Nathan. “The whole point is you’re not supposed to get caught!”
“Will you guysch schut up!” grumbled Murderface.
“William, take my advice, make sure you don’t land ‘er in that swampland!” said Wotan. “NO TELLING what might happen,” he added with a wink at Nathan and Pickles, who exchanged a curious glance.
Nathan waited until Murderface was actually swinging to yell out, “Oh no look over there!” The shot hooked badly, not that one of Murderface’s drives wouldn’t already go astray, and banked right into the swamp.
“Asschhole!” barked Murderface, yellowy eyes seeming to glow with annoyance.
“I was just POINTING OUT STUFF!” pointed out Nathan.
“Yeah? What schtuff?”
All turned at the sloshing sound.
“Uh, dat stuff?” said Pickles.
“Well, now, look what ye’ve done,” said Wotan as a rather big, muddy creature began to wriggle from the swamp, blowing fiery swamp gas. “Ye’ve loosed a swamp demon.”
“HOLY CRAP!” said Nathan, who was literally hopping up and down on one foot with excitement.
“Well, I suppose there’s only one thing to do,” said Wotan, pulling a spear from his golf bag.
“C’mon, PICKLES! We’re gonna slay a demon,” urged Nathan, who had for some reason packed a big damned morningstar in his golf bag.
“Dood,” grumbled Pickles. “I jest wanted t’ work on mah handicap.”
“Do you have the neck Boon?”
“Da neck da neck da neck,” came the answering call from the other side of Charles’ wood shavings-dusted work bench. Charles grabbed the upper portion of the guitar neck when he saw it peeking over the side, and smiled slightly to himself at the excited yipping sounding from below the bench. Elias had gotten to carry a guitar neck, the highlight of his day, which meant it was also a time of great celebration for that stupid dog.
Well, why not? Charles suffered through who knew how many hundreds of hours a week of spoiled death metal musicians sassing him: why didn’t he deserve to steal an hour or so here and there being worshipped by a very small boy and a wolf runt?
“Come over to this side so you can see,” Charles suggested. Elias scampered around the workbench and clambered up on a small step stool so his head was just over the line of the bench. Murgatroyd meanwhile hurled himself several times around everyone’s legs with the sheer excitement of it all. In a minute or two, he would be curled up asleep again.
“Goggles,” said Charles, handing over a pair, which Elias pulled over his head.
“Uh-huh. Da gog,” agreed Elias, giving a thumbs up. They’d found a small pair, but they still looked comically oversized on the boy.
“All right, what we need to do, we need to attach this neck to the body, ok?”
“’Tach da neck to da body, check!”
As Elias so closely physically resembled Ganesh Charles had a tendency – which he himself knew was wrong – to regard his son as a pocket-sized Ganesh. Which was not true. Although he was very much a musical creature, and played some guitar (albeit badly), Ganesh studiously avoided everything having to do with the fashioning of stringed instruments, the result of many unhappy centuries of forced sitar lessons. Elias, on the other hand, seemed to think guitar building as all a bit magical.
Which it was.
“Let’s see if the bolt holes line up now, OK?”
“Okee-doke!”
It was a very good fit: Charles was good at what he did, even if he was a decade or two out of practice. But it was not a perfect fit.
He waited for Elias to point a little finger at it. “Yeah, that hole is not quite right.”
“Not qwite wite!”
“So we’ll just sand it a little.” Charles took out two pieces of sandpaper, handing one to Elias. Elias hopped down from his bench and, plopping his bottom on the floor, picked up a little piece of maple and began to sand it. Murgatroyd woke up to give it a sniff and then dozed again. Meanwhile, up above, Charles contentedly sanded the guitar neck. He thought maybe the next project would be a guitar for Elias. He wouldn’t let him anywhere near the saws just yet, but he seemed to like sanding and polishing.
He looked up at the sound of the workshop door opening. He had strict orders forbidding entry of any but his most trusted Klokateers: Gears plus too many saws equals just asking for trouble.
He frowned. This was not a Klokateer.
Skwisgaar hefted the guitar body. He ran a finger against the smooth, sanded curve. He flipped it over, and then held it up to the light, regarding the flash. He then at last directed his attention to Charles. “Ams dis da ones?” he asked.
“Sadly, no,” said Charles. “No, this is not your new guitar.”
“What ams wrongs dis time?” sighed the guitarist as Elias silently mounted his stool to watch the proceedings.
“This is a good guitar,” said Charles, taking the body from Skwisgaar and carefully setting it back down. “But good is not good enough. Not for you.”
“Den why you ams keeps worksing ons it?” inquired the Swede.
“I wanna show my apprentice how it’s done,” said Charles, smiling slightly at a wide-eyed Elias.
“Boonie id da pwentice,” Elias said very softly. Although the boy generally treated the guys in the band like big buddies, he had always been wary around Skwisgaar.
“My dads am says he ams pays you agains,” bragged Skwisgaar.
“Your-? Oh. Yeah,” said Charles. After some years of a frosty relationship, Skwisgaar had seemed to grow closer to Wotan lately. If someone like Skwisgaar could ever be “close” to anyone. “No, that won’t be necessary. Really.”
“If dat ams speeds da t’ings ups!” declared Skwisgaar, snapping his fingers. “Chops chops!”
“Skwisgaar,” Charles began, silently telling himself it would do absolutely no good to point out to the demigod that he, Charles, as one of the richest men in the world, would probably not be greatly incented by payment. “It will be done … when it’s done.” There. That even sounded like some of Skwisgaar’s zany nihilism, maybe mixed with a Ganesh koan.
Just then the workshop door opened again. “Sariel! Here you are….” Upon spotting Skwisgaar, however, Ganesh suddenly halted. “But, I see you are very busy, so-“
“We ams does my seetar leskon laters?” inquired Skwisgaar at Ganesh’s rapidly retreating back.
“Er. Well, of course,” bustled Ganesh, reversing once again to enter the room. He scooped up Elias. “Look at you!” he told the boy.
“You ams not has da black plagues dis weeks?” asked Skwisgaar. “Or da appointments wit’ da uncsle Hindoo dudes?”
“Uh, no. No. Of course I’ll be there,” said Ganesh.
“And you ams not wearings somet’ings da ams five minutes out of fashions and ams gots to go shoppsing?” inquired Skwisgaar.
“Of course not!”
“Pffft. Den I ams sees you laters,” huffed Skwisgaar, heading out the door.
“Sitar lessons not going well?” Charles asked after the door had slammed shut behind Skwisgaar.
“Oh, they are going fine,” sighed Ganesh, setting down Elias and slumping over the workbench. “He is actually a better student than I, as he is committed, and practices a great deal. I simply despise sitar to the depths of my very soul.”
“I appreciate you doing this,” said Charles.
Ganesh nodded morosely. Though, like Charles, he was hundreds of years old, Charles thought Ganesh looked every inch the resentful teenager.
Or maybe the spoiled metal musician.
“How are things going with the guitar? This one looks lovely,” Ganesh commented.
“It’s…. It’s not,” said Charles. “It’s not going.” Charles stepped back and hopped up on a stool, grabbing a Gear logo water bottle. As was his habit, he sniffed at the water first before taking a swig. You never could be sure what you were drinking at Mordhaus.
“No?” inquired Ganesh.
“It’s the materials! The wood is just … wrong somehow.”
“Wrong?” asked Ganesh.
“Wong!” repeated Elias. Charles grinned and leaned over to pick up Elias.
“This is going to sound really weird,” said Charles. “It works OK in the construction, and the instrument has a good tone, but it doesn’t seem to wanna take my magic. I’ve started wondering if something’s wrong with me. If I’ve lost the knack?”
Ganesh ran a long-fingered hand along the guitar. “There is nothing I can see wrong with you nor your magic, jaanu. Have you asked Skwisgaar? He can see enchantment in inanimate objects, which I cannot.”
“You think it is the wood?” asked Sariel.
Ganesh gave a half-smile. “You will scold me for attempting another eco-lecture.” He looked up at Charles. “Yes, trees grow in response to the environment, and if that has not been kind lately….” He shrugged.
Charles frowned. No, he did not want an eco-lecture. “Fucking nature. Getting in the way of my guitars.”
“Fukkin nature!” said Elias.
“ELIAS!” said both fathers.
Charles pointed to Elias’ legs. “And when did this happen?”
“When did what happen?” asked Ganesh.
“His legs! They’re like 300 miles long now!” said Charles, holding out one of the boy’s skinny legs as Elias dissolved into giggles.
“Much like me-“ began Ganesh.
“At that age,” sighed Charles.
All laughed at a very loud rumble coming from a very small stomach. “Daddy, da tummy id hungry!” said Elias.
“Like you at any age,” said Ganesh. “Why don’t I get him something while you finish up here?” he offered.
“Yeah, that would be great. And, uh, could you get me a sandwich or something?”
“Yes, dear, I live to serve,” said Ganesh, taking Elias by the hand and escorting him out.
“Hey, this luthier business is hungry work!” Charles shouted after them. He picked up the guitar neck again and checked the fit. It was almost right this time, but needed just a touch more sanding.
“CHAAAAARLES!” hollered Nathan as he stamped into the workshop along with a dripping wet Pickles.
“Uh, hello, Nathan.”
“We were out golfing with Wotan and he has a golf course now and there are demons on it and it’s the coolest thing ever and why don’t we have something like that down here because we should drop everything and start in building right away because you won’t believe how badass it is!”
“Uh,” said Charles.
“It’s kinda cool,” agreed Pickles, blowing out one sopping dreadlock.
“But, we just finished construction on a golf course-“
“THAT WAS YESTERDAY!” said Nathan. “It’s nothing like Wotan’s golf course! That course is real brutal and metal!”
“But our course has a lake troll. Isn’t that metal?”
“Aw that thing it’s scared of our fucking cell phones. Aren’t you listening to me?” demanded Nathan.
“A golf course. Just like Wotan’s golf course,” sighed Charles.
“No not JUST LIKE WOTAN’S GOLF COURSE, ours will have to be BETTER!”
“A golf course that’s just like Wotan’s only better,” said Charles. “You do know, this will be an expense-“
“MONEY ISN’T EVERYTHING.”
“Yeah, tell that to somebody who hasn’t got any,” said Charles. “Uh, is your hair on fire, Nathan?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Golf course!” said Nathan, storming out, hair fizzing, Pickles dripping in his wake.
Charles put down the guitar parts and sank back onto his stool. “We have a lake troll!” he said.
“Yes, and it’s a very nice lake troll!”
“Raziel, do you have to sit on my workbench? Don’t you get sawdust up your ass?”
“Don’t be grumpy, Sariel,” scolded the little angel, who was indeed sitting on Charles’ workbench. She picked up a discarded piece of sandpaper and began to attack a hangnail with it.
“Everyone suddenly wants to hang out with Wotan!” Charles complained.
“Well, of course they do,” smiled Raziel. “My husband is very cool.”
“I wanna be cool!”
“Do you wanna be their dad, or their buddy?”
“Just their .. fucking ... manager,” said Charles, leaping down and kicking a scrap of wood.
“Wrong,” laughed Raziel, kicking her legs.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
Raziel frowned. “Wotan wanted me to come personally,” she said, suddenly sounding serious.
“No leads on Gog and Magog I take it.”
Raziel shook her head, tracing a finger through the sawdust on the bench. “Wotan thinks we might need to-”
“...talk to Him,” grunted Charles.
“Well, you notice I'm not volunteering,” said Raziel.
“It's OK. I'll go.”
“You'll do what?” asked Raziel.
“I'll go,” said Charles, leaning against the workbench and fiddling with the guitar pieces.
“You don't have to, you know. We could just send the husbands again.”
“One of us needs to go. We need to send someone who knows just how fucked up that twisted old bastard can be.”
“Will you talk to him, or will you stab him in the gut?”
“Maybe a little of both.”
”That's my Little Brother!” grinned Raziel.
Ganesh finished tuning the sitar and handed it off to Skwisgaar, who seated himself cross-legged on the mat opposite of Ganesh. Ganesh then picked up his own instrument and swiftly put it through the paces, his long-fingered left hand flickering swiftly and precisely up and down the neck.
“You ams does dat quickly,” said Skwisgaar, who valued speed above all else in musicianship.
“Many centuries of practicing,” grumbled Ganesh. Although Ganesh was generally a kind soul, sitars always put him in an irritable mood.
“Maybe I ams has da centuries to practices,” said Skwisgaar.
“Yes. And maybe you won't,” Ganesh told him. “Shall we begin?”
“You amsn't t'inks I ams immortals like you?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Difficult to tell. Until you die, of course,” reasoned Ganesh.
“Some of my dad's sons, dey's half gods like me.”
Ganesh frowned, unconsciously fingering his sitar, much in the way Skwisgaar would compulsively play his Gibson. He halted, staring at Skwisgaar. “Yes, many of Uncle Wotan's sons were half human. You don't know them though. They died, long ago.”
“I ams t'inks I ams immortals, like yous,” said Skwisgaar.
“Well, good luck with that. Shall we begin?”
“Why you ams beings such a dick today, Ganoshes?”
“As I have conveyed to you before, I was forced to attend many, many years of sitar lessons. It does not bring back happy memories.”
“You ams da gods! You ams brought up as da gods. What kinds of problems ams you has?”
“Skwisgaar! My own father sliced off my head when I was an infant!” said Ganesh, making a slashing motion with his hand. “Are you suggesting this was an idyllic childhood?”
“But you ams gots da badsasses heffalump heads, and dens you gots da sexy guy heads, and girls likes you, even though you ams not likes da girls....” said Skwisgaar, counting off on his fingers.
“Is this about how many women I could fuck? Skwisgaar, I am married to an angel! I haven't any interest in your band … followers.”
“Oh, too good for dem, huh?”
Ganesh fumed, gnashing his fine white teeth. “No, I am-”
“You just wants to hangs around wit' other gods like my dads.”
“YOU are just like your father!”
“I ams?” asked Skwisgaar, who genuinely seemed taken aback.
“Skwisgaar-” said Ganesh. He paused, and set the hated sitar down, trying to calm himself. “Skwisgaar,” he said more softly. “Being a god is not about going around picking up sexual partners. It is a responsibility. An awesome responsibility. This is something it took even your father, who is not a stupid man, a long time to recognize-”
Skwisgaar sneered. “Pffft.”
Ganesh’s dark eyes blazed. “Don't you take that tone with me!” he snapped.
“Now you ams sounds likes my father!”
“Good! That's is a good thing! I wish to sound like Uncle Wotan! It is time you listened to people like your father! And.... And grew the fuck up!”
Skwisgaar was on his feet, Ganesh following a half second later. “I t'oughts you ams cool! You ams just likes da rests of dem! You ams just like dat uptights asshole, Charles!”
Ganesh glowered. “You may insult me, but I am not going to stand here and let you speak ill of Sariel!”
“You know whats? You know whats? I ams shows yous da insults!” said Skwisgaar, suddenly hefting his sitar. He swung the long, awkward instrument up and brought it crashing down on the floor, breaking the long neck in half.
“I'll show you,” said Ganesh. He seized his own sitar, swung it up even higher than Skwisgaar had, and slammed it down, smashing it into a million pieces.
The two men stood for a while, staring at the wreckage on the floor.
Ganesh regarded at the broken wooden neck in his hand. “Damn,” he said. “Damn. I've wanted to do that for centuries. Centuries!”
“Huh,” said Skwisgaar, surveying the damage. He tossed the broken sitar neck from his own hand down on the pile of broking instrument and said, “Wants to gets da drinks?”
“Actually,” said Ganesh. “Actually, yes. I would very much like to get a drink.” He tossed his guitar neck down as well, and, hooking an arm around Skwisgaar, the two men left the rehearsal room.
“Boonie! How's my baby?” asked Raziel.
“Boonie id not da baby, id dis many!” the child explained as doting Auntie Raziel held him.
“That many? Wow, you're nearly as old as me.”
“No one is as old as you, Raziel,” grumbled Charles.
The two angels stuck their tongues out at each other, as rational adults often do.
“So you are off to see the Creator, Sariel?” asked Wotan. “Are ye sure you want to go alone?”
“Just look after him this afternoon. I feel better when he's up here.”
“Kids! Boonie is here!” screamed Raziel, causing the twins to stampede in from wherever they had been.
“What did I tell you about muddy feet on the ceiling!” said Wotan as Liam and Abby giggled overhead. They turned and ran down the wall and across the floor to tackle their cousin. Then the three children turned and rushed out of the room, Elias' faithful wolf pup bounding after them.
“Sometimes when I see them, I wish....” Charles started.
“What?” asked Raziel, seizing his arm.
“That I could remember being a kid.”
“Now you can remember Boon being a kid!” reasoned Raziel.
“It's been a long time ago. But I was very mischievous!” said Wotan.
“A long time ago? You mean up until last year?” Raziel asked Wotan.
“Ganesh always says that too,” Charles told Wotan.
“We were all brats!” laughed Wotan.
“Where is Ganesh, anyway?” asked Raziel.
“Tied up in sitar lessons,” said Charles, with a funny half smile. “Him and Skwisgaar. I don’t wanna get in the middle.”
“That oughta put him in a great mood.”
“Yeah, I might be better off hanging out with Father this afternoon,” said Charles.
Charles felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ye know the Creator and His trickery better than I,” Wotan said. “We need to know of the giants. No more, no less. Don’t let him get ye sidetracked!”
“I will try to keep the meeting short,” said Charles. He winced as Raziel went up on tiptoes and gave him a kiss. He nodded, and Walked back to Mordhaus, where he encountered an unexpected sight in the suite he shared with Ganesh.
“Sariel!” laughed Ganesh, who was sitting at the bar, arm draped over Skwisgaar.
“Dere ams Charles!” said Skwisgaar, as if greeting an old friend.
“Uh,” said Charles. “Isn't it a little early-”
“For sitar practice!” said Ganesh, raising his martini glass. Skiwsgaar raised his own glass and clinked.
“OK. Good. Well, Boon is up at Valhalla, so I'll leave you to, uh, practice.”
“Nooooooo!” said Ganesh coming around the bar and grabbing Charles by the arm.
“We ams escortsing you!” announced Skwisgaar, grabbing his other arm.
“What? Uh, no, I don't think that's a good idea,” said Charles.
“We are not letting you go alone, my dear one,” said Ganesh.
“No, you ams our little pals, and we ams sticks by yous,” said Skwisgaar.
“Guys! That really won't be necessary,” protested Charles.
“Of course it is necessary,” said Ganesh. “Come along, Skiwsgaar. Can't keep YHWH cooling his heels in my living room....” And with that, Charles found himself dragged through time and space to the living room at Ganesh's residence, where awaited, the All Being, All Knowing, All Powerful.
“Sariel?” said the Creator. “Sri Ganesha. And, this-”
“I ams Skwisgaar Skwigelf!” said Skwisgaar, weaving over to stand nose to nose with the Creator. “I ams da demigods!” he elaborated, “Da Odinssons!”
“Charmed,” said the Creator, who quite obviously wasn't.
“And I ams here to make sure you ams nice to Charles,” said Skwisgaar, waving an unsteady arm in Charles’ general direction. “Because he ams our pal!”
The Creator cocked his head at Skwisgaar. “I promise to conduct myself with all discretion,” he told the guitarist. “Sariel, where is my grandson?”
“Elias is away today,” said Charles, exchanging a glance with Ganesh. “We have matters to discuss.”
“That boy is the light of my life,” said the Creator.
“As he is ours,” said Ganesh, who seemed to have sobered up.
“Perhaps now that you have a son of your own, we might share more of an understanding,” the Creator told Charles.
“I worry about him sometimes,” Charles admitted as Ganesh's arm tightened around him.
“Sons are not easy. If I had it to do again, I would have had a Grandson,” said the Creator.
“Dat ams why I ams has no kids,” explained Skwisgaar.
“Then you are a fool,” barked the Creator.
“Pffft. You ams has da kids whats not talks to you!” he said, indicating Charles.
“You've gotten a bit big for your britches, musician,” said the Creator.
“At least I ams nots da outmodsed theologiskal concepts,” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“Cocktails!” said Ganesh suddenly. “Skwisgaar, we need to make everybody cocktails. Come,” he said, hooking an elbow around the surprised guitarist and marching him out of the room, the Creator glowering after them.
“Doesn't that fool know who I am?” growled the Creator.
“He knows. He just doesn't care,” said Charles. “Now. Gog and Magog.”
“Yes. They have 'scaped the abyss,” said the Creator casually.
“You knew about this?”
“Yes. Of course. Your friend King Wotan was a bit rash when he decided to take out my servant, Lucifer. That individual was always a burr in the side, but he had his uses.”
“So Lucifer sent Abaddon to guard the gate?” asked Charles.
“No, that was originally my doing,” said the Creator, seating himself on one of Ganesh's couches. “Abaddon is a simple sort. Typical demon. I told him to finish his crossword puzzle, and kill anyone who tried to pass.”
“I work with a demon. They're not all simple, Father.”
“Do you mean to teach me demonology, Sariel?”
“You would need to be willing learn,” said Charles, his eyes glinting silver. “I want to know about Gog and Magog.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“Everything.”
“So, you have set aside an eternity for this?” smiled the Creator.
“Cocktails!” sang Ganesh, who was in full four-armed mode. He set down a tray or two on the low table between Charles and the Creator. “And I have brought your tea, Uncle-ji,” he told the Creator. Ganesh, seeming oblivious to the tension in the room, sat down next to Charles, making a grand show of pouring tea and distributing glasses. Charles looked over at Skwisgaar, who silently slouched into the chair at the end of the table. The guitarist propped booted feet up on the table, meriting a glare from the Creator.
Charles took a generous swig of his martini, letting the warm feel of the alcohol steady him.
“You ams not drinks?” Skwisgaar asked the Creator.
“I do not imbibe,” the Creator told him sternly.
“I ams hears da stories abouts da waters into wine,” said Skwisgaar.
“Drink sadly afflicted my only begotten Son,” said the Creator, irritably stirring his tea. “I raised him with the best values. And then He repaid me by spending His time misinterpreting my laws, swilling alcoholic beverages and consorting with entirely the wrong sort of people.”
Ganesh glanced at Charles. “Sore point,” Charles whispered.
“Who did he think he was? The Buddha?” sighed the Creator.
“Gautama is our neighbor at my parent's summer vacation estate,” confided Ganesh.
“Really?” asked the Creator.
“Mmm. My father fought with him endlessly.”
“Over doctrinal matters?” asked the Creator.
“Oh. He was always bitching to the tenant's association about our loud parties. Claimed he was seeking enlightenment. Ha! Anyway, won’t you have a samosa, Uncle-ji?” urged Ganesh, indicating a tray.
“Oh, I think that I might,” said the Creator, snatching up a tasty snack. “Ah! My compliments to your cook.”
“I will convey your compliments,” said Ganesh.
“Father, you made the abyss, and built the wall, just to contain Gog and Magog, correct?” asked Charles.
The old man sighed. “You will need to understand this. I wanted to keep my creations safe from the Elders. Because I know them. And they’re a bunch of colossal assholes. Thus, I needed to build an army first thing. Such as you, Sariel, you were my greatest achievement,” said the Creator, not looking up. Ganesh put one of many hands lightly on Charles’ arm.
“You ams makes da angels to fights?” asked Skwisgaar, helping himself to a samosa.
“Yes, that is correct,” said the Creator.
“Dat ams pretty cool, actuallies,” said Skwisgaar. “Dey ams prettie badass.”
“I am glad of your approval,” sniffed the Creator. “But this was earlier in my career. So I may have gone a tad … overboard on my first few tries.”
“The giants?” asked Ganesh. The Creator nodded. “My people have had … unfortunate encounters with those of their race.”
“You exterminated them, didn’t you?” inquired the Creator.
“Well, that was the result of warfare…” hedged Ganesh
“You were wise,” said the Creator, sipping his masala tea. “Unfortunately, I have a well-developed soft spot for my creations, chief among them your human predecessors, musician,” he added, eyeing Skwisgaar.
“I ams glads of your softs spots,” said Skwisgaar.
“As for Gog and Magog’s current whereabouts, and their intentions, I have little idea. My only suggestion would be to check their most recent known location for information.”
“You’re suggesting we go into the abyss?” asked Charles. “The abyss?”
“You wanted my advice, Sariel. Now you have it. Thank you for the tea. May I expect to see my grandson here again next week when I appear?” he asked, rising and brushing samosa crumbs from his overalls.
“Yes,” said Ganesh, rising as well. “Er. Barring unforeseen circumstances.”
But the Creator was already gone.
Charles had not bothered to rise. “The abyss? FUCK!” he said. “That old bastard never changes,” he grumbled, slumping back and setting his feet up on the table. Ganesh sat back down beside him, twisting up into a lotus position and pouring himself another drink.
“We goes down into da bottomsless pits now?” asked Skwisgaar.
“No. You are not going on this one,” said Charles.
“And why nots! I ams readies for the nother adventures!”
“I’m not,” grumbled Charles. “And Skwisgaar, one thing I might point out, I can fly! You can’t!”
“Pffft! So you ams takes Toki?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well, maybe,” said Charles. “I hadn’t considered. But him and William….”
“Den I ams goes too! Toki ams stupids, and needs someone to proteckticle hims.”
“Your boys have proved brave and resourceful on previous occasions,” reasoned Ganesh.
“I’m not gonna decide now,” said Charles. “It’s a dumb idea!” He frowned and pulled out a ringing Dethphone. “Yeah, what is it Raziel? Wait, you what? You and the ‘wheelie deals’ found it? Huh. Yeah, this might be good. No, he’s gone. Yeah.” Charles muttered something in Angelic, which Ganesh recognized to be a very creatively worded curse. “Yeah, we’re on our way,” he said, pulling himself up off the couch. “Raziel got our librarians to unearth some kind of documents about the abyss. Hopefully we’re not going anywhere near that shit.”
“When are we going to the ABYSS?” asked Nathan breathlessly the moment Charles reappeared in his office.
“What? How do you even-?”
“Raziel told me!” said Nathan.
“And how did Raziel-? GANESH!” said Charles as the Hindu god looked distinctly guilty. “Do you really have to text Raziel with every little detail?”
“Actually, I have posted it to my Bumblr,” grinned Ganesh.
Charles glowered and took out his Dethphone. “How does this post have ten thousand re-Bumbl’s already? And where did you find time to make an animated GIF photo set of a bottomless pit?”
“Oh, Edgar forwarded me that,” grinned Ganesh.
“Hey, doods!” said Pickles from the doorway.
“I suppose you’re gonna tell me you wanna explore the abyss too?” sighed Charles.
“No feckin’ way,” said Pickles, plopping into a chair. “I’m steerin’ clear o’ dat shit.”
“Pickles, you gotta come!” urged Nathan. It’ll be so badass. And maybe there will be pit chicks!”
“Ja, dey ams bound to be da pit ladies!” agreed Skwisgaar.
“OK, you guys are not going into the abyss to pick up women!” vowed Charles.
“Cockblocker!” snapped Nathan.
“Anyways,” said Pickles, “I’m jest waitin’ fer Lady Raz t’ get here an’ tell us a story.”
“What?” asked Charles.
“Hi everybody! Ready for story time?” sang Raziel, who was trailing a toddler or three, plus Toki and William Murderface.
“Raziel, I thought you said you found literature about the abyss?”
“Yeah, Sariel, your wheelie deals and I poked around in the Angelic section and found this!”
Charles took the dusty tome. “Down in a Hole into the Abyss, and What Layne Found There? Raziel, this is a kid’s book!”
“Yeah it is! Those are the best kind! They have pictures!” said Raziel, turning to a page with old fashioned engravings.
“Raziel, why should we even bother with this?” asked Charles.
“I dunno, the pictures look kinda cool,” opined Nathan.
Charles sat down behind his desk, chin in hands. He scowled as Raziel hopped up to sit on his desk. “Raziel!” he said.
“Aw, c’mon Sariel. Just listen to the first few chapters.”
“No! Absolutely not! I am not wasting my time with this!” declared Charles, crossing his arms in a determined manner.
It was growing late, and Sariel found himself growing bored of reading Dethklok’s financial reports. Since he was nodding off, he reached over to the far corner of his desk and hefted the stupid book Raziel had found. He pulled it over and started flipping through the pages. He found that his eyes weren’t much up to reading right now, though, not even a children’s book, so he contented himself with examining the many weird illustrations. They looked somehow strangely familiar. He turned the page. Funny, he didn’t remember this two-headed character when he had read the story before.
He wondered how late it had gotten. He had taken off his wristwatch some hours earlier and laid it out on the desk so he could better keep track of time. This worked as well as it ever did: not at all.
Sariel was just reaching over to grab the watch when something furry and fast scurried across his desk. His first thought was that a rat had escaped from the dungeons, but it was just too damned big for even a Mordhaus rodent. He jumped up to see where it might have gone, dismayed to see that it had somehow snatched his watch as it hopped off the desk.
He spotted it already hopping towards the door: the most ungainly rodent he had ever espied. It looked something like a gremlin wearing a threadbare rabbit costume, although Sariel could not claim experience having seen a gremlin.
And then to his even greater surprise, the rabbit-thing started to talk. “Ams late for da important dates! Wit’ a ladyperson!” he added, taking a look at Sariel’ watch.
“Hey! You!” yelled Sariel. “Give that back! That’s a Vacheron Constantin!”
But the rabbit ignored him and hopped right on out his office door. Sariel hastened after it, down one corridor after another, down a stairwell and then another, down into Mordhaus’ deepest recesses.
Sariel rounded a corner in one of the dungeon areas only to see the rabbit thing popping into a wide crack in one of the walls.
“We gotta get an exterminator down here,” sighed Sariel. He crouched down near the wall and peered into the crack, which was actually large enough for a man who wasn’t William Murderface to crawl through. It was very dark in the dungeon, and even darker inside the hole, so he couldn’t see anything. It seemed to go down forever. He leaned over, farther and farther, looking for the bottom.
Just then Nathan must have turned on his stereo or some such because Mordhaus suddenly shook to its very foundations, causing Sariel to overbalance and topple right over into the hole. Down and down he fell, for, annoyingly enough, although the hole didn’t seem to have a bottom, it was too narrow for Sariel to True Form and sprout his wings. So he simply kept falling, glowering all the time at the walls which, oddly enough, were decorated with many gold records and vintage guitars. “Why are we decorating the dungeon walls?” he thought grumpily, passing a vintage Stratocaster. “What a waste of money.”
Finally, after what might have been many hours, or even days, he came to the bottom, landing softly on a giant pile of used potato chip bags. “So this is what becomes of them when we don’t sort the recycling,” he thought to himself, wondering if any of the bags still had chips, as it had been a long fall, and he was getting a might peckish. But he had little time for such contemplations, because just then he spotted that rascally rabbit bounding off down the hall.
Sariel skidded around a corner just in time to see the rabbit disappear through a doggie door. Sariel ran to the door, but unfortunately, it was locked, and it resisted his best efforts to kick it down. He looked around, and noticed something he hadn’t before: there was an end table, a really big end table. And something up on top of it. Being too short to get up to the enormous table, Sariel took off his shirt and True Formed, and flew on up to the top. There were two items there: a little golden key shaped like a flying V guitar, and a pie.
So of course, Sariel (who always had his priorities straight) first sat down and ate the pie, every last scrap. And then as he was rubbing his greedy angel belly and looking around for more pastries, he suddenly did two things: he let loose a very large angel burp, and suddenly grew to sixteen sizes bigger.
Needless to say, this made his angel butt far too large for the end table, so he fell right down, breaking the table to pieces. This also made him almost too big for the small room he was in. So he now lay on the floor, uncomfortable scrunched up.
“Well, this sucks,” said Sariel, who was still wondering if there was more pie to be found.
“Sariel, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Raziel,” said Sariel. “What the fuck are you doing? Did you follow me down the rabbit-thing hole?”
“No, I've been here,” said Raziel, who was still Raziel-sized, and in winged Form. She was now buzzing around Sariel like an impatient moth. “Down in the abyss. We're all waiting for you! What the fuck is taking you so long?”
“I've been eating pie,” said Sariel, patting his stomach in a satisfied manner.
Didn't you find the Scotch?”
“What Scotch!”
“The Scotch I put here so you could grow small enough to fit through the doggie door!”
“Raziel,” said Sariel. “Why wouldn't I just use the key and open the damn door?”
“Oh, there's a key?”
“Up on the table! Or I guess it's down on the table now.” Sariel looked, but it was a long way to see around his ass at present.
“Huh. Well, scotch the Scotch, I guess.” Raziel pulled out her cell phone. “You stay here. I'm gonna call Cousin Poseidon and ask for help.”
“Hey, does your cell phone work down here?” asked Sariel. But Raziel had already disappeared. He wondered where he had tossed his jacket, which had his own cell phone in the pocket. He reached a hand to feel the floor underneath him, and came up with a small bottle. “Hey, the Scotch!” he said approvingly. It took him a moment to get it open, as his fingers were large and clumsy, but then he drank down the whole thing, as the pie had make him thirsty, and also, it was Wotan's good Scotch.
And then, poof! He was suddenly smaller. Much smaller. In fact, he was now small enough to fit through the doggie door.
“Hey, waddya know! Raziel was right!” said Sariel, who was rather amazed at this fact. “Now, where's my damned cell phone?” he said aloud, even though there was no one else there, because Sariel is a bit weird.
“RAZIEL!”
“What?”
Charles leaned over his desk to where Raziel was still sitting on top of it, reading her book aloud.
“Is this really what's written in the book? It sounds awfully familiar.”
“Well, I'm taking some artistic license, translating from Angelic to English. I'd like to preserve the poetry of the original!”
“What poetry? Angelic isn’t poetic?”
“I find it rather poetic, sir,” said Klokateer 31415, commonly known as Pie, who had, strangely enough, also invited himself in to hear Raziel’s idiot story.
Charles sighed. “Anyway, I don't see how your fairy story-”
“There hasn't been a single fairy! I mean, not yet,” said Raziel.
“I don't see how your fairy story is gonna help us!” said Charles.
“I ams wants to hears da rest of da story!” declared Toki, even though he was sitting on the floor playing with a Gameboy.
“Yeah, quit interrupting and let her finish!” declared Nathan. “How many kids stories are about drinking Scotch? This could be good. As long as it doesn’t start sucking, I mean.”
There were now several cries for “Story!” So Charles bowed to the inevitable and let Raziel continue.
Sariel, who was now small sized, thanks to Wotan’s good Scotch, headed for the little doggie door. He spotted something golden on the floor: it was the little golden key shaped like a Flying V guitar. “Hey, this might be useful!” he said, thinking perhaps somewhere along the line he could trade it for more pie or something.
But just then, he heard a rushing noise. It was a tremendous tsunami of rushing water, breaking right for him. There was no time to run, so he braced as the great tide bore him right through the door and into a strange dark world.
When the tide had finally receded, Sariel grumbled and picked himself up. There’s nothing as angry as a wet angel! He saw a light ahead, and decided to make his way up the path to see if someone had a fire going where he could dry his wings.
He came to a clearing where there was a huge outdoor bar stocked with every sort of alcoholic beverage you might ever imagine. However it was nearly empty: only the barstools on the very end were occupied, by two very familiar looking figures.
“Wait, you guys are still drinking together?” asked Sariel.
“Welcome to our cocktail party! Would you like some tea?” asked Ganesh, who was wearing an amazing top hat.
“But there isn’t any tea here,” said Sariel, “just booze!”
“Dats what you ams gets invitsing yourself to our mad cockstails parties like dats,” sneered Skwisgaar, who was wearing a hat festooned with bunny ears, and playing a Gibson.
“So you guys are the Mad Hatter and the March Hare?” asked Sariel, who was pretty sure he had read this story some time before. He started to help himself to a tasty martini.
“Mad? Why I am not angry at all!” declared Ganesh.
“Naw, he ams da nice guys,” attested the March Skwisgaar.
“I am a haberdasher. And if you are going to stay here, you will need a nice hat, like we have,” said Ganesh, reaching behind the counter.
“I don’t like hats! They give me hat hair!” complained Sariel, who nevertheless found himself now also wearing a top hat.
“Times to switches places!” announced Skwisgaar.
“Oh, yes it is!” agreed Ganesh, consulting a pocket watch. “Everybody move up one stool!”
Sariel found himself jostled into the next stool by Skwisgaar, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except Skwisgaar took possession of the frosty martini Sariel had just poured. “Hmpf.”
“So, why ams you heres in da Abyskes, drinksing our cockstails?” inquired Skwisgaar, who was greedily sipping Sariel’s martini.
“I lost my watch, actually,” said Sariel, who now opened himself a beer.
“Oh, would you like mine?” asked Ganesh generously handing the pocket watch over to Sariel.
Sariel reached over the grab the watch. It nearly slipped from his fingers. “What’s the greasy stuff on it?” asked Sariel.
“Butter. It needed greasing!” explained the Ganesh Hatter. “And I have a butter endorsement deal!” He proudly brought out a tray of butter from behind the counter.
“Whoa!”’ said Sariel, suddenly hopping up on the bar and hanging his head over to peek. “Do you got any pie back there?”
“Heys!” yelled the March Skwisgaar, as Sariel’s wing upset his martini. “Watches dose t’ings.”
“Yeah,” said Sariel. “Sorry,” even though he was really not VERY sorry, as Skwisgaar had kind of stolen his drink. “I could transform, but I lost my shirt in the flood.”
“Oh, you have come to the right place!” declared the not-so-mad Haberdasher. Ganesh pulled out a clothing rack from behind the bar.
“Oh, great,” said Sariel, who was glad to get rid of his awkward and still damp wings. “You got anything like a white shirt with a red tie?” he asked as he Court Formed.
“I have the perfect combination!” said Ganesh, who was already pulling a men’s dress shirt onto Sariel.
“Uh, Ganesh, this is a pink shirt,” said Sariel.
“Ams very fashionababble,” laughed Skwisgaar.
“The last one in your size!” said Ganesh.
“You don’t have a jacket or something?” sighed Sariel.
“I have a waistcoat, so you can keep your watch in your pocket,” said Ganesh, pulling out a grey vest.
“Well, as long as it covers up the pink,” said Sariel, as Ganesh was already putting it on.
“Don’t you look handsome?” asked Ganesh, admiring his work.
“Well, that’s very nice.” Sariel pulled out Ganesh’s watch to put in his pocket. He frowned and shook the watch. “Hey, you know this watch stopped?”
“Yes, more’s the pity. We ran afoul of Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog and they broke it.”
“Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog? Wait, that wasn’t in the book,” said Charles, who had read that particular story rather a lot, as it explained many things about managing a metal band.
“Whats books?” asked Skwisgaar.
“And now, alas and alack, it is always cocktail hour here in the Abyss,” sighed Ganesh over his frosty beverage.
“Always cocktail hour? How the hell do you ever get anything done if you’re permanently sloppy like this?” For Sariel prized productivity above all things. That and a good wristwatch.
“Dat ams da points. We ams get nothings dones.”
“So how did you annoy Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog?” asked Sariel.
“Oh, I was supposed to recite a poem, but it kept going awfully wrong,” said Ganesh. “You know, ‘And now my bitter hands/Cradle broken glass….’”
“Of course I know that one!” said Sariel.
“You can’t recite it here,” sighed Ganesh.
“Yes you can! Let me have a try!” Skwisgaar played a very familiar chord, and then Sariel started
And now my mittened hands
Cradle mopey ass
Of leaking kitchen sinks
All the bitter hats
All them ducks gone quack
Achoo-d everything
“Wait, that’s not right,” said Sariel. “I’ll try again…”
All the pie gone bad
Gave my face a smack
Cartooned all I see
All that I smell
All I’ll pee….
“OK, now I sound like fucking Murderface.” Grumbled Sariel. “Why can’t I do it right?”
“Well, he does tend to mumble. But you are right, that is pretty far off,” commented Ganesh.
Suddenly, there was the sound of hoof beats. The three parties looked up as a white knight rode in on a great white horse. He rode up almost all the way to the bar, raised his sword as if he was about to chop their heads off. Oddly enough, though Sariel dove behind the bar for cover, Ganesh and Skwisgaar didn’t move. Sariel soon saw why: just before he reached the bar, the white knight fell right off his horse, hitting his head on the ground with a loud smack.
“Ow! MY ASS!” he said, in a very familiar voice.
“Are you all right?” said Sariel, jumping back over the bar to aid the White Knight.
“No, I’m fine, little pink dude!” said Nathan, as Sariel pulled off his helmet.
“Hims ams always does dat,” commented the March Skwisgaar.
“Few bricks shy of a load,” whispered Ganesh, pointing to his own head.
“Guys!” shouted Nathan, who had leapt to his feet, apparently uninjured from the terrible fall. “You gotta help me! We gotta slay THE JABBERWOCK!”
“Pffft! Nots anudder Jabberswokling,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Aw, c’mon guys! It’s got jaws that BITE! And claws that CATCH!” said Nathan as Ganesh fixed him up with a lovely top hat.
“Why not stay and have a lovely cocktail first,” said Ganesh, giving the hat a final pat in place.
“OK, yeah, sure, Jabberwock hunting is THIRSTY WORK,” agreed the Nathan Knight, who seemed rather easily distracted from his mission.
“Can I get one of those?” whined Sariel as Ganesh the Not Mad Hatter started shaking more martinis.
“You ams goings to tips the bartenders?” asked Skwisgaar.
“What?” asked Sariel. “I thought this was a cocktail party?”
“Dis ams da no hosts bar,” Skwisgaar explained.
“The abyss sucks,” grumbled Sariel. “Well, I left my wallet in my other jacket, which was probably lost in the stupid flood.” He felt in his pants pocket and brought out the golden flying V key, which he tossed casually on the bar.
“Oooo!” said everyone.
“Dat ams cools!” said Skwisgaar, picking it up. “Gibsons!”
“Where did you get this? Not in the abyss!” said Nathan.
“Is it unusual?” asked Sariel.
“Dude,” said the Nathan Knight, “we got lots of locks here, but no keys. It kind of sucks.”
“So what do you think it unlocks?” asked Sariel.
“No fucking clue,” said Nathan.
“You know who we should ams asks about dats?” said Skwisgaar.
“The caterpillar dude?” asked Nathan.
“Oh, yes, he is a knowledgeable fellow!” agreed Ganesh.
“I bet he’s a sky high fellow,” said Sariel, who, as I’ve mentioned, had read this book before. “So where do we find the caterpillar?”
“Aw, he’s just down the road, through the DARK AND SCARY WOODS!” shrugged Nathan.
Sariel looked in the direction Nathan was pointing. Indeed, the woods were dark and scary. The trees rustled in the wind, moving their branches in what almost seemed a threatening manner. He somehow expected to see Snow White running through, but that was a different fairy tale.
“You sure there’s gonna be no fairies, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Not yet,” said Raziel.
“Well, I think it’s time we called a halt for tonight. We’ve got some sleepyheads!” Charles pointed to the couch, where Elias was drowsing on Nathan’s lap, and Nathan in turn had slumped over, his head on Ganesh’s shoulder, snoring (and drooling) away.
“Well, OK, you wanna continue tomorrow night?” There were eager nods from the waking members of Dethklok, as well as a good variety of Klokateers (who really should have had something better to do) and scientists and various other folks who also seemed to have found their way into Charles’ office.
“So you think that Raziel’s nutty story … means something?” asked Charles.
Ganesh looked up from his laptop and leaned back against the headboard. “I think it has a prophetic quality, yes.”
“You know I don’t like the P word,” Charles grumbled, slipping into bed beside him. “And what the hell happened with the sitar lessons?”
“Oh!” grinned Ganesh. “I was able to employ some of the freeing milieu of rock and roll to the genre!”
“Seems like you broke you sitar?”
“Well. Yes,” chuckled Ganesh. He set the laptop aside and ran a few fingers along Charles’ chest. “But you could make me another.”
“You think I could just make any damn thing?” asked Charles, leaning back against the pillows.
“Of course you could. And you could show Boonie. It would be so terribly cultural and all that.”
“Boon would enjoy that,” said Charles, whose mind was already drifting to many pleasant hours in the workroom with his son. “But wait!” he said, pushing gently back on Ganesh, who had meanwhile slid over on top of him. “I take the trouble to learn sitar making, and then you use it to smash Skwisgaar over the head?”
“Can you think of a better use?” laughed Ganesh.
“Uh-uh. I think we’re gonna have to impose a no smashing rule.”
“Oh, you’re no fun,” Ganesh said into Charles’ neck.
“And another thing,” said Charles, pushing Ganesh back again. “You wouldn’t put me in a pink shirt, would you?”
“It would look lovely with your coloring. But no. It would conflict with your personality. Perhaps a nice navy blue.”
“Navy blue?” said Charles.
“It would look good with a nice red tie,” whispered Ganesh.
But then Charles was no longer thinking about red ties, or pink shirts, or top hats.
And then some time later he was drifting off. And then he was on a pathway. Just outside a dark and deep woods....
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The beginning and ending of various stringed instruments, tea with the Creator, and a fairy tale with no fairies.
Warnings: Nonsense poetry based on grunge lyrics
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Wanted to get a chapter up today in honor of National Pi Day (3/14).
Mythklok: home of the whopper.
So last time, Skwisgaar and Thor caught hell from Wotan for starting a hot web site that may bring on the end of the world. Some annoying hipster giants, Gog and Magog, escaped from the abyss, totally ruining Abaddon's crossword puzzle. Also, the guys played golf.
By the way, for those who care (Z), this is probably gonna run into two parts.
“So the wife said, why not just build a golf course up here in Asgard?”
“Hey, that’s a great idea, Wotan,” said Nathan. Lady Raziel usually had great ideas, Nathan thought. Maybe it was something to do with the tits.
“Do you mind? I’m lining up my schot!” huffed Murderface, who was indeed making a huge fuss about teeing up.
“Yeh, an’ yoo don’ have a ghost t’ do da work for yoo now,” laughed Pickles.
“You can’t even cheat right, MURDERFACE,” scolded Nathan. “The whole point is you’re not supposed to get caught!”
“Will you guysch schut up!” grumbled Murderface.
“William, take my advice, make sure you don’t land ‘er in that swampland!” said Wotan. “NO TELLING what might happen,” he added with a wink at Nathan and Pickles, who exchanged a curious glance.
Nathan waited until Murderface was actually swinging to yell out, “Oh no look over there!” The shot hooked badly, not that one of Murderface’s drives wouldn’t already go astray, and banked right into the swamp.
“Asschhole!” barked Murderface, yellowy eyes seeming to glow with annoyance.
“I was just POINTING OUT STUFF!” pointed out Nathan.
“Yeah? What schtuff?”
All turned at the sloshing sound.
“Uh, dat stuff?” said Pickles.
“Well, now, look what ye’ve done,” said Wotan as a rather big, muddy creature began to wriggle from the swamp, blowing fiery swamp gas. “Ye’ve loosed a swamp demon.”
“HOLY CRAP!” said Nathan, who was literally hopping up and down on one foot with excitement.
“Well, I suppose there’s only one thing to do,” said Wotan, pulling a spear from his golf bag.
“C’mon, PICKLES! We’re gonna slay a demon,” urged Nathan, who had for some reason packed a big damned morningstar in his golf bag.
“Dood,” grumbled Pickles. “I jest wanted t’ work on mah handicap.”
“Do you have the neck Boon?”
“Da neck da neck da neck,” came the answering call from the other side of Charles’ wood shavings-dusted work bench. Charles grabbed the upper portion of the guitar neck when he saw it peeking over the side, and smiled slightly to himself at the excited yipping sounding from below the bench. Elias had gotten to carry a guitar neck, the highlight of his day, which meant it was also a time of great celebration for that stupid dog.
Well, why not? Charles suffered through who knew how many hundreds of hours a week of spoiled death metal musicians sassing him: why didn’t he deserve to steal an hour or so here and there being worshipped by a very small boy and a wolf runt?
“Come over to this side so you can see,” Charles suggested. Elias scampered around the workbench and clambered up on a small step stool so his head was just over the line of the bench. Murgatroyd meanwhile hurled himself several times around everyone’s legs with the sheer excitement of it all. In a minute or two, he would be curled up asleep again.
“Goggles,” said Charles, handing over a pair, which Elias pulled over his head.
“Uh-huh. Da gog,” agreed Elias, giving a thumbs up. They’d found a small pair, but they still looked comically oversized on the boy.
“All right, what we need to do, we need to attach this neck to the body, ok?”
“’Tach da neck to da body, check!”
As Elias so closely physically resembled Ganesh Charles had a tendency – which he himself knew was wrong – to regard his son as a pocket-sized Ganesh. Which was not true. Although he was very much a musical creature, and played some guitar (albeit badly), Ganesh studiously avoided everything having to do with the fashioning of stringed instruments, the result of many unhappy centuries of forced sitar lessons. Elias, on the other hand, seemed to think guitar building as all a bit magical.
Which it was.
“Let’s see if the bolt holes line up now, OK?”
“Okee-doke!”
It was a very good fit: Charles was good at what he did, even if he was a decade or two out of practice. But it was not a perfect fit.
He waited for Elias to point a little finger at it. “Yeah, that hole is not quite right.”
“Not qwite wite!”
“So we’ll just sand it a little.” Charles took out two pieces of sandpaper, handing one to Elias. Elias hopped down from his bench and, plopping his bottom on the floor, picked up a little piece of maple and began to sand it. Murgatroyd woke up to give it a sniff and then dozed again. Meanwhile, up above, Charles contentedly sanded the guitar neck. He thought maybe the next project would be a guitar for Elias. He wouldn’t let him anywhere near the saws just yet, but he seemed to like sanding and polishing.
He looked up at the sound of the workshop door opening. He had strict orders forbidding entry of any but his most trusted Klokateers: Gears plus too many saws equals just asking for trouble.
He frowned. This was not a Klokateer.
Skwisgaar hefted the guitar body. He ran a finger against the smooth, sanded curve. He flipped it over, and then held it up to the light, regarding the flash. He then at last directed his attention to Charles. “Ams dis da ones?” he asked.
“Sadly, no,” said Charles. “No, this is not your new guitar.”
“What ams wrongs dis time?” sighed the guitarist as Elias silently mounted his stool to watch the proceedings.
“This is a good guitar,” said Charles, taking the body from Skwisgaar and carefully setting it back down. “But good is not good enough. Not for you.”
“Den why you ams keeps worksing ons it?” inquired the Swede.
“I wanna show my apprentice how it’s done,” said Charles, smiling slightly at a wide-eyed Elias.
“Boonie id da pwentice,” Elias said very softly. Although the boy generally treated the guys in the band like big buddies, he had always been wary around Skwisgaar.
“My dads am says he ams pays you agains,” bragged Skwisgaar.
“Your-? Oh. Yeah,” said Charles. After some years of a frosty relationship, Skwisgaar had seemed to grow closer to Wotan lately. If someone like Skwisgaar could ever be “close” to anyone. “No, that won’t be necessary. Really.”
“If dat ams speeds da t’ings ups!” declared Skwisgaar, snapping his fingers. “Chops chops!”
“Skwisgaar,” Charles began, silently telling himself it would do absolutely no good to point out to the demigod that he, Charles, as one of the richest men in the world, would probably not be greatly incented by payment. “It will be done … when it’s done.” There. That even sounded like some of Skwisgaar’s zany nihilism, maybe mixed with a Ganesh koan.
Just then the workshop door opened again. “Sariel! Here you are….” Upon spotting Skwisgaar, however, Ganesh suddenly halted. “But, I see you are very busy, so-“
“We ams does my seetar leskon laters?” inquired Skwisgaar at Ganesh’s rapidly retreating back.
“Er. Well, of course,” bustled Ganesh, reversing once again to enter the room. He scooped up Elias. “Look at you!” he told the boy.
“You ams not has da black plagues dis weeks?” asked Skwisgaar. “Or da appointments wit’ da uncsle Hindoo dudes?”
“Uh, no. No. Of course I’ll be there,” said Ganesh.
“And you ams not wearings somet’ings da ams five minutes out of fashions and ams gots to go shoppsing?” inquired Skwisgaar.
“Of course not!”
“Pffft. Den I ams sees you laters,” huffed Skwisgaar, heading out the door.
“Sitar lessons not going well?” Charles asked after the door had slammed shut behind Skwisgaar.
“Oh, they are going fine,” sighed Ganesh, setting down Elias and slumping over the workbench. “He is actually a better student than I, as he is committed, and practices a great deal. I simply despise sitar to the depths of my very soul.”
“I appreciate you doing this,” said Charles.
Ganesh nodded morosely. Though, like Charles, he was hundreds of years old, Charles thought Ganesh looked every inch the resentful teenager.
Or maybe the spoiled metal musician.
“How are things going with the guitar? This one looks lovely,” Ganesh commented.
“It’s…. It’s not,” said Charles. “It’s not going.” Charles stepped back and hopped up on a stool, grabbing a Gear logo water bottle. As was his habit, he sniffed at the water first before taking a swig. You never could be sure what you were drinking at Mordhaus.
“No?” inquired Ganesh.
“It’s the materials! The wood is just … wrong somehow.”
“Wrong?” asked Ganesh.
“Wong!” repeated Elias. Charles grinned and leaned over to pick up Elias.
“This is going to sound really weird,” said Charles. “It works OK in the construction, and the instrument has a good tone, but it doesn’t seem to wanna take my magic. I’ve started wondering if something’s wrong with me. If I’ve lost the knack?”
Ganesh ran a long-fingered hand along the guitar. “There is nothing I can see wrong with you nor your magic, jaanu. Have you asked Skwisgaar? He can see enchantment in inanimate objects, which I cannot.”
“You think it is the wood?” asked Sariel.
Ganesh gave a half-smile. “You will scold me for attempting another eco-lecture.” He looked up at Charles. “Yes, trees grow in response to the environment, and if that has not been kind lately….” He shrugged.
Charles frowned. No, he did not want an eco-lecture. “Fucking nature. Getting in the way of my guitars.”
“Fukkin nature!” said Elias.
“ELIAS!” said both fathers.
Charles pointed to Elias’ legs. “And when did this happen?”
“When did what happen?” asked Ganesh.
“His legs! They’re like 300 miles long now!” said Charles, holding out one of the boy’s skinny legs as Elias dissolved into giggles.
“Much like me-“ began Ganesh.
“At that age,” sighed Charles.
All laughed at a very loud rumble coming from a very small stomach. “Daddy, da tummy id hungry!” said Elias.
“Like you at any age,” said Ganesh. “Why don’t I get him something while you finish up here?” he offered.
“Yeah, that would be great. And, uh, could you get me a sandwich or something?”
“Yes, dear, I live to serve,” said Ganesh, taking Elias by the hand and escorting him out.
“Hey, this luthier business is hungry work!” Charles shouted after them. He picked up the guitar neck again and checked the fit. It was almost right this time, but needed just a touch more sanding.
“CHAAAAARLES!” hollered Nathan as he stamped into the workshop along with a dripping wet Pickles.
“Uh, hello, Nathan.”
“We were out golfing with Wotan and he has a golf course now and there are demons on it and it’s the coolest thing ever and why don’t we have something like that down here because we should drop everything and start in building right away because you won’t believe how badass it is!”
“Uh,” said Charles.
“It’s kinda cool,” agreed Pickles, blowing out one sopping dreadlock.
“But, we just finished construction on a golf course-“
“THAT WAS YESTERDAY!” said Nathan. “It’s nothing like Wotan’s golf course! That course is real brutal and metal!”
“But our course has a lake troll. Isn’t that metal?”
“Aw that thing it’s scared of our fucking cell phones. Aren’t you listening to me?” demanded Nathan.
“A golf course. Just like Wotan’s golf course,” sighed Charles.
“No not JUST LIKE WOTAN’S GOLF COURSE, ours will have to be BETTER!”
“A golf course that’s just like Wotan’s only better,” said Charles. “You do know, this will be an expense-“
“MONEY ISN’T EVERYTHING.”
“Yeah, tell that to somebody who hasn’t got any,” said Charles. “Uh, is your hair on fire, Nathan?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Golf course!” said Nathan, storming out, hair fizzing, Pickles dripping in his wake.
Charles put down the guitar parts and sank back onto his stool. “We have a lake troll!” he said.
“Yes, and it’s a very nice lake troll!”
“Raziel, do you have to sit on my workbench? Don’t you get sawdust up your ass?”
“Don’t be grumpy, Sariel,” scolded the little angel, who was indeed sitting on Charles’ workbench. She picked up a discarded piece of sandpaper and began to attack a hangnail with it.
“Everyone suddenly wants to hang out with Wotan!” Charles complained.
“Well, of course they do,” smiled Raziel. “My husband is very cool.”
“I wanna be cool!”
“Do you wanna be their dad, or their buddy?”
“Just their .. fucking ... manager,” said Charles, leaping down and kicking a scrap of wood.
“Wrong,” laughed Raziel, kicking her legs.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
Raziel frowned. “Wotan wanted me to come personally,” she said, suddenly sounding serious.
“No leads on Gog and Magog I take it.”
Raziel shook her head, tracing a finger through the sawdust on the bench. “Wotan thinks we might need to-”
“...talk to Him,” grunted Charles.
“Well, you notice I'm not volunteering,” said Raziel.
“It's OK. I'll go.”
“You'll do what?” asked Raziel.
“I'll go,” said Charles, leaning against the workbench and fiddling with the guitar pieces.
“You don't have to, you know. We could just send the husbands again.”
“One of us needs to go. We need to send someone who knows just how fucked up that twisted old bastard can be.”
“Will you talk to him, or will you stab him in the gut?”
“Maybe a little of both.”
”That's my Little Brother!” grinned Raziel.
Ganesh finished tuning the sitar and handed it off to Skwisgaar, who seated himself cross-legged on the mat opposite of Ganesh. Ganesh then picked up his own instrument and swiftly put it through the paces, his long-fingered left hand flickering swiftly and precisely up and down the neck.
“You ams does dat quickly,” said Skwisgaar, who valued speed above all else in musicianship.
“Many centuries of practicing,” grumbled Ganesh. Although Ganesh was generally a kind soul, sitars always put him in an irritable mood.
“Maybe I ams has da centuries to practices,” said Skwisgaar.
“Yes. And maybe you won't,” Ganesh told him. “Shall we begin?”
“You amsn't t'inks I ams immortals like you?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Difficult to tell. Until you die, of course,” reasoned Ganesh.
“Some of my dad's sons, dey's half gods like me.”
Ganesh frowned, unconsciously fingering his sitar, much in the way Skwisgaar would compulsively play his Gibson. He halted, staring at Skwisgaar. “Yes, many of Uncle Wotan's sons were half human. You don't know them though. They died, long ago.”
“I ams t'inks I ams immortals, like yous,” said Skwisgaar.
“Well, good luck with that. Shall we begin?”
“Why you ams beings such a dick today, Ganoshes?”
“As I have conveyed to you before, I was forced to attend many, many years of sitar lessons. It does not bring back happy memories.”
“You ams da gods! You ams brought up as da gods. What kinds of problems ams you has?”
“Skwisgaar! My own father sliced off my head when I was an infant!” said Ganesh, making a slashing motion with his hand. “Are you suggesting this was an idyllic childhood?”
“But you ams gots da badsasses heffalump heads, and dens you gots da sexy guy heads, and girls likes you, even though you ams not likes da girls....” said Skwisgaar, counting off on his fingers.
“Is this about how many women I could fuck? Skwisgaar, I am married to an angel! I haven't any interest in your band … followers.”
“Oh, too good for dem, huh?”
Ganesh fumed, gnashing his fine white teeth. “No, I am-”
“You just wants to hangs around wit' other gods like my dads.”
“YOU are just like your father!”
“I ams?” asked Skwisgaar, who genuinely seemed taken aback.
“Skwisgaar-” said Ganesh. He paused, and set the hated sitar down, trying to calm himself. “Skwisgaar,” he said more softly. “Being a god is not about going around picking up sexual partners. It is a responsibility. An awesome responsibility. This is something it took even your father, who is not a stupid man, a long time to recognize-”
Skwisgaar sneered. “Pffft.”
Ganesh’s dark eyes blazed. “Don't you take that tone with me!” he snapped.
“Now you ams sounds likes my father!”
“Good! That's is a good thing! I wish to sound like Uncle Wotan! It is time you listened to people like your father! And.... And grew the fuck up!”
Skwisgaar was on his feet, Ganesh following a half second later. “I t'oughts you ams cool! You ams just likes da rests of dem! You ams just like dat uptights asshole, Charles!”
Ganesh glowered. “You may insult me, but I am not going to stand here and let you speak ill of Sariel!”
“You know whats? You know whats? I ams shows yous da insults!” said Skwisgaar, suddenly hefting his sitar. He swung the long, awkward instrument up and brought it crashing down on the floor, breaking the long neck in half.
“I'll show you,” said Ganesh. He seized his own sitar, swung it up even higher than Skwisgaar had, and slammed it down, smashing it into a million pieces.
The two men stood for a while, staring at the wreckage on the floor.
Ganesh regarded at the broken wooden neck in his hand. “Damn,” he said. “Damn. I've wanted to do that for centuries. Centuries!”
“Huh,” said Skwisgaar, surveying the damage. He tossed the broken sitar neck from his own hand down on the pile of broking instrument and said, “Wants to gets da drinks?”
“Actually,” said Ganesh. “Actually, yes. I would very much like to get a drink.” He tossed his guitar neck down as well, and, hooking an arm around Skwisgaar, the two men left the rehearsal room.
“Boonie! How's my baby?” asked Raziel.
“Boonie id not da baby, id dis many!” the child explained as doting Auntie Raziel held him.
“That many? Wow, you're nearly as old as me.”
“No one is as old as you, Raziel,” grumbled Charles.
The two angels stuck their tongues out at each other, as rational adults often do.
“So you are off to see the Creator, Sariel?” asked Wotan. “Are ye sure you want to go alone?”
“Just look after him this afternoon. I feel better when he's up here.”
“Kids! Boonie is here!” screamed Raziel, causing the twins to stampede in from wherever they had been.
“What did I tell you about muddy feet on the ceiling!” said Wotan as Liam and Abby giggled overhead. They turned and ran down the wall and across the floor to tackle their cousin. Then the three children turned and rushed out of the room, Elias' faithful wolf pup bounding after them.
“Sometimes when I see them, I wish....” Charles started.
“What?” asked Raziel, seizing his arm.
“That I could remember being a kid.”
“Now you can remember Boon being a kid!” reasoned Raziel.
“It's been a long time ago. But I was very mischievous!” said Wotan.
“A long time ago? You mean up until last year?” Raziel asked Wotan.
“Ganesh always says that too,” Charles told Wotan.
“We were all brats!” laughed Wotan.
“Where is Ganesh, anyway?” asked Raziel.
“Tied up in sitar lessons,” said Charles, with a funny half smile. “Him and Skwisgaar. I don’t wanna get in the middle.”
“That oughta put him in a great mood.”
“Yeah, I might be better off hanging out with Father this afternoon,” said Charles.
Charles felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ye know the Creator and His trickery better than I,” Wotan said. “We need to know of the giants. No more, no less. Don’t let him get ye sidetracked!”
“I will try to keep the meeting short,” said Charles. He winced as Raziel went up on tiptoes and gave him a kiss. He nodded, and Walked back to Mordhaus, where he encountered an unexpected sight in the suite he shared with Ganesh.
“Sariel!” laughed Ganesh, who was sitting at the bar, arm draped over Skwisgaar.
“Dere ams Charles!” said Skwisgaar, as if greeting an old friend.
“Uh,” said Charles. “Isn't it a little early-”
“For sitar practice!” said Ganesh, raising his martini glass. Skiwsgaar raised his own glass and clinked.
“OK. Good. Well, Boon is up at Valhalla, so I'll leave you to, uh, practice.”
“Nooooooo!” said Ganesh coming around the bar and grabbing Charles by the arm.
“We ams escortsing you!” announced Skwisgaar, grabbing his other arm.
“What? Uh, no, I don't think that's a good idea,” said Charles.
“We are not letting you go alone, my dear one,” said Ganesh.
“No, you ams our little pals, and we ams sticks by yous,” said Skwisgaar.
“Guys! That really won't be necessary,” protested Charles.
“Of course it is necessary,” said Ganesh. “Come along, Skiwsgaar. Can't keep YHWH cooling his heels in my living room....” And with that, Charles found himself dragged through time and space to the living room at Ganesh's residence, where awaited, the All Being, All Knowing, All Powerful.
“Sariel?” said the Creator. “Sri Ganesha. And, this-”
“I ams Skwisgaar Skwigelf!” said Skwisgaar, weaving over to stand nose to nose with the Creator. “I ams da demigods!” he elaborated, “Da Odinssons!”
“Charmed,” said the Creator, who quite obviously wasn't.
“And I ams here to make sure you ams nice to Charles,” said Skwisgaar, waving an unsteady arm in Charles’ general direction. “Because he ams our pal!”
The Creator cocked his head at Skwisgaar. “I promise to conduct myself with all discretion,” he told the guitarist. “Sariel, where is my grandson?”
“Elias is away today,” said Charles, exchanging a glance with Ganesh. “We have matters to discuss.”
“That boy is the light of my life,” said the Creator.
“As he is ours,” said Ganesh, who seemed to have sobered up.
“Perhaps now that you have a son of your own, we might share more of an understanding,” the Creator told Charles.
“I worry about him sometimes,” Charles admitted as Ganesh's arm tightened around him.
“Sons are not easy. If I had it to do again, I would have had a Grandson,” said the Creator.
“Dat ams why I ams has no kids,” explained Skwisgaar.
“Then you are a fool,” barked the Creator.
“Pffft. You ams has da kids whats not talks to you!” he said, indicating Charles.
“You've gotten a bit big for your britches, musician,” said the Creator.
“At least I ams nots da outmodsed theologiskal concepts,” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“Cocktails!” said Ganesh suddenly. “Skwisgaar, we need to make everybody cocktails. Come,” he said, hooking an elbow around the surprised guitarist and marching him out of the room, the Creator glowering after them.
“Doesn't that fool know who I am?” growled the Creator.
“He knows. He just doesn't care,” said Charles. “Now. Gog and Magog.”
“Yes. They have 'scaped the abyss,” said the Creator casually.
“You knew about this?”
“Yes. Of course. Your friend King Wotan was a bit rash when he decided to take out my servant, Lucifer. That individual was always a burr in the side, but he had his uses.”
“So Lucifer sent Abaddon to guard the gate?” asked Charles.
“No, that was originally my doing,” said the Creator, seating himself on one of Ganesh's couches. “Abaddon is a simple sort. Typical demon. I told him to finish his crossword puzzle, and kill anyone who tried to pass.”
“I work with a demon. They're not all simple, Father.”
“Do you mean to teach me demonology, Sariel?”
“You would need to be willing learn,” said Charles, his eyes glinting silver. “I want to know about Gog and Magog.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“Everything.”
“So, you have set aside an eternity for this?” smiled the Creator.
“Cocktails!” sang Ganesh, who was in full four-armed mode. He set down a tray or two on the low table between Charles and the Creator. “And I have brought your tea, Uncle-ji,” he told the Creator. Ganesh, seeming oblivious to the tension in the room, sat down next to Charles, making a grand show of pouring tea and distributing glasses. Charles looked over at Skwisgaar, who silently slouched into the chair at the end of the table. The guitarist propped booted feet up on the table, meriting a glare from the Creator.
Charles took a generous swig of his martini, letting the warm feel of the alcohol steady him.
“You ams not drinks?” Skwisgaar asked the Creator.
“I do not imbibe,” the Creator told him sternly.
“I ams hears da stories abouts da waters into wine,” said Skwisgaar.
“Drink sadly afflicted my only begotten Son,” said the Creator, irritably stirring his tea. “I raised him with the best values. And then He repaid me by spending His time misinterpreting my laws, swilling alcoholic beverages and consorting with entirely the wrong sort of people.”
Ganesh glanced at Charles. “Sore point,” Charles whispered.
“Who did he think he was? The Buddha?” sighed the Creator.
“Gautama is our neighbor at my parent's summer vacation estate,” confided Ganesh.
“Really?” asked the Creator.
“Mmm. My father fought with him endlessly.”
“Over doctrinal matters?” asked the Creator.
“Oh. He was always bitching to the tenant's association about our loud parties. Claimed he was seeking enlightenment. Ha! Anyway, won’t you have a samosa, Uncle-ji?” urged Ganesh, indicating a tray.
“Oh, I think that I might,” said the Creator, snatching up a tasty snack. “Ah! My compliments to your cook.”
“I will convey your compliments,” said Ganesh.
“Father, you made the abyss, and built the wall, just to contain Gog and Magog, correct?” asked Charles.
The old man sighed. “You will need to understand this. I wanted to keep my creations safe from the Elders. Because I know them. And they’re a bunch of colossal assholes. Thus, I needed to build an army first thing. Such as you, Sariel, you were my greatest achievement,” said the Creator, not looking up. Ganesh put one of many hands lightly on Charles’ arm.
“You ams makes da angels to fights?” asked Skwisgaar, helping himself to a samosa.
“Yes, that is correct,” said the Creator.
“Dat ams pretty cool, actuallies,” said Skwisgaar. “Dey ams prettie badass.”
“I am glad of your approval,” sniffed the Creator. “But this was earlier in my career. So I may have gone a tad … overboard on my first few tries.”
“The giants?” asked Ganesh. The Creator nodded. “My people have had … unfortunate encounters with those of their race.”
“You exterminated them, didn’t you?” inquired the Creator.
“Well, that was the result of warfare…” hedged Ganesh
“You were wise,” said the Creator, sipping his masala tea. “Unfortunately, I have a well-developed soft spot for my creations, chief among them your human predecessors, musician,” he added, eyeing Skwisgaar.
“I ams glads of your softs spots,” said Skwisgaar.
“As for Gog and Magog’s current whereabouts, and their intentions, I have little idea. My only suggestion would be to check their most recent known location for information.”
“You’re suggesting we go into the abyss?” asked Charles. “The abyss?”
“You wanted my advice, Sariel. Now you have it. Thank you for the tea. May I expect to see my grandson here again next week when I appear?” he asked, rising and brushing samosa crumbs from his overalls.
“Yes,” said Ganesh, rising as well. “Er. Barring unforeseen circumstances.”
But the Creator was already gone.
Charles had not bothered to rise. “The abyss? FUCK!” he said. “That old bastard never changes,” he grumbled, slumping back and setting his feet up on the table. Ganesh sat back down beside him, twisting up into a lotus position and pouring himself another drink.
“We goes down into da bottomsless pits now?” asked Skwisgaar.
“No. You are not going on this one,” said Charles.
“And why nots! I ams readies for the nother adventures!”
“I’m not,” grumbled Charles. “And Skwisgaar, one thing I might point out, I can fly! You can’t!”
“Pffft! So you ams takes Toki?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well, maybe,” said Charles. “I hadn’t considered. But him and William….”
“Den I ams goes too! Toki ams stupids, and needs someone to proteckticle hims.”
“Your boys have proved brave and resourceful on previous occasions,” reasoned Ganesh.
“I’m not gonna decide now,” said Charles. “It’s a dumb idea!” He frowned and pulled out a ringing Dethphone. “Yeah, what is it Raziel? Wait, you what? You and the ‘wheelie deals’ found it? Huh. Yeah, this might be good. No, he’s gone. Yeah.” Charles muttered something in Angelic, which Ganesh recognized to be a very creatively worded curse. “Yeah, we’re on our way,” he said, pulling himself up off the couch. “Raziel got our librarians to unearth some kind of documents about the abyss. Hopefully we’re not going anywhere near that shit.”
“When are we going to the ABYSS?” asked Nathan breathlessly the moment Charles reappeared in his office.
“What? How do you even-?”
“Raziel told me!” said Nathan.
“And how did Raziel-? GANESH!” said Charles as the Hindu god looked distinctly guilty. “Do you really have to text Raziel with every little detail?”
“Actually, I have posted it to my Bumblr,” grinned Ganesh.
Charles glowered and took out his Dethphone. “How does this post have ten thousand re-Bumbl’s already? And where did you find time to make an animated GIF photo set of a bottomless pit?”
“Oh, Edgar forwarded me that,” grinned Ganesh.
“Hey, doods!” said Pickles from the doorway.
“I suppose you’re gonna tell me you wanna explore the abyss too?” sighed Charles.
“No feckin’ way,” said Pickles, plopping into a chair. “I’m steerin’ clear o’ dat shit.”
“Pickles, you gotta come!” urged Nathan. It’ll be so badass. And maybe there will be pit chicks!”
“Ja, dey ams bound to be da pit ladies!” agreed Skwisgaar.
“OK, you guys are not going into the abyss to pick up women!” vowed Charles.
“Cockblocker!” snapped Nathan.
“Anyways,” said Pickles, “I’m jest waitin’ fer Lady Raz t’ get here an’ tell us a story.”
“What?” asked Charles.
“Hi everybody! Ready for story time?” sang Raziel, who was trailing a toddler or three, plus Toki and William Murderface.
“Raziel, I thought you said you found literature about the abyss?”
“Yeah, Sariel, your wheelie deals and I poked around in the Angelic section and found this!”
Charles took the dusty tome. “Down in a Hole into the Abyss, and What Layne Found There? Raziel, this is a kid’s book!”
“Yeah it is! Those are the best kind! They have pictures!” said Raziel, turning to a page with old fashioned engravings.
“Raziel, why should we even bother with this?” asked Charles.
“I dunno, the pictures look kinda cool,” opined Nathan.
Charles sat down behind his desk, chin in hands. He scowled as Raziel hopped up to sit on his desk. “Raziel!” he said.
“Aw, c’mon Sariel. Just listen to the first few chapters.”
“No! Absolutely not! I am not wasting my time with this!” declared Charles, crossing his arms in a determined manner.
It was growing late, and Sariel found himself growing bored of reading Dethklok’s financial reports. Since he was nodding off, he reached over to the far corner of his desk and hefted the stupid book Raziel had found. He pulled it over and started flipping through the pages. He found that his eyes weren’t much up to reading right now, though, not even a children’s book, so he contented himself with examining the many weird illustrations. They looked somehow strangely familiar. He turned the page. Funny, he didn’t remember this two-headed character when he had read the story before.
He wondered how late it had gotten. He had taken off his wristwatch some hours earlier and laid it out on the desk so he could better keep track of time. This worked as well as it ever did: not at all.
Sariel was just reaching over to grab the watch when something furry and fast scurried across his desk. His first thought was that a rat had escaped from the dungeons, but it was just too damned big for even a Mordhaus rodent. He jumped up to see where it might have gone, dismayed to see that it had somehow snatched his watch as it hopped off the desk.
He spotted it already hopping towards the door: the most ungainly rodent he had ever espied. It looked something like a gremlin wearing a threadbare rabbit costume, although Sariel could not claim experience having seen a gremlin.
And then to his even greater surprise, the rabbit-thing started to talk. “Ams late for da important dates! Wit’ a ladyperson!” he added, taking a look at Sariel’ watch.
“Hey! You!” yelled Sariel. “Give that back! That’s a Vacheron Constantin!”
But the rabbit ignored him and hopped right on out his office door. Sariel hastened after it, down one corridor after another, down a stairwell and then another, down into Mordhaus’ deepest recesses.
Sariel rounded a corner in one of the dungeon areas only to see the rabbit thing popping into a wide crack in one of the walls.
“We gotta get an exterminator down here,” sighed Sariel. He crouched down near the wall and peered into the crack, which was actually large enough for a man who wasn’t William Murderface to crawl through. It was very dark in the dungeon, and even darker inside the hole, so he couldn’t see anything. It seemed to go down forever. He leaned over, farther and farther, looking for the bottom.
Just then Nathan must have turned on his stereo or some such because Mordhaus suddenly shook to its very foundations, causing Sariel to overbalance and topple right over into the hole. Down and down he fell, for, annoyingly enough, although the hole didn’t seem to have a bottom, it was too narrow for Sariel to True Form and sprout his wings. So he simply kept falling, glowering all the time at the walls which, oddly enough, were decorated with many gold records and vintage guitars. “Why are we decorating the dungeon walls?” he thought grumpily, passing a vintage Stratocaster. “What a waste of money.”
Finally, after what might have been many hours, or even days, he came to the bottom, landing softly on a giant pile of used potato chip bags. “So this is what becomes of them when we don’t sort the recycling,” he thought to himself, wondering if any of the bags still had chips, as it had been a long fall, and he was getting a might peckish. But he had little time for such contemplations, because just then he spotted that rascally rabbit bounding off down the hall.
Sariel skidded around a corner just in time to see the rabbit disappear through a doggie door. Sariel ran to the door, but unfortunately, it was locked, and it resisted his best efforts to kick it down. He looked around, and noticed something he hadn’t before: there was an end table, a really big end table. And something up on top of it. Being too short to get up to the enormous table, Sariel took off his shirt and True Formed, and flew on up to the top. There were two items there: a little golden key shaped like a flying V guitar, and a pie.
So of course, Sariel (who always had his priorities straight) first sat down and ate the pie, every last scrap. And then as he was rubbing his greedy angel belly and looking around for more pastries, he suddenly did two things: he let loose a very large angel burp, and suddenly grew to sixteen sizes bigger.
Needless to say, this made his angel butt far too large for the end table, so he fell right down, breaking the table to pieces. This also made him almost too big for the small room he was in. So he now lay on the floor, uncomfortable scrunched up.
“Well, this sucks,” said Sariel, who was still wondering if there was more pie to be found.
“Sariel, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Raziel,” said Sariel. “What the fuck are you doing? Did you follow me down the rabbit-thing hole?”
“No, I've been here,” said Raziel, who was still Raziel-sized, and in winged Form. She was now buzzing around Sariel like an impatient moth. “Down in the abyss. We're all waiting for you! What the fuck is taking you so long?”
“I've been eating pie,” said Sariel, patting his stomach in a satisfied manner.
Didn't you find the Scotch?”
“What Scotch!”
“The Scotch I put here so you could grow small enough to fit through the doggie door!”
“Raziel,” said Sariel. “Why wouldn't I just use the key and open the damn door?”
“Oh, there's a key?”
“Up on the table! Or I guess it's down on the table now.” Sariel looked, but it was a long way to see around his ass at present.
“Huh. Well, scotch the Scotch, I guess.” Raziel pulled out her cell phone. “You stay here. I'm gonna call Cousin Poseidon and ask for help.”
“Hey, does your cell phone work down here?” asked Sariel. But Raziel had already disappeared. He wondered where he had tossed his jacket, which had his own cell phone in the pocket. He reached a hand to feel the floor underneath him, and came up with a small bottle. “Hey, the Scotch!” he said approvingly. It took him a moment to get it open, as his fingers were large and clumsy, but then he drank down the whole thing, as the pie had make him thirsty, and also, it was Wotan's good Scotch.
And then, poof! He was suddenly smaller. Much smaller. In fact, he was now small enough to fit through the doggie door.
“Hey, waddya know! Raziel was right!” said Sariel, who was rather amazed at this fact. “Now, where's my damned cell phone?” he said aloud, even though there was no one else there, because Sariel is a bit weird.
“RAZIEL!”
“What?”
Charles leaned over his desk to where Raziel was still sitting on top of it, reading her book aloud.
“Is this really what's written in the book? It sounds awfully familiar.”
“Well, I'm taking some artistic license, translating from Angelic to English. I'd like to preserve the poetry of the original!”
“What poetry? Angelic isn’t poetic?”
“I find it rather poetic, sir,” said Klokateer 31415, commonly known as Pie, who had, strangely enough, also invited himself in to hear Raziel’s idiot story.
Charles sighed. “Anyway, I don't see how your fairy story-”
“There hasn't been a single fairy! I mean, not yet,” said Raziel.
“I don't see how your fairy story is gonna help us!” said Charles.
“I ams wants to hears da rest of da story!” declared Toki, even though he was sitting on the floor playing with a Gameboy.
“Yeah, quit interrupting and let her finish!” declared Nathan. “How many kids stories are about drinking Scotch? This could be good. As long as it doesn’t start sucking, I mean.”
There were now several cries for “Story!” So Charles bowed to the inevitable and let Raziel continue.
Sariel, who was now small sized, thanks to Wotan’s good Scotch, headed for the little doggie door. He spotted something golden on the floor: it was the little golden key shaped like a Flying V guitar. “Hey, this might be useful!” he said, thinking perhaps somewhere along the line he could trade it for more pie or something.
But just then, he heard a rushing noise. It was a tremendous tsunami of rushing water, breaking right for him. There was no time to run, so he braced as the great tide bore him right through the door and into a strange dark world.
When the tide had finally receded, Sariel grumbled and picked himself up. There’s nothing as angry as a wet angel! He saw a light ahead, and decided to make his way up the path to see if someone had a fire going where he could dry his wings.
He came to a clearing where there was a huge outdoor bar stocked with every sort of alcoholic beverage you might ever imagine. However it was nearly empty: only the barstools on the very end were occupied, by two very familiar looking figures.
“Wait, you guys are still drinking together?” asked Sariel.
“Welcome to our cocktail party! Would you like some tea?” asked Ganesh, who was wearing an amazing top hat.
“But there isn’t any tea here,” said Sariel, “just booze!”
“Dats what you ams gets invitsing yourself to our mad cockstails parties like dats,” sneered Skwisgaar, who was wearing a hat festooned with bunny ears, and playing a Gibson.
“So you guys are the Mad Hatter and the March Hare?” asked Sariel, who was pretty sure he had read this story some time before. He started to help himself to a tasty martini.
“Mad? Why I am not angry at all!” declared Ganesh.
“Naw, he ams da nice guys,” attested the March Skwisgaar.
“I am a haberdasher. And if you are going to stay here, you will need a nice hat, like we have,” said Ganesh, reaching behind the counter.
“I don’t like hats! They give me hat hair!” complained Sariel, who nevertheless found himself now also wearing a top hat.
“Times to switches places!” announced Skwisgaar.
“Oh, yes it is!” agreed Ganesh, consulting a pocket watch. “Everybody move up one stool!”
Sariel found himself jostled into the next stool by Skwisgaar, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except Skwisgaar took possession of the frosty martini Sariel had just poured. “Hmpf.”
“So, why ams you heres in da Abyskes, drinksing our cockstails?” inquired Skwisgaar, who was greedily sipping Sariel’s martini.
“I lost my watch, actually,” said Sariel, who now opened himself a beer.
“Oh, would you like mine?” asked Ganesh generously handing the pocket watch over to Sariel.
Sariel reached over the grab the watch. It nearly slipped from his fingers. “What’s the greasy stuff on it?” asked Sariel.
“Butter. It needed greasing!” explained the Ganesh Hatter. “And I have a butter endorsement deal!” He proudly brought out a tray of butter from behind the counter.
“Whoa!”’ said Sariel, suddenly hopping up on the bar and hanging his head over to peek. “Do you got any pie back there?”
“Heys!” yelled the March Skwisgaar, as Sariel’s wing upset his martini. “Watches dose t’ings.”
“Yeah,” said Sariel. “Sorry,” even though he was really not VERY sorry, as Skwisgaar had kind of stolen his drink. “I could transform, but I lost my shirt in the flood.”
“Oh, you have come to the right place!” declared the not-so-mad Haberdasher. Ganesh pulled out a clothing rack from behind the bar.
“Oh, great,” said Sariel, who was glad to get rid of his awkward and still damp wings. “You got anything like a white shirt with a red tie?” he asked as he Court Formed.
“I have the perfect combination!” said Ganesh, who was already pulling a men’s dress shirt onto Sariel.
“Uh, Ganesh, this is a pink shirt,” said Sariel.
“Ams very fashionababble,” laughed Skwisgaar.
“The last one in your size!” said Ganesh.
“You don’t have a jacket or something?” sighed Sariel.
“I have a waistcoat, so you can keep your watch in your pocket,” said Ganesh, pulling out a grey vest.
“Well, as long as it covers up the pink,” said Sariel, as Ganesh was already putting it on.
“Don’t you look handsome?” asked Ganesh, admiring his work.
“Well, that’s very nice.” Sariel pulled out Ganesh’s watch to put in his pocket. He frowned and shook the watch. “Hey, you know this watch stopped?”
“Yes, more’s the pity. We ran afoul of Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog and they broke it.”
“Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog? Wait, that wasn’t in the book,” said Charles, who had read that particular story rather a lot, as it explained many things about managing a metal band.
“Whats books?” asked Skwisgaar.
“And now, alas and alack, it is always cocktail hour here in the Abyss,” sighed Ganesh over his frosty beverage.
“Always cocktail hour? How the hell do you ever get anything done if you’re permanently sloppy like this?” For Sariel prized productivity above all things. That and a good wristwatch.
“Dat ams da points. We ams get nothings dones.”
“So how did you annoy Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog?” asked Sariel.
“Oh, I was supposed to recite a poem, but it kept going awfully wrong,” said Ganesh. “You know, ‘And now my bitter hands/Cradle broken glass….’”
“Of course I know that one!” said Sariel.
“You can’t recite it here,” sighed Ganesh.
“Yes you can! Let me have a try!” Skwisgaar played a very familiar chord, and then Sariel started
And now my mittened hands
Cradle mopey ass
Of leaking kitchen sinks
All the bitter hats
All them ducks gone quack
Achoo-d everything
“Wait, that’s not right,” said Sariel. “I’ll try again…”
All the pie gone bad
Gave my face a smack
Cartooned all I see
All that I smell
All I’ll pee….
“OK, now I sound like fucking Murderface.” Grumbled Sariel. “Why can’t I do it right?”
“Well, he does tend to mumble. But you are right, that is pretty far off,” commented Ganesh.
Suddenly, there was the sound of hoof beats. The three parties looked up as a white knight rode in on a great white horse. He rode up almost all the way to the bar, raised his sword as if he was about to chop their heads off. Oddly enough, though Sariel dove behind the bar for cover, Ganesh and Skwisgaar didn’t move. Sariel soon saw why: just before he reached the bar, the white knight fell right off his horse, hitting his head on the ground with a loud smack.
“Ow! MY ASS!” he said, in a very familiar voice.
“Are you all right?” said Sariel, jumping back over the bar to aid the White Knight.
“No, I’m fine, little pink dude!” said Nathan, as Sariel pulled off his helmet.
“Hims ams always does dat,” commented the March Skwisgaar.
“Few bricks shy of a load,” whispered Ganesh, pointing to his own head.
“Guys!” shouted Nathan, who had leapt to his feet, apparently uninjured from the terrible fall. “You gotta help me! We gotta slay THE JABBERWOCK!”
“Pffft! Nots anudder Jabberswokling,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Aw, c’mon guys! It’s got jaws that BITE! And claws that CATCH!” said Nathan as Ganesh fixed him up with a lovely top hat.
“Why not stay and have a lovely cocktail first,” said Ganesh, giving the hat a final pat in place.
“OK, yeah, sure, Jabberwock hunting is THIRSTY WORK,” agreed the Nathan Knight, who seemed rather easily distracted from his mission.
“Can I get one of those?” whined Sariel as Ganesh the Not Mad Hatter started shaking more martinis.
“You ams goings to tips the bartenders?” asked Skwisgaar.
“What?” asked Sariel. “I thought this was a cocktail party?”
“Dis ams da no hosts bar,” Skwisgaar explained.
“The abyss sucks,” grumbled Sariel. “Well, I left my wallet in my other jacket, which was probably lost in the stupid flood.” He felt in his pants pocket and brought out the golden flying V key, which he tossed casually on the bar.
“Oooo!” said everyone.
“Dat ams cools!” said Skwisgaar, picking it up. “Gibsons!”
“Where did you get this? Not in the abyss!” said Nathan.
“Is it unusual?” asked Sariel.
“Dude,” said the Nathan Knight, “we got lots of locks here, but no keys. It kind of sucks.”
“So what do you think it unlocks?” asked Sariel.
“No fucking clue,” said Nathan.
“You know who we should ams asks about dats?” said Skwisgaar.
“The caterpillar dude?” asked Nathan.
“Oh, yes, he is a knowledgeable fellow!” agreed Ganesh.
“I bet he’s a sky high fellow,” said Sariel, who, as I’ve mentioned, had read this book before. “So where do we find the caterpillar?”
“Aw, he’s just down the road, through the DARK AND SCARY WOODS!” shrugged Nathan.
Sariel looked in the direction Nathan was pointing. Indeed, the woods were dark and scary. The trees rustled in the wind, moving their branches in what almost seemed a threatening manner. He somehow expected to see Snow White running through, but that was a different fairy tale.
“You sure there’s gonna be no fairies, Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Not yet,” said Raziel.
“Well, I think it’s time we called a halt for tonight. We’ve got some sleepyheads!” Charles pointed to the couch, where Elias was drowsing on Nathan’s lap, and Nathan in turn had slumped over, his head on Ganesh’s shoulder, snoring (and drooling) away.
“Well, OK, you wanna continue tomorrow night?” There were eager nods from the waking members of Dethklok, as well as a good variety of Klokateers (who really should have had something better to do) and scientists and various other folks who also seemed to have found their way into Charles’ office.
“So you think that Raziel’s nutty story … means something?” asked Charles.
Ganesh looked up from his laptop and leaned back against the headboard. “I think it has a prophetic quality, yes.”
“You know I don’t like the P word,” Charles grumbled, slipping into bed beside him. “And what the hell happened with the sitar lessons?”
“Oh!” grinned Ganesh. “I was able to employ some of the freeing milieu of rock and roll to the genre!”
“Seems like you broke you sitar?”
“Well. Yes,” chuckled Ganesh. He set the laptop aside and ran a few fingers along Charles’ chest. “But you could make me another.”
“You think I could just make any damn thing?” asked Charles, leaning back against the pillows.
“Of course you could. And you could show Boonie. It would be so terribly cultural and all that.”
“Boon would enjoy that,” said Charles, whose mind was already drifting to many pleasant hours in the workroom with his son. “But wait!” he said, pushing gently back on Ganesh, who had meanwhile slid over on top of him. “I take the trouble to learn sitar making, and then you use it to smash Skwisgaar over the head?”
“Can you think of a better use?” laughed Ganesh.
“Uh-uh. I think we’re gonna have to impose a no smashing rule.”
“Oh, you’re no fun,” Ganesh said into Charles’ neck.
“And another thing,” said Charles, pushing Ganesh back again. “You wouldn’t put me in a pink shirt, would you?”
“It would look lovely with your coloring. But no. It would conflict with your personality. Perhaps a nice navy blue.”
“Navy blue?” said Charles.
“It would look good with a nice red tie,” whispered Ganesh.
But then Charles was no longer thinking about red ties, or pink shirts, or top hats.
And then some time later he was drifting off. And then he was on a pathway. Just outside a dark and deep woods....
