Chapter Seven Trash Panda Translator
Ella yawned. The sun was creeping through her blinds, and she could tell by the angle that after kind of feeling down last night and a restless start to her sleep, she'd definitely made up for it in the morning and, ugh, possibly into this afternoon. She blinked back at the beaming light and then rolled over in bed. She sighed a little when she noticed that one particular angel was missing.
Well as long as he hadn't tried to fight her toaster again over its "demonic possession," then there probably wasn't too much trouble Sir Knight could get into.
Probably.
Stretching a bit, Ella grabbed a hair tie from beside her bed and put her hair up in a quick top knot. Then, naturally she grabbed her phone, and her jaw dropped. Holy crapballs.
Her phone had blown up. Like she'd never had it like this before, not even that one time she'd accidentally posted her pool floaty vid to her public Wobble and not just her locked down one. She had to turn off the notifications for the app first cause even as she was just trying to go through the red bubble that had popped up, the damn thing just dinged and dinged. However, once she was able to get it to stop pinging her, Ella was able to get into her Wobble…well, Rascal the Raccoon's Wobble and check what was going on.
She'd been tired last night in all the drama, but Ella had managed to post a short video of Charlie and Michael playing with the Jack-in-the-Box, and of all things, Charlie trying to calm his fuzzy uncle down when the jack popped up. She'd only posted it about twelve hours ago (and yeah, it was definitely past noon) and now the account had almost 25,000 likes or reWobs.
"Oh man!"
Ella grinned to herself, an idea coming to mind, as she made sure her notifications were well and truly disengaged for anything Wobble-related. Then, she hurried to her kitchen. "Michael dude, I think I have good—"
She stopped once she entered her main room, which because of how small apartments in L.A. were was a mix of her gaming/living room and a tiny galley kitchen with a breakfast bar. Okay, not exactly that but it did have a tiny window there that kind of counted as a breakfast sitting counter if you squinted real hard. But that wasn't why she'd stopped. Her tiny rabbit warren of a place she was more than used to.
However, she wasn't used to a raccoon sprawled out at the bottom of her wide-open fridge with a bottle of whipped cream in his paws and still squirting the dregs (she heard more air than she saw cream spit out) into his muzzle.
"Michael!"
He tried to sit up, but clearly someone had gotten hungry this morning and gorged all the stuff on the lower shelves. Instead, Michael burped a little and rolled onto his back. "Hello, My Lady. I have discovered sustenance."
She groaned and grabbed a couple of dish towels before making a beeline for him and kneeling to his level. Michael was a mess. It wasn't just the sticky, dried splashed of whipped cream in his whiskers and face fur. Oh no. Clearly Sir Fuzzy Britches had also found her chocolate sauce and finished that first. It was all over his onesie, his beard, and even his paws. Ella cursed in Spanish under her breath when she saw all the tiny, chocolate-covered paw prints on her fridge and the linoleum of her kitchen floor.
"You discovered turning yourself into a mapache sundae!"
"I do not know what that is."
She helped get him into a sitting position and then forcibly yanked the whipped cream from his grubby little paws. "It's you, dingbat."
"I am St. Michael, the Defender of the—"
"Fridge apparently," she interrupted. "Michael why didn't you just wake me up?"
He regarded her and seemed to be coming down from his sugar high, at least a little. His little muzzle wibbled as he talked. "I am sorry. You were so sad last night, and I did not wish to wake you, but I was famished and I found out how to open the ice box…and discovered the amazing elixir!"
Michael pointed to the empty bottle of Hershey's chocolate on the floor beside him.
She sighed and tried to clean him off but it just matted the fur of his face worse. "It's chocolate. Wait…you've never had it?"
His whiskers twitched again. "I do not remember if I have, but it is like ambrosia. Truly."
"Ha, yeah well it's not a Greek god delicacy."
"No, that's not as good," he said matter of factly. "That was…I finished all of it so fast, I barely realized it."
She continued trying to clean him up, running the dish rags under the water in the sink. His face got slightly less sticky, but he was honestly going to need a full out intervention. "So, wait, actual, mythical ambrosia is real?"
He nodded. "It is not as good as the brown liquid though. This Mr. Hershey is very talented."
Ella decided to file away both the fact that Michael had hung out with apparently Greek deities—and how did multiple types of gods co-exist anyway—and bite back the urge to ask Michael a laundry list of what did or didn't exist. Because if he said unicorn, she'd lose focus and make him show her wear, crusted up fur and all.
Focus.
"You're a mess."
"I am happy!" His tail poofed up and wagged a bit. "This is truly a revolutionary age."
She rolled her eyes. "Sure is. Now, Mike, I get to show you the wonders of a bathtub."
"We had those, well bathing tubs. In the Silver City there are lovely hot springs to help lead coursing water over our feathers."
"Yes, great, then you know the drill," she said, opening her arms up and hefting him onto her hip. She was going to have to dump his onesie and her sleep shirt in the wash after with all the extra bells and whistles and Shout pre-treating. Even then, she wasn't sure she could save herself from a chocolate mess. "I'm gonna…ok, so Margaret's back in her room so let's get everyone rearranged."
She opened the door to her bathroom and, per usual, Margaret was sleeping in a corner of Ella's bathtub. The chicken opened both eyes at the noise. Then, she puffed up her feathers and squawked loudly at Michael who shifted in Ella's grip and then jumped, launching himself to the ground. Ella lunged, trying to catch him before he fell and then just stared, dumbfounded, as he sprouted his tiny wings mid-air and flapped over to the far lip of the tub from Margaret. Michael took a perch there and started chittering at Margaret. As Ella watched, the chicken calmed and bawked back a bit. Eventually, hopping up from the tub herself and waddling out to the living room to sit. Margaret was used to doing that when Ella either got ready in the mornings or when she cleaned the habitat every few days. However, usually Ella had to coax or carry Margaret to get the chicken to sit on the sofa.
But with a few chitters from Michael, she'd just gone on her way.
Ella gaped at him. "How did you do that?"
He shrugged and slid down into the tub a bit like a child with a slide. "It was not hard. My twin speaks every human language, but I speak all animal ones, even before I was like this. She and I merely had a bargaining session. I get this tub now, and she wants extra mealworms all week."
"Dude those aren't cheap. She has to eat them live."
"But now she is happily accommodating us."
Ella rolled her eyes. "So, hey, wait…does that mean you can ask Margaret other stuff for me?"
"Like?" He asked, twitching his ear in thought.
"I dunno! What if she doesn't like me?"
"You are the Lady Ella. Of course, she must like you. You are very nice."
It was somehow soothing as weird as Michael was (and he was so so weird) that he stated how much he liked her as if it were as simple a fact as the sky being blue or whatever. Since Pete…she hadn't been sure if there was anything there to like at all. But she was 95% sure that Michael thought she was nice for herself not because of her refrigerator.
Okay maybe 85%.
She shook her head and walked back into her bedroom long enough to grab a few items from their shopping expedition yesterday. When she returned she dropped the pair of swim trunks for toddlers, complete with brightly colored starfish and crabs on it, before Michael.
"Change."
"If I remember bathing correctly—"
"Kind of hope you do, dude."
"It is done in the nude."
She blanched at that. For so many reasons. First because he was sentient and usually a full angel and just not appropriate, and also because now she knew if his dad wasn't pissed at him, then Michael would look just like Lucifer, well minus a bum right side. And while she had seen Lucifer naked before, she wasn't gonna offer to bathe him either.
"No, you put on the swim trunks. That or I just leave you here to try and fix it all yourself, and mapache, your fur is getting crustier and knottier by the second."
He frowned and turned around, so that only his rounded haunches and tail faced her. She did the same, facing the door until the onesie with Timon and Puumba sailed by her. Hakuna Matata indeed. When Ella turned back, Michael was in his new trunks and sitting in the center of the tub.
"Is this sufficient?"
"Yeah, gonna save me years of therapy…well, if I could explain to any shrink not Linda that my pet raccoon is actually the Sword of God but you know what I mean."
"I am not a pet. If anything, you are my assistant on my holy mission."
She chuckled, "To get unpunished?"
He nodded as she turned on the water to warm but not too hot and added a bit of bubble bath from under her sink. It was scented like coconut so while the aroma was pleasant, she really hoped Sir Knight wouldn't try and eat it.
Michael's fur poofed up at first and he chittered at the water encroaching on him, something that wasn't even language such as it was between them. Just frustrated squeaks, and Ella figured that was just instinct and raccoon brain not being thrilled with a bath to start. Soon enough, however, Michael seemed to get himself in hand as she sat down at the edge of the tub and picked up her shampoo. She had some baby shampoo around from a few pet sitting gigs for her neighbor's yorkie. Those were super sensitive dogs so she couldn't just bathe it in anything. Ella assumed if it was all no more tears formula, then it would be good enough for the Prince of Heaven.
Wetting her hands a bit under the faucet even as the bubbles continued to mount, she gathered up the bottle and pumped a few dollops of the shampoo into her hands.
"Okay, you're just a mess."
Michael, and she'd kind of called it, nodded even as he snapped at a bubble. "This did not taste as it smelled."
"It's not for food, Michael."
"It smells amazing."
"Yeah, so you'll smell better," she added.
"I do not smell bad. You wound me, M'Lady."
She laughed as she eased the fur over his head and his back, being careful over his bad ear and around the stitches there. "You lived in a dumpster. Honestly, this was probably way overdue, my dude."
"I am not a child! I can do it."
She nodded, giving him some space now that she'd gotten him started. Michael wasn't completely wrong about that, but he wasn't quite accurate either. He was still partly the archangel he'd been and she was trying to get him back again, but he was also very subject to the whims of raccoon brain, which was stuck on excitable toddler. Actually, considering of the two of them, Charlie was calmer, maybe very excitable was a better description.
But for now, Michael seemed intent on his mission: washing through his fur with his tiny yet adept hands and now working out the chocolate sauce in his tail. She smiled a bit at the way his tongue stuck out in his concentration, even as she pulled out a couple cute toys she'd bought in secret from the Boogie Boogaloo. After all, eventually the Angel of Fear was gonna have to get washed up.
Smiling, Ella tossed the rubber duck and a couple mesh sea animals (a shark and a octopus) into the tub. The octopus was basically loofa like, so she also reached for some mango body wash and sudsed up the fake cephalopod.
Michael stopped obsessing on his tail and then stared, tail poofed to maximum levels and eyes wide, at the little, bright yellow duck and its matching sailor cap. "What is this?"
"It's a rubber ducky. It's to make bath time fun." And because why the Hell not, Ella hummed a bit to herself and eventually sang a few bars of Ernie's famous rubber ducky song from Sesame Street as she, too, finished working out the snarls in Michael's tail with the octo-loofa and the body scrub.
"Does it?" He hadn't reached for it yet, but his whiskers were twitching furiously.
She chuckled. "Well, I always liked them as a kid."
That seemed to be enough encouragement because Michael grabbed the duck and started helping it "swim" through the water, moving it clutched in his good, left paw. "Yes, well, this is…soothing."
She nodded and continued her work, humming the song again as Michael relaxed, moving between helping his ducky swim and occasionally washing the sponge sock off under the running faucet, feeling out every edge of it with his dexterous hands.
After bath time, she'd forced him to scrub the kitchen clean himself. He had, maybe a little, as she'd watched grumbled to himself about how she had to be a sorceress after all to get him to clean such a mess. After all, he was a Prince, and such menial labor was beneath him. His little whiskers had fallen when she'd pointed out that meant he thought labor was perfect for her instead. But, after that, and her getting some clothes on and Michael getting readied in some very tiny, very cute jeans (and she wondered how Linda refrained from buying out a Baby Gap or something for Charlie) and a Peppa Pig t-shirt, they'd taken a break on the sofa. Even Margaret was with them. Granted, no matter how much Michael sweet talked her, Margaret stayed on her side of the sofa, but the three of them were more or less (probably way less in Margaret's case) settled in and watching more Disney.
Or, as Michael called it, Sir Mickey of the House of Mouse. This time, it was Aladdin and she might have created a monster already. She was probably gonna end up working through the whole animated oeuvre with Michael pretty fast. Well, hopefully not. Because Amenadiel just had to get an audience with the Big Guy.
His dad had to care deep down, right?
Hadn't almost being murdered in a dumpster by a giant honking King Kong of a raccoon been punishment enough?
As the credits rolled, Ella grabbed the remote from Michael. For someone who basically remembered the most modern tech as being leeches to help with "medical procedures" (read blood letting), Michael had adapted fast to how her Roku worked. Probably was just super motivated to continue watching animated musicals.
Honestly? Relatable.
However, she had to talk to him about an idea…
"I would like to see the next one, M'Lady," he said, reaching for the remote. She set it to her opposite side and shook her head when he sprouted his wings and clearly planned to fly over to yank it back. "Do not tarry! I have to see how about the King of Thieves now!"
She laughed. "Trust me, dude, the straight-to-DVD cash grabs always suck."
"But more new worlds!"
"Right, but don't say I didn't warn you." Ella pulled out her phone and clicked to her Wobbletube. By now, at almost five p.m., the video of Michael and Charlie had close to 40,000 engagements, and her phone was still blowing up. She handed her cell over to him. "Michael, you're popular."
He nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. I am the head of His legion." He paused a moment and wibbled his muzzle. "Well, I will be when I fix this. I should have many fans, yes."
She snorted a bit at his angelic ego but then scrolled through the two images so far on Rascal's feed. Between both the small video from the other day with his wings out in her place and now with Charlie and him, her burgeoning account had close to 80k followers. That was nuts, but she figured the baby-mapache double team had gone viral somewhere last night.
"I do not understand all the numbers and graphs. I know what numbers are, but I do not know the context for this," he said, as she scrolled through her—well his—stats for him.
"It means that you're not exactly viral but that your mapache alter ego could actually do real well on Wobbletube and Instagram. I…look money can be tight, and I have some student loans to pay off."
"What are those?"
She huffed a bit. "Truly evil demons from Hell, Michael."
"Then oh! I shall slay them for you!" He hopped up then, grabbing his tiny cocktail sword and causing Margaret to squawk and finally head back to her tub. "Let me at them!"
"You can't, uh, slay Student Loan Demons," she said, making air quotes for the new term. "You have to give tithes, and they go away."
"That is most corrupt. How dare they take offerings as the Church does for Father. What blasphemy!"
She nodded. "Right exactly, and I do stuff besides my forensics job to help feed the demons and give my offerings, but I think I can do it faster and, uh, banish them forever, if we can make you a pet influencer."
"I am not a pet."
"Yes, I know that, and you know that, but 'Rascal's' fans don't. I just mean, I think it would be unethical not to ask your permission, but can I keep taking pics of you and videos of you and Charlie? I will ask Linda too, but I really believe that 'Rascal' can become wicked popular."
His eyes glittered. "Even more than I already am?"
"Oh yeah, big time. And then you can get a blue check mark and brand deals and…I hope? But would you mind as long as you're here and we work on getting your dad to change you back helping me out? I…would you let me work on the 'Rascal' account and do daily pictures and posts? It would really help me, but you'd have to agree. We'd split the money too, since you're the cute and I'm bringing the brains."
"I have both," he sniffed, and then kind of spoiled his argument by leaning over to gnaw at an itch on his left knee which huh. Raccoons were pretty flexible. Who knew?
"Right, but I'd feel bad if you thought I was exploiting you. I mean, this is a partners deal, fifty-fifty on everything. It might be nice once you're back to your old self to have some money, right?"
He stopped gnawing at his itch and sat up normally. "Lady Ella, all I need to know is that me being on the Instagrams would make your demons—these terrifying demons of Studentloan—go away. You saved my life and my ear. And you have helped me get closer to an audience again with Father than I have done on my own in six months at least. Of course, I would be happy to aid you in your quest to banish such foul beasts."
He stood then and gave a courtly bow before face planting due to the wobbly and overstuffed cushion beneath him.
She chuckled and helped him up. Then, Ella stuck out her hand and waited for him to take it with his left paw. "Okay, Michael, it's a deal. But 50-50, all right?"
"That is fine. Now, what do I have to do?"
She bit her lower lip and thought about what could be the post for the day before spying the old, knock off Persian rug (it was more bathmat-sized and something she'd found her first week in L.A. at a thrift store) on the floor of the hallway to her bedroom.
"Oh, I think I have an idea. Have you ever been on a magic carpet ride?"
"Just the once, but I do not like Jinn in real life. They are liars."
She gaped at him. "Wait what?"
"Magic carpets. They are overrated, not as fun as wings, and Jinn magic is black and foul."
"What the fuck?"
He nodded. "It is some fuckery; this is true."
She shook her head and made a note to actually make sure she and Michael touched base on what was or wasn't real because one day he'd just mention how he knew like ten leprechauns over a box of Lucky Charms, and Ella might go catatonic with one too many mystical fun facts.
"Right," she started, "well…no real genies here, but let's get you ready to pose!"