Oh dear, here at Chez Lampito we has had a husband with gastro, and a dog with gastro (solution: feed them both with boiled chicken and rice and electrolytes), and the other dog hurting herself going over a fence, and their combined whining has drowned out poor little Stewie. But now he's whispering again, so here's the next chapter. We'll make it a nice long one, to make it up to you (as Dean Winchester once said to a young lady he had to stand up unexpectedly)...
Chapter Ten
Crowley put a hand to one ear. "You might've warned me before you did that," he griped accusingly. "So, where is this Madam Hot Stuff?"
"She could be anywhere, technically," Gabriel shrugged, "But you heard Krishna – she won't have peace until she finds me again! Well, call me the Peacemaker, because…"
There was a distant noise that sounded like a very angry lion.
"What the fuck was that?" yipped Crowley anxiously.
"Don't tell me you never heard of the Indian Love Call?" Gabriel grinned. He raised his voice again. "When I'm calling yoooooooo-oo-oo-ooooooo-ooooo-ooooooo…"
Another door banged open, and a towering four-armed warrior goddess, black of skin, sharp of fang and red of maw, wearing only a girdle of skulls, stamped into the room.
"You snogged that?" squeaked Crowley. "Without getting something bitten off? How?"
"Oh, she likes to make a formal entrance, don't you babe?" Gabriel beamed up at the apparition, which dropped its scimitar in apparent shock. "She's got a reputation to uphold, after all. So," he grinned cheekily, "As a small annoying blonde girl once said, I'm baaaaack!"
The monster, frozen in disbelief, wavered, shimmered, and shrank until it was an attractive woman of subcontinental descent, still staring at Gabriel as if he'd risen from the dead. Which, technically, he had.
"Loki," she breathed. "Is it… is it you?"
"Alive, kicking and in the flesh," Gabriel's smile was radiant. "You might want to look away if you didn't like 'Love, Actually' or 'Sleepless In Seattle'," he warned Crowley. "So, babe, did you miss me?"
Her face broke into a smile as she walked, no, she sashayed forward. "Oh, yes," she purred, "Yes, yes, I missed you…"
As they watched, her arms began to flame from the elbows down. She raised a hand, and flung a fireball at Gabriel's head. He barely dodged it.
"I missed you," she hissed, "But if I keep practising, I'm sure my aim will improve!"
"What did I tell you?" Gabriel burbled happily to the wincing demon, "A sense of humour will trump a six pack every ti… ow!" another fireball grazed him on the ear. "Please, honey," he waggled his eyebrows, "I know you like the rough stuff, but let's not get into the foreplay in front of guests, I'm actually not that much of an exhibitioni-OW!" Another fireball skimmed by his shoulder. "Hey!" he swatted at his smouldering robe, "You nearly got me!"
"Don't worry," she smiled like a crocodile, "I'm getting my eye in as we speak, Loki. Or should I call you, Gabriel now?"
"Yeeeep!" his wings unfurled as he dodged sideways, evading a flaming missile that would've hit him between the eyes. "Hey, you can call me whatever you like, babe, as long as you don't call me late for dinner – I'm happy with Loki, or Gabriel, whatever you'd like to call meeeEEEEE!"
"Let's start with miserable, duplicitous bastard!" she screamed, releasing another salvo as he shot into the air to dodge a searing orb that would've hit him square in the crotch. "Lying asshole skunk!"
"Now hang on, just a minute!" pleaded Gabriel, hovering and holding up his hands in a pleading gesture, "I can explain, sweetheart…"
"So can I!" Kali screeched. "The explanation is perfectly simple! You are a deceptive, deceitful, fraudulent, phony, treacherous charlatan!" She picked up a flowering plant in an ornate pot, and hurled that at him.
"OW!" Gabriel yipped. "Look, it wasn't what it looked like…"
"You LIED to me, you piece of pig dung!" The Dark Mother picked up the plinth the pot had been standing on and threw that at the dodging angel, hitting one of his wings.
"I didn't exactly lie," Gabriel stated, "I was just a bit, you know, economical with the realityeeeeeEEE!"
Another unfortunate potplant became airborne. "Don't play word games with me!" she snapped, picking up the second plinth. "You impostor!"
"I'm not! I'm not!" squealed Gabriel between aerial acrobatics, "I can't be an impostor if I was impersonating myself! OWWWW!" The second plinth found its target.
Kali pulled a decorative lamp holder from the wall. "Don't get smart with me!" she snapped, sending it hurtling into the air to smack into Gabriel's leg. "You lied to me! You told me you were an Aesir!"
"Well, I was!" Gabriel defended himself verbally and physically, "I was Loki! I still am, to them! Be nice to me, I was adopted! I wasn't deceitful, I was just… hiding my light under a bushel."
"When I'm finished with you," she hissed, picking up an ornately wrought chaise longue and tearing the back from it, "Your light under a bushel will be the least of your worries, because your head will be under the largest rock I can find, and I will fry your wings in ghee and feed what's left to the vultures!"
Gabriel twisted and turned and somersaulted, dodging flying pieces of furniture. "Please stop trying to hurt me, and let me explain," he begged.
"I don't want to hurt you," she smiled sweetly, "I want to kill you!"
"What happened to not finding peace until you had me back?" he whined.
"That was because I couldn't rest until I found you and slaughtered you for deceiving me!" she looked around; Crowley handed her a small footstool with a little bow, and she took it with a small nod of thanks and flung it upward. "Get your miserable carcass down here, you irritating two-faced underhanded little fucker!" She accepted an erotic statue from Crowley, and sent it spearing through the air.
"I'm not coming down until you promise to stop throwing things at me," pouted Gabriel, hovering with his arms crossed.
"Very well," Kali glowered, "I will stop throwing things at you."
"Promise?"
"No."
"Promise, or I'm not coming down!"
"Shall we start on the votive pots?" asked Crowley brightly, "This one has a very good heft to it."
The Dark Mother seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who are you?" she demanded. "You are a demon, aren't you?"
"Good day, Venerated Lady," he performed another small bow, "I am indeed a demon. I am Crowley, King of Hell, Adversary of Yahweh, currently most reluctant travelling companion of that annoying aerial idiot. I am searching for my little doggie, Gedda, who has been led astray by an oik that one of his scatterbrained siblings has let wander. Again. I crave your assistance, madam, have you seen my poor lost little Gedda?"
Kali subsided somewhat, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Was that her name?" she asked. "Yes, she was here, with Jimi. At least I didn't lose my girdle this time."
"She has been here?" asked Crowley. "I beg your indulgence, is she still here?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Kali smiled, "Though I would've been happy to have her stay. A happy little creature, with a delightful joy in the destruction of the sinful. She fetched me a new skull for my girdle."
"She is a people person," nodded Crowley, "But I'm so terribly worried for her, as she doesn't usually stray from home. Dear lady, did you by chance see which way she went?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you," she said, sounding truly regretful, "But I could send my vultures to search for them."
"I would be terribly grateful," Crowley told her.
"Is it safe for me to come down now?" asked Gabriel hopefully.
"That depends," Kali rumbled, "On your definition of 'safe'."
"Well, how about, 'Not in imminent danger of having something thrown at me, having my head crushed by a large rock, or being set on fire'?" he suggested.
She eyed him carefully. "Very well," she agreed, "Although," she held out a hand, and her dropped scimitar sprang into it, "I make no promises about sudden and violent decapitation."
"Ohhh, I love it when you get all assertive," Gabriel drifted down to the floor, grinning. "It'd almost be worth watching the world burn, just to see you doing your thang."
"You may be the piece of Yahweh's Creation I start with," she hissed.
"Just promise me you'll gaze into my eyes as you do it," he asked wistfully, "Then I can die happy."
"If you're mocking me," she began.
"Hey!" he cut her off, "You can call me a liar, a charlatan, a shyster, and even late for dinner, but don't accuse me of that! I have never done that! You're too important."
"In a cosmic sense, or to you?" she snapped.
"Both," he replied promptly.
Kali's glare subsided somewhat. "I'm surprised you didn't manage to trickster your way around your tantruming big brother," she commented.
"I'm not," he sighed. "He taught me everything I know. Well, apart from the thing with the moustache and the pizza box. But the important thing is, Tall Dark & Emo and Bonkomatic Man got you out of there, and went on to derail his hissy fit."
"Being who you really are, you should've stayed out of it," she said, "You should've let us handle it."
"He might've killed you!" yelped Gabriel. "We could've lost Ganesh as it was! I didn't know whether Odin and Baldur would make it back!"
"He killed you, idiot!" she snapped.
"Better me than you!" he shot back, "There are plenty more angels, but there's only one you! Who would dance, if not you? You think I'd want to live, not knowing if I'd ever see you dance again?"
"Oh, so it was selfishness, then," she sneered, the heat draining from her tone.
"If that's how you want to look at it, yep," Gabriel agreed immediately.
"Oh, you… you… " she glared at him, "You… you infuriating idiot!"
"Maybe," he risked a grin, "But I'm your infuriating idiot."
"You haven't learned a damned thing, have you?" she humphed at him. "Although you seem to have acquired a more polite class of friend," she smiled at Crowley. "Even if he is one of Lucifer's get."
"Hey, he's not my friend, he's my nephew!" Gabriel chirped cheerfully, as Crowley muttered "Well thank you very much".
Kali thought about that. "You have my sincere condolences," she said to Crowley.
"That is the kindest thing anybody has said to me for a long time," he sighed. "And I thank you for it. Are you sure you don't want this nice, hefty pot? The lid has quite a sharp edge, and if thrown like a discus could probably make him squeal very loudly indeed."
"Oh, she has ways and means of making me squeal, dear nephew," Gabriel waggled his eyebrows, making Crowley yelp in horror as Kali rolled her eyes, "But it's not something we do for an audience."
"I thought you were here on a quest," Kali prodded Gabriel, "According to Crowley, you are looking for his dog. And presumably, for Jimi. So perhaps you should be asking for my assistance with that."
"Would you like me to beg?" Gabriel asked solicitously. "I'd be happy to beg. And while I'm down there on my knees, I could spend a bit of time just worshiping you blindly…"
"Maybe later," she smiled enigmatically at him, and moved to a window, where she issued a rasping call. It was answered by a couple of vultures, who flew to her summons, perching carefully on the window sill.
"Cocksucker," rasped one. "Cocksucker. Cocksucker. Polly wanna liver. Cocksucker."
"Knobjockey," crackled the other, "Knobjockey. Kraaaaak! Who's a stinky boy? Knobjockey."
"I have a task for you," she told them, conferring with the birds as she set them on their search.
"Cocksucker!" "Knobjockey!" they took flight, circled to gain height, and set off in opposite directions.
"They will find your canine friends," Kali assured them, "Or at the very least, they will be able to find out where they went from here."
"That is so good of you, madam," Crowley thanked her, "And if I might ask another favour, given that your base of worship is an area of the world famed for its tea, might a traveller wearied by the distance, and the utterly insufferable company of this archidiot, might I beg you, might I implore you, for a cup of tea?"
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Kali smiled at Crowley, "Tell me, are you familiar with the sweets called jabelis?"
"Jalebis are good," Gabriel waggled his eyebrows, "They're my favourite. She makes them in obscene shapes, sometimes."
"Be silent," she sniffed, "I am talking to someone a lot more polite than you."
"Oh, come on," Gabriel grinned, "Since when does the Destroyer And Redeemer care about polite? Are you telling me that The Dark Mother wants to sit around and discuss tea and sweets with Mr Midget there…"
"Hey!" snapped Crowley, "I'm taller than you!"
"…When I could be licking the syrup off your…"
"Aaaaaaargh!" yipped Crowley. "What happened to not being an exhibitionist?"
Gabriel wasn't listening; he was kissing his way along one of Kali's arms, Gomez-to-Morticia style. "I can't help it," he asserted, "You're the mango in my lassi, you're the sesame seeds on my pooris, you're the Taj to my Mahal, you're the sacred vulture to my incomplete cremation, you're the monkeys in my ransacked kitchen, you're the cholera in my Ganges…"
Kali smiled at him. "I should've known you weren't Aesir," she told him, "None of them would ever have your way with words."
Gabriel waved a hand; a mug of tea – it was blue and had A HELLHOUND OWNS ME on it – appeared on a small table, along with a plate of sticky Indian pastries. "We could set him up with one of your sisters," he suggested. "Like a double date."
"Don't you dare!" shrieked Crowley, grabbing up the tea and the plate, and looking around for an escape.
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Gabriel said, "The Wisdoms are capable of the most stimulating conversations."
"Oh, so that's what you're calling it these days?" Kali cocked an eyebrow. "Just talking about it was never your style, Loki. Or should I say, Gabriel."
"But I love to talk about it!" he beamed. "Seriously, you know how much I love oral sex!"
Crowley let out a little squawk of horror, and scuttled back out the door.
The noises that emanated from the palace, even through the doors – apparently Kali was a screamer, and Gabriel's True Voice didn't leave much to the imagination – drove him to put distance between his travelling companion and his paramour. He sat on a low stone wall overlooking the cremation ground: it was a bleak landscape of bleached scree, scrubby unenthusiastic clumps of foliage, and haphazard pyres. The greasy smoke rose lazily into the air across scatters of burned bone. The smell of charred flesh hung in the air.
It was peaceful, and cosy, and it made him feel homesick.
Crowley sighed, took a sip of his tea, and inspected one of the jalebis carefully before biting into it. It really was very good.
There was a heavy flapping sound, and a vulture landed on the wall beside him.
"Pigfucker!" it squawked, "Pigfucker! Hallo! Hallo! Polly wanna blowjob! Pigfucker!"
Crowley eyed it with a sort of desperately resigned despair. "You know, after travelling with that dementedly cheerful pillock, this could possibly develop into the most bearable conversation I get to have for some time," he mused. After a moment's thought, he put down a jalebi in front of it. "I know you're supposed to be a carrion eater, but these really are quite delicious."
The vulture snapped up the treat. "Pigfucker!" it flapped its wings, "Pigfucker! Who's a perverted boy, then? Hallo! Hallo!"
"I hope your name isn't really Polly," he sighed again. "That's just cruelty to animals." He watched some of the other vultures, who were pecking around at the scorched remains on pyres. "There's something terribly sensible about that," he said to himself, "I mean, why bother chasing around after you dinner, when you can just sit around and wait for something to die?"
"Hallo! Hallo! Pigfucker!" the vulture eyed the plate of pastries meaningfully. "Polly wanna blowjob, pigfucker!"
Crowley handed over another sweet. "The whole thermal soaring thing," he went on to himself, "Why exert yourself with all that awkward flapping when you can let physics do the work for you?" He watched the shapes in the sky drift in lazy circles. "I do a lot of that," he confided to the vulture, "Going around in circles. But there's no tasty treats at the end of it, just more headaches, more paperwork, and more conniving bastards trying to kill me." He eyed the bird. "I suspect I could learn a lot from vultures," he muttered mournfully. "I think you're smarter than you let on."
"Hallo! Hallo!" rasped the vulture, bobbing its bald head. "Pigfucker! Pigfucker! Dickhead!" With a flap and a swoop, it bounced into the air, and perched precariously on his shoulder.
"Oi!" squealed Crowley in surprise, "What do you think you're doing? You're not a parrot! Get off!"
"Pigfucker! Pigfucker!" The vulture bobbed its head in excitement.
"Stop it! Shoo! Shoo!" Crowley waved his hands. The vulture just broke into a little dance. "Who do I look like, Long John bloody Silver? Get off!"
"Polly wanna blowjob?" it said plaintively, nodding at the sweets again.
"Oh, Lucifer's bum," griped Crowley, "Here. Help yourself." He moved the plate sideways, giving the vulture room to perch next to it.
"Pigfucker!" it squawked happily, hopping down to peck at the pastries. "Hallo! Hallo! Dickhead! These are damned good, aren't they? I think I'm addicted."
"I think there might be rosewater in the syrup… wha..?" Crowley gawped at the vulture. "You just talked! You can talk!"
"You didn't work that out five minutes ago?" asked the vulture. "Pigfucker? Hallo, hallo? Dickhead? Thought you were hallucinating, did you?"
"Well, er," the confused King of Hell began, "I thought you were just repeating amusingly obscene phrases."
"Well, yeah," agreed the vulture, "Herself finds it funny, and it annoys some of her more uptight sisters. Her little Viking friend never fails to find it hysterical. Although I do hear tell, he's a lot more feathery than previously thought. She didn't sound happy about it." It cocked its head. "Actually, I tell a lie, right now, she sounds quite happy about it."
"Oh, hell's bells," wailed Crowley, "I can't cope with this!"
"Won't have to for long," the vulture told him, looking skyward. "Look, there's Tony and Muriel, back again. Presumably they've figured out which way your dogs went. So, let's head back inside, we can pick up the info, and be on our way."
"And not before time… what do you mean, we?" demanded Crowley.
"Well, it's imprinting, innit?" answered the vulture. "You fed me, and you're one of the few people I've ever met who can get past the stereotype, and recognizes that we're actually intelligent birds. Mostly, people just see the outside – oooooh, look at all the blood, look at all that dead meat, look at the pieces of corpse, look at the stubby little bodies, and they're bald, what horrible things they must be…"
Crowley looked thoughtful. "Actually," he said slowly, "I'm more familiar with that mindset than you might think."
"And if I find somebody who's willing to feed me sweets, well, I'm gunna follow him, know what I mean?" the vulture ruffled its feathers. "A whole plate. You must be a real bird lover."
"Yes, I am," Crowley replied sourly, "I love them, roasted, and served up with roast potatoes, with rosemary shoved into every orifice…"
"You kinky bastard," chuckled the vulture.
"I only gave you that stuff to get you off my shoulder!" Crowley snapped. "You'll damage my jacket!"
"No problem, chum," the vulture shrugged, "We'll just get some padding for you. Like a falconer. Only I don't do falconry. I don't chase stuff. Unless it's dead, as you so observantly surmised, squire. And I'm not gunna wear jesses, all right, I do the obscene words to show willing, but the whole B&D thing just isn't me…"
"Look, I don't want you to sit on my shoulder!" Crowley insisted. "I don't want you to follow me!"
"No worries, then," the vulture assured him, "I can sit on your arm, but I'm a bit heavy. Shoulder might be more comfortable for both of us." Its eyes tracked the returning vultures heading back for Kali's palace. "Why don't we go and see of we can scrounge some more pastries before we head out?" It spread its wings in preparation to take off.
"Hey, get this through your bald head," Crowley griped, "Polly is not going anywhere! Polly is a homebody! Polly wanna stay put!"
"Yeah, probably," the vulture agreed, "Good thing my name's Dennis, then."
"I was never sinful enough to deserve this," Crowley muttered, as Dennis lurched into the air. "Sister Josephus was big on the fire and brimstone in catechism class, but she never warned me that sinners would be dragged through the pantheons by a ridiculously cheerful archangel-shaped lunatic and stalked by a talkative vulture. It's probably that other cheerful bastard, Buddha, and his bloody karma. His karma ran over my dogma. I hate them all." With a sigh, he set off after Dennis the vulture, back towards Kali's palace.
Dennis the vulture is all Avalonemyst's fault. He can't help it if he smells awful. He's a vulture. It serves Crowley right for being rude to Buddha.
Reviews are the Unexpectedly Interesting Conversations You Encounter As You Snack On The Delicious Indian Sweets Of Life!