Elephant Memory (Mythklok, Chapter 76)
Title: Elephant Memory (Mythklok, Chapter 76)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ganesh meets yet more eccentric relatives, Sariel meets an old acquaintance, Toki goes a bit bonkers.
Warnings: Original characters liek whoa. Or is that now considered a feature? I swear, fanfic confuses the hell out of me sometimes.
Notes: Following le jump.
Mythklok is one of the four food groups. Or not.
Didn't really think there would be a new chapter so soon. Or ever, really. Funny how my brain works sometimes.
Last time: Elias got Named. It was a really long name, so I won't repeat it here. Sariel died, but he got better. Dethklok performed, and everybody got to transform into cool creatures except Nathan, which kind of pissed him off. Angels ate junk food, and paid the consequences. Oh, and Uriah got away, darn.
It was quite late one evening, and Ganesh was fondly trying to fulfill his minimum daily requirement of angel groping.
As well as angel licking. And angel nuzzling. And all of the other delightful possibilities that existed when one was fortunate enough to access to an angel for such purposes.
There had been a bit of a delay today. Elias had been very tired and thus was cooperative about going to bed, at least after a few chapters regarding the Bitty Batty Bunnies (they were some such relation to the Wiggly Pigglies - Ganesh had no idea - but appeared a new obsession). But then the band had had one of their seemingly nonstop crises - someone had barked a shin on a Flying V or some such nonsense.
Ganesh found it best to let these things wind themselves down. The band could be hapless as well as comically self-absorbed, true, but there was a level at which Sariel treasured the haplessness, as he could then swoop to the rescue. The angel did seem a bit less patient of late, as he now had experience with an actual child, for comparison's sake.
But Ganesh had discovered after a few false starts that the best course was to nod sympathetically, perhaps tutting about what they would ever do without Sariel, and then perhaps kill time until the end of whatever crisis by texting Lady Raziel regarding the last few plot twists on Corazon de Azul (which he liked much better now that it once again lacked himself as a character).
But he had cast aside all thoughts of Reynaldo and why he was being such an intemperate ass with Mirabel, and instead now concentrated himself upon casting aside angel clothes, and thus gain access to angelic areas of interest.
“You know,” said Sariel.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” responded Ganesh. Who did know. A number of things. Angel stomachs, for example, were quite conducive to nuzzling.
“Uh, you know,” Sariel began again.
“Mmmmm?” asked Ganesh. He was paying at least one ear's worth of attention, as Sariel didn't generally speak overmuch during intimate encounters, but he was on to that lovely bit of Sariel's stomach where the fine hairs grew in a line....
“You know....”
Ganesh paused. Three attempts usually signaled that attention should be paid. Although he was hoping it was something damned important to keep him even another moment from some delicious angel thighs.
“Yes, dear?”
“You know those, uh, demon horn things?”
Ganesh was now at full attention. Yes, that had been a rather vigorous encounter, even considering that he and Sariel occasionally triggered earthquakes with such encounters. “Mmmm, yes?”
“I don't suppose you also have … a demon tail?”
“Would you like me to have a demon tail?” asked Ganesh, eyes wide, now swiftly sliding his up so as to be eye to eye with Sariel.
“No! I mean. Uh. I mean. You know. If you HAD one-”
“That could be arranged.”
“Oh, don't-”
“Why not?” asked Ganesh, now nuzzling angel neck, as his hands went literally everywhere.
“Well...” Sariel dithered.
“Shhhh. Why shouldn't I be your fantasy?” purred Ganesh, slowly caressing Sariel's thigh. “Your demon fantasy....” He could feel the body tensing from just the suggestion.
“Ummm....”
“Oh. A terrible demon, come to take your angel virtue? Hmmmm?”
Sariel didn't say anything at all to that one.
He didn't need to.
Afterwards, Ganesh stayed awake for a time before drifting off, thoughts fluttering through his mind like fine feathers. Sariel usually wasn't reticent about sexual matters. It was a puzzlement to see him like this over Ganesh's horned Form. This one deserved further inquiry.
“Charles! He's DOING IT AGAIN!”
“Nathan, what did we say about using your concert voice indoors?” Charles sighed, finger digging into his ear, though he knew it was extremely unlikely that Nathan would recall that particular series of conversations.
“He WON'T COME DOWN!” Nathan insisted, crossing his arms and giving a very brutal glare. “We gotta REHEARSE.”
Charles nodded sadly and sat back in his office chair. “All right. OK. So, you've tried talking to him like we said? You gotta talk nicely, or it just makes him more upset.”
“OF COURSE WE TALK TO HIM NICELY! We're ALWAYS NICE! Whaddya think we are, a BUNCH OF DOUCHES?” thundered Nathan, whipping himself up from indignation into a nice frothy fury. Charles sincerely hoped Nathan had something like this left for the actual performance. As opposed to his office.
“No, no, no. Of course not. OK. All right. I'll come down there and see if he'll listen to me,” Charles said, rising with a regretful look at his laptop. “Boon, you come with Daddy now!” he told his son, who had been on the floor, quietly coloring a rococo influenced portrait of his father.
“Uh-huh!”
Nathan hoisted the boy to his shoulders, which emitted some excited squealing, and they made their way out of the offices and down to Dethklok's rehearsal stage, Elias happily slapping doorways as they crossed through.
They entered the rehearsal area. “Weens, Dada!” said Elias, pointing excitedly.
“Yeah,” sighed Charles. “Wings.”
“You ams talks to hims Charles!” Skwisgaar fumed, his fingers nervously picking out runs as he talked. “We cannot practices dis way! Hims ams UPSTAGINGS me!”
“Uh, Skwisgaar,” soothed Charles.
“WHATS?”
“I think you can think of at least one other reason why he can't play when he's that way?”
Skwisgaar frowned, and then turned around and yelled, “Toki, you cans not play dat way! Your remote mikes ams not work!”
Toki stuck his tongue out at Skwisgaar, who responded in turn.
Charles rolled his eyes and walked over to where his band's rhythm guitarist was hovering, twenty feet above the ground, clutching his Flying V, light brown wings fully extended and flapping irritably. His shirt was ripped, meaning he had True Formed in anger, in response to something, though gods knew what.
“Toki,” Charles tried, “You wanna come down and talk about this?”
“No, I ams not wants to talks to you. I ams not wants to talks to anyones. Evers.”
Charles felt a small tug at his pant leg. “Weens, Dada?” Elias asked, pointing up at Toki.
“Yeah, you're probably right. OK.” Charles started to strip off his jacket and tie, hoping to hell this was enough. He True Formed, and prayed he wouldn't have to go up after the guitarist. “Will you come down now?” he asked.
“Onlies if dems all goes away!” insisted Toki, waving a finger at his bandmates.
“Can you guys all take five? Or ten or something?” Charles pleaded. They nodded and filed out, Pickles plonking Deddy into Charles' arms as he left. “Thanks!” Charles whispered.
Toki alit, but kept his wings arced out, meaning he was still pretty pissed. Charles kept himself very still. This was a tricky business. Going to True Form seemed soothing when Toki got like this, but Charles risked unconsciously getting his own wings up (literally!) and further upsetting him. It wasn't something that was very easily controlled, either, despite a chunk of time devoted to trying.
Close up like this, he could see the terribly scars running up and down the guitarist's body. I need to send him to Ganesh, Charles thought.
He looked down at Deddy bear, and passed it along to Toki, who clutched it. “Toki, I need you to Court Form for me. Can you do that?”
Toki hugged onto Deddy and glared sullenly. Though is wings were feathered in the same soft brown as his hair, his eyes were still a clear sky blue in this Form. Charles wondered, not for the first time, what are you?
“Toki, I need you to think of nice things....”
“Ams not wants to t'ink of nice t'ings! I wants to t'ink of brutal t'ings! Because I ams brutal too!”
“Yes, of course, you are very brutal,” said Charles. Ah, at least I know what this is about now. “Why would you think you aren't?”
“Skwisgaar ams said dey ams gives me a harp and puts me on tops of da Christmas trees!”
Charles bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. He and Raziel would fallen off their chairs hooting at the insult. And then, of course, threatened the joker with a flaming sword up his or her ass. Of course, Toki didn't really have much training as a fighter of any kind. He had seemed to enjoy sparring with the punching bag. Charles mulled it over for second or two. If Toki really had a Cherubic ancestor or two, which was really Charles' only working theory, then he would probably be better off with a sheet cake than a weapon. Still, his other band members were probably more or less ignorant of this.
“Toki, how about this? I think maybe you're unhappy because where you were brought up, people didn't really know about you.”
“Dey didn't?”
“No. It wasn't their fault, really.” Charles knew he needed to thread the needle of not insulting Toki's parents. For whatever reason. Toki remained oddly loyal to his evil bastard of a father. “But there are some things people like me or Raziel take for granted, that I don't think you do. Like how to get back and forth to your winged form. There's ways to get into it when you're not upset.”
“Ja?” asked Toki. And suddenly it was just Toki. A tall man in a torn shirt clutching a soft toy. Blinking at him.
“Would you like that? Would you like us to help you True Form?”
Toki looked from side to side, as if someone were watching him. “Ja!” he whispered conspiratorily.
Charles nodded. “OK. Here is what you need to do for me. I need you to finish rehearsals today. And then come and see Pie and we'll get that scheduled.” Here I am, thought Charles, flapping silver fucking wings and telling some guy to come see my secretary. He heard noises, and saw the Dethklok was impatiently making their way back in.
“Are we good?” Charles asked Toki.
Toki nodded. Skwisgaar glared at him from across the stage, and Pickles stopped and handed him a new shirt on the way to the drum kit. “T'anks, Pickle,” Toki muttered. He looked down. Elias was tugging on his pantleg, and holding up his Lelefun toy, which he had grabbed to bring along.
“Oh, dat's OK, Booms, I gots my friends here,” he said, holding Deddy down to where the two plush toys were eye to eye. And then he set Deddy down securely on an amp.
“C'mon Boon,” said Charles, holding out a hand. As Toki stripped out of his torn shirt and into a new one, Charles, without bothering to Court Form, scooped up his shirt and jacket with one arm and led Elias back to his office.
“CHARLES!” Nathan was right behind him out the door.
“Nathan?”
“He can't keep doing that while we're on tour!”
“Yeah, I know. I'm workin' on it. Look, can you keep Skwisgaar from picking on him too much?”
“You know what those guys are like! We can't go KISSING TOKI'S ASS. It will look gay!”
Charles stopped. “Look,” he said quietly. “You guys are dicks to each other. I know. But Skwisgaar doesn't like angels. I've hadda stop myself from punching his fucking face over what he's said about Boon,” he said, indicating his son.
Nathan blinked, looking at Boon.
Something seemed to go in.
“OK. Yeah,” Nathan said finally.
“Dada!” said Elias, tugging on Charles leg. He was wiggling and bouncing up and down on his toes.
“I gotta go,” said Charles, hoisting the child. “The Protector of the Earth has gotta go potty.”
Nathan nodded, and watched as two angels hurried down the corridor on an urgent mission.
“Demons, huh?” said Raziel. Toddlers whizzed around them. “Liam, do not get those wings muddy again, or I'm getting the hose! Tsk, silly kid.”
“Yes. It's a bit of a personal matter, if you don't mind,” Ganesh told her, taking a seat on the deck chair. It was a fall evening at Valhalla, and the air was much too crisp for sunbathing without the aid of heat lamps.
“Personal, huh?” said Raziel, devilish smile on her face. “I can imagine.” She seated herself as well. “I dunno about Sariel personally, 'cause I've never really asked him. I think it's more a Fallen thing than an angel thing though.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Oh, the prejudice.”
“The prejudice?”
“It's probably because people mistake 'em for one another. I mean, humans do. Angels - even Fallen ones - tend to think of themselves as great shining warriors, whereas demons kind of mooch around in the mud.”
“But, you and Sariel, you conjured demon Forms....”
“Oh, yeah, wasn't that great? I would do that all the time, only Father thinks you gotta be in Hell for the magic to work.”
“So you don't harbor ill feelings?
“Oh, hell no! And Wotan thought I looked kinda sexy,” she giggled, eyeing Ganesh playfully.
“I shan't comment.”
“Sariel looked pretty damn impressed by your wings,” she hinted.
“It was … an educational experience. They are certainly quite heavier than I imagined.”
“And ya know, there's a lot of demons who are just assholes. Like Berith! But that's the same as anything. A lotta dicks out there. William is pretty cool. He's watched a lot of military operations, 'cause his specialty was watching soldiers' graves. But … what?”
“I'm not sure 'watching over' is the phrase I personally would pick,” said Ganesh, who had adopted a sour expression.
“Oh, you guys aren't cool with demons either?”
“Us guys?”
“The EKC?”
Ganesh shrugged. “A good portion of my family's history involved warfare with demons. And hunting them is thought honorable.”
“But you're friends with William too?”
Ganesh nodded.
“And you used to kick angel ass? I mean, before you started doing other things with angel ass?”
Ganesh couldn't help smiling. “So, this is at least another issue with Sariel being outcast?”
“Well. Yeah. Father and I really had to talk him into doing the demon powers thing. In the end, it was wanting to get Uriah that decided him.” She frowned. “Sometimes Sariel really lets it get him down. The Fallen business. You talk to Our Father sometimes, yeah?”
“Mmmm. He comes occasionally to visit Boon. But I have never brought it up.”
“Well. He's sort of an outcast Himself these days.”
“True. And my first priority now is contacting the Old Ones. Regarding our Boonie.”
“Elephants! Cool! Can I go!”
“There is only one problem: I do not know where they are!”
“What? Didn't your Uncle Brahma talk to them?”
“Oh, Uncle is being a shit about it. 'You don't go to the Old Ones! They come to you! Such nonsense!'” Ganesh mimed spilling a newspaper.
Raziel snorted with laughter.
“I had hoped to gain an audience with your tiger on the matter. Though, sadly, he can be most oblique.”
“Oh, you wanna talk to Bagheera? HEY BAGHEERA! Where are you, you lazy lunk?” screamed Raziel as Ganesh cringed.
Two gigantic wolves came bounding up to them, barking and howling and generally making a commotion.
“Not you idiots! Where's the damn tiger!” said Raziel. “Stupid doggies.”
But Geri and Freki ignored Raziel, and instead leapt upon Ganesh.
“This is cashmere!” wailed Ganesh regarding his now slobbery coat sleeve.
“Oh, it's very nice,” said Raziel. “Uh, I think they want you to go with 'em.”
“Go with them where?” snapped Ganesh. “It had better be to obtain a replacement winter coat!”
But Geri and Freki would not be put off by the elephant god's fussing over potentially injured couture, and he soon found himself being herded off into the woods.
“Lord Ganesh,” purred a familiar voice in the Old Tongue.
“Oh, Noble Tiger,” said Ganesh, trying to brush off wolf drool as best he could.
Bagheera looked down on him from a tree branch, stretching a great tiger stretch. “You seek the Old Ones,” he said, settling his furry tummy comfortably back in the bough.
“Well. Yes,” said Ganesh, who was a bit taken aback at the straightforwardness.
“They have gotten secretive,” warned the tiger.
“Well, yes, but it regards my son. My chick, I mean.”
“You must not seek them in their old grounds. They no longer dwell in the place of the short-eared elephants.”
Ganesh rubbed his chin. “Well. That makes sense. Can you give me a hint-”
“But now inhabit the land of the bulldog.” Bagheera licked a paw.
Ganesh paused. “They've moved to the UK?”
“You are wise.”
“Thank you, noble cat!” said Ganesh giving a deep bow. “This will make my search all the easier.” He began to depart.
“Beware, the Old Ones guard their location!” Bagheera warned him.
“All right, I'll-”
“But it's in Leicestershire,” said the cat.
Ganesh stopped and turned. “Well, that certainly narrows it down. I'll just-”
“It's just off the A5 between Atherstone and Hinckley,” suggested the cat.
“Oh, well-”
“Near Fenny Drayton,” suggested Bagheera. “But don't go too far, you'll get stuck in a roundabout.”
“I'll make sure not to. Thank you again, cat!”
“If you get lost, ask at the pub!” called Bagheera after him.
Green and gold.
The headaches had come back.
General Crozier put his head in his hands. He had thought they were gone. It seemed as if, for a long time, they had remitted.
It wasn't so much the pain - that he could bear.
It was the thing he hadn't told anyone. His secret. The time loss. As if he had leapt ahead, through time and space, no idea where he'd been.
He had never received a complaint about it. Not a single comment. So he must still be performing his duties. He must be.
He was too important. Couldn't let the project down.
Selatcia had just come into the room. He had been absent for a time.
He had another name.
Crozier frowned. The headache hadn't set in yet. It was just the aura now. But in its way, it was worse than the headaches. Not everyone, but some people, he didn't see them as people any more.
He had never himself taken psychedelic drugs. He had administered them. Had seen what they could do to people. Had seen the tattered wreck they could make of a healthy psyche.
Was this like that experience? Some people, not all people. And there were colors, and other dimensions. Musical colors, colors that shimmered, or even smelled. Colors not in any spectrum he had ever seen.
And the most amazing light show, always, was Selatcia. Big as he was, there was more light than man. It filled the room. Maybe it filled the universe.
Crozier didn't want to look. But he felt the presence, pressing on him.
He looked.
Green and gold.
Green and gold.
And red....
Ganesh came up to what looked very much like an English cottage. A very, very large English cottage, but one nonetheless.
He parked in the broad circular driveway and exited his rental car. There was a very neat, well-tended garden out front. He noticed with wonder that the forests around here, oddly, now appeared to extend as far as the eye could see in all directions. Despite the estate's location just off the A23, he seemed now completely alone and isolated.
Suddenly, he heard a trampling of very large feet. He glanced over his shoulder. Coming up behind him, three of the very biggest, grandest elephants he had ever seen. The came right up to him, the very biggest (a bull elephant) standing right over him.
Ganesh had spent rather more time than many other people around elephants, but still found himself a little intimidated. He bowed courteously and said, in his best Old Tongue, “I greet you humbly. I am Shri Ganesha.”
“Ganesha,” said the biggest Old One. “Long have we sought audience with you.”
“Yes,” said Ganesh. “I need to speak about-”
“The prophecy is come,” intoned the largest Old One with great solemnity. “The five have assembled: of heaven and earth and below, and afar, and near.”
“The five?” asked Ganesh, who struggled as always to understand the Old One's strange speech patterns. “You must mean … Dethklok?”
“And you are their warden, as we have foretold!”
“Well, I wouldn't actually call myself their warden.”
The great Old One scowled and elephant scowl. “And why wouldn't you?”
“Oh, I do help out, here and there....” Ganesh began.
“You're not their warden?” asked the big old one, now in English.
“Er, no, not really? You speak English?”
“Well OF COURSE I speak English,” fumed the Old One. “I've only been living here the past half century. Now, what the FUCK have you been doing with yourself, Ganesha?”
“Always knew he was a lazy sod,” grumbled the second Old One into the large one's elephant ear. “Didn't I tell you?”
“Dethklok are actually my husband's band!” said Ganesh.
“Ooo, let the spouse do it all, where have I heard THAT before?” grumbled the female Old One.
“What do you mean, Azalea?” demanded the big Old One.
“Hmpf! You never clean up your peanut shells!”
“Clean up my num nums?” barked the big Old One.
“I told you Ganesha would be a good for nothing!” scolded the second Old One. “Didn't I tell you that? But do you ever listen to me?”
“Peanut shells EVERYWHERE!” nattered Azalea.
“No one listens to Mortimer! No one listens to me!” whined the Old One who was apparently named Mortimer.
“You don't get between a man and his num nums, Azalea!” thundered the large Old One.
“Mother always told me you were selfish, Basil,” sniffed Azalea.
“ALL OF YOU!” thundered Ganesh. The three elephants stopped quarreling momentarily to regard the relatively small figure in their midst. Ganesh had some experience with elephant ill behavior, and had no patience for it. “I am.... I am insulted. You invite me here, you offer me NO hospitality, not even a peanut.”
“Now, don't be ill-tempered, boy,” urged Basil the Old One.
“I am ill-tempered! I shall turn my back on you!”
“He wouldn't do that. Would he?” asked Mortimer, who sounded just a bit frightened.
“Hmpf!” hmpfed Ganesh, who not only turned his back then and there, but stood, scowling, with multiple arms crossed in defiance.
“Basil, he turned his back on us! I saw him!” wailed Azalea.
“Now, now, not to panic. We'll see here. Now, lad,” said Basil, coming around to face Ganesh.
Ganesh turned again, so his back was still to Basil.
“Ooooh, no, Basil!” said Azalea.
“He turned his back! A second time! I knew he was tricky! I told you!” warned Mortimer.
“Now, Ganesha, perhaps we got off on the wrong hoof!” soothed Basil.
“Hmpf,” pouted Ganesh, who, being part elephant, was actually rather good at pouting.
“Let's have a little refreshment, and discuss this, like reasonable pachyderms!”
“Do you have martinis?” asked Ganesh, who turned around halfway.
“Of course we have martinis! What do we look like? SAVAGES?” inquired Basil.
A bit later, when Ganesh was rather more comfortably situated, on a lovely divan (it was also the largest divan he had ever seen, by quite a longshot) sipping an utterly delicious (and quite dry) martini, he ventured, “So, in regards to my son....”
“Oh, yes Protector of the Earth!” said Mortimer, swelling with elephant pride. “I picked that title! That was my favorite show!”
“Wait, you mean it was actually based on that cartoon show?” asked Ganesh.
“Protectors of the Earth!” sang Mortimer.
“Here we go!
Serving since our birth
Here we go!
We're the team Protector
Never mind the weather
HERE WE GO!”
“The original Japanese version I always thought was superior,” confessed Basil.
“Oh, you never watched the anime,” sniffed Mortimer.
“I did! I did!” insisted Basil.
“Poser,” snarked Mortimer.
“So, does your son need a spandex suit? That would be very becoming,” proposed Azalea.
“Er, my son is currently two years old, so spends most of his time in elephant-bedecked rompers.”
“Oooo, that sounds so darling! May I see?” inquire Azalea.
Ganesh shrugged many shoulders and brought out his cellular phone, where he brought up some recent images (taken that morning, in fact) of Elias.
“Oh, do look, Basil my sweet! His little bib overalls are completely festooned with elephants!”
“And the shirt,” mentioned Ganesh, for Elias had been clothed in presents from his doting Auntie Sarasvati.
“Ooo, yes, and the little shirt too.”
“Wait just a minute, Azalea, I need to get my specs,” muttered Basil, who donned some very large reading glasses and then squinted an elephant squint into the relatively tiny phone cradled in Azalea's trunk.
“And the shoes as well,” Ganesh pointed out.
“Oh, such a charmer. Isn't he a charmer, Basil dear?”
“A very stylish way of dressing!” agreed Basil, carefully picking the olive out of his martini glass with his trunk and swallowing it with a satisfied smack.
“Well, thank you,” smiled Ganesh, who was indeed quite complimented by this particular remark.
“Can you see there, Mortimer,” inquired Azalea. Mortimer had a rather sour look on his trunk.
“What's the matter, Morty, old sport?” asked Basil.
“Hmpf! Children! Running around! Making a clatter!”
“You don't like children, Mortimer?” asked Azalea.
“Seen and not heard, that's what I say!”
“My son,” said Ganesh, who had gone from being a bit puffed up to a bit irritated in a record time, “might I point out, has just been Named as your Protector of the Earth.”
“What?” boomed Basil. “But, he's just a small child! How the bloody hell is he supposed to protect the earth? With a teething ring? This is unacceptable!”
“But my Uncle Brahma said you had chosen Elias....”
“I told you not to listen to Brahma,” warned Mortimer. “Didn't I say so?”
“Brahma and his notions!” tutted Basil.
“But....” butted Ganesh, who was quickly learning what a job it can be arguing with elephants. He poured himself another martini and decided to change his tack somewhat.
“So,” he continued, “tell me about Dethklok.”
“About what, dear?” asked Azalea.
“Deaf knock?” tried Mortimer.
“I think he said, Left Spork,” said Basil.
“Er, the prophecy of the five?” Ganesh tried.
“Oh, yes, that's a good one! One of my favorites, really,” said Basil. “One of of heaven, one of earth and one of below. One from afar and one so near. Quite a ring to it, eh?”
“Would it be possible for you to give me any more information?” Ganesh urged.
“Can I show him, Basil?” asked Mortimer.
“Well, of course, the boy is practically family!” urged Azalea.
“All right! I supposed we can share it. Go and locate … THE SACRED OBJECT," ordered Basil, causing the martini glasses a bit of a shake.
Mortimer happily bounded off in a thunder of elephant feet. But Ganesh had barely started his next martini when Mortimer clumped back, clutching in his trunk what looked like a small cardboard box, which he handed proudly to Ganesh.
Ganesh set down his cocktail glass and stared at it. It was a flat rectangular box, done up garish 1970s style graphics, with the large logo, PROPHECY BOP! written in large pink letters on the top and sides.
“Prophecy Bop?” asked Ganesh, opening up the box.
“Ah,” sighed Mortimer. “Have you played?”
“Er, no, I don't believe so,” Ganesh told him. Inside was a game board, done up in a similar funky style to the box itself, and a large spinning wheel. The wheel included labels such as, “Ocean of fire,” “Plague of toads,” and “The seven lamp stands.” “So the prophecy of the five is based on this?” asked Ganesh.
“Board games, a lost art,” sighed Mortimer.
“You said your spouse is warden to the five?” asked Basil.
“Yes, they are recording artists, and Sariel is their manager.”
There was a thudding silence.
Ganesh looked up from spinning the narrow metal arrow on the Wheel of Prophecy. “Yes?” he asked.
“Sariel?” asked Basil. “Your husband is not an angel, is he?”
“Yes, actually. Well,” said Ganesh, spinning onto the wedge that said, “Pillar of salt,” “actually, just half angel. But near enough.”
“You are consorting with an angel?” fumed Basil, standing up so quickly he overturned his martini glass.
“Now, Basil, your temper,” soothed Azalea.
“Yes, and your Protector of the Earth, my son, is part angel,” explained Ganesh, who had very little tolerance for anti-angel prejudiced people.
“Well, that was unexpected!” said Mortimer.
“But weren't you in the War?” demanded Basil.
“Yes. I led the resistance to the Occupation,” said Ganesh, drawing himself up.
“Oooo, you must tell us a war story!” said Mortimer, who might have clapped, had he had hands.
“A war story!” cooed Azalea.
“Yes, you will tell us a war story!” agreed Basil.
Ganesh considered this for a moment. “How about this? I'm not really much good at telling stories. But let me ring a friend? I bet she could do a bang-up job for you?”
“This is lovely. Absolutely lovely.”
“I've always considered it so.”
The two beings were standing out on a back porch at Valhalla, taking in the scenery, in the crisp early fall air, as they awaited a third.
“You really should come up on a hunt some time!” Wotan urged.
“Well,” said Nick Ibsen, considering his fine amber Scotch, “I think maybe my hunting days are past me.”
“You may be surprised!” said Wotan.
“You know,” said Ibsen. “This is too damned late by centuries. But I had always meant to tell you how sorry I was. About Baldr.”
Ibsen felt his shoulder enveloped by a tremendous hand. “It's appreciated, my friend.”
“Sorry we're late!” called Charles. He was hurrying up the path, Elias pattering along at his side.
“No worries!” boomed Wotan. “We're enjoying the last of the decent weather.”
“No indeed,” said Ibsen. “I wouldn't mind staying here for quite a time.”
“You have the boy today?” smiled Wotan, stooping over to catch Elias as he ran up.
“Ganesh hadda go off, see some relatives,” huffed Charles. “He found the Old Ones.”
“Ah, so that's where the wife has gotten herself to!” laughed Wotan, now using his fingers to make a loud whistle.
“Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Was muttering something about cute elephants. I figured it's some damned designer label! Ah!”
“BOOOOOOOOOONIE!” squealed his cousins. Both were in winged form, and came hurtling in from somewhere in the sky.
Elias wriggled down and started bouncing excitedly up and down.
“ELIAS!” said Charles. He looked to his father. “Let's get the coat off before you True Form!”
Continuing to bounce up and down, Elias held his little arms out, now pleading, “Coat, Dada!”
Charles knelt down and attempted to extricate his wriggling bundle from his outerwear.
“Boon!” said Wotan, bringing out an iridescent ball that seemed to change colors as you tilted it. It looked for all the world like a soap bubble.
“Ooo,” said Elias, who thankfully ceased wiggling for the time it took his father to complete stripping off his coat. Wotan grinned and tossed the bubble ball. Elias immediately sprouted his dark, silvery-tipped wings and sailed after it, as did his cousins.
“They're a bit of a handful!” said Ibsen.
“You have no fucking idea,” sighed, Charles, who had remained sitting on the ground, holding the small coat.
“I'm surprised you're on time for anything,” said Ibsen as Wotan gave Charles a hand up.
“It wasn't Boon's fault, actually,” said Charles, brushing the dust off his posterior. “Something with the band. Something I wanted to ask you about, Nick.”
"You can ask away," smiled Nick. "I can't promise I'll have an answer!"
"Let's get inside. I've got Cubans," smiled Wotan, leading his friends indoors. "I've always thought better with a good smoke."
“Oh my gods, ELEPHANTS!” squealed Raziel, snapping cell phone photographs. “Can I bring my kids here some time? They love elephants?”
“This is the Lady Raziel,” explained Ganesh. “This is Basil, Azalea, and Mortimer. The, er, Old Ones.”
“Could you guys move closer? I wanna get you all in the shot!” instructed Raziel, as the three elephants huddled as close together as might be expected. Raziel showed them the images.
“Can you send me a copy?” Mortimer asked.
“Sure!”
“This doesn't make me look fat, does it?” worried Azalea.
“Well, my dear, you are an elephant,” soothed Basil.
“That's true,” she agreed.
“All right, what can I do ya for?” asked Raziel.
“They would like to hear a story of my involvement in the War,” Ganesh told her.
“A war story? Yeah, sure, we can do that.”
“Oh, dear, did you know Ganesh during the war?” asked Azalea.
“No!” Raziel cheerfully volunteered. “Now, once upon a time....”
“Hey, GENERAL GANESH, we got an IMPORTANT PROBLEM ONLY YOU CAN SOLVE, so you should probably come over here and like, you know, solve it for us and stuff.”
Charming and handsome General Ganesh strode over to survey his men, a hearty band of freedom fighters. They were resting between battles, and the men were involved in some sort of game of chance.
“A card game?” inquired General Ganesh, who was as clever as he was handsome, and he was very very handsome.
“Yeh, dood, we're playin' Splattergories,” explained another of the hearty freedom fighters, holding up a well-used box.
“Splattergories?”
“Board gamesch!” cheered another freedom fighter. “It'sch a loscht art!”
“We ams draws da cards wit' da pictures of dat bloody body partses, an' den we ams writes downs da horrors movies titles!” explained a freedom fighter with an odd mustache, holding up some cards.
“But Toki's not very good because he DOESN'T LIKE HORROR MOVIES,” explained the first freedom fighter, a fellow with piercing green eyes.
“Dey ams scaries, Nat'ans,” protested Toki.
“And we're having problems with all these guts because one guts looks JUST LIKE ANOTHER GUTS!” grumbled Nathan.
“Yeh, General Gannish dood, don't yoo know medical shit?”
“Let me see, Pickles,” said General Ganesh, taking the cards. “Well, this one is intestines.”
“Oohhhhhh,” said Nathan.
“And this is intestines,” noted Ganesh. “And this is more intestines. And intestines.”
“Yeh?”
“And this one is the colon!”
“THE COLON?”
“Which is … the large intestines.”
“Hey, dood, mebbe we cud jest call 'em all guts. Dat wud make t'ings simpler,” proposed Pickles.
“That'sch not in the rulesch!”
“Quit being a stickler, MURDERFACE,” grumbled Nathan.
“Pffft,” said a blond resistance fighter, who was not playing the game, but was instead sitting and sullenly practicing his guitar.
Suddenly, there was a crash. An angelic warrior had found their camp! He was a terrible Seraph, with three sets of wings, and big as some metaphor of a really biggie big thing that I can't think of right now.
Toki squealed with surprise and let go his Splattergories cards, thus losing his turn!
General Ganesh, who was as quick thinking as he was handsome, took the deck of cards he was holding and threw them into the hulking Seraph's eyes, temporarily blinding and confusing him. With his war cry of “Pffft!” Skwisgaar brought his guitar down on one of the Seraph's feet, causing him to scream and bounce up and down on his other foot. Murderface stabbed that foot with his hunting knife, and the giant fell to his equally giant knees.
Then Nathan cried, “ASSHOLE!” and punched the Seraph right in the face, knocking out a few Seraphic teeth, and sending him sprawling. “You interrupted our Splattergories!”
“Great work, brave resistance fighters,” said Ganesh, who was as courteous as he was handsome and blah blah blah. He held his sword at the Seraph's neck. “Now, why are you interrupting our friendly game?”
“Board gamesch are a loscht art!” attested Murderface, cleaning the angel blood from his knife on the angel's pantleg.
“I am a plot device sent to alert you that the evil Seraphim Occupiers are holding a beautiful captive hostage in their evil tower,” said the Seraph.
“Dude,” said Nathan, “if he's an occupier, why is he calling himself evil? Isn't that kind of a dick move?”
“Well, he is a plot device,” Ganesh reminded him.
“Dood,” asked Pickles, “Since when do dese doods have a tower, evil or uderwise?”
“Oh, these fellows always have a tower,” Ganesh answered sagely, for he was wise in the ways of warfare, as well as being handsome and all the other stuff.
“So, I guess since I helped you, now I can go?” asked the plot device.
“Well, no. You are an evil Occupier, so I shall have to slay you,” confessed Ganesh.
“Yeah, I was afraid of that,” sighed the Seraph, who was very quickly made in to an ex-Seraph by Ganesh's blade.
“Hey, cool, rolling heads!” said Nathan as Toki fainted (for even though Toki was a brave resistance fighter, he really couldn't stand the sight of blood). “So, we're gonna wake up Toki and go save the cute chick from the tower and stuff? Hey, maybe there are several cute chicks? I mean, ya know, it's been a few hours since I've seen a cute chick, so maybe they've all gone somewhere?”
“Cute chicksch,” mused Murderface.
“But, doods, where do we go to find da tower?” mused Pickles, splashing Toki with a glass of delicious Indian beer.
“You ams ask da mushrooms!” Toki told them.
“Pfffft,” said Skwisgaar.
“Oh, that is an excellent idea, Toki,” said General Ganesh. “I say, mushroom chap!” he called, for General Ganesh had a rather fake British accent and sometimes overdid, “where is the tower of the evil occupiers?”
“Well,” replied the mushroom, “It lies over the lake of fire, beyond the avalanche-prone glaciers, through the canyon of the poisonous toads, and just up the A23. If you get lost, ask at the pub."
"Hmmm, well, that sounds like a long journey!" said brave General Ganesh.
"Or..... You could just hop in that sewer pipe!" said the mushroom.
"You mean that large sewer pipe which appears to be randomly sticking out in the middle of the meadow?" asked Ganesh.
"That's the one."
"Cool," said Ganesh.
Toki head-butted the mushroom, which vanished in a poof.
"Hey, why did you do that? He was helping us! I mean, not that there's anything wrong with random violence," commented Nathan.
"Ams 1-up!" explained Toki.
And so, General Ganesh and his brave resistance fighters hopped into the sewer pipe.
They emerged in a terrible wasteland. It looked as if ILM had spent many man hours on the effects, for there were many well rendered 3D models of terrible creeping things, as well as spectacular lightning strikes, plus a gloomy tower (which may actually have been not CGI but a miniature, but it was still very convincing) looming in the background.
Suddenly, a very large, and incredibly well rendered monster appeared in front of the crew. He snarled, and flapped his one tremendous feathered wing.
"I am Uriah!" thundered the monster! "I am totally bad and evil and ugly and creepy and I smell bad and I lack any dress sense. And you will have to defeat me in order to free the lovely captive."
"Wait!" Thundered Nathan, who, in addition to being a brave resistance fighter, had an excellent set of pipes. "Exactly why do we need to defeat you anyway? I mean, this well rendered CGI wasteland is pretty fucking vast. Why don't we just GO AROUND?"
"You must defeat me!" howled Uriah, who also had an ugly wart on his face. And did I mention he dresses poorly? "For I AM THE BOSS OF THIS LEVEL"
The freedom fighter exchanged a glance.
Murderface stepped before the evil monster.
"You're not the bossch of usch."
Uriah scowled at them. "Yes I am!"
"Dood, I don't remember enterin' intoo any kinda contachsual obligation wit' yoo or any of yer representatives," reasoned Pickles.
"Ja!" said Toki, we ams da braves tumescence lighters!" said Toki.
"Er, resistance fighters," said Ganesh.
"...and we ams works for da braves General Ganoshes!"
"I am the boss and you must defeat me!" Uriah insisted, who, along with his ore charms, was quite ill-tempered when explaining things. "That's the way it's done! Are you all stupid?"
"Pfffft!" said Skwisgaar.
"I must insist-" Uriah began. But just at that moment, the giant Pyramid of Giza fell out of the sky and completely squashed him.
"That happensch schometimesch," nodded Murderface.
"Yeah, that kinda thing happens all the time," said Nathan.
"It's like spontaneous combuschun, er somethin'," concluded Pickles.
And so General Ganesh and his brave resistance fighters ran into the tower, hoping that there would be cute chicks there.
"Does it smell like Marlboro Menthols in here to you guys?" asked Nathan.
"Hey, guys," said the lovely captive. The captive was indeed very beautiful, with long flowing silver hair and sparkling silver eyes.
"WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A CHICK!" said Nathan.
“Uh, no,” said the lovely captive. “Sorry. They caught me stealing a pie, so they locked me up here.”
“They don't wish to share their pie?” gasped Ganesh, who was outraged that the lovely captive could be treated in such a rude ma.
“Naw, they're assholes," said the lovely captive.
“You poor dear! You must be so deprived!” tutted Ganesh.
"I'm OK. Hey. Any of you guys gotta smoke?”
“I have something better!” said Ganesh, who demonstrated.
“Awwwwww, do you guys have to do that in PUBLIC?” growled Nathan, who was covering his eyes.
"Do you ams wants to plays more Scattergories, Nat'ans?" asked Toki.
"Yeah sure just promise you won't faint so much."
"Pffft!" said Skwisgaar.
"That," said Basil, wiping an elephant tear, "was the best war story I've ever heard."
"Yes, I thought you might appreciate it," smiled Ganesh.
"We should really give them a boon," said Azalea. "I can't remember when I've had such a lovely time."
"Oh, I don't really need anything," said Raziel. "I'm fucking rich. Just let me bring the kids by some afternoon."
"Oh, yes, that would be lovely, dear," said Azalea, although Mortimer was making a rather sour face at the notion.
"What of you, Shri Ganesha?" asked Basil.
"Er, there might actually be one thing...."
"The thing about Lucifer," Nick Ibsen was saying, one of Wotan's finest cigars clenched between his teeth. "In my day, you woulda been laughed off the planet, acting like that after you'd Fallen."
"Really?" asked Charles, leaning back on one of Wotan's very comfortable couches, and smiling, both for the luscious taste of his own cigar (and being far from Ganesh's nagging about what it would do to his lungs) and at the thought of Lucifer, who he's always thought of as a prick, being hooted at by other angels.
"Those kids," said Nick, "hanging around with demons, making such a big stink? Back when I Fell, guys knew what to do! You'd put away the wings, and get on with it. Now, you, Sariel, you coulda been old school. You did your music, kept it classy. An real angel's angel!”
Charles puffed, not entirely used to or prepared for admiration from another of the Host, especially one as renowned as Azazel (despite the whole being Fallen business). “Uh, you know,” he said modestly, “I'm only half angel.”
“The good half!” laughed Ibsen.
“Sit back and take a compliment, boy,” said Wotan, winking at him.
“I didn't know.... You guys never contacted me,” Charles told Ibsen.
“Yeah, that's true,” said Ibsen. “But, what were we gonna do, hold 12 Step meetings?”
Charles laughed, despite himself. Yes, what was done, was done. He leaned forward, flicking redcinders into an ashtray. “Right now, Nick, I gotta question, and I'm thinking you may be able to lead me in the right direction. I gotta kid in my band. I'm pretty sure he's part angel. But, the best Ganesh and I can come up with is he's part human.”
“What about his folks?” asked Nick, sipping at his Scotch.
“That's tough. The dad was an abusive motherfucker, who I hope is rotting away somewhere in Phanuel's domain...”
“That is tough,” admitted Ibsen.
“And to top it off, they're a bunch of religious fundamentalists.”
At this, both Wotan and Ibsen, who had been looking concerned, suddenly erupted into gales of laughter.
“I shouldn't,” said Wotan, putting down his glass and wiping a tear. “Toki is a nice lad.”
“Ah! The Creator!” said Ibsen. “Someone should shoot the bastard.”
“I nearly stabbed him once,” Charles admitted.
“What?” said Ibsen.
“Sariel was prophesied to be the Creator's assassin,” said Wotan, puffing smoke. “But he's so damned cussed, he turned tables on the old bastard.”
“It's how I got my son. Well. Partly,” said Charles. “He's my boon. For not fulfilling the prophecy.”
“You think that's the full story? About Boon?” asked Wotan.
“Why? What do you think?” Charles asked him. He had never heard Wotan say anything on the subject before.
“The Creator always has his own reasons for what he does,” answered Ibsen. “But in answer to your first question, you wanna know if there's part-angel humans who don't look like Lucifer's sideshow freaks?”
“Yeah,” said Charles, still scratching his head.
“There are. There definitely are. They're just not Seraphim-borne. Our kind - us higher orders - we're just too fucking powerful for humans.”
“You mean - the lower orders....”
“That's our other failing, too fucking self-absorbed,” laughed Ibsen. “There have been Wars of Heaven since the Creator made enough angels to have a fight. And, warfare makes refugees.”
“So. They're not actually Fallen!”
“Nope. You've seen it happen yourself with the recent troubles. Now, for me, some of my staff … well, let's just say, they've been working with me an awfully long time,” said Nick.
“OK. Our issue is, he's going True Form and can't seem to control it.”
Nick paused, cigar halfway to his mouth. “You're kidding me! I'll be damned.” He rubbed his chin, but remained silent.
“What?” urged Charles.
“Well, it's damned rare for one of the lower orders to have a True Form. Even if a kid is born with one, it tends to get bred out, real fast.”
“Huh. OK.” Charles stubbed out his cigar and began to stand. “I probably should be getting back. Thanks, Nick. You've really been helpful.
“My pleasure,” said Ibsen. “Though, I'm kinda curious now. What are you gonna do with your angel guy?”
Charles shook his head. “I dunno, really. Raziel and I were gonna work with him to see if we can help him control the true form.”
“DO I HEAR MY NAME TAKEN IN VAIN?” asked Raziel, suddenly popping in and kissing Wotan on the cheek. “Oh, Nick! Great to see you again!”
“Always a pleasure, Lady,” grinned Nick.
“How was the visit with the elephants?” asked Wotan.
“Oh, god, they're a scream!” laughed the little angel. “We're gonna take the kids and have tea with them some Sunday. You guys should grab Boon, too!” she told Charles.
“Yeah, you know how I love a day with Ganesh's relatives,” he sighed. “They tell you anything useful?”
“I'm gonna let Ganesh fill you in on that one! It's utterly crazy!” she laughed.
“Wait,” said Ibsen. “Am I correct that you've encountered the Old Ones?”
“They're ADORABLE!” gushed Raziel.
“Holy fucking shit,” said Ibsen, hooking his thumbs in his red suspenders. “Boy, I really do need to come up here more often.
Greatly preoccupied by his conversations with the Old Ones, Ganesh had somewhat heedlessly Walked out of Leicestershire and onto a balcony at Mordhaus, not bothering to return his rental car.
And Walked right into Pickles.
“Dood, are yoo okey?” asked Pickles, as Ganesh helped the drummer to his feet.
“What? I'm.... Well, I'll admit, I have had a rather trying day.”
Pickles cocked his head and held up a joint.
Ganesh regarded it. “Should I even inquire what is in this?”
“I wud say, no,” grinned Pickles.
Ganesh shook his head, and, taking the joint, leaned comfortably back against the balustrade, and took a very long drag. He held the breath a moment, letting the chemicals work their way through his system.
“Dood,” said Pickles, who with a concerned look down, nevertheless hopped up to sit on the balustrade. “Dere's somethin' I bin meanin' to ask yoo.”
“You may ask. I am not certain of my capability of answering right now.”
“What am I, dood?”
Ganesh waved for the smoke. He took another considered puff. “What do you mean, exactly?” he choked out, though he feared he knew the answer.
“Toki's some kinda angel, an Murderface is some kinda demon t'ing. I kinda knew one and sorta knew da other. And Skwis' dad is a gawd. But.... I ain't shure. I mean, I'm jest me, yoo know?”
Ganesh nodded, wondering what Sariel would want him to say. He finally decided on the truth. “My best guess? And this is all guesswork. From your aura, I would say that you are human, but you also have a very unusual magic to you. As you are aware, your brother is the reincarnation of an Elder God - a particularly powerful one. My theory is that this pregnancy somehow changed your mother: her magical pattern is very unusual as well. For a human.”
Pickles was cringing. “Yer sayin' am an Elder Gawd?”
“No. I am saying you have been imbued with an unusual amount of their magic. This is why you may do things no human ought, such as spirit walking.”
“Oh,” said Pickles. And they smoked together for a while in silence.
“I should probably be going,” said Ganesh, who hoped to remove himself before he got too stoned.
“Yoo know,” said Pickles.
Ganesh stopped.
“I miss yoo guys. I mean, bein' wit' yoo guys.”
Ganesh held himself still for a long moment. “Pickles. You are an infuriating human. You can be petty, jealous, and utterly reckless.” He signed and looked down. “And I miss you as well.”
They exchanged a long look. And then Ganesh headed inside, and Pickles continued to smoke.
Charles and Ganesh were lying sprawled on the bed, utterly spent.
“So,” said Charles, his head resting comfortably on Ganesh's stomach, “what I was wondering-”
“The prophecy about Dethklok is the product of a Twentieth Century board game?”
“Well, naw. I was actually wondering if you have an infinite supply of potty relatives.”
“Potty relatives?” asked Ganesh, his head - still in Horned Form - rising up off the pillow in indignation.
“They Old Ones - they're pretty potty. Wouldn't you say so?”
“I suppose,” admitted Ganesh. “Although isn't 'potty' rather like something I would say?”
“We been married long enough I guess. It's something I'd say too.”
Ganesh let his head fall back onto the pillow.
“And another thing,” said Charles. “This demon tail?”
“Yeeeessss?” grinned Ganesh.
“Well,” said Charles, taking the tail in hand for a closer inspection. “Thing is. It sorta looks like an elephant tail.”
“Sariel! Do NOT tug on my demon tail,” warned Ganesh.
“Your elephant tail?” asked Charles, now giving a rather openly rude tug.
“Quit tugging upon my demon tail! There shall be consequences!”
“Yeah?” said Charles grinning up at him.
“Oh, yessssss,” said Ganesh.
Green and gold.
Bathed in a cold sweat, General Crozier found himself sitting bold upright in bed.
Desperately, he rooted blindly around on the bedside table for a pair of reading glasses, and his cellular telephone. He gritted his teeth as he looked at the calendar.
The aura. The headache.
The time loss.
All back.
He lay back, trying to remember the dream. It wasn't anything useful. Just colors, impressions.
Green and gold.
Green and gold.
And red.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ganesh meets yet more eccentric relatives, Sariel meets an old acquaintance, Toki goes a bit bonkers.
Warnings: Original characters liek whoa. Or is that now considered a feature? I swear, fanfic confuses the hell out of me sometimes.
Notes: Following le jump.
Mythklok is one of the four food groups. Or not.
Didn't really think there would be a new chapter so soon. Or ever, really. Funny how my brain works sometimes.
Last time: Elias got Named. It was a really long name, so I won't repeat it here. Sariel died, but he got better. Dethklok performed, and everybody got to transform into cool creatures except Nathan, which kind of pissed him off. Angels ate junk food, and paid the consequences. Oh, and Uriah got away, darn.
It was quite late one evening, and Ganesh was fondly trying to fulfill his minimum daily requirement of angel groping.
As well as angel licking. And angel nuzzling. And all of the other delightful possibilities that existed when one was fortunate enough to access to an angel for such purposes.
There had been a bit of a delay today. Elias had been very tired and thus was cooperative about going to bed, at least after a few chapters regarding the Bitty Batty Bunnies (they were some such relation to the Wiggly Pigglies - Ganesh had no idea - but appeared a new obsession). But then the band had had one of their seemingly nonstop crises - someone had barked a shin on a Flying V or some such nonsense.
Ganesh found it best to let these things wind themselves down. The band could be hapless as well as comically self-absorbed, true, but there was a level at which Sariel treasured the haplessness, as he could then swoop to the rescue. The angel did seem a bit less patient of late, as he now had experience with an actual child, for comparison's sake.
But Ganesh had discovered after a few false starts that the best course was to nod sympathetically, perhaps tutting about what they would ever do without Sariel, and then perhaps kill time until the end of whatever crisis by texting Lady Raziel regarding the last few plot twists on Corazon de Azul (which he liked much better now that it once again lacked himself as a character).
But he had cast aside all thoughts of Reynaldo and why he was being such an intemperate ass with Mirabel, and instead now concentrated himself upon casting aside angel clothes, and thus gain access to angelic areas of interest.
“You know,” said Sariel.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” responded Ganesh. Who did know. A number of things. Angel stomachs, for example, were quite conducive to nuzzling.
“Uh, you know,” Sariel began again.
“Mmmmm?” asked Ganesh. He was paying at least one ear's worth of attention, as Sariel didn't generally speak overmuch during intimate encounters, but he was on to that lovely bit of Sariel's stomach where the fine hairs grew in a line....
“You know....”
Ganesh paused. Three attempts usually signaled that attention should be paid. Although he was hoping it was something damned important to keep him even another moment from some delicious angel thighs.
“Yes, dear?”
“You know those, uh, demon horn things?”
Ganesh was now at full attention. Yes, that had been a rather vigorous encounter, even considering that he and Sariel occasionally triggered earthquakes with such encounters. “Mmmm, yes?”
“I don't suppose you also have … a demon tail?”
“Would you like me to have a demon tail?” asked Ganesh, eyes wide, now swiftly sliding his up so as to be eye to eye with Sariel.
“No! I mean. Uh. I mean. You know. If you HAD one-”
“That could be arranged.”
“Oh, don't-”
“Why not?” asked Ganesh, now nuzzling angel neck, as his hands went literally everywhere.
“Well...” Sariel dithered.
“Shhhh. Why shouldn't I be your fantasy?” purred Ganesh, slowly caressing Sariel's thigh. “Your demon fantasy....” He could feel the body tensing from just the suggestion.
“Ummm....”
“Oh. A terrible demon, come to take your angel virtue? Hmmmm?”
Sariel didn't say anything at all to that one.
He didn't need to.
Afterwards, Ganesh stayed awake for a time before drifting off, thoughts fluttering through his mind like fine feathers. Sariel usually wasn't reticent about sexual matters. It was a puzzlement to see him like this over Ganesh's horned Form. This one deserved further inquiry.
“Charles! He's DOING IT AGAIN!”
“Nathan, what did we say about using your concert voice indoors?” Charles sighed, finger digging into his ear, though he knew it was extremely unlikely that Nathan would recall that particular series of conversations.
“He WON'T COME DOWN!” Nathan insisted, crossing his arms and giving a very brutal glare. “We gotta REHEARSE.”
Charles nodded sadly and sat back in his office chair. “All right. OK. So, you've tried talking to him like we said? You gotta talk nicely, or it just makes him more upset.”
“OF COURSE WE TALK TO HIM NICELY! We're ALWAYS NICE! Whaddya think we are, a BUNCH OF DOUCHES?” thundered Nathan, whipping himself up from indignation into a nice frothy fury. Charles sincerely hoped Nathan had something like this left for the actual performance. As opposed to his office.
“No, no, no. Of course not. OK. All right. I'll come down there and see if he'll listen to me,” Charles said, rising with a regretful look at his laptop. “Boon, you come with Daddy now!” he told his son, who had been on the floor, quietly coloring a rococo influenced portrait of his father.
“Uh-huh!”
Nathan hoisted the boy to his shoulders, which emitted some excited squealing, and they made their way out of the offices and down to Dethklok's rehearsal stage, Elias happily slapping doorways as they crossed through.
They entered the rehearsal area. “Weens, Dada!” said Elias, pointing excitedly.
“Yeah,” sighed Charles. “Wings.”
“You ams talks to hims Charles!” Skwisgaar fumed, his fingers nervously picking out runs as he talked. “We cannot practices dis way! Hims ams UPSTAGINGS me!”
“Uh, Skwisgaar,” soothed Charles.
“WHATS?”
“I think you can think of at least one other reason why he can't play when he's that way?”
Skwisgaar frowned, and then turned around and yelled, “Toki, you cans not play dat way! Your remote mikes ams not work!”
Toki stuck his tongue out at Skwisgaar, who responded in turn.
Charles rolled his eyes and walked over to where his band's rhythm guitarist was hovering, twenty feet above the ground, clutching his Flying V, light brown wings fully extended and flapping irritably. His shirt was ripped, meaning he had True Formed in anger, in response to something, though gods knew what.
“Toki,” Charles tried, “You wanna come down and talk about this?”
“No, I ams not wants to talks to you. I ams not wants to talks to anyones. Evers.”
Charles felt a small tug at his pant leg. “Weens, Dada?” Elias asked, pointing up at Toki.
“Yeah, you're probably right. OK.” Charles started to strip off his jacket and tie, hoping to hell this was enough. He True Formed, and prayed he wouldn't have to go up after the guitarist. “Will you come down now?” he asked.
“Onlies if dems all goes away!” insisted Toki, waving a finger at his bandmates.
“Can you guys all take five? Or ten or something?” Charles pleaded. They nodded and filed out, Pickles plonking Deddy into Charles' arms as he left. “Thanks!” Charles whispered.
Toki alit, but kept his wings arced out, meaning he was still pretty pissed. Charles kept himself very still. This was a tricky business. Going to True Form seemed soothing when Toki got like this, but Charles risked unconsciously getting his own wings up (literally!) and further upsetting him. It wasn't something that was very easily controlled, either, despite a chunk of time devoted to trying.
Close up like this, he could see the terribly scars running up and down the guitarist's body. I need to send him to Ganesh, Charles thought.
He looked down at Deddy bear, and passed it along to Toki, who clutched it. “Toki, I need you to Court Form for me. Can you do that?”
Toki hugged onto Deddy and glared sullenly. Though is wings were feathered in the same soft brown as his hair, his eyes were still a clear sky blue in this Form. Charles wondered, not for the first time, what are you?
“Toki, I need you to think of nice things....”
“Ams not wants to t'ink of nice t'ings! I wants to t'ink of brutal t'ings! Because I ams brutal too!”
“Yes, of course, you are very brutal,” said Charles. Ah, at least I know what this is about now. “Why would you think you aren't?”
“Skwisgaar ams said dey ams gives me a harp and puts me on tops of da Christmas trees!”
Charles bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. He and Raziel would fallen off their chairs hooting at the insult. And then, of course, threatened the joker with a flaming sword up his or her ass. Of course, Toki didn't really have much training as a fighter of any kind. He had seemed to enjoy sparring with the punching bag. Charles mulled it over for second or two. If Toki really had a Cherubic ancestor or two, which was really Charles' only working theory, then he would probably be better off with a sheet cake than a weapon. Still, his other band members were probably more or less ignorant of this.
“Toki, how about this? I think maybe you're unhappy because where you were brought up, people didn't really know about you.”
“Dey didn't?”
“No. It wasn't their fault, really.” Charles knew he needed to thread the needle of not insulting Toki's parents. For whatever reason. Toki remained oddly loyal to his evil bastard of a father. “But there are some things people like me or Raziel take for granted, that I don't think you do. Like how to get back and forth to your winged form. There's ways to get into it when you're not upset.”
“Ja?” asked Toki. And suddenly it was just Toki. A tall man in a torn shirt clutching a soft toy. Blinking at him.
“Would you like that? Would you like us to help you True Form?”
Toki looked from side to side, as if someone were watching him. “Ja!” he whispered conspiratorily.
Charles nodded. “OK. Here is what you need to do for me. I need you to finish rehearsals today. And then come and see Pie and we'll get that scheduled.” Here I am, thought Charles, flapping silver fucking wings and telling some guy to come see my secretary. He heard noises, and saw the Dethklok was impatiently making their way back in.
“Are we good?” Charles asked Toki.
Toki nodded. Skwisgaar glared at him from across the stage, and Pickles stopped and handed him a new shirt on the way to the drum kit. “T'anks, Pickle,” Toki muttered. He looked down. Elias was tugging on his pantleg, and holding up his Lelefun toy, which he had grabbed to bring along.
“Oh, dat's OK, Booms, I gots my friends here,” he said, holding Deddy down to where the two plush toys were eye to eye. And then he set Deddy down securely on an amp.
“C'mon Boon,” said Charles, holding out a hand. As Toki stripped out of his torn shirt and into a new one, Charles, without bothering to Court Form, scooped up his shirt and jacket with one arm and led Elias back to his office.
“CHARLES!” Nathan was right behind him out the door.
“Nathan?”
“He can't keep doing that while we're on tour!”
“Yeah, I know. I'm workin' on it. Look, can you keep Skwisgaar from picking on him too much?”
“You know what those guys are like! We can't go KISSING TOKI'S ASS. It will look gay!”
Charles stopped. “Look,” he said quietly. “You guys are dicks to each other. I know. But Skwisgaar doesn't like angels. I've hadda stop myself from punching his fucking face over what he's said about Boon,” he said, indicating his son.
Nathan blinked, looking at Boon.
Something seemed to go in.
“OK. Yeah,” Nathan said finally.
“Dada!” said Elias, tugging on Charles leg. He was wiggling and bouncing up and down on his toes.
“I gotta go,” said Charles, hoisting the child. “The Protector of the Earth has gotta go potty.”
Nathan nodded, and watched as two angels hurried down the corridor on an urgent mission.
“Demons, huh?” said Raziel. Toddlers whizzed around them. “Liam, do not get those wings muddy again, or I'm getting the hose! Tsk, silly kid.”
“Yes. It's a bit of a personal matter, if you don't mind,” Ganesh told her, taking a seat on the deck chair. It was a fall evening at Valhalla, and the air was much too crisp for sunbathing without the aid of heat lamps.
“Personal, huh?” said Raziel, devilish smile on her face. “I can imagine.” She seated herself as well. “I dunno about Sariel personally, 'cause I've never really asked him. I think it's more a Fallen thing than an angel thing though.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Oh, the prejudice.”
“The prejudice?”
“It's probably because people mistake 'em for one another. I mean, humans do. Angels - even Fallen ones - tend to think of themselves as great shining warriors, whereas demons kind of mooch around in the mud.”
“But, you and Sariel, you conjured demon Forms....”
“Oh, yeah, wasn't that great? I would do that all the time, only Father thinks you gotta be in Hell for the magic to work.”
“So you don't harbor ill feelings?
“Oh, hell no! And Wotan thought I looked kinda sexy,” she giggled, eyeing Ganesh playfully.
“I shan't comment.”
“Sariel looked pretty damn impressed by your wings,” she hinted.
“It was … an educational experience. They are certainly quite heavier than I imagined.”
“And ya know, there's a lot of demons who are just assholes. Like Berith! But that's the same as anything. A lotta dicks out there. William is pretty cool. He's watched a lot of military operations, 'cause his specialty was watching soldiers' graves. But … what?”
“I'm not sure 'watching over' is the phrase I personally would pick,” said Ganesh, who had adopted a sour expression.
“Oh, you guys aren't cool with demons either?”
“Us guys?”
“The EKC?”
Ganesh shrugged. “A good portion of my family's history involved warfare with demons. And hunting them is thought honorable.”
“But you're friends with William too?”
Ganesh nodded.
“And you used to kick angel ass? I mean, before you started doing other things with angel ass?”
Ganesh couldn't help smiling. “So, this is at least another issue with Sariel being outcast?”
“Well. Yeah. Father and I really had to talk him into doing the demon powers thing. In the end, it was wanting to get Uriah that decided him.” She frowned. “Sometimes Sariel really lets it get him down. The Fallen business. You talk to Our Father sometimes, yeah?”
“Mmmm. He comes occasionally to visit Boon. But I have never brought it up.”
“Well. He's sort of an outcast Himself these days.”
“True. And my first priority now is contacting the Old Ones. Regarding our Boonie.”
“Elephants! Cool! Can I go!”
“There is only one problem: I do not know where they are!”
“What? Didn't your Uncle Brahma talk to them?”
“Oh, Uncle is being a shit about it. 'You don't go to the Old Ones! They come to you! Such nonsense!'” Ganesh mimed spilling a newspaper.
Raziel snorted with laughter.
“I had hoped to gain an audience with your tiger on the matter. Though, sadly, he can be most oblique.”
“Oh, you wanna talk to Bagheera? HEY BAGHEERA! Where are you, you lazy lunk?” screamed Raziel as Ganesh cringed.
Two gigantic wolves came bounding up to them, barking and howling and generally making a commotion.
“Not you idiots! Where's the damn tiger!” said Raziel. “Stupid doggies.”
But Geri and Freki ignored Raziel, and instead leapt upon Ganesh.
“This is cashmere!” wailed Ganesh regarding his now slobbery coat sleeve.
“Oh, it's very nice,” said Raziel. “Uh, I think they want you to go with 'em.”
“Go with them where?” snapped Ganesh. “It had better be to obtain a replacement winter coat!”
But Geri and Freki would not be put off by the elephant god's fussing over potentially injured couture, and he soon found himself being herded off into the woods.
“Lord Ganesh,” purred a familiar voice in the Old Tongue.
“Oh, Noble Tiger,” said Ganesh, trying to brush off wolf drool as best he could.
Bagheera looked down on him from a tree branch, stretching a great tiger stretch. “You seek the Old Ones,” he said, settling his furry tummy comfortably back in the bough.
“Well. Yes,” said Ganesh, who was a bit taken aback at the straightforwardness.
“They have gotten secretive,” warned the tiger.
“Well, yes, but it regards my son. My chick, I mean.”
“You must not seek them in their old grounds. They no longer dwell in the place of the short-eared elephants.”
Ganesh rubbed his chin. “Well. That makes sense. Can you give me a hint-”
“But now inhabit the land of the bulldog.” Bagheera licked a paw.
Ganesh paused. “They've moved to the UK?”
“You are wise.”
“Thank you, noble cat!” said Ganesh giving a deep bow. “This will make my search all the easier.” He began to depart.
“Beware, the Old Ones guard their location!” Bagheera warned him.
“All right, I'll-”
“But it's in Leicestershire,” said the cat.
Ganesh stopped and turned. “Well, that certainly narrows it down. I'll just-”
“It's just off the A5 between Atherstone and Hinckley,” suggested the cat.
“Oh, well-”
“Near Fenny Drayton,” suggested Bagheera. “But don't go too far, you'll get stuck in a roundabout.”
“I'll make sure not to. Thank you again, cat!”
“If you get lost, ask at the pub!” called Bagheera after him.
Green and gold.
The headaches had come back.
General Crozier put his head in his hands. He had thought they were gone. It seemed as if, for a long time, they had remitted.
It wasn't so much the pain - that he could bear.
It was the thing he hadn't told anyone. His secret. The time loss. As if he had leapt ahead, through time and space, no idea where he'd been.
He had never received a complaint about it. Not a single comment. So he must still be performing his duties. He must be.
He was too important. Couldn't let the project down.
Selatcia had just come into the room. He had been absent for a time.
He had another name.
Crozier frowned. The headache hadn't set in yet. It was just the aura now. But in its way, it was worse than the headaches. Not everyone, but some people, he didn't see them as people any more.
He had never himself taken psychedelic drugs. He had administered them. Had seen what they could do to people. Had seen the tattered wreck they could make of a healthy psyche.
Was this like that experience? Some people, not all people. And there were colors, and other dimensions. Musical colors, colors that shimmered, or even smelled. Colors not in any spectrum he had ever seen.
And the most amazing light show, always, was Selatcia. Big as he was, there was more light than man. It filled the room. Maybe it filled the universe.
Crozier didn't want to look. But he felt the presence, pressing on him.
He looked.
Green and gold.
Green and gold.
And red....
Ganesh came up to what looked very much like an English cottage. A very, very large English cottage, but one nonetheless.
He parked in the broad circular driveway and exited his rental car. There was a very neat, well-tended garden out front. He noticed with wonder that the forests around here, oddly, now appeared to extend as far as the eye could see in all directions. Despite the estate's location just off the A23, he seemed now completely alone and isolated.
Suddenly, he heard a trampling of very large feet. He glanced over his shoulder. Coming up behind him, three of the very biggest, grandest elephants he had ever seen. The came right up to him, the very biggest (a bull elephant) standing right over him.
Ganesh had spent rather more time than many other people around elephants, but still found himself a little intimidated. He bowed courteously and said, in his best Old Tongue, “I greet you humbly. I am Shri Ganesha.”
“Ganesha,” said the biggest Old One. “Long have we sought audience with you.”
“Yes,” said Ganesh. “I need to speak about-”
“The prophecy is come,” intoned the largest Old One with great solemnity. “The five have assembled: of heaven and earth and below, and afar, and near.”
“The five?” asked Ganesh, who struggled as always to understand the Old One's strange speech patterns. “You must mean … Dethklok?”
“And you are their warden, as we have foretold!”
“Well, I wouldn't actually call myself their warden.”
The great Old One scowled and elephant scowl. “And why wouldn't you?”
“Oh, I do help out, here and there....” Ganesh began.
“You're not their warden?” asked the big old one, now in English.
“Er, no, not really? You speak English?”
“Well OF COURSE I speak English,” fumed the Old One. “I've only been living here the past half century. Now, what the FUCK have you been doing with yourself, Ganesha?”
“Always knew he was a lazy sod,” grumbled the second Old One into the large one's elephant ear. “Didn't I tell you?”
“Dethklok are actually my husband's band!” said Ganesh.
“Ooo, let the spouse do it all, where have I heard THAT before?” grumbled the female Old One.
“What do you mean, Azalea?” demanded the big Old One.
“Hmpf! You never clean up your peanut shells!”
“Clean up my num nums?” barked the big Old One.
“I told you Ganesha would be a good for nothing!” scolded the second Old One. “Didn't I tell you that? But do you ever listen to me?”
“Peanut shells EVERYWHERE!” nattered Azalea.
“No one listens to Mortimer! No one listens to me!” whined the Old One who was apparently named Mortimer.
“You don't get between a man and his num nums, Azalea!” thundered the large Old One.
“Mother always told me you were selfish, Basil,” sniffed Azalea.
“ALL OF YOU!” thundered Ganesh. The three elephants stopped quarreling momentarily to regard the relatively small figure in their midst. Ganesh had some experience with elephant ill behavior, and had no patience for it. “I am.... I am insulted. You invite me here, you offer me NO hospitality, not even a peanut.”
“Now, don't be ill-tempered, boy,” urged Basil the Old One.
“I am ill-tempered! I shall turn my back on you!”
“He wouldn't do that. Would he?” asked Mortimer, who sounded just a bit frightened.
“Hmpf!” hmpfed Ganesh, who not only turned his back then and there, but stood, scowling, with multiple arms crossed in defiance.
“Basil, he turned his back on us! I saw him!” wailed Azalea.
“Now, now, not to panic. We'll see here. Now, lad,” said Basil, coming around to face Ganesh.
Ganesh turned again, so his back was still to Basil.
“Ooooh, no, Basil!” said Azalea.
“He turned his back! A second time! I knew he was tricky! I told you!” warned Mortimer.
“Now, Ganesha, perhaps we got off on the wrong hoof!” soothed Basil.
“Hmpf,” pouted Ganesh, who, being part elephant, was actually rather good at pouting.
“Let's have a little refreshment, and discuss this, like reasonable pachyderms!”
“Do you have martinis?” asked Ganesh, who turned around halfway.
“Of course we have martinis! What do we look like? SAVAGES?” inquired Basil.
A bit later, when Ganesh was rather more comfortably situated, on a lovely divan (it was also the largest divan he had ever seen, by quite a longshot) sipping an utterly delicious (and quite dry) martini, he ventured, “So, in regards to my son....”
“Oh, yes Protector of the Earth!” said Mortimer, swelling with elephant pride. “I picked that title! That was my favorite show!”
“Wait, you mean it was actually based on that cartoon show?” asked Ganesh.
“Protectors of the Earth!” sang Mortimer.
“Here we go!
Serving since our birth
Here we go!
We're the team Protector
Never mind the weather
HERE WE GO!”
“The original Japanese version I always thought was superior,” confessed Basil.
“Oh, you never watched the anime,” sniffed Mortimer.
“I did! I did!” insisted Basil.
“Poser,” snarked Mortimer.
“So, does your son need a spandex suit? That would be very becoming,” proposed Azalea.
“Er, my son is currently two years old, so spends most of his time in elephant-bedecked rompers.”
“Oooo, that sounds so darling! May I see?” inquire Azalea.
Ganesh shrugged many shoulders and brought out his cellular phone, where he brought up some recent images (taken that morning, in fact) of Elias.
“Oh, do look, Basil my sweet! His little bib overalls are completely festooned with elephants!”
“And the shirt,” mentioned Ganesh, for Elias had been clothed in presents from his doting Auntie Sarasvati.
“Ooo, yes, and the little shirt too.”
“Wait just a minute, Azalea, I need to get my specs,” muttered Basil, who donned some very large reading glasses and then squinted an elephant squint into the relatively tiny phone cradled in Azalea's trunk.
“And the shoes as well,” Ganesh pointed out.
“Oh, such a charmer. Isn't he a charmer, Basil dear?”
“A very stylish way of dressing!” agreed Basil, carefully picking the olive out of his martini glass with his trunk and swallowing it with a satisfied smack.
“Well, thank you,” smiled Ganesh, who was indeed quite complimented by this particular remark.
“Can you see there, Mortimer,” inquired Azalea. Mortimer had a rather sour look on his trunk.
“What's the matter, Morty, old sport?” asked Basil.
“Hmpf! Children! Running around! Making a clatter!”
“You don't like children, Mortimer?” asked Azalea.
“Seen and not heard, that's what I say!”
“My son,” said Ganesh, who had gone from being a bit puffed up to a bit irritated in a record time, “might I point out, has just been Named as your Protector of the Earth.”
“What?” boomed Basil. “But, he's just a small child! How the bloody hell is he supposed to protect the earth? With a teething ring? This is unacceptable!”
“But my Uncle Brahma said you had chosen Elias....”
“I told you not to listen to Brahma,” warned Mortimer. “Didn't I say so?”
“Brahma and his notions!” tutted Basil.
“But....” butted Ganesh, who was quickly learning what a job it can be arguing with elephants. He poured himself another martini and decided to change his tack somewhat.
“So,” he continued, “tell me about Dethklok.”
“About what, dear?” asked Azalea.
“Deaf knock?” tried Mortimer.
“I think he said, Left Spork,” said Basil.
“Er, the prophecy of the five?” Ganesh tried.
“Oh, yes, that's a good one! One of my favorites, really,” said Basil. “One of of heaven, one of earth and one of below. One from afar and one so near. Quite a ring to it, eh?”
“Would it be possible for you to give me any more information?” Ganesh urged.
“Can I show him, Basil?” asked Mortimer.
“Well, of course, the boy is practically family!” urged Azalea.
“All right! I supposed we can share it. Go and locate … THE SACRED OBJECT," ordered Basil, causing the martini glasses a bit of a shake.
Mortimer happily bounded off in a thunder of elephant feet. But Ganesh had barely started his next martini when Mortimer clumped back, clutching in his trunk what looked like a small cardboard box, which he handed proudly to Ganesh.
Ganesh set down his cocktail glass and stared at it. It was a flat rectangular box, done up garish 1970s style graphics, with the large logo, PROPHECY BOP! written in large pink letters on the top and sides.
“Prophecy Bop?” asked Ganesh, opening up the box.
“Ah,” sighed Mortimer. “Have you played?”
“Er, no, I don't believe so,” Ganesh told him. Inside was a game board, done up in a similar funky style to the box itself, and a large spinning wheel. The wheel included labels such as, “Ocean of fire,” “Plague of toads,” and “The seven lamp stands.” “So the prophecy of the five is based on this?” asked Ganesh.
“Board games, a lost art,” sighed Mortimer.
“You said your spouse is warden to the five?” asked Basil.
“Yes, they are recording artists, and Sariel is their manager.”
There was a thudding silence.
Ganesh looked up from spinning the narrow metal arrow on the Wheel of Prophecy. “Yes?” he asked.
“Sariel?” asked Basil. “Your husband is not an angel, is he?”
“Yes, actually. Well,” said Ganesh, spinning onto the wedge that said, “Pillar of salt,” “actually, just half angel. But near enough.”
“You are consorting with an angel?” fumed Basil, standing up so quickly he overturned his martini glass.
“Now, Basil, your temper,” soothed Azalea.
“Yes, and your Protector of the Earth, my son, is part angel,” explained Ganesh, who had very little tolerance for anti-angel prejudiced people.
“Well, that was unexpected!” said Mortimer.
“But weren't you in the War?” demanded Basil.
“Yes. I led the resistance to the Occupation,” said Ganesh, drawing himself up.
“Oooo, you must tell us a war story!” said Mortimer, who might have clapped, had he had hands.
“A war story!” cooed Azalea.
“Yes, you will tell us a war story!” agreed Basil.
Ganesh considered this for a moment. “How about this? I'm not really much good at telling stories. But let me ring a friend? I bet she could do a bang-up job for you?”
“This is lovely. Absolutely lovely.”
“I've always considered it so.”
The two beings were standing out on a back porch at Valhalla, taking in the scenery, in the crisp early fall air, as they awaited a third.
“You really should come up on a hunt some time!” Wotan urged.
“Well,” said Nick Ibsen, considering his fine amber Scotch, “I think maybe my hunting days are past me.”
“You may be surprised!” said Wotan.
“You know,” said Ibsen. “This is too damned late by centuries. But I had always meant to tell you how sorry I was. About Baldr.”
Ibsen felt his shoulder enveloped by a tremendous hand. “It's appreciated, my friend.”
“Sorry we're late!” called Charles. He was hurrying up the path, Elias pattering along at his side.
“No worries!” boomed Wotan. “We're enjoying the last of the decent weather.”
“No indeed,” said Ibsen. “I wouldn't mind staying here for quite a time.”
“You have the boy today?” smiled Wotan, stooping over to catch Elias as he ran up.
“Ganesh hadda go off, see some relatives,” huffed Charles. “He found the Old Ones.”
“Ah, so that's where the wife has gotten herself to!” laughed Wotan, now using his fingers to make a loud whistle.
“Raziel?” asked Charles.
“Was muttering something about cute elephants. I figured it's some damned designer label! Ah!”
“BOOOOOOOOOONIE!” squealed his cousins. Both were in winged form, and came hurtling in from somewhere in the sky.
Elias wriggled down and started bouncing excitedly up and down.
“ELIAS!” said Charles. He looked to his father. “Let's get the coat off before you True Form!”
Continuing to bounce up and down, Elias held his little arms out, now pleading, “Coat, Dada!”
Charles knelt down and attempted to extricate his wriggling bundle from his outerwear.
“Boon!” said Wotan, bringing out an iridescent ball that seemed to change colors as you tilted it. It looked for all the world like a soap bubble.
“Ooo,” said Elias, who thankfully ceased wiggling for the time it took his father to complete stripping off his coat. Wotan grinned and tossed the bubble ball. Elias immediately sprouted his dark, silvery-tipped wings and sailed after it, as did his cousins.
“They're a bit of a handful!” said Ibsen.
“You have no fucking idea,” sighed, Charles, who had remained sitting on the ground, holding the small coat.
“I'm surprised you're on time for anything,” said Ibsen as Wotan gave Charles a hand up.
“It wasn't Boon's fault, actually,” said Charles, brushing the dust off his posterior. “Something with the band. Something I wanted to ask you about, Nick.”
"You can ask away," smiled Nick. "I can't promise I'll have an answer!"
"Let's get inside. I've got Cubans," smiled Wotan, leading his friends indoors. "I've always thought better with a good smoke."
“Oh my gods, ELEPHANTS!” squealed Raziel, snapping cell phone photographs. “Can I bring my kids here some time? They love elephants?”
“This is the Lady Raziel,” explained Ganesh. “This is Basil, Azalea, and Mortimer. The, er, Old Ones.”
“Could you guys move closer? I wanna get you all in the shot!” instructed Raziel, as the three elephants huddled as close together as might be expected. Raziel showed them the images.
“Can you send me a copy?” Mortimer asked.
“Sure!”
“This doesn't make me look fat, does it?” worried Azalea.
“Well, my dear, you are an elephant,” soothed Basil.
“That's true,” she agreed.
“All right, what can I do ya for?” asked Raziel.
“They would like to hear a story of my involvement in the War,” Ganesh told her.
“A war story? Yeah, sure, we can do that.”
“Oh, dear, did you know Ganesh during the war?” asked Azalea.
“No!” Raziel cheerfully volunteered. “Now, once upon a time....”
“Hey, GENERAL GANESH, we got an IMPORTANT PROBLEM ONLY YOU CAN SOLVE, so you should probably come over here and like, you know, solve it for us and stuff.”
Charming and handsome General Ganesh strode over to survey his men, a hearty band of freedom fighters. They were resting between battles, and the men were involved in some sort of game of chance.
“A card game?” inquired General Ganesh, who was as clever as he was handsome, and he was very very handsome.
“Yeh, dood, we're playin' Splattergories,” explained another of the hearty freedom fighters, holding up a well-used box.
“Splattergories?”
“Board gamesch!” cheered another freedom fighter. “It'sch a loscht art!”
“We ams draws da cards wit' da pictures of dat bloody body partses, an' den we ams writes downs da horrors movies titles!” explained a freedom fighter with an odd mustache, holding up some cards.
“But Toki's not very good because he DOESN'T LIKE HORROR MOVIES,” explained the first freedom fighter, a fellow with piercing green eyes.
“Dey ams scaries, Nat'ans,” protested Toki.
“And we're having problems with all these guts because one guts looks JUST LIKE ANOTHER GUTS!” grumbled Nathan.
“Yeh, General Gannish dood, don't yoo know medical shit?”
“Let me see, Pickles,” said General Ganesh, taking the cards. “Well, this one is intestines.”
“Oohhhhhh,” said Nathan.
“And this is intestines,” noted Ganesh. “And this is more intestines. And intestines.”
“Yeh?”
“And this one is the colon!”
“THE COLON?”
“Which is … the large intestines.”
“Hey, dood, mebbe we cud jest call 'em all guts. Dat wud make t'ings simpler,” proposed Pickles.
“That'sch not in the rulesch!”
“Quit being a stickler, MURDERFACE,” grumbled Nathan.
“Pffft,” said a blond resistance fighter, who was not playing the game, but was instead sitting and sullenly practicing his guitar.
Suddenly, there was a crash. An angelic warrior had found their camp! He was a terrible Seraph, with three sets of wings, and big as some metaphor of a really biggie big thing that I can't think of right now.
Toki squealed with surprise and let go his Splattergories cards, thus losing his turn!
General Ganesh, who was as quick thinking as he was handsome, took the deck of cards he was holding and threw them into the hulking Seraph's eyes, temporarily blinding and confusing him. With his war cry of “Pffft!” Skwisgaar brought his guitar down on one of the Seraph's feet, causing him to scream and bounce up and down on his other foot. Murderface stabbed that foot with his hunting knife, and the giant fell to his equally giant knees.
Then Nathan cried, “ASSHOLE!” and punched the Seraph right in the face, knocking out a few Seraphic teeth, and sending him sprawling. “You interrupted our Splattergories!”
“Great work, brave resistance fighters,” said Ganesh, who was as courteous as he was handsome and blah blah blah. He held his sword at the Seraph's neck. “Now, why are you interrupting our friendly game?”
“Board gamesch are a loscht art!” attested Murderface, cleaning the angel blood from his knife on the angel's pantleg.
“I am a plot device sent to alert you that the evil Seraphim Occupiers are holding a beautiful captive hostage in their evil tower,” said the Seraph.
“Dude,” said Nathan, “if he's an occupier, why is he calling himself evil? Isn't that kind of a dick move?”
“Well, he is a plot device,” Ganesh reminded him.
“Dood,” asked Pickles, “Since when do dese doods have a tower, evil or uderwise?”
“Oh, these fellows always have a tower,” Ganesh answered sagely, for he was wise in the ways of warfare, as well as being handsome and all the other stuff.
“So, I guess since I helped you, now I can go?” asked the plot device.
“Well, no. You are an evil Occupier, so I shall have to slay you,” confessed Ganesh.
“Yeah, I was afraid of that,” sighed the Seraph, who was very quickly made in to an ex-Seraph by Ganesh's blade.
“Hey, cool, rolling heads!” said Nathan as Toki fainted (for even though Toki was a brave resistance fighter, he really couldn't stand the sight of blood). “So, we're gonna wake up Toki and go save the cute chick from the tower and stuff? Hey, maybe there are several cute chicks? I mean, ya know, it's been a few hours since I've seen a cute chick, so maybe they've all gone somewhere?”
“Cute chicksch,” mused Murderface.
“But, doods, where do we go to find da tower?” mused Pickles, splashing Toki with a glass of delicious Indian beer.
“You ams ask da mushrooms!” Toki told them.
“Pfffft,” said Skwisgaar.
“Oh, that is an excellent idea, Toki,” said General Ganesh. “I say, mushroom chap!” he called, for General Ganesh had a rather fake British accent and sometimes overdid, “where is the tower of the evil occupiers?”
“Well,” replied the mushroom, “It lies over the lake of fire, beyond the avalanche-prone glaciers, through the canyon of the poisonous toads, and just up the A23. If you get lost, ask at the pub."
"Hmmm, well, that sounds like a long journey!" said brave General Ganesh.
"Or..... You could just hop in that sewer pipe!" said the mushroom.
"You mean that large sewer pipe which appears to be randomly sticking out in the middle of the meadow?" asked Ganesh.
"That's the one."
"Cool," said Ganesh.
Toki head-butted the mushroom, which vanished in a poof.
"Hey, why did you do that? He was helping us! I mean, not that there's anything wrong with random violence," commented Nathan.
"Ams 1-up!" explained Toki.
And so, General Ganesh and his brave resistance fighters hopped into the sewer pipe.
They emerged in a terrible wasteland. It looked as if ILM had spent many man hours on the effects, for there were many well rendered 3D models of terrible creeping things, as well as spectacular lightning strikes, plus a gloomy tower (which may actually have been not CGI but a miniature, but it was still very convincing) looming in the background.
Suddenly, a very large, and incredibly well rendered monster appeared in front of the crew. He snarled, and flapped his one tremendous feathered wing.
"I am Uriah!" thundered the monster! "I am totally bad and evil and ugly and creepy and I smell bad and I lack any dress sense. And you will have to defeat me in order to free the lovely captive."
"Wait!" Thundered Nathan, who, in addition to being a brave resistance fighter, had an excellent set of pipes. "Exactly why do we need to defeat you anyway? I mean, this well rendered CGI wasteland is pretty fucking vast. Why don't we just GO AROUND?"
"You must defeat me!" howled Uriah, who also had an ugly wart on his face. And did I mention he dresses poorly? "For I AM THE BOSS OF THIS LEVEL"
The freedom fighter exchanged a glance.
Murderface stepped before the evil monster.
"You're not the bossch of usch."
Uriah scowled at them. "Yes I am!"
"Dood, I don't remember enterin' intoo any kinda contachsual obligation wit' yoo or any of yer representatives," reasoned Pickles.
"Ja!" said Toki, we ams da braves tumescence lighters!" said Toki.
"Er, resistance fighters," said Ganesh.
"...and we ams works for da braves General Ganoshes!"
"I am the boss and you must defeat me!" Uriah insisted, who, along with his ore charms, was quite ill-tempered when explaining things. "That's the way it's done! Are you all stupid?"
"Pfffft!" said Skwisgaar.
"I must insist-" Uriah began. But just at that moment, the giant Pyramid of Giza fell out of the sky and completely squashed him.
"That happensch schometimesch," nodded Murderface.
"Yeah, that kinda thing happens all the time," said Nathan.
"It's like spontaneous combuschun, er somethin'," concluded Pickles.
And so General Ganesh and his brave resistance fighters ran into the tower, hoping that there would be cute chicks there.
"Does it smell like Marlboro Menthols in here to you guys?" asked Nathan.
"Hey, guys," said the lovely captive. The captive was indeed very beautiful, with long flowing silver hair and sparkling silver eyes.
"WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A CHICK!" said Nathan.
“Uh, no,” said the lovely captive. “Sorry. They caught me stealing a pie, so they locked me up here.”
“They don't wish to share their pie?” gasped Ganesh, who was outraged that the lovely captive could be treated in such a rude ma.
“Naw, they're assholes," said the lovely captive.
“You poor dear! You must be so deprived!” tutted Ganesh.
"I'm OK. Hey. Any of you guys gotta smoke?”
“I have something better!” said Ganesh, who demonstrated.
“Awwwwww, do you guys have to do that in PUBLIC?” growled Nathan, who was covering his eyes.
"Do you ams wants to plays more Scattergories, Nat'ans?" asked Toki.
"Yeah sure just promise you won't faint so much."
"Pffft!" said Skwisgaar.
"That," said Basil, wiping an elephant tear, "was the best war story I've ever heard."
"Yes, I thought you might appreciate it," smiled Ganesh.
"We should really give them a boon," said Azalea. "I can't remember when I've had such a lovely time."
"Oh, I don't really need anything," said Raziel. "I'm fucking rich. Just let me bring the kids by some afternoon."
"Oh, yes, that would be lovely, dear," said Azalea, although Mortimer was making a rather sour face at the notion.
"What of you, Shri Ganesha?" asked Basil.
"Er, there might actually be one thing...."
"The thing about Lucifer," Nick Ibsen was saying, one of Wotan's finest cigars clenched between his teeth. "In my day, you woulda been laughed off the planet, acting like that after you'd Fallen."
"Really?" asked Charles, leaning back on one of Wotan's very comfortable couches, and smiling, both for the luscious taste of his own cigar (and being far from Ganesh's nagging about what it would do to his lungs) and at the thought of Lucifer, who he's always thought of as a prick, being hooted at by other angels.
"Those kids," said Nick, "hanging around with demons, making such a big stink? Back when I Fell, guys knew what to do! You'd put away the wings, and get on with it. Now, you, Sariel, you coulda been old school. You did your music, kept it classy. An real angel's angel!”
Charles puffed, not entirely used to or prepared for admiration from another of the Host, especially one as renowned as Azazel (despite the whole being Fallen business). “Uh, you know,” he said modestly, “I'm only half angel.”
“The good half!” laughed Ibsen.
“Sit back and take a compliment, boy,” said Wotan, winking at him.
“I didn't know.... You guys never contacted me,” Charles told Ibsen.
“Yeah, that's true,” said Ibsen. “But, what were we gonna do, hold 12 Step meetings?”
Charles laughed, despite himself. Yes, what was done, was done. He leaned forward, flicking redcinders into an ashtray. “Right now, Nick, I gotta question, and I'm thinking you may be able to lead me in the right direction. I gotta kid in my band. I'm pretty sure he's part angel. But, the best Ganesh and I can come up with is he's part human.”
“What about his folks?” asked Nick, sipping at his Scotch.
“That's tough. The dad was an abusive motherfucker, who I hope is rotting away somewhere in Phanuel's domain...”
“That is tough,” admitted Ibsen.
“And to top it off, they're a bunch of religious fundamentalists.”
At this, both Wotan and Ibsen, who had been looking concerned, suddenly erupted into gales of laughter.
“I shouldn't,” said Wotan, putting down his glass and wiping a tear. “Toki is a nice lad.”
“Ah! The Creator!” said Ibsen. “Someone should shoot the bastard.”
“I nearly stabbed him once,” Charles admitted.
“What?” said Ibsen.
“Sariel was prophesied to be the Creator's assassin,” said Wotan, puffing smoke. “But he's so damned cussed, he turned tables on the old bastard.”
“It's how I got my son. Well. Partly,” said Charles. “He's my boon. For not fulfilling the prophecy.”
“You think that's the full story? About Boon?” asked Wotan.
“Why? What do you think?” Charles asked him. He had never heard Wotan say anything on the subject before.
“The Creator always has his own reasons for what he does,” answered Ibsen. “But in answer to your first question, you wanna know if there's part-angel humans who don't look like Lucifer's sideshow freaks?”
“Yeah,” said Charles, still scratching his head.
“There are. There definitely are. They're just not Seraphim-borne. Our kind - us higher orders - we're just too fucking powerful for humans.”
“You mean - the lower orders....”
“That's our other failing, too fucking self-absorbed,” laughed Ibsen. “There have been Wars of Heaven since the Creator made enough angels to have a fight. And, warfare makes refugees.”
“So. They're not actually Fallen!”
“Nope. You've seen it happen yourself with the recent troubles. Now, for me, some of my staff … well, let's just say, they've been working with me an awfully long time,” said Nick.
“OK. Our issue is, he's going True Form and can't seem to control it.”
Nick paused, cigar halfway to his mouth. “You're kidding me! I'll be damned.” He rubbed his chin, but remained silent.
“What?” urged Charles.
“Well, it's damned rare for one of the lower orders to have a True Form. Even if a kid is born with one, it tends to get bred out, real fast.”
“Huh. OK.” Charles stubbed out his cigar and began to stand. “I probably should be getting back. Thanks, Nick. You've really been helpful.
“My pleasure,” said Ibsen. “Though, I'm kinda curious now. What are you gonna do with your angel guy?”
Charles shook his head. “I dunno, really. Raziel and I were gonna work with him to see if we can help him control the true form.”
“DO I HEAR MY NAME TAKEN IN VAIN?” asked Raziel, suddenly popping in and kissing Wotan on the cheek. “Oh, Nick! Great to see you again!”
“Always a pleasure, Lady,” grinned Nick.
“How was the visit with the elephants?” asked Wotan.
“Oh, god, they're a scream!” laughed the little angel. “We're gonna take the kids and have tea with them some Sunday. You guys should grab Boon, too!” she told Charles.
“Yeah, you know how I love a day with Ganesh's relatives,” he sighed. “They tell you anything useful?”
“I'm gonna let Ganesh fill you in on that one! It's utterly crazy!” she laughed.
“Wait,” said Ibsen. “Am I correct that you've encountered the Old Ones?”
“They're ADORABLE!” gushed Raziel.
“Holy fucking shit,” said Ibsen, hooking his thumbs in his red suspenders. “Boy, I really do need to come up here more often.
Greatly preoccupied by his conversations with the Old Ones, Ganesh had somewhat heedlessly Walked out of Leicestershire and onto a balcony at Mordhaus, not bothering to return his rental car.
And Walked right into Pickles.
“Dood, are yoo okey?” asked Pickles, as Ganesh helped the drummer to his feet.
“What? I'm.... Well, I'll admit, I have had a rather trying day.”
Pickles cocked his head and held up a joint.
Ganesh regarded it. “Should I even inquire what is in this?”
“I wud say, no,” grinned Pickles.
Ganesh shook his head, and, taking the joint, leaned comfortably back against the balustrade, and took a very long drag. He held the breath a moment, letting the chemicals work their way through his system.
“Dood,” said Pickles, who with a concerned look down, nevertheless hopped up to sit on the balustrade. “Dere's somethin' I bin meanin' to ask yoo.”
“You may ask. I am not certain of my capability of answering right now.”
“What am I, dood?”
Ganesh waved for the smoke. He took another considered puff. “What do you mean, exactly?” he choked out, though he feared he knew the answer.
“Toki's some kinda angel, an Murderface is some kinda demon t'ing. I kinda knew one and sorta knew da other. And Skwis' dad is a gawd. But.... I ain't shure. I mean, I'm jest me, yoo know?”
Ganesh nodded, wondering what Sariel would want him to say. He finally decided on the truth. “My best guess? And this is all guesswork. From your aura, I would say that you are human, but you also have a very unusual magic to you. As you are aware, your brother is the reincarnation of an Elder God - a particularly powerful one. My theory is that this pregnancy somehow changed your mother: her magical pattern is very unusual as well. For a human.”
Pickles was cringing. “Yer sayin' am an Elder Gawd?”
“No. I am saying you have been imbued with an unusual amount of their magic. This is why you may do things no human ought, such as spirit walking.”
“Oh,” said Pickles. And they smoked together for a while in silence.
“I should probably be going,” said Ganesh, who hoped to remove himself before he got too stoned.
“Yoo know,” said Pickles.
Ganesh stopped.
“I miss yoo guys. I mean, bein' wit' yoo guys.”
Ganesh held himself still for a long moment. “Pickles. You are an infuriating human. You can be petty, jealous, and utterly reckless.” He signed and looked down. “And I miss you as well.”
They exchanged a long look. And then Ganesh headed inside, and Pickles continued to smoke.
Charles and Ganesh were lying sprawled on the bed, utterly spent.
“So,” said Charles, his head resting comfortably on Ganesh's stomach, “what I was wondering-”
“The prophecy about Dethklok is the product of a Twentieth Century board game?”
“Well, naw. I was actually wondering if you have an infinite supply of potty relatives.”
“Potty relatives?” asked Ganesh, his head - still in Horned Form - rising up off the pillow in indignation.
“They Old Ones - they're pretty potty. Wouldn't you say so?”
“I suppose,” admitted Ganesh. “Although isn't 'potty' rather like something I would say?”
“We been married long enough I guess. It's something I'd say too.”
Ganesh let his head fall back onto the pillow.
“And another thing,” said Charles. “This demon tail?”
“Yeeeessss?” grinned Ganesh.
“Well,” said Charles, taking the tail in hand for a closer inspection. “Thing is. It sorta looks like an elephant tail.”
“Sariel! Do NOT tug on my demon tail,” warned Ganesh.
“Your elephant tail?” asked Charles, now giving a rather openly rude tug.
“Quit tugging upon my demon tail! There shall be consequences!”
“Yeah?” said Charles grinning up at him.
“Oh, yessssss,” said Ganesh.
Green and gold.
Bathed in a cold sweat, General Crozier found himself sitting bold upright in bed.
Desperately, he rooted blindly around on the bedside table for a pair of reading glasses, and his cellular telephone. He gritted his teeth as he looked at the calendar.
The aura. The headache.
The time loss.
All back.
He lay back, trying to remember the dream. It wasn't anything useful. Just colors, impressions.
Green and gold.
Green and gold.
And red.