Hell's Caterers (Mythklok, Chapter 19)
Title: Hell's Caterers (Mythklok, Chapter 19)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wedding preparations, swords and showers
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump
A special note, if you don't usually read my "Interstitial" stories, this one refers back a bit to one called "Visions of Sugarplums." Which, as always, you can read or ignore. Just, if you're wondering if you missed something.
This is a Metalocalypse AU which tiktaalikroseae has dubbed “Mythklok.” If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal, tikific, where you are welcome to come poke it with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.
I've been away a couple weeks, so let me recap what's been happening. Raziel and Wotan are getting married soon, so she has launched into full metal Bridezilla mode. The Legion, the angel army, has been giving everyone crap. For reasons that are still obscure, they were trying to call out some legendary New World monsters, but only ended up leading everyone on a merry chase in and out of Dreamtime. The stress ended up being fatal to Aaron, a young Hopi shaman, but his spirit has now started appearing to Pickles in Dreamtime, though once again, his purposes are mysterious. Oh, and it turns out, Ganesh's parents disapprove of Charles, due to the whole "he's a murderous angel who manages a metal band" thing.
Hell's Caterers
Pickles opened the door to the dojo. He hadn't even realized Mordhaus contained such a thing until a couple weeks ago. You could tell that the two beings sparring within, each wielding two swords, were not human, firstly because they moved much faster than any human beings, even the most adept martial artists. But secondly, and perhaps more fundamentally, when the duelists reached the wall, instead of turning, they simply proceeded to continue fencing, in opposition to any laws of gravity or logic, on up the wall, and thence actually across the ceiling.
The swordsmen were both angels. Angels do very strange things sometimes.
It was when they were about mid-ceiling that Charles, who was one of the fencers, suddenly cried out, "Ow," and the fight ceased.
"You always do the same thing,” Raziel, his opponent, tutted. "You get impatient and make a mistake."
"I just can't fucking get the knack of this two-bladed crap."
"You should have Kitsune give you a lesson!"
“I don’t trust those goddam fox spirits.”
“He probably doesn’t trust you either!”
"Doods!" Pickles called up.
"Hey Pickles," said Raziel cheerfully.
"Uh, could you doods maybe come down here an' have a right side up conversation? My neck is kinda cramped!"
"Oh, I guess people don't usually talk on the ceiling, do they?" Raziel giggled.
"Uh, humans?" Charles asked. "No, not usually."
"I guess from this angle people could look up your skirt!" Raziel mused as they strolled casually down the wall.
"Yes, Raziel, that is precisely the reason why humans don't walk on the ceiling."
“Well, women and Scotsmen, anyway!” Raziel reasoned, with Faultless Raziel Logic.
They had barely returned to the normal gravitational field when they were interrupted by a loud whine. "LADY RAZIEL!" Toki called. Pickles looked back in annoyance, but Raziel immediately strode over on her short legs and seized the guitarist’s elbow with her small hand. "None of da others guys ams bringsing dates to da weddsings, so I ams t'oughts I ams brings da two girls, but deys says it don't works dat ways! Dey ams twinses! I can’ts decides!”
“Aw, honey,” Raziel cooed, steering Toki out the doorway. “Are they from Stitch n Bitch? They’re probably on the invitation list already…”
“Toki is dating twins?” Charles asked with some amusement, grabbing a white towel.
“Yeh, da bastard,” Pickles grumbled.
Charles, who was wearing just a pair of lightweight gi pants, draped the towel over a bare shoulder and then took off his glasses and squinted through them. "That's one advantage of practicing upside-down: your sweat doesn't all run into your fucking eyes," he said, rubbing the end of the towel over the lenses.
"You look good,"
"I need a shower."
"I could lick it off," Pickles grinned.
Ofdensen held up a warning hand. "Whoa. It is not that I am not flattered, but I have a sort of exclusive thing with Ganesh...."
"Oh yeah? Den what happened at da Yule party?"
"We were drunk..."
"Yoo weren't drunk."
"OK, I don't know what happened at the Yule party."
"And what da fuck is ‘sort of’ exclusive?"
"Look. Like I said, I don't know." Charles frowned and inserted his two katana carefully back into their saya.
"Well, why don't yoo know?"
"Because I don't wanna ask. Pickles! Please! It's OK for now, but think if I poke at it too much, it's just all gonna come down like a fucking house of cards. So it's just gonna be I don't know. For a while. Or maybe forever."
Pickles looked at Charles for a while, letting lust and concern duke it out. Concern won, but by a decision, not a knockdown. "OK, so what's da matter."
Charles inclined his head, and they began to walk through Mordhaus' vast, echoing corridors, towards his office. "Uh, what's the matter? You mean, other than his family hates me and is threatening to fucking disown him?"
"Look, Charles. Gannish is a good guy. Maybe it jist ain't meant t' be."
"Because I'm not a good guy?"
"Well, dood, frankly...."
‘Yeah, thanks for the support. What did you need to talk about, anyway? And, why aren’t you in Brazil, with the rest of the guys?”
“Aw, dey’re usin’ da Yannemango doods fer da percussion dis time.”
“But don’t you usually, ya know, sit in the studio and, uh, do something?”
“Dood, yer knowledge of recordin’ technology is trooly stunnin’.”
“All right. Why don’t you slam my guitar technique while you’re at it. Is this why you urgently needed to meet?"
“Naw. Dood. It’s jist…. Why is Nat’an takin’ up management alluvasuddin?”
“Nathan asked. And I was too fucking groggy to come up with a reason why not.”
“But why is it always fuckin’ Nat’an?”
They were now at the doorway of Charles’ office. “Like I said, Nathan ASKED. And you know what? He puts on his reading glasses, and looks at spreadsheets, and he’s happy. And I like it when you guys are happy. Now, what can we do to make you happy? Do you wanna work on a solo project? Do you wanna produce another band? Do you wanna line of personalized dishware? What the fuck do you want, Pickles? Because, you sitting around being jealous of Nathan is not making you happy.” Charles sighed and thoughtlessly hiked his sheathed katana across his shoulders, resting his hands lightly on either end.
“What I’d like is…” Pickles trailed off. “Could yoo mebbe not do dat?”
Charles looked confused for a moment, and then scowled and stormed into his office. He picked up his telephone handset. “I’m calling you some escorts. Now. What do you want? Male or female?”
“Uh. Yoo can do dat?”
“I am fucking doing it now. Which? OK, five male and five females.”
“Naw. Dood," Pickles crossed his arms. "Make it two male an’ six female.”
“All right.”
“An’ one of da guys has gotta be an Indian dood….”
“Pickles.”
“And one is a complete fucking douche bag.”
Charles quietly replaced the handset, but his look was murderous. “I don’t like where this conversation is headed.”
“Yoo know… Fer years, yoo let da feckin’ band keep yoo away from me.”
Charles was staring, disbelieving.
"Yoo work fer us, yanno," Pickles continued, although he disbelieved his own words. "We could get pissed dat yer too distracted t' do yer feckin' job no more."
Charles spent a moment getting his breathing under control. Then with great care he picked up the handset once more. "This conversation is over. Go to your room. Go get laid. That's an order."
Pickles glared, then departed without another word.
Charles sat down unhappily, not caring that he was getting sweat on his chair. He looked at the neat little pyramid of stolen pencils he and Raziel had stacked up on the top of his desk. He removed one pencil from the base, and almost instantly, the pyramid was no more.
He suddenly looked up, aware of another presence in the room.
"Dick? Is that you?"
Pickles walked moodily among the purplish sunset clouds of his dreamtime. Unlike his brother - who seemed to actually grow physically larger through cruelties inflicted - following an argument, try as he might, Pickles always ended up feeling rather worse than the person he had just insulted.
He grabbed the railing as his dreamtime airship slowly gained in elevation. It was large and stately. And made of gold. Fuck lead - he was the drummer for fucking Dethklok. He could go one better!
Pickles trailed a hand on the railing as he walked, his fingers drumming unconsciously. He should be happy that Charles was happy, he thought, even though it didn't sound like Charles was completely happy, but on the other hand, this was fucking Charles, who seemed to reserve a special breed of loathing for happiness, particularly his own.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that although he was stoned and hallucinating during that Yule party, there was a bit of him that was still present, and still sitting in watch when Lord Ganesh had spirited him away.
"PICKLES!!!" Pickles turned, breaking into a grin. Here was someone who always seemed glad to see him, even if that someone didn't really exist.
He - or his spirit rather - looked to be 11 or 12 years old, and his features were Native American.
"Hey Aaron dood!" Pickles called to the young shaman. Aaron had died while still in the custody of his angelic kidnappers, but, for reasons he hadn't really revealed to Pickles, his spirit had remained in the Dreamtime, instead of departing the Fourth World, as was the tradition of his people. It was some kind of big secret, that's about all Pickles knew.
Pickles probably should have been more curious about whatever Aaron's secret mystic destiny thing, but in truth, he had been so relieved to find him again, and remained pleased enough to have a buddy in the Dreamtime, he hadn't been terribly inquisitive about the whole deal. What were those metaphors Charles had mixed? Poke it with a stick, it comes down like a house of cards? Yeah, something like that.
"Did you want ice cream, Pickles?" Aaron asked, indicating the bowl he was working on as he reclined in a deck chair on the airship's fine port side.
"Yoo need t' watch it wit' da ice cream," Pickles counseled. "Yoo could get dream cavities! An' I dunno if dere are dentists in da Dreamtime t'ing."
Aaron giggled, and then Pickles was holding a bowl of ice cream as well. Ah well, he thought, dream ice cream probably doesn't have any calories. He sat for a while, enjoying the school of sky humpback whales floating by. "So, where are we headed today, dood?" Pickles asked.
"I'm having Captain Aubrey take us to Asgard."
"Good choice dood. Yoo wanna check out da weddin' preparations? Lady Raz told me dere's lots a weird god doods shown' up dere."
"No. That's not the reason! Guess again!"
Pickles grinned and sat back in his deck chair, putting down his ice cream. "Let's see dood. Mebbe yer searchin' fer buried treasure an' pirates?"
"That's a really good guess! But, there's no treasure."
"But, dere's pirates?" asked Pickles, a bit confused now.
"Sort of pirates."
"Dere's no such t'ing as sort of pirates!" Pickles explained. Hadn't he just had this conversation?
"They're bad!"
"Not all bad men are pirates."
"They're not men! But one has an eye patch!"
Pickles sat up again. "Aaron, dood, can yoo tell me what dey are?"
"Yes!" the young shaman's smile was sticky with butter brickle.
"Are da King Wotan dood and Lady Raz are in danger?"
"Maybe!"
"Uh. Mebe yoo better tell me den?"
"Give up?" Aaron asked, a note of triumph in his voice.
"Yeh, dood, I give up."
"They're demons from Hell."
"Oh," said Pickles. "Shit."
Ofdensen couldn't remember ever having seen Dick Knubbler - or Samael, to be precise - in his True Form before, not even when he had had a nodding acquaintance with the Dominion back at Headquarters. He was quite a sight. He looked much like a human thought an angel might, slim and graceful, with luminous pure white wings. Ofdensen was quite surprised to see that Samael no longer had his robotic eyes in this Form, although his eerie white eyes looked blind.
"Uh, Samael?"
"He walks among them. The serpent."
"Come again?" He wished for the hundredth time that he had Raziel's gift for languages. His Common Angelic, which Samael spoke, was rusty as Hell.
"The whirlwind is in the thorn tree," said Samael.
"Samael, is it possible you could Court Form...?" He would rather be called Sarry Baby.
"And he carries the number of his name."
"The number of his...? Lucifer? Something about Lucifer?"
Samael nodded. "He moves Northward. To the fields of honor."
"North? Asgard?"
"His number is Legion."
"Shit! We gotta warn Wotan. Can you come with me?"
Pickles stepped out of the Dreamtime straight into Charles' office, not even caring if he was seen.
But the office was empty.
"Aw, feck," Pickles grumbled.
He frowned. He didn't think he could do the appearing out of nowhere thing in Valhalla yet. He cast his eyes around the office. Well, if Nathan thought he was a fucking manager now, why the fuck not? So, he rifled through Charles' desk. This was interesting: wherever he'd gone to, he hadn't taken his Dethphone. Pickles toggled through the speed dial, and found the right number.
Asgard was in uproar over wedding preparations. Ganesh's family had actually set up their own pavilion, complete with monkeys and elephants. Several other pantheons had evidently done the same.
As Samael had remained too agitated to Court Form, Ofdensen had decided the quickest and most certain way to deal with the situation was to transport him to Valhalla, where, if nothing else, Raziel could at least interpret.
There was an especially weird structure nearValhalla's main gate. It appeared to be a replica of a fairy tale castle of some sort. But it was also blowing in the breeze. He heard voices within, and decided to approach.
It looked inflatable, like those tremendous Santa Claus decorations your most showy neighbors will mount on their rooftops for Christmas time. But Ofdensen had never seen an inflatable structure quite so huge. The castle looked like it could accommodate a royal family of four, with plenty of room left over for various courtiers and servants.
The structure positively screamed Raziel.
"You shall not pass!"
Ofdensen recognized the voice.
"Ganesh?"
"There shall be no adults in my bouncy castle!" Ganesh declared imperiously from the bouncy drawbridge, holding, for emphasis, an inflatable sword. "Oh, hi Sariel! Obviously you don't count. But you will need to remove your shoes!"
"I'm not wearing shoes," Ofdensen replied sadly, as he wasn't, as he hadn't had a chance to change clothes (much less take an enticing hot shower) prior to dragging Dick Knubbler to Asgard. "I need to talk to the queen of the house."
"I'm! In! Here!" came Raziel's voice.
"Of course," Ofdensen muttered. "Can you send her out? Please?"
"I'm not! Coming! Out! You've gotta! Come! In!!" came Raziel's annoying voice.
"Raziel, for fuck's sake, this is important!"
"There is nothing! More important! Than bouncing!"
"Sorry," Gamesh whispered, hiking a thumb towards the castle. "Bridezilla."
"I! Heard! That!" Raziel riposted.
"You're being an especially horrid woman today!" Ganesh shouted back.
With a resolve that, despite a life eternal, had been forged only after numerous years managing Dethklok, Ofdensen gritted his teeth and stormed the bouncy castle. What he saw within only increased his ire. Raziel looked not only as if she had gotten in a pleasant shower following their workout, she had completely changed outfits, to a pair of bib overalls she evidently had deigned chic for bouncing brainlessly up and down.
"Raziel, I need-"
"You have to bounce!"
"I am not gonna fucking bounce."
"But you're in the bouncy castle!"
"I'm in here because you wouldn't talk to me otherwise!"
"I'm gonna be queen in a couple days. I need to practice being imperious."
"I don't think you need any more practice! I need you to translate Dick Knubbler!"
"Is he calling you Sarry Baby again?"
"No, he's True Formed, and he's talking Common."
Raziel had suddenly ceased jumping. "Whoa? Dick is True Formed? What does he look like?"
"He's standing right outside."
Raziel expertly departed the castle in a bounce and a half. By the time Ofdensen had found his footing and followed her out, she was already gripping Samael's elbow and chattering away. Ofdensen cocked an ear and tried desperately to follow, but now found between Dick's apocalyptic verses and Raziel's babbling, he was twice as confused.
"Geez, why didn't you tell me, Sariel?" Raziel finally asked. "Fucking Lucifer. C'mon, Dick, we'll go talk to my hubby to be!" And with that she was dragging the agitated producer towards the non-inflatable castle of Valhalla.
"Were you having a late breakfast this morning?" Ganesh grinned at Ofdensen.
"What?"
"You're usually out of your pyjamas by this hour, are you not?"
"I really, really, really don't wish to talk about it," Ofdensen sighed, following Raziel and Knubbler.
Raziel had managed to chatter Samael back to his Court Form. Knubbler, however, seemed equally agitated, but now regarding getting back to Brazil to finish the re- re- re- re-recording session. "Nathan's hot for that delete key. I can tell ya, Sarry Baby."
"Why don't you simply tell Dick Knubbler you dislike that nickname?" Ganesh reasoned as Dick winked out of the room, and Ofdensen visibly cringed.
"Because then he would have one less thing to annoy him," Raziel grinned. The opening chords of "Little Wing," sounded, and she bustled out of Wotan's cluttered office to answer her cell phone.
Wotan leaned back in the chair behind his desk, bending a paperclip with one hand. "This is indeed interesting news," he said, almost to himself. "This lends support to one of my pet theories, actually...." He looked up. "I'll probably bring a company and ride out to meet 'em, Satan and them. You gentlemen are welcome to join us."
"Wotan, remember, we saw Seraphim down in Hell," Charles reminded him. "A lot of them. Are you sure-"
"Hey, sweetie, Pickles has been hearing signs and portents too," Raziel announced, escorting the self same Pickles, who looked a tad more disoriented than usual, into the office.
"Hello, Pickles!" Wotan said.
"How.... How did you get up here?" Charles was asking.
"Oh, I brought him up," Raziel said. "It's so much easier than talking over the phone, don't you think?"
"Now, dear," Wotan counseled, "that may be true, but it's a bit rude to move a man without his permission, and, well we are under attack."
"Aw, but it's just Satan," Raziel fussed.
"That may be true, but I would suggest, you apologize and put 'em back where he belongs," Wotan smiled.
"Immediately, Raziel," Charles stated.
"Hey!" Pickles shouted, folding his arms. "I'm in da feckin' room! I mean, scuze me, yer highness, i know I ain't a god or an angel douche bag, but don't I get a feckin say here?"
"Pickles," Charles grumbled. "Danger. We run away from. We do not run towards. We've discussed this."
"I'm not gonna run away! What da fleck d'yoo t'ink I am?"
"Perhaps," Ganesh interjected, "I can offer a solution? Perhaps I shall stay here with Pickles for the time being? I still have to put the finishing touches on Lady Raziel's reception seating chart. And then if there is danger, I could escort Pickles a safe distance away?"
"That seems reasonable," Wotan agreed.
Charles glowered, and then grabbed Ganesh's elbow and escorted the god out into the hallway.
"I will not let any harm befall him," Ganesh protested.
"Look. Just. I mean."
"Yes?"
"No chest licking."
Ganesh grinned very wide. If his smile always looked a bit too wide for his face, then his grin was even more so. "Certainly. We'll await your return for that."
"Ganesh!"
"I was joking."
"OK."
"We shall stick strictly toe-sucking." Seeing that the angel looked as if he might explode then and there, Ganesh added, "Sariel, I will stay back here and make certain no harm shall befall your friend. And I should note, you previously were angered when I insisted on going out on a dangerous venture along with you, but you now are angered that I have volunteered to remain here out of harm's way.... As the humans might say, you are getting a bit 'high maintenance,' dear one."
"Sorry. I'm sorry. This day... I just wanna go home and get a hot shower."
Ganesh put a friendly hand on Ofdensen's bare shoulder, and led him back to Wotan's office.
"Now, you're certain that was the exact wording, 'demons from Hell?'" Wotan was asking Pickles.
Pickles nodded solemnly.
"And who told you this?" Charles demanded.
"I was walkin' in da Dreamtime," Pickles said by way of non-answer.
"And people in Dreamtime just chatter about demons from Hell all day?"
Pickles frowned, but didn't answer.
"I think I've heard enough, regardless," Wotan decided. "I'll will assemble a mounted company to investigate matters."
Wotan had his mount, Sleipnir saddled, and a small retinue of warriors gathered. A very small retinue.
Ofdensen put his bare foot in the stirrup and mounted the pleasant blue roan Wotan usually set aside for him. He urged the horse up to where Wotan and Raziel looked down from the eight-legged Sleipnir's broad back.
"Oh, and we really have to double check with the patisserie, I don't want to run out of wedding cake," Raziel was nattering.
"Did you want to do that, my pet, while I talk to the DJ?"
"I think Ganesha is vetting the DJ through Dick Knubbler."
"Wotan," Ofdensen broke in, "Uh, is this really all the men you're taking along?"
"Shouldn't be a problem, my boy," Wotan assured him.
"But are you sure-"
"Oh, and we need to let the caterers know that the Mezo-American pantheon is allergic to tomatoes," Raziel, seated behind Wotan, chirped.
"The entire pantheon?" Wotan asked. "Well, no bruschetta for them, I suppose."
And, at the king's signal, the company rode.
The way forward was soon clear. It isn't easy to long conceal a Seraph. Those creatures were not designed for subtlety.
They sighted Lucifer first. No matter the general opinion of his character, his artificial golden wings were resplendent, gleaming in the sun. He extended the metal pinions wide when he became aware of Wotan's company. He was a vision.
He was accompanied by what appeared a regiment of Seraphim, each as large as a building, each possessing three sets of magnificent wings. They flourished swords, and stamped feet, each footstep making the lands of Asgard tremble.
Some of Wotan's men had to coach and whisper to the less stolid mounts. Sleipnir showed not a hair of fear, for he was the best of horses.
Woman and Raziel dismounted. Wotan gripped Gungnir, his spear, and headed to the middle of the clearing in sight of Satan's army.
Raziel was suddenly standing beside Ofdensen's mount. "You might wanna get down for this," she told him. He looked at her in confusion. He then glanced at Wotan, who had hefted Gungnir, and seemed to be repeating a spell. Ofednsen swung a leg over the saddle, in preparation for dismounting. Wotan sent his spear straight down into the ground, and there was a wave that seemed to spread ever so gently out of it, in concentric circles, floating like a smoke ring through Wotan's company, and then Lucifer's Seraphim.
And then the ring contracted. Suddenly. Violently.
Ofdensen found himself crouched on the ground, blinded by a headache. Tiny Raziel was wresting him up with one hand, the other plying at his neck. He gasped. The headache receded somewhat. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Wotan just drained away the earth magic."
He blinked in what seemed suddenly bright sunlight. "But why should that affect me?" he muttered.
"Look!" Raziel was squeezing his elbow.
Lucifer's Seraphim had, to a one, slipped out of True Form into much less impressive Court Forms. Most of them looked to be in much worse shape than Ofdensen - there were a number holding their heads and crying out, and several were hunched over, vomiting.
Ofdensen squinted at them. He wasn't sure if it was the headache, but something about them struck him as strange, as if they weren't quite what he expected of Seraphim. He remembered Dick Knubbler telling him that the ones they had encountered in hell weren't true Seraphim.
Wotan's mounted group was soon making short work of them. "May I kick some demon butt, sweetie?" Raziel asked Wotan.
"Be careful! Don't want any visible scars to mar the wedding photos, my pet!" Wotan reminded her. And she turned into a sword wielding blur.
Lucifer suddenly flew above them, his golden wings outstretched, shining in the sun.
"Don't even try, ya bastard," Wotan rumbled, plucking Gungnir from the earth and hefting it once again. He eyed the glint of the golden wings, and then reared back and let fly the spear.
Satan screamed, and plummeted to earth.
"Now," said the king, satisfied, placing a hand on Ofdensen's shoulder, "let's go get some answers."
While they waited back at Valhalla, Ganesh had taken out a device that looked like a cell phone, but had then hit a button to make holographic images appear above.
"Star Wars dood!" Pickles commented, approving.
"I wish it were that compelling. It is, alas, the seating chart for the wedding reception," Ganesh told him.
"Yer still workin' on it?"
"There are so many petty jealousies and feuds among and within the various godly pantheons," Ganesh explained, staring at the holographic figures as if that would make them reveal their secrets.
"An' yer tryin' t' keep the peace."
"Well, actually, Lady Raziel and I have been trying to maximize the discomfort. I believe it will make the event much more enjoyable. These thing do tend to drag, you know."
Pickles crossed his arms. "Nah," he said. "Yer fuckin' wit' me."
"Not at all," Ganesh smiled. His smile always looked a little wrong, like it belonged on his elephant face.
"Yoo ain't what yoo seem, yanno?"
"Is that right?"
"Yeh." Pickles stopped there, feeling stupid.
Ganesh poked at the holographic figures. "You have known Sariel - Charles - for a long time, in human terms." It was somewhere in the nether regions between a question and a statement.
"Yeh. He's jist what he seems. Cold. T'rough and t'rough."
"You think so?"
Pickles found himself a little annoyed by Ganesh's inquisitive manner. Why the hell hadn't he jumped in to defend Charles? "Don't yoo t'ink so?"
"I believe I asked first."
Pickles frowned. OK. What the hell? "He can be a cold bastard. Da coldest. I t'ink sometimes he don't wanna enjoy stuff too much because he hates himself."
"So, he has no emotions, yet also has self loathing?"
"Yer puttin' words in my mout'. Yer anudder lawyer, ain't yoo?"
Ganesh looked up from the ghostly green wedding guests. "I feel I have scant information regarding angels," he admitted. "And they seem to know little about each other, or even themselves."
The spear, Gungnir had impaled Lucifer upon a stone.
Satan snarled, his mechanical wings flapping, while each individual gear squeaked softly.
He pulled mightily at Wotan’s spear, but remained, despite much flapping and squeaking, pinned like a mechanical butterfly.
“How is this possible!” he shrieked. “Your magic can't be stronger than mine. I was Created! You came from the dirt!”
Wotan smiled. He and Ofdensen stood, regarding the struggling Fallen. “If you had actually had a father, Lucifer, you would have learned a very simple truth: my house, my rules.”
The Morningstar struggled some more, but gradually subsided.
There were tears in Satan's one good eye. "You have no idea what you've done. No idea."
"No idea?" Wotan had begun to sound like a scolding parent. "You realize you've broken some very ancient treaties, coming here?"
"Lucifer, you're an ass, but you're not stupid," Ofdensen told him. "You're old as me. You're old enough to remember the wars in heaven."
"Old as you?" Lucifer asked. "Is that what you still believe, Brother Sariel".
"Enough of your lies."
Lucfer suddenly grinned. "By the way, sorry to have woken you up."
Ofdensen scowled. "I still have that hacksaw," he growled.
Wotan put out a cautioning hand.
“So what are you going to do with me?” asked Lucifer.
"Much depends on what comes out of your mouth in the next few minutes. Do you like stories, Lucifer?" the king asked.
"What?"
"I find I like a story much better when the villain of the piece has a point of view. Now, there are some creatures - Loki is one of them - who will just do harm for their own pleasure. I suspect you are not like that. So, tell me a story.". Wotan stepped back, arms folded, head tilted, expectant.
"The Legion has been giving me shit recently. They didn't use to care, used to leave me alone with my operation."
"Do they know you've now got home-brewed Seraphim?" Ofdensen asked him.
"I don't know." he seemed actually to consider this. "But the trouble dates from about the time we realized we all had Seraph Forms. They started threatening me. My people. My domain."
"That's ridiculous," Ofdensen scoffed. "What the fuck would they do without Hell? Wotan, you can't listen to this guy."
"One thing at a time," Wotan said. "So, you figured out how to use earth magic?"
"Yes. But that's not the reason. Michael is shit scared of Dethklok for some reason. And he's gotten really obsessive about Sariel and Raziel. I think it's just extended to all of the Fallen."
"I'm not Fallen," Raziel cheerfully announced, as she sidled up to them, sword still in hand.
"How the fuck does she get away with it?" Lucifer said to no one in particular. He sounded exasperated. "First the Book, and now you're marrying a god damned pagan king?"
"I'm cute!"
Satan glowered. Wotan held up a cautioning finger at Raziel.
"So," Wotan urged, "you're telling us you were under threat from The Legion?"
"Not just me. Hell. My people. My entire operation. So I tried to take Sariel and Dethklok of the picture for them."
"Take me out of the picture?" Ofdensen exploded. "Is that what you call it? You kidnapped my lead singer, you tried to trap me and Raziel underground for eternity, and you fucking killed my boyfriend!”
“Your boyfriend?” asked Lucifer.
“Ganesh.”
“Oh, you’re seeing Ganesh?”
“Yes," Ofdensen sighed, rolling his eyes.
“That’s nice. He comes from a good family.”
"Uh. Yeah. I'm glad you approve."
"And then when he brought Raziel along," Lucifer continued, now addressing Wotan, "it seemed too good to be true. It was."
"So, you certainly didn't come up here after Dethklok," Wotan asked.
"No. The Legion doesn't want this marriage to happen," Lucifer said.
"That's it!" Raziel snorted. "We are definitely gonna run out of the leg of lamb before we serve their table at the reception!"
"Did you really think you could take on me with a few fake Seraphim?" Wotan asked.
Lucifer looked downwards, as if embarrassed. "You're just an earth god," he shrugged.
"Lucifer, I have tried until now to stay out of your business, because I have attempted during the course of my long existence to avoid angel politics. But now I realize it's found me. I've never cared for you. You call Hell your operation. It isn't. You serve as lord of the underworld, collecting the souls of your people. That's your duty. That's your sacred duty!". Wotan seemed really steamed, so paused for a moment to catch his breath. "As you claim to be under threat, I will send a company of my best men to Hell...."
"Can you do that?" Satan asked.
"Most of my men are already dead, or haven't you noticed? Asgard will occupy and protect Hell in you absence. Your 'operation' will be safe until at least after my wedding."
"My absence? What are you going to do to me?"
“Nothing. Just going to leave you like that for now."
"What?"
Wotan sighed. "Satan, you are having a time out.".
"But," the Fallen sputtered, "that's undignified!"
"Think upon what you've done!". Wotan urged, holding Sleipnir's bridle. "We will speak again. Shall we ride, my dear?" he asked of Raziel, who had just clicked off her cell phone.
"Yeah, we need to get back! Ganesh says he thinks he's found the final seating chart for the reception!"
"Well, isn't that delightful?"
Ofdensen sat, agitated, on a couch in one of Valhalla's many well used sitting rooms. Raziel had taken pity on him and fetched him a shirt, though it was probably a size or two too big, and then Lord Wotan, whom he now sat talking to, had thrust a glass of Scotch whiskey into his hands.
Their efforts had not dimmed the agitation.
"You can't trust that guy!" Ofdensen told Wotan. "He's Satan!"
"That may be true," Wotan reasoned, "but think. What reason would he have for lying to us?"
"'Please have pity on me, the Legion is being mean to me?' Are you kidding? He just wants to manipulate you."
"Still, personal rancor aside, do you think he truly believed he could conquer Asgard with that pitiful fighting force?"
"He's an idiot. We all knew that."
"Have you considered the possibility that this was less a military operation than what the humans call a cry for help?"
"So he came to Asgard, armed with fake Seraphim - what? Looking for a hug?"
Wotan studied his own whiskey glass. "Nevertheless, if Michael has finally succeeded in alienating Lucifer, it could work to our advantage."
"OUR advantage? I thought you stayed out of angel politics?"
"But there have been some recent developments. Things I would very much like to discuss...." Wotan started.
Their conversation was interrupted by what, to Ofdensen anyway, was a familiar noise back in the real world.
A Dethcopter had landed in the fields in front of Valhalla. The gangway lowered, and the band, along with Dick Knubbler (whose presence explained how they probably got a Dethcopter to Asgard) emerged.
"Is it time for a BACHELOR PARTY?" Nathan explosion thundered.
"Well, that's a pretty fancy limousine you boys have rustled up," Wotan shouted, his arm around Raziel.
"Be back in time for the damn ceremony, or I'll have to get Parvati's knitting circle to come hunt you down!" Raziel warned.
"That might be a merry chase!" the king smiled, kissing her goodbye.
Dick Knubbler had pulled Ofdensen aside. "I didn't make it in time, yeah. Nathan hit the master delete button. Sorry, Sarry baby, yeah, but I did my best."
"Fuck. Well, it won't be the first time we have to re- re- re- re- re-record an album I guess."
Ganesh and Pickles had emerged from the castle and were walking up the gangplank. "Business later, you two. It is time to take off!" Ganesh told Ofdensen and Knubbler.
"I'll catch up with you guys," Ofdensen grumbled.
"WHAT?" demanded Nathan.
"I said, I'll catch up later," Ofdensen repeated.
"What did he schay?" Murderface asked.
"He's NOT GOING," Nathan rumbled.
"I am going," Ofdensen protested. "I'm just gone run home, get in the shower and get some fucking clothes...."
"You're fucking WEARING CLOTHES," Nathan patiently explained.
"I wouldn't mind if you chose to go sans clothing," Gamesh laughed.
"Look. I've been having a bad day," Ofdensen started.
"It's gonna get better. You're GOING DRINKING!" Nathan said.
"Can we ams gets a move ons?" Skwisgaar sighed. "They ams lots of lovely ladies ams needs a talkings too."
"Yes, you guys go on ahead, I will catch up...."
"But, dood, we don't even know where da fleck we're goin'!" Pickles interjected.
"Ams could be anywheres dere ams fine ladies and boozes!" Skwisgaar explained.
"I am sure I will find you-". But the rest of Ofdensen's words of protest were cut off prematurely, as, at a gesture from Nathan, he was picked up bodily by Nathan, Murderface and Skwisgaar, and marched up the gangway, still barefoot and sputtering mightily.
Raziel, standing by the front gate, grinned and waved them off.
It was Maui.
Or at least, he thought it was Maui.
Somewhere with an ocean conveniently located off the back of the bar.
Ofdensen was on his hands and knees, vomiting up those Cheetos he'd stupidly eaten back when he attended law school.
"You do realize, it is not necessary to consume each and every beverage they sit in front of you?" It was Ganesh.
"I just wanna shower," Ofdensen sighed, sitting back on his haunches.
"I have a shower."
"I know you do," Ofdensen said, patting his chest for a cigarette that was in the front pocket of his jacket back in Mordhaus. "But it's as far away as the fucking moon as far as we're concerned."
"it is a large group," Ganesh smiled, extending a hand. "I doubt two would be much missed."
But Lord Ganesh was wrong. As the god helped Dethklok's manager to his feet, and as the two men walked a step or two, and thence disappeared, a god was watching, two sets of arms crossed.
He, in turn, was being watched, by a being who was arguably human.
"Hey, Shiva dood!" the human said, hooking a friendly elbow over the blue god's neck. "I got some really mellow stuff. Wanna try?". He was slowly, subtly turning the god and walking him back into the bar.
"Is this more of the substance that will put me into a coma, Pickles, drummer of The Dethklok?" Shiva asked suspiciously, but letting himself be led off.
There was no reason to open the door to the dojo. Located as it was, in negative space, there was no such thing as a door, much less walls nor windows nor ceilings. Negative space is just that. In its raw state, with no added magic, it looks much like the picture on your television set, when it is tuned between channels.
Nonetheless, the two beings sparring, each bearing two katana, managed to fight along many planes and angles of the space, slashing up and down and all around. They moved swiftly - much more swiftly than any human beings, even the best martial artists. They were currently located what would have been, on a place like earth, a place high in the air, up above the head of the third being who had just entered the space.
This third being watched them, for a time.
The beings were, all three of them, duelists and observer, angels.
Suddenly, there was a terrible cry. One angel plummeted to earth.
He was dead.
Angels do very terrible things sometimes.
The victorious angel drifted swiftly down to what would have been the ground level. Archangel Gabriel, the being who had just entered the space said to him, "Well met, Brother Raphael."
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wedding preparations, swords and showers
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump
A special note, if you don't usually read my "Interstitial" stories, this one refers back a bit to one called "Visions of Sugarplums." Which, as always, you can read or ignore. Just, if you're wondering if you missed something.
This is a Metalocalypse AU which tiktaalikroseae has dubbed “Mythklok.” If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal, tikific, where you are welcome to come poke it with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.
I've been away a couple weeks, so let me recap what's been happening. Raziel and Wotan are getting married soon, so she has launched into full metal Bridezilla mode. The Legion, the angel army, has been giving everyone crap. For reasons that are still obscure, they were trying to call out some legendary New World monsters, but only ended up leading everyone on a merry chase in and out of Dreamtime. The stress ended up being fatal to Aaron, a young Hopi shaman, but his spirit has now started appearing to Pickles in Dreamtime, though once again, his purposes are mysterious. Oh, and it turns out, Ganesh's parents disapprove of Charles, due to the whole "he's a murderous angel who manages a metal band" thing.
Hell's Caterers
Pickles opened the door to the dojo. He hadn't even realized Mordhaus contained such a thing until a couple weeks ago. You could tell that the two beings sparring within, each wielding two swords, were not human, firstly because they moved much faster than any human beings, even the most adept martial artists. But secondly, and perhaps more fundamentally, when the duelists reached the wall, instead of turning, they simply proceeded to continue fencing, in opposition to any laws of gravity or logic, on up the wall, and thence actually across the ceiling.
The swordsmen were both angels. Angels do very strange things sometimes.
It was when they were about mid-ceiling that Charles, who was one of the fencers, suddenly cried out, "Ow," and the fight ceased.
"You always do the same thing,” Raziel, his opponent, tutted. "You get impatient and make a mistake."
"I just can't fucking get the knack of this two-bladed crap."
"You should have Kitsune give you a lesson!"
“I don’t trust those goddam fox spirits.”
“He probably doesn’t trust you either!”
"Doods!" Pickles called up.
"Hey Pickles," said Raziel cheerfully.
"Uh, could you doods maybe come down here an' have a right side up conversation? My neck is kinda cramped!"
"Oh, I guess people don't usually talk on the ceiling, do they?" Raziel giggled.
"Uh, humans?" Charles asked. "No, not usually."
"I guess from this angle people could look up your skirt!" Raziel mused as they strolled casually down the wall.
"Yes, Raziel, that is precisely the reason why humans don't walk on the ceiling."
“Well, women and Scotsmen, anyway!” Raziel reasoned, with Faultless Raziel Logic.
They had barely returned to the normal gravitational field when they were interrupted by a loud whine. "LADY RAZIEL!" Toki called. Pickles looked back in annoyance, but Raziel immediately strode over on her short legs and seized the guitarist’s elbow with her small hand. "None of da others guys ams bringsing dates to da weddsings, so I ams t'oughts I ams brings da two girls, but deys says it don't works dat ways! Dey ams twinses! I can’ts decides!”
“Aw, honey,” Raziel cooed, steering Toki out the doorway. “Are they from Stitch n Bitch? They’re probably on the invitation list already…”
“Toki is dating twins?” Charles asked with some amusement, grabbing a white towel.
“Yeh, da bastard,” Pickles grumbled.
Charles, who was wearing just a pair of lightweight gi pants, draped the towel over a bare shoulder and then took off his glasses and squinted through them. "That's one advantage of practicing upside-down: your sweat doesn't all run into your fucking eyes," he said, rubbing the end of the towel over the lenses.
"You look good,"
"I need a shower."
"I could lick it off," Pickles grinned.
Ofdensen held up a warning hand. "Whoa. It is not that I am not flattered, but I have a sort of exclusive thing with Ganesh...."
"Oh yeah? Den what happened at da Yule party?"
"We were drunk..."
"Yoo weren't drunk."
"OK, I don't know what happened at the Yule party."
"And what da fuck is ‘sort of’ exclusive?"
"Look. Like I said, I don't know." Charles frowned and inserted his two katana carefully back into their saya.
"Well, why don't yoo know?"
"Because I don't wanna ask. Pickles! Please! It's OK for now, but think if I poke at it too much, it's just all gonna come down like a fucking house of cards. So it's just gonna be I don't know. For a while. Or maybe forever."
Pickles looked at Charles for a while, letting lust and concern duke it out. Concern won, but by a decision, not a knockdown. "OK, so what's da matter."
Charles inclined his head, and they began to walk through Mordhaus' vast, echoing corridors, towards his office. "Uh, what's the matter? You mean, other than his family hates me and is threatening to fucking disown him?"
"Look, Charles. Gannish is a good guy. Maybe it jist ain't meant t' be."
"Because I'm not a good guy?"
"Well, dood, frankly...."
‘Yeah, thanks for the support. What did you need to talk about, anyway? And, why aren’t you in Brazil, with the rest of the guys?”
“Aw, dey’re usin’ da Yannemango doods fer da percussion dis time.”
“But don’t you usually, ya know, sit in the studio and, uh, do something?”
“Dood, yer knowledge of recordin’ technology is trooly stunnin’.”
“All right. Why don’t you slam my guitar technique while you’re at it. Is this why you urgently needed to meet?"
“Naw. Dood. It’s jist…. Why is Nat’an takin’ up management alluvasuddin?”
“Nathan asked. And I was too fucking groggy to come up with a reason why not.”
“But why is it always fuckin’ Nat’an?”
They were now at the doorway of Charles’ office. “Like I said, Nathan ASKED. And you know what? He puts on his reading glasses, and looks at spreadsheets, and he’s happy. And I like it when you guys are happy. Now, what can we do to make you happy? Do you wanna work on a solo project? Do you wanna produce another band? Do you wanna line of personalized dishware? What the fuck do you want, Pickles? Because, you sitting around being jealous of Nathan is not making you happy.” Charles sighed and thoughtlessly hiked his sheathed katana across his shoulders, resting his hands lightly on either end.
“What I’d like is…” Pickles trailed off. “Could yoo mebbe not do dat?”
Charles looked confused for a moment, and then scowled and stormed into his office. He picked up his telephone handset. “I’m calling you some escorts. Now. What do you want? Male or female?”
“Uh. Yoo can do dat?”
“I am fucking doing it now. Which? OK, five male and five females.”
“Naw. Dood," Pickles crossed his arms. "Make it two male an’ six female.”
“All right.”
“An’ one of da guys has gotta be an Indian dood….”
“Pickles.”
“And one is a complete fucking douche bag.”
Charles quietly replaced the handset, but his look was murderous. “I don’t like where this conversation is headed.”
“Yoo know… Fer years, yoo let da feckin’ band keep yoo away from me.”
Charles was staring, disbelieving.
"Yoo work fer us, yanno," Pickles continued, although he disbelieved his own words. "We could get pissed dat yer too distracted t' do yer feckin' job no more."
Charles spent a moment getting his breathing under control. Then with great care he picked up the handset once more. "This conversation is over. Go to your room. Go get laid. That's an order."
Pickles glared, then departed without another word.
Charles sat down unhappily, not caring that he was getting sweat on his chair. He looked at the neat little pyramid of stolen pencils he and Raziel had stacked up on the top of his desk. He removed one pencil from the base, and almost instantly, the pyramid was no more.
He suddenly looked up, aware of another presence in the room.
"Dick? Is that you?"
Pickles walked moodily among the purplish sunset clouds of his dreamtime. Unlike his brother - who seemed to actually grow physically larger through cruelties inflicted - following an argument, try as he might, Pickles always ended up feeling rather worse than the person he had just insulted.
He grabbed the railing as his dreamtime airship slowly gained in elevation. It was large and stately. And made of gold. Fuck lead - he was the drummer for fucking Dethklok. He could go one better!
Pickles trailed a hand on the railing as he walked, his fingers drumming unconsciously. He should be happy that Charles was happy, he thought, even though it didn't sound like Charles was completely happy, but on the other hand, this was fucking Charles, who seemed to reserve a special breed of loathing for happiness, particularly his own.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that although he was stoned and hallucinating during that Yule party, there was a bit of him that was still present, and still sitting in watch when Lord Ganesh had spirited him away.
"PICKLES!!!" Pickles turned, breaking into a grin. Here was someone who always seemed glad to see him, even if that someone didn't really exist.
He - or his spirit rather - looked to be 11 or 12 years old, and his features were Native American.
"Hey Aaron dood!" Pickles called to the young shaman. Aaron had died while still in the custody of his angelic kidnappers, but, for reasons he hadn't really revealed to Pickles, his spirit had remained in the Dreamtime, instead of departing the Fourth World, as was the tradition of his people. It was some kind of big secret, that's about all Pickles knew.
Pickles probably should have been more curious about whatever Aaron's secret mystic destiny thing, but in truth, he had been so relieved to find him again, and remained pleased enough to have a buddy in the Dreamtime, he hadn't been terribly inquisitive about the whole deal. What were those metaphors Charles had mixed? Poke it with a stick, it comes down like a house of cards? Yeah, something like that.
"Did you want ice cream, Pickles?" Aaron asked, indicating the bowl he was working on as he reclined in a deck chair on the airship's fine port side.
"Yoo need t' watch it wit' da ice cream," Pickles counseled. "Yoo could get dream cavities! An' I dunno if dere are dentists in da Dreamtime t'ing."
Aaron giggled, and then Pickles was holding a bowl of ice cream as well. Ah well, he thought, dream ice cream probably doesn't have any calories. He sat for a while, enjoying the school of sky humpback whales floating by. "So, where are we headed today, dood?" Pickles asked.
"I'm having Captain Aubrey take us to Asgard."
"Good choice dood. Yoo wanna check out da weddin' preparations? Lady Raz told me dere's lots a weird god doods shown' up dere."
"No. That's not the reason! Guess again!"
Pickles grinned and sat back in his deck chair, putting down his ice cream. "Let's see dood. Mebbe yer searchin' fer buried treasure an' pirates?"
"That's a really good guess! But, there's no treasure."
"But, dere's pirates?" asked Pickles, a bit confused now.
"Sort of pirates."
"Dere's no such t'ing as sort of pirates!" Pickles explained. Hadn't he just had this conversation?
"They're bad!"
"Not all bad men are pirates."
"They're not men! But one has an eye patch!"
Pickles sat up again. "Aaron, dood, can yoo tell me what dey are?"
"Yes!" the young shaman's smile was sticky with butter brickle.
"Are da King Wotan dood and Lady Raz are in danger?"
"Maybe!"
"Uh. Mebe yoo better tell me den?"
"Give up?" Aaron asked, a note of triumph in his voice.
"Yeh, dood, I give up."
"They're demons from Hell."
"Oh," said Pickles. "Shit."
Ofdensen couldn't remember ever having seen Dick Knubbler - or Samael, to be precise - in his True Form before, not even when he had had a nodding acquaintance with the Dominion back at Headquarters. He was quite a sight. He looked much like a human thought an angel might, slim and graceful, with luminous pure white wings. Ofdensen was quite surprised to see that Samael no longer had his robotic eyes in this Form, although his eerie white eyes looked blind.
"Uh, Samael?"
"He walks among them. The serpent."
"Come again?" He wished for the hundredth time that he had Raziel's gift for languages. His Common Angelic, which Samael spoke, was rusty as Hell.
"The whirlwind is in the thorn tree," said Samael.
"Samael, is it possible you could Court Form...?" He would rather be called Sarry Baby.
"And he carries the number of his name."
"The number of his...? Lucifer? Something about Lucifer?"
Samael nodded. "He moves Northward. To the fields of honor."
"North? Asgard?"
"His number is Legion."
"Shit! We gotta warn Wotan. Can you come with me?"
Pickles stepped out of the Dreamtime straight into Charles' office, not even caring if he was seen.
But the office was empty.
"Aw, feck," Pickles grumbled.
He frowned. He didn't think he could do the appearing out of nowhere thing in Valhalla yet. He cast his eyes around the office. Well, if Nathan thought he was a fucking manager now, why the fuck not? So, he rifled through Charles' desk. This was interesting: wherever he'd gone to, he hadn't taken his Dethphone. Pickles toggled through the speed dial, and found the right number.
Asgard was in uproar over wedding preparations. Ganesh's family had actually set up their own pavilion, complete with monkeys and elephants. Several other pantheons had evidently done the same.
As Samael had remained too agitated to Court Form, Ofdensen had decided the quickest and most certain way to deal with the situation was to transport him to Valhalla, where, if nothing else, Raziel could at least interpret.
There was an especially weird structure nearValhalla's main gate. It appeared to be a replica of a fairy tale castle of some sort. But it was also blowing in the breeze. He heard voices within, and decided to approach.
It looked inflatable, like those tremendous Santa Claus decorations your most showy neighbors will mount on their rooftops for Christmas time. But Ofdensen had never seen an inflatable structure quite so huge. The castle looked like it could accommodate a royal family of four, with plenty of room left over for various courtiers and servants.
The structure positively screamed Raziel.
"You shall not pass!"
Ofdensen recognized the voice.
"Ganesh?"
"There shall be no adults in my bouncy castle!" Ganesh declared imperiously from the bouncy drawbridge, holding, for emphasis, an inflatable sword. "Oh, hi Sariel! Obviously you don't count. But you will need to remove your shoes!"
"I'm not wearing shoes," Ofdensen replied sadly, as he wasn't, as he hadn't had a chance to change clothes (much less take an enticing hot shower) prior to dragging Dick Knubbler to Asgard. "I need to talk to the queen of the house."
"I'm! In! Here!" came Raziel's voice.
"Of course," Ofdensen muttered. "Can you send her out? Please?"
"I'm not! Coming! Out! You've gotta! Come! In!!" came Raziel's annoying voice.
"Raziel, for fuck's sake, this is important!"
"There is nothing! More important! Than bouncing!"
"Sorry," Gamesh whispered, hiking a thumb towards the castle. "Bridezilla."
"I! Heard! That!" Raziel riposted.
"You're being an especially horrid woman today!" Ganesh shouted back.
With a resolve that, despite a life eternal, had been forged only after numerous years managing Dethklok, Ofdensen gritted his teeth and stormed the bouncy castle. What he saw within only increased his ire. Raziel looked not only as if she had gotten in a pleasant shower following their workout, she had completely changed outfits, to a pair of bib overalls she evidently had deigned chic for bouncing brainlessly up and down.
"Raziel, I need-"
"You have to bounce!"
"I am not gonna fucking bounce."
"But you're in the bouncy castle!"
"I'm in here because you wouldn't talk to me otherwise!"
"I'm gonna be queen in a couple days. I need to practice being imperious."
"I don't think you need any more practice! I need you to translate Dick Knubbler!"
"Is he calling you Sarry Baby again?"
"No, he's True Formed, and he's talking Common."
Raziel had suddenly ceased jumping. "Whoa? Dick is True Formed? What does he look like?"
"He's standing right outside."
Raziel expertly departed the castle in a bounce and a half. By the time Ofdensen had found his footing and followed her out, she was already gripping Samael's elbow and chattering away. Ofdensen cocked an ear and tried desperately to follow, but now found between Dick's apocalyptic verses and Raziel's babbling, he was twice as confused.
"Geez, why didn't you tell me, Sariel?" Raziel finally asked. "Fucking Lucifer. C'mon, Dick, we'll go talk to my hubby to be!" And with that she was dragging the agitated producer towards the non-inflatable castle of Valhalla.
"Were you having a late breakfast this morning?" Ganesh grinned at Ofdensen.
"What?"
"You're usually out of your pyjamas by this hour, are you not?"
"I really, really, really don't wish to talk about it," Ofdensen sighed, following Raziel and Knubbler.
Raziel had managed to chatter Samael back to his Court Form. Knubbler, however, seemed equally agitated, but now regarding getting back to Brazil to finish the re- re- re- re-recording session. "Nathan's hot for that delete key. I can tell ya, Sarry Baby."
"Why don't you simply tell Dick Knubbler you dislike that nickname?" Ganesh reasoned as Dick winked out of the room, and Ofdensen visibly cringed.
"Because then he would have one less thing to annoy him," Raziel grinned. The opening chords of "Little Wing," sounded, and she bustled out of Wotan's cluttered office to answer her cell phone.
Wotan leaned back in the chair behind his desk, bending a paperclip with one hand. "This is indeed interesting news," he said, almost to himself. "This lends support to one of my pet theories, actually...." He looked up. "I'll probably bring a company and ride out to meet 'em, Satan and them. You gentlemen are welcome to join us."
"Wotan, remember, we saw Seraphim down in Hell," Charles reminded him. "A lot of them. Are you sure-"
"Hey, sweetie, Pickles has been hearing signs and portents too," Raziel announced, escorting the self same Pickles, who looked a tad more disoriented than usual, into the office.
"Hello, Pickles!" Wotan said.
"How.... How did you get up here?" Charles was asking.
"Oh, I brought him up," Raziel said. "It's so much easier than talking over the phone, don't you think?"
"Now, dear," Wotan counseled, "that may be true, but it's a bit rude to move a man without his permission, and, well we are under attack."
"Aw, but it's just Satan," Raziel fussed.
"That may be true, but I would suggest, you apologize and put 'em back where he belongs," Wotan smiled.
"Immediately, Raziel," Charles stated.
"Hey!" Pickles shouted, folding his arms. "I'm in da feckin' room! I mean, scuze me, yer highness, i know I ain't a god or an angel douche bag, but don't I get a feckin say here?"
"Pickles," Charles grumbled. "Danger. We run away from. We do not run towards. We've discussed this."
"I'm not gonna run away! What da fleck d'yoo t'ink I am?"
"Perhaps," Ganesh interjected, "I can offer a solution? Perhaps I shall stay here with Pickles for the time being? I still have to put the finishing touches on Lady Raziel's reception seating chart. And then if there is danger, I could escort Pickles a safe distance away?"
"That seems reasonable," Wotan agreed.
Charles glowered, and then grabbed Ganesh's elbow and escorted the god out into the hallway.
"I will not let any harm befall him," Ganesh protested.
"Look. Just. I mean."
"Yes?"
"No chest licking."
Ganesh grinned very wide. If his smile always looked a bit too wide for his face, then his grin was even more so. "Certainly. We'll await your return for that."
"Ganesh!"
"I was joking."
"OK."
"We shall stick strictly toe-sucking." Seeing that the angel looked as if he might explode then and there, Ganesh added, "Sariel, I will stay back here and make certain no harm shall befall your friend. And I should note, you previously were angered when I insisted on going out on a dangerous venture along with you, but you now are angered that I have volunteered to remain here out of harm's way.... As the humans might say, you are getting a bit 'high maintenance,' dear one."
"Sorry. I'm sorry. This day... I just wanna go home and get a hot shower."
Ganesh put a friendly hand on Ofdensen's bare shoulder, and led him back to Wotan's office.
"Now, you're certain that was the exact wording, 'demons from Hell?'" Wotan was asking Pickles.
Pickles nodded solemnly.
"And who told you this?" Charles demanded.
"I was walkin' in da Dreamtime," Pickles said by way of non-answer.
"And people in Dreamtime just chatter about demons from Hell all day?"
Pickles frowned, but didn't answer.
"I think I've heard enough, regardless," Wotan decided. "I'll will assemble a mounted company to investigate matters."
Wotan had his mount, Sleipnir saddled, and a small retinue of warriors gathered. A very small retinue.
Ofdensen put his bare foot in the stirrup and mounted the pleasant blue roan Wotan usually set aside for him. He urged the horse up to where Wotan and Raziel looked down from the eight-legged Sleipnir's broad back.
"Oh, and we really have to double check with the patisserie, I don't want to run out of wedding cake," Raziel was nattering.
"Did you want to do that, my pet, while I talk to the DJ?"
"I think Ganesha is vetting the DJ through Dick Knubbler."
"Wotan," Ofdensen broke in, "Uh, is this really all the men you're taking along?"
"Shouldn't be a problem, my boy," Wotan assured him.
"But are you sure-"
"Oh, and we need to let the caterers know that the Mezo-American pantheon is allergic to tomatoes," Raziel, seated behind Wotan, chirped.
"The entire pantheon?" Wotan asked. "Well, no bruschetta for them, I suppose."
And, at the king's signal, the company rode.
The way forward was soon clear. It isn't easy to long conceal a Seraph. Those creatures were not designed for subtlety.
They sighted Lucifer first. No matter the general opinion of his character, his artificial golden wings were resplendent, gleaming in the sun. He extended the metal pinions wide when he became aware of Wotan's company. He was a vision.
He was accompanied by what appeared a regiment of Seraphim, each as large as a building, each possessing three sets of magnificent wings. They flourished swords, and stamped feet, each footstep making the lands of Asgard tremble.
Some of Wotan's men had to coach and whisper to the less stolid mounts. Sleipnir showed not a hair of fear, for he was the best of horses.
Woman and Raziel dismounted. Wotan gripped Gungnir, his spear, and headed to the middle of the clearing in sight of Satan's army.
Raziel was suddenly standing beside Ofdensen's mount. "You might wanna get down for this," she told him. He looked at her in confusion. He then glanced at Wotan, who had hefted Gungnir, and seemed to be repeating a spell. Ofednsen swung a leg over the saddle, in preparation for dismounting. Wotan sent his spear straight down into the ground, and there was a wave that seemed to spread ever so gently out of it, in concentric circles, floating like a smoke ring through Wotan's company, and then Lucifer's Seraphim.
And then the ring contracted. Suddenly. Violently.
Ofdensen found himself crouched on the ground, blinded by a headache. Tiny Raziel was wresting him up with one hand, the other plying at his neck. He gasped. The headache receded somewhat. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Wotan just drained away the earth magic."
He blinked in what seemed suddenly bright sunlight. "But why should that affect me?" he muttered.
"Look!" Raziel was squeezing his elbow.
Lucifer's Seraphim had, to a one, slipped out of True Form into much less impressive Court Forms. Most of them looked to be in much worse shape than Ofdensen - there were a number holding their heads and crying out, and several were hunched over, vomiting.
Ofdensen squinted at them. He wasn't sure if it was the headache, but something about them struck him as strange, as if they weren't quite what he expected of Seraphim. He remembered Dick Knubbler telling him that the ones they had encountered in hell weren't true Seraphim.
Wotan's mounted group was soon making short work of them. "May I kick some demon butt, sweetie?" Raziel asked Wotan.
"Be careful! Don't want any visible scars to mar the wedding photos, my pet!" Wotan reminded her. And she turned into a sword wielding blur.
Lucifer suddenly flew above them, his golden wings outstretched, shining in the sun.
"Don't even try, ya bastard," Wotan rumbled, plucking Gungnir from the earth and hefting it once again. He eyed the glint of the golden wings, and then reared back and let fly the spear.
Satan screamed, and plummeted to earth.
"Now," said the king, satisfied, placing a hand on Ofdensen's shoulder, "let's go get some answers."
While they waited back at Valhalla, Ganesh had taken out a device that looked like a cell phone, but had then hit a button to make holographic images appear above.
"Star Wars dood!" Pickles commented, approving.
"I wish it were that compelling. It is, alas, the seating chart for the wedding reception," Ganesh told him.
"Yer still workin' on it?"
"There are so many petty jealousies and feuds among and within the various godly pantheons," Ganesh explained, staring at the holographic figures as if that would make them reveal their secrets.
"An' yer tryin' t' keep the peace."
"Well, actually, Lady Raziel and I have been trying to maximize the discomfort. I believe it will make the event much more enjoyable. These thing do tend to drag, you know."
Pickles crossed his arms. "Nah," he said. "Yer fuckin' wit' me."
"Not at all," Ganesh smiled. His smile always looked a little wrong, like it belonged on his elephant face.
"Yoo ain't what yoo seem, yanno?"
"Is that right?"
"Yeh." Pickles stopped there, feeling stupid.
Ganesh poked at the holographic figures. "You have known Sariel - Charles - for a long time, in human terms." It was somewhere in the nether regions between a question and a statement.
"Yeh. He's jist what he seems. Cold. T'rough and t'rough."
"You think so?"
Pickles found himself a little annoyed by Ganesh's inquisitive manner. Why the hell hadn't he jumped in to defend Charles? "Don't yoo t'ink so?"
"I believe I asked first."
Pickles frowned. OK. What the hell? "He can be a cold bastard. Da coldest. I t'ink sometimes he don't wanna enjoy stuff too much because he hates himself."
"So, he has no emotions, yet also has self loathing?"
"Yer puttin' words in my mout'. Yer anudder lawyer, ain't yoo?"
Ganesh looked up from the ghostly green wedding guests. "I feel I have scant information regarding angels," he admitted. "And they seem to know little about each other, or even themselves."
The spear, Gungnir had impaled Lucifer upon a stone.
Satan snarled, his mechanical wings flapping, while each individual gear squeaked softly.
He pulled mightily at Wotan’s spear, but remained, despite much flapping and squeaking, pinned like a mechanical butterfly.
“How is this possible!” he shrieked. “Your magic can't be stronger than mine. I was Created! You came from the dirt!”
Wotan smiled. He and Ofdensen stood, regarding the struggling Fallen. “If you had actually had a father, Lucifer, you would have learned a very simple truth: my house, my rules.”
The Morningstar struggled some more, but gradually subsided.
There were tears in Satan's one good eye. "You have no idea what you've done. No idea."
"No idea?" Wotan had begun to sound like a scolding parent. "You realize you've broken some very ancient treaties, coming here?"
"Lucifer, you're an ass, but you're not stupid," Ofdensen told him. "You're old as me. You're old enough to remember the wars in heaven."
"Old as you?" Lucifer asked. "Is that what you still believe, Brother Sariel".
"Enough of your lies."
Lucfer suddenly grinned. "By the way, sorry to have woken you up."
Ofdensen scowled. "I still have that hacksaw," he growled.
Wotan put out a cautioning hand.
“So what are you going to do with me?” asked Lucifer.
"Much depends on what comes out of your mouth in the next few minutes. Do you like stories, Lucifer?" the king asked.
"What?"
"I find I like a story much better when the villain of the piece has a point of view. Now, there are some creatures - Loki is one of them - who will just do harm for their own pleasure. I suspect you are not like that. So, tell me a story.". Wotan stepped back, arms folded, head tilted, expectant.
"The Legion has been giving me shit recently. They didn't use to care, used to leave me alone with my operation."
"Do they know you've now got home-brewed Seraphim?" Ofdensen asked him.
"I don't know." he seemed actually to consider this. "But the trouble dates from about the time we realized we all had Seraph Forms. They started threatening me. My people. My domain."
"That's ridiculous," Ofdensen scoffed. "What the fuck would they do without Hell? Wotan, you can't listen to this guy."
"One thing at a time," Wotan said. "So, you figured out how to use earth magic?"
"Yes. But that's not the reason. Michael is shit scared of Dethklok for some reason. And he's gotten really obsessive about Sariel and Raziel. I think it's just extended to all of the Fallen."
"I'm not Fallen," Raziel cheerfully announced, as she sidled up to them, sword still in hand.
"How the fuck does she get away with it?" Lucifer said to no one in particular. He sounded exasperated. "First the Book, and now you're marrying a god damned pagan king?"
"I'm cute!"
Satan glowered. Wotan held up a cautioning finger at Raziel.
"So," Wotan urged, "you're telling us you were under threat from The Legion?"
"Not just me. Hell. My people. My entire operation. So I tried to take Sariel and Dethklok of the picture for them."
"Take me out of the picture?" Ofdensen exploded. "Is that what you call it? You kidnapped my lead singer, you tried to trap me and Raziel underground for eternity, and you fucking killed my boyfriend!”
“Your boyfriend?” asked Lucifer.
“Ganesh.”
“Oh, you’re seeing Ganesh?”
“Yes," Ofdensen sighed, rolling his eyes.
“That’s nice. He comes from a good family.”
"Uh. Yeah. I'm glad you approve."
"And then when he brought Raziel along," Lucifer continued, now addressing Wotan, "it seemed too good to be true. It was."
"So, you certainly didn't come up here after Dethklok," Wotan asked.
"No. The Legion doesn't want this marriage to happen," Lucifer said.
"That's it!" Raziel snorted. "We are definitely gonna run out of the leg of lamb before we serve their table at the reception!"
"Did you really think you could take on me with a few fake Seraphim?" Wotan asked.
Lucifer looked downwards, as if embarrassed. "You're just an earth god," he shrugged.
"Lucifer, I have tried until now to stay out of your business, because I have attempted during the course of my long existence to avoid angel politics. But now I realize it's found me. I've never cared for you. You call Hell your operation. It isn't. You serve as lord of the underworld, collecting the souls of your people. That's your duty. That's your sacred duty!". Wotan seemed really steamed, so paused for a moment to catch his breath. "As you claim to be under threat, I will send a company of my best men to Hell...."
"Can you do that?" Satan asked.
"Most of my men are already dead, or haven't you noticed? Asgard will occupy and protect Hell in you absence. Your 'operation' will be safe until at least after my wedding."
"My absence? What are you going to do to me?"
“Nothing. Just going to leave you like that for now."
"What?"
Wotan sighed. "Satan, you are having a time out.".
"But," the Fallen sputtered, "that's undignified!"
"Think upon what you've done!". Wotan urged, holding Sleipnir's bridle. "We will speak again. Shall we ride, my dear?" he asked of Raziel, who had just clicked off her cell phone.
"Yeah, we need to get back! Ganesh says he thinks he's found the final seating chart for the reception!"
"Well, isn't that delightful?"
Ofdensen sat, agitated, on a couch in one of Valhalla's many well used sitting rooms. Raziel had taken pity on him and fetched him a shirt, though it was probably a size or two too big, and then Lord Wotan, whom he now sat talking to, had thrust a glass of Scotch whiskey into his hands.
Their efforts had not dimmed the agitation.
"You can't trust that guy!" Ofdensen told Wotan. "He's Satan!"
"That may be true," Wotan reasoned, "but think. What reason would he have for lying to us?"
"'Please have pity on me, the Legion is being mean to me?' Are you kidding? He just wants to manipulate you."
"Still, personal rancor aside, do you think he truly believed he could conquer Asgard with that pitiful fighting force?"
"He's an idiot. We all knew that."
"Have you considered the possibility that this was less a military operation than what the humans call a cry for help?"
"So he came to Asgard, armed with fake Seraphim - what? Looking for a hug?"
Wotan studied his own whiskey glass. "Nevertheless, if Michael has finally succeeded in alienating Lucifer, it could work to our advantage."
"OUR advantage? I thought you stayed out of angel politics?"
"But there have been some recent developments. Things I would very much like to discuss...." Wotan started.
Their conversation was interrupted by what, to Ofdensen anyway, was a familiar noise back in the real world.
A Dethcopter had landed in the fields in front of Valhalla. The gangway lowered, and the band, along with Dick Knubbler (whose presence explained how they probably got a Dethcopter to Asgard) emerged.
"Is it time for a BACHELOR PARTY?" Nathan explosion thundered.
"Well, that's a pretty fancy limousine you boys have rustled up," Wotan shouted, his arm around Raziel.
"Be back in time for the damn ceremony, or I'll have to get Parvati's knitting circle to come hunt you down!" Raziel warned.
"That might be a merry chase!" the king smiled, kissing her goodbye.
Dick Knubbler had pulled Ofdensen aside. "I didn't make it in time, yeah. Nathan hit the master delete button. Sorry, Sarry baby, yeah, but I did my best."
"Fuck. Well, it won't be the first time we have to re- re- re- re- re-record an album I guess."
Ganesh and Pickles had emerged from the castle and were walking up the gangplank. "Business later, you two. It is time to take off!" Ganesh told Ofdensen and Knubbler.
"I'll catch up with you guys," Ofdensen grumbled.
"WHAT?" demanded Nathan.
"I said, I'll catch up later," Ofdensen repeated.
"What did he schay?" Murderface asked.
"He's NOT GOING," Nathan rumbled.
"I am going," Ofdensen protested. "I'm just gone run home, get in the shower and get some fucking clothes...."
"You're fucking WEARING CLOTHES," Nathan patiently explained.
"I wouldn't mind if you chose to go sans clothing," Gamesh laughed.
"Look. I've been having a bad day," Ofdensen started.
"It's gonna get better. You're GOING DRINKING!" Nathan said.
"Can we ams gets a move ons?" Skwisgaar sighed. "They ams lots of lovely ladies ams needs a talkings too."
"Yes, you guys go on ahead, I will catch up...."
"But, dood, we don't even know where da fleck we're goin'!" Pickles interjected.
"Ams could be anywheres dere ams fine ladies and boozes!" Skwisgaar explained.
"I am sure I will find you-". But the rest of Ofdensen's words of protest were cut off prematurely, as, at a gesture from Nathan, he was picked up bodily by Nathan, Murderface and Skwisgaar, and marched up the gangway, still barefoot and sputtering mightily.
Raziel, standing by the front gate, grinned and waved them off.
It was Maui.
Or at least, he thought it was Maui.
Somewhere with an ocean conveniently located off the back of the bar.
Ofdensen was on his hands and knees, vomiting up those Cheetos he'd stupidly eaten back when he attended law school.
"You do realize, it is not necessary to consume each and every beverage they sit in front of you?" It was Ganesh.
"I just wanna shower," Ofdensen sighed, sitting back on his haunches.
"I have a shower."
"I know you do," Ofdensen said, patting his chest for a cigarette that was in the front pocket of his jacket back in Mordhaus. "But it's as far away as the fucking moon as far as we're concerned."
"it is a large group," Ganesh smiled, extending a hand. "I doubt two would be much missed."
But Lord Ganesh was wrong. As the god helped Dethklok's manager to his feet, and as the two men walked a step or two, and thence disappeared, a god was watching, two sets of arms crossed.
He, in turn, was being watched, by a being who was arguably human.
"Hey, Shiva dood!" the human said, hooking a friendly elbow over the blue god's neck. "I got some really mellow stuff. Wanna try?". He was slowly, subtly turning the god and walking him back into the bar.
"Is this more of the substance that will put me into a coma, Pickles, drummer of The Dethklok?" Shiva asked suspiciously, but letting himself be led off.
There was no reason to open the door to the dojo. Located as it was, in negative space, there was no such thing as a door, much less walls nor windows nor ceilings. Negative space is just that. In its raw state, with no added magic, it looks much like the picture on your television set, when it is tuned between channels.
Nonetheless, the two beings sparring, each bearing two katana, managed to fight along many planes and angles of the space, slashing up and down and all around. They moved swiftly - much more swiftly than any human beings, even the best martial artists. They were currently located what would have been, on a place like earth, a place high in the air, up above the head of the third being who had just entered the space.
This third being watched them, for a time.
The beings were, all three of them, duelists and observer, angels.
Suddenly, there was a terrible cry. One angel plummeted to earth.
He was dead.
Angels do very terrible things sometimes.
The victorious angel drifted swiftly down to what would have been the ground level. Archangel Gabriel, the being who had just entered the space said to him, "Well met, Brother Raphael."