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thessalianThis was just hysterical, in my head.
After taking his lumps, literally and metaphorically speaking, at the hands of his father, Carl went to find the rest of HIPPIE. After all, it wouldn’t do to leave them hanging around a party full of deities unsupervised. I have enough problems with these fuckers, really – I mean, Rachel won’t have a single damn problem because she wears that bloody polite secretarial face with every fucker going, more or less, and they’ll probably just find Annette a fuckin’ laugh riot but Emma’s sort of hit-and-miss and Mike...
Much as he looked down on the little camera-happy weed they’d somehow picked up, Carl found himself not much liking the idea of something happening to Mike. He told himself that if anyone was going to have the pleasure of doing harm to Mike, it ought to be him, but it turned into ‘no one fucks up my friend but me’ and he stifled a sigh even as he picked up the pace to the main function room.
It was, he noted, going surprisingly well. Annette was over by the punch bowl, having a conversation with Eris, Loki and Anansi, which filled Carl with a sense of unnameable dread. Rachel, far from being polite and stuffy, was in a corner, apparently having a rant to Themis ... probably about the trials and tribulations of having to deal with this particular set of housemates. Carl actually grinned a little at that, glad that Rachel had found some way of venting. Then he remembered that as one of the divine adjudicators, Themis had an obligation to do something about this state of affairs if properly appealed to, and that She would end up handing the whole thing over to Nemesis, who had a fairly twisted sense of justice about these things. The grin turned into a whimper very, very quickly.
Emma wasn’t hard to find either. Emma Thorne had a way with animals that Carl would have found almost enviable if he wasn’t more interested in local fauna as trophy sources rather than helpmeets and companions. She’d made nearly instant friends with Frith, the big violent bastard of a Maine Coon Mike had brought in with him when he’d moved, and Frith hated everyone, or so Mike insisted. But the huge furry monster of a cat spent most of his time when Emma was home wound around her ankles or curled up in her lap. He’d seen Emma charm guard dogs, alley cats, urban foxes, unbroken horses and, on one memorable occasion, a unicorn.
So it really shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to Carl that Cerberus had made a beeline for Emma at some point when his father was reading him the riot act. The huge black three-headed guardian of Hades – both place and god – was generally known for his vicious temperament and the fact that he could be lulled to sleep with music. What was not generally known was the truth that Emma was espousing as Cerberus fawned and pranced in front of her: "You’re just a big old softie, really, aren’t you?"
Cerberus all but nodded at this, middle head panting and grinning hopefully while the other two were being rambunctiously egalitarian about its slobber, to the great displeasure of Kali on the left and Susan-no-o on the right. They moved off, grumbling, and Emma retrieved a whole goose from the buffet table. "Oh, all right then. Come on, Cerberus. Sit. Stay. Okay, now ... play dead?"
There was an earth-shaking impact as Cerberus dropped, rolled over and puts his legs in the air. Emma giggled and held up the goose, while Carl moved to her side, saying, "I dunno whether Hades and Persephone’ll bitch you out or praise your arse off for this shite, Ems".
Emma grinned at him and then tossed the goose to the three-headed dog, which was now sitting up and begging. The middle head caught the goose, and the left and right heads came in to tear off chunks of fowl as Emma responded, "Hey, I have little enough to say to anyone; Asclepius didn’t really want to know when I started in on dissections anyway. So I entertain myself quietly. How was Daddy Dearest?"
Carl groaned. "Don’t even get me bloody well started, Emma. I’ll probably be ready to talk about it at about half-past never in a million fuckin’ years, okay?" Cerberus’ middle head nuzzled against Emma, nearly knocking her down, while the left-side head started licking Carl. "Euuugh. Fuckin’ helldog-spit. Hell-spit. Yick!"
Emma shook her head with a small laugh. "You don’t mind blood, urine, vomit and other less identifiable fluids ... but you have a problem with dog-drool. I am shocked and amazed."
Carl wrinkled his nose at her and gave her the V-sign. "Fuck off, Emma. That other shit’s a badge of honour, most often. Means you did some shit to earn it, like. Dog-spit … especially helldog-spit ... that’s just fuckin’ gross."
After giving Carl a supremely indulgent smile, she asked, "How’re the others doing?"
"I don’t even want to bloody well think about the conversation Annette’s having with chaos and trickster gods," said Carl, looking over to where Coyote had joined the cluster around his pink-haired companion. "Oh, shite. Um ... anyway, Rachel’s bitching to Themis about us and I’m expecting a fucked up week or two at home. Fuck, I hate these parties. Stupid fuckin’ Dad. Stupid fuckin’ Imbolc. Stupid fuckin’--"
"Where’s Mike?"
Two words guaranteed to freeze the blood in such company. A quick look around the room showed Ares, Athena, Tyr and Morrigan advancing on a corner of the room. There was a brief flicker of light that Carl and Emma both recognised by now as a flash bulb, and they exchanged looks.
"That’s bad, right?"
"Fuckin’ war gods. Fuckin’ short fuses and no sense of humour. Fuckin’ Mike. C’mon; let’s go exercise some bloody diplomacy and tact and similar bollocks."
Emma looked at him a moment longer, sighed and said, "At least I brought my med kit. ...Will gods leave anything of you to patch up?"
Snarling a little at that, Carl grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along after him to rescue their photographer.
After taking his lumps, literally and metaphorically speaking, at the hands of his father, Carl went to find the rest of HIPPIE. After all, it wouldn’t do to leave them hanging around a party full of deities unsupervised. I have enough problems with these fuckers, really – I mean, Rachel won’t have a single damn problem because she wears that bloody polite secretarial face with every fucker going, more or less, and they’ll probably just find Annette a fuckin’ laugh riot but Emma’s sort of hit-and-miss and Mike...
Much as he looked down on the little camera-happy weed they’d somehow picked up, Carl found himself not much liking the idea of something happening to Mike. He told himself that if anyone was going to have the pleasure of doing harm to Mike, it ought to be him, but it turned into ‘no one fucks up my friend but me’ and he stifled a sigh even as he picked up the pace to the main function room.
It was, he noted, going surprisingly well. Annette was over by the punch bowl, having a conversation with Eris, Loki and Anansi, which filled Carl with a sense of unnameable dread. Rachel, far from being polite and stuffy, was in a corner, apparently having a rant to Themis ... probably about the trials and tribulations of having to deal with this particular set of housemates. Carl actually grinned a little at that, glad that Rachel had found some way of venting. Then he remembered that as one of the divine adjudicators, Themis had an obligation to do something about this state of affairs if properly appealed to, and that She would end up handing the whole thing over to Nemesis, who had a fairly twisted sense of justice about these things. The grin turned into a whimper very, very quickly.
Emma wasn’t hard to find either. Emma Thorne had a way with animals that Carl would have found almost enviable if he wasn’t more interested in local fauna as trophy sources rather than helpmeets and companions. She’d made nearly instant friends with Frith, the big violent bastard of a Maine Coon Mike had brought in with him when he’d moved, and Frith hated everyone, or so Mike insisted. But the huge furry monster of a cat spent most of his time when Emma was home wound around her ankles or curled up in her lap. He’d seen Emma charm guard dogs, alley cats, urban foxes, unbroken horses and, on one memorable occasion, a unicorn.
So it really shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to Carl that Cerberus had made a beeline for Emma at some point when his father was reading him the riot act. The huge black three-headed guardian of Hades – both place and god – was generally known for his vicious temperament and the fact that he could be lulled to sleep with music. What was not generally known was the truth that Emma was espousing as Cerberus fawned and pranced in front of her: "You’re just a big old softie, really, aren’t you?"
Cerberus all but nodded at this, middle head panting and grinning hopefully while the other two were being rambunctiously egalitarian about its slobber, to the great displeasure of Kali on the left and Susan-no-o on the right. They moved off, grumbling, and Emma retrieved a whole goose from the buffet table. "Oh, all right then. Come on, Cerberus. Sit. Stay. Okay, now ... play dead?"
There was an earth-shaking impact as Cerberus dropped, rolled over and puts his legs in the air. Emma giggled and held up the goose, while Carl moved to her side, saying, "I dunno whether Hades and Persephone’ll bitch you out or praise your arse off for this shite, Ems".
Emma grinned at him and then tossed the goose to the three-headed dog, which was now sitting up and begging. The middle head caught the goose, and the left and right heads came in to tear off chunks of fowl as Emma responded, "Hey, I have little enough to say to anyone; Asclepius didn’t really want to know when I started in on dissections anyway. So I entertain myself quietly. How was Daddy Dearest?"
Carl groaned. "Don’t even get me bloody well started, Emma. I’ll probably be ready to talk about it at about half-past never in a million fuckin’ years, okay?" Cerberus’ middle head nuzzled against Emma, nearly knocking her down, while the left-side head started licking Carl. "Euuugh. Fuckin’ helldog-spit. Hell-spit. Yick!"
Emma shook her head with a small laugh. "You don’t mind blood, urine, vomit and other less identifiable fluids ... but you have a problem with dog-drool. I am shocked and amazed."
Carl wrinkled his nose at her and gave her the V-sign. "Fuck off, Emma. That other shit’s a badge of honour, most often. Means you did some shit to earn it, like. Dog-spit … especially helldog-spit ... that’s just fuckin’ gross."
After giving Carl a supremely indulgent smile, she asked, "How’re the others doing?"
"I don’t even want to bloody well think about the conversation Annette’s having with chaos and trickster gods," said Carl, looking over to where Coyote had joined the cluster around his pink-haired companion. "Oh, shite. Um ... anyway, Rachel’s bitching to Themis about us and I’m expecting a fucked up week or two at home. Fuck, I hate these parties. Stupid fuckin’ Dad. Stupid fuckin’ Imbolc. Stupid fuckin’--"
"Where’s Mike?"
Two words guaranteed to freeze the blood in such company. A quick look around the room showed Ares, Athena, Tyr and Morrigan advancing on a corner of the room. There was a brief flicker of light that Carl and Emma both recognised by now as a flash bulb, and they exchanged looks.
"That’s bad, right?"
"Fuckin’ war gods. Fuckin’ short fuses and no sense of humour. Fuckin’ Mike. C’mon; let’s go exercise some bloody diplomacy and tact and similar bollocks."
Emma looked at him a moment longer, sighed and said, "At least I brought my med kit. ...Will gods leave anything of you to patch up?"
Snarling a little at that, Carl grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along after him to rescue their photographer.