Consequences (Mythklok, Chapter 17) (Part 2 of 2)
Title: Consequences (Mythklok, Chapter 17) (Part 2 of 2)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A chase up and down America and all around the Dreamtime
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking, character death.
Notes: Notes are on Part 1.
Cross-posted to capslokdethklok.
Consequences
Part 2 of 2
Ofdensen knew he wasn’t supposed to be smoking on the Dethcopter, but he decided he didn’t give a shit. It was interesting watching the smoke curl.
Pickles was in the seat next to him, hugging his knees, looking stubborn. “It ain’t him dey’re buryin’. It’s jist a body.”
“If you don’t wanna go, that’s OK,” Ofdensen told him, watching smoke, wishing like hell he had an excuse to send Wotan or Raziel or anybody else to talk to the redheaded drummer. He really sucked at comforting people. “You might think later that you wished you’d gone.” He wasn’t certain why he said that. It seemed like a thing to say.
“Yoo been to a lotta funerals?” Pickles asked.
“More than my share.”
“We die a lot, huh?”
Ofdensen shrugged. “I guess it’s inevitable.”
“But I mean,” Pickles said, suddenly uncurling in the chair. “Yoo keep watchin’ us die, and yoo keep findin’ more of us?”
“Yeah,” Ofdensen puffed and stood up. “I guess I never learn my lesson.”
“Dood?” Pickles asked.
“Yeah?”
“Why did yoo pick me? I mean, fer da band?”
Ofdensen frowned for a moment, and seemed to be considering. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “You just seemed like the one.”
He walked down the gangplank a few minutes later. He shook his head at Kwahu, and they took off in the Eagle Kachina’s truck.
The cemetery was small, and looked a little neglected. Raziel was there at the graveside gripping Wotan’s hand - she hadn’t left his side since he had returned. She always looked even smaller next to her boyfriend.
Ganesh nodded to him, so Ofdensen went to stand beside him and Skwisgaar and Nathan. Nathan, a man who was nearly as big as a Court Formed Seraph, was somehow looking like a lost little boy. Another person he’d do no good trying to comfort.
There were a lot of people - seemingly the entire tribe had turned out. Ofdensen reminded himself that Aaron had been their shaman. He wondered what they would do now, with both the boy and Eototo out of the picture. He reminded himself he needed to talk to Grandma about it. And Wotan had mentioned he wanted to do something about remodeling the state facility where Aaron had spent most of his life. Lots to do. The Inbox wouldn’t sit still for a funeral.
He heard the sound of an engine, and looked over to the gate. A car had stopped. Someone got out of it. Pickles. The drummer waved a hand at the driver, and started over to the funeral party. Ofdensen nodded at him. Pickles frowned and looked down at the ground.
Grandma was speaking. “Remember, what we bury is only his body,” she was telling them. Just what Pickles had been telling him. Maybe the guy was part Hopi. “He has moved beyond the Fourth World. We wish him peace.
“Pangso hak ahoy nimangwu, I'hakiy qatungwu'ata
Pamsa pipay nukwsiwtingwu.
Niqw aapiynipa hikwsi aniwtiqa
Pam hapi sutsep qatungwu.
Put um hapi uuqatsiniqata aw na'saslawu.”
Raziel lingered behind at the grave site after the rest of the mourners had moved away.
“This is how things are in this universe.” She wasn’t quite sure when Sariel had come up behind her. “Humans - they die,” he said.
“And I’ll never find another one quite like him,” she said.
“No. And you can burn down an entire military base, and it won’t bring them back.”
They were quiet for a long moment.
“We told him we were coming back for him. Pickles and I. We were such assholes.” She sighed. “This universe could use some rethinking.”
“And this is where you’ve chosen to stay, Raziel? You have a choice. I was dumped here.”
“So, what do you do?” she asked. “Don’t let yourself get attached?”
“No. You don’t understand.” He shut his eyes. “You can never do that. They always get in. Humans. No matter how hard you try. They always manage to get in somehow. Time after time. It’s like their dance. Or something.” He shrugged. He looked down at his hand. She had moved beside him, the small fingers of her hand entwined with his.
“I need to go and…” he began.
“No.” Her hand twined tighter. They stood this way for a while, and then he blinked. It was his own handkerchief. Raziel was holding it out to him.
“They told me you…. They told me you took down three Seraphs. By yourself,” he told her.
“I heard you punched my fiancé across the room.”
“Guess we don’t know our own strength.”
“Yeah.”
The Seraphim in Mordhaus’s courtyard had Court Formed.
Ofdensen had been surprised to be met at the Dethcopter gangplank by an uncharacteristically serious Toki Wartooth, who was flanked by a couple of his Stitch n Bitch pals. He had led his manager, along with the curious copter passengers, directly to the angels.
The mighty Seraphim were currently clad in terribly attractive sweaters, several layers of scarves, knit hats, fuzzy slippers, and Ofdensen wasn’t quite certain, but it looked like the one was actually wearing some knit lederhosen.
They stood in the center of the courtyard, completely surrounded by a pack of cheerful goddess, naiads, nymphs and the like, who were all happily gossiping and winding yarn.
“Da goddesses ams using dems as models,” Toki informed him, shooting a glare at the frowning angelic guests.
“WE DEMAND OUR RELEASE!” said the biggest one, managing to look defiant under no less than three bobbling hat tassels.
“You, uh, demand?” Ofdensen asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Michael will hear of this, Sariel!”
“Uh, you guys just got your asses kicked by a knitting circle.”
“It’s not so much of a knitting circle as an interest group for craftspeople,” supplied a goddess, who was using one of the Seraphim to help her wind up her yarn.
“I stand corrected,” said Ofdensen.
“The Legion will not take our captivity kindly!” the angel insisted.
“What Legion?” Ofdensen asked. “Lord Ganesh chased away the mooks you guys sent to the Amazon, and Raziel killed three of your guys all by herself.”
“She … killed them?” the Seraph sputtered. He turned to a glaring Raziel. “Our Brothers? Raziel, you FUCKING CUNT!”
Ofdensen had jerked the angel down by his attractive woolen scarf, so he was nose to nose with the large Seraph. “Raziel is my Honored Sister,” he said quietly. “Say her name again, you’re dead before you get to the second syllable.”
The Seraph gulped. “OK. Don’t get your wings up,” he whispered.
And instantly, he was talking to Sariel.
“Let me tell you what we’re going to do,” Sariel said quietly, rustling his odd silvery wings. “From now on, you can say one of two things, ‘Yes Sariel,’ or ‘No Sariel.’ Is that understood?”
The Seraph blinked.
“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“You are going to go back to Michael. You are going to tell him that I am fucking sick of his bullshit. From now on, he stays away from me.” He waved an arm. “He stays away from my friends. And if I hear of any of you guys getting close to my band, to my friends, to anyone I know, to anyone I may have fucking STOOD IN LINE WITH AT THE FUCKING GROCERY STORE, I am coming to Headquarters, I am bringing my friends, and I am not leaving until I have MICHAEL’S HEAD ON A FUCKING PIKE.” He paused to take a breath. “Is this understood?”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“And if Michael doesn’t think I carry out my threats, tell him he can fucking ask Lucifer.”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“Now.” He released his grip on the scarf. “Go.”
Where there had been three Seraphim, there were now piles of cute knit scarves and cosy sweaters.
“Dang, I hadn’t quite finished that sweater,” giggled a Goddess.
There was suddenly a group gathered around Pickles’ Dethphone.
“No, Pickles, please don’t put that up on YouTube,” Sariel told him.
“BUT DOOOOOOD!” the drummer pleaded.
“We don’t need the publicity-“
“Yeah, dude, that was seriously kind of epic,” Nathan laughed.
“Could you email me a copy?” Raziel asked.
“Oh, yes, I would like a file as well!” agreed Ganesh.
“I need a drink,” Sariel said. “Look, guys,” he looked around at everybody gathered. “I don’t even know what meal it’s supposed to be now. I’m going to have Jean-Pierre make a bunch of food, and we’re all going to sit around and get really drunk. The goddesses too. Really, really drunk.”
There was general agreement that this was a splendid idea.
Ofdensen had wanted to retire to his office for cigars, but Wotan had ended up shanghaiing him out into the fucking gardens. He followed, trailing smoke and fury. Fresh fucking air, he thought. Who needs it?
“These grounds are splendid, don’t you think?” the Norse god was saying.
“Why do they do it, Wotan? Why do they go bad like that?”
“Earth gods?”
“Yeah.”
“I have witnessed it before. Before my eyes, Loki went from being a mere trickster to a malicious presence.”
“You don’t fuck with your humans. Not the ones under your protection. You just don’t do it.”
“Unfortunately,” Wotan smiled, “as you have no doubt witnessed, humans are not always generous in displaying their gratitude.”
“You don’t do it for the fucking applause!” Ofdensen fumed, stopping and jabbing a finger in a most Ganesh-like manner. “You do it because that’s what must be done.”
“I am not an angel of vengeance,” Wotan supplied, continuing to walk.
“Well. Neither am I. Technically.”
“As far as our friend Eototo is concerned, perhaps finishing out his days as a mortal man would be an appropriate fate.”
“Can you do that?”
“It can and has been done. I intend to ask the Council at Ithavoll during our next session. With perhaps your consultation, as well as Spider Grandma’s. A most marvelous being! I regret that I had not made her acquaintance prior to this incident!”
“She’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.”
“My Lady is in communication with her regarding renewal of that facility where Aaron was living, and she is in addition concerning herself with construction of a new school.”
“And school uniforms, I assume?”
“I sometimes don’t know where my angel gets her notions! And as well, I believe I can help regarding their current shortage of local gods. We are going to increase recruitment.”
“Wait! Wait,” said Ofdensen, stopping short. “You can do that? Create new earth gods?”
“It’s already being done.”
“There you are!” said Raziel.
“Hello, my little buttercup,” grinned Wotan.
Raziel was waving her phone at Ofdensen. “I just talked to Ganesha, and he had your suit for the wedding delivered to his residence. Now, don’t go getting cranky and manifesting your wings while you’re trying it on, I don’t want it ripped!”
“Not much possibility of that, unless I have to see those annoying fucking Italian tailors again!”
“And Ganesha says you still haven’t been dancing with him! How are you supposed to dance at my wedding?”
“Yes, Raziel, because I have had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE TO DO but TAKE FUCKING DANCE LESSONS!”
“I want my wedding to be STORYBOOK FUCKING PERFECT!”
“What storybook? Mein Kampf?”
“See how well you dance when I take a couple of your fucking legs off!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
“I just took down three Seraphim!”
“Toki’s knitting circle took down three Seraphim!”
“Now, now, my little bridezilla,” Wotan cooed, emphasizing his point the with tiniest of yanks on the back of her belt. “We don’t want family bloodshed before the wedding.” She scowled at him. “I think you need to give your Honored Brother your thanks for the damn fine dinner, and then he’ll take care of what needs be.”
The angels glared.
“Thank you for dinner,” Raziel finally said.
“I’ll try on the suit tonight,” Sariel told her.
His phone was ringing when he finally stumbled into his office. “Hey, Dick! It’s great to hear from you, thank you for…. Oh, Nathan is down there in the studio with you? The next album? Yeah! Yeah. No! If Nathan wants Yannemango percussionists, then he fucking gets Yannemango percussionists. No, spare no expense. I think it would be better if you went to the Amazon. Mobile recording studio. Yeah. Like you did in the submarine. And, bring every Dethklok hoodie we have in stock. And the Facebones alarm clocks, and Deddy Bears. No, no, any merch. Sure, bring William, he could use the fresh air.”
Ganesh was in the media room at his residence. As was typical of him, he wore a terribly chic suit, but had kicked off his shoes.
“Ganesh.”
“Sariel.” The Hindu god frowned and held up two stacks of Netflix boxes. “We have as yet to make a determination as to the resolution of our question regarding who is funnier, The Marx Brothers or Monty Python. I thought this should be an amusing occupation. Oh, and my tailors in Milan have delivered your attire for the wedding to my residence. I know you find this particular obligation to be an irritation, but we should assess the fit at some point in the near future.”
“Uh.”
“I suggest starting with Horse Feathers, and then continuing with The Holy Grail.”
“Duck Soup was their funniest.”
“We could see that next. Do you like the MGMs?”
“Yeah. The stateroom scene. It’s kind of my life. Uh, Ganesh, speaking of the wedding?”
“Yes?”
There began a patience-trying round of hemming and hawing. Ganesh knew better than to interrupt, as it only seemed to draw things out. Finally, Sariel managed to mutter something that sounded vaguely like a recognizable English word.
Ganesh leaned forward, unbelieving. “Dancing?” he asked.
“Uh. Yeah” Sariel admitted. But Ganesh was already standing in front of him. And the lights were dimmed. And there was soft music playing.
And Ganesh was looking just a little insane. Around the eyes.
“OK. OK. OK.” Sariel had a single index finger pushing back on Ganesh’s chest. “Something slow?”
“Slow. Yes.” Ganesh took a step forward.
Sariel took a step back. “And…. And…. Not too much magic?”
“Only the barest bit.” Step forward.
Step back. “And…. I can’t dance like Lady Raziel!”
“Well, thank the gods for that.” Ganesh frowned slightly. “Did you ever join your friend Eototo in one of his dances?”
“Uh. No. No, never. I don’t generally….”
“Good! Then there will be less for you to unlearn. Shall we begin?” Ganesh held out his arms.
"There is something else. Something I heard in Aaron's Dreamtime," Lady Raziel said. She spoke in High Angelic, that she wouldn't be overheard. "Sariel and I - they’re afraid of us. And they’re especially afraid of us getting together on earth.
"That's interesting,"
"I'm not certain whether it was a vision, or just something I created."
"But Aaron was familiar with the angels."
"Yes." Raziel sighed. “I wish Aaron was around to see the new facility. It will be so much nicer.”
Wotan patted his leg, and the little angel crawled into his lap. “His was a noble soul! He will be welcomed among the spirits of his ancestors.”
“Yes, but, it’s not like having the sun on your face, is it?”
“No. No, it’s not,” Wotan admitted, leaning back and puffing his cigar.
Raziel smiled and grabbed the cigar. She took a puff and blew a smoke ring.
“Stealing a man’s cigars now, are ye, ye mad angel?” the Norse god asked.
“Yep,” said the angel.
Wotan patted her in the rump. “You have any more of those knickers made o’ cobwebs?” he asked. She smiled wider and blew another smoke ring.
Some hours later, the Lady Raziel was up fixing a cup of hot cocoa. She heard a groan coming from the sitting room and went in to investigate.
“Sariel?”
The angel sat up sleepily. “Could I stay here tonight?” he yawned.
“What happened?” she asked, sitting down beside him. “Did you have a fight with Ganesh?”
“No. No,” he was fumbling for his eyeglasses. “The opposite! I just…. I asked him if he’d teach me a couple of dance steps. Just a couple. You know. For your fucking wedding.”
“You did?” Raziel grinned.
“Yeah, and, before I know it, we’re dancing. And dancing some more. And some more. And it’s like that fairy tale, you know the one?”
“The Red Shoes?”
“The Red Shoes! And he keeps showing me more steps, and more steps….”
“Oh, Lord Ganesh can go all night. That’s what he does! You know, you can tell him you’re tired.”
“No! Because, he had, I mean, his entire fucking residence was awake, and everybody was dancing, and then we were outside with everybody else in the complex, and then later it was like everyone in the entire town, and then it was like everybody in fucking India had come over to dance! And there was music, and I don’t even know where it was coming from, and everybody knew the steps, and I’m not sure how!” He blinked at Raziel, bleary-eyed. “And…. And he was so happy. So happy. I couldn’t just tell him I had a morning meeting.”
“Did you want some cocoa?” She held up her cup.
“I just need sleep.”
“You wanna crash a couple hours?”
“Please?”
She smiled and led him down the corridors. She opened a familiar door. “You can go on in and have some peaceful wolf dreams for a couple of hours.”
“I’m not gonna have…. Freki!” he addressed the wolf nosing into the room. “What the fuck was up with your guitar sound last time?”
Pickles sat in his room. Alone.
He had been spending fewer and fewer nights in the company of groupies of late. He wasn't exactly sure why. It just hadn't seemed tempting.
He told himself he needed to shake off this funk, or whatever it was. Didn't wanna end up like Charles. And then he remembered that his manager wasn't around because he was off having hot sex with a Hindu love god.
And then Pickles really felt like crap.
He thought about going to bother Toki, but the dude was seeing one of those goddesses with the millions of arms, and he still found that stuff a little freaky.
Pickles decided an herbal remedy was needed. He'd gotten some nice organic stuff when he was in the Southwest that seemed pretty mellow, and wouldn't make him even more morose.
But he had just barely lit up when he noticed the small figure standing across from him in his room.
"Dood. Yer dead," Pickles reminded Aaron.
The boy smiled. "I had to leave my husk behind. But I still have much to do in the Fourth World."
"So, yer gonna hang fer a bit?" Pickles asked.
The ghost smile turned to a ghost grin. Aaron nodded.
“Do Gramma an’ dose guys know?”
“Only you. For now.”
Pickles nodded. OK. He was now seeing Indian spirits when he wasn’t even high.
“You said you had an airship?” Aaron said.
“Oh, yeh, dood, it’s epic. But it’s in da Dreamtime.”
Aaron was holding out one hand. Pickles pushed himself up off his bed, and grabbed the boy’s hand. And then they walked together across his room for a few steps. And then they were no longer there.
****
Here is an approximate English translation of the Hopi lines Spider Grandma read. These lines are not from a funeral oration, but I thought they were appropriate.
When one goes back home after death the body is stalk.
Only it becomes worn out, spent.
That which continues to live is the breath that is perfected.
That is what always lives.
That is what will be your life, and is what you are preparing for.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A chase up and down America and all around the Dreamtime
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking, character death.
Notes: Notes are on Part 1.
Cross-posted to capslokdethklok.
Consequences
Part 2 of 2
Ofdensen knew he wasn’t supposed to be smoking on the Dethcopter, but he decided he didn’t give a shit. It was interesting watching the smoke curl.
Pickles was in the seat next to him, hugging his knees, looking stubborn. “It ain’t him dey’re buryin’. It’s jist a body.”
“If you don’t wanna go, that’s OK,” Ofdensen told him, watching smoke, wishing like hell he had an excuse to send Wotan or Raziel or anybody else to talk to the redheaded drummer. He really sucked at comforting people. “You might think later that you wished you’d gone.” He wasn’t certain why he said that. It seemed like a thing to say.
“Yoo been to a lotta funerals?” Pickles asked.
“More than my share.”
“We die a lot, huh?”
Ofdensen shrugged. “I guess it’s inevitable.”
“But I mean,” Pickles said, suddenly uncurling in the chair. “Yoo keep watchin’ us die, and yoo keep findin’ more of us?”
“Yeah,” Ofdensen puffed and stood up. “I guess I never learn my lesson.”
“Dood?” Pickles asked.
“Yeah?”
“Why did yoo pick me? I mean, fer da band?”
Ofdensen frowned for a moment, and seemed to be considering. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “You just seemed like the one.”
He walked down the gangplank a few minutes later. He shook his head at Kwahu, and they took off in the Eagle Kachina’s truck.
The cemetery was small, and looked a little neglected. Raziel was there at the graveside gripping Wotan’s hand - she hadn’t left his side since he had returned. She always looked even smaller next to her boyfriend.
Ganesh nodded to him, so Ofdensen went to stand beside him and Skwisgaar and Nathan. Nathan, a man who was nearly as big as a Court Formed Seraph, was somehow looking like a lost little boy. Another person he’d do no good trying to comfort.
There were a lot of people - seemingly the entire tribe had turned out. Ofdensen reminded himself that Aaron had been their shaman. He wondered what they would do now, with both the boy and Eototo out of the picture. He reminded himself he needed to talk to Grandma about it. And Wotan had mentioned he wanted to do something about remodeling the state facility where Aaron had spent most of his life. Lots to do. The Inbox wouldn’t sit still for a funeral.
He heard the sound of an engine, and looked over to the gate. A car had stopped. Someone got out of it. Pickles. The drummer waved a hand at the driver, and started over to the funeral party. Ofdensen nodded at him. Pickles frowned and looked down at the ground.
Grandma was speaking. “Remember, what we bury is only his body,” she was telling them. Just what Pickles had been telling him. Maybe the guy was part Hopi. “He has moved beyond the Fourth World. We wish him peace.
“Pangso hak ahoy nimangwu, I'hakiy qatungwu'ata
Pamsa pipay nukwsiwtingwu.
Niqw aapiynipa hikwsi aniwtiqa
Pam hapi sutsep qatungwu.
Put um hapi uuqatsiniqata aw na'saslawu.”
Raziel lingered behind at the grave site after the rest of the mourners had moved away.
“This is how things are in this universe.” She wasn’t quite sure when Sariel had come up behind her. “Humans - they die,” he said.
“And I’ll never find another one quite like him,” she said.
“No. And you can burn down an entire military base, and it won’t bring them back.”
They were quiet for a long moment.
“We told him we were coming back for him. Pickles and I. We were such assholes.” She sighed. “This universe could use some rethinking.”
“And this is where you’ve chosen to stay, Raziel? You have a choice. I was dumped here.”
“So, what do you do?” she asked. “Don’t let yourself get attached?”
“No. You don’t understand.” He shut his eyes. “You can never do that. They always get in. Humans. No matter how hard you try. They always manage to get in somehow. Time after time. It’s like their dance. Or something.” He shrugged. He looked down at his hand. She had moved beside him, the small fingers of her hand entwined with his.
“I need to go and…” he began.
“No.” Her hand twined tighter. They stood this way for a while, and then he blinked. It was his own handkerchief. Raziel was holding it out to him.
“They told me you…. They told me you took down three Seraphs. By yourself,” he told her.
“I heard you punched my fiancé across the room.”
“Guess we don’t know our own strength.”
“Yeah.”
The Seraphim in Mordhaus’s courtyard had Court Formed.
Ofdensen had been surprised to be met at the Dethcopter gangplank by an uncharacteristically serious Toki Wartooth, who was flanked by a couple of his Stitch n Bitch pals. He had led his manager, along with the curious copter passengers, directly to the angels.
The mighty Seraphim were currently clad in terribly attractive sweaters, several layers of scarves, knit hats, fuzzy slippers, and Ofdensen wasn’t quite certain, but it looked like the one was actually wearing some knit lederhosen.
They stood in the center of the courtyard, completely surrounded by a pack of cheerful goddess, naiads, nymphs and the like, who were all happily gossiping and winding yarn.
“Da goddesses ams using dems as models,” Toki informed him, shooting a glare at the frowning angelic guests.
“WE DEMAND OUR RELEASE!” said the biggest one, managing to look defiant under no less than three bobbling hat tassels.
“You, uh, demand?” Ofdensen asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Michael will hear of this, Sariel!”
“Uh, you guys just got your asses kicked by a knitting circle.”
“It’s not so much of a knitting circle as an interest group for craftspeople,” supplied a goddess, who was using one of the Seraphim to help her wind up her yarn.
“I stand corrected,” said Ofdensen.
“The Legion will not take our captivity kindly!” the angel insisted.
“What Legion?” Ofdensen asked. “Lord Ganesh chased away the mooks you guys sent to the Amazon, and Raziel killed three of your guys all by herself.”
“She … killed them?” the Seraph sputtered. He turned to a glaring Raziel. “Our Brothers? Raziel, you FUCKING CUNT!”
Ofdensen had jerked the angel down by his attractive woolen scarf, so he was nose to nose with the large Seraph. “Raziel is my Honored Sister,” he said quietly. “Say her name again, you’re dead before you get to the second syllable.”
The Seraph gulped. “OK. Don’t get your wings up,” he whispered.
And instantly, he was talking to Sariel.
“Let me tell you what we’re going to do,” Sariel said quietly, rustling his odd silvery wings. “From now on, you can say one of two things, ‘Yes Sariel,’ or ‘No Sariel.’ Is that understood?”
The Seraph blinked.
“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“You are going to go back to Michael. You are going to tell him that I am fucking sick of his bullshit. From now on, he stays away from me.” He waved an arm. “He stays away from my friends. And if I hear of any of you guys getting close to my band, to my friends, to anyone I know, to anyone I may have fucking STOOD IN LINE WITH AT THE FUCKING GROCERY STORE, I am coming to Headquarters, I am bringing my friends, and I am not leaving until I have MICHAEL’S HEAD ON A FUCKING PIKE.” He paused to take a breath. “Is this understood?”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“And if Michael doesn’t think I carry out my threats, tell him he can fucking ask Lucifer.”
“Yes, Sariel.”
“Now.” He released his grip on the scarf. “Go.”
Where there had been three Seraphim, there were now piles of cute knit scarves and cosy sweaters.
“Dang, I hadn’t quite finished that sweater,” giggled a Goddess.
There was suddenly a group gathered around Pickles’ Dethphone.
“No, Pickles, please don’t put that up on YouTube,” Sariel told him.
“BUT DOOOOOOD!” the drummer pleaded.
“We don’t need the publicity-“
“Yeah, dude, that was seriously kind of epic,” Nathan laughed.
“Could you email me a copy?” Raziel asked.
“Oh, yes, I would like a file as well!” agreed Ganesh.
“I need a drink,” Sariel said. “Look, guys,” he looked around at everybody gathered. “I don’t even know what meal it’s supposed to be now. I’m going to have Jean-Pierre make a bunch of food, and we’re all going to sit around and get really drunk. The goddesses too. Really, really drunk.”
There was general agreement that this was a splendid idea.
Ofdensen had wanted to retire to his office for cigars, but Wotan had ended up shanghaiing him out into the fucking gardens. He followed, trailing smoke and fury. Fresh fucking air, he thought. Who needs it?
“These grounds are splendid, don’t you think?” the Norse god was saying.
“Why do they do it, Wotan? Why do they go bad like that?”
“Earth gods?”
“Yeah.”
“I have witnessed it before. Before my eyes, Loki went from being a mere trickster to a malicious presence.”
“You don’t fuck with your humans. Not the ones under your protection. You just don’t do it.”
“Unfortunately,” Wotan smiled, “as you have no doubt witnessed, humans are not always generous in displaying their gratitude.”
“You don’t do it for the fucking applause!” Ofdensen fumed, stopping and jabbing a finger in a most Ganesh-like manner. “You do it because that’s what must be done.”
“I am not an angel of vengeance,” Wotan supplied, continuing to walk.
“Well. Neither am I. Technically.”
“As far as our friend Eototo is concerned, perhaps finishing out his days as a mortal man would be an appropriate fate.”
“Can you do that?”
“It can and has been done. I intend to ask the Council at Ithavoll during our next session. With perhaps your consultation, as well as Spider Grandma’s. A most marvelous being! I regret that I had not made her acquaintance prior to this incident!”
“She’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.”
“My Lady is in communication with her regarding renewal of that facility where Aaron was living, and she is in addition concerning herself with construction of a new school.”
“And school uniforms, I assume?”
“I sometimes don’t know where my angel gets her notions! And as well, I believe I can help regarding their current shortage of local gods. We are going to increase recruitment.”
“Wait! Wait,” said Ofdensen, stopping short. “You can do that? Create new earth gods?”
“It’s already being done.”
“There you are!” said Raziel.
“Hello, my little buttercup,” grinned Wotan.
Raziel was waving her phone at Ofdensen. “I just talked to Ganesha, and he had your suit for the wedding delivered to his residence. Now, don’t go getting cranky and manifesting your wings while you’re trying it on, I don’t want it ripped!”
“Not much possibility of that, unless I have to see those annoying fucking Italian tailors again!”
“And Ganesha says you still haven’t been dancing with him! How are you supposed to dance at my wedding?”
“Yes, Raziel, because I have had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE TO DO but TAKE FUCKING DANCE LESSONS!”
“I want my wedding to be STORYBOOK FUCKING PERFECT!”
“What storybook? Mein Kampf?”
“See how well you dance when I take a couple of your fucking legs off!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
“I just took down three Seraphim!”
“Toki’s knitting circle took down three Seraphim!”
“Now, now, my little bridezilla,” Wotan cooed, emphasizing his point the with tiniest of yanks on the back of her belt. “We don’t want family bloodshed before the wedding.” She scowled at him. “I think you need to give your Honored Brother your thanks for the damn fine dinner, and then he’ll take care of what needs be.”
The angels glared.
“Thank you for dinner,” Raziel finally said.
“I’ll try on the suit tonight,” Sariel told her.
His phone was ringing when he finally stumbled into his office. “Hey, Dick! It’s great to hear from you, thank you for…. Oh, Nathan is down there in the studio with you? The next album? Yeah! Yeah. No! If Nathan wants Yannemango percussionists, then he fucking gets Yannemango percussionists. No, spare no expense. I think it would be better if you went to the Amazon. Mobile recording studio. Yeah. Like you did in the submarine. And, bring every Dethklok hoodie we have in stock. And the Facebones alarm clocks, and Deddy Bears. No, no, any merch. Sure, bring William, he could use the fresh air.”
Ganesh was in the media room at his residence. As was typical of him, he wore a terribly chic suit, but had kicked off his shoes.
“Ganesh.”
“Sariel.” The Hindu god frowned and held up two stacks of Netflix boxes. “We have as yet to make a determination as to the resolution of our question regarding who is funnier, The Marx Brothers or Monty Python. I thought this should be an amusing occupation. Oh, and my tailors in Milan have delivered your attire for the wedding to my residence. I know you find this particular obligation to be an irritation, but we should assess the fit at some point in the near future.”
“Uh.”
“I suggest starting with Horse Feathers, and then continuing with The Holy Grail.”
“Duck Soup was their funniest.”
“We could see that next. Do you like the MGMs?”
“Yeah. The stateroom scene. It’s kind of my life. Uh, Ganesh, speaking of the wedding?”
“Yes?”
There began a patience-trying round of hemming and hawing. Ganesh knew better than to interrupt, as it only seemed to draw things out. Finally, Sariel managed to mutter something that sounded vaguely like a recognizable English word.
Ganesh leaned forward, unbelieving. “Dancing?” he asked.
“Uh. Yeah” Sariel admitted. But Ganesh was already standing in front of him. And the lights were dimmed. And there was soft music playing.
And Ganesh was looking just a little insane. Around the eyes.
“OK. OK. OK.” Sariel had a single index finger pushing back on Ganesh’s chest. “Something slow?”
“Slow. Yes.” Ganesh took a step forward.
Sariel took a step back. “And…. And…. Not too much magic?”
“Only the barest bit.” Step forward.
Step back. “And…. I can’t dance like Lady Raziel!”
“Well, thank the gods for that.” Ganesh frowned slightly. “Did you ever join your friend Eototo in one of his dances?”
“Uh. No. No, never. I don’t generally….”
“Good! Then there will be less for you to unlearn. Shall we begin?” Ganesh held out his arms.
"There is something else. Something I heard in Aaron's Dreamtime," Lady Raziel said. She spoke in High Angelic, that she wouldn't be overheard. "Sariel and I - they’re afraid of us. And they’re especially afraid of us getting together on earth.
"That's interesting,"
"I'm not certain whether it was a vision, or just something I created."
"But Aaron was familiar with the angels."
"Yes." Raziel sighed. “I wish Aaron was around to see the new facility. It will be so much nicer.”
Wotan patted his leg, and the little angel crawled into his lap. “His was a noble soul! He will be welcomed among the spirits of his ancestors.”
“Yes, but, it’s not like having the sun on your face, is it?”
“No. No, it’s not,” Wotan admitted, leaning back and puffing his cigar.
Raziel smiled and grabbed the cigar. She took a puff and blew a smoke ring.
“Stealing a man’s cigars now, are ye, ye mad angel?” the Norse god asked.
“Yep,” said the angel.
Wotan patted her in the rump. “You have any more of those knickers made o’ cobwebs?” he asked. She smiled wider and blew another smoke ring.
Some hours later, the Lady Raziel was up fixing a cup of hot cocoa. She heard a groan coming from the sitting room and went in to investigate.
“Sariel?”
The angel sat up sleepily. “Could I stay here tonight?” he yawned.
“What happened?” she asked, sitting down beside him. “Did you have a fight with Ganesh?”
“No. No,” he was fumbling for his eyeglasses. “The opposite! I just…. I asked him if he’d teach me a couple of dance steps. Just a couple. You know. For your fucking wedding.”
“You did?” Raziel grinned.
“Yeah, and, before I know it, we’re dancing. And dancing some more. And some more. And it’s like that fairy tale, you know the one?”
“The Red Shoes?”
“The Red Shoes! And he keeps showing me more steps, and more steps….”
“Oh, Lord Ganesh can go all night. That’s what he does! You know, you can tell him you’re tired.”
“No! Because, he had, I mean, his entire fucking residence was awake, and everybody was dancing, and then we were outside with everybody else in the complex, and then later it was like everyone in the entire town, and then it was like everybody in fucking India had come over to dance! And there was music, and I don’t even know where it was coming from, and everybody knew the steps, and I’m not sure how!” He blinked at Raziel, bleary-eyed. “And…. And he was so happy. So happy. I couldn’t just tell him I had a morning meeting.”
“Did you want some cocoa?” She held up her cup.
“I just need sleep.”
“You wanna crash a couple hours?”
“Please?”
She smiled and led him down the corridors. She opened a familiar door. “You can go on in and have some peaceful wolf dreams for a couple of hours.”
“I’m not gonna have…. Freki!” he addressed the wolf nosing into the room. “What the fuck was up with your guitar sound last time?”
Pickles sat in his room. Alone.
He had been spending fewer and fewer nights in the company of groupies of late. He wasn't exactly sure why. It just hadn't seemed tempting.
He told himself he needed to shake off this funk, or whatever it was. Didn't wanna end up like Charles. And then he remembered that his manager wasn't around because he was off having hot sex with a Hindu love god.
And then Pickles really felt like crap.
He thought about going to bother Toki, but the dude was seeing one of those goddesses with the millions of arms, and he still found that stuff a little freaky.
Pickles decided an herbal remedy was needed. He'd gotten some nice organic stuff when he was in the Southwest that seemed pretty mellow, and wouldn't make him even more morose.
But he had just barely lit up when he noticed the small figure standing across from him in his room.
"Dood. Yer dead," Pickles reminded Aaron.
The boy smiled. "I had to leave my husk behind. But I still have much to do in the Fourth World."
"So, yer gonna hang fer a bit?" Pickles asked.
The ghost smile turned to a ghost grin. Aaron nodded.
“Do Gramma an’ dose guys know?”
“Only you. For now.”
Pickles nodded. OK. He was now seeing Indian spirits when he wasn’t even high.
“You said you had an airship?” Aaron said.
“Oh, yeh, dood, it’s epic. But it’s in da Dreamtime.”
Aaron was holding out one hand. Pickles pushed himself up off his bed, and grabbed the boy’s hand. And then they walked together across his room for a few steps. And then they were no longer there.
****
Here is an approximate English translation of the Hopi lines Spider Grandma read. These lines are not from a funeral oration, but I thought they were appropriate.
When one goes back home after death the body is stalk.
Only it becomes worn out, spent.
That which continues to live is the breath that is perfected.
That is what always lives.
That is what will be your life, and is what you are preparing for.