Sunday Dinner (Mythklok, Chapter 92)
Mar. 21st, 2012 05:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Sunday Dinner (Mythklok, Chapter 92)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dinner in the Heavens, plus more story time.
Warnings: Jabberwocks and sparkling pies.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: it does not contain saliva.
So last week: we built a guitar, smashed a sitar, had samosas with the Creator, and read a story .
“Sunday dinner!” enthused Charles.
“Sunday dinner,” grumbled Ganesh. “Be grateful you only have to bear it once a month.”
“Oh, I could do this every night!” said Charles, who was sitting on the floor next to Elias in the boy’s room, going through a laundry basket. He held up some elephant overalls next to his son.
“Id short daddy!” laughed Elias, pointing to the gap between the end of the pant legs and the end of his actual legs.
“Why does nothing fit?” asked Charles, tossing the overalls back in the basket.
“It is called growing up,” said Ganesh, who was sitting up on Elias’ bed, legs twisted up into a yoga position, looking very much like a devotional statue of himself.
“You’re not gonna grow up, right?” Charles asked Elias. “You’re gonna stay just like this?”
“Daddy id silly!” said the child, who was no fool.
“I’ve gotta find something from your Auntie Sarasvati that still fits him,” said Charles, tossing away the overalls and going back to the basket. He extracted a lacy black bra and fixed it with a stare. “I need to talk to the laundry Klokateers again.”
“Are you entirely certain that is not yours, darling?” asked Ganesh. Charles replied by sticking out his tongue and slingshotting the bra at Ganesh. Ganesh skillfully grabbed it in midair and draped it stylishly around his neck.
“Daddy, dat id not powite!” Elias earnestly told Charles.
“What, Boon?” asked Charles.
“No more brassiere tossing?” asked Ganesh sadly. “That will negatively impact my social life.”
“Tickin’ da tun’ oud,” said Elias, demonstrating by protruding his own tongue. “Wanty Was id sad dat id not powite!”
“Raziel told you! SHE’S our arbiter now?” asked Charles.
“Uh-huh!” said Elias.
“I believe the Lady has been attempting to bring some semblance of order to the behavior of the twins recently,” chuckled Ganesh.
“Who’s gonna bring order to her behavior?” asked Charles, now arm deep in the laundry basket.
“Wut da feck are yoo guys doin’?” asked Pickles, who had just invited himself in. He gazed around at the kids clothing, which Charles had tossed every which way in frustration. Ganesh grinned from up on the bed and waggled his bra scarf.
“We must keep up with the demands of fashion,” said Ganesh.
“We’re going to dinner, so I need something that still fits our monster kid,” sighed Charles, unhappily now holding up a woefully short pair of jeans with little elephant patches. Elias laughed and started to walk around Frankenstein-style, roaring like a monster. “I don’t think he can fit any of Sarasvati’s presents any more.”
“Well, she shall simply go buy him more,” reasoned Ganesh. “I really doubt it will be a hardship for her. We can tell her this afternoon.”
“Yoo gaht dinner wit’ da Hindoo doods?” inquired Pickles, his eyes suddenly lighting up.
“Yeah, you wanna come with?” asked Charles. “Auntie Sarasvati loves to have more people to feed.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ganesh, suddenly coming off the bed and holding Pickles by the shoulders. “Please come! Do! Perhaps you can keep me from murdering Vishnu Uncle!”
“Yoo don’t have t’ ask twice, dood,” said Pickles, who was now grinning from ear to ear. “Yer relatives have da best shit in da yooniverse.”
“Well, Brahma Uncle grows it right in the Heavens,” explained Ganesh, who was suddenly looking thoughtful. “So it is completely organic.”
“Ganesh,” said Charles, who was fixing their child into jeans that remained long enough for his legs. “No getting high beforehand. You remember what happened last time.”
“That was not my fault,” said Ganesh, his gaze darkening.
“I’ll go git changed and meet yoo doods back here,” said Pickles, who was wondering where he might have left his one and only tie.
“If you need to borrow a tie…” Charles called after him.
“All yer ties gaht kid spit awn ‘em!” Pickles called back.
“Not all of them,” Charles fumed, pulling a shirt over Elias’ head.
“Oh, heavens, who fusses with a tie?” asked Ganesh.
“Not everybody looks good wearing a garbage bag,” sniffed Charles, pulling an elephant cap on Elias.
“I would never wear a garbage bag,” laughed Ganesh. “That is sooo last season.”
“Oh, little jaanu, how you’ve grown!” cooed Sarasvati. The large red goddess picked up Elias with two of her many arms, wiping two more hands on her apron.
“He has alas now outgrown every single one of the delightful outfits you have gifted him with, Aunti-ji,” explained Ganesh.
“Oh, we will have to rectify that at once! Lady Raziel has been asking that I accompany her on a shopping trip!” Sarasvati told them.
“Those two will cut a swath,” Charles whispered to Pickles. “There won’t be a toy left in the Western Hemisphere.” And then to the large goddess he said, “Uh, Auntie Sarasvati, have you met-“
“Oh, Sariel, I have some pies just coming out of the oven for you, dear!” Sarasvati told him. Indeed, as they all stood on the front porch of Great Brahma and Sarasvati’s residence in the Heavens, enticing smells of various delicacies being baked, boiled, sauted, broiled, fried, poached and roasted wafted from the front door. Charles paused for a long moment, brain suddenly overwhelmed with pleasant images of Auntie Sarasvati’s mouth-watering baked goods.
“Er,” said Ganesh, “You remember our dear friends in Dethklok, Pickles-ji and Skwisgaar Odinsson?” asked Ganesh, pointing to the same. Somehow, between the time that Pickles had been invited along to dinner and the time that the drummer had actually shown up back at Charles and Ganesh’s suite sporting a tie, he had also acquired Skwisgaar as a tag-along. Skwisgaar had evidently discarded his Gibson and pulled on a jacket for the occasion. Charles had given the guitarist a single raised eyebrow, but then Ganesh had hastened them all along, as dinner would be cooking.
“Oh, how very delightful! Brahma will be so pleased. He is a great fan of Deafblock!”
Skwisgaar found whatever comment he was intending to make cut off by a well-aimed elbow from Pickles.
“Why don’t we get you started with a tasty treat, little jaanu? Brahma Uncle is out in the Gardens, Ganesha,” said Sarasvati, bustling inside with Elias, Charles a half step behind.
“When she sez dat ‘jaanoo’ stuff,” asked Pickles looking after them, “duz she mean Boon er Charles?”
“I have never been able to ascertain,” said Ganesh. “She and my uncle tend to dote on Sariel, as I have ever failed to convince her that he is well fed.”
“She t’inks Charles don’t eat?” asked Pickles, his mind conjuring images of emptied pastry counters after various angelic binges.
“If you will observe their behavior at the dinner table, she often cuts his meat,” smiled Ganesh, who pulled out a slim cigarette case. He offered the case to Pickles, who waved a hand.
“Dood, I’m up here lookin’ for somethin’ more potent.”
“So dis ams you Uncle Brahma's places?” asked Skwisgaar, who had been idly gazing around.
“Yes, and my uncle is rather vain about his garden,” explained Ganesh, lighting up and looking around. “Oh, there they are,“ he said, spotting a party of four beings approaching. “Oh, this was unexpected.”
Skwisgaar suddenly muttered something in Swedish.
“Ganesha! About time you dragged your sorry ass up here,” barked Great Brahma.
“Brahma Uncle,” said Ganesha. “Vishnu Uncle. Hanuman-ji.” And then he bent over to touch the feet of the fourth member of the party. “Mataa-ji. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Obviously, Beta,” said Parvati, aiming a glare at Skwisgaar.
“So you have left our fine feathered friend at home, Ganesha Beta?” snarked Vishnu.
“Sariel is in the house, along with your nephew,” grumbled Ganesh. “And you will recall Pickles-ji and Skwisgaar Odinsson, from Dethklok?” There were nods. Pickles, as it turned out, had not met Hanuman before. Figuring a monkey god might have really great shit, Pickles – to Vishnu’s apparent dismay – immediately sidled up to the god to chat. Ganesh smoked irritably for a moment. He felt a hand on his arm.
“Are you still smoking, Beta?” asked Parvati as she led him a bit away from the main group.
“Only on occasion, Mother,” said Ganesh.
“As when you must deal with family meetings?” smiled his mother. Ganesh shrugged. “How have you been, my son?”
“It is the usual. You no doubt recall the chaos of raising a magical child,” shrugged Ganesh. “We are having a difficult time keeping him in clothes that fit.”
“You were the same way when you were that age,” said Parvati.
Ganesh studied his mother for a time. “He is inside. With Sariel,” he finally said.
“I will go and see,” said Parvati. And then it was her turn to shrug. “He reminds me, in some ways, of your father.”
“I miss him. Sometimes,” said Ganesh, who hadn’t realized it until the words were spoken.
“Your father was an idiot,” said Parvati. “I miss him more than words can say.”
Ganesh grinned. But instead of going to the house, the two stood for a while and watched the others talking.
“They are not as gods, but not fully human,” said Parvati. “You must see that too,” she told Ganesh.
“The band?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I see it,” said Ganesh, tossing down and stabbing out his half-finished cigarette. “I am like you. You know that.”
Parvati's lovely eyes, so like those of her son, wore concern. “Beta. As you also know, in all of existence, nothing good has ever come of dealings with demigods.”
“Is this advice you have given yourself?” smiled Ganesh.
Parvati arched an eyebrow. “You certainly can't begrudge me a little fun, Ganesha Beta. Not after all those innumerable years of your life you spent plowing through Vogue Hommes models, before you remade yourself as the faithful husband.”
“I cannot help but have an artistic streak!” protested Ganesh, although he was smiling.
“You cannot ignore history, little one,” said Parvati.
Ganesh extended a hand and lightly touched his mother's shoulder. “Then perhaps we shall rewrite history this time. Would you care to see your grandson now?”
Parvati nodded, and the proceeded towards the house.
“So dis ams da big time Heavens?” asked Skwisgaar, who was looking around as if he owned the place.
“This is my garden, yes,” huffed Great Brahma.
“I bet yoo grow really great stuff, red dood,” said Pickles. “I mean, really amazing stuff. I mean, really good, amazing stuff.”
“What nonsense!” Brahma told Pickles. “You've only just arrived, human, and you are after my good shit?”
“Yeh, dood, dat wud be it!” grinned Pickles.
“I don't grow to sell. I only supply my friends!” lectured Brahma.
“Dat's cool. I cud be yer friend,” supplied Pickles. He narrowed his eyes. “Besides, I heard yer own family can't take yer shit.”
“My nephew has always been a bit of a lightweight,” admitted Brahma.
“You're adopting their type as … friends now, Brahma darling?” asked Vishnu, wrinkling his nose and crossing several pairs of arms in skepticism. “Wouldn't he be more of a little … mascot?”
“What you ams means, deir type?” Skwisgaar asked Vishnu, who pointedly ignored him.
“Hmpf! Smokers should stick together, whatever their place on the celestial plane!” said Brahma.
“Dat's troo. We're always findin' a place on da celestial plane!” said Pickles.
“And you are a friend of the angel, Sariel, who is always welcome in my garden!” Brahma told Pickles, as he led him off.
“... and who is quite likely now stuffing his angel belly with the dessert course,” complained Vishnu.
“You ams not likes angels, you ams not likes humans beingses,” said Skwisgaar. “Who ams you likes, Vishnuses?”
“I'll tell you one thing that sticks in my eternal mandala,” sniffed the blue god. “Uppity little demigods.”
“Oh, so you t'inks I am not as good as you?”
“No, darling. I know you are not as good as me,” sniffed the tall blue god. And with a nod at Hanuman, the two strode off, leaving Skwisgaar alone and fuming.
Pickles was strolling in the garden, cheerily smoking away. He had utterly no idea what he was smoking. That was the best part.
He heard the moaning before he saw Charles. His manager was sitting under a tree, jacket unbuttoned, tie askew, holding his stomach.
Pickles went over and thumped down beside him. “Too much pie, dood?” he said.
“Auntie Sarasvati’s pie,” sighed Charles. “It’s so good.”
“But yoo still gahta eat dinner, dood!” laughed the drummer.
“I don’t know how I’m gonna do it!” confessed Charles. “I’m so full. But I don't wanna offend Auntie Sarasvati!”
“Dood, have a puff,” offered Pickles. “It’ll relax yoo.”
“What is this, uh, Pickles?”
“I have no idea, dood! But it’ll chill you out so you ken eat sum more,” Pickles assured him.
Charles fixed Pickles with a stare. He knew by long, painful experience to distrust any pharmaceutical offered by the drummer. On the other hand, there was the prospect of devouring Sarasvati's delicious sacred cow steaks. And, hey, it had been a stressful week. He took the cigarette in hand, and then luxuriated in a long, fragrant drag of whatever in hades it was. He leaned back against the tree.
“See? Yer relaxed alreddy,” said Pickles, also resting his back against the tree. “Dood, dis is awesome up here! An' Brahma is a cool dood!”
“I like Brahma,” said Charles. “Though he drives Ganesh crazy.” He took another puff, causing a massive release of neurotransmitters into his central nervous system.
“Why da hell is da dood so freaked out about his family?”
“Well, you must know families, Pickles,” said Charles, who ventured a third puff.
“I'd trade da dood in a second fer dis family! Dey gaht all dose arms! Yoo know whut kinda drum solos I cud do wit' all dose arms?”
“I think- Oh! Did you see that?”
“See wut?” asked Pickles.
“Over there! And there! And there's another one!” said Charles, who now seemed anything but relaxed.
“Relax, dood. It's jest da drugs talkin'.”
“They're everywhere!” said Charles, suddenly tearing at his shirt. “Everywhere! And I know what they want!”
“Dood....”
“They're here for … revenge!” said Charles, suddenly leaping to his feet and True Forming.
Pickles was on his feet as well. “Charles, jest.... No, dood, dere's no reason t' git out da wings like dat. Charles! Charles....” Pickles looked up. “Well. Shit.” He looked around. “An' he took da blunt!”
“So Pickles didn't want to be the fourth today?” asked Wotan.
“No, Wotan dude,” said Nathan.
A shot rang overhead. Wotan, Nathan and Murderface crouched lower in the bunker.
“I think he'sch going to dinner with Ganesch and all thosche Hindu dudes,” supplied Murderface, who was peeking out at whatever was overhead.
“Oh, dinner in the Heavens! Splendid!” said Wotan. “Our Sarasvati is a fine cook.”
“I dunno,” said Nathan.
“What is it?” asked Wotan.
“I think the dude just, you know, doesn't wanna play.”
“Toki!” yelled Murderface over the bunker. “Are you gonna take the schot!”
“Don't ams rushes me, Moiderfaces!” called Toki from somewhere up above as another explosion rang out.
There was a crackling series of explosions.
“Damn!” said Nathan.
“Toki!” yelled Wotan, who was also now peeking over the bunker. “Try using the flamethrower, son!”
“OKs, WOTAN!”
There was suddenly an unearthly screaming from overhead, as if a demon were speaking in tongues.
“Whoa!” said Nathan, who was now also peeking over the bunker. “See what Pickles is missing!”
“Well, you know son,” said Wotan. “It's hard to believe, but some people, they just don't like golf!”
Ganesh set Elias down on the ground and looked up. “Daddy id cwimb da twee!” said the boy, pointing up into the branches above.
“Yes, that is indeed your daddy,” Ganesh sighed. “Dear!” he called up. “Sariel! It is time for dinner now! You should come down.”
“I can't come down!”
“And why not?”
Far up overhead, a silvery angel perched on a branch. “The sparkling pies! They're EVERYWHERE!”
“Uh, yes,” said Ganesh. “That would be, er, a problem.”
“See?” whispered Pickles.
“They've clearly come for revenge!” yelled down Charles.
“Have you considered perhaps, you've misinterpreted their motivations?” asked Ganesh. “Perhaps they are benign pies?”
“Yer yoosing lawgic awn him?” whispered Pickles.
“Sariel is a very logical being,” Ganesh whispered back.
“But Ganesh dood, he's stoned outta his feckin' anjul skull!”
“I can hear you!” yelled Charles.
“Anjul ears!” whispered Pickles, pointing to his own ears.
“Oh dear,” said Ganesh.
“Ganesha, whatever are you fussing about now?” asked Vishnu, who had just come up with Hanuman.
Ganesh sighed. “I wouldn't worry Uncle. It is all under control.”
“STAY AWAY, PIES!” screamed Charles. “I suspect your motivations!”
“Under control, Ganesha darling? Looks like your little husband has flown the coop!”
“Yes, we are just discussing this matter in a calm and rational manner, Uncle,” huffed Ganesh.
“What I always say, poppet,” said Vishnu, hooking a long blue arm around his nephew, “Never hold a rational discussion with a stoned angel.” He nodded to Hanuman, and the monkey god sprang into the tree.
“Uncle, I do not think-” warned Ganesh.
“Pish-posh,” scoffed Vishnu. “Hanuman takes to it like a monkey to a tree.” They watched in wonder as the monkey god skillfully leapt up the tree.
Meanwhile, Ganesh shook his head. He knelt down and whispered something to Elias, who went running off towards the house.
Hanuman was drawing close to Charles. He was only one level away.
“Sariel, dearest,” shouted Vishnu. “Be a good celestial being and come down.”
Suddenly, there was a loud smack, and then a body plummeting to earth.
“Ow,” said Hanuman, who had landed painfully on his backside.
“As I said, I do not think that was a good idea,” smiled Ganesh.
“That angel bastard is crazy!” said Vishnu.
“What's all this fuss and nonsense?” demanded Brahma, who had just walked up as well.
“Sariel nearly broke Hanuman's neck!” complained Vishnu.
“That's not the part that's broken,” said Hanuman, rubbing his monkey butt.
“By my next incarnation” huffed Brahma. “Sariel! Come down out of my tree at once!”
“You're trying to trick me!” yelled Charles. “The pies have it in for me!”
“Another lightweight in the family?” asked Brahma, shaking his head. “We are lords of intoxication! How will we ever live it down?”
“Oh, here we are,” said Ganesh. Elias was running back, bringing with him Sarasvati, who held a covered tray.
“Daddy id up da twee!” said Elias, pointing upwards.
“Sariel, jaanu, I have something for you!” called up Sarasvati. She whipped the lid off the platter to reveal a very juicy steak, still sizzling from the grill. There was a rustling, and then, like a miracle, a silvery angel appeared in their midst, leaves and small twigs stuck in his feathers, drooling over the platter.
“There you go, dear,” said Sarasvati, holding the tray with a pair of hands while cutting a small piece for Charles with the other.
“I told you she hand feeds him,” Ganesh whispered to Pickles.
“Whoa,” said Pickles.
Vishnu said something to Hanuman in Hindi. Ganesh glared over at his uncle.
“Wunky Bisnoo, dat id no powite!” said Elias, his little eyes round as saucers.
“Uhhh, I'm sorry, what did you say dear?” asked Vishnu.
“Wanty Was id said id not powite to caw da name!” Elias told him.
Charles actually paused for a moment in chewing his tasty sacred cow steak to look at his son.
“Your Auntie Raziel is quite right!” said Brahma, picking up Elias. “Vishnu, quit being an ass. Come along everyone!” he urged. “That's enough nonsense for the afternoon. “I want my dinner!” The party departed towards the house.
Pickles and Ganesh remained one moment. “Er, Pickles, have you seen my mother around?” asked Ganesh.
“No, dood. Hey! Have you seen Skwisgaar?”
They regarded each other for a moment. “Can I have a puff of whatever the hell my uncle gave you?” asked Ganesh.
“So, are we all ready for story time?” asked Raziel. She received several enthusiastic cries of “Yes!” from around the living room at Mordhaus. She looked to Charles, who was holding an ice pack to his head. “Are you ready, Sariel?” she asked.
“Too much o' Brahma's gud weed,” laughed Pickles, who was sitting on the floor, picking apart a cinnamon bun.
“Just start reading Raziel, OK?” grumbled Charles.
“Is everybody here?” she asked, looking around.
“We're here now!” bellowed Nathan, who had just entered the room, followed by Murderface and Toki. Although Nathan looked relatively normal, Toki and Murderface, oddly enough, had a completely blackened faces, and their hair was sticking up every which way, the ends smoking.
“Uh, Nathan,” said Charles. “What have you guys been up to?”
“We were all imitating Al Jolson. WHAT DO YOU THINK? We were GOLFING!”
“You were golfing?”
“Up at my place?” asked Raziel.
“Yesch, up at Wotan'sch coursche,” said Murderface.
“In da Valhallas,” said Toki.
“Third hole. Artillery demons,” said Raziel.
“Artillery-? What are artillery-?” asked Charles, readjusting the cold pack on his head. “Oh, never mind. Just go on.”
“What is this place, anyway?” asked Sariel.
“This is TULGEY WOOD, pink angel dude,” said the Nathan Knight. Nathan was riding his horse - at the moment, that is. He seemed to fall off at regular intervals, although it didn't seem to do any harm, other than causing a further denting of the top hat Ganesh had fitted on him.
“Uh, could you not call me that?” asked Sariel.
“Sure, not-pink angel dude!”
“That is what happens when you wash clothes in red wine,” said Ganesh, the not at all Mad Haberdasher.
“Why did you wash clothes in red wine?” asked Sariel.
“Well, because we were out of white, of course!”
Sariel sighed and looked around. Even in the dim light, he could see the strange badger-like creatures with corkscrew noses lurking among the many sundials spread out on the forest floor. And up above, weird wingless parrots sang out mournful calls. You could just tell there was something not quite right about this place.
Ganesh had been right about one thing: the land was stuck at cocktail hour. It had been dusk ever since Sariel had arrived, and that must have been hours now. The boys had decided to strike out from the Not So Mad Haberdasher and March Skwisgaar’s bar to find the caterpillar after a few more rounds of drinks. Lacking weaponry, they had grabbed some items from behind the bar for personal protection, so Sariel was now outfitted with a cricket bat, Ganesh carried a toilet plunger, and for some reason, Skwisgaar had something that looked like a butterfly net.
“What are those weird badger things?” asked Sariel.
“Oh, the toves, they are actually of great utility!” said Ganesh. “Skwisgaar, if you will?” And as a tove was gyring and gimbling by, the March Skwisgaar skillfully snatched it up in his butterfly net, holding it up to Ganesh. Ganesh plucked the squirming animal from the net, and, holding up a bottle of wine, gave it a quick twist, using its corkscrew nose to uncork the bottle. He then let the animal go, and poured a glass of wine for everyone.
“Do the trees always look this … scary?” Sariel finished lamely. The trees here looked as if they were looming, poised to strike.
“They are unhappy since Tweedle-God and Tweedle-Magog came to dwell here,” explained Ganesh.
“Deys ams some bad dudes,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Why are they bad?” asked Sariel.
“They’re JERKS and they have rotten taste in music,” grumbled Nathan Knight, whose fury led him to once again topple from his horse.
“Dey t’inks day ams cool,” said Skwisgaar, as they all stopped to help Nathan back up on his horse.
“But they are simply cold,” concluded Ganesh. “It’s always winter here now, you notice?”
They soon came to a Y junction. To the left, the sign said, “SUPERUNKNOWN,” and to the right, “NEVERMIND.”
“That's not particularly helpful,” said Sariel. “So, which way to this caterpillar guy?” he asked. Suddenly, he felt Ganesh's hand over his mouth and a shushing from everybody. “What?” he whispered.
“DID SOMEBODY SAY K-K-K-K-K-K-CAT?”
All three turned around to look at where a grinning clown had appeared just behind them. He was up above the road, reclining on an overhanging tree branch. He wore a too-tight and far too revealing leopard print spandex jumpsuit, and his face paint somewhat resembled a botch job of a cat, like perhaps Peter Criss had tried to apply his makeup while both hung over and undergoing an epileptic seizure.
“Gods damns,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“By gods in heaven, I hate that guy,” said the Nathan Knight.
“Let me deal with this guy,” said Sariel. “Hey, Cheshire Clown! Don't you think you've done a bit too much cocaine!”
“Me? I don't do k-k-k-k-cocaine, little pinkie,” sighed the clown. “I do h-h-h-h-....” But he never finished, as he appeared to have drifted off.
“Dude, that's just sad,” muttered Nathan, as the others began to sneak off. Unfortunately, Nathan Knight slipped from his mount (as he'd been doing all afternoon) and came crashing down right on his top hat.
“Ow! My top hat!” he wailed.
“W-W-W-WAIT!” shrieked the Clown, who suddenly seemed to rouse. “Don't you wanna know w-w-w-where to go, bro?”
“We want to find the caterpillar,” said Sariel. “You know where he is, Cheshire Clown?”
“Don't encourage him,” scolded Nathan. “He's just a creepy addict clown cat thing.”
“We're all ad-d-d-d-d-d-dicts here!” declared the Cheshire Clown.
“I'm not,” said Nathan.
“Me neithers,” said Skwisgaar.
“I stay away from the hard stuff,” said Ganesh, sipping his red wine.
“Yeah, I don't do that shit either,” said Sariel.
“You m-m-m-must be an ad-d-d-d-d-dict, feathery f-f-f-f-friend!” stuttered the Cheshire Clown. “Else what are you doing in the ab-b-b-b-byss?”
“A magical rabbit stole my watch. I want it back.”
“Oh. Well that makes s-s-s-s-sense.”
“So which way is the caterpillar?” asked Sariel.
Suddenly, the Cheshire Clown moaned and started to disappear before their eyes. He started from his head, and then it moved down until there was nothing but his nearly bare ass.
“Ass clown,” grumbled Nathan Knight.
“Wait, he didn't tell us which way to go!” said Sariel. “Ganesh! Give him the plunger, medium style!”
Ganesh pulled out a crossbow, and mounted his crossbow in it. He drew back, and loosed the plunger right at the Cheshire Clown's ass. He and Nathan then pulled back on the rope attached to the plunger and pulled the clown right down out of the tree.
“Ow, my ass!” said the Cheshire Clown, who had fully reappeared.
“That's MY LINE,” said Nathan.
“Where is the caterpillar, Clown?” asked Sariel. “I've got a cricket bat!” he warned. “I don't have any fucking idea how to use it, because cricket is a stupid fucking British game-”
“Is NOT,” sniffed Ganesh.
“But there must be more than one way to skin a clown!”
“That metaphor is inap-p-p-propriate, short, pink and fugly,” sassed the Cheshire Clown. He grinned, making it readily apparent he was in dire need of the attentions of a good dentist.
But all of a sudden a small figure dashed out from the wabe. It was not one of the toves.
“I ams lates! For da dates!” he cried, and hopped down the road. “With da ladypersons.” He took a look at Sariel's Vacheron Constantin, and then skittered down the road, past the men, right towards where the two roads split off into a Y junction.
“Gimme back my watch!” screamed Sariel, rushing after the infuriating lagomorph. But the rabbit, oddly enough, hopped right into the SUPERUNKNOWN/NEVERMIND road sign, causing the sign to spin like a top. The sign spun and spun, causing a great whirlwind.
“Dive for cover!” said Sariel, as he was just about beheaded by a borogove caught in the wind. Everyone dove into the ditch by the side of the road. The whirlwind was so strong that it lifted up many forest creatures. They saw toves and borogoves spinning by, and larger creatures, like a walrus and a carpenter. And there was a whole farm house, with a little farm girl and a dog inside. They even saw a witch on a bicycle-
“Raziel! RAZIEL!”
“What is it now, Sariel.”
“That's a different story,” declared Charles.
“Not any more!”
“Let her finisch the schtory!” protested Murderface.
Charles sighed deeply and readjusted the cold pack on his head. Elias climbed up into his lap and said, “Stowy, Daddy!”
“OK, OK, story,” said Charles.
Finally, the whirlwind had finished. Sariel, Skwisgaar, Ganesh and Nathan crawled out of the ditch to find that a brand new path had been carved in the forest! Instead of going to the left of to the right, it went straight ahead. And the sign had changed. There was now a sign pointing that way, and it said, “PARADISE CITY.”
“That’s the way! That’s the way that rabbit went with my watch!” said Sariel, who was already starting towards the new path.
“I wouldn’t g-g-g-g-g-go that way!”
Everyone turned around to confront a giant Cheshire Clown ass wiggling above them.
“Oh, that’s just tasteless,” grumbled the Nathan Knight, who had – fortunately or unfortunately – lost his mount some time in the whirlwind.
“Why wouldn’t you go that way?” demanded Sariel. “Which way would you go?”
“Which way do you want me to g-g-g-g-go, Daddy-o?”
“Far away,” said Nathan. “And take your disembodied ass with you. Geez.”
“We’re wasting our time,” said Sariel. “Come on.” They all started for the path, only to confront the giant clown ass, now in front of them.
“D-d-d-don’t say I didn’t w-w-w-warn you!” he said, and then, with a loud fart, finally disappeared.
“God!” said Nathan. All held their noses for the toxic clown fumes and proceeded down the new path towards Paradise City, whatever that might be.
To pass the time, Nathan began to sing….
Welcome to the forest
We got farting clowns…
But everyone yelled at him to stop, so he did. They soon came to a clearing: they had reached the seaside. They heard a very soft noise up the beach, something like sobbing. There was a rock up overhead, and figure sitting up on it, hunched over. It was a man who looked like he was dressed up for Halloween as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Which was silly, because it was nowhere near Halloween.
“Well, might as well give this a try,” said Sariel, He leapt up on the rocks and spoke. “Hi there. We’re looking for a rascally rabbit. Either that or a caterpillar. Any idea where to find either one?”
But the figure didn’t reply, it just kept sobbing softly.
“Uh, yeah, right,” said Sariel, who really hated emotional displays of any kind. “Uh, there there,” he said, reaching out to lightly pat the figure’s turtle shoulder.
“You’re looking for caterpillarsch and rabbitsch? You don’t wisch to find me, though, do you? Isch it becausche I’m not a real Ninja Turtle?” said the sobbing Mock Ninja Turtle, tears and snot streaming down into his moustache.
Ganesh passed up a handkerchief, which Sariel supplied to the Mock Ninja Turtle, who blew his nose in a very loud manner. The Mock Ninja Turtle gratefully passed the snotty handkerchief back to Sariel, who held it tentatively by one corner and offered it back to Ganesh, who shook his head. Sariel then flung the handkerchief away into the sea.
“Why do you wisch to find the caterpillar?” asked the Turtle.
“We wanted to ask him about this,” said Sariel, taking out the cool little golden key shaped like a Gibson Flying V.
“That’sch pretty cool. You know what that isch, don’t you?” asked the Turtle.
“Uh, no, that’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“You don’t know what thisch isch?” asked the Turtle, snatching the key and holding it up.
“No, I don’t know what that is,” sighed Sariel.
“It’sch a key,” said the Turtle, tossing it back to Sariel. “It unlocksch schtuff. You’re not musch usche, are you, pink guy?”
“Ho, this guy is really a dick!” laughed Nathan Knight.
“Can we go back and talk to the Cheshire Clown,” asked Sariel.
“You’ve been trying to talk to a clown? Everyone knowsch that clownsch don’t really exischt!” said the Turtle.
“Pffft. We ams beens talksing to his ass,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“I’ve been spending a lot of my time down here doing that,” said Sariel. “OK, Turtle, well, if you don’t know where to find the caterpillar or the rabbit, we’re going to need to move along.”
“That’sch all right! You can abandon me,” sobbed the Turtle, who was suddenly overwrought again. “I know it’sch becausche my schell makesch me look fat.”
Sariel decided that he had better intervene, and quickly, with the sobbing Mock Ninja Turtle. Because, even though the Turtle was kind of a dick, Sariel had read this story before, and people crying tears often caused disasters to happen.
“OK. All right, Mock Ninja Turtle. What can we do to cheer you up?”
“How about a dance?” suggested Ganesh. “That always cheers me right up!”
“More than that bottle of red wine you just polished off?” groused Sariel.
“Do you know the Hammerboxsch Quadrille?” asked the Turtle.
“Why of course,” said Ganesh, who, with a few chords from Skwisgaar, began to sing,
“Will you rock a little harder?” said mudhoney to the tad.
“There’s these screaming trees behind us, and the monomen are glad
See how eagerly the melvins and blood circus put kibosh
Soundgarden’s done a single, will you come and join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
At the “will you won’t you bit,” all parties (except Sariel, who really hated dancing of any sort and was NOT a good sport about it) began head-banging. Fortunately, this began to cheer up the gloomy Mock Ninja Turtle. Unfortunately, as often happened when Ganesh was dancing, the sky clouded over.
“You can really have malfunkshun how aberdeen will be
When they take the temple of the dog and throw it out to sea
But the tad replied I’m sorry and gave a look to quash
I’m on a seven year bitch now, so I would not join the mosh
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
“Gods damn it!” cursed Sariel as the clouds opened up, for he hated being wet almost as much as he hated dancing. He tore off his very fashionable pink shirt, which really suited his coloring well, and True Formed, hoping to hide under his great silver wings. Unfortunately, this being the Abyss, the rains stirred up a veritable tsunami! In fact, it was a tsunami! Soon, the rushing wall of water crashed on the beach, and, with a cry of “Watch the fuck out!” everyone was swept away by the terrible tide. Sariel tried to fly, but unfortunately, his wings were still damp from the last flood (it's quite possible that the plumbing in the Abyss was outdated), so he was washed away with the rest of them. He soon lost sight of the others.
After rushing what seemed like miles inland, he finally came to rest under a tall palm frond. He cursed some more and shook out his wet wings.
“Hey, watch it, anjul dood!” came a cry from up above.
“Where are you?” Sariel asked, looking around. Because it could only be one person!
“Ah'm raight here. In da center o' da yooniverse.”
“Uh, yeah, but where specifically?” asked Sariel. He soon decided to instead follow his nose. The smell of spicy smoke led him to scramble up to the top of the palm frond (his wings, as I have just explained, still being damp) where he saw an extraordinary sight: a very familiar, albeit six-armed, being smoking a hookah.
“So, you're the caterpillar, I presume?” said Sariel.
“Is dat wut yoo want me t’ be?” asked the Caterpickles, exhaling some very cool smoke rings.
“I don't wanna play logic games,” said Sariel, rattling his wings and shaking out his long, silvery hair-
“THAT'S IT!” yelled Charles, waving his cold pack in frustration and anger. “I DO NOT HAVE LONG HAIR!”
“Aw, it's just a story Sariel,” said Raziel.
“Now, jaanu,” soothed Ganesh.
“I will sit here and listen to this ridiculous, preposterous, completely pointless story,” yelled Charles, “I'll even listen to you babble about that fucking pink shirt-”
“It looked so good with your coloring,” said Raziel.
“But I WILL NOT WEAR LONG HAIR! Because I look like a douche.” Charles crossed his arms and glared at Raziel.
“Er, Lady Raziel,” said Ganesh. “Is it necessary that your character wear his hair long?”
“It’s my aesthetic choice!” said Raziel.
“I thought you were just translating,” said Charles.
“I’m using artistic license,” said Raziel. “Besides, we’re just getting to the exciting part: the Red Queen’s poker party! There will be flamingos and cute little hedgehogs!”
“Oh, the part starring you,” grumbled Charles.
“The Red Queen isn’t me! She’s very different! She has slightly different taste in shoes! And, she’s a little taller. Though she’s still very cute,” attested Raziel.
“Raziel!” said Charles. “I’ve had enough!”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like hedgehogs? Cute little hedgehogs?” asked Raziel.
“I ams wants to hears about da hedges hogs!” said Toki.
“I wisch to hear more about the adventuresch of the Turtle,” said Murderface.
“But maybe less about the fucking clown,” sighed Nathan.
Despite protests from around the room (plus some rather rude tossing of popcorn his way), Charles stood firm. “Enough story!” he said. “Enough! I wish you good day!”
“This is an odd thing, Tweedle-Gog.”
“Contrariwise, it is a very odd thing, Tweedle-Magog.”
Charles opened his eyes and looked around, shivering in the cold. There was snow on the ground here. He strained against the chains that had been tied around him some pages back. “Uh, you guys wanna let me go?” he asked the odd-looking figure who was standing over him. He – or they – looked like a nursery rhyme figure gone wrong. It had a round belly – rounder even than William Murderface when he was off his rock and roll diet – and wore an old fashioned sailor suit. The being was tattooed, as you would expect from an old fashioned sailor, but he (or they) also sported some very anachronistic piercings.
Most of all, it had two heads, which were even now babbling to each other. Each head had embroidery on the collars of their shirt: one said GOG, the other, MAGOG.
“Release you? I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you Tweedle-Gog?”
“Contrariwise, I do not, Tweedle-Magog.”
“You’re a dangerous little fucker, Sariel,” concluded Tweedle-Magog.
“Wait! What happened to the bit about Red Queen and the poker party?” asked Charles, who was still a bit disoriented. “The hedghogs and shit?”
“Oh, we skipped ahead a few chapters,” said Tweedle-Magog. “We thought the Queen would bore you.”
Charles glowered at them. “Is the issue that she bores me, or does she scare the shit out of you?” he asked shrewdly.
The two did not answer, but merely glared.
“OK. So, what do you want?” asked Charles.
“The time has come to talk of many things,” said Tweedle-Gog.
“I’d be a lot more comfortable if you took these chains off. They’re warping my wings.”
Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog glanced at each other. “Oh, then perhaps you have a key?” said Tweedle-Magog.
“Not any more,” said Charles. “I took my vest off. I lost it. A couple chapters back.”
“That’s too, too bad,” tutted Tweedle-Gog. Charles suddenly became aware of the sound of snoring. He looked to the side of the road. “Oh, god, did those idiots fall asleep in the snow again?” he asked, seeing his band huddled together in a snow bank, Nathan Knight and the March Skwisgaar and the Mock Ninja Turtle and the Caterpickles and even Toki Rabbit Thingie Dealie. “Look, Tweedle-whatever the hell, let me go, and I’ll deal with them.”
“Frostbite. Not conducive to playing the guitar, is it?” asked Tweedle-Gog.
“Quit kidding around. I need to wake ‘em up. They’re generally not smart enough to get up on their own.”
“Too bad you don’t remember where you put that key,” commented Tweedle-Magog.
“I told you, I lost the key. It was probably carried out in the tsunami when Ganesh’s dance caused the rainstorm.”
“They’re dreaming now. They’re dreaming of you,” said Tweedle-Gog.
“I rather doubt that,” said Charles. “I think it more involves double-jointed groupies.”
“Wake them up, and what will happen to you?” asked Tweedle-Magog.
“Well, I’m pretty damned sure what will happen if we don’t wake ‘em up. HEY GUYS, WAKE THE FUCK UP! Damn….”
“Well, if you insist,” said Tweedle-Gog. And then, with a snarling pose, including the throwing of horns, they disappeared.
“Assholes,” muttered Charles.
They sky darkened.
“Stupid dream sequence,” grumbled Charles, pulling again ineffectively against his chains. And then he head the rustling in the distance, like branches breaking. The bare trees here seemed to contract, as if in fear. He started to tug harder at the chains. “HEY! GUYS! ICE CREAM! GROUPIES! Shit, what will do it?
It was footsteps.
Of something very big.
“Guys! PHARMACEUTICAL GRADE HEROIN! MINIATURE GOLF! CHEERLEADERS! Shit….”
The ground trembled with the footsteps. Something ancient.
Charles felt the rustling of the branches, like fear.
“CHEERLEADER SLUTS! EATING CINNAMON BUNS!”
And it was there, standing over them.
Saliva dripping down pointed fangs.
“GUYS! WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Charles screamed.
“SARIEL!”
Charles woke, twisted up in covers, bathed in sweat, Ganesh holding on to him with many hands.
“It’s all right,” said Ganesh. “You’re here with me. Everything is all right.”
Charles looked around. “When did I True Form?” he asked, as wings were tangled up everywhere.
“You must have True Formed in your sleep, dear,” said Ganesh. “I have never seen you do that before.”
They turned to a small knock on the door. Ganesh jumped down from the bed. “Boonie!” he said, opening up the door. “Did you wake up, Beta?” he asked Elias, who was at the door.
“Dabbawock!” said Elias, jumping into Ganesh’s arms. “Da Dabbawock!”
“What did he say?” gasped Charles.
“Suppose,” said Ganesh, brushing the hair from Elias’ face, “we all get up and have a little pie. And maybe some hot chocolate. Would you like that?”
Elias and Charles both nodded frantically.
“All rightie. Some pie. It is a little known fact, but pie consumption generally scares away the Jabberwock….”
“Not our kitchen,” said Charles, pulling on his pajama pants.
“No?”
“No. I wanna go to the main kitchen.”
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, leading the way. Charles stopped one moment to grab his phone from the bedside table. He hit his speed dial as they walked.
“Oh, hello everybody,” said Ganesh. Charles looked up.
“Hey Ganoshes. Hey Booms.”
The entire band was gathered around the kitchen table.
“Yeah, Raziel,” said Charles over the phone. “We need you to come back. We need you to read us a story.” He around the table, at the faces of the band and frowned. “No, the same story. But my way this time.”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dinner in the Heavens, plus more story time.
Warnings: Jabberwocks and sparkling pies.
Notes: Notes after the jump.
Mythklok: it does not contain saliva.
So last week: we built a guitar, smashed a sitar, had samosas with the Creator, and read a story .
“Sunday dinner!” enthused Charles.
“Sunday dinner,” grumbled Ganesh. “Be grateful you only have to bear it once a month.”
“Oh, I could do this every night!” said Charles, who was sitting on the floor next to Elias in the boy’s room, going through a laundry basket. He held up some elephant overalls next to his son.
“Id short daddy!” laughed Elias, pointing to the gap between the end of the pant legs and the end of his actual legs.
“Why does nothing fit?” asked Charles, tossing the overalls back in the basket.
“It is called growing up,” said Ganesh, who was sitting up on Elias’ bed, legs twisted up into a yoga position, looking very much like a devotional statue of himself.
“You’re not gonna grow up, right?” Charles asked Elias. “You’re gonna stay just like this?”
“Daddy id silly!” said the child, who was no fool.
“I’ve gotta find something from your Auntie Sarasvati that still fits him,” said Charles, tossing away the overalls and going back to the basket. He extracted a lacy black bra and fixed it with a stare. “I need to talk to the laundry Klokateers again.”
“Are you entirely certain that is not yours, darling?” asked Ganesh. Charles replied by sticking out his tongue and slingshotting the bra at Ganesh. Ganesh skillfully grabbed it in midair and draped it stylishly around his neck.
“Daddy, dat id not powite!” Elias earnestly told Charles.
“What, Boon?” asked Charles.
“No more brassiere tossing?” asked Ganesh sadly. “That will negatively impact my social life.”
“Tickin’ da tun’ oud,” said Elias, demonstrating by protruding his own tongue. “Wanty Was id sad dat id not powite!”
“Raziel told you! SHE’S our arbiter now?” asked Charles.
“Uh-huh!” said Elias.
“I believe the Lady has been attempting to bring some semblance of order to the behavior of the twins recently,” chuckled Ganesh.
“Who’s gonna bring order to her behavior?” asked Charles, now arm deep in the laundry basket.
“Wut da feck are yoo guys doin’?” asked Pickles, who had just invited himself in. He gazed around at the kids clothing, which Charles had tossed every which way in frustration. Ganesh grinned from up on the bed and waggled his bra scarf.
“We must keep up with the demands of fashion,” said Ganesh.
“We’re going to dinner, so I need something that still fits our monster kid,” sighed Charles, unhappily now holding up a woefully short pair of jeans with little elephant patches. Elias laughed and started to walk around Frankenstein-style, roaring like a monster. “I don’t think he can fit any of Sarasvati’s presents any more.”
“Well, she shall simply go buy him more,” reasoned Ganesh. “I really doubt it will be a hardship for her. We can tell her this afternoon.”
“Yoo gaht dinner wit’ da Hindoo doods?” inquired Pickles, his eyes suddenly lighting up.
“Yeah, you wanna come with?” asked Charles. “Auntie Sarasvati loves to have more people to feed.”
“Oh, yes,” said Ganesh, suddenly coming off the bed and holding Pickles by the shoulders. “Please come! Do! Perhaps you can keep me from murdering Vishnu Uncle!”
“Yoo don’t have t’ ask twice, dood,” said Pickles, who was now grinning from ear to ear. “Yer relatives have da best shit in da yooniverse.”
“Well, Brahma Uncle grows it right in the Heavens,” explained Ganesh, who was suddenly looking thoughtful. “So it is completely organic.”
“Ganesh,” said Charles, who was fixing their child into jeans that remained long enough for his legs. “No getting high beforehand. You remember what happened last time.”
“That was not my fault,” said Ganesh, his gaze darkening.
“I’ll go git changed and meet yoo doods back here,” said Pickles, who was wondering where he might have left his one and only tie.
“If you need to borrow a tie…” Charles called after him.
“All yer ties gaht kid spit awn ‘em!” Pickles called back.
“Not all of them,” Charles fumed, pulling a shirt over Elias’ head.
“Oh, heavens, who fusses with a tie?” asked Ganesh.
“Not everybody looks good wearing a garbage bag,” sniffed Charles, pulling an elephant cap on Elias.
“I would never wear a garbage bag,” laughed Ganesh. “That is sooo last season.”
“Oh, little jaanu, how you’ve grown!” cooed Sarasvati. The large red goddess picked up Elias with two of her many arms, wiping two more hands on her apron.
“He has alas now outgrown every single one of the delightful outfits you have gifted him with, Aunti-ji,” explained Ganesh.
“Oh, we will have to rectify that at once! Lady Raziel has been asking that I accompany her on a shopping trip!” Sarasvati told them.
“Those two will cut a swath,” Charles whispered to Pickles. “There won’t be a toy left in the Western Hemisphere.” And then to the large goddess he said, “Uh, Auntie Sarasvati, have you met-“
“Oh, Sariel, I have some pies just coming out of the oven for you, dear!” Sarasvati told him. Indeed, as they all stood on the front porch of Great Brahma and Sarasvati’s residence in the Heavens, enticing smells of various delicacies being baked, boiled, sauted, broiled, fried, poached and roasted wafted from the front door. Charles paused for a long moment, brain suddenly overwhelmed with pleasant images of Auntie Sarasvati’s mouth-watering baked goods.
“Er,” said Ganesh, “You remember our dear friends in Dethklok, Pickles-ji and Skwisgaar Odinsson?” asked Ganesh, pointing to the same. Somehow, between the time that Pickles had been invited along to dinner and the time that the drummer had actually shown up back at Charles and Ganesh’s suite sporting a tie, he had also acquired Skwisgaar as a tag-along. Skwisgaar had evidently discarded his Gibson and pulled on a jacket for the occasion. Charles had given the guitarist a single raised eyebrow, but then Ganesh had hastened them all along, as dinner would be cooking.
“Oh, how very delightful! Brahma will be so pleased. He is a great fan of Deafblock!”
Skwisgaar found whatever comment he was intending to make cut off by a well-aimed elbow from Pickles.
“Why don’t we get you started with a tasty treat, little jaanu? Brahma Uncle is out in the Gardens, Ganesha,” said Sarasvati, bustling inside with Elias, Charles a half step behind.
“When she sez dat ‘jaanoo’ stuff,” asked Pickles looking after them, “duz she mean Boon er Charles?”
“I have never been able to ascertain,” said Ganesh. “She and my uncle tend to dote on Sariel, as I have ever failed to convince her that he is well fed.”
“She t’inks Charles don’t eat?” asked Pickles, his mind conjuring images of emptied pastry counters after various angelic binges.
“If you will observe their behavior at the dinner table, she often cuts his meat,” smiled Ganesh, who pulled out a slim cigarette case. He offered the case to Pickles, who waved a hand.
“Dood, I’m up here lookin’ for somethin’ more potent.”
“So dis ams you Uncle Brahma's places?” asked Skwisgaar, who had been idly gazing around.
“Yes, and my uncle is rather vain about his garden,” explained Ganesh, lighting up and looking around. “Oh, there they are,“ he said, spotting a party of four beings approaching. “Oh, this was unexpected.”
Skwisgaar suddenly muttered something in Swedish.
“Ganesha! About time you dragged your sorry ass up here,” barked Great Brahma.
“Brahma Uncle,” said Ganesha. “Vishnu Uncle. Hanuman-ji.” And then he bent over to touch the feet of the fourth member of the party. “Mataa-ji. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Obviously, Beta,” said Parvati, aiming a glare at Skwisgaar.
“So you have left our fine feathered friend at home, Ganesha Beta?” snarked Vishnu.
“Sariel is in the house, along with your nephew,” grumbled Ganesh. “And you will recall Pickles-ji and Skwisgaar Odinsson, from Dethklok?” There were nods. Pickles, as it turned out, had not met Hanuman before. Figuring a monkey god might have really great shit, Pickles – to Vishnu’s apparent dismay – immediately sidled up to the god to chat. Ganesh smoked irritably for a moment. He felt a hand on his arm.
“Are you still smoking, Beta?” asked Parvati as she led him a bit away from the main group.
“Only on occasion, Mother,” said Ganesh.
“As when you must deal with family meetings?” smiled his mother. Ganesh shrugged. “How have you been, my son?”
“It is the usual. You no doubt recall the chaos of raising a magical child,” shrugged Ganesh. “We are having a difficult time keeping him in clothes that fit.”
“You were the same way when you were that age,” said Parvati.
Ganesh studied his mother for a time. “He is inside. With Sariel,” he finally said.
“I will go and see,” said Parvati. And then it was her turn to shrug. “He reminds me, in some ways, of your father.”
“I miss him. Sometimes,” said Ganesh, who hadn’t realized it until the words were spoken.
“Your father was an idiot,” said Parvati. “I miss him more than words can say.”
Ganesh grinned. But instead of going to the house, the two stood for a while and watched the others talking.
“They are not as gods, but not fully human,” said Parvati. “You must see that too,” she told Ganesh.
“The band?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I see it,” said Ganesh, tossing down and stabbing out his half-finished cigarette. “I am like you. You know that.”
Parvati's lovely eyes, so like those of her son, wore concern. “Beta. As you also know, in all of existence, nothing good has ever come of dealings with demigods.”
“Is this advice you have given yourself?” smiled Ganesh.
Parvati arched an eyebrow. “You certainly can't begrudge me a little fun, Ganesha Beta. Not after all those innumerable years of your life you spent plowing through Vogue Hommes models, before you remade yourself as the faithful husband.”
“I cannot help but have an artistic streak!” protested Ganesh, although he was smiling.
“You cannot ignore history, little one,” said Parvati.
Ganesh extended a hand and lightly touched his mother's shoulder. “Then perhaps we shall rewrite history this time. Would you care to see your grandson now?”
Parvati nodded, and the proceeded towards the house.
“So dis ams da big time Heavens?” asked Skwisgaar, who was looking around as if he owned the place.
“This is my garden, yes,” huffed Great Brahma.
“I bet yoo grow really great stuff, red dood,” said Pickles. “I mean, really amazing stuff. I mean, really good, amazing stuff.”
“What nonsense!” Brahma told Pickles. “You've only just arrived, human, and you are after my good shit?”
“Yeh, dood, dat wud be it!” grinned Pickles.
“I don't grow to sell. I only supply my friends!” lectured Brahma.
“Dat's cool. I cud be yer friend,” supplied Pickles. He narrowed his eyes. “Besides, I heard yer own family can't take yer shit.”
“My nephew has always been a bit of a lightweight,” admitted Brahma.
“You're adopting their type as … friends now, Brahma darling?” asked Vishnu, wrinkling his nose and crossing several pairs of arms in skepticism. “Wouldn't he be more of a little … mascot?”
“What you ams means, deir type?” Skwisgaar asked Vishnu, who pointedly ignored him.
“Hmpf! Smokers should stick together, whatever their place on the celestial plane!” said Brahma.
“Dat's troo. We're always findin' a place on da celestial plane!” said Pickles.
“And you are a friend of the angel, Sariel, who is always welcome in my garden!” Brahma told Pickles, as he led him off.
“... and who is quite likely now stuffing his angel belly with the dessert course,” complained Vishnu.
“You ams not likes angels, you ams not likes humans beingses,” said Skwisgaar. “Who ams you likes, Vishnuses?”
“I'll tell you one thing that sticks in my eternal mandala,” sniffed the blue god. “Uppity little demigods.”
“Oh, so you t'inks I am not as good as you?”
“No, darling. I know you are not as good as me,” sniffed the tall blue god. And with a nod at Hanuman, the two strode off, leaving Skwisgaar alone and fuming.
Pickles was strolling in the garden, cheerily smoking away. He had utterly no idea what he was smoking. That was the best part.
He heard the moaning before he saw Charles. His manager was sitting under a tree, jacket unbuttoned, tie askew, holding his stomach.
Pickles went over and thumped down beside him. “Too much pie, dood?” he said.
“Auntie Sarasvati’s pie,” sighed Charles. “It’s so good.”
“But yoo still gahta eat dinner, dood!” laughed the drummer.
“I don’t know how I’m gonna do it!” confessed Charles. “I’m so full. But I don't wanna offend Auntie Sarasvati!”
“Dood, have a puff,” offered Pickles. “It’ll relax yoo.”
“What is this, uh, Pickles?”
“I have no idea, dood! But it’ll chill you out so you ken eat sum more,” Pickles assured him.
Charles fixed Pickles with a stare. He knew by long, painful experience to distrust any pharmaceutical offered by the drummer. On the other hand, there was the prospect of devouring Sarasvati's delicious sacred cow steaks. And, hey, it had been a stressful week. He took the cigarette in hand, and then luxuriated in a long, fragrant drag of whatever in hades it was. He leaned back against the tree.
“See? Yer relaxed alreddy,” said Pickles, also resting his back against the tree. “Dood, dis is awesome up here! An' Brahma is a cool dood!”
“I like Brahma,” said Charles. “Though he drives Ganesh crazy.” He took another puff, causing a massive release of neurotransmitters into his central nervous system.
“Why da hell is da dood so freaked out about his family?”
“Well, you must know families, Pickles,” said Charles, who ventured a third puff.
“I'd trade da dood in a second fer dis family! Dey gaht all dose arms! Yoo know whut kinda drum solos I cud do wit' all dose arms?”
“I think- Oh! Did you see that?”
“See wut?” asked Pickles.
“Over there! And there! And there's another one!” said Charles, who now seemed anything but relaxed.
“Relax, dood. It's jest da drugs talkin'.”
“They're everywhere!” said Charles, suddenly tearing at his shirt. “Everywhere! And I know what they want!”
“Dood....”
“They're here for … revenge!” said Charles, suddenly leaping to his feet and True Forming.
Pickles was on his feet as well. “Charles, jest.... No, dood, dere's no reason t' git out da wings like dat. Charles! Charles....” Pickles looked up. “Well. Shit.” He looked around. “An' he took da blunt!”
“So Pickles didn't want to be the fourth today?” asked Wotan.
“No, Wotan dude,” said Nathan.
A shot rang overhead. Wotan, Nathan and Murderface crouched lower in the bunker.
“I think he'sch going to dinner with Ganesch and all thosche Hindu dudes,” supplied Murderface, who was peeking out at whatever was overhead.
“Oh, dinner in the Heavens! Splendid!” said Wotan. “Our Sarasvati is a fine cook.”
“I dunno,” said Nathan.
“What is it?” asked Wotan.
“I think the dude just, you know, doesn't wanna play.”
“Toki!” yelled Murderface over the bunker. “Are you gonna take the schot!”
“Don't ams rushes me, Moiderfaces!” called Toki from somewhere up above as another explosion rang out.
There was a crackling series of explosions.
“Damn!” said Nathan.
“Toki!” yelled Wotan, who was also now peeking over the bunker. “Try using the flamethrower, son!”
“OKs, WOTAN!”
There was suddenly an unearthly screaming from overhead, as if a demon were speaking in tongues.
“Whoa!” said Nathan, who was now also peeking over the bunker. “See what Pickles is missing!”
“Well, you know son,” said Wotan. “It's hard to believe, but some people, they just don't like golf!”
Ganesh set Elias down on the ground and looked up. “Daddy id cwimb da twee!” said the boy, pointing up into the branches above.
“Yes, that is indeed your daddy,” Ganesh sighed. “Dear!” he called up. “Sariel! It is time for dinner now! You should come down.”
“I can't come down!”
“And why not?”
Far up overhead, a silvery angel perched on a branch. “The sparkling pies! They're EVERYWHERE!”
“Uh, yes,” said Ganesh. “That would be, er, a problem.”
“See?” whispered Pickles.
“They've clearly come for revenge!” yelled down Charles.
“Have you considered perhaps, you've misinterpreted their motivations?” asked Ganesh. “Perhaps they are benign pies?”
“Yer yoosing lawgic awn him?” whispered Pickles.
“Sariel is a very logical being,” Ganesh whispered back.
“But Ganesh dood, he's stoned outta his feckin' anjul skull!”
“I can hear you!” yelled Charles.
“Anjul ears!” whispered Pickles, pointing to his own ears.
“Oh dear,” said Ganesh.
“Ganesha, whatever are you fussing about now?” asked Vishnu, who had just come up with Hanuman.
Ganesh sighed. “I wouldn't worry Uncle. It is all under control.”
“STAY AWAY, PIES!” screamed Charles. “I suspect your motivations!”
“Under control, Ganesha darling? Looks like your little husband has flown the coop!”
“Yes, we are just discussing this matter in a calm and rational manner, Uncle,” huffed Ganesh.
“What I always say, poppet,” said Vishnu, hooking a long blue arm around his nephew, “Never hold a rational discussion with a stoned angel.” He nodded to Hanuman, and the monkey god sprang into the tree.
“Uncle, I do not think-” warned Ganesh.
“Pish-posh,” scoffed Vishnu. “Hanuman takes to it like a monkey to a tree.” They watched in wonder as the monkey god skillfully leapt up the tree.
Meanwhile, Ganesh shook his head. He knelt down and whispered something to Elias, who went running off towards the house.
Hanuman was drawing close to Charles. He was only one level away.
“Sariel, dearest,” shouted Vishnu. “Be a good celestial being and come down.”
Suddenly, there was a loud smack, and then a body plummeting to earth.
“Ow,” said Hanuman, who had landed painfully on his backside.
“As I said, I do not think that was a good idea,” smiled Ganesh.
“That angel bastard is crazy!” said Vishnu.
“What's all this fuss and nonsense?” demanded Brahma, who had just walked up as well.
“Sariel nearly broke Hanuman's neck!” complained Vishnu.
“That's not the part that's broken,” said Hanuman, rubbing his monkey butt.
“By my next incarnation” huffed Brahma. “Sariel! Come down out of my tree at once!”
“You're trying to trick me!” yelled Charles. “The pies have it in for me!”
“Another lightweight in the family?” asked Brahma, shaking his head. “We are lords of intoxication! How will we ever live it down?”
“Oh, here we are,” said Ganesh. Elias was running back, bringing with him Sarasvati, who held a covered tray.
“Daddy id up da twee!” said Elias, pointing upwards.
“Sariel, jaanu, I have something for you!” called up Sarasvati. She whipped the lid off the platter to reveal a very juicy steak, still sizzling from the grill. There was a rustling, and then, like a miracle, a silvery angel appeared in their midst, leaves and small twigs stuck in his feathers, drooling over the platter.
“There you go, dear,” said Sarasvati, holding the tray with a pair of hands while cutting a small piece for Charles with the other.
“I told you she hand feeds him,” Ganesh whispered to Pickles.
“Whoa,” said Pickles.
Vishnu said something to Hanuman in Hindi. Ganesh glared over at his uncle.
“Wunky Bisnoo, dat id no powite!” said Elias, his little eyes round as saucers.
“Uhhh, I'm sorry, what did you say dear?” asked Vishnu.
“Wanty Was id said id not powite to caw da name!” Elias told him.
Charles actually paused for a moment in chewing his tasty sacred cow steak to look at his son.
“Your Auntie Raziel is quite right!” said Brahma, picking up Elias. “Vishnu, quit being an ass. Come along everyone!” he urged. “That's enough nonsense for the afternoon. “I want my dinner!” The party departed towards the house.
Pickles and Ganesh remained one moment. “Er, Pickles, have you seen my mother around?” asked Ganesh.
“No, dood. Hey! Have you seen Skwisgaar?”
They regarded each other for a moment. “Can I have a puff of whatever the hell my uncle gave you?” asked Ganesh.
“So, are we all ready for story time?” asked Raziel. She received several enthusiastic cries of “Yes!” from around the living room at Mordhaus. She looked to Charles, who was holding an ice pack to his head. “Are you ready, Sariel?” she asked.
“Too much o' Brahma's gud weed,” laughed Pickles, who was sitting on the floor, picking apart a cinnamon bun.
“Just start reading Raziel, OK?” grumbled Charles.
“Is everybody here?” she asked, looking around.
“We're here now!” bellowed Nathan, who had just entered the room, followed by Murderface and Toki. Although Nathan looked relatively normal, Toki and Murderface, oddly enough, had a completely blackened faces, and their hair was sticking up every which way, the ends smoking.
“Uh, Nathan,” said Charles. “What have you guys been up to?”
“We were all imitating Al Jolson. WHAT DO YOU THINK? We were GOLFING!”
“You were golfing?”
“Up at my place?” asked Raziel.
“Yesch, up at Wotan'sch coursche,” said Murderface.
“In da Valhallas,” said Toki.
“Third hole. Artillery demons,” said Raziel.
“Artillery-? What are artillery-?” asked Charles, readjusting the cold pack on his head. “Oh, never mind. Just go on.”
“What is this place, anyway?” asked Sariel.
“This is TULGEY WOOD, pink angel dude,” said the Nathan Knight. Nathan was riding his horse - at the moment, that is. He seemed to fall off at regular intervals, although it didn't seem to do any harm, other than causing a further denting of the top hat Ganesh had fitted on him.
“Uh, could you not call me that?” asked Sariel.
“Sure, not-pink angel dude!”
“That is what happens when you wash clothes in red wine,” said Ganesh, the not at all Mad Haberdasher.
“Why did you wash clothes in red wine?” asked Sariel.
“Well, because we were out of white, of course!”
Sariel sighed and looked around. Even in the dim light, he could see the strange badger-like creatures with corkscrew noses lurking among the many sundials spread out on the forest floor. And up above, weird wingless parrots sang out mournful calls. You could just tell there was something not quite right about this place.
Ganesh had been right about one thing: the land was stuck at cocktail hour. It had been dusk ever since Sariel had arrived, and that must have been hours now. The boys had decided to strike out from the Not So Mad Haberdasher and March Skwisgaar’s bar to find the caterpillar after a few more rounds of drinks. Lacking weaponry, they had grabbed some items from behind the bar for personal protection, so Sariel was now outfitted with a cricket bat, Ganesh carried a toilet plunger, and for some reason, Skwisgaar had something that looked like a butterfly net.
“What are those weird badger things?” asked Sariel.
“Oh, the toves, they are actually of great utility!” said Ganesh. “Skwisgaar, if you will?” And as a tove was gyring and gimbling by, the March Skwisgaar skillfully snatched it up in his butterfly net, holding it up to Ganesh. Ganesh plucked the squirming animal from the net, and, holding up a bottle of wine, gave it a quick twist, using its corkscrew nose to uncork the bottle. He then let the animal go, and poured a glass of wine for everyone.
“Do the trees always look this … scary?” Sariel finished lamely. The trees here looked as if they were looming, poised to strike.
“They are unhappy since Tweedle-God and Tweedle-Magog came to dwell here,” explained Ganesh.
“Deys ams some bad dudes,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Why are they bad?” asked Sariel.
“They’re JERKS and they have rotten taste in music,” grumbled Nathan Knight, whose fury led him to once again topple from his horse.
“Dey t’inks day ams cool,” said Skwisgaar, as they all stopped to help Nathan back up on his horse.
“But they are simply cold,” concluded Ganesh. “It’s always winter here now, you notice?”
They soon came to a Y junction. To the left, the sign said, “SUPERUNKNOWN,” and to the right, “NEVERMIND.”
“That's not particularly helpful,” said Sariel. “So, which way to this caterpillar guy?” he asked. Suddenly, he felt Ganesh's hand over his mouth and a shushing from everybody. “What?” he whispered.
“DID SOMEBODY SAY K-K-K-K-K-K-CAT?”
All three turned around to look at where a grinning clown had appeared just behind them. He was up above the road, reclining on an overhanging tree branch. He wore a too-tight and far too revealing leopard print spandex jumpsuit, and his face paint somewhat resembled a botch job of a cat, like perhaps Peter Criss had tried to apply his makeup while both hung over and undergoing an epileptic seizure.
“Gods damns,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“By gods in heaven, I hate that guy,” said the Nathan Knight.
“Let me deal with this guy,” said Sariel. “Hey, Cheshire Clown! Don't you think you've done a bit too much cocaine!”
“Me? I don't do k-k-k-k-cocaine, little pinkie,” sighed the clown. “I do h-h-h-h-....” But he never finished, as he appeared to have drifted off.
“Dude, that's just sad,” muttered Nathan, as the others began to sneak off. Unfortunately, Nathan Knight slipped from his mount (as he'd been doing all afternoon) and came crashing down right on his top hat.
“Ow! My top hat!” he wailed.
“W-W-W-WAIT!” shrieked the Clown, who suddenly seemed to rouse. “Don't you wanna know w-w-w-where to go, bro?”
“We want to find the caterpillar,” said Sariel. “You know where he is, Cheshire Clown?”
“Don't encourage him,” scolded Nathan. “He's just a creepy addict clown cat thing.”
“We're all ad-d-d-d-d-d-dicts here!” declared the Cheshire Clown.
“I'm not,” said Nathan.
“Me neithers,” said Skwisgaar.
“I stay away from the hard stuff,” said Ganesh, sipping his red wine.
“Yeah, I don't do that shit either,” said Sariel.
“You m-m-m-must be an ad-d-d-d-d-dict, feathery f-f-f-f-friend!” stuttered the Cheshire Clown. “Else what are you doing in the ab-b-b-b-byss?”
“A magical rabbit stole my watch. I want it back.”
“Oh. Well that makes s-s-s-s-sense.”
“So which way is the caterpillar?” asked Sariel.
Suddenly, the Cheshire Clown moaned and started to disappear before their eyes. He started from his head, and then it moved down until there was nothing but his nearly bare ass.
“Ass clown,” grumbled Nathan Knight.
“Wait, he didn't tell us which way to go!” said Sariel. “Ganesh! Give him the plunger, medium style!”
Ganesh pulled out a crossbow, and mounted his crossbow in it. He drew back, and loosed the plunger right at the Cheshire Clown's ass. He and Nathan then pulled back on the rope attached to the plunger and pulled the clown right down out of the tree.
“Ow, my ass!” said the Cheshire Clown, who had fully reappeared.
“That's MY LINE,” said Nathan.
“Where is the caterpillar, Clown?” asked Sariel. “I've got a cricket bat!” he warned. “I don't have any fucking idea how to use it, because cricket is a stupid fucking British game-”
“Is NOT,” sniffed Ganesh.
“But there must be more than one way to skin a clown!”
“That metaphor is inap-p-p-propriate, short, pink and fugly,” sassed the Cheshire Clown. He grinned, making it readily apparent he was in dire need of the attentions of a good dentist.
But all of a sudden a small figure dashed out from the wabe. It was not one of the toves.
“I ams lates! For da dates!” he cried, and hopped down the road. “With da ladypersons.” He took a look at Sariel's Vacheron Constantin, and then skittered down the road, past the men, right towards where the two roads split off into a Y junction.
“Gimme back my watch!” screamed Sariel, rushing after the infuriating lagomorph. But the rabbit, oddly enough, hopped right into the SUPERUNKNOWN/NEVERMIND road sign, causing the sign to spin like a top. The sign spun and spun, causing a great whirlwind.
“Dive for cover!” said Sariel, as he was just about beheaded by a borogove caught in the wind. Everyone dove into the ditch by the side of the road. The whirlwind was so strong that it lifted up many forest creatures. They saw toves and borogoves spinning by, and larger creatures, like a walrus and a carpenter. And there was a whole farm house, with a little farm girl and a dog inside. They even saw a witch on a bicycle-
“Raziel! RAZIEL!”
“What is it now, Sariel.”
“That's a different story,” declared Charles.
“Not any more!”
“Let her finisch the schtory!” protested Murderface.
Charles sighed deeply and readjusted the cold pack on his head. Elias climbed up into his lap and said, “Stowy, Daddy!”
“OK, OK, story,” said Charles.
Finally, the whirlwind had finished. Sariel, Skwisgaar, Ganesh and Nathan crawled out of the ditch to find that a brand new path had been carved in the forest! Instead of going to the left of to the right, it went straight ahead. And the sign had changed. There was now a sign pointing that way, and it said, “PARADISE CITY.”
“That’s the way! That’s the way that rabbit went with my watch!” said Sariel, who was already starting towards the new path.
“I wouldn’t g-g-g-g-g-go that way!”
Everyone turned around to confront a giant Cheshire Clown ass wiggling above them.
“Oh, that’s just tasteless,” grumbled the Nathan Knight, who had – fortunately or unfortunately – lost his mount some time in the whirlwind.
“Why wouldn’t you go that way?” demanded Sariel. “Which way would you go?”
“Which way do you want me to g-g-g-g-go, Daddy-o?”
“Far away,” said Nathan. “And take your disembodied ass with you. Geez.”
“We’re wasting our time,” said Sariel. “Come on.” They all started for the path, only to confront the giant clown ass, now in front of them.
“D-d-d-don’t say I didn’t w-w-w-warn you!” he said, and then, with a loud fart, finally disappeared.
“God!” said Nathan. All held their noses for the toxic clown fumes and proceeded down the new path towards Paradise City, whatever that might be.
To pass the time, Nathan began to sing….
Welcome to the forest
We got farting clowns…
But everyone yelled at him to stop, so he did. They soon came to a clearing: they had reached the seaside. They heard a very soft noise up the beach, something like sobbing. There was a rock up overhead, and figure sitting up on it, hunched over. It was a man who looked like he was dressed up for Halloween as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Which was silly, because it was nowhere near Halloween.
“Well, might as well give this a try,” said Sariel, He leapt up on the rocks and spoke. “Hi there. We’re looking for a rascally rabbit. Either that or a caterpillar. Any idea where to find either one?”
But the figure didn’t reply, it just kept sobbing softly.
“Uh, yeah, right,” said Sariel, who really hated emotional displays of any kind. “Uh, there there,” he said, reaching out to lightly pat the figure’s turtle shoulder.
“You’re looking for caterpillarsch and rabbitsch? You don’t wisch to find me, though, do you? Isch it becausche I’m not a real Ninja Turtle?” said the sobbing Mock Ninja Turtle, tears and snot streaming down into his moustache.
Ganesh passed up a handkerchief, which Sariel supplied to the Mock Ninja Turtle, who blew his nose in a very loud manner. The Mock Ninja Turtle gratefully passed the snotty handkerchief back to Sariel, who held it tentatively by one corner and offered it back to Ganesh, who shook his head. Sariel then flung the handkerchief away into the sea.
“Why do you wisch to find the caterpillar?” asked the Turtle.
“We wanted to ask him about this,” said Sariel, taking out the cool little golden key shaped like a Gibson Flying V.
“That’sch pretty cool. You know what that isch, don’t you?” asked the Turtle.
“Uh, no, that’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“You don’t know what thisch isch?” asked the Turtle, snatching the key and holding it up.
“No, I don’t know what that is,” sighed Sariel.
“It’sch a key,” said the Turtle, tossing it back to Sariel. “It unlocksch schtuff. You’re not musch usche, are you, pink guy?”
“Ho, this guy is really a dick!” laughed Nathan Knight.
“Can we go back and talk to the Cheshire Clown,” asked Sariel.
“You’ve been trying to talk to a clown? Everyone knowsch that clownsch don’t really exischt!” said the Turtle.
“Pffft. We ams beens talksing to his ass,” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“I’ve been spending a lot of my time down here doing that,” said Sariel. “OK, Turtle, well, if you don’t know where to find the caterpillar or the rabbit, we’re going to need to move along.”
“That’sch all right! You can abandon me,” sobbed the Turtle, who was suddenly overwrought again. “I know it’sch becausche my schell makesch me look fat.”
Sariel decided that he had better intervene, and quickly, with the sobbing Mock Ninja Turtle. Because, even though the Turtle was kind of a dick, Sariel had read this story before, and people crying tears often caused disasters to happen.
“OK. All right, Mock Ninja Turtle. What can we do to cheer you up?”
“How about a dance?” suggested Ganesh. “That always cheers me right up!”
“More than that bottle of red wine you just polished off?” groused Sariel.
“Do you know the Hammerboxsch Quadrille?” asked the Turtle.
“Why of course,” said Ganesh, who, with a few chords from Skwisgaar, began to sing,
“Will you rock a little harder?” said mudhoney to the tad.
“There’s these screaming trees behind us, and the monomen are glad
See how eagerly the melvins and blood circus put kibosh
Soundgarden’s done a single, will you come and join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
At the “will you won’t you bit,” all parties (except Sariel, who really hated dancing of any sort and was NOT a good sport about it) began head-banging. Fortunately, this began to cheer up the gloomy Mock Ninja Turtle. Unfortunately, as often happened when Ganesh was dancing, the sky clouded over.
“You can really have malfunkshun how aberdeen will be
When they take the temple of the dog and throw it out to sea
But the tad replied I’m sorry and gave a look to quash
I’m on a seven year bitch now, so I would not join the mosh
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
Will you won’t you will you won’t you will you join the mosh?
“Gods damn it!” cursed Sariel as the clouds opened up, for he hated being wet almost as much as he hated dancing. He tore off his very fashionable pink shirt, which really suited his coloring well, and True Formed, hoping to hide under his great silver wings. Unfortunately, this being the Abyss, the rains stirred up a veritable tsunami! In fact, it was a tsunami! Soon, the rushing wall of water crashed on the beach, and, with a cry of “Watch the fuck out!” everyone was swept away by the terrible tide. Sariel tried to fly, but unfortunately, his wings were still damp from the last flood (it's quite possible that the plumbing in the Abyss was outdated), so he was washed away with the rest of them. He soon lost sight of the others.
After rushing what seemed like miles inland, he finally came to rest under a tall palm frond. He cursed some more and shook out his wet wings.
“Hey, watch it, anjul dood!” came a cry from up above.
“Where are you?” Sariel asked, looking around. Because it could only be one person!
“Ah'm raight here. In da center o' da yooniverse.”
“Uh, yeah, but where specifically?” asked Sariel. He soon decided to instead follow his nose. The smell of spicy smoke led him to scramble up to the top of the palm frond (his wings, as I have just explained, still being damp) where he saw an extraordinary sight: a very familiar, albeit six-armed, being smoking a hookah.
“So, you're the caterpillar, I presume?” said Sariel.
“Is dat wut yoo want me t’ be?” asked the Caterpickles, exhaling some very cool smoke rings.
“I don't wanna play logic games,” said Sariel, rattling his wings and shaking out his long, silvery hair-
“THAT'S IT!” yelled Charles, waving his cold pack in frustration and anger. “I DO NOT HAVE LONG HAIR!”
“Aw, it's just a story Sariel,” said Raziel.
“Now, jaanu,” soothed Ganesh.
“I will sit here and listen to this ridiculous, preposterous, completely pointless story,” yelled Charles, “I'll even listen to you babble about that fucking pink shirt-”
“It looked so good with your coloring,” said Raziel.
“But I WILL NOT WEAR LONG HAIR! Because I look like a douche.” Charles crossed his arms and glared at Raziel.
“Er, Lady Raziel,” said Ganesh. “Is it necessary that your character wear his hair long?”
“It’s my aesthetic choice!” said Raziel.
“I thought you were just translating,” said Charles.
“I’m using artistic license,” said Raziel. “Besides, we’re just getting to the exciting part: the Red Queen’s poker party! There will be flamingos and cute little hedgehogs!”
“Oh, the part starring you,” grumbled Charles.
“The Red Queen isn’t me! She’s very different! She has slightly different taste in shoes! And, she’s a little taller. Though she’s still very cute,” attested Raziel.
“Raziel!” said Charles. “I’ve had enough!”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like hedgehogs? Cute little hedgehogs?” asked Raziel.
“I ams wants to hears about da hedges hogs!” said Toki.
“I wisch to hear more about the adventuresch of the Turtle,” said Murderface.
“But maybe less about the fucking clown,” sighed Nathan.
Despite protests from around the room (plus some rather rude tossing of popcorn his way), Charles stood firm. “Enough story!” he said. “Enough! I wish you good day!”
“This is an odd thing, Tweedle-Gog.”
“Contrariwise, it is a very odd thing, Tweedle-Magog.”
Charles opened his eyes and looked around, shivering in the cold. There was snow on the ground here. He strained against the chains that had been tied around him some pages back. “Uh, you guys wanna let me go?” he asked the odd-looking figure who was standing over him. He – or they – looked like a nursery rhyme figure gone wrong. It had a round belly – rounder even than William Murderface when he was off his rock and roll diet – and wore an old fashioned sailor suit. The being was tattooed, as you would expect from an old fashioned sailor, but he (or they) also sported some very anachronistic piercings.
Most of all, it had two heads, which were even now babbling to each other. Each head had embroidery on the collars of their shirt: one said GOG, the other, MAGOG.
“Release you? I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you Tweedle-Gog?”
“Contrariwise, I do not, Tweedle-Magog.”
“You’re a dangerous little fucker, Sariel,” concluded Tweedle-Magog.
“Wait! What happened to the bit about Red Queen and the poker party?” asked Charles, who was still a bit disoriented. “The hedghogs and shit?”
“Oh, we skipped ahead a few chapters,” said Tweedle-Magog. “We thought the Queen would bore you.”
Charles glowered at them. “Is the issue that she bores me, or does she scare the shit out of you?” he asked shrewdly.
The two did not answer, but merely glared.
“OK. So, what do you want?” asked Charles.
“The time has come to talk of many things,” said Tweedle-Gog.
“I’d be a lot more comfortable if you took these chains off. They’re warping my wings.”
Tweedle-Gog and Tweedle-Magog glanced at each other. “Oh, then perhaps you have a key?” said Tweedle-Magog.
“Not any more,” said Charles. “I took my vest off. I lost it. A couple chapters back.”
“That’s too, too bad,” tutted Tweedle-Gog. Charles suddenly became aware of the sound of snoring. He looked to the side of the road. “Oh, god, did those idiots fall asleep in the snow again?” he asked, seeing his band huddled together in a snow bank, Nathan Knight and the March Skwisgaar and the Mock Ninja Turtle and the Caterpickles and even Toki Rabbit Thingie Dealie. “Look, Tweedle-whatever the hell, let me go, and I’ll deal with them.”
“Frostbite. Not conducive to playing the guitar, is it?” asked Tweedle-Gog.
“Quit kidding around. I need to wake ‘em up. They’re generally not smart enough to get up on their own.”
“Too bad you don’t remember where you put that key,” commented Tweedle-Magog.
“I told you, I lost the key. It was probably carried out in the tsunami when Ganesh’s dance caused the rainstorm.”
“They’re dreaming now. They’re dreaming of you,” said Tweedle-Gog.
“I rather doubt that,” said Charles. “I think it more involves double-jointed groupies.”
“Wake them up, and what will happen to you?” asked Tweedle-Magog.
“Well, I’m pretty damned sure what will happen if we don’t wake ‘em up. HEY GUYS, WAKE THE FUCK UP! Damn….”
“Well, if you insist,” said Tweedle-Gog. And then, with a snarling pose, including the throwing of horns, they disappeared.
“Assholes,” muttered Charles.
They sky darkened.
“Stupid dream sequence,” grumbled Charles, pulling again ineffectively against his chains. And then he head the rustling in the distance, like branches breaking. The bare trees here seemed to contract, as if in fear. He started to tug harder at the chains. “HEY! GUYS! ICE CREAM! GROUPIES! Shit, what will do it?
It was footsteps.
Of something very big.
“Guys! PHARMACEUTICAL GRADE HEROIN! MINIATURE GOLF! CHEERLEADERS! Shit….”
The ground trembled with the footsteps. Something ancient.
Charles felt the rustling of the branches, like fear.
“CHEERLEADER SLUTS! EATING CINNAMON BUNS!”
And it was there, standing over them.
Saliva dripping down pointed fangs.
“GUYS! WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Charles screamed.
“SARIEL!”
Charles woke, twisted up in covers, bathed in sweat, Ganesh holding on to him with many hands.
“It’s all right,” said Ganesh. “You’re here with me. Everything is all right.”
Charles looked around. “When did I True Form?” he asked, as wings were tangled up everywhere.
“You must have True Formed in your sleep, dear,” said Ganesh. “I have never seen you do that before.”
They turned to a small knock on the door. Ganesh jumped down from the bed. “Boonie!” he said, opening up the door. “Did you wake up, Beta?” he asked Elias, who was at the door.
“Dabbawock!” said Elias, jumping into Ganesh’s arms. “Da Dabbawock!”
“What did he say?” gasped Charles.
“Suppose,” said Ganesh, brushing the hair from Elias’ face, “we all get up and have a little pie. And maybe some hot chocolate. Would you like that?”
Elias and Charles both nodded frantically.
“All rightie. Some pie. It is a little known fact, but pie consumption generally scares away the Jabberwock….”
“Not our kitchen,” said Charles, pulling on his pajama pants.
“No?”
“No. I wanna go to the main kitchen.”
“All rightie,” said Ganesh, leading the way. Charles stopped one moment to grab his phone from the bedside table. He hit his speed dial as they walked.
“Oh, hello everybody,” said Ganesh. Charles looked up.
“Hey Ganoshes. Hey Booms.”
The entire band was gathered around the kitchen table.
“Yeah, Raziel,” said Charles over the phone. “We need you to come back. We need you to read us a story.” He around the table, at the faces of the band and frowned. “No, the same story. But my way this time.”
