Vighnesha, Vighneshvara (Mythklok, Chapter 10)
Title: Vighnesha, Vighneshvara (Mythklok, Chapter 10)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lord Ganesh adopts a troublesome stray cat, Raziel provides a lesson in Angel Management, Toki knits, Prequel!Sariel gets smacked around again
Warnings: Slash, non-con, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking. Also, I HAVE SLASHED A BELOVED METAL’PSE CHARACTER WITH AN OC. EH.
Notes: Notes after the jump
Author's Note: I just freaking love this chapter. I introduced the character Ganesh back in Chapter 3 - he had exactly one line of dialog. But he then proceeded to hang around in the background and politely but persistently inquire about a bigger role. Which, I eventually gave him. Must've been that sexy British accent.
This is a Metalocalypse AU which tiktaalikroseae has dubbed “Mythklok.” Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3), a ski trip (Chapter 4), a sword fight (Chapter 5), Bette Davis Movies (Chapter 6), a concert (Chapter 7), tall tales (Chapter WTF), a trial (Chapter8) and an argument (Chapter 9).
Oh, and if you don’t feel like readin’, here’s amazing arts and more amazing arts by other people who are not me, as they are talented. Also, there’s a bit here that was sort of indirectly inspired by gazing fondly at this. You’ll see which bit when you read.
Major thanks plusToki!hug (medium style) to wikdsushi, Knitting Goddess, for advice and just general enthusiasm.
WHAT’S HAPPENING DUDE: Charles was once an angel named Sariel, but he fell to earth and got adopted by a death metal band. But lately, some faces from the past have been showing up at Mordhaus, including a kooky female Seraph named Raziel, who is currently dating Wotan, who is Skwisgaar’s birth dad. Got all that? Anyway, lately Raziel and Charles conspired to kill a fairly important and powerful Archangel named Uriah, so somebody in the angelic Host sent them a terrible dream in which a lot of bad things happened, which sort of pushed Charles into a minor meltdown. Oh, and Skwisgaar is having an affair with a love goddess, which is also adding to Charles’ woes plus annoying everybody else, as the lady’s husband is the Hindu god of vengeance.
And, just a warning, there are boys with no clothes in this one. If you’re one of those guys lurking here from the Something Awful forums, this fic will turn you INSTANTLY GAY.
Vighnesha, Vighneshvara (Mythklok, Chapter 10)
Three beings were returning from the ski trip.
At least two of them were not human.
Lady Raziel was not, as she appeared, a small, 30-ish dark-haired human woman. She was in fact an angel. And not simply her boyfriend’s angel, though he liked to call her that, but a quite literal angel, complete with not one but three sets of wings. She currently appeared in human form as they did not manufacture snowboarding equipment suitable to her angelic manifestation, which was a good 50 feet tall.
Her latest obsession was high performance human automobiles. She was driving the Maserati GranCabrio, as she was an excellent driver, though she utilized the car’s braking function perhaps a bit too infrequently for the taste of some.
Her current passengers, as it happened, had no such compunctions, and were riding quite happily as she put the car through a series of hairpin turns, enjoying the low winter sun on their faces and the wind in their hair. Lord Ganesh, though he currently wore the face of a quite handsome Indian man, was in reality an elephant-headed Hindu god literally worshipped by millions. Toki Wartooth, not a bumblebee, but possibly the only real human of the bunch, was a guitarist who was figuratively, if not literally, worshipped by several more millions.
The ski trip, an extreme snowboarding venture, in which they had made heavy utilization of a helicopter owned by Raziel’s boyfriend, King Wotan, the head of the Norse pantheon, had been a smashing success. They were all three athletic and not risk averse and, anyway, Ganesh happened to be a doctor with magical powers, although his skills had not been called upon.
The only conflict of any note among the three over the entire weekend, as it happened, was the minor but nevertheless vital matter of what to play on the car stereo. As driver, Lady Raziel had vetoed Toki’s suggestion of “Dethklok songs that didn’t feature a whole lot of that douche bag Skwisgaar showing off like a stupid dildo.” But he had in turn loudly protested being subjected to hour upon hour of trance. It wasn’t clear who had originally offered Derek and the Dominoes as a compromise, but it turned out to be a brilliant one. Raziel, in particular, had become quickly attached to that ill-fated band’s version of the Jimi Hendrix classic, Little Wing.
And so it happened that when the car hurtled through the gates at Mordland, Raziel did not engage the braking system until the last possible minute, and also failed to turn down the volume of the stereo, which became more apparent quickly as the car decelerated. But, mere moments after the car had screeched to a halt, a hand reached over her and snapped off the stereo.
Raziel, being the intemperate sort, snapped the stereo back on before she had assessed the identity of this person.
“Will you turn that shit down,” Skwisgaar, for it was he, demanded of her in Swedish, leaning over to snap the volume off again.
“Fan ta dig,” she reposted. One of Raziel’s many angelic gifts was a knack for languages. She snapped the stereo back on and leapt out of the car in a fury.
Toki made to say something, but found one of Ganesh’s hands firmly on his shoulder. “I might remain out of this one, my friend,” the god whispered in his ear.
“That’s not even our music! It’s rude!” Skwisgaar shouted, snapping off the power again.
“You are disrespecting the memory of Duane Allman! This is arguably the finest example of slide guitar technique in the human rock n roll genre!” And Lady Raziel snapped the stereo back on, though this time just by waving at it.
“This is our home!” Snap.
“That is my car!” Snap.
“Angel bitch!” Snap.
“Swedish asshole!” Snap.
The engine of said car suddenly stopped. Ofdensen stood, now nearly nose to nose with Raziel, holding up the car key.
“Do. I. Need. To. Call. Wotan?” he asked. Raziel, as it happened, was the rare person short enough for him to loom over, and so he did just that, giving her in addition an extra sharp glare.
She backed off, just a step.
“My office. Now.” She gulped. And nodded. And was gone.
Ofdensen turned his attention to Skwisgaar. “All right,” he said evenly. “Does that solve the problem?”
The Swede scowled.
“DOES THAT SOLVE THE PROBLEM, SKWISGAAR?” The Swede’s habitual scowl had faded. Nevertheless, he huffed and departed.
“I ams smack dat guy,” Toki fairly growled.
“Toki. I will take care of it. Leave it to me, OK?” Ofdensen asked him, a lot more softly.
Toki had popped the trunk and was fishing his gear out, muttering darkly in Norwegian. Ofdensen caught a few words, and was suddenly glad he didn’t share Raziel’s gift for languages.
“I’m terribly sorry Ganesh,” he apologized, wondering why he always seemed to be apologizing to the Hindu god. “You haven’t been here before, correct?”
The elephant god shook his head and smiled his terribly charming smile. “No. It is rather … impressive.”
“I’m walking up to my office now, did you have a few moments?” Ofdensen asked him. Ganesh nodded. Ofdensen distractedly lit a cigarette, and they walked in smoke and silence to his office.
There was an angel there.
“Raziel! Get out of my chair! And stay out of my cigars!”
“I’m an important business guy!” Raziel laughed, flicking an unlit cigar and leaning back in Ofdensen’s chair.
“And get your feet off my desk!”
“You’re no fun,” she said, sitting up. “Anyway. Thanks for the help back there.”
“Help?” asked Ganesh.
“We were playing Evil Stepmother and Sympathetic Manager. Skwisgaar seems to imagine we’re conspiring against him. But, it doesn’t really matter what I do.” She sighed.
“I should like to throttle them both upon occasion,” Ganesh admitted, seating himself in a guest chair. “I realize you are great friends with my mother, but she can be…. Difficult. Both of my parents unfortunately seem to share that quality.”
“The advantage of being orphans, huh, Sariel?”
He looked at her wryly. “I wouldn’t mind making myself an orphan.”
“I understand your Father is a bit … eccentric?” Ganesh ventured.
“Completely insane,” sighed Ofdensen.
“Barking mad,” said Raziel.
“That gives one confidence,” Ganesh laughed.
“So are you boys gonna talk about the Swede now? Then may I be dismissed? You know it makes me insane?”
“Yeah, sure, Raziel, if it means you’ll get out of my FUCKING CHAIR.”
“Cool. Toki said he’d show me slip stitches!” And she was gone.
“God damn,” Ofdensen said, finally taking his own chair. “Angels.”
“Regarding this matter, I do have some mildly good news to report.”
“I can always hear good news. Scotch?”
Ganesh nodded and accepted a glass. “As it happens, my father has taken up with a hippo goddess from the south.”
“A hippo goddess?”
“My father has a special affection for, er, curvaceous women.”
“Quite a fortunate coincidence,” Ofdensen noted.
Ganesh smiled, holding up his glass to appreciate the amber liquid. “Well, it was perhaps not entirely ordained by fate, let us say. But, be that as it may, I have been through this sort of thing before. It is inevitably cyclical. We have one month, perhaps two, before they will be finished, and my Father will expect my mother to be back at his side.”
“That buys us some time,” Ofdensen said, sipping his drink. “I’ll have to confess, I really don’t have any fucking idea what to do. Skwisgaar has been through an astounding number of women the last few years. I’ve just never known him to take up with one for so long.”
“My mother has her ways. As I understand you have experienced?” Ganesh smiled.
Ofdensen actually colored. Being near Parvati had once caused him to literally lose consciousness. “Yeah,” he stammered. “I was … tired that day.”
“But you realize my mother has a talent for, er, mischief, let us say.”
“I’d just like to avoid having to use your surgical skills to sew back together a diced lead guitarist, if you know what I mean.”
“Perhaps some time, when you are not so beset, we might go out and have a real drink?” Ganesh offered. “Not that this isn’t quite splendid single malt. This is, by the way,” Ganesh gestured with his whiskey glass, “a quite interesting place.”
“No offense, but do you ever say what you actually think, Ganesh?”
Ganesh laughed. He had a very nice laugh. “Perhaps this is not to my taste, but I fear my residence would not be to everybody’s taste, either.”
“Your place is probably perfect,” Ofdensen grumbled. Like you.
“But do you know what genuinely puzzles me about your decor,” Ganesh commented.
“Décor, huh? That’s not what Raziel calls it. What?”
“You are musicians, are you not? Among your accoutrements, I see swords, guns and armor, but no musical instruments, nor gold records.”
“Well, Skwisgaar has a storeroom for his guitars. It’s rather opulent, I’m afraid. I was … otherwise occupied when it was built.”
“Still, that’s more along the lines of what I expected.”
“Myself, I have a ‘59 Gibson.”
“Oh,” said Ganesh, casting his eyes around the office curiously.
“Up in my room,” Ofdensen supplied. He shrugged. “I could show you, if you’re genuinely interested.”
“I promise you,” Ganesh smiled, “I am genuinely interested.”
“How am I doing?” she asked. They were sitting outside, in the sun.
“You still kinda have a Swedish accent.”
“Ha! I’m working on that. I meant my stitching?” Raziel had been delighted to find out Toki Wartooth was a fellow enthuisiast of the yarnly arts, as knitting was her newest diversion. Lord Wotan of late had encouraged her to adopt hobbies that “don’t involve spending any more of my damn money.” The Lady rather made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in either experience or skill. It had taken her a while, however, to divine what the Norwegian thought he was doing, as he seemed to be purling when he should be knitting. Or vice versa.
Toki took a look. “Yeah. This is better, but you really need to keep it even. Take a look.” He handed over the back panel he had just completed.
“Oh, god, this is fabulous! I hate you!”
“Ya know, maybe if you concentrated more and chatted a little bit less?”
“I have to talk! I must perfect my Norwegian accent!” She started to pull out her work. “Hey, you should come along to one of Parvati’s Stitch n Bitch meetings. You’d have a great time! And there are tons of cute goddesses! OK, what did I say?”
It was like a dark cloud had suddenly formed over the guitarist. “I don’t like that woman.”
“That’s nonsense,” Raziel declared, winding yarn around her hand. “How can anybody NOT like Parvati?” Toki had started knitting viciously. Raziel hadn’t thought that was possible either. She wound more yarn. “Is this because of Skwis-”
“The asshole always thinks with his dick. He’s just stupid. But her? She evidently doesn’t give a shit if he dies.”
“He won’t die. Don’t worry. Your Charles won’t let him die. And Ganesh will help too. You know he’s a good guy, right?”
“Charles looks at him funny.”
“Who, Ganesh?”
“Yeah.”
“Funny, how?”
“I dunno. Like Pickles just slipped him something and he’s gonna pass out.”
Sariel opened the guitar case, while Ganesh cast his eyes about. This was quite honestly not at all what he had expected. He had thought there would be at least a suite of rooms, but this was genuinely just a bedroom. And a bit small and spare at that. There were golf clubs very neatly pushed into one corner, but not a lot of items one might consider to be of a personal nature. It looked more like the room of an ascetic. A golfing monk?
Sariel had the guitar out, and was sitting on the end of his bed, tuning it. Ganesh found himself quite cheered to discover the instrument was still in use, and not, as he had feared, mounted on the wall like some animal carcass.
Ganesh drew very still and quiet as Sariel started to play. There was no amplifier, so the sound was quite soft. And the man was inexpert, and rusty. For some reason, Ganesh’s mind drifted back to riding in the car today with Raziel, with a most pleasant breeze brushing his hair, and the sun on his face. Yes, that was about it. Something sweet and fleeting.
Ganesh’s thoughts came back to the present. The soft music had stopped. He glanced over to where Sariel was looking up at him.
“So. You genuinely brought me up here to see your guitar?” Ganesh asked mildly.
Ofdensen put aside the Gibson. When exactly, he wondered, had he started feeling like a complete moron every time he was somewhere in Ganesh’s vicinity? Remember who his mother is, he told himself.
“I apologize, Sariel. I wasn’t requesting that you stop playing. I find I quite like watching you, actually,” Ganesh was saying. “It is not, of course, what I would prefer to be doing.” He smiled. “But I shouldn’t mind watching you play all night long, if that is what you would like to do.”
Remember who his mother is.
How had he gotten across the room to stand in front of Ganesh? He was confused, and he didn’t like being confused, but right now, he needed to kiss Ganesh more than he needed to do anything else in this universe, and so that is what he leaned in and did, literally pulling the Hindu god’s head down to get to his mouth. And then he paused for a couple of excruciating seconds, and then he kissed him again, and he so wanted Ganesh’s mouth on his mouth, and his body pressed against him, hands in his hair, tearing at his clothes, and he wanted to open up to him and tell him everything, from the beginning of time. He wanted to get lost. He wanted to get absolutely lost in another person.
No, no he didn’t.
He had pushed himself back.
Remember who his mother is.
“I’m sorry. Ganesh. I don’t…. I can’t….”
Ganesh’s eyes were huge. He extended one hand, and very gently touched Sariel’s cheek. “We absolutely MUST have that drink,” he said.
And then he was gone.
Some days later, Shri Ganesha, Lord of Hosts, Removers of Obstacles, walked through his courtyard, past the standing pool of still water that captured his official residence in its reflection. It had been a great heartache to abandon this place during his family's long exile in the Himalayas, and an equally great joy when he had at last returned to these sacred grounds, in triumph.
Lord Ganesh was the second son of a powerful man. It was a restricting place to be
He had just attended a ceremony in his honor. He had many followers, so there were many ceremonies. He was dressed in his most splendid robes, and wore his finest ceremonial head, a proud bull elephant with gold-tipped tusks.
When the angels had come, during the last century’s Occupation, it had been Lord Ganesh’s idea to retreat to the mountains, to win by first taking a step backwards. He had clashed terribly with Lord Skanda, who argued for a more straightforward confrontation. It was so like his brother to recommend all out warfare, the honorable but stupid course. But so many years of faithful service to his father had paid off for Ganesh, and his counsel had been heeded.
Lord Ganesh entered his chambers. He had another appointment, this time a social one, so he desired to change his vestments into something more appropriate. As his visitor was a Lady with an eye for fashion, he chose a splendid Cavalli suit. He moved to his altar with his selection of headwear. He carefully plucked off his fine ceremonial elephant head, setting it on a plinth, and draping it with a silk cloth, alongside his other fine elephant heads. He then uncovered his handsomest human head from the lower shelf, and carefully placed it upon his neck instead, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror to make certain he had got his head on straight.
The extended guerilla war against the angels had been terrible, but ultimately, it was more terrible for the Legion. Outnumbered, and desperately overpowered by the mighty Seraphim, Lord Ganesh’s freedom fighters had learned to use the enemy’s power against them. They had learned to strike and retreat. They had learned to sow confusion and terror in the enemy. For Lord Ganesh was a patient man. He knew the rewards of biding his time. Lord Skanda had called it sneaking around. He called Ganesh’s resistance an army of vermin. But Lord Skanda’s arguments lost all credibility when the angels at last departed, leaving the Eastern Kingdom to Lord Ganesh’s loyal rats.
And then, as his final move, his brother had issued a direct challenge to him, and Lord Ganesh had sent Lord Skanda off to his next round on the wheel of karma.
Lord Ganesh was the first son of a powerful man. It was a splendid place to be.
Some days prior, following a visit to Honored Sariel’s residence, Lord Ganesh had reached for his phone. He had left a message, saying, in part, “Lady, it is urgent that we discuss a matter of much importance. If you cannot come in all haste, I shall be forced to scratch your name from my list of most favored social acquaintances. Yes, I am a horrid man.”
Ganesh immediately wondered if he really would need to actually write up a list of most favored social acquaintances so he could scratch her name out, when the Lady called to accept a luncheon date.
“I was just at your mom’s Stitch n Bitch!” the Lady explained, now standing before him.
“Are you still attempting to incorporate love charms into the weave?”
“Yeah, look!” she said, proudly holding up a scarf.
“Um,” said Ganesh.
“No?”
He tilted his head to study the pattern carefully. “I…. I might be cautious when wearing that particular item outside the house.”
“Goddammit, did I overdo it again?”
“Hum. Perhaps the slightest bit. Was he there?”
She sighed. “I try to avoid him. But, yes.”
“My father is currently distracted elsewhere. But they are being altogether too obvious.”
“He disrespects the memory of Duane Allman,” the Lady said darkly.
“Um, yes, that too.”
Lady Raziel was a lovely guest. Lord Ganesh had, up until the point that Lady Raziel came to inhabit Valhalla, little social acquaintance with angels. So many of them, he had found, were unpleasant people. And Lord Ganesh had little patience for the unpleasant. The little Seraph, by contrast, adored strolling the grounds of his estate, and was full of astute comments on the decoration. “You are a horrid man for not having me out here before,” she said at one point, wrapping her small arm around his. “This is even lovelier than your mom’s place.”
“It is considerably smaller,” he said modestly.
“Yes, but everything is perfect. I can see where you get your tastes though.” Raziel had great admiration for supernatural beings who evinced some sense of restraint in their decoration. In her opinion, the worst among angel foibles, well ahead of their persnickety and bloodthirsty nature, was tacky over decoration.
At last they stopped for lunch, a delicious array of some of Ganesh’s favorites. He of course apologized profusely for the vegetarian menu, but she hushed his protests, and proceeded to request recipes for virtually everything, and then as a bonus threatened to kidnap his cook at sword point.
“So,” she said at one point, stifling a rather non-angelic burp, “I suspect you didn’t ask me out her to look at my scarf.”
He sighed and pushed his chair back from the table. He took a beedi out of a fine gold case. “Do you mind terribly?” he asked. “I’m afraid it’s a filthy habit I picked up during the war.”
“Go ahead! Can’t possibly be any worse than Sariel’s Marlboros.”
“That,” Ganesh admitted, tamping his thin cigarette on the case, “is the reason I requested your presence. Apart from the fact that I value and appreciate your companionship.”
Raziel grinned. “OK, now I’m intrigued.”
“It is simply, I must insist you now tell me everything you know regarding your acquaintance, from his Creation until the present day.”
She leaned close. “What happened?”
“I am a gentleman,” he smiled.
“Oh! Meaning something happened.”
“I do not kiss and tell.”
“THERE WAS A KISS?”
Ganesh laughed.
“Come on,” she urged. “If I’m gonna be forced to natter about Sariel for the next sixteen hours, I need something!”
“If you must. But I am afraid you shall be terribly disappointed. After you departed our company the other day, the discussion ran to his décor….”
“Yeah. Yuck.”
“And the gentleman mentioned that he owned a vintage guitar manufactured by the Gibson company. It seemed to have some sentimental valuation attached, so I requested to see it.”
“HE GOT OUT THE GUITAR?”
“Is this perhaps a good sign?”
“No fucking idea.”
Ganesh laughed again. “And, yes, it is true, there was a kiss. And then, there is not much else to report. He expressed his hesitation at this point, and as I am I gentleman, I retreated, though, in a somewhat … agitated state.” He puffed on his beedi.
“Huh. Must’ve been some kiss.”
“I am terribly sorry to be so intrusive, but….”
“No,” she said rolling her eyes. “I have never kissed him. Or, anything else. Because, yuck.”
Ganesh arched an eyebrow. “Though, and forgive my ignorance, you are not truly siblings?”
“No,” she said, looking distracted. “Sorry, angel men are not to my taste. Long story.”
“Nevertheless, and also taking into consideration your longstanding friendship, you have some acquaintance with me, and know, I hope, that I am an honorable man….”
“Ganesh, I am not even going to attempt to tell you Sariel’s life story, as even I don’t know the half of it. And, I don’t think it’s relevant. What I’m gonna do, I’m going to tell you some very simple things. You are going to assume I’m telling you this because I’m an idiot, and you’re welcome to your opinion. But angels are not nearly so complicated they’re made out to be. Or as we make ourselves out to be. Oh, and the first thing is, don’t disabuse Sariel of the notion that he’s complicated. It seems to be a pretty deep-set affectation.”
“OK.”
“What Wotan does, and Wotan, well, you know My Lord, but he has a talent for putting people at their ease. He keeps cigars, and single malt Scotch. Oh, and steak sandwiches. You won’t be able to have steaks for him, obviously, but if you have food around always, especially delicacies, that would be good.”
“Delicacies?”
“We like rare stuff. We love rare stuff! We really can’t help it, it’s in our nature. But, yes, find something ridiculous that only you have that he likes to eat. Or you can tell him a good story! Wotan came up with this farfetched tall tale about how we have an extremely rare breed of laying hen, and now he won’t stay away from our scrambled eggs. Just tell him the lentil soup is made from some obscure flower that only blooms once a year and he’ll probably like it. He can actually be kind of a pig if you let him.”
Ganesh flicked ashes from his thin cigarette onto the side of his metal plate. “He appears too thin.”
“Well, yes because he doesn’t eat.”
“He doesn’t eat?”
“Yeah, he pretty much lives on cigarettes.”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah, he’s lucky he’s immortal. Oh, and if you have a place where he can sleep and not be disturbed? Even if it’s noontime?”
Ganesh looked at her skeptically. “You are saying he is one of the richest, most powerful men in this world, and he can neither eat nor sleep?”
She grinned. “He’ll get home, and they’ll start arguing over a guitar pick, and that will be all they’ll deal with for the next 72 hours. You think I’m exaggerating. Or, he’ll eat something, but then they’ll take him out drinking and poison him and he’ll throw up, or he’ll get one of his headaches. And throw up.”
Ganesh put a hand through his hair. “So, I leave out food and let him sleep here? You’re making him sound like… A stray cat.”
“Yes. That’s actually about right. We now just keep a room for him at Valhalla, and he’ll crawl in and sleep for 14 hours, and then wake up and we’ll feed him whatever meal we’re eating, and he’ll go back.”
“What have I gotten myself into?”
“Well. I sort of warned you.”
“What you said when I first expressed interest to you was, if I recall correctly, Oh god oh god oh god.”
“I just don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with. I don’t think anybody really understands. Outside of Sariel. You’ve seen what Skwisgaar is capable of? And, though I actually find Nathan has his appeal, you saw the mischief he can get into - just him alone - when we went to Surtr’s barbecue that time. And you were there for the avalanche, and the fire serpent appearing at the concert….”
“You can’t blame them for the ice demons.”
“Actually, I think you can. From what I’ve gathered, they’re like some kind of magnet for chaos. Oh, and that’s another thing, do not get between the man and his band. They are his children and his friends and his lovers (some quite literally, I understand) and his pets and his favorite toy and his new car and half a dozen other things.”
“I….” Ganesh hesitated. “I am not normally someone who cares to take on … a renovation project.”
She laughed. “Then, what do you want?”
“I guess I just want what everyone wants. What you and Wotan have.”
“What do we have?” She seemed to be looking at him with genuine curiosity.
“Simply two people who love one another deeply.”
“Do we?”
He blinked. “You’re asking me?”
She curled her legs underneath her in the chair, and leaned over a bit his way. “We’re not supposed to be able to love. Angels.”
“Oh.” Ganesh felt a knife slice through his heart.
“But. Sometimes I can do things that I’m not supposed to be able to do. We were only supposed to be able to love Our Father. Because he is a jealous god.”
“Angels are…. You are interesting creatures. Sadly, I have little social acquaintanceship with your race.”
She laughed. “Because a lot of us are assholes.”
Ganesh laughed. “Well, there is a tendency towards unpleasantness in some.”
“There is one more thing, and I think it is also very important that you understand it. Angels understand it, but I’m not sure anyone else truly does. And that’s why Uriah is dead.
“I thought you bested Uriah in a duel?”
“Yes. But, more importantly, Uriah is dead because Sariel decided he wanted him dead.”
“You are saying…?
“When he was cast out…. Well, it’s a very long story, so perhaps we can have a very long lunch some day when you have time. We were…. Well, the two of us were estranged for a time. He got mad and he didn't really talk to me for a few centuries. So, I don’t know all the details. But, I’ve always had my suspicions. When he was cast out, there were a number of reasons given, floating around in the gossip. We love to gossip, that’s another thing. But I’ve always suspected it was really because they were scared of him.”
“You think the Archangel Michael was scared of him?” Ganesh flicked ashes.
She shook her head sadly. “I think Our Father was scared of him.”
“You sure you don’t wanna fence.”
Ofdensen twirled his sword. “Naw.” He took another drag of his cigarette.
“OK!” she sang. She tossed her sword up, waved her hand, and produced a knitting project.
They were perched out on one of the dragon’s chest spires at Mordhaus. When he summoned her there, it usually meant he needed to go at it for an hour or so with swords. But he had been a bit desultory today, and soon asked to stop for a smoke.
“Um, are those Ganesh’s glasses you’re wearing?”
“Hee. Yeah,” she said, placing the glasses up on top of her head. “Wotan and I were gonna play Stern Librarian and Confused Patron. He just can’t seem to master the Dewey Decimal System!” She giggled.
“You know,” said Ofdensen. “I would give a million dollars right now if I could just reach into my own brain and take out that knowledge.” He sighed. “Are you still knitting that same scarf?”
“Yes, I’m still working on the love charms, see?”
Ofdensen cringed. “Uh, OK, Raziel? You either need to put that shit away RIGHT NOW, or I’m gonna have to tackle you right here on this fucking spire.”
“What? Oh. Ew!” Raziel said, rolling up her knitting. “Dammit!” She scowled at him and stood. “Well, if you don’t wanna fence any more, I need to pull this out and start again….”
“I kissed Ganesh.” He looked up and jerked. Raziel was suddenly sitting nearly on top of him. “RAZIEL!” he shouted, lurching back. “Personal space personal space PERSONAL SPACE!”
She grinned and sat back, cross-legged on the spire, resting her hand on her chin. “What’s that?” Ofdensen asked her, pointing to her hand. She popped the intricate-looking silver ring off her left hand and showed him. It looked somewhat like a knot. She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger, and it split into five delicate, interconnected individual rings. Fascinated, as this happens to be the sort of thing that intrigues angels - they simply can’t help themselves - he picked it off her palm and quickly reassembled it and then broke it apart again. He waved a hand over it, and turned it into five separate rings. They both grinned. Then he tossed the rings up in the air and caught them in his fist, and revealed them reassembled into the knot.
“Cool,” he said simply, handing it back to her.
She nodded, donning the ring again. “So. Are you gonna fill me in on any more details?”
“There’s not much else to tell,” he said moodily, reaching for another cigarette. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Raziel?”
“Why should something be wrong with you?”
“I hesitate to ask. But when you met Wotan…?”
“We met at a party at Valhalla. You heard that?”
“Yeah.”
“It was instant. I stayed around afterwards. We ended up spending the next 48 hours in bed.”
“What?”
She was lying back on the spire now, sighing. “Well, he is a god. Or was it the next 72 hours?”
“That…. Yeah, that makes me feel swell.”
“Hey,” she said. She suddenly sat up again. “Ganesh is a god!”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that out.”
She was standing again. “Well, you obviously want some kind of advice from me, so here it is. You had him stop because you felt overwhelmed, which is no surprise because you certainly don’t have the best history at this sort of thing, but he was cool with that, so the next move is up to you. Just please don’t make the poor man suffer too long, not everybody likes to be tortured as much as you do.”
“Yeah. Wait. Raziel, how did you know I asked to stop? I don’t remember telling you….”
“I’ve gotta go talk to Toki about knitting! See ya!”
And he was alone.
“TOKIIIIIIIII!”
The Norwegian looked up from his model airplane. “Hey, Raziel,” he sighed. He was annoyed, as Pickles had made off with all his model glue once again. “I’m not really in the mood to knit right now,” he grumbled.
“I’ve got this new pattern for you. Believe me, you’re gonna wanna try it.”
Ganesh looked up from dinner.
His stray cat was standing there.
Ganesh smiled and bade him take a seat. With a gesture from the god, silent servants quickly set a place for his new guest.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Ganesh said.
Sariel lit a cigarette, ignoring the food in front of him.
Ganesh pushed his chair back slightly. He coiled, pulling one bare foot up on the seat of his chair.
“Are you sure you’re an elephant god?” Sariel finally asked him.
“Yes, I am quite certain about that.” Ganesh smiled the too-big smile and tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
Sariel shrugged. “You just remind me of something else when you go around in that human head. A panther maybe?”
Ganesh nodded, holding Sariel’s gaze. “No, I am quite certain of my status. Might you allow me to share my resume? I am Shri Ganesha, Lord of Hosts, Lord of Beginnings, Remover of Obstacles. Lord of Rats, Patron of Letters. Chief Operating Officer and Legal Counsel for the Eastern Kingdom, LLC. Oxford ’52, Harvard Law ’68, Johns Hopkins ’75. Virgo. I enjoy candlelit dinners, long walks on the beach, and ass-fucking. I have kept to a strict vegetarian diet for the past seventeen centuries. I am possessed of one thousand names, and five fine elephant heads, which correspond to my various godly aspects. I understand you have multiple identities as well?”
“No,” Sariel said firmly. “No. I’m trying not to mess with that any more. I’m just me. This…. This is my only form. Anyway, this is the only me you’re gonna get.”
Ganesh pulled out a beedi. He tamped it on an elegant gold case and lit it.
“You smoke?” Sariel asked, surprised.
“Beedi,” said Ganesh. “It’s a regrettable habit I picked up during the war.”
“So you’re not perfect.”
Ganesh smiled again. “I don’t recall claiming that I am.” He took a drag. “Did you come all the way here to find fault with me?”
“No.”
“Then, might I inquire,” Ganesh asked, flicking some ashes on the side of his metal dinner plate, “why did you come?”
Ganesh was a god, and possessed of godlike senses, but he was still never quite sure how Sariel came so quickly to occupy the same chair as he. But presently they were kissing, so he didn’t feel that he much minded how it had happened. It was a very splendid dinner occupation, he thought, kissing an angel, and he thought mildly how he could continue this particular venture for many an hour. But then Sariel was opening Ganesh’s shirt and kissing his chest, and the Lord Remover of Obstacles had another idea.
“OK. Bedroom,” he whispered. He grabbed the angel and got as far as the dining room doorway before Sariel slammed him against the wall with surprising strength and continued the very pleasant assault against his chest. Ganesh allowed himself to dither there for a long, very stimulating moment before he was again dragging Sariel in the desired direction. They continued like this, down the hallway, for time, going in fits and starts, and beginning to loosen clothing to a degree that worried Ganesh lest something untoward happen before he could drag the angel to some place with an appropriate degree of privacy.
They had finally made it to his bedroom door, Sariel’s hands all over him, Ganesh kissing back while fumbling blindly for the doorknob he knew damn well must be there somewhere only it seemed to have disappeared. Then finally his hand found purchase on the knob. He got the door opened and fairly threw Sariel into the room, but the angel had grabbed on to him and pulled Ganesh in on top of him. Shri Ganesha, Master of Obstacles, managed to find the open door with his foot and kicked it shut just before a very grave impropriety.
Skwisgaar was at Mordhaus. Which, these days, was rather a surprise.
And he was in an irritable mood, which was no surprise at all.
At what point he had gone from wanting her to needing her, he wasn’t sure exactly. But nowadays, when he was forced out of Lady Parvati’s presence (and he needed to be forced away, as he wasn’t inclined to leave her of his own volition) he felt raw and annoyed.
She had kicked him out for a few hours this evening due to some kind of official ceremony. Or so she said. What’s worse, she seemed a bit relieved to see the back of him. Was she now making excuses, just to ditch him?
Not that he was gonna stop seeing her, just because the dumb dildos in his band were getting grouchy about it. And he knew their stupid idiot angel manager was conspiring against him, even when he was pretending to be sympathetic. That guy was always talking shit in their weird angel language with Wotan’s angelbitch girlfriend. And it was officially one word, in Skwisgaar’s mind, angelbitch.
He wandered into the kitchen, not really hungry, but more looking for a distraction. Toki was there. The moron had one of the tables draped with newspapers and was assembling one of his ridiculous plastic models. Skwisgaar grinned. Good, someone to yell at.
“What the fucks ams you doing, Tokis?” Skwisgaar scolded.
Toki looked up, grinning like a fool, and waved his scarf at Skwisgaar. Why was the dumb dildo wearing a scarf indoors?
Ganesh was confused.
Though he had many pleasant memories of the preceding hour, he wasn’t exactly certain how he had come to have a red tie around his neck.
He was also more than a bit dumbfounded by the rapidity at which Sariel had dropped off asleep. On Ganesh’s arm. They had never quite made it over to Ganesh’s bed, which was fine. Which was actually more than fine. But now Ganesh found himself on his own floor, clad only in the mysterious red tie, and pinned down by a contentedly snoring angel.
Raziel was right. It was an awful lot like having a stray cat.
Ganesh’s fingers had started to tingle. He determined that a move was in order. Sariel, he now saw, was definitely too thin, but somehow, also heavier than he looked. As well as stronger than he looked. “Come on, my love,” Ganesh whispered, and half pushed, half dragged a drowsy angel towards the bed.
Sariel muttered something. It sounded a lot like the angelic language. And then he clambered on to the bed, suddenly pulling Ganesh around him like one would a quilt.
And instantly fell back asleep. On Ganesh’s arm.
Well, thought Ganesh, his fingers now tingling again. Perhaps nerve damage was a small price to pay.
Pickles needed snacks. He was thus doubly delighted to find Toki in the kitchen, with more airplane glue.
Oh, and airplanes too.
And Skwisgaar.
Toki and Skwisgaar were contentedly assembling models together. It was a little weird, but a lot less weird than all the other shit that had been happening lately.
“Dood, you got model glue?” Pickles inquired amiably, sitting down next to the guitarist. Toki was wearing a cool, long grey scarf. Probably one of the things he’d been knitting with that crazy angel chick, Pickles thought. It was really, really cool though.
“You ams wants to makes model with us, Pickle?” Toki asked, cheerfully.
Ganesh roused. His arm was free. Sariel was quietly getting dressed. Ganesh blinked. Was it to be that kind of encounter, he wondered?
Sariel noticed he was awake, and leaned over to kiss him full on the mouth. All right, thought Ganesh. Not that kind of encounter.
“Do you have to go?” Ganesh asked.
“I have to go, and, um, do stuff….” Sariel mumbled.
Ganesh put a hand under Sariel’s chin, and held his gaze for a moment. “I find I quite like morning sex,” he said. Sariel stared for a moment, and then silently slipped back into bed. Ganesh pulled his clothing back off, and then slept wrapped contentedly around his angel.
Nathan was mooching around the halls unhappily. He had gone thinking to bother Charles and maybe share a drink, but their manager was not in his office, nor, as far as he could tell, anywhere else on the property.
He found his way into the kitchen. What the fuck were all these dildos doing with the fucking model airplanes?
Ganesh had thought one of the most delightful things on earth was a nice, soapy man in his shower. But he had been wrong. The most delightful thing on earth was a nice, soapy angel in his shower.
He sighed contentedly, his beautiful angel pinned against the wall. Ganesh was pushing into him, so, so very slowly. How he adored taking a lovely wet man and making him slightly crazy. Sariel gasped, and Ganesh paused and gave him a kiss on the neck.
“Harder,” Sariel moaned.
“I don’t want to hurt you, dear,” Ganesh whispered, despite the kiss having turned into a small bite. He had his fingers entangled in Sariel’s hair and was tilting his head ever so slightly to get a better angle.
“Hurt me. Hurt me,” Sariel whispered to him.
Ganesh’s answer was polite but firm. He clasped Sariel tightly and murmured very softly into his ear, “Never.”
Many years ago….
Sariel was drifting.
Uriah was usually careful not to hit him on the face, where the bruises would show. Sometimes, he would have to keep his collar high, so you couldn’t see the markings on his neck.
He remembered the first time. It had been unexpected, and Uriah had knocked him to the floor with one blow. He lay there for a while, wondering why he didn’t hit back. Something told him he needed to. If it had been Raziel there, that’s what she would have done. But something else, something very deep, was telling him to let go.
Uriah would usually beat him to near unconsciousness. Sometimes he’d go a little too far, and Sariel would wake up later, aching and disoriented. But the big Seraph usually knew when to hold back. Sometimes, though, the pain would make Sariel drift away, and he’d float above his body, as he was doing now, quietly watching. Uriah had him down on the floor, down on his stomach, and was tearing at his robe. He had Sariel’s clothes off, and his legs spread. Sariel noticed that one of his own hands, the right one, was feebly clawing the floor, as if some part of him still wanted to crawl away.
Uriah was fully erect. He wasn’t a subtle lover. He shoved himself in as far as he could go. He held a handful of Sariel’s hair in his hand, and he moaned. He leaned his head closer to Sariel’s ear. “This is what you want. Because you are special. This is an honor. The honor of letting go. To power.” He pumped in, and Sariel noticed his own hand still weakly curling.
It wasn’t really a matter of sexual release, as Sariel oftentimes wasn’t aware enough to experience much in the way of pleasure from Uriah’s rough treatment. It was more the sense of complete submission, of letting the powerful man have him any way he wanted him.
Sariel winced. Uriah had bruised or possibly cracked one of his ribs this time, and he could feel the pain every time the larger man pressed his weight against him. He let the tears emit from his eyes. There was something sacred about enduring the pain, pushing through it.
Raziel was pattering after Him, trying to keep up with her Father on her short Court Form legs, and writing down any Secrets and/or Mysteries He murmured as he strode the grounds. It sounded like the ravings of a madman to her, but what did she know? Everybody else around here seemed to think He was a genius. Well, except Sariel. But he’d been too busy with some kind of Court nonsense to pay her much mind lately.
She looked up from The Book and saw Uriah and his retinue passing.
Sariel was at his side.
Sariel turned. Raziel was standing there, stock still, mouth open, a large book clutched in her hands. Their Father had walked off without her. She was staring at Sariel. He couldn’t read her expression.
She turned and ran after Him.
He hadn’t talked to Raziel in weeks.
Which was fine. It was fine. She was always so miserable. And probably just going on about how her gown was itchy. Or something really stupid.
He spotted her trotting down the hallway, too large Book under one of her small arms.
She nodded to him in passing, but didn’t meet his eyes. He hurried after her.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She shrugged, and kept hurrying along.
“I haven’t seen you around for a while,” he started.
“No,” she said.
“What about a Secret or Mystery?” he asked.
She kept walking.
“OK. OK. Have it your way,” he said, stopping. He started to walk away.
She stopped, but didn’t turn and said, “How about a wager?”
He turned.
“How about a wager?” She was looking at him now. “The next time Uriah honors you?”
Sariel gawped at her.
“Oh, think I don’t know, huh? Do you think you’re the first? Or the tenth? Or, the hundredth?”
“I…. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Here’s the wager: next time he honors you, you fucking honor him right back. And hard. But I bet you won’t fucking do it. Because I bet you’re as big a pussy as they all say.” She had balled her fists.
“That’s not the fucking point, Raziel. You don’t understand.”
“I fucking understand. I fucking understand. When somebody hits you? You hit back. And then you burn down his house, with his family inside. And then you lay waste to his village. And you plow under his fields with salt! And you make the ground barren for seven generations. That is what you do when someone hits you.” She was seething.
“Raziel, you don’t understand! Have you ever even considered what it’s like being me? Being forced to be me all the fucking time! Even when I’m enjoying myself, I’m miserable. He fucked up, when he made me, when he made all of us. I just want release. Just for an hour. Just for a few minutes. Just to give it up. Just to let go.”
“He…. He didn’t fuck up when He made me. And, even if he did I don’t care. I’m me. I’m what I am.”
“You have no fucking clue.”
“You know who has no fucking clue? Do you remember life without me? No, you don’t. I remember life without you. It’s time for you to fucking find out what that feels like.”
And she turned and walked out of his life.
The present day….
Sariel was readying himself to go.
Ganesh stood at his dining room table. “Will you breakfast with me?”
“I’m not kidding, Ganesh, I really gotta go.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“What? Last night. With you.”
“As I recall, you extinguished your cigarette in the chickpeas. I do not believe that counts. When was the last time prior to that?”
Sariel shrugged a bit sullenly.
“I believe if you cannot recall the last time you ate, then it is reasonable to suggest you must stay and dine with me,” Ganesh said.
Sariel sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. He looked distinctly annoyed, sort of in the manner of a surly teenager, Ganesh noticed. “I don’t suppose you got eggs?” he asked, flicking ashes into the paneer.
Ganesh frowned. “Perhaps you might try a taste of this soup?”
“Yeah?”
“It has as an essential ingredient, a rare flower of the Himalayas. It…. It only blooms once a season.”
Sariel ended up finishing four bowls. After he had departed, the cook talked to Ganesh. “The gentleman approved of the lentil soup?”
Ganesh nodded. “From now on, can you kindly keep a pot around at all times? And at some point, I would like to go over our menu. I am especially interested in your more rare ingredients.”
The cook nodded, a bit confused, but too polite and well trained to show it.
Ofdensen walked the halls at Mordhaus. He felt vaguely unsettled. It was distinctly strange to come back from a night out feeling…. Contented? He felt he should be staggering more, with perhaps a raging headache and double vision. He got to his office, and was amazed to find it empty. Now he was definitely unsettled. He had been away for hours - where was the crisis?
He lit out to find one. It didn’t take long. Eighty percent of the band was now huddled in the kitchen, either assembling model kits, or, in Pickles’ case, flying them in imaginary dogfights.
Toki was wearing a scarf indoors. A very familiar scarf.
Ofdensen covered his eyes with a hand and said, “Uh, Toki, you think I could talk to you for a minute?”
“Ams you wants to plays model planes with us, Charles’?” the Norwegian asked cheerily.
“Uh, Toki, where exactly did you get that scarf?”
“I ams knits it!”
“But, where did you get the patterns?”
“Oh, Raziel ams gives it to me! She ams says it’s a charm.”
“Uh, yeah, about that….”
They stopped to listen. Skwisgaar was having a rather rancorous Dethphone conversation. “No, I ams not wants to comes out dere nows,” he was shouting. “I ams tells you, I ams playing with da models airplanes!”
‘Yeh, yoo tell ‘er, Skwisgaar,” Pickles laughed, running along on top of the kitchen table with his Sopwith Camel.
“No, I cans not always picks up and leaves just because you ams wants to see me!” Skwisgaar continued.
“Eh, women, they’re all the same,” Nathan groused, biting his tongue out and squinting through his reading glasses as he tried to apply stickers to his Messerschmitt.
“Wells, maybe you ams needs da new boy toys!” Skwisgaar fumed into his phone.
“Er, Toki,” Ofdensen told the guitarist. “Now, you understand why it’s wrong to use magical charms on your band mates.”
“Aw,” the Norwegian sighed.
“So, I hope you will only wear this scarf around for maybe … another day. Or two?”
“Ja?” asked Toki.
“Yeah. And, then you promise you’ll put it away. Right?”
“Ja, right, I ams puts it away.”
“In a couple days?”
“Ja! Ams you wants to play model planes with us now?”
“Uh, maybe later? I have a couple things to do right now.”
“OK! We ams sees you laters!”
“Hi. Yeah, he called again while I was away. Yeah, I know. Look, I just don’t think we’re gonna be able to get out of it. ‘We’ means you too. Yeah, you are going. I hate him too! I hate him more! No, I definitely hate him more! Yeah, even more than that! I would…. I would take the remains and put them through a meat grinder! And, feed them to your fucking wolves. Yes, it would definitely give them a stomach ache. Look, I’m not gonna take the whole band, just Nathan. Yeah. Look, it’s just one day. And besides…. And besides…. And besides, if you don’t come with me, I’m not gonna fucking tell you ANYTHING about Ganesh!”
“What about Ganesh?”
Ofdensen slammed the phone. “Dammit, I thought we talked about you not doing that any more.”
“What about Ganesh?” asked Raziel, making herself at home in a guest chair.
“You need to swear that you’re coming along to Hell! No fucking off to Marrakesh fashion week, or whatever.”
“Marrakesh fashion week? Oo, I gotta look that up.”
“Raziel!”
“OK. OK. OK.”
Ofdensen frowned at her and held out a pinkie. “Oh fuck,” she said, but she curled her pinkie around his. “Does this really constitute a legally binding contract in 45 countries?” she asked skeptically.
“Uh-huh.”
“So spill about Ganesh!”
“I believe I just told you I wouldn’t tell you anything if you wouldn’t swear. That didn’t necessarily mean I’d tell you anything if you did swear.”
“Huh? What are you? A fucking lawyer?”
“Yeah, actually. I am.”
“Oh, shit, I forgot.” She sat for a moment, frowning. Then she smiled. “But, you WANT to tell me.”
“So help me, Raziel, you do not tell a soul!”
“Wait, wait!” she said. She brought out her knitting. “OK, go!”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lord Ganesh adopts a troublesome stray cat, Raziel provides a lesson in Angel Management, Toki knits, Prequel!Sariel gets smacked around again
Warnings: Slash, non-con, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking. Also, I HAVE SLASHED A BELOVED METAL’PSE CHARACTER WITH AN OC. EH.
Notes: Notes after the jump
Author's Note: I just freaking love this chapter. I introduced the character Ganesh back in Chapter 3 - he had exactly one line of dialog. But he then proceeded to hang around in the background and politely but persistently inquire about a bigger role. Which, I eventually gave him. Must've been that sexy British accent.
This is a Metalocalypse AU which tiktaalikroseae has dubbed “Mythklok.” Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3), a ski trip (Chapter 4), a sword fight (Chapter 5), Bette Davis Movies (Chapter 6), a concert (Chapter 7), tall tales (Chapter WTF), a trial (Chapter8) and an argument (Chapter 9).
Oh, and if you don’t feel like readin’, here’s amazing arts and more amazing arts by other people who are not me, as they are talented. Also, there’s a bit here that was sort of indirectly inspired by gazing fondly at this. You’ll see which bit when you read.
Major thanks plusToki!hug (medium style) to wikdsushi, Knitting Goddess, for advice and just general enthusiasm.
WHAT’S HAPPENING DUDE: Charles was once an angel named Sariel, but he fell to earth and got adopted by a death metal band. But lately, some faces from the past have been showing up at Mordhaus, including a kooky female Seraph named Raziel, who is currently dating Wotan, who is Skwisgaar’s birth dad. Got all that? Anyway, lately Raziel and Charles conspired to kill a fairly important and powerful Archangel named Uriah, so somebody in the angelic Host sent them a terrible dream in which a lot of bad things happened, which sort of pushed Charles into a minor meltdown. Oh, and Skwisgaar is having an affair with a love goddess, which is also adding to Charles’ woes plus annoying everybody else, as the lady’s husband is the Hindu god of vengeance.
And, just a warning, there are boys with no clothes in this one. If you’re one of those guys lurking here from the Something Awful forums, this fic will turn you INSTANTLY GAY.
Vighnesha, Vighneshvara (Mythklok, Chapter 10)
Three beings were returning from the ski trip.
At least two of them were not human.
Lady Raziel was not, as she appeared, a small, 30-ish dark-haired human woman. She was in fact an angel. And not simply her boyfriend’s angel, though he liked to call her that, but a quite literal angel, complete with not one but three sets of wings. She currently appeared in human form as they did not manufacture snowboarding equipment suitable to her angelic manifestation, which was a good 50 feet tall.
Her latest obsession was high performance human automobiles. She was driving the Maserati GranCabrio, as she was an excellent driver, though she utilized the car’s braking function perhaps a bit too infrequently for the taste of some.
Her current passengers, as it happened, had no such compunctions, and were riding quite happily as she put the car through a series of hairpin turns, enjoying the low winter sun on their faces and the wind in their hair. Lord Ganesh, though he currently wore the face of a quite handsome Indian man, was in reality an elephant-headed Hindu god literally worshipped by millions. Toki Wartooth, not a bumblebee, but possibly the only real human of the bunch, was a guitarist who was figuratively, if not literally, worshipped by several more millions.
The ski trip, an extreme snowboarding venture, in which they had made heavy utilization of a helicopter owned by Raziel’s boyfriend, King Wotan, the head of the Norse pantheon, had been a smashing success. They were all three athletic and not risk averse and, anyway, Ganesh happened to be a doctor with magical powers, although his skills had not been called upon.
The only conflict of any note among the three over the entire weekend, as it happened, was the minor but nevertheless vital matter of what to play on the car stereo. As driver, Lady Raziel had vetoed Toki’s suggestion of “Dethklok songs that didn’t feature a whole lot of that douche bag Skwisgaar showing off like a stupid dildo.” But he had in turn loudly protested being subjected to hour upon hour of trance. It wasn’t clear who had originally offered Derek and the Dominoes as a compromise, but it turned out to be a brilliant one. Raziel, in particular, had become quickly attached to that ill-fated band’s version of the Jimi Hendrix classic, Little Wing.
And so it happened that when the car hurtled through the gates at Mordland, Raziel did not engage the braking system until the last possible minute, and also failed to turn down the volume of the stereo, which became more apparent quickly as the car decelerated. But, mere moments after the car had screeched to a halt, a hand reached over her and snapped off the stereo.
Raziel, being the intemperate sort, snapped the stereo back on before she had assessed the identity of this person.
“Will you turn that shit down,” Skwisgaar, for it was he, demanded of her in Swedish, leaning over to snap the volume off again.
“Fan ta dig,” she reposted. One of Raziel’s many angelic gifts was a knack for languages. She snapped the stereo back on and leapt out of the car in a fury.
Toki made to say something, but found one of Ganesh’s hands firmly on his shoulder. “I might remain out of this one, my friend,” the god whispered in his ear.
“That’s not even our music! It’s rude!” Skwisgaar shouted, snapping off the power again.
“You are disrespecting the memory of Duane Allman! This is arguably the finest example of slide guitar technique in the human rock n roll genre!” And Lady Raziel snapped the stereo back on, though this time just by waving at it.
“This is our home!” Snap.
“That is my car!” Snap.
“Angel bitch!” Snap.
“Swedish asshole!” Snap.
The engine of said car suddenly stopped. Ofdensen stood, now nearly nose to nose with Raziel, holding up the car key.
“Do. I. Need. To. Call. Wotan?” he asked. Raziel, as it happened, was the rare person short enough for him to loom over, and so he did just that, giving her in addition an extra sharp glare.
She backed off, just a step.
“My office. Now.” She gulped. And nodded. And was gone.
Ofdensen turned his attention to Skwisgaar. “All right,” he said evenly. “Does that solve the problem?”
The Swede scowled.
“DOES THAT SOLVE THE PROBLEM, SKWISGAAR?” The Swede’s habitual scowl had faded. Nevertheless, he huffed and departed.
“I ams smack dat guy,” Toki fairly growled.
“Toki. I will take care of it. Leave it to me, OK?” Ofdensen asked him, a lot more softly.
Toki had popped the trunk and was fishing his gear out, muttering darkly in Norwegian. Ofdensen caught a few words, and was suddenly glad he didn’t share Raziel’s gift for languages.
“I’m terribly sorry Ganesh,” he apologized, wondering why he always seemed to be apologizing to the Hindu god. “You haven’t been here before, correct?”
The elephant god shook his head and smiled his terribly charming smile. “No. It is rather … impressive.”
“I’m walking up to my office now, did you have a few moments?” Ofdensen asked him. Ganesh nodded. Ofdensen distractedly lit a cigarette, and they walked in smoke and silence to his office.
There was an angel there.
“Raziel! Get out of my chair! And stay out of my cigars!”
“I’m an important business guy!” Raziel laughed, flicking an unlit cigar and leaning back in Ofdensen’s chair.
“And get your feet off my desk!”
“You’re no fun,” she said, sitting up. “Anyway. Thanks for the help back there.”
“Help?” asked Ganesh.
“We were playing Evil Stepmother and Sympathetic Manager. Skwisgaar seems to imagine we’re conspiring against him. But, it doesn’t really matter what I do.” She sighed.
“I should like to throttle them both upon occasion,” Ganesh admitted, seating himself in a guest chair. “I realize you are great friends with my mother, but she can be…. Difficult. Both of my parents unfortunately seem to share that quality.”
“The advantage of being orphans, huh, Sariel?”
He looked at her wryly. “I wouldn’t mind making myself an orphan.”
“I understand your Father is a bit … eccentric?” Ganesh ventured.
“Completely insane,” sighed Ofdensen.
“Barking mad,” said Raziel.
“That gives one confidence,” Ganesh laughed.
“So are you boys gonna talk about the Swede now? Then may I be dismissed? You know it makes me insane?”
“Yeah, sure, Raziel, if it means you’ll get out of my FUCKING CHAIR.”
“Cool. Toki said he’d show me slip stitches!” And she was gone.
“God damn,” Ofdensen said, finally taking his own chair. “Angels.”
“Regarding this matter, I do have some mildly good news to report.”
“I can always hear good news. Scotch?”
Ganesh nodded and accepted a glass. “As it happens, my father has taken up with a hippo goddess from the south.”
“A hippo goddess?”
“My father has a special affection for, er, curvaceous women.”
“Quite a fortunate coincidence,” Ofdensen noted.
Ganesh smiled, holding up his glass to appreciate the amber liquid. “Well, it was perhaps not entirely ordained by fate, let us say. But, be that as it may, I have been through this sort of thing before. It is inevitably cyclical. We have one month, perhaps two, before they will be finished, and my Father will expect my mother to be back at his side.”
“That buys us some time,” Ofdensen said, sipping his drink. “I’ll have to confess, I really don’t have any fucking idea what to do. Skwisgaar has been through an astounding number of women the last few years. I’ve just never known him to take up with one for so long.”
“My mother has her ways. As I understand you have experienced?” Ganesh smiled.
Ofdensen actually colored. Being near Parvati had once caused him to literally lose consciousness. “Yeah,” he stammered. “I was … tired that day.”
“But you realize my mother has a talent for, er, mischief, let us say.”
“I’d just like to avoid having to use your surgical skills to sew back together a diced lead guitarist, if you know what I mean.”
“Perhaps some time, when you are not so beset, we might go out and have a real drink?” Ganesh offered. “Not that this isn’t quite splendid single malt. This is, by the way,” Ganesh gestured with his whiskey glass, “a quite interesting place.”
“No offense, but do you ever say what you actually think, Ganesh?”
Ganesh laughed. He had a very nice laugh. “Perhaps this is not to my taste, but I fear my residence would not be to everybody’s taste, either.”
“Your place is probably perfect,” Ofdensen grumbled. Like you.
“But do you know what genuinely puzzles me about your decor,” Ganesh commented.
“Décor, huh? That’s not what Raziel calls it. What?”
“You are musicians, are you not? Among your accoutrements, I see swords, guns and armor, but no musical instruments, nor gold records.”
“Well, Skwisgaar has a storeroom for his guitars. It’s rather opulent, I’m afraid. I was … otherwise occupied when it was built.”
“Still, that’s more along the lines of what I expected.”
“Myself, I have a ‘59 Gibson.”
“Oh,” said Ganesh, casting his eyes around the office curiously.
“Up in my room,” Ofdensen supplied. He shrugged. “I could show you, if you’re genuinely interested.”
“I promise you,” Ganesh smiled, “I am genuinely interested.”
“How am I doing?” she asked. They were sitting outside, in the sun.
“You still kinda have a Swedish accent.”
“Ha! I’m working on that. I meant my stitching?” Raziel had been delighted to find out Toki Wartooth was a fellow enthuisiast of the yarnly arts, as knitting was her newest diversion. Lord Wotan of late had encouraged her to adopt hobbies that “don’t involve spending any more of my damn money.” The Lady rather made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in either experience or skill. It had taken her a while, however, to divine what the Norwegian thought he was doing, as he seemed to be purling when he should be knitting. Or vice versa.
Toki took a look. “Yeah. This is better, but you really need to keep it even. Take a look.” He handed over the back panel he had just completed.
“Oh, god, this is fabulous! I hate you!”
“Ya know, maybe if you concentrated more and chatted a little bit less?”
“I have to talk! I must perfect my Norwegian accent!” She started to pull out her work. “Hey, you should come along to one of Parvati’s Stitch n Bitch meetings. You’d have a great time! And there are tons of cute goddesses! OK, what did I say?”
It was like a dark cloud had suddenly formed over the guitarist. “I don’t like that woman.”
“That’s nonsense,” Raziel declared, winding yarn around her hand. “How can anybody NOT like Parvati?” Toki had started knitting viciously. Raziel hadn’t thought that was possible either. She wound more yarn. “Is this because of Skwis-”
“The asshole always thinks with his dick. He’s just stupid. But her? She evidently doesn’t give a shit if he dies.”
“He won’t die. Don’t worry. Your Charles won’t let him die. And Ganesh will help too. You know he’s a good guy, right?”
“Charles looks at him funny.”
“Who, Ganesh?”
“Yeah.”
“Funny, how?”
“I dunno. Like Pickles just slipped him something and he’s gonna pass out.”
Sariel opened the guitar case, while Ganesh cast his eyes about. This was quite honestly not at all what he had expected. He had thought there would be at least a suite of rooms, but this was genuinely just a bedroom. And a bit small and spare at that. There were golf clubs very neatly pushed into one corner, but not a lot of items one might consider to be of a personal nature. It looked more like the room of an ascetic. A golfing monk?
Sariel had the guitar out, and was sitting on the end of his bed, tuning it. Ganesh found himself quite cheered to discover the instrument was still in use, and not, as he had feared, mounted on the wall like some animal carcass.
Ganesh drew very still and quiet as Sariel started to play. There was no amplifier, so the sound was quite soft. And the man was inexpert, and rusty. For some reason, Ganesh’s mind drifted back to riding in the car today with Raziel, with a most pleasant breeze brushing his hair, and the sun on his face. Yes, that was about it. Something sweet and fleeting.
Ganesh’s thoughts came back to the present. The soft music had stopped. He glanced over to where Sariel was looking up at him.
“So. You genuinely brought me up here to see your guitar?” Ganesh asked mildly.
Ofdensen put aside the Gibson. When exactly, he wondered, had he started feeling like a complete moron every time he was somewhere in Ganesh’s vicinity? Remember who his mother is, he told himself.
“I apologize, Sariel. I wasn’t requesting that you stop playing. I find I quite like watching you, actually,” Ganesh was saying. “It is not, of course, what I would prefer to be doing.” He smiled. “But I shouldn’t mind watching you play all night long, if that is what you would like to do.”
Remember who his mother is.
How had he gotten across the room to stand in front of Ganesh? He was confused, and he didn’t like being confused, but right now, he needed to kiss Ganesh more than he needed to do anything else in this universe, and so that is what he leaned in and did, literally pulling the Hindu god’s head down to get to his mouth. And then he paused for a couple of excruciating seconds, and then he kissed him again, and he so wanted Ganesh’s mouth on his mouth, and his body pressed against him, hands in his hair, tearing at his clothes, and he wanted to open up to him and tell him everything, from the beginning of time. He wanted to get lost. He wanted to get absolutely lost in another person.
No, no he didn’t.
He had pushed himself back.
Remember who his mother is.
“I’m sorry. Ganesh. I don’t…. I can’t….”
Ganesh’s eyes were huge. He extended one hand, and very gently touched Sariel’s cheek. “We absolutely MUST have that drink,” he said.
And then he was gone.
Some days later, Shri Ganesha, Lord of Hosts, Removers of Obstacles, walked through his courtyard, past the standing pool of still water that captured his official residence in its reflection. It had been a great heartache to abandon this place during his family's long exile in the Himalayas, and an equally great joy when he had at last returned to these sacred grounds, in triumph.
Lord Ganesh was the second son of a powerful man. It was a restricting place to be
He had just attended a ceremony in his honor. He had many followers, so there were many ceremonies. He was dressed in his most splendid robes, and wore his finest ceremonial head, a proud bull elephant with gold-tipped tusks.
When the angels had come, during the last century’s Occupation, it had been Lord Ganesh’s idea to retreat to the mountains, to win by first taking a step backwards. He had clashed terribly with Lord Skanda, who argued for a more straightforward confrontation. It was so like his brother to recommend all out warfare, the honorable but stupid course. But so many years of faithful service to his father had paid off for Ganesh, and his counsel had been heeded.
Lord Ganesh entered his chambers. He had another appointment, this time a social one, so he desired to change his vestments into something more appropriate. As his visitor was a Lady with an eye for fashion, he chose a splendid Cavalli suit. He moved to his altar with his selection of headwear. He carefully plucked off his fine ceremonial elephant head, setting it on a plinth, and draping it with a silk cloth, alongside his other fine elephant heads. He then uncovered his handsomest human head from the lower shelf, and carefully placed it upon his neck instead, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror to make certain he had got his head on straight.
The extended guerilla war against the angels had been terrible, but ultimately, it was more terrible for the Legion. Outnumbered, and desperately overpowered by the mighty Seraphim, Lord Ganesh’s freedom fighters had learned to use the enemy’s power against them. They had learned to strike and retreat. They had learned to sow confusion and terror in the enemy. For Lord Ganesh was a patient man. He knew the rewards of biding his time. Lord Skanda had called it sneaking around. He called Ganesh’s resistance an army of vermin. But Lord Skanda’s arguments lost all credibility when the angels at last departed, leaving the Eastern Kingdom to Lord Ganesh’s loyal rats.
And then, as his final move, his brother had issued a direct challenge to him, and Lord Ganesh had sent Lord Skanda off to his next round on the wheel of karma.
Lord Ganesh was the first son of a powerful man. It was a splendid place to be.
Some days prior, following a visit to Honored Sariel’s residence, Lord Ganesh had reached for his phone. He had left a message, saying, in part, “Lady, it is urgent that we discuss a matter of much importance. If you cannot come in all haste, I shall be forced to scratch your name from my list of most favored social acquaintances. Yes, I am a horrid man.”
Ganesh immediately wondered if he really would need to actually write up a list of most favored social acquaintances so he could scratch her name out, when the Lady called to accept a luncheon date.
“I was just at your mom’s Stitch n Bitch!” the Lady explained, now standing before him.
“Are you still attempting to incorporate love charms into the weave?”
“Yeah, look!” she said, proudly holding up a scarf.
“Um,” said Ganesh.
“No?”
He tilted his head to study the pattern carefully. “I…. I might be cautious when wearing that particular item outside the house.”
“Goddammit, did I overdo it again?”
“Hum. Perhaps the slightest bit. Was he there?”
She sighed. “I try to avoid him. But, yes.”
“My father is currently distracted elsewhere. But they are being altogether too obvious.”
“He disrespects the memory of Duane Allman,” the Lady said darkly.
“Um, yes, that too.”
Lady Raziel was a lovely guest. Lord Ganesh had, up until the point that Lady Raziel came to inhabit Valhalla, little social acquaintance with angels. So many of them, he had found, were unpleasant people. And Lord Ganesh had little patience for the unpleasant. The little Seraph, by contrast, adored strolling the grounds of his estate, and was full of astute comments on the decoration. “You are a horrid man for not having me out here before,” she said at one point, wrapping her small arm around his. “This is even lovelier than your mom’s place.”
“It is considerably smaller,” he said modestly.
“Yes, but everything is perfect. I can see where you get your tastes though.” Raziel had great admiration for supernatural beings who evinced some sense of restraint in their decoration. In her opinion, the worst among angel foibles, well ahead of their persnickety and bloodthirsty nature, was tacky over decoration.
At last they stopped for lunch, a delicious array of some of Ganesh’s favorites. He of course apologized profusely for the vegetarian menu, but she hushed his protests, and proceeded to request recipes for virtually everything, and then as a bonus threatened to kidnap his cook at sword point.
“So,” she said at one point, stifling a rather non-angelic burp, “I suspect you didn’t ask me out her to look at my scarf.”
He sighed and pushed his chair back from the table. He took a beedi out of a fine gold case. “Do you mind terribly?” he asked. “I’m afraid it’s a filthy habit I picked up during the war.”
“Go ahead! Can’t possibly be any worse than Sariel’s Marlboros.”
“That,” Ganesh admitted, tamping his thin cigarette on the case, “is the reason I requested your presence. Apart from the fact that I value and appreciate your companionship.”
Raziel grinned. “OK, now I’m intrigued.”
“It is simply, I must insist you now tell me everything you know regarding your acquaintance, from his Creation until the present day.”
She leaned close. “What happened?”
“I am a gentleman,” he smiled.
“Oh! Meaning something happened.”
“I do not kiss and tell.”
“THERE WAS A KISS?”
Ganesh laughed.
“Come on,” she urged. “If I’m gonna be forced to natter about Sariel for the next sixteen hours, I need something!”
“If you must. But I am afraid you shall be terribly disappointed. After you departed our company the other day, the discussion ran to his décor….”
“Yeah. Yuck.”
“And the gentleman mentioned that he owned a vintage guitar manufactured by the Gibson company. It seemed to have some sentimental valuation attached, so I requested to see it.”
“HE GOT OUT THE GUITAR?”
“Is this perhaps a good sign?”
“No fucking idea.”
Ganesh laughed again. “And, yes, it is true, there was a kiss. And then, there is not much else to report. He expressed his hesitation at this point, and as I am I gentleman, I retreated, though, in a somewhat … agitated state.” He puffed on his beedi.
“Huh. Must’ve been some kiss.”
“I am terribly sorry to be so intrusive, but….”
“No,” she said rolling her eyes. “I have never kissed him. Or, anything else. Because, yuck.”
Ganesh arched an eyebrow. “Though, and forgive my ignorance, you are not truly siblings?”
“No,” she said, looking distracted. “Sorry, angel men are not to my taste. Long story.”
“Nevertheless, and also taking into consideration your longstanding friendship, you have some acquaintance with me, and know, I hope, that I am an honorable man….”
“Ganesh, I am not even going to attempt to tell you Sariel’s life story, as even I don’t know the half of it. And, I don’t think it’s relevant. What I’m gonna do, I’m going to tell you some very simple things. You are going to assume I’m telling you this because I’m an idiot, and you’re welcome to your opinion. But angels are not nearly so complicated they’re made out to be. Or as we make ourselves out to be. Oh, and the first thing is, don’t disabuse Sariel of the notion that he’s complicated. It seems to be a pretty deep-set affectation.”
“OK.”
“What Wotan does, and Wotan, well, you know My Lord, but he has a talent for putting people at their ease. He keeps cigars, and single malt Scotch. Oh, and steak sandwiches. You won’t be able to have steaks for him, obviously, but if you have food around always, especially delicacies, that would be good.”
“Delicacies?”
“We like rare stuff. We love rare stuff! We really can’t help it, it’s in our nature. But, yes, find something ridiculous that only you have that he likes to eat. Or you can tell him a good story! Wotan came up with this farfetched tall tale about how we have an extremely rare breed of laying hen, and now he won’t stay away from our scrambled eggs. Just tell him the lentil soup is made from some obscure flower that only blooms once a year and he’ll probably like it. He can actually be kind of a pig if you let him.”
Ganesh flicked ashes from his thin cigarette onto the side of his metal plate. “He appears too thin.”
“Well, yes because he doesn’t eat.”
“He doesn’t eat?”
“Yeah, he pretty much lives on cigarettes.”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah, he’s lucky he’s immortal. Oh, and if you have a place where he can sleep and not be disturbed? Even if it’s noontime?”
Ganesh looked at her skeptically. “You are saying he is one of the richest, most powerful men in this world, and he can neither eat nor sleep?”
She grinned. “He’ll get home, and they’ll start arguing over a guitar pick, and that will be all they’ll deal with for the next 72 hours. You think I’m exaggerating. Or, he’ll eat something, but then they’ll take him out drinking and poison him and he’ll throw up, or he’ll get one of his headaches. And throw up.”
Ganesh put a hand through his hair. “So, I leave out food and let him sleep here? You’re making him sound like… A stray cat.”
“Yes. That’s actually about right. We now just keep a room for him at Valhalla, and he’ll crawl in and sleep for 14 hours, and then wake up and we’ll feed him whatever meal we’re eating, and he’ll go back.”
“What have I gotten myself into?”
“Well. I sort of warned you.”
“What you said when I first expressed interest to you was, if I recall correctly, Oh god oh god oh god.”
“I just don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with. I don’t think anybody really understands. Outside of Sariel. You’ve seen what Skwisgaar is capable of? And, though I actually find Nathan has his appeal, you saw the mischief he can get into - just him alone - when we went to Surtr’s barbecue that time. And you were there for the avalanche, and the fire serpent appearing at the concert….”
“You can’t blame them for the ice demons.”
“Actually, I think you can. From what I’ve gathered, they’re like some kind of magnet for chaos. Oh, and that’s another thing, do not get between the man and his band. They are his children and his friends and his lovers (some quite literally, I understand) and his pets and his favorite toy and his new car and half a dozen other things.”
“I….” Ganesh hesitated. “I am not normally someone who cares to take on … a renovation project.”
She laughed. “Then, what do you want?”
“I guess I just want what everyone wants. What you and Wotan have.”
“What do we have?” She seemed to be looking at him with genuine curiosity.
“Simply two people who love one another deeply.”
“Do we?”
He blinked. “You’re asking me?”
She curled her legs underneath her in the chair, and leaned over a bit his way. “We’re not supposed to be able to love. Angels.”
“Oh.” Ganesh felt a knife slice through his heart.
“But. Sometimes I can do things that I’m not supposed to be able to do. We were only supposed to be able to love Our Father. Because he is a jealous god.”
“Angels are…. You are interesting creatures. Sadly, I have little social acquaintanceship with your race.”
She laughed. “Because a lot of us are assholes.”
Ganesh laughed. “Well, there is a tendency towards unpleasantness in some.”
“There is one more thing, and I think it is also very important that you understand it. Angels understand it, but I’m not sure anyone else truly does. And that’s why Uriah is dead.
“I thought you bested Uriah in a duel?”
“Yes. But, more importantly, Uriah is dead because Sariel decided he wanted him dead.”
“You are saying…?
“When he was cast out…. Well, it’s a very long story, so perhaps we can have a very long lunch some day when you have time. We were…. Well, the two of us were estranged for a time. He got mad and he didn't really talk to me for a few centuries. So, I don’t know all the details. But, I’ve always had my suspicions. When he was cast out, there were a number of reasons given, floating around in the gossip. We love to gossip, that’s another thing. But I’ve always suspected it was really because they were scared of him.”
“You think the Archangel Michael was scared of him?” Ganesh flicked ashes.
She shook her head sadly. “I think Our Father was scared of him.”
“You sure you don’t wanna fence.”
Ofdensen twirled his sword. “Naw.” He took another drag of his cigarette.
“OK!” she sang. She tossed her sword up, waved her hand, and produced a knitting project.
They were perched out on one of the dragon’s chest spires at Mordhaus. When he summoned her there, it usually meant he needed to go at it for an hour or so with swords. But he had been a bit desultory today, and soon asked to stop for a smoke.
“Um, are those Ganesh’s glasses you’re wearing?”
“Hee. Yeah,” she said, placing the glasses up on top of her head. “Wotan and I were gonna play Stern Librarian and Confused Patron. He just can’t seem to master the Dewey Decimal System!” She giggled.
“You know,” said Ofdensen. “I would give a million dollars right now if I could just reach into my own brain and take out that knowledge.” He sighed. “Are you still knitting that same scarf?”
“Yes, I’m still working on the love charms, see?”
Ofdensen cringed. “Uh, OK, Raziel? You either need to put that shit away RIGHT NOW, or I’m gonna have to tackle you right here on this fucking spire.”
“What? Oh. Ew!” Raziel said, rolling up her knitting. “Dammit!” She scowled at him and stood. “Well, if you don’t wanna fence any more, I need to pull this out and start again….”
“I kissed Ganesh.” He looked up and jerked. Raziel was suddenly sitting nearly on top of him. “RAZIEL!” he shouted, lurching back. “Personal space personal space PERSONAL SPACE!”
She grinned and sat back, cross-legged on the spire, resting her hand on her chin. “What’s that?” Ofdensen asked her, pointing to her hand. She popped the intricate-looking silver ring off her left hand and showed him. It looked somewhat like a knot. She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger, and it split into five delicate, interconnected individual rings. Fascinated, as this happens to be the sort of thing that intrigues angels - they simply can’t help themselves - he picked it off her palm and quickly reassembled it and then broke it apart again. He waved a hand over it, and turned it into five separate rings. They both grinned. Then he tossed the rings up in the air and caught them in his fist, and revealed them reassembled into the knot.
“Cool,” he said simply, handing it back to her.
She nodded, donning the ring again. “So. Are you gonna fill me in on any more details?”
“There’s not much else to tell,” he said moodily, reaching for another cigarette. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Raziel?”
“Why should something be wrong with you?”
“I hesitate to ask. But when you met Wotan…?”
“We met at a party at Valhalla. You heard that?”
“Yeah.”
“It was instant. I stayed around afterwards. We ended up spending the next 48 hours in bed.”
“What?”
She was lying back on the spire now, sighing. “Well, he is a god. Or was it the next 72 hours?”
“That…. Yeah, that makes me feel swell.”
“Hey,” she said. She suddenly sat up again. “Ganesh is a god!”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that out.”
She was standing again. “Well, you obviously want some kind of advice from me, so here it is. You had him stop because you felt overwhelmed, which is no surprise because you certainly don’t have the best history at this sort of thing, but he was cool with that, so the next move is up to you. Just please don’t make the poor man suffer too long, not everybody likes to be tortured as much as you do.”
“Yeah. Wait. Raziel, how did you know I asked to stop? I don’t remember telling you….”
“I’ve gotta go talk to Toki about knitting! See ya!”
And he was alone.
“TOKIIIIIIIII!”
The Norwegian looked up from his model airplane. “Hey, Raziel,” he sighed. He was annoyed, as Pickles had made off with all his model glue once again. “I’m not really in the mood to knit right now,” he grumbled.
“I’ve got this new pattern for you. Believe me, you’re gonna wanna try it.”
Ganesh looked up from dinner.
His stray cat was standing there.
Ganesh smiled and bade him take a seat. With a gesture from the god, silent servants quickly set a place for his new guest.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Ganesh said.
Sariel lit a cigarette, ignoring the food in front of him.
Ganesh pushed his chair back slightly. He coiled, pulling one bare foot up on the seat of his chair.
“Are you sure you’re an elephant god?” Sariel finally asked him.
“Yes, I am quite certain about that.” Ganesh smiled the too-big smile and tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
Sariel shrugged. “You just remind me of something else when you go around in that human head. A panther maybe?”
Ganesh nodded, holding Sariel’s gaze. “No, I am quite certain of my status. Might you allow me to share my resume? I am Shri Ganesha, Lord of Hosts, Lord of Beginnings, Remover of Obstacles. Lord of Rats, Patron of Letters. Chief Operating Officer and Legal Counsel for the Eastern Kingdom, LLC. Oxford ’52, Harvard Law ’68, Johns Hopkins ’75. Virgo. I enjoy candlelit dinners, long walks on the beach, and ass-fucking. I have kept to a strict vegetarian diet for the past seventeen centuries. I am possessed of one thousand names, and five fine elephant heads, which correspond to my various godly aspects. I understand you have multiple identities as well?”
“No,” Sariel said firmly. “No. I’m trying not to mess with that any more. I’m just me. This…. This is my only form. Anyway, this is the only me you’re gonna get.”
Ganesh pulled out a beedi. He tamped it on an elegant gold case and lit it.
“You smoke?” Sariel asked, surprised.
“Beedi,” said Ganesh. “It’s a regrettable habit I picked up during the war.”
“So you’re not perfect.”
Ganesh smiled again. “I don’t recall claiming that I am.” He took a drag. “Did you come all the way here to find fault with me?”
“No.”
“Then, might I inquire,” Ganesh asked, flicking some ashes on the side of his metal dinner plate, “why did you come?”
Ganesh was a god, and possessed of godlike senses, but he was still never quite sure how Sariel came so quickly to occupy the same chair as he. But presently they were kissing, so he didn’t feel that he much minded how it had happened. It was a very splendid dinner occupation, he thought, kissing an angel, and he thought mildly how he could continue this particular venture for many an hour. But then Sariel was opening Ganesh’s shirt and kissing his chest, and the Lord Remover of Obstacles had another idea.
“OK. Bedroom,” he whispered. He grabbed the angel and got as far as the dining room doorway before Sariel slammed him against the wall with surprising strength and continued the very pleasant assault against his chest. Ganesh allowed himself to dither there for a long, very stimulating moment before he was again dragging Sariel in the desired direction. They continued like this, down the hallway, for time, going in fits and starts, and beginning to loosen clothing to a degree that worried Ganesh lest something untoward happen before he could drag the angel to some place with an appropriate degree of privacy.
They had finally made it to his bedroom door, Sariel’s hands all over him, Ganesh kissing back while fumbling blindly for the doorknob he knew damn well must be there somewhere only it seemed to have disappeared. Then finally his hand found purchase on the knob. He got the door opened and fairly threw Sariel into the room, but the angel had grabbed on to him and pulled Ganesh in on top of him. Shri Ganesha, Master of Obstacles, managed to find the open door with his foot and kicked it shut just before a very grave impropriety.
Skwisgaar was at Mordhaus. Which, these days, was rather a surprise.
And he was in an irritable mood, which was no surprise at all.
At what point he had gone from wanting her to needing her, he wasn’t sure exactly. But nowadays, when he was forced out of Lady Parvati’s presence (and he needed to be forced away, as he wasn’t inclined to leave her of his own volition) he felt raw and annoyed.
She had kicked him out for a few hours this evening due to some kind of official ceremony. Or so she said. What’s worse, she seemed a bit relieved to see the back of him. Was she now making excuses, just to ditch him?
Not that he was gonna stop seeing her, just because the dumb dildos in his band were getting grouchy about it. And he knew their stupid idiot angel manager was conspiring against him, even when he was pretending to be sympathetic. That guy was always talking shit in their weird angel language with Wotan’s angelbitch girlfriend. And it was officially one word, in Skwisgaar’s mind, angelbitch.
He wandered into the kitchen, not really hungry, but more looking for a distraction. Toki was there. The moron had one of the tables draped with newspapers and was assembling one of his ridiculous plastic models. Skwisgaar grinned. Good, someone to yell at.
“What the fucks ams you doing, Tokis?” Skwisgaar scolded.
Toki looked up, grinning like a fool, and waved his scarf at Skwisgaar. Why was the dumb dildo wearing a scarf indoors?
Ganesh was confused.
Though he had many pleasant memories of the preceding hour, he wasn’t exactly certain how he had come to have a red tie around his neck.
He was also more than a bit dumbfounded by the rapidity at which Sariel had dropped off asleep. On Ganesh’s arm. They had never quite made it over to Ganesh’s bed, which was fine. Which was actually more than fine. But now Ganesh found himself on his own floor, clad only in the mysterious red tie, and pinned down by a contentedly snoring angel.
Raziel was right. It was an awful lot like having a stray cat.
Ganesh’s fingers had started to tingle. He determined that a move was in order. Sariel, he now saw, was definitely too thin, but somehow, also heavier than he looked. As well as stronger than he looked. “Come on, my love,” Ganesh whispered, and half pushed, half dragged a drowsy angel towards the bed.
Sariel muttered something. It sounded a lot like the angelic language. And then he clambered on to the bed, suddenly pulling Ganesh around him like one would a quilt.
And instantly fell back asleep. On Ganesh’s arm.
Well, thought Ganesh, his fingers now tingling again. Perhaps nerve damage was a small price to pay.
Pickles needed snacks. He was thus doubly delighted to find Toki in the kitchen, with more airplane glue.
Oh, and airplanes too.
And Skwisgaar.
Toki and Skwisgaar were contentedly assembling models together. It was a little weird, but a lot less weird than all the other shit that had been happening lately.
“Dood, you got model glue?” Pickles inquired amiably, sitting down next to the guitarist. Toki was wearing a cool, long grey scarf. Probably one of the things he’d been knitting with that crazy angel chick, Pickles thought. It was really, really cool though.
“You ams wants to makes model with us, Pickle?” Toki asked, cheerfully.
Ganesh roused. His arm was free. Sariel was quietly getting dressed. Ganesh blinked. Was it to be that kind of encounter, he wondered?
Sariel noticed he was awake, and leaned over to kiss him full on the mouth. All right, thought Ganesh. Not that kind of encounter.
“Do you have to go?” Ganesh asked.
“I have to go, and, um, do stuff….” Sariel mumbled.
Ganesh put a hand under Sariel’s chin, and held his gaze for a moment. “I find I quite like morning sex,” he said. Sariel stared for a moment, and then silently slipped back into bed. Ganesh pulled his clothing back off, and then slept wrapped contentedly around his angel.
Nathan was mooching around the halls unhappily. He had gone thinking to bother Charles and maybe share a drink, but their manager was not in his office, nor, as far as he could tell, anywhere else on the property.
He found his way into the kitchen. What the fuck were all these dildos doing with the fucking model airplanes?
Ganesh had thought one of the most delightful things on earth was a nice, soapy man in his shower. But he had been wrong. The most delightful thing on earth was a nice, soapy angel in his shower.
He sighed contentedly, his beautiful angel pinned against the wall. Ganesh was pushing into him, so, so very slowly. How he adored taking a lovely wet man and making him slightly crazy. Sariel gasped, and Ganesh paused and gave him a kiss on the neck.
“Harder,” Sariel moaned.
“I don’t want to hurt you, dear,” Ganesh whispered, despite the kiss having turned into a small bite. He had his fingers entangled in Sariel’s hair and was tilting his head ever so slightly to get a better angle.
“Hurt me. Hurt me,” Sariel whispered to him.
Ganesh’s answer was polite but firm. He clasped Sariel tightly and murmured very softly into his ear, “Never.”
Many years ago….
Sariel was drifting.
Uriah was usually careful not to hit him on the face, where the bruises would show. Sometimes, he would have to keep his collar high, so you couldn’t see the markings on his neck.
He remembered the first time. It had been unexpected, and Uriah had knocked him to the floor with one blow. He lay there for a while, wondering why he didn’t hit back. Something told him he needed to. If it had been Raziel there, that’s what she would have done. But something else, something very deep, was telling him to let go.
Uriah would usually beat him to near unconsciousness. Sometimes he’d go a little too far, and Sariel would wake up later, aching and disoriented. But the big Seraph usually knew when to hold back. Sometimes, though, the pain would make Sariel drift away, and he’d float above his body, as he was doing now, quietly watching. Uriah had him down on the floor, down on his stomach, and was tearing at his robe. He had Sariel’s clothes off, and his legs spread. Sariel noticed that one of his own hands, the right one, was feebly clawing the floor, as if some part of him still wanted to crawl away.
Uriah was fully erect. He wasn’t a subtle lover. He shoved himself in as far as he could go. He held a handful of Sariel’s hair in his hand, and he moaned. He leaned his head closer to Sariel’s ear. “This is what you want. Because you are special. This is an honor. The honor of letting go. To power.” He pumped in, and Sariel noticed his own hand still weakly curling.
It wasn’t really a matter of sexual release, as Sariel oftentimes wasn’t aware enough to experience much in the way of pleasure from Uriah’s rough treatment. It was more the sense of complete submission, of letting the powerful man have him any way he wanted him.
Sariel winced. Uriah had bruised or possibly cracked one of his ribs this time, and he could feel the pain every time the larger man pressed his weight against him. He let the tears emit from his eyes. There was something sacred about enduring the pain, pushing through it.
Raziel was pattering after Him, trying to keep up with her Father on her short Court Form legs, and writing down any Secrets and/or Mysteries He murmured as he strode the grounds. It sounded like the ravings of a madman to her, but what did she know? Everybody else around here seemed to think He was a genius. Well, except Sariel. But he’d been too busy with some kind of Court nonsense to pay her much mind lately.
She looked up from The Book and saw Uriah and his retinue passing.
Sariel was at his side.
Sariel turned. Raziel was standing there, stock still, mouth open, a large book clutched in her hands. Their Father had walked off without her. She was staring at Sariel. He couldn’t read her expression.
She turned and ran after Him.
He hadn’t talked to Raziel in weeks.
Which was fine. It was fine. She was always so miserable. And probably just going on about how her gown was itchy. Or something really stupid.
He spotted her trotting down the hallway, too large Book under one of her small arms.
She nodded to him in passing, but didn’t meet his eyes. He hurried after her.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She shrugged, and kept hurrying along.
“I haven’t seen you around for a while,” he started.
“No,” she said.
“What about a Secret or Mystery?” he asked.
She kept walking.
“OK. OK. Have it your way,” he said, stopping. He started to walk away.
She stopped, but didn’t turn and said, “How about a wager?”
He turned.
“How about a wager?” She was looking at him now. “The next time Uriah honors you?”
Sariel gawped at her.
“Oh, think I don’t know, huh? Do you think you’re the first? Or the tenth? Or, the hundredth?”
“I…. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Here’s the wager: next time he honors you, you fucking honor him right back. And hard. But I bet you won’t fucking do it. Because I bet you’re as big a pussy as they all say.” She had balled her fists.
“That’s not the fucking point, Raziel. You don’t understand.”
“I fucking understand. I fucking understand. When somebody hits you? You hit back. And then you burn down his house, with his family inside. And then you lay waste to his village. And you plow under his fields with salt! And you make the ground barren for seven generations. That is what you do when someone hits you.” She was seething.
“Raziel, you don’t understand! Have you ever even considered what it’s like being me? Being forced to be me all the fucking time! Even when I’m enjoying myself, I’m miserable. He fucked up, when he made me, when he made all of us. I just want release. Just for an hour. Just for a few minutes. Just to give it up. Just to let go.”
“He…. He didn’t fuck up when He made me. And, even if he did I don’t care. I’m me. I’m what I am.”
“You have no fucking clue.”
“You know who has no fucking clue? Do you remember life without me? No, you don’t. I remember life without you. It’s time for you to fucking find out what that feels like.”
And she turned and walked out of his life.
The present day….
Sariel was readying himself to go.
Ganesh stood at his dining room table. “Will you breakfast with me?”
“I’m not kidding, Ganesh, I really gotta go.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“What? Last night. With you.”
“As I recall, you extinguished your cigarette in the chickpeas. I do not believe that counts. When was the last time prior to that?”
Sariel shrugged a bit sullenly.
“I believe if you cannot recall the last time you ate, then it is reasonable to suggest you must stay and dine with me,” Ganesh said.
Sariel sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. He looked distinctly annoyed, sort of in the manner of a surly teenager, Ganesh noticed. “I don’t suppose you got eggs?” he asked, flicking ashes into the paneer.
Ganesh frowned. “Perhaps you might try a taste of this soup?”
“Yeah?”
“It has as an essential ingredient, a rare flower of the Himalayas. It…. It only blooms once a season.”
Sariel ended up finishing four bowls. After he had departed, the cook talked to Ganesh. “The gentleman approved of the lentil soup?”
Ganesh nodded. “From now on, can you kindly keep a pot around at all times? And at some point, I would like to go over our menu. I am especially interested in your more rare ingredients.”
The cook nodded, a bit confused, but too polite and well trained to show it.
Ofdensen walked the halls at Mordhaus. He felt vaguely unsettled. It was distinctly strange to come back from a night out feeling…. Contented? He felt he should be staggering more, with perhaps a raging headache and double vision. He got to his office, and was amazed to find it empty. Now he was definitely unsettled. He had been away for hours - where was the crisis?
He lit out to find one. It didn’t take long. Eighty percent of the band was now huddled in the kitchen, either assembling model kits, or, in Pickles’ case, flying them in imaginary dogfights.
Toki was wearing a scarf indoors. A very familiar scarf.
Ofdensen covered his eyes with a hand and said, “Uh, Toki, you think I could talk to you for a minute?”
“Ams you wants to plays model planes with us, Charles’?” the Norwegian asked cheerily.
“Uh, Toki, where exactly did you get that scarf?”
“I ams knits it!”
“But, where did you get the patterns?”
“Oh, Raziel ams gives it to me! She ams says it’s a charm.”
“Uh, yeah, about that….”
They stopped to listen. Skwisgaar was having a rather rancorous Dethphone conversation. “No, I ams not wants to comes out dere nows,” he was shouting. “I ams tells you, I ams playing with da models airplanes!”
‘Yeh, yoo tell ‘er, Skwisgaar,” Pickles laughed, running along on top of the kitchen table with his Sopwith Camel.
“No, I cans not always picks up and leaves just because you ams wants to see me!” Skwisgaar continued.
“Eh, women, they’re all the same,” Nathan groused, biting his tongue out and squinting through his reading glasses as he tried to apply stickers to his Messerschmitt.
“Wells, maybe you ams needs da new boy toys!” Skwisgaar fumed into his phone.
“Er, Toki,” Ofdensen told the guitarist. “Now, you understand why it’s wrong to use magical charms on your band mates.”
“Aw,” the Norwegian sighed.
“So, I hope you will only wear this scarf around for maybe … another day. Or two?”
“Ja?” asked Toki.
“Yeah. And, then you promise you’ll put it away. Right?”
“Ja, right, I ams puts it away.”
“In a couple days?”
“Ja! Ams you wants to play model planes with us now?”
“Uh, maybe later? I have a couple things to do right now.”
“OK! We ams sees you laters!”
“Hi. Yeah, he called again while I was away. Yeah, I know. Look, I just don’t think we’re gonna be able to get out of it. ‘We’ means you too. Yeah, you are going. I hate him too! I hate him more! No, I definitely hate him more! Yeah, even more than that! I would…. I would take the remains and put them through a meat grinder! And, feed them to your fucking wolves. Yes, it would definitely give them a stomach ache. Look, I’m not gonna take the whole band, just Nathan. Yeah. Look, it’s just one day. And besides…. And besides…. And besides, if you don’t come with me, I’m not gonna fucking tell you ANYTHING about Ganesh!”
“What about Ganesh?”
Ofdensen slammed the phone. “Dammit, I thought we talked about you not doing that any more.”
“What about Ganesh?” asked Raziel, making herself at home in a guest chair.
“You need to swear that you’re coming along to Hell! No fucking off to Marrakesh fashion week, or whatever.”
“Marrakesh fashion week? Oo, I gotta look that up.”
“Raziel!”
“OK. OK. OK.”
Ofdensen frowned at her and held out a pinkie. “Oh fuck,” she said, but she curled her pinkie around his. “Does this really constitute a legally binding contract in 45 countries?” she asked skeptically.
“Uh-huh.”
“So spill about Ganesh!”
“I believe I just told you I wouldn’t tell you anything if you wouldn’t swear. That didn’t necessarily mean I’d tell you anything if you did swear.”
“Huh? What are you? A fucking lawyer?”
“Yeah, actually. I am.”
“Oh, shit, I forgot.” She sat for a moment, frowning. Then she smiled. “But, you WANT to tell me.”
“So help me, Raziel, you do not tell a soul!”
“Wait, wait!” she said. She brought out her knitting. “OK, go!”