Chapter 8
"We were Gods once, what happened to THAT?" it is surprisingly Randal that utters the complaint during one of the rare and few between get-togethers with them all present. Clockwork shifts lazily, his ghostly tail twirling in a manner eerily reminiscent of a cat.
"We weren't Gods," Grand mumbles almost irritably and then lets out an almost obscene groan as the massage chair hits the spot that had been bugging him for months now.
"We believed we were, though," Ghostwriter points out, sipping on a mug of coffee. A little ways off Nocturne is snoozing, Box Ghost is playing with the boxes, and Desiree is lazily making shapes appear in the air. "Isn't that what matters?" the ghostly author finishes after a moment of silence.
"Even beings with godlike power can be convinced of something that is not true," Clockwork murmurs softly and lets out a slight keening sound as Death musses his hair as he walks by. The slighter, red haired creature's lips pull into a lopsided smile as Clockwork's for once ungloved fingers begin preening his purple locks back into shape.
"We weren't Gods," Death utters, straddling a chair. The times had changed him; he's gotten used to actually using CHAIRS instead of his varied yellow little floor pillows. He drinks coffee, and soda, and other beverages besides tea and sake. He hides less in the shadows but favors his old cloak and hood and ancient sandles styled outfit.
He's still absolutely terrified by sunlight, however, and flinches whenever Grand waves his Pure Sunlight Flashlight (TM) in his face, although he can settle in a shaded area without the supporting need of alcohol now. It's a more recent development.
"We may have thought we were," Death continued blithly, "and for a time we may have BEEN, to those First souls, but we were never true Gods. That was just a dream within a daydream, a thought and a whimsy someone had." There are sidelong glances at Clockwork whose lips twitch with nostalgia for a moment, his red gaze distant. "Which some still entertain?"
"No," Clockwork murmurs. "I am no God." The words are heavy and laced with something that the Time Master and the others aren't sure of, but the smile is still on his face.
"No," Death agrees, "you never were." And that's the end of that. The topics shift and change and for a moment Ghostwriter asks what Clockwork's latest fancy is, besides seeing Phantom become what he wishes and dreams, and Clockwork gains this somewhat secretive smile while Grand just snorts into his drink and pulls out a huge photoalbum from somewhere.
"It's been a while," the one-eyed green skinned ghost utters with a sharp-toothed smile. "I figured we could catch up on the families. Anyone have any recent children?"
"Hell NO," the twins utter shortly and Death mutters a, "Here, here. One birth was ENOUGH, thank you."
Nocturne makes a noise and there is a slightly darkly spoken, "I WISH. If only I could get Vortex to FOCUS enough..." and Desiree snorts derisvely; they all know her thoughts on children.
"I'd rather toast the little rascals."
It is Box Ghost who speaks of the Lunch Lady and their darling little Box Lunch, the newest of the children of the Ancient's to be born. That is if you aren't counting the girls Natasha and Natalie whom seem to be in a rather rebellious time-traveling stage. Grand admits he's not looking forward to THAT formation. It aims to be a handful as they've so far seen.
Death flips through the photoalbum and sees a mass of pictures of same-faced creatures--the Observants and their Council--and he can pick out the few differences in a few photos like how one is shorter, one is stouter, one is skinnier, this one's eye is larger etc, etc. He flips ahead a few pages, whistles, and then raises his head to his almost-twin.
"How many children do you HAVE?" he asks, almost awed.
"Two-thousand three-hundred and thirty-four," is the prompt response from Grand. Clockwork's tail twirls as adds in, "Three," succiently.
The whole group crowds then, demanding to know how CLOCKWORK has three and when did THIS happen? It is Grand who answers, almost truthfully.
"There's a reason why alcohol is banned in the clocktower," the words are dry and semi-amused. "That would be the source of Phantom. The Twins are the most recent--literally right after Plasmius and Phantom were re-released."
There is a moment of silence, of contemplation of how Grand and Clockwork have in total two-thousand three-hundred and thirty-seven children and then Ghostwriter and Randy say in tandum, "Nymphomania REALLY suits you," and Death utters, "Good god do you ever SLEEP?!" and Nocturne actually falls over laughing, abandoning an age old grudge for the moment. Box Ghost looks faintly ill or horrified and Desiree is completely stumped.
"Two grand-children," Clockwork rather helpfully points out as well. "Dan and the little baby."
"That's in the future," Grand admonishes, slightly, then adds, "and they're Death, Randal, and Ghostwriter's grandchildren too, y'know."
"Mm. We're lucky the boys all have matching power levels otherwise there'd be more..."
There is a wry grin as Grand replies, dryly, "Completely."
And as THAT revelation passes through the minds of the other six Clockwork lazily plays with temporal mechanics and Grand moves from the message chair to lounge against the glass of the Clock that sits in his Partner's chest.
It is Death who weakly asks, "Is your libido genetic?" while Nocturne is faint from laughter. Box Ghost vanishes to the restroom, his blue skin oddly ill-tinged. Desiree is begging SOMEONE to wish that she didn't hear that, PLEASE, whilst Ghostwriter began inching towards his typewriter, his imagination flaring. Randal dropped right to the floor in a dead faint.
It is, all reflect later, one of the better get togethers they've ever had.