The Veena (Mythklok Chapter 94)
Apr. 3rd, 2012 05:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: The Veena (Mythklok Chapter 94)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Skwisgaar meets some more of Ganesh’s eccentric relatives, and Charles escorts Nathan to an important appointment.
Warnings: Stringed instruments, bureaucrats.
Notes: After jump.
Last time: Charles put his own personal spin on our bedtime story, but the bad guys still escaped.
You guys are probably gonna kill me for this one. But I had to do it. Think of it as an S4 preview.
Information that is important to have: “kaun” is Hindi for “who?”
The driver had long since turned the SUV from the highway to a rural road, and thence a dustier rural road, and then some miles later what seemed no more than a rutted goat track. Skwisgaar, who wasn’t accustomed as of recent years to traveling in a vehicle which lacked a wet bar, clung to his plastic water bottle and to Ganesh’s promise of martinis at the completion of the errand. He scowled as the driver carefully threaded the vehicle around an ox cart headed in the other direction. While Ganesh, across the back seat, kept his eyes fixed to his smart phone – which somehow seemed to have reception even out here – Skwisgaar openly stared at the people clinging to the cart as it rattled by, regarding them as if they had been sent here specifically to relieve his boredom.
“Ams dis much furthers?” Skwisgaar asked, gripping a handle above the door as the SUV bumped back on the roadway after weaving around the heavily laden cart. He usually addressed Ganesh in English although he gathered the guy knew Swedish somehow: probably from hanging around Skwisgaar’s father for so many years.
“Not much, I think,” said Ganesh. The god looked up, though not at Skwisgaar: he appeared to be peering up ahead through the windscreen. “Yes, we are getting near he said,” lowering his eyes with a quick nod up ahead.
It was funny traveling with Ganesh. When Skwisgaar went anywhere with Charles, he always got the impression the man was hovering, waiting to see if he wanted or needed anything. Ganesh on the other hand seemed off in his own little world. He wasn't exactly standoffish, but it certainly wasn't the pampering Skwisgaar was used to.
Skwisgaar leaned over, spilling blond hair everywhere, to look between the seats. There was a large manmade structure of some kind now visible in the distance. “Ams da castles?”
“More or less. It is an ancient fort.”
Skwisgaar nodded. That made sense: these Indian guys seemed to have a lot of wars. He watched as the edifice slowly approached. It was massive, comprising an entire mountainside, and completely dwarfed the small village below.
The car at last reached the turn off for the village, and lumbered down a claustrophobic street not too much wider than the SUV itself, which rather annoyed some cyclists and pedestrians. Ganesh leaned over to the driver and began a rapid exchange in Hindi, Ganesh emphasizing his points by tapping a slim finger on what was evidently a map displayed on his smart phone.
The car pulled to a halt before a small storefront. Skwisgaar gratefully exited the car, and was annoyed to be nearly run down by three idiots clinging on an ancient scooter. Ganesh was now chattering with the driver, who promptly drove off to parts unknown, leaving them stranded in this dusty hellhole.
“He ams not waits for us?” asked Skwisgaar.
“It would be of no use,” said Ganesh, his nose already back in the iPhone. “You will see why.” He opened a heavy-looking wooden door and beckoned Skwisgaar to follow him inside. Skwisgaar followed, eager to be out of the dusty wind and away from the various townspeople crouching in nearby doorways staring at them.
The guitarist blinked, suddenly out of the bright sunlight and inside a dim interior. There was music: weird foreign chords, the beat of a tabla. And strange scents: definitely incense, maybe spices, and something – he wasn’t exactly sure what – cooking. Was there a kitchen here? Skwisgaar noticed Ganesh wrinkling his nose as he removed his sunglasses.
A boy – evidently a clerk – who had been nodding off while sitting on a stool behind the counter suddenly sprang up. “Shri Ganesha!” he said, stooping over to touch Ganesh’s feet.
Ganesh steepled his hands and bowed over them. “Namaste. Will you fetch him?”
“Dis ams da restaurants?” asked Skwisgaar as the boy disappeared behind a pair of beaded curtains.
Ganesh smiled a half smile and waved his arm behind Skwisgaar, who turned to behold a grand shelf he somehow hadn’t noticed before. It was completely crammed full of stringed instruments. They were mostly sitars, but some other similar instruments, like pot-bellied veenas, slender-necked tambouras, and low-toned surbahars. Skwisgaar picked up a pointed sarod and plucked at the strings.
A tiny, bespectacled man with prominent ears wearing what looked like monks robes emerged through a curtained doorway.
“Narada Uncle,” said Ganesh, pressing his hands together and nodding over them. He bent to touch the man’s feet, but was instead caught in four arms.
“Ganesha!” said Narada, ruffling Ganesh’s hair. “Where have you been keeping yourself the past centuries! Here for more sitar lessons, I expect?” Narada asked, speaking, as was his wont, in classical Sanskrit.
“Er,, no actually. We have come to procure a new instrument,” said Ganesh, indicating Skwisgaar, who, a bit rudely, still had his back turned.
Ganesh winced as Narada put an elbow or two into his ribs. ”Ganesha you dog!” said Narada, regarding the long blond hair and slim figure of the guitarist. “So you’ve gone against all my good advice and gotten yourself a wife! You know how I warned you about earthly encumbrances? Bad for your karma, innit?”
“Er. Uncle, might I introduce Skwisgaar Odinsson?” said Ganesh, biting away a smile.
“Skwisgaar-ji,” said Narada dubiously as Skwisgaar finally turned around to sneer at him. “I must get these specs replaced,” he added, adjusting his wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
“Whats?” asked Skwisgaar.
Ganesh shook his head. “Skwisgaar, this is my very old friend, Narada-ji. He is my sitar tutor, and the world’s finest maker of stringed instruments. Uncle-ji, Skwisgaar is in a rock band which is managed by my husband.”
“Husband?” said Narada, picking up on the very word Ganesh had least wished him to. “So you have gotten yourself settled down now?”
Ganesh pulled out his iPhone and, frowning, showed a picture to the older god. “Here is our son. We call him Boon, although he is more formally Brahma to our people.”
“Children!” sniffed Narada. “Unnecessary. A drag on the immortal soul!”
“Yes, uncle,” sighed Ganesh.
“Though he is a cute little bastard, innit?”
“Ja. Childrens ams not wort’ de efforts,” chimed in Skwigaar.
“See?” said Narada. “Here is a man who has divested himself of the worldly goods! Presently he will be one with the universe.”
Skwisgaar ignored Ganesh’s sour look and puffed at the compliment.
“You two must stay for lunch!” said Narada.
“Goat curry, Uncle-ji?” asked Ganesh.
“Why yes, it is my goat curry. Most famous dish, innit?”
“Yes, and being a vegetarian for the past seventeen centuries, I appreciate it all the more,” said Ganesh wryly. “Sadly, however, we have another appointment.”
“Are you certain? You can listen to my Mahati!” said Narada.
Skwisgaar, sensing GMILF proximity, frowned. It sounded like a female name, but there were none to be seen. “Ja, ja! We listens to Mahati.”
“Of course. If there is time,” said Ganesh. “In the meanwhile, we would like to select and purchase an instrument for Skwisgaar.”
“Oh, to purchase? Yes, I should bring out my accountant. I don't have a head for earthly things such as payment,” said Narada, suddenly snapping his fingers and leaving the room. “Lakshmi! Lakshmi? Where the devil has she gone?”
“So, dat Yoda dudes ams goings to find me dat seetar?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Er,” said Ganesh, biting off another smile.
Narada returned, a voluptuous woman clad in a ravishing green silk sari gliding out behind him. She was holding a tiny white owl. “Narada, I have told you and told you that is just plain old rude to snap your fingers at me like a servant!” she trilled in an unearthly high voice. “Oh, Ganesha, my darling dearest, how aaaaare you?” she said, leaning over to air-kiss him, and rattling her golden jewelry as she did.
“I am well, Auntie-ji,” said Ganesha.
“And who have we here?” she asked, batting her third eye at Skwisgaar.
“Hellos, lovely ladies,” replied Skwisgaar.
“Skwisgaar Odinsson, this is my Auntie Lakshmi,” said Ganesh.
“Oh, don't do call me Auntie, it makes me sound older than the Vedas!” she whispered to Ganesh in Hindi, adjusting the lotus in her hair.
“Believe me, dear, with this one, it shall make no difference,” Ganesh sighed as she twisted a bit of the guitarist’s long blond hair with a red-nailed finger.
“We will sell a sitar today, Laskshmi sister,” Narada told her.
“Let me check my files, enlightened one,” she said. “Could you hold this for me, sweetie?” she asked Skwisgaar, handing him the little owl to hold. Skwisgaar took the bird with a puzzled look.
“Kauuuun?” hooted the owl.
“Oh, I can't find the right file,” said Lakshmi, who was shuffling through an old-fashioned file drawer full of dusty paper files. “Let me ask the Vidya,” she said, bustling out of the room. A moment later, she returned, this time dressed in red and carrying a tiny brown owl.
“Lakshmi Auntie,” said Ganesh, pressing his hands together and bowing.
“Ganesha Beta! Where have you been keeping yourself? Still cute as a button,” she trilled in her super high voice, leaning over to once again bestow air kisses on her nephew.
“We are here today to purchase a new sitar for my friend, Skwisgaar Odinsson,” he said, indicating the now thoroughly confused lead guitarist.
“But that airhead Dhanya Lakshmi couldn't find the file,” complained Narada.
“Oh, I'm certain we can locate it in no time,” said Lakshmi. “Would you hold this just one tiny second my dear?' she asked Skwisgaar, cuffing Skwisgaar on the chin and handing him the little brown owl, which he awkwardly shuffled with the other owl.
“Kauuuun?” said the little brown owl.
“Kauuuun!” answered the little white owl.
“Hmmmm,” said Lakshmi. “I might fetch the Dhana for this,” she mused.
“Well, get someone who can deal with such mundanities,” grumbled Narada as Lakshmi bustled out of the room
“Ams she very forgetsful?” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh.
“Not particularly,” smiled Ganesh.
Lakshmi returned, this time in six-armed form, and carrying a little golden owl. “I don’t know what the problem is, sister, the file should be right here.” She stopped and regarded Ganesh and Skwisgaar. “Ganesha Beta! And you brought a lovely friend here!” she said as she came over for more air kisses.
“Skwisgaar Odinsson, Auntie,” said Ganesh.
“Ams I holds da owl t’ing?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Oh, of course dear, how lovely of you to offer,” said Lakshmi, depositing her owl in his arms as she floated over to the file drawer. “See, it’s right here.”
“Well, maybe if you would file so another celestial being could find it!” sniffed the red Lakshmi, who was now in the doorway.
“Well, she has her ways,” said the green Lakshmi, who was also in the doorway.
“Dey ams…” sputtered Skwisgaar, juggling owls. “Dey ams da tripsluts?”
“They are manifestations. Auntie Lakshmi has eight,” Ganesh told him.
“Dere ams eights of dems?” goggled Skwisgaar, balancing owls so he could hold up seven fingers.
“Kaun!” hooted an owl.
“Kauuuuuun!” hooted another.
“Kaaaaaun,” hooted the third.
“I thought you were currently seeing my mother,” said Ganesh, giving the Swede an icy glare.
“Oh, ja. But ams da opens reglationships,” explained Skwisgaar.
“Uh-huh. You are aware as far as my mother is concerned, ‘open’ signifies that she is open to burn you with the infinitely hot flames of her third eye?”
“Pffft!” countered Skwisgaar.
“Oh, good, here you are!” said Charles, who had just suddenly appeared in the small shop along with Nathan Explosion and little Elias.
“How ever did you locate us?” asked Ganesh, picking up Elias. “Hello, you!” he told his son.
“I asked Sarasvati to send you a pie, and then we followed it!” said Charles proudly.
“Oh, that was clever!” admitted Ganesh.
“Could you guys watch Boon for a couple hours?” asked Charles.
“Oh, that would be a joy!” sighed Ganesh, inclining his head at Skwisgaar.
“Who are ALL THE CLONE CHICKS?” Nathan whispered to Skwisgaar in a not particularly whispery voice. “Hey, cool owls.”
“Dey ams da Lakshmises. And dere ams eights of dem!” Skwisgaar whispered, holding up nine fingers. “Cockstuplets!”
“Kauuuun!” hooted an owl, who was upset with all the jostling.
“KAAAAAHHHHHHN!” boomed Nathan to the owl, ruffling many feathers. “Whoa, Trekkie owl, that’s pretty cool. Hey, so there’s four for you and four for me?”
“Whats?” grumbled Skwisgaar. “I ams finds dems firsts!”
“Dude, I think you could share your weird god chicks. Look at all those arms!” Nathan pointed out.
“Oooo, who have we here? Ganesha Beta! And you brought all these delicious men!” said an eight-armed Lakshmi Skwisgaar hadn’t seen before from the doorway.
“Auntie-ji,” said Ganesh. “Yes, these are members of the band, Dethklok, Nathan Explosion and Skwisgaar Odinsson. And this is my own husband, Sariel, and our dear son, Boonie.”
“Oooo,” said the eight-armed Lakshmi, floating over to take Boon from Ganesh. “Aren’t you the most adorable thing?”
“An Bisnoo Bwama Maheswawa ‘Wias ‘Goun Sen ‘Shel, an DIS MANY!” Elias told her, holding up two fingers.
“Pffft,” sniffed Skwisgaar, who was not fond of being cock-blocked by a toddler.
“Sariel?” asked the red Lakshmi. “You’re not an angel are you dear?” she asked Charles.
“Uh, yeah, I am indeed an angel,” said Charles uncomfortably as the Lakshmi took his lapel in her long-nailed fingers.
“Oooooo!” trilled several Lakshmis.
“Pffft,” grumbled Nathan, who was not fond of being cock-blocked by a stupid angel manager.
“But where are your wings, dear?” asked the green Lakshmi, who now had a hand in Charles’ hair.
“Uh, that’s my True Form,” cringed Charles, “and it’s a little cramped in here now for wings. They tend to knock over stuff.”
“Awww,” said the Lakshmis, who seemed terribly disappointed.
“Lakshmi sisters!” said Narada, clapping his hands. The god appeared more than a little irritated by all the noise and commotion come into his shop.
“Oh, don’t do clap at us Narada dearest. We sound like pack animals,” trilled the red Lakshmi.
“We have guests, innit? Why don’t you take them in back for some tea whilst I settle them with an instrument?”
“Uh, we didn’t wanna stay long,” said Charles as the Lakshmis led him off.
“Oh, no problem at all little dear! We do so love to hear about angels,” said a Lakshmi, grabbing her owl from Skwigaar, who rapidly found himself de-fowled.
“Kaun!” hooted the owl.
“KAHHHN!” said Nathan. “Yeah, I want TEA! Because, TEA IS TOTALLY METAL!” said Nathan, hurrying after them.
“Skwisgaar!” snapped Ganesh as the guitarist started to follow the crowd into the back.
“Whats?”
“Your sitar?” said Ganesh, tapping an impatient Ferragamo.
Skwisgaar pouted over the retreating Lakshmis. “Ja, da seetar,” he grumbled. Only he, Ganesh and little Narada remained in the shop.
“Shall we pick out a suitable model now, innit?” asked Narada. Skwisgaar nodded glumly. “You will show me what you have learned first!” said the god, pulling out an instrument. “You have this oaf as your teacher, we will see how badly he has misled you.” Narada at that moment plonked down on his bottom and indicated that Skwisgaar follow.
Skwisgaar frowned at the dusty floor, but sat down cross-legged on the shop floor opposite the god. “You ams tunes da t’ing,” he said, crossing his arms stubbornly as Narada held out the sitar to him.
“You cannot tune your own instrument?” asked Narada.
“Ams not my jobs,” insisted Skwisgaar, examining his nails.
“They have, er, assistants to do that sort of thing,” smiled Ganesh.
Flashing a sour look at Ganesh, who persisted in smiling, Narada quickly tuned the sitar, and then handed it over once again to Skwisgaar, who took it.
“Now, let’s see how badly this idiot-“ But Narada stopped short as Skwisgaar’s super-fast fingers expertly plucked through some complicated runs.
“I ams not warmsed up yets!” Skwisgaar warned him, pulling off some more stunning runs.
“Motherfuck my eighth incarnation!” exclaimed Narada. “He’s brilliant, innit?” he told Ganesh.
“He has a certain affinity for the instrument,” said Ganesh, who was struggling not to break into a grin.
“No cheap shit for you, young man,” said Narada, who had already sprang up. “We will try to find a fine instrument. A masterpiece!”
Skwisgaar puffed as he continued to play, apparently somewhat recovered from the departure of the Lakshmis.
“Let me go and check upon my husband,” suggested Ganesh, who had had quite enough of sitars for the day.
“Yes, yes,” said Narada distractedly and he plied over his shelves of instruments.
Ganesh smiled and strode into the back. He heard the sound of many Lakshmi manifestations chattering, and followed the surprisingly long, dim hallway back to the room where the sound emitted. He parted the beaded curtains and stopped short.
Charles was sitting on a chair in the center of the room. Even though Charles, having apparently removed his jacket and shirt at some point, was now in full silvery winged True Form mode, he could barely be seen but for the veritable crowd of Lakshmi’s gathered around him, massaging his forehead and caressing his feathery wings and serving him tea and, in one case, sitting quite merrily in his lap hand-feeding him bits of pie.
Nathan, who was off to the side, scowling and holding Elias, said, “Those Lakshmi chicks. They’re INTO ANGELS.”
“Uh, hi Ganesh!” said Charles, looking around a curvaceous Lakshmi to see his husband standing silent.
“Sariel. You- You True Formed for them?” whispered Ganesh.
“Uh,” said Charles. “They, uh, wanted to see. And, I, uh, wanted to be polite,” he explained as a Lakshmi massaged his bare feet.
Ganesh glared, his dark eyes burning. And then he turned and stormed out of the room.
“Ganesh!” said Charles. “Hey, wait,” he said, brushing a Lakshmi off his knee and following Ganesh as the god stormed out of the room.
“Busteeeeed,” a grinning Nathan told Elias, adding, “Hey, Laskshmi dudes, I could use a neck massage!”
Ganesh had made his way blindly into what looked like a workroom. He stood fuming for a moment before he found himself suddenly wrapped up in sliver-feathered wings.
“C’mon, Ganesh. You know I only get the wings out for you. I mean, that way.”
“Hmpf,” said Ganesh, who quite instantly found it more difficult to be peevish with angel arms and angel wings surrounding him.
“What if I show you some wings, later tonight?” Charles muttered into Ganesh’s neck.
“Oh. I suppose,” sighed Ganesh, turning around to face Charles. “I am terribly sorry, Sariel,” he said, running a finger along Charles’ cheek. He shook his head, sending hair cascading into his face. “I had no reason to be jealous. You realize how the presence of sitars creates peevish feelings in me.”
“I know.”
“And he offered me that damned Goat curry! They know damn well I am a vegetarian!” Ganesh sighed. “It’s nothing but gristle, you know. Quite terrible.”
“Awwww, poor Ganesh,” said Charles, who was now chewing on one of Ganesh’s shirt buttons. He stopped and scowled back over one winged shoulder. “Does your uncle’s door lock?”
Nathan, who had but two arms, somehow held onto Elias’ hand, a brindle colored owl, and a delicious piece of pie. “Pie’s not bad, huh kiddo?”
“Uh-huh! Da Duts app bie!” agreed the boy, licking his lips.
They found themselves back in the showroom, where Skwisgaar was standing by the counter while Narada, with the assistance of a Lakshmi or two, was wrapping an intricately carved sitar in paper.
“Oh, you found an instrument … thing?” asked Nathan.
“Ja. An’ Narada ams takes me as da students, as I ams da fastests seetarist,” bragged Skwisgaar.
“Oh, uh, that’s nice,” said Nathan, who harbored grave doubts goofy Hindu instruments were sufficiently metal.
“Where ams Charles?” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“Yes, and where has Ganesha gotten himself to?” wondered Narada.
There was a suddenly rumble, and the shop trembled, as if from a minor earthquake, or perhaps a very large truck passing outside.
Skwisgaar and Nathan suddenly exchanged a glance. “Ohhhhh,” said Nathan, grinning from ear to ear.
“What was that?” asked Narada.
“Yeah, well those two, they’re off doing, uhhhh….. You know,” said Nathan, casting a glance at Elias. Nathan made a circle with the finger and thumb of one hand, and sent the index finger of the other hand repeatedly poking into it in a crude representation of intercourse. “No, wait,” he said, stopping and staring at his hands in puzzlement. “Wait, it’s two guys, so….” He extended two index fingers and bonked them into each other. “Uhhhh, I’m not exactly sure what goes on.”
“Wunky Nate-Nate,” said Elias, “Sets id da bootiful ‘spression of wuv!”
“Uh, what?” asked Nathan.
“Yes, that is exactly correct, my dear” said Ganesh, striding into the room, shirt still all unbuttoned, and gleefully picking up his son and setting him on the counter next to the paper-wrapped sitar.
“What have you been up to, Ofdensen?” demanded Nathan as a now Court Formed Charles slipped somewhat apologetically into the room, still fastening his tie.
“Uhhhh,” explained Charles as a Lakshmi tied his tie for him. “Hey, got any of that pie left?”
“Have we found a suitable instrument, Uncle?” asked Ganesh, merrily poking at the package.
“Yes, and I have decided to take over the instruction of this student,” scolded Narada, “as he is obviously already beyond your crude level.”
“Oh, how terribly pleasant of you, Narada Uncle,” said Ganesh, lifting the package and handing it to Skwisgaar with a pair of arms whilst he extended a credit card to a maroon-clad Lakshmi with another hand. “Are we ready, then?” he asked Skwisgaar, holding out a phone with yet another hand. “I shall need to call a driver.” And then without waiting for an answer, he had once again scooped up his son and hastened out the door.
“Uh, ja, I ams guesses,” said a slightly flustered Skwisgaar, who hurried after Ganesh carrying the awkward paper package. He emerged from the heavy wooden doorway, and jumped back immediately as he was almost run over by a boy on a scooter running over the wide, crowded sidewalk. He blinked, did a double take, and looked around. They had emerged in a smoky, bustling marketplace in what looked like some huge metropolitan area.
“Uh, ams we takes da wrong doors?” he asked Ganesh, who had just clicked off his phone.
“Narada Uncle is a wanderer amongst men,” explained Ganesh as an SUV started to pull up. “His shop is never in the same place twice.”
“But…. But how ams I to go for lesskons?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Well, said Ganesh, opening the door on the passenger side of the white SUV, “I suppose that will present an interesting challenge!” Ganesh hopped inside, slamming the door behind him. Skwisgaar grabbed a door handle and barely managed to locate himself and his new sitar in the back seat before the car pulled off and disappeared into busy traffic.
Back inside the shop, Charles asked Nathan, “So, are you ready to take off?”
“CAN I KEEP THIS OWL CHARLES! It’s pretty metal, and SKWISGAAR HAS A RAVEN!”
“Well, I don’t know, Nathan,” said Charles, who had his DethPhone out. “I think you need to ask the Lakshmis if that will be OK. Those are their familiars.”
“Oh, does your little friend wish one of our owls?” gushed a Lakshmi, pressing uncomfortably against Charles.
“Uhhh. Yeah. If it’s not too much of a favor?” asked Charles, who was trying to maintain his composure with a face full of Lakshmi bosom.
“Oh certainly dear,” said another Lakshmi, giving Charles a little kiss on top of his head. “There you go, Ullu, dear!” she told the owl.
“Kaun!” hooted the little owl, flapping little wings. It looked especially tiny up on Nathan’s broad shoulder.
“KHAAAAAN!” agreed Nathan. “Damn, I didn’t know this but owls are BRUTAL!”
“Uh, yeah, that’s important information to have. Thank you, Lakshmi,” said Charles, doing his best Namaste bow.
“Come back and visit soon!” trilled a Lakshmi as another Lakshmi favored him with air kisses.
A somewhat flustered and red-faced Charles grabbed Nathan (and his new friend) by one brawny arm and Walked out of the shop.
“So we really gotta go do this? Aren’t they CLOSED by now?” asked Nathan hopefully.
“Nathan, we gotta do this. I just didn’t wanna expose Boon to it. He’s still a baby!” said Charles, fixing his tie.
“He’s growing up.” Nathan leaned over and whispered. “He knows about S-E-C-H-X-Z!”
“Don’t remind me,” said Charles. “Ganesh’s doing, mostly,” he continued, his cheeks flushing redder at the memory of Ganesh in Narada’s work room. Love gods – damn but they were distracting.
“You sure you can’t get me out of this?” wondered Nathan.
“Look, I even went straight to the top: I asked Phanuel. Most of the workers there are from his realm.”
“What did Phanuel dude say?”
“I guess even he’s scared of these guys!”
“Wow,” said Nathan as he and Charles arrived at their destination. He looked up at the massive entryway, with the forbidding sign looming overhead, “Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“So there’s no way out of this?” pleaded Nathan.
“Nathan, your license is expired. You still wanna drive the DethCycle, right? Or you OK letting Pickles drive?”
“Oh god no not that again,” rumbled Nathan. “That guy is a HAZARD,” he told Ullu.
“Kaun!” agreed the owl, who was already settling in as Nathan’s companion.
Charles pushed through the doorway, and Nathan, with an involuntary shudder, followed close behind.
The inside looked something like Disneyland: that is, if you removed all of the rides, attractions and scary ass big headed characters from the park and instead transported only the long, boring lines into a dingy, fluorescent lit hellhole. There were lines of people weaving here and there throughout the entire expanse of the lobby, with utterly no indication of where was the beginning or the end, or what you might hope to find if you were to wait it out: a new driver’s license, vehicle registration, or perhaps a pair of Ozzy tickets.
“Should we have brought a SLEEPING BAG?” inquired Nathan, whose mind was obviously drifting in the same direction.
“All right. OK,” said Charles in his most soothing voice – which was really not terribly soothing – “We'll start here,” he concluded, pointing to a large “INFORMATION” sign. “Excuse us,” he said to the ancient woman behind the desk. The woman, who was bent over a box full of paperclips continued to pay attention to the paper clips. She had a pile of clips of assorted sizes which she was apparently sorting by size and color into a number of different piles. “Uh, excuse us,” Charles said again, but she merely adjusted her rhinestone reading glasses, puffed out heavily powdered cheeks, and went on sorting. “Uh,” said Charles, elaborately clearing his throat. The woman continued sorting. Charles sighed softly and waited. Finally, she had sorted through the pile.
“Excuse me?” asked Charles as the woman bent over to open a drawer.
She extracted another box of assorted paperclips. Which she emptied on top of her desk.
“Uh,” said Charles.
“EXCUUUUUUUSE US!” boomed Nathan, causing both Charles and the lady – as well as a good half of the line – to jump.
The woman behind the information desk patted her ironclad bouffant hairdo and aimed a steely eye at Charles. “Yes?” she barked, in a voice that sounded as if it had been burnished in tobacco and then marinated in whiskey.
“Uh,” said Charles. “His license is expired. Which line...?”
“Pick a number have a seat,” she rasped, hiking a crimson-nailed finger at a battered-looking plastic box with paper tickets sticking out.
“Thanks,” said Charles, though the Information Lady had already gone back to her clips.
Nathan lunged for the box and grabbed a ticket. “Look Charles! METAL!” he announced, holding up his “666” ticket.
“Ah, that's great Nathan,” said Charles. “Let's see what number they're serving. Oh,” he remarked, noticing the number on the 70s-style digital readout overhead was in fact “5.” “Well, let's, uh, have a seat,” Charles suggested, pointing to a nest of sad, plastic chairs that must have, 20 or 30 years ago, been painted in bright primary colors.
“So, Skwisgaar?” said Nathan as he settled uncomfortably into a seat that looked like it was meant for a man half his size.
“Yes, what about Skwisgaar?” asked Charles, flicking a gum wrapper off his seat and then carefully inspecting said seat for gum residue.
“He's playing sitar? Does, uh, that mean he's gonna get all SPIRITUAL AND SHIT?”
“Uh, Skwisgaar?” said Charles. “Uh, speaking from what I know about him, I doubt it.”
“Because, you can't do DEATH METAL about the maharajah and enlightenment and shit! It's not BRUTAL!”
“Hrm. You don't think Hindu mythology is brutal? Because there are, you know, demons and lakes of fire and that sort of thing. Ganesh is teaching me this dance....”
“THAT'S MY POINT! Ganesh's dance stuff,” said Nathan, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I mean, I like Ganesh dude, he makes fucking KILLER MARTINIS, but that dancing stuff? Well, other than the girls in the bikinis with the big tits who dance around because that part is OK, but the rest of it? Did you see the one the other night with the guys in the SEE THROUGH PURPLE SHIRTS?”
“Oh, the number he did where he was wearing that leather outfit...?” asked Charles, whose mind suddenly drifted.
“CHARLES!”
“Oh, uh, sorry Nathan. But, you know,” he said, distractedly kicking off his shoes and crossing his legs on the seat, “I have some pull in that regard now!”
“What do you mean?” asked Nathan, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Boon!”
“BOON?”
“Yeah. Boon's part Hindu god, right? He’s in the pantheon. So, if I need spiritual advice, I just go to him,” said Charles, who was now grinning smugly.
Nathan stared. “You go to your little kid?”
“Yeah, sure! I say, Boon, Daddy is gonna do this, what do you think? And he says, yes, Daddy!”
“Kaun!” hooted Ullu accusingly.
“Yeah, I agree Owl dude. Charles, THAT SEEMS LIKE CHEATING.”
“It's not cheating!” protested Charles. “He's their official Lord of the Dance and a bunch of other shit! And Ganesh has been worshipped since he was that age.”
“Boon worships you.”
Charles beamed, knowing it was true. “Yeah, see? It's mutually beneficial!”
Nathan sat back in the little plastic seat, obviously unconvinced. “So, what kind of spiritual advice does the kid give you?”
“Uh. I can't stick my tongue out at Raziel because it isn't polite,” said Charles, ticking off on his fingers. “And I should be nice to puppies and kitties. And play with LEGO. Because LEGO is good. Except when you can't find the grey piece. And, uh, I probably shouldn't taser so many people.”
“Oh. That's gotta be a drag.”
“We all make sacrifices. And I should leave a piece of pie for Ganesh.”
“Huh. Well, that's good advice. YOU'RE A PIG,” agreed Nathan. “So, what would he say about you and the Lakshmi chicks?”
“What? Oh, that was just silly,” said Charles, who colored slightly.
“Maybe I should asked Boon about stuff. I NEED GUIDANCE.”
“Really? I thought you only need to know if something was brutal or not?”
“Well-” began Nathan, but just then, both men looked up at the sound of a very familiar stutter.
“Kaun?” asked Ullu.
“Not Khan, CLOWN,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I have n-n-n-n-number eight, k-k-k-k-cats eyeglass lady!” said a portly, balding man with copious frizzy blond hair. He was wearing a suit that looked like it had spent at least the last two decades crumpled up in the bottom of a closet.
“You have five hundred eight,” rasped the information lady. “You smeared ketchup on the 5-0,” she said, flicking off flakes of the tomato-y condiment with a twitch of a long red nail.
“I have an ap-p-p-p-pointment for a spray tan, beehive mama! I k-k-k-k-k-can't hang around this sad town, gotta split, you d-d-d-d-dig?”
Two beady eyes stared over rhinestone frames. “Take a seat, Condiment Boy,” she rasped.
“I've g-g-g-g-gotta get to my spray tan, Fran! Don't wanna p-p-p-perform looking like a k-k-k-k-ghost! I just got signed on the d-d-d-d-dotted line with k-k-k-k-Crystal Mountain baby?”
“Did you say, Crystal Mountain?” said Charles.
“K-k-k-k-k-!” squealed Leonard Rockstein (for it was he), terrified to see none other than the manager of Dethklok at his side. He jerked backwards, only to land almost in the arms of their burly lead singer, who was looming behind him.
“Sit down, clown,” said Charles. “We need to talk.”
“I don't wanna talk to you, Mr. Business Man!” protested Roskstein as Charles and Nathan frog marched him to a dingy little plastic seat, and then stood glaring over him. “You just wanna t-t-t-t-taser my ass!”
“Can we taser this douchebag Charles? Pleeeeeease?” asked Nathan.
“Kaun!” agreed his owl.
“Maybe later Nathan. I just want to ask Rockso a few questions.”
“I'm not D-d-d-d-doctor Rockso any more, Cherub cheeks!”
“No?” glared Charles.
“I'm The Leonard R-r-r-r-rockstein Good Time Exp-p-p-press!”
“Wait, you're on the Crystal Mountain Presents Nostalgic Visions of Carefree Retro Days Gone By Tour?” asked Charles.
“Nostalgia? But his band was popular like two years ago!” whispered Nathan.
“Nostalgia ain't what it used to be, Nathan,” sighed Charles. “Rockso – I mean, Rockstein – who signed you?”
“Well, m-m-m-m-maybe that's for me to k-k-k-know, and you to have your drones k-k-k-kick the shit outta me! I may not be a c-c-c-c-clown, but I got my pride, C-c-c-c-castiel.”
“That guy is with another department,” said Charles, sitting down next to Rockstein.
“What if we made this wait a little more … entertaining for you?” whispered Charles.
Rockstein cast two devious ex-clown eyes left and right at the prospect of tasty mind-altering substances. “I c-c-c-c-can't, Mr. Short, Pale and Surly. I have a c-c-c-c-clause in the c-c-c-contract. I gotta pee into a c-c-c-c-cup!”
“That's TOO MUCH INFORMATION,” grumbled Nathan.
Charles had already pulled out his Dethphone. “They don't have any tests for this particular substance. Yet,” he said, as his fingers danced over a virtual keyboard. “Come on,” he said, pulling Rockstein to his feet and dragging him out to the parking lot.
“Stay put, Nathan,” said Charles. “I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, and LEAVE THE CLOWN OUTSIDE,” muttered Nathan, glaring after them. “In a convenient trash can maybe,” he added.
Charles marched the protesting Rockso to an out of the way spot in back of the building. “Where are we going, s-s-s-s-s-celestial pants?” asked Rockstein, looking around nervously for Klokateers in steel-toed boots.
“Hey doods!” said Pickles who had just suddenly appeared out of nowhere
“K-k-k-k-whoa!” said Rockstein, jumping in back of Charles.
“You brought the, uh, substance, Pickles, as I requested?” asked Charles.
“Dis is what you wanted, chief?” asked Pickles, holding a small vial, which he wiggled in front of Rockstein's face. It held a clear liquid, which just briefly glinted in the sun.
“Yes, the X-23,” said Charles.
“Yoo shure he's ready fer da X-twenny t'ree?” asked Pickles, suddenly pulling away the vial as Rockstein reached out to grasp it. “It ain't fer jest anybuddy.”
“What's X-X-X-X-X-X-23?” asked Rockstein.
“Dat's da reason I kin suddenly appear t' yoo outta nowhere, clown dood,” explained Pickles. “Yer in mah halloocination. Dat's how powerful dis shit is!”
“I k-k-k-k-want!” Rockstein assured them, suddenly stumbling around Charles and feinting towards the vial. Pickles easily side-stepped him.
“First,” said Charles, stepping between Rockstein and Pickles, “I need some answers, clown.”
“What do you wanna k-k-k-k-know, Mr. Bird Man of Alca-ca-ca-catraz?” asked Rockso.
“Who signed you at Crystal Mountain?”
“Some hipster brothers.”
“Lots of piercings, these guys?”
“Yeah, k-k-k-k-k-covered in ink. Real n-n-n-n-nineties throwbacks,” said Rockstein, using his much threadbare tie to mop up the sweat on his forehead.
“So you’re just touring?”
“Rockso only tours to sup-p-p-port an album, dig?” protested the ex-clown. “C-c-c-c-can I have the stuff now?” he asked, as Pickles was grinning and shaking the vial.
“Just a couple more questions,” said Charles, shoving him back.
“Watch the hands, angel man!” huffed Rockstein. “Rockso don’t swing that way.”
“You’ve got a CD out?” said Charles, shaking off the insult and consulting his Dethphone.
“They already had the trax, Max. I j-j-j-just added the Rockso magic.”
“Wutever dat is,” grinned Pickles.
“Everyone’s a c-c-c-c-critic, Snakes and Hairplugs,” sniped Rockstein. Pickles glowered and yanked away the X-23 vial again.
“They wrote this stuff for you?” asked Charles, who seemed distracted by the image of Rockstein’s CD on his Dethphone.
“I was p-p-p-pre-p-p-p-p-packaged!” bragged Rockstein, who seemed to believe no creative input was a badge of honor.
“Uh-huh. Pickles,” said Charles, waving a hand.
Pickles shrugged and tossed the vial to Rockstein, who grabbed it and scampered happily away.
“Just for the record,” said Charles, who was texting something, “what exactly was in the, uh, X-23?”
“Jest a dab o’ Toki’s airplane gloo an’ a splash o’ Skwisgaar’s after shave.”
“Uh-huh.”
“An mebbe a bit o’ laxative.”
Charles made a strange noise, which Pickles realized was a laugh. “Don’t wanna be around when that takes effect then.”
“Who’re yoo gonna call?” asked Pickles.
“Gonna get a little assistance for Nathan….”
Nathan was playing a game his band sometimes used to pass the time: they would pick out a group of three female persons and decide, “Fuck – ass fuck – or threesome.” The game was boring as shit to play with Skwisgaar, given that every single combination ended up as “threesome.” It turned out to be somewhat more interesting to play with Ullu the owl, who seemed to have good taste in women.
But even Nathan Explosion wasn’t immune to boredom. He sighed a very metal sigh.
“Hey, Nathan! Cool owl!”
He looked up. “Hey Lady Raz! What are you doing here?”
“Sariel called,” the little angel told him. She was fishing around for something in her tiny purse. “Could you hold this a second?” she asked, handing him a scarf she had pulled out from inside. She then successively handed him a designer wallet, a jar of peanut butter, mascara, a set of keys, one red pump with a broken heel, a bound volume of what looked like an encyclopedia (only it was written in some strange language), a cell phone, a jeweled dagger, a bottle of baby wipes and a wind-up toy that looked like a little horse and rider.
“Oh, here we go!” she said, taking out a funny little device that looked sort of like a big fancy marking pen. “Let me see your number,” she asked.
“Uh,” said Nathan, whose arms were a bit full.
“Oh, sorry,” said Raziel, who retrieved all the items, easily stuffing them back into a purse which could have been no more than ten cubic inches. From the outside at least.
Nathan handed over the small tab of paper with 666 written on it. Raziel pointed the marking pen at the number board and pressed a button. There was a funny humming sound, and then the digital readout overhead suddenly changed.
“Number 666!” came the intercom. “Please come to counter seven for your driving test!”
“METAL!” said Nathan. “Thanks Lady Raz,” he said, taking the number from her and hastening over to the counter. “I’m READY TO DRIVE!” he exclaimed.
“You got that taken care of?” asked Charles, who had just come up beside her.
“Yeah. Will Nathan pass his driving test?” asked Raziel.
“I’ve seen this before. After riding a bike with Nathan, the instructor will do anything,” said Charles.
“Oh! He drives like me!”
“Raziel, promise me you’ll never get a motorcycle.”
“Maybe not ‘till the kids are older. Is that all you needed me for?”
“Actually,” said Charles, “something’s just come up.”
“What?” Charles passed her his Dethphone. “Gog and Magog. Before they took a header out of the 127th floor, they signed Dr. Rockso. This is the album.”
Raziel put her sunglasses up on top of her head and frowned at the screen. “We gotta talk to someone,” she finally said.
“And I know who, unfortunatel,” sighed Charles.
The most distinctive thing about the house was possibly how very indistinctive it was. It was in a quiet neighborhood, with a well-tended garden, including a small gnome, out front.
“Oh,” said the Archangel Michael, who answered the doorbell ring.
“We’re sorry, we didn’t call first,” said Charles.
“No, I’m sure he’ll want to see you. Come in,” said Michael. Charles entered, as did Raziel, who was carrying Elias.
“Father!” called Michael. But the Creator was already standing in the living room.
“Gampa!” said Elias. Raziel set him down on the floor, and he ran over to the Creator.
“Hello, little one. My, you are getting bigger every day, aren’t you?” said the old man. He looked up warily and Charles and Raziel. “We were about to sit down and watch CSI Miami,” he told them.
“This won’t take long,” said Charles.
“Michael! Some tea please?” The Creator indicated they should sit on some well-worn couches. Raziel took something out of her purse and handed it to Charles, who handed the electronic tablet off to Elias. The boy hopped up on the couch beside the Creator and sat quietly playing a game. Charles and Raziel sat down opposite. Raziel took out an emery board and started to saw away at an invisible hang nail.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, children?” asked the Creator.
Raziel put her oversized sunglasses atop her head and silently glared. Charles held out a hand to her, and she extracted yet another item from her purse. Charles tossed it onto the coffee table between them.
“This is a compact diskette?” asked the Creator, who did not pick it up. “I had heard this format was to be obsolete.”
“It’s by an old … acquaintance of ours. I’d like you to read the track listing,” said Charles.
The Creator raised an eyebrow, but picked up the disk. Michael came out holding a silver tray, which he placed on the coffee table, and began to pour tea.
“I don’t care for any,” Raziel grumbled.
“Masala tea. It’s from your friend, Ganesh,” said the Creator, not taking his eyes from the CD.
Raziel looked at Charles who shrugged. She somewhat suspiciously took a delicate porcelain cup from Michael.
“Well, this is not to my taste, but I am certain it is entertaining,” smiled the Creator, waving the CD as he accepted his tea from Michael.
“The End? Satisfaction?” asked Sariel. “Ride of the Valkyries?”
“I should like to hear that one,” chuckled the Creator.
“Father. You told us to go down to the Abyss.”
“Did I?”
“I told you he was gonna bullshit us,” grumbled Raziel.
“Raziel! Language!” said the Creator.
“He’s heard worse. He’s growing up with a rock band,” said Charles as Raziel fumed.
“Gampa, id not powwite!” Elias told him primly.
“Excuse me?” said the Creator.
“Bu’sit id da Daddy word, an id not powwite!”
“See?” grinned Charles.
The Creator was still staring at Elias, who had happily gone back to fighting zombies on his tablet. “My creations – you are never sure how they might fare,” he said, wonder in his voice.
“Now, the Abyss?” urged Charles.
“It is a region embroiled in warfare, since such time as it was created,” said the Creator distractedly.
“Who is fighting whom?”
“That is not so clear any more, if ever it were,” said the old man, sipping his Masala tea.
“And Gog and Magog? Whose side are they on?” asked Charles.
“Their own, most likely.”
“Gamp! Boonie id go to da ‘Byss wid Daddy!” piped up Elias.
“Is that so?” smiled the Creator.
“Uh, Boon, no you’re not,” said Charles.
“And why shouldn’t you take the boy along?” the Creator asked Charles.
“You just told me that place is a war zone!”
“Yes, and he is your protector,” said the Creator.
“Uh-huh!” agreed Elias. “Boonie pwotect Daddy!”
“Elias!” said Charles, who had jumped up off the couch. He picked up his child and glared at the Creator. “Do not fuck with my kid, you old bastard,” he whispered, his voice now shaking.
A television clicked on somewhere. “Father! CSI Miami is starting!” came a female voice from the other room.
The Creator stood. “At the completion of this journey, one who has been unfairly exiled, shall be returned,” he told Charles. And then, nodding to Raziel, who had also stood, he departed the living room.
“Bye-bye, Gamp!” sang Elias.
“What- What did he mean by that Raziel?” asked Charles.
Raziel glared, and pulled her sunglasses off the top of her head. “It means Our Father,” she said, donning the shades, “art a real asshole.”
Somewhere in another part of the house a television suddenly emitted the sound of Roger Daltry screaming.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Skwisgaar meets some more of Ganesh’s eccentric relatives, and Charles escorts Nathan to an important appointment.
Warnings: Stringed instruments, bureaucrats.
Notes: After jump.
Last time: Charles put his own personal spin on our bedtime story, but the bad guys still escaped.
You guys are probably gonna kill me for this one. But I had to do it. Think of it as an S4 preview.
Information that is important to have: “kaun” is Hindi for “who?”
The driver had long since turned the SUV from the highway to a rural road, and thence a dustier rural road, and then some miles later what seemed no more than a rutted goat track. Skwisgaar, who wasn’t accustomed as of recent years to traveling in a vehicle which lacked a wet bar, clung to his plastic water bottle and to Ganesh’s promise of martinis at the completion of the errand. He scowled as the driver carefully threaded the vehicle around an ox cart headed in the other direction. While Ganesh, across the back seat, kept his eyes fixed to his smart phone – which somehow seemed to have reception even out here – Skwisgaar openly stared at the people clinging to the cart as it rattled by, regarding them as if they had been sent here specifically to relieve his boredom.
“Ams dis much furthers?” Skwisgaar asked, gripping a handle above the door as the SUV bumped back on the roadway after weaving around the heavily laden cart. He usually addressed Ganesh in English although he gathered the guy knew Swedish somehow: probably from hanging around Skwisgaar’s father for so many years.
“Not much, I think,” said Ganesh. The god looked up, though not at Skwisgaar: he appeared to be peering up ahead through the windscreen. “Yes, we are getting near he said,” lowering his eyes with a quick nod up ahead.
It was funny traveling with Ganesh. When Skwisgaar went anywhere with Charles, he always got the impression the man was hovering, waiting to see if he wanted or needed anything. Ganesh on the other hand seemed off in his own little world. He wasn't exactly standoffish, but it certainly wasn't the pampering Skwisgaar was used to.
Skwisgaar leaned over, spilling blond hair everywhere, to look between the seats. There was a large manmade structure of some kind now visible in the distance. “Ams da castles?”
“More or less. It is an ancient fort.”
Skwisgaar nodded. That made sense: these Indian guys seemed to have a lot of wars. He watched as the edifice slowly approached. It was massive, comprising an entire mountainside, and completely dwarfed the small village below.
The car at last reached the turn off for the village, and lumbered down a claustrophobic street not too much wider than the SUV itself, which rather annoyed some cyclists and pedestrians. Ganesh leaned over to the driver and began a rapid exchange in Hindi, Ganesh emphasizing his points by tapping a slim finger on what was evidently a map displayed on his smart phone.
The car pulled to a halt before a small storefront. Skwisgaar gratefully exited the car, and was annoyed to be nearly run down by three idiots clinging on an ancient scooter. Ganesh was now chattering with the driver, who promptly drove off to parts unknown, leaving them stranded in this dusty hellhole.
“He ams not waits for us?” asked Skwisgaar.
“It would be of no use,” said Ganesh, his nose already back in the iPhone. “You will see why.” He opened a heavy-looking wooden door and beckoned Skwisgaar to follow him inside. Skwisgaar followed, eager to be out of the dusty wind and away from the various townspeople crouching in nearby doorways staring at them.
The guitarist blinked, suddenly out of the bright sunlight and inside a dim interior. There was music: weird foreign chords, the beat of a tabla. And strange scents: definitely incense, maybe spices, and something – he wasn’t exactly sure what – cooking. Was there a kitchen here? Skwisgaar noticed Ganesh wrinkling his nose as he removed his sunglasses.
A boy – evidently a clerk – who had been nodding off while sitting on a stool behind the counter suddenly sprang up. “Shri Ganesha!” he said, stooping over to touch Ganesh’s feet.
Ganesh steepled his hands and bowed over them. “Namaste. Will you fetch him?”
“Dis ams da restaurants?” asked Skwisgaar as the boy disappeared behind a pair of beaded curtains.
Ganesh smiled a half smile and waved his arm behind Skwisgaar, who turned to behold a grand shelf he somehow hadn’t noticed before. It was completely crammed full of stringed instruments. They were mostly sitars, but some other similar instruments, like pot-bellied veenas, slender-necked tambouras, and low-toned surbahars. Skwisgaar picked up a pointed sarod and plucked at the strings.
A tiny, bespectacled man with prominent ears wearing what looked like monks robes emerged through a curtained doorway.
“Narada Uncle,” said Ganesh, pressing his hands together and nodding over them. He bent to touch the man’s feet, but was instead caught in four arms.
“Ganesha!” said Narada, ruffling Ganesh’s hair. “Where have you been keeping yourself the past centuries! Here for more sitar lessons, I expect?” Narada asked, speaking, as was his wont, in classical Sanskrit.
“Er,, no actually. We have come to procure a new instrument,” said Ganesh, indicating Skwisgaar, who, a bit rudely, still had his back turned.
Ganesh winced as Narada put an elbow or two into his ribs. ”Ganesha you dog!” said Narada, regarding the long blond hair and slim figure of the guitarist. “So you’ve gone against all my good advice and gotten yourself a wife! You know how I warned you about earthly encumbrances? Bad for your karma, innit?”
“Er. Uncle, might I introduce Skwisgaar Odinsson?” said Ganesh, biting away a smile.
“Skwisgaar-ji,” said Narada dubiously as Skwisgaar finally turned around to sneer at him. “I must get these specs replaced,” he added, adjusting his wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
“Whats?” asked Skwisgaar.
Ganesh shook his head. “Skwisgaar, this is my very old friend, Narada-ji. He is my sitar tutor, and the world’s finest maker of stringed instruments. Uncle-ji, Skwisgaar is in a rock band which is managed by my husband.”
“Husband?” said Narada, picking up on the very word Ganesh had least wished him to. “So you have gotten yourself settled down now?”
Ganesh pulled out his iPhone and, frowning, showed a picture to the older god. “Here is our son. We call him Boon, although he is more formally Brahma to our people.”
“Children!” sniffed Narada. “Unnecessary. A drag on the immortal soul!”
“Yes, uncle,” sighed Ganesh.
“Though he is a cute little bastard, innit?”
“Ja. Childrens ams not wort’ de efforts,” chimed in Skwigaar.
“See?” said Narada. “Here is a man who has divested himself of the worldly goods! Presently he will be one with the universe.”
Skwisgaar ignored Ganesh’s sour look and puffed at the compliment.
“You two must stay for lunch!” said Narada.
“Goat curry, Uncle-ji?” asked Ganesh.
“Why yes, it is my goat curry. Most famous dish, innit?”
“Yes, and being a vegetarian for the past seventeen centuries, I appreciate it all the more,” said Ganesh wryly. “Sadly, however, we have another appointment.”
“Are you certain? You can listen to my Mahati!” said Narada.
Skwisgaar, sensing GMILF proximity, frowned. It sounded like a female name, but there were none to be seen. “Ja, ja! We listens to Mahati.”
“Of course. If there is time,” said Ganesh. “In the meanwhile, we would like to select and purchase an instrument for Skwisgaar.”
“Oh, to purchase? Yes, I should bring out my accountant. I don't have a head for earthly things such as payment,” said Narada, suddenly snapping his fingers and leaving the room. “Lakshmi! Lakshmi? Where the devil has she gone?”
“So, dat Yoda dudes ams goings to find me dat seetar?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Er,” said Ganesh, biting off another smile.
Narada returned, a voluptuous woman clad in a ravishing green silk sari gliding out behind him. She was holding a tiny white owl. “Narada, I have told you and told you that is just plain old rude to snap your fingers at me like a servant!” she trilled in an unearthly high voice. “Oh, Ganesha, my darling dearest, how aaaaare you?” she said, leaning over to air-kiss him, and rattling her golden jewelry as she did.
“I am well, Auntie-ji,” said Ganesha.
“And who have we here?” she asked, batting her third eye at Skwisgaar.
“Hellos, lovely ladies,” replied Skwisgaar.
“Skwisgaar Odinsson, this is my Auntie Lakshmi,” said Ganesh.
“Oh, don't do call me Auntie, it makes me sound older than the Vedas!” she whispered to Ganesh in Hindi, adjusting the lotus in her hair.
“Believe me, dear, with this one, it shall make no difference,” Ganesh sighed as she twisted a bit of the guitarist’s long blond hair with a red-nailed finger.
“We will sell a sitar today, Laskshmi sister,” Narada told her.
“Let me check my files, enlightened one,” she said. “Could you hold this for me, sweetie?” she asked Skwisgaar, handing him the little owl to hold. Skwisgaar took the bird with a puzzled look.
“Kauuuun?” hooted the owl.
“Oh, I can't find the right file,” said Lakshmi, who was shuffling through an old-fashioned file drawer full of dusty paper files. “Let me ask the Vidya,” she said, bustling out of the room. A moment later, she returned, this time dressed in red and carrying a tiny brown owl.
“Lakshmi Auntie,” said Ganesh, pressing his hands together and bowing.
“Ganesha Beta! Where have you been keeping yourself? Still cute as a button,” she trilled in her super high voice, leaning over to once again bestow air kisses on her nephew.
“We are here today to purchase a new sitar for my friend, Skwisgaar Odinsson,” he said, indicating the now thoroughly confused lead guitarist.
“But that airhead Dhanya Lakshmi couldn't find the file,” complained Narada.
“Oh, I'm certain we can locate it in no time,” said Lakshmi. “Would you hold this just one tiny second my dear?' she asked Skwisgaar, cuffing Skwisgaar on the chin and handing him the little brown owl, which he awkwardly shuffled with the other owl.
“Kauuuun?” said the little brown owl.
“Kauuuun!” answered the little white owl.
“Hmmmm,” said Lakshmi. “I might fetch the Dhana for this,” she mused.
“Well, get someone who can deal with such mundanities,” grumbled Narada as Lakshmi bustled out of the room
“Ams she very forgetsful?” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh.
“Not particularly,” smiled Ganesh.
Lakshmi returned, this time in six-armed form, and carrying a little golden owl. “I don’t know what the problem is, sister, the file should be right here.” She stopped and regarded Ganesh and Skwisgaar. “Ganesha Beta! And you brought a lovely friend here!” she said as she came over for more air kisses.
“Skwisgaar Odinsson, Auntie,” said Ganesh.
“Ams I holds da owl t’ing?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Oh, of course dear, how lovely of you to offer,” said Lakshmi, depositing her owl in his arms as she floated over to the file drawer. “See, it’s right here.”
“Well, maybe if you would file so another celestial being could find it!” sniffed the red Lakshmi, who was now in the doorway.
“Well, she has her ways,” said the green Lakshmi, who was also in the doorway.
“Dey ams…” sputtered Skwisgaar, juggling owls. “Dey ams da tripsluts?”
“They are manifestations. Auntie Lakshmi has eight,” Ganesh told him.
“Dere ams eights of dems?” goggled Skwisgaar, balancing owls so he could hold up seven fingers.
“Kaun!” hooted an owl.
“Kauuuuuun!” hooted another.
“Kaaaaaun,” hooted the third.
“I thought you were currently seeing my mother,” said Ganesh, giving the Swede an icy glare.
“Oh, ja. But ams da opens reglationships,” explained Skwisgaar.
“Uh-huh. You are aware as far as my mother is concerned, ‘open’ signifies that she is open to burn you with the infinitely hot flames of her third eye?”
“Pffft!” countered Skwisgaar.
“Oh, good, here you are!” said Charles, who had just suddenly appeared in the small shop along with Nathan Explosion and little Elias.
“How ever did you locate us?” asked Ganesh, picking up Elias. “Hello, you!” he told his son.
“I asked Sarasvati to send you a pie, and then we followed it!” said Charles proudly.
“Oh, that was clever!” admitted Ganesh.
“Could you guys watch Boon for a couple hours?” asked Charles.
“Oh, that would be a joy!” sighed Ganesh, inclining his head at Skwisgaar.
“Who are ALL THE CLONE CHICKS?” Nathan whispered to Skwisgaar in a not particularly whispery voice. “Hey, cool owls.”
“Dey ams da Lakshmises. And dere ams eights of dem!” Skwisgaar whispered, holding up nine fingers. “Cockstuplets!”
“Kauuuun!” hooted an owl, who was upset with all the jostling.
“KAAAAAHHHHHHN!” boomed Nathan to the owl, ruffling many feathers. “Whoa, Trekkie owl, that’s pretty cool. Hey, so there’s four for you and four for me?”
“Whats?” grumbled Skwisgaar. “I ams finds dems firsts!”
“Dude, I think you could share your weird god chicks. Look at all those arms!” Nathan pointed out.
“Oooo, who have we here? Ganesha Beta! And you brought all these delicious men!” said an eight-armed Lakshmi Skwisgaar hadn’t seen before from the doorway.
“Auntie-ji,” said Ganesh. “Yes, these are members of the band, Dethklok, Nathan Explosion and Skwisgaar Odinsson. And this is my own husband, Sariel, and our dear son, Boonie.”
“Oooo,” said the eight-armed Lakshmi, floating over to take Boon from Ganesh. “Aren’t you the most adorable thing?”
“An Bisnoo Bwama Maheswawa ‘Wias ‘Goun Sen ‘Shel, an DIS MANY!” Elias told her, holding up two fingers.
“Pffft,” sniffed Skwisgaar, who was not fond of being cock-blocked by a toddler.
“Sariel?” asked the red Lakshmi. “You’re not an angel are you dear?” she asked Charles.
“Uh, yeah, I am indeed an angel,” said Charles uncomfortably as the Lakshmi took his lapel in her long-nailed fingers.
“Oooooo!” trilled several Lakshmis.
“Pffft,” grumbled Nathan, who was not fond of being cock-blocked by a stupid angel manager.
“But where are your wings, dear?” asked the green Lakshmi, who now had a hand in Charles’ hair.
“Uh, that’s my True Form,” cringed Charles, “and it’s a little cramped in here now for wings. They tend to knock over stuff.”
“Awww,” said the Lakshmis, who seemed terribly disappointed.
“Lakshmi sisters!” said Narada, clapping his hands. The god appeared more than a little irritated by all the noise and commotion come into his shop.
“Oh, don’t do clap at us Narada dearest. We sound like pack animals,” trilled the red Lakshmi.
“We have guests, innit? Why don’t you take them in back for some tea whilst I settle them with an instrument?”
“Uh, we didn’t wanna stay long,” said Charles as the Lakshmis led him off.
“Oh, no problem at all little dear! We do so love to hear about angels,” said a Lakshmi, grabbing her owl from Skwigaar, who rapidly found himself de-fowled.
“Kaun!” hooted the owl.
“KAHHHN!” said Nathan. “Yeah, I want TEA! Because, TEA IS TOTALLY METAL!” said Nathan, hurrying after them.
“Skwisgaar!” snapped Ganesh as the guitarist started to follow the crowd into the back.
“Whats?”
“Your sitar?” said Ganesh, tapping an impatient Ferragamo.
Skwisgaar pouted over the retreating Lakshmis. “Ja, da seetar,” he grumbled. Only he, Ganesh and little Narada remained in the shop.
“Shall we pick out a suitable model now, innit?” asked Narada. Skwisgaar nodded glumly. “You will show me what you have learned first!” said the god, pulling out an instrument. “You have this oaf as your teacher, we will see how badly he has misled you.” Narada at that moment plonked down on his bottom and indicated that Skwisgaar follow.
Skwisgaar frowned at the dusty floor, but sat down cross-legged on the shop floor opposite the god. “You ams tunes da t’ing,” he said, crossing his arms stubbornly as Narada held out the sitar to him.
“You cannot tune your own instrument?” asked Narada.
“Ams not my jobs,” insisted Skwisgaar, examining his nails.
“They have, er, assistants to do that sort of thing,” smiled Ganesh.
Flashing a sour look at Ganesh, who persisted in smiling, Narada quickly tuned the sitar, and then handed it over once again to Skwisgaar, who took it.
“Now, let’s see how badly this idiot-“ But Narada stopped short as Skwisgaar’s super-fast fingers expertly plucked through some complicated runs.
“I ams not warmsed up yets!” Skwisgaar warned him, pulling off some more stunning runs.
“Motherfuck my eighth incarnation!” exclaimed Narada. “He’s brilliant, innit?” he told Ganesh.
“He has a certain affinity for the instrument,” said Ganesh, who was struggling not to break into a grin.
“No cheap shit for you, young man,” said Narada, who had already sprang up. “We will try to find a fine instrument. A masterpiece!”
Skwisgaar puffed as he continued to play, apparently somewhat recovered from the departure of the Lakshmis.
“Let me go and check upon my husband,” suggested Ganesh, who had had quite enough of sitars for the day.
“Yes, yes,” said Narada distractedly and he plied over his shelves of instruments.
Ganesh smiled and strode into the back. He heard the sound of many Lakshmi manifestations chattering, and followed the surprisingly long, dim hallway back to the room where the sound emitted. He parted the beaded curtains and stopped short.
Charles was sitting on a chair in the center of the room. Even though Charles, having apparently removed his jacket and shirt at some point, was now in full silvery winged True Form mode, he could barely be seen but for the veritable crowd of Lakshmi’s gathered around him, massaging his forehead and caressing his feathery wings and serving him tea and, in one case, sitting quite merrily in his lap hand-feeding him bits of pie.
Nathan, who was off to the side, scowling and holding Elias, said, “Those Lakshmi chicks. They’re INTO ANGELS.”
“Uh, hi Ganesh!” said Charles, looking around a curvaceous Lakshmi to see his husband standing silent.
“Sariel. You- You True Formed for them?” whispered Ganesh.
“Uh,” said Charles. “They, uh, wanted to see. And, I, uh, wanted to be polite,” he explained as a Lakshmi massaged his bare feet.
Ganesh glared, his dark eyes burning. And then he turned and stormed out of the room.
“Ganesh!” said Charles. “Hey, wait,” he said, brushing a Lakshmi off his knee and following Ganesh as the god stormed out of the room.
“Busteeeeed,” a grinning Nathan told Elias, adding, “Hey, Laskshmi dudes, I could use a neck massage!”
Ganesh had made his way blindly into what looked like a workroom. He stood fuming for a moment before he found himself suddenly wrapped up in sliver-feathered wings.
“C’mon, Ganesh. You know I only get the wings out for you. I mean, that way.”
“Hmpf,” said Ganesh, who quite instantly found it more difficult to be peevish with angel arms and angel wings surrounding him.
“What if I show you some wings, later tonight?” Charles muttered into Ganesh’s neck.
“Oh. I suppose,” sighed Ganesh, turning around to face Charles. “I am terribly sorry, Sariel,” he said, running a finger along Charles’ cheek. He shook his head, sending hair cascading into his face. “I had no reason to be jealous. You realize how the presence of sitars creates peevish feelings in me.”
“I know.”
“And he offered me that damned Goat curry! They know damn well I am a vegetarian!” Ganesh sighed. “It’s nothing but gristle, you know. Quite terrible.”
“Awwww, poor Ganesh,” said Charles, who was now chewing on one of Ganesh’s shirt buttons. He stopped and scowled back over one winged shoulder. “Does your uncle’s door lock?”
Nathan, who had but two arms, somehow held onto Elias’ hand, a brindle colored owl, and a delicious piece of pie. “Pie’s not bad, huh kiddo?”
“Uh-huh! Da Duts app bie!” agreed the boy, licking his lips.
They found themselves back in the showroom, where Skwisgaar was standing by the counter while Narada, with the assistance of a Lakshmi or two, was wrapping an intricately carved sitar in paper.
“Oh, you found an instrument … thing?” asked Nathan.
“Ja. An’ Narada ams takes me as da students, as I ams da fastests seetarist,” bragged Skwisgaar.
“Oh, uh, that’s nice,” said Nathan, who harbored grave doubts goofy Hindu instruments were sufficiently metal.
“Where ams Charles?” sniffed Skwisgaar.
“Yes, and where has Ganesha gotten himself to?” wondered Narada.
There was a suddenly rumble, and the shop trembled, as if from a minor earthquake, or perhaps a very large truck passing outside.
Skwisgaar and Nathan suddenly exchanged a glance. “Ohhhhh,” said Nathan, grinning from ear to ear.
“What was that?” asked Narada.
“Yeah, well those two, they’re off doing, uhhhh….. You know,” said Nathan, casting a glance at Elias. Nathan made a circle with the finger and thumb of one hand, and sent the index finger of the other hand repeatedly poking into it in a crude representation of intercourse. “No, wait,” he said, stopping and staring at his hands in puzzlement. “Wait, it’s two guys, so….” He extended two index fingers and bonked them into each other. “Uhhhh, I’m not exactly sure what goes on.”
“Wunky Nate-Nate,” said Elias, “Sets id da bootiful ‘spression of wuv!”
“Uh, what?” asked Nathan.
“Yes, that is exactly correct, my dear” said Ganesh, striding into the room, shirt still all unbuttoned, and gleefully picking up his son and setting him on the counter next to the paper-wrapped sitar.
“What have you been up to, Ofdensen?” demanded Nathan as a now Court Formed Charles slipped somewhat apologetically into the room, still fastening his tie.
“Uhhhh,” explained Charles as a Lakshmi tied his tie for him. “Hey, got any of that pie left?”
“Have we found a suitable instrument, Uncle?” asked Ganesh, merrily poking at the package.
“Yes, and I have decided to take over the instruction of this student,” scolded Narada, “as he is obviously already beyond your crude level.”
“Oh, how terribly pleasant of you, Narada Uncle,” said Ganesh, lifting the package and handing it to Skwisgaar with a pair of arms whilst he extended a credit card to a maroon-clad Lakshmi with another hand. “Are we ready, then?” he asked Skwisgaar, holding out a phone with yet another hand. “I shall need to call a driver.” And then without waiting for an answer, he had once again scooped up his son and hastened out the door.
“Uh, ja, I ams guesses,” said a slightly flustered Skwisgaar, who hurried after Ganesh carrying the awkward paper package. He emerged from the heavy wooden doorway, and jumped back immediately as he was almost run over by a boy on a scooter running over the wide, crowded sidewalk. He blinked, did a double take, and looked around. They had emerged in a smoky, bustling marketplace in what looked like some huge metropolitan area.
“Uh, ams we takes da wrong doors?” he asked Ganesh, who had just clicked off his phone.
“Narada Uncle is a wanderer amongst men,” explained Ganesh as an SUV started to pull up. “His shop is never in the same place twice.”
“But…. But how ams I to go for lesskons?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Well, said Ganesh, opening the door on the passenger side of the white SUV, “I suppose that will present an interesting challenge!” Ganesh hopped inside, slamming the door behind him. Skwisgaar grabbed a door handle and barely managed to locate himself and his new sitar in the back seat before the car pulled off and disappeared into busy traffic.
Back inside the shop, Charles asked Nathan, “So, are you ready to take off?”
“CAN I KEEP THIS OWL CHARLES! It’s pretty metal, and SKWISGAAR HAS A RAVEN!”
“Well, I don’t know, Nathan,” said Charles, who had his DethPhone out. “I think you need to ask the Lakshmis if that will be OK. Those are their familiars.”
“Oh, does your little friend wish one of our owls?” gushed a Lakshmi, pressing uncomfortably against Charles.
“Uhhh. Yeah. If it’s not too much of a favor?” asked Charles, who was trying to maintain his composure with a face full of Lakshmi bosom.
“Oh certainly dear,” said another Lakshmi, giving Charles a little kiss on top of his head. “There you go, Ullu, dear!” she told the owl.
“Kaun!” hooted the little owl, flapping little wings. It looked especially tiny up on Nathan’s broad shoulder.
“KHAAAAAN!” agreed Nathan. “Damn, I didn’t know this but owls are BRUTAL!”
“Uh, yeah, that’s important information to have. Thank you, Lakshmi,” said Charles, doing his best Namaste bow.
“Come back and visit soon!” trilled a Lakshmi as another Lakshmi favored him with air kisses.
A somewhat flustered and red-faced Charles grabbed Nathan (and his new friend) by one brawny arm and Walked out of the shop.
“So we really gotta go do this? Aren’t they CLOSED by now?” asked Nathan hopefully.
“Nathan, we gotta do this. I just didn’t wanna expose Boon to it. He’s still a baby!” said Charles, fixing his tie.
“He’s growing up.” Nathan leaned over and whispered. “He knows about S-E-C-H-X-Z!”
“Don’t remind me,” said Charles. “Ganesh’s doing, mostly,” he continued, his cheeks flushing redder at the memory of Ganesh in Narada’s work room. Love gods – damn but they were distracting.
“You sure you can’t get me out of this?” wondered Nathan.
“Look, I even went straight to the top: I asked Phanuel. Most of the workers there are from his realm.”
“What did Phanuel dude say?”
“I guess even he’s scared of these guys!”
“Wow,” said Nathan as he and Charles arrived at their destination. He looked up at the massive entryway, with the forbidding sign looming overhead, “Department of Motor Vehicles.”
“So there’s no way out of this?” pleaded Nathan.
“Nathan, your license is expired. You still wanna drive the DethCycle, right? Or you OK letting Pickles drive?”
“Oh god no not that again,” rumbled Nathan. “That guy is a HAZARD,” he told Ullu.
“Kaun!” agreed the owl, who was already settling in as Nathan’s companion.
Charles pushed through the doorway, and Nathan, with an involuntary shudder, followed close behind.
The inside looked something like Disneyland: that is, if you removed all of the rides, attractions and scary ass big headed characters from the park and instead transported only the long, boring lines into a dingy, fluorescent lit hellhole. There were lines of people weaving here and there throughout the entire expanse of the lobby, with utterly no indication of where was the beginning or the end, or what you might hope to find if you were to wait it out: a new driver’s license, vehicle registration, or perhaps a pair of Ozzy tickets.
“Should we have brought a SLEEPING BAG?” inquired Nathan, whose mind was obviously drifting in the same direction.
“All right. OK,” said Charles in his most soothing voice – which was really not terribly soothing – “We'll start here,” he concluded, pointing to a large “INFORMATION” sign. “Excuse us,” he said to the ancient woman behind the desk. The woman, who was bent over a box full of paperclips continued to pay attention to the paper clips. She had a pile of clips of assorted sizes which she was apparently sorting by size and color into a number of different piles. “Uh, excuse us,” Charles said again, but she merely adjusted her rhinestone reading glasses, puffed out heavily powdered cheeks, and went on sorting. “Uh,” said Charles, elaborately clearing his throat. The woman continued sorting. Charles sighed softly and waited. Finally, she had sorted through the pile.
“Excuse me?” asked Charles as the woman bent over to open a drawer.
She extracted another box of assorted paperclips. Which she emptied on top of her desk.
“Uh,” said Charles.
“EXCUUUUUUUSE US!” boomed Nathan, causing both Charles and the lady – as well as a good half of the line – to jump.
The woman behind the information desk patted her ironclad bouffant hairdo and aimed a steely eye at Charles. “Yes?” she barked, in a voice that sounded as if it had been burnished in tobacco and then marinated in whiskey.
“Uh,” said Charles. “His license is expired. Which line...?”
“Pick a number have a seat,” she rasped, hiking a crimson-nailed finger at a battered-looking plastic box with paper tickets sticking out.
“Thanks,” said Charles, though the Information Lady had already gone back to her clips.
Nathan lunged for the box and grabbed a ticket. “Look Charles! METAL!” he announced, holding up his “666” ticket.
“Ah, that's great Nathan,” said Charles. “Let's see what number they're serving. Oh,” he remarked, noticing the number on the 70s-style digital readout overhead was in fact “5.” “Well, let's, uh, have a seat,” Charles suggested, pointing to a nest of sad, plastic chairs that must have, 20 or 30 years ago, been painted in bright primary colors.
“So, Skwisgaar?” said Nathan as he settled uncomfortably into a seat that looked like it was meant for a man half his size.
“Yes, what about Skwisgaar?” asked Charles, flicking a gum wrapper off his seat and then carefully inspecting said seat for gum residue.
“He's playing sitar? Does, uh, that mean he's gonna get all SPIRITUAL AND SHIT?”
“Uh, Skwisgaar?” said Charles. “Uh, speaking from what I know about him, I doubt it.”
“Because, you can't do DEATH METAL about the maharajah and enlightenment and shit! It's not BRUTAL!”
“Hrm. You don't think Hindu mythology is brutal? Because there are, you know, demons and lakes of fire and that sort of thing. Ganesh is teaching me this dance....”
“THAT'S MY POINT! Ganesh's dance stuff,” said Nathan, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I mean, I like Ganesh dude, he makes fucking KILLER MARTINIS, but that dancing stuff? Well, other than the girls in the bikinis with the big tits who dance around because that part is OK, but the rest of it? Did you see the one the other night with the guys in the SEE THROUGH PURPLE SHIRTS?”
“Oh, the number he did where he was wearing that leather outfit...?” asked Charles, whose mind suddenly drifted.
“CHARLES!”
“Oh, uh, sorry Nathan. But, you know,” he said, distractedly kicking off his shoes and crossing his legs on the seat, “I have some pull in that regard now!”
“What do you mean?” asked Nathan, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Boon!”
“BOON?”
“Yeah. Boon's part Hindu god, right? He’s in the pantheon. So, if I need spiritual advice, I just go to him,” said Charles, who was now grinning smugly.
Nathan stared. “You go to your little kid?”
“Yeah, sure! I say, Boon, Daddy is gonna do this, what do you think? And he says, yes, Daddy!”
“Kaun!” hooted Ullu accusingly.
“Yeah, I agree Owl dude. Charles, THAT SEEMS LIKE CHEATING.”
“It's not cheating!” protested Charles. “He's their official Lord of the Dance and a bunch of other shit! And Ganesh has been worshipped since he was that age.”
“Boon worships you.”
Charles beamed, knowing it was true. “Yeah, see? It's mutually beneficial!”
Nathan sat back in the little plastic seat, obviously unconvinced. “So, what kind of spiritual advice does the kid give you?”
“Uh. I can't stick my tongue out at Raziel because it isn't polite,” said Charles, ticking off on his fingers. “And I should be nice to puppies and kitties. And play with LEGO. Because LEGO is good. Except when you can't find the grey piece. And, uh, I probably shouldn't taser so many people.”
“Oh. That's gotta be a drag.”
“We all make sacrifices. And I should leave a piece of pie for Ganesh.”
“Huh. Well, that's good advice. YOU'RE A PIG,” agreed Nathan. “So, what would he say about you and the Lakshmi chicks?”
“What? Oh, that was just silly,” said Charles, who colored slightly.
“Maybe I should asked Boon about stuff. I NEED GUIDANCE.”
“Really? I thought you only need to know if something was brutal or not?”
“Well-” began Nathan, but just then, both men looked up at the sound of a very familiar stutter.
“Kaun?” asked Ullu.
“Not Khan, CLOWN,” grumbled Nathan.
“But I have n-n-n-n-number eight, k-k-k-k-cats eyeglass lady!” said a portly, balding man with copious frizzy blond hair. He was wearing a suit that looked like it had spent at least the last two decades crumpled up in the bottom of a closet.
“You have five hundred eight,” rasped the information lady. “You smeared ketchup on the 5-0,” she said, flicking off flakes of the tomato-y condiment with a twitch of a long red nail.
“I have an ap-p-p-p-pointment for a spray tan, beehive mama! I k-k-k-k-k-can't hang around this sad town, gotta split, you d-d-d-d-dig?”
Two beady eyes stared over rhinestone frames. “Take a seat, Condiment Boy,” she rasped.
“I've g-g-g-g-gotta get to my spray tan, Fran! Don't wanna p-p-p-perform looking like a k-k-k-k-ghost! I just got signed on the d-d-d-d-dotted line with k-k-k-k-Crystal Mountain baby?”
“Did you say, Crystal Mountain?” said Charles.
“K-k-k-k-k-!” squealed Leonard Rockstein (for it was he), terrified to see none other than the manager of Dethklok at his side. He jerked backwards, only to land almost in the arms of their burly lead singer, who was looming behind him.
“Sit down, clown,” said Charles. “We need to talk.”
“I don't wanna talk to you, Mr. Business Man!” protested Roskstein as Charles and Nathan frog marched him to a dingy little plastic seat, and then stood glaring over him. “You just wanna t-t-t-t-taser my ass!”
“Can we taser this douchebag Charles? Pleeeeeease?” asked Nathan.
“Kaun!” agreed his owl.
“Maybe later Nathan. I just want to ask Rockso a few questions.”
“I'm not D-d-d-d-doctor Rockso any more, Cherub cheeks!”
“No?” glared Charles.
“I'm The Leonard R-r-r-r-rockstein Good Time Exp-p-p-press!”
“Wait, you're on the Crystal Mountain Presents Nostalgic Visions of Carefree Retro Days Gone By Tour?” asked Charles.
“Nostalgia? But his band was popular like two years ago!” whispered Nathan.
“Nostalgia ain't what it used to be, Nathan,” sighed Charles. “Rockso – I mean, Rockstein – who signed you?”
“Well, m-m-m-m-maybe that's for me to k-k-k-know, and you to have your drones k-k-k-kick the shit outta me! I may not be a c-c-c-c-clown, but I got my pride, C-c-c-c-castiel.”
“That guy is with another department,” said Charles, sitting down next to Rockstein.
“What if we made this wait a little more … entertaining for you?” whispered Charles.
Rockstein cast two devious ex-clown eyes left and right at the prospect of tasty mind-altering substances. “I c-c-c-c-can't, Mr. Short, Pale and Surly. I have a c-c-c-c-clause in the c-c-c-contract. I gotta pee into a c-c-c-c-cup!”
“That's TOO MUCH INFORMATION,” grumbled Nathan.
Charles had already pulled out his Dethphone. “They don't have any tests for this particular substance. Yet,” he said, as his fingers danced over a virtual keyboard. “Come on,” he said, pulling Rockstein to his feet and dragging him out to the parking lot.
“Stay put, Nathan,” said Charles. “I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, and LEAVE THE CLOWN OUTSIDE,” muttered Nathan, glaring after them. “In a convenient trash can maybe,” he added.
Charles marched the protesting Rockso to an out of the way spot in back of the building. “Where are we going, s-s-s-s-s-celestial pants?” asked Rockstein, looking around nervously for Klokateers in steel-toed boots.
“Hey doods!” said Pickles who had just suddenly appeared out of nowhere
“K-k-k-k-whoa!” said Rockstein, jumping in back of Charles.
“You brought the, uh, substance, Pickles, as I requested?” asked Charles.
“Dis is what you wanted, chief?” asked Pickles, holding a small vial, which he wiggled in front of Rockstein's face. It held a clear liquid, which just briefly glinted in the sun.
“Yes, the X-23,” said Charles.
“Yoo shure he's ready fer da X-twenny t'ree?” asked Pickles, suddenly pulling away the vial as Rockstein reached out to grasp it. “It ain't fer jest anybuddy.”
“What's X-X-X-X-X-X-23?” asked Rockstein.
“Dat's da reason I kin suddenly appear t' yoo outta nowhere, clown dood,” explained Pickles. “Yer in mah halloocination. Dat's how powerful dis shit is!”
“I k-k-k-k-want!” Rockstein assured them, suddenly stumbling around Charles and feinting towards the vial. Pickles easily side-stepped him.
“First,” said Charles, stepping between Rockstein and Pickles, “I need some answers, clown.”
“What do you wanna k-k-k-k-know, Mr. Bird Man of Alca-ca-ca-catraz?” asked Rockso.
“Who signed you at Crystal Mountain?”
“Some hipster brothers.”
“Lots of piercings, these guys?”
“Yeah, k-k-k-k-k-covered in ink. Real n-n-n-n-nineties throwbacks,” said Rockstein, using his much threadbare tie to mop up the sweat on his forehead.
“So you’re just touring?”
“Rockso only tours to sup-p-p-port an album, dig?” protested the ex-clown. “C-c-c-c-can I have the stuff now?” he asked, as Pickles was grinning and shaking the vial.
“Just a couple more questions,” said Charles, shoving him back.
“Watch the hands, angel man!” huffed Rockstein. “Rockso don’t swing that way.”
“You’ve got a CD out?” said Charles, shaking off the insult and consulting his Dethphone.
“They already had the trax, Max. I j-j-j-just added the Rockso magic.”
“Wutever dat is,” grinned Pickles.
“Everyone’s a c-c-c-c-critic, Snakes and Hairplugs,” sniped Rockstein. Pickles glowered and yanked away the X-23 vial again.
“They wrote this stuff for you?” asked Charles, who seemed distracted by the image of Rockstein’s CD on his Dethphone.
“I was p-p-p-pre-p-p-p-p-packaged!” bragged Rockstein, who seemed to believe no creative input was a badge of honor.
“Uh-huh. Pickles,” said Charles, waving a hand.
Pickles shrugged and tossed the vial to Rockstein, who grabbed it and scampered happily away.
“Just for the record,” said Charles, who was texting something, “what exactly was in the, uh, X-23?”
“Jest a dab o’ Toki’s airplane gloo an’ a splash o’ Skwisgaar’s after shave.”
“Uh-huh.”
“An mebbe a bit o’ laxative.”
Charles made a strange noise, which Pickles realized was a laugh. “Don’t wanna be around when that takes effect then.”
“Who’re yoo gonna call?” asked Pickles.
“Gonna get a little assistance for Nathan….”
Nathan was playing a game his band sometimes used to pass the time: they would pick out a group of three female persons and decide, “Fuck – ass fuck – or threesome.” The game was boring as shit to play with Skwisgaar, given that every single combination ended up as “threesome.” It turned out to be somewhat more interesting to play with Ullu the owl, who seemed to have good taste in women.
But even Nathan Explosion wasn’t immune to boredom. He sighed a very metal sigh.
“Hey, Nathan! Cool owl!”
He looked up. “Hey Lady Raz! What are you doing here?”
“Sariel called,” the little angel told him. She was fishing around for something in her tiny purse. “Could you hold this a second?” she asked, handing him a scarf she had pulled out from inside. She then successively handed him a designer wallet, a jar of peanut butter, mascara, a set of keys, one red pump with a broken heel, a bound volume of what looked like an encyclopedia (only it was written in some strange language), a cell phone, a jeweled dagger, a bottle of baby wipes and a wind-up toy that looked like a little horse and rider.
“Oh, here we go!” she said, taking out a funny little device that looked sort of like a big fancy marking pen. “Let me see your number,” she asked.
“Uh,” said Nathan, whose arms were a bit full.
“Oh, sorry,” said Raziel, who retrieved all the items, easily stuffing them back into a purse which could have been no more than ten cubic inches. From the outside at least.
Nathan handed over the small tab of paper with 666 written on it. Raziel pointed the marking pen at the number board and pressed a button. There was a funny humming sound, and then the digital readout overhead suddenly changed.
“Number 666!” came the intercom. “Please come to counter seven for your driving test!”
“METAL!” said Nathan. “Thanks Lady Raz,” he said, taking the number from her and hastening over to the counter. “I’m READY TO DRIVE!” he exclaimed.
“You got that taken care of?” asked Charles, who had just come up beside her.
“Yeah. Will Nathan pass his driving test?” asked Raziel.
“I’ve seen this before. After riding a bike with Nathan, the instructor will do anything,” said Charles.
“Oh! He drives like me!”
“Raziel, promise me you’ll never get a motorcycle.”
“Maybe not ‘till the kids are older. Is that all you needed me for?”
“Actually,” said Charles, “something’s just come up.”
“What?” Charles passed her his Dethphone. “Gog and Magog. Before they took a header out of the 127th floor, they signed Dr. Rockso. This is the album.”
Raziel put her sunglasses up on top of her head and frowned at the screen. “We gotta talk to someone,” she finally said.
“And I know who, unfortunatel,” sighed Charles.
The most distinctive thing about the house was possibly how very indistinctive it was. It was in a quiet neighborhood, with a well-tended garden, including a small gnome, out front.
“Oh,” said the Archangel Michael, who answered the doorbell ring.
“We’re sorry, we didn’t call first,” said Charles.
“No, I’m sure he’ll want to see you. Come in,” said Michael. Charles entered, as did Raziel, who was carrying Elias.
“Father!” called Michael. But the Creator was already standing in the living room.
“Gampa!” said Elias. Raziel set him down on the floor, and he ran over to the Creator.
“Hello, little one. My, you are getting bigger every day, aren’t you?” said the old man. He looked up warily and Charles and Raziel. “We were about to sit down and watch CSI Miami,” he told them.
“This won’t take long,” said Charles.
“Michael! Some tea please?” The Creator indicated they should sit on some well-worn couches. Raziel took something out of her purse and handed it to Charles, who handed the electronic tablet off to Elias. The boy hopped up on the couch beside the Creator and sat quietly playing a game. Charles and Raziel sat down opposite. Raziel took out an emery board and started to saw away at an invisible hang nail.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, children?” asked the Creator.
Raziel put her oversized sunglasses atop her head and silently glared. Charles held out a hand to her, and she extracted yet another item from her purse. Charles tossed it onto the coffee table between them.
“This is a compact diskette?” asked the Creator, who did not pick it up. “I had heard this format was to be obsolete.”
“It’s by an old … acquaintance of ours. I’d like you to read the track listing,” said Charles.
The Creator raised an eyebrow, but picked up the disk. Michael came out holding a silver tray, which he placed on the coffee table, and began to pour tea.
“I don’t care for any,” Raziel grumbled.
“Masala tea. It’s from your friend, Ganesh,” said the Creator, not taking his eyes from the CD.
Raziel looked at Charles who shrugged. She somewhat suspiciously took a delicate porcelain cup from Michael.
“Well, this is not to my taste, but I am certain it is entertaining,” smiled the Creator, waving the CD as he accepted his tea from Michael.
“The End? Satisfaction?” asked Sariel. “Ride of the Valkyries?”
“I should like to hear that one,” chuckled the Creator.
“Father. You told us to go down to the Abyss.”
“Did I?”
“I told you he was gonna bullshit us,” grumbled Raziel.
“Raziel! Language!” said the Creator.
“He’s heard worse. He’s growing up with a rock band,” said Charles as Raziel fumed.
“Gampa, id not powwite!” Elias told him primly.
“Excuse me?” said the Creator.
“Bu’sit id da Daddy word, an id not powwite!”
“See?” grinned Charles.
The Creator was still staring at Elias, who had happily gone back to fighting zombies on his tablet. “My creations – you are never sure how they might fare,” he said, wonder in his voice.
“Now, the Abyss?” urged Charles.
“It is a region embroiled in warfare, since such time as it was created,” said the Creator distractedly.
“Who is fighting whom?”
“That is not so clear any more, if ever it were,” said the old man, sipping his Masala tea.
“And Gog and Magog? Whose side are they on?” asked Charles.
“Their own, most likely.”
“Gamp! Boonie id go to da ‘Byss wid Daddy!” piped up Elias.
“Is that so?” smiled the Creator.
“Uh, Boon, no you’re not,” said Charles.
“And why shouldn’t you take the boy along?” the Creator asked Charles.
“You just told me that place is a war zone!”
“Yes, and he is your protector,” said the Creator.
“Uh-huh!” agreed Elias. “Boonie pwotect Daddy!”
“Elias!” said Charles, who had jumped up off the couch. He picked up his child and glared at the Creator. “Do not fuck with my kid, you old bastard,” he whispered, his voice now shaking.
A television clicked on somewhere. “Father! CSI Miami is starting!” came a female voice from the other room.
The Creator stood. “At the completion of this journey, one who has been unfairly exiled, shall be returned,” he told Charles. And then, nodding to Raziel, who had also stood, he departed the living room.
“Bye-bye, Gamp!” sang Elias.
“What- What did he mean by that Raziel?” asked Charles.
Raziel glared, and pulled her sunglasses off the top of her head. “It means Our Father,” she said, donning the shades, “art a real asshole.”
Somewhere in another part of the house a television suddenly emitted the sound of Roger Daltry screaming.
