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Nanowrimo: Part 1
I'm not sure if this is quite the right tone, and it seems to start kinda slower than I want. Well, if this turns into anything useful I can always go back and fix it.
The end of the world started on Halloween. Not for any great cosmic reason, that was just the first day open for the gig. But that was only the opening acts, the gotta give time to get people fired up for the main event.
The armies of the hereafters were still tuning up. All of the astral realms echoed with the sound of riffs, solos, and instruments of which no mortal mind could conceive. Across Heaven, the angels sorted themselves into choruses, orchestras. The few soloists were all ancient angels, veterans of a million performances and wars, all with their own little quirks or practice. But they all exuded confidence and ego. This was what they had been created for, after all. Their moments to shine.
The rest of Heaven was like backstage at any big performance. Each of the angels had their duties and knew them, even the ones with the metaphysical equivalent of the tambourine. Not all of them had been there at the Beginning, though, or even the Fall, and wanted to show their best. But they didn't have the easy confidence of a thousand performances behind them. Other veterans moved around talking to some of them, calming fears. None of them were in the first act, you have to open a show strong. But after the opening, they'd have a chance to strut their stuff, keep things rolling till the Big Time.
"Rochel! Have you seen the Horsemen yet?" Memuneh shouted. He was one of Heaven's natural stage managers.
"Nobody has! Cherubim are checking all of the Heavens, but no luck so far!"
"All right, never mind that. Drama queens, the lot of them, they'll be here when they're here, they're not on for a good while yet. Make sure the backup choirs are ready when Gabe and the Pillars get done with the opening act!"
"On it!"
The Second Axillary Choir of the Heavenly Hosts was flighty and nervous, being mostly what amounted to newbie angels. "Man, I hope we don't suck," one said.
"Relax. We can't screw this up. This is what our entire creation was dedicated to."
"Easy for you to say. I was responsible for taking care of baby orchids until a week ago."
"You think this is for real this time? It seems so abrupt."
"What's it look like to you?"
"This has gotta be a big gig. I even heard Valhalla got back together!"
"No way!"
"Way.
Rochel stuck his head in. "Get ready, songbirds! You're on after the opening act, it's almost showtime!"
The dressing room chatter cut off and the room filled with the assorted sounds of dozens of people checking their clothing and making sure all their zippers were zipped. Even though it wasn't exactly a dressing room, and they weren't precisely people and had no need for zippers, the motions are as universal as rumor.
* * *
Hell was just as full of demons tuning up. The only demonic choruses were the imps in their piping hordes, the rest of the demons would never give up the chance for a solo. The infernal pits echoed with the sound of tortured guitars and other instruments, instead of the usual sound of tortured souls. Except for the few artistic demons who had built music made from the screams of the damned. There were no assignments of parts to different bands. All of the big parts had been claimed long ago by the big names, the ones whose names reduced their bands to nothing more than nameless backup. Baal, Asmodeus, and of course Mammon with his glittering robes that would put even the most extravagant Vegas show to shame. They had jockeyed for position for millenia, and none of the lesser bands dared challenge them. But there were entire tiers of stages open. And these stages had brought much of the work of Hell to a screeching halt when the first flyers were pasted to the stalactites. Hell had burst out into open musical (and otherwise) warfare, to claim the most prestigious positions in the coming armageddon.
The big names sat in their air-conditioned lounges and watched the trials, looking for ones to escalate to their favored positions. Or to cut off if they seemed to threatening. But mostly because they liked to watch other demons fight.
"All right guys, I gotta go, it's almost time to rock," Beelzebub said, "We're gonna give this joint a show like they've never seen."
* * *
Valhalla had indeed gotten back together. They hadn't done much since a string of cameos on hair metal albums in the 80s, after Baldur died of an overdose, but they still knew all the old notes. This opportunity had practically been made for them. It was time for a comeback. Besides, it was now or never. Ancient instruments were dusted off, their finish still as fine as the day they'd come from the forges of the dwarves. Except for all the dents and scrapes and stickers, but these had been built to survive the wars of the gods. And now it was time to see if they could.
They weren't the only relics of Old Asgard coming out of retirement. The Jotuns were back too, they just needed to find their lead singer, but Loki had vanished as surely as Elvis. There would be time, though, and an excuse for one last road trip.
* * *
The Hindu pantheon was hardly sitting about. Their coordinators ran about, preparing dance numbers and the rain, and the manyfold manifestations of Dharma. Though they too had yet to find their leading man.
* * *
Across their scattered lands, thousands of tribal garage bands practiced their best stuff. Some of them were new, some had been big shots once but now faded, but this was the Show to End All Shows that was coming, everybody would be there, literally. And with a lot of practice and a lot of luck, anybody could steal the show. Or maybe not, but if you had to go, go out in a blaze of glory and in front of the eyes of millions.
* * *
All across the astral planes, spirits and gods and myths in their teeming billions ran or slumped or flew or oozed their way to watch, many carrying their instruments and hoping for a chance at one of the stages. But if not, they were ready to rock, what good's a show without an audience? And this was the Big One, the end of the world. It really didn't matter where they were.
* * *
As for the mortals on the teeming Earth, none knew what was coming. And wouldn't for a while yet, the first notes of the Big Show would be ones no human could hear, at least not in the normal sense of the word. But they'd know when it started, though none would be anything they could hear or see until later. There had to be setup, time to get everybody in the mood. But like it or not, the Show must go on.
The end of the world started on Halloween. Not for any great cosmic reason, that was just the first day open for the gig. But that was only the opening acts, the gotta give time to get people fired up for the main event.
The armies of the hereafters were still tuning up. All of the astral realms echoed with the sound of riffs, solos, and instruments of which no mortal mind could conceive. Across Heaven, the angels sorted themselves into choruses, orchestras. The few soloists were all ancient angels, veterans of a million performances and wars, all with their own little quirks or practice. But they all exuded confidence and ego. This was what they had been created for, after all. Their moments to shine.
The rest of Heaven was like backstage at any big performance. Each of the angels had their duties and knew them, even the ones with the metaphysical equivalent of the tambourine. Not all of them had been there at the Beginning, though, or even the Fall, and wanted to show their best. But they didn't have the easy confidence of a thousand performances behind them. Other veterans moved around talking to some of them, calming fears. None of them were in the first act, you have to open a show strong. But after the opening, they'd have a chance to strut their stuff, keep things rolling till the Big Time.
"Rochel! Have you seen the Horsemen yet?" Memuneh shouted. He was one of Heaven's natural stage managers.
"Nobody has! Cherubim are checking all of the Heavens, but no luck so far!"
"All right, never mind that. Drama queens, the lot of them, they'll be here when they're here, they're not on for a good while yet. Make sure the backup choirs are ready when Gabe and the Pillars get done with the opening act!"
"On it!"
The Second Axillary Choir of the Heavenly Hosts was flighty and nervous, being mostly what amounted to newbie angels. "Man, I hope we don't suck," one said.
"Relax. We can't screw this up. This is what our entire creation was dedicated to."
"Easy for you to say. I was responsible for taking care of baby orchids until a week ago."
"You think this is for real this time? It seems so abrupt."
"What's it look like to you?"
"This has gotta be a big gig. I even heard Valhalla got back together!"
"No way!"
"Way.
Rochel stuck his head in. "Get ready, songbirds! You're on after the opening act, it's almost showtime!"
The dressing room chatter cut off and the room filled with the assorted sounds of dozens of people checking their clothing and making sure all their zippers were zipped. Even though it wasn't exactly a dressing room, and they weren't precisely people and had no need for zippers, the motions are as universal as rumor.
* * *
Hell was just as full of demons tuning up. The only demonic choruses were the imps in their piping hordes, the rest of the demons would never give up the chance for a solo. The infernal pits echoed with the sound of tortured guitars and other instruments, instead of the usual sound of tortured souls. Except for the few artistic demons who had built music made from the screams of the damned. There were no assignments of parts to different bands. All of the big parts had been claimed long ago by the big names, the ones whose names reduced their bands to nothing more than nameless backup. Baal, Asmodeus, and of course Mammon with his glittering robes that would put even the most extravagant Vegas show to shame. They had jockeyed for position for millenia, and none of the lesser bands dared challenge them. But there were entire tiers of stages open. And these stages had brought much of the work of Hell to a screeching halt when the first flyers were pasted to the stalactites. Hell had burst out into open musical (and otherwise) warfare, to claim the most prestigious positions in the coming armageddon.
The big names sat in their air-conditioned lounges and watched the trials, looking for ones to escalate to their favored positions. Or to cut off if they seemed to threatening. But mostly because they liked to watch other demons fight.
"All right guys, I gotta go, it's almost time to rock," Beelzebub said, "We're gonna give this joint a show like they've never seen."
* * *
Valhalla had indeed gotten back together. They hadn't done much since a string of cameos on hair metal albums in the 80s, after Baldur died of an overdose, but they still knew all the old notes. This opportunity had practically been made for them. It was time for a comeback. Besides, it was now or never. Ancient instruments were dusted off, their finish still as fine as the day they'd come from the forges of the dwarves. Except for all the dents and scrapes and stickers, but these had been built to survive the wars of the gods. And now it was time to see if they could.
They weren't the only relics of Old Asgard coming out of retirement. The Jotuns were back too, they just needed to find their lead singer, but Loki had vanished as surely as Elvis. There would be time, though, and an excuse for one last road trip.
* * *
The Hindu pantheon was hardly sitting about. Their coordinators ran about, preparing dance numbers and the rain, and the manyfold manifestations of Dharma. Though they too had yet to find their leading man.
* * *
Across their scattered lands, thousands of tribal garage bands practiced their best stuff. Some of them were new, some had been big shots once but now faded, but this was the Show to End All Shows that was coming, everybody would be there, literally. And with a lot of practice and a lot of luck, anybody could steal the show. Or maybe not, but if you had to go, go out in a blaze of glory and in front of the eyes of millions.
* * *
All across the astral planes, spirits and gods and myths in their teeming billions ran or slumped or flew or oozed their way to watch, many carrying their instruments and hoping for a chance at one of the stages. But if not, they were ready to rock, what good's a show without an audience? And this was the Big One, the end of the world. It really didn't matter where they were.
* * *
As for the mortals on the teeming Earth, none knew what was coming. And wouldn't for a while yet, the first notes of the Big Show would be ones no human could hear, at least not in the normal sense of the word. But they'd know when it started, though none would be anything they could hear or see until later. There had to be setup, time to get everybody in the mood. But like it or not, the Show must go on.