Throwing the Voice

by Davechicken

Summary:

In which: Marc and Steven literally become the voice of Khonshu. And vice versa.

Chapter 1

Get up! Wake up!

WAKE. UP.

HELLLLOOOOOO!

This isn’t working.

WAKE UP!

The utter racket is not appreciated. Khonshu isn’t sure who can possibly shout so loudly, or why it suddenly rings all the way through his skull. Only the older gods have ever made such a resounding impression, and why is he horizontal?

Khonshu does not like to be horizontal.

Khonshu sits up.

And then falls sideways, because things are not where they should be, do not weigh what they ought to, and are entirely the wrong shape.

There! Now he’s up!

Steven? There is no voice as grating as that, though it’s far too deep and booming. It reverberates around and seems to come from all locations at once. Khonshu turns his head to where he thinks the mortal is shouting from, and finds himself looking at…

Himself.

Except he doesn’t stand like that. And he’s currently wearing something very like the suit that Steven imagined for himself.

And he’s wringing both hands on the staff - or the Steven-him is - fretting.

Khonshu does not dream, for which he is eternally grateful. And Khonshu can drink, but usually doesn’t bother. The only explanation he can come up with for the Steven-him flustering about - oh, and now looking like Marc’s suit from the shoulders down - is that someone has decided to prank him with an illusion.

Plenty of gods can do that. Usually they can’t prank another god, but if Khonshu knows anything it’s to always assume people (read: gods, beings, deities, humans, entities and even inanimate objects) are both utterly wicked and out to make your existence insufferable.

Khonshu… That sounds like Marc. What did you do?

“What did I do?”

That is not his voice.

That.

IS NOT. HIS. VOICE.

Khonshu reels backwards, then realises he’s lying on his side on the bed and that the hand put out for balance is decidedly Marc-Steven-Jake-shaped.

Not Khonshu-shaped.

And it’s so small.

Avatars are supposed to be the voice of their gods on Earth, but this is taking it far too literally and is in no way funny.

I don’t think he knows

I’m getting the same impression, Steven.

His Avatar - looking like him - switches between the clothes surprisingly smoothly.

And Khonshu staggers to the (how do they function on such pathetic limbs) body’s feet and lumbers awkwardly to the nearest mirror. It isn’t hard, the narcissists have them all over.

“No,” he says, as he pulls at flesh with squat, sausage-meat fingers. “No. This is an illusion. It is not real.”

We don’t know what happened, either, Steven-him says, the voice still annoyingly like being hit over the head repeatedly with something he has no external frame of reference to truly compare it to.

We just woke up like this and we - weren’t here? Then we thought about it and we were.

“That’s how travel works, you fools,” Khonshu snarls, not liking the way talking now involves lips, tongue, teeth. Because those are also required for breathing.

Hmm.

He slams his hand (not his, not his) over his mouth and nose and holds his breath.

Marc, what’s he doing? Hey - hey! Don’t do that! Don’t bloody kill us! Khonshu? Marc, make him stop!

Khonshu considers stopping just to shut up the voice, but he’s determined to see this through as his willpower will clearly overcome basic bodily self-preservation, if this is even truly real.

Yeah, stop that! Don’t hurt our damn body! I’d rather not get brain damage!

Khonshu does not manage to hold his breath, so he sputters in annoyance that he’s forced to gasp in air. And now his nose is weirdly wet and one eye is twitching.

“Whoever is responsible for this is going to pay, and is going to regret ever attempting to ‘prank’ me.”

He doesn’t like how reedy the voice is. It sounds a bit too-Steven. Ugh. No one could possibly take him seriously like this.

“It was clearly one of you!” He whirls to the vision of himself behaving not-like himself. “You have done this! I demand you undo this and return my body to me!”

Did you miss the part where we thought it was you? Marc somehow manages to look like Marc even when he’s just a skull.

“This is undignified.

You reckon we like being stuck like this? Steven again.

“Fine. Summon the bug. Or - or Taweret. You should be able to reach her.”

Uhm… how?

They are beyond useless.

“How does your… phonic… work?”

I think he means the phone, Marc.

I got that. Khonshu, what are you planning?.

They are not working on this at the pace he needs. He finds the rectangle and tries to copy things he’s seen, squinting at the tiny writing, and--

Reading glasses, Steven prompts.

“Useless body,” Khonshu replies, and sloppily hits buttons until he hears the voice. “We require your assistance. Please bring Taweret.” He hangs up, expecting this will suffice.

Like she’s not going to notice the difference when you talk, Marc drawls.

“I fully expect and intend her to. I will require help from an actual god if you two are incapable.”

We just woke up like this! It’s not like you’re telling us how to ‘god’!

Khonshu rolls his eyes and oh actually that sort of feels wrong. Oh. Gross. Eyes. “I will not be teaching either of you how to use my powers, Marc. I will find a responsible deity and reverse this change.”

But first he is going to go back to bed.

And refuse to leave.

He doesn’t know if he can summon a suit or not, and he does not want to risk either himself or the Avatar’s meat puppet. He doesn’t know what would happen to him if he did.

Chapter 2

Khonshu is torn between telling the two worms enough to stop them causing some accidental rip in the sky and leaving them as clueless as possible in case they purposefully rip the sky open.

While they are waiting for reinforcements to arrive Khonshu is decidedly Not Listening and hiding (recuperating, not hiding) under the covers of the bed.

Thankfully Marc and Steven have gotten no further than the occasional light cough of air, and are currently practising moving around the flat without needing to locomote or obey the laws of physics which their usual body adheres to.

At least they are focused on their own body and this realm, which somewhat reduces the chances of them inadvertently annoying any more deities or…

Why does this body suddenly feel pain?

Khonshu squirms. Turning temporarily alleviates it, but the sensation is tricky and he has to attempt to elevate parts of this sack and then it only works for a short period. He contorts awkwardly until the idiots notice.

What’s wrong? Steven asks.

“Nothing.”

Marc is less tolerant. Yeah, knock it off. You’re wriggling like… well. A worm. Which we totally don’t do. So what’s going on?

“It is a momentary discomfort.”

Where? Can you point to it? What does it feel like? Do you have cramp? Are you hungry? When’s the last time you drank? Steven runs through things without giving him a chance to answer.

Khonshu growls, which is less impressive in this shrunken scrap of a thing they call a body. “There is nothing wrong.”

Why are you sticking our butt in the air? Please tell me you’re not doing weird shit… no. Oh god no… Marc sounds disgusted.

Khonshu is almost impressed that they manage to control enough of a gust to push the covers off him. He’s got arms and legs in a very complicated formation, and he’s trying not to make any pathetic, mortal noises.

Marc, I think he needs to see a man about a dog.

Oh hell no.

“Talk sense, you impudent fool!”

Look, I don’t want a ruptured bladder, even if you do. Khonshu… you’re going to want to… uhm. Go to the bathroom.

“Absolutely not.”

With him on that.

Marc, he is not going to piss the bed! He can just sit on the loo, he doesn’t need to point and shoot! He’d probably spray the walls anyway!

“I am not a stray dog!”

You know what? Fine. Khonshu, don’t touch anything you don’t need to.

“I do not need to… relive… this body.”

If you piss your pants you’re going to feel even worse, Steven argues.

“Then I will be urine-drenched as well as everything else in this wretched form!”

But it does sound unpleasant.

And it does… sting. A bit.

“Fine. I shall relieve the burden and then we will not consume any more liquids until we are back in our correct forms.”

Uh, dehydration can kill you, you know. And I don’t want to die. Marc is just as petulant, and simply louder.

Khonshu glares. “Do not attempt to witness this.”

It’s our body.

He may be only tiny and squishy and full of fluids, but Khonshu can still deliver a withering glare. So he does.

And then he discovers several things about human bodies which he would prefer he never had.

***

Khonshu is doing his best not to exist. Or: not to exist beyond his conscious thoughts. And to ignore the part where he can hear noises which also have sensations attached.

The usually-mortal dunderhead duo are, for the time being, remaining silent.

No one wants to talk in case they say anything that leads to Thoughts.

This is Acceptable.

Thoughts lead to Ideas and Ideas lead to Consequences.

Khonshu does not intend to be in this body long enough for Consequences.

Also did teeth always feel like that under the tongue, because it bears no resemblance whatsoever to what they look like, or feel like when he pokes his finger in his mouth. Their mouth. The mouth. Whatever.

What are you doing? Steven hunches over, beak too close to his face.

Although they won’t make physical contact, the proximity of something pointy and bony to bits that blink makes Khonshu’s eyes shut. It’s supposed to be a safety feature, but it’s also a serious flaw.

Humans are very poorly designed.

“I was simply checking if your… teeth… were in working order.”

Why? Planning on eating? Marc asks. Actually, that might not be a bad idea. If you don’t eat, you’ll get hangry.

“Do not use such a ridiculous portmanteau in my hearing again.”

He means m--

I know what he means, Steven! And seriously? That’s your take? You need to eat.

“Eating will lead to defecation.”

Not eating will lead to worse. And you’re the one who regularly had us kill people, remember? How many of them shit themselves?

“I was not the one performing the act, Marc.”

That’s a point. Do we need to… spirit-eat? Can you even? I mean, you don’t have a throat, so how would it go down… can I put my hand in the gap? I always sort of wondered if you had traditional human parts from the shoulders--

Marc clearly cuts Steven off, which is a relief. Steven who is now poking his finger into the gap beneath Khonshu’s own head, and then into his eye-sockets.

Marc’s suit flickers over the top to stop him.

I’m just curious!

The door opens as Taweret and her Avatar finally appear.

“What’s happened? Who was it who called me? Did you find someone else?”

“I need to speak with your goddess,” Khonshu tells her.

Layla pulls up short. “Who are you?”

“I believe you know me well, bug. Now: you must ask Taweret if she can sense what has happened, and--”

“Where’s Marc? Where’s Steven?”

Hello! Steven waves.

She can’t hear us.

She can’t? Oh, bollocks. Khonshu, tell her we said hi?

“They are here,” Khonshu says. “They have not left me since we uncovered this situation. Even if I wish they had.”

“Not good enough, I want to talk to-- oh. You can? That’s… are they okay?”

Khonshu realises that the Avatar is now speaking to Taweret.

Who he can no longer hear. Or see.

But apparently his Avatars can.

“Is she going to assist or not?” he asks, huffily.

Now you know how we all feel most of the time, Marc says, smugly.

And calm down, mate, we’re all in this together.

“She says she’ll talk to Marc and Steven,” Layla relays, looking very much like she would enjoy doing unpleasant things to him.

She’s moving towards the kitchen area, apparently ignoring him.

“Why are you not speaking to me?”

“Taweret’s getting all she needs from the boys,” she replies, opening the cupboards and the cold cupboards and looking into the provisions.

“And am I not to be consulted? I am a god, and I--”

It’s okay, we got this, Marc says, distantly.

“I AM KHONSHU! I AM NOT TO BE IGNORED!”

“You’re just as annoying like this,” Layla sighs. “You have enough food in, and I’m going to check the toiletries so I know what I need to get in.”

“I will not need to use any of these things!”

Layla turns and jabs a finger into his chest. It makes his heart hammer, and he stares down, then up.

“You will stay here. You will listen to Marc and Steven. If you do not, they will tell Taweret and I will make you suffer.”

I’d listen to her, mate, Steven says.

“I know just how to inflict pain in a way that won’t damage that body, so don’t try me. I’m already not one of your fans.”

Khonshu blinks. He is… confused.

So confused that he doesn’t say anything, even after she’s left.

That’s our girl, Steven sighs, dreamily.

“Shut up,” Khonshu grumbles.

He is not enjoying this in any shape, manner or form.

Chapter 3

Khonshu is not going to be stuck like this for long, so he in no way needs to do any of the things the annoying, booming voices keep demanding of him.

Just because he is temporarily encaged in a prison made of flesh instead of stone, it does not mean he is any less of a god.

The traitorous water-horse and her even more traitorous (and decidedly more annoying) Avatar have left him here with the world’s worst excuse for a false god.

And Khonshu has met some shitty gods. Who the hell needs a god of door handles? If it breaks you just kick the damn thing down, right?

He has no way to truly influence the idiots currently hijacking his body, and there’s a very real concern that Steven in particular will unlock some way to reorganise the stars above them to spell ‘Innit’ or something equally inane.

Khonshu should never have allowed him to help with that spell.

Although…

They do need this body to do anything truly material. They have more influence in the Overvoid, which is why he’s stuck with the annoying worms in the first place: a single god in possession of a good set of powers must be in want of an Avatar.

Then he remembers: just as the woman can threaten him with physical discomfort… he can threaten them with disfigurement. Especially if - when this is resolved - he withholds healing.

Or even if they just think that he might.

Yes. He still has control.

Khonshu gets up from the bed where he had been sheltering from their tirade of ‘eat this’ and ‘move the body so it doesn’t go numb’ and ‘this isn’t helping anyone’ and ‘I have to live in that body afterwards so help me’s and begins to strip.

What are you doing?

The fear in Steven’s voice is thrilling. It lifts the tones up and trembles and Khonshu enjoys that in a strangely visceral way.

In only underclothes, Khonshu pulls open drawers to look at options to enrobe the body. There are clothes from both of them, and the two styles do not always go very well. They often compromise (read: argue until one yields) on clothing, but if he tries very hard he can make the most obnoxiously clashing patterns and colours that the eye has ever seen.

Why did he have to remember that he has eyes? Now they itch again.

Khonshu. Whatever you’re planning, don’t. We’ll get Layla back here.

Yes, they probably will. But not before he has fun.

Khonshu steps out of the flat.

YOU NEED THE DOOR KEYS AND YOU HAVE TO LOCK UP OH MY GOD MARC HE IS GOING TO GET US BURGLED!

They are so pathetically obsessed with their material belongings.

Khonshu lifts his head imperiously and strides out into London.

***

Khonshu knows a lot more than he is letting them realise as he strides into streets with very little evidence that he’s looking both ways.

Steven is still shrieking and nearly impaling his hands on his beak when he tries to cover his eyes, but Marc is jaded.

After the third near-bus-experience, Khonshu decides he should eat.

He has money - such as it is - and he uses it at a street vendor.

Do. NOT.

Steven’s right: even if I don’t care about the meat, what you’re ordering is going to make you suffer.

“I have witnessed you consuming far worse,” Khonshu replies, between stuffing food in too fast. He has no desire to cause any vomiting, but the collective disgust and self-loathing he hears from them as he shovels fatty, processed foods in is definitely a full course meal in and of itself.

Please! If you ever think we’re going to help you again if you keep this up!

Khonshu is a just god. As such, he does not litter.

But he is also an old god, and he makes sure Steven is looking at him when he puts the eminently recyclable waste in with the general waste.

Now you’re just being a dick.

“Perhaps I should also repair your marital relations whilst I am trapped in your shell? Or are you afraid I would spoil her with my prowess and you would never satisfy her again?”

Marc is in his face, doing nothing but glare in a way that Khonshu realises also looks very snooty.

Perhaps he does need to edit his own image a little. He’s let himself go of late, and this external perspective is useful.

Talk about my wife again and I will sing that song you hate.

This is actually… not the worst thing that has ever happened. He’s annoying them both particularly, and they have deserved it, and he’s constantly bumping parts of himself into things in ways which may, or may not leave bruises.

He’s almost made it to the museum when a thing happens.

It is.

Unpleasant.

And there is an odour.

And several people are trying to look away from him now.

“Has that always been so malodorous?”

There’s different types, Steven sighs. Of sound, smell, feel…

“Why must your rectum differentiate? What possible use does that bestow upon you?”

I don’t think flatulence is ever used in either intelligent design or evolutionary arguments.

Why are you enabling him? Marc hisses.

Because I understand the curiosity! Haven’t you thought about farts before?

No? Because I’m not weird.

“Ignorance of your own form seems unwise, Marc.”

Excuse me for not wanting to think about my - my - things!

“You are excused from the past, but not from the future. Indeed, you have just given me an idea.”

He waits for them to shout, but they don’t.

Good.

He can string them on even longer this way.

“First, however, I have a visit to make.”

No.

Oh yes.

Chapter 4

Okay, no. Khonshu… for the love of anything you hold sacred… don’t do this. I am BEGGING YOU.

The fear in Marc’s voice is unparalleled. Khonshu actually feels himself hesitate, because that sounded even more upset than he recalls Marc sounding. Even about things related to Ammit or the woman.

But this is harmless.

He won’t break any of his own laws. He won’t endanger the body truly, no more so than simply existing in it does.

And he can’t possibly humiliate Steven any more than Marc already did.

I mean it. I really mean it.

Steven has also not been using the divine body since it became clear where Khonshu was headed. Normally he would relish distance from the more book of the two worms, but this is starting to feel a little…

It’s Vengeance.

It’s Vengeance. That’s all.

***

The British Museum is a terrible institution.

Khonshu points this out in front of the Elgin Marbles. This history of cultural theft and literal (he points to the traces where paint has been stripped) whitewashing of other civilisations cannot be justified in modern times as ‘preservation’ of anything.

There are no laws preventing him from speaking the truth.

Nor about the sections of other African areas where religious iconography has been stolen from its rightful home.

Nor about the desecration of graves and potential after-life ramifications for the people whose bodies they have stolen from their rightful resting places.

Khonshu goes into graphic detail about the mummification process. He can tell that Steven is flickering behind Marc’s face as he goes into details long since lost to scholarly tradition. If these gawking tourists think they need to learn about other people, then he will make sure they hear everything.

The crowds he gathers are very, very large.

In the distance is one irate woman who Khonshu recognises very well (and yes, he did want to deliver Vengeance and Justice to her but Marc at the time had refused). She is unable to do anything to hasten his exit from the exhibitions, despite her entreaties.

There is no law at all about using his voice to teach the children about that which they gawp at.

He is not impersonating staff.

He is merely educating the masses.

And perhaps enjoying the ability to be heard by multiple people at once, and seen as a source of truth.

So when he - and it is him, and not anyone on the Museum’s payroll - finally decides he has finished… he walks right past her.

“You lost the opportunity for the best tour guide you would ever have known,” he hisses, and then swaggers out. Possibly, on the way, disrupting some of the memorabilia displays.

He doesn’t steal, as this is wrong. But it isn’t a crime to send river-horse stuffed replicas flying by accident.

When he gets outside he cracks the body’s shoulders.

Uhm. Thanks?

“The best tour guide would have been me, of course.” Not Steven.

I mean… for all of…

“I did that for me. Do you know how frustrating it was to see all those falsehoods paraded?” Khonshu lets the lips pull back from his teeth.

If it was also cathartic for Steven that is simply an accidental side-effect.

Now he needs a drink. This body is pathetically dependent upon sustenance.

***

Khonshu decides he wants to try these things that didn’t exist in the Good Old Days, which is why he has a waffle cone filled with cold whipped milk in one hand and a frozen drink on a stick in the other.

Steven has long since realised that today is not a vegan day. Khonshu deliberately ignored their ‘helpful’ suggestions as to options and has now got something resembling a brightly coloured pyramid melting slowly down to his fingers.

He may have miscalculated on how fast he can consume them, but one is self-contained so he leaves that one and focuses on the vibrant sugar monstrosity.

He’s mostly finished it when he sees he’s being watched.

Khonshu turns to see.

This is a glorious bird.

Through his travels he has met many birds which were not in his native land, some of which are ridiculous, some of which look like they are wearing little formal jackets, and some of which were so stupid they stupided-themselves to extinction by being eaten.

He has also met pigeons, which are totally not what he would be, if he were a mortal bird. Even if they have interesting plumage, their demeanour and shape is all wrong.

This one is strong. Powerful. The beak is formidable. The eyes are intelligent.

It wants his milk-whipped thing.

Are you seriously going to feed a seagull?

Khonshu is not going to admit his belly aches a little and he doesn’t know he could fit it in. He also doesn’t want the food waste rant directed at himself.

The bird is a worthy recipient of his favour, so he holds his hand out.

Marc’s scream when the gull lands on his wrist briefly to retrieve the entire thing, gulp it down, and then flap off is something that will exist forever, without taxation, in Khonshu’s mind.

“You are a good bird,” Khonshu tells it. “I believe we will converse again.”

IT COULD HAVE TAKEN MY EYES OUT!

Good riddance to eyes, Khonshu thinks, then wipes his hands down. “You are singularly unimpressive, Marc.”

Look, can we just focus on the part where this is at least… reasonably healthy? Steven pleads.

He doesn’t know how those things will follow him around! Follow us around! And think they can eat anything we have!

I admit they’re a bit big, but it might be nice to feed the birds more often.

NOT BIRDS THAT FEED ON HUMAN CHILDREN.

Marc’s over-reaction is very interesting. And the more Khonshu nods to himself as he listens, the more neurotic the man becomes.

You don’t even need to threaten him. His own mind does it for himself.

Now… what else can he get up to without bringing the woman in and away from rectifying things?

Chapter 5

Khonshu is already bored of the body. For all it is useful for enacting his will and being both Voice and Fist… it has far too many upkeep needs. And people being able to see him is frustrating, as is having to walk around them (and inanimate objects).

Marc has mostly resorted to sulking, leaving only the Savile Row false god to ask him an inordinate amount of questions about what it’s like being a god long term. What it was like before. What made them get Avatars in the first place. What does he go when he’s not talking to them.

The worst part of it is, he can tell the Book is actually curious, and if he wasn’t such a pacifist and part-time coward, Khonshu might have been tempted to indulge him.

Perhaps when he has his body back.

And no, he is not thinking of the poetic irony of the situation, which isn’t even irony, it’s a false form of justice: Marc and Steven had wanted this one, and he wants out of it. He wants his own body back, and the longer this goes on the more he’s marginally concerned it will become permanent.

That… can’t happen, can it?

There’s very little ‘can’t’ in his experience, especially if it means going wrong for him in particular.

He’s somewhat lost in the little depressive snit for a while, so he doesn’t realise Steven isn’t bothering him for a few minutes. He’s glaring at a lamppost and considering kicking it, swinging from it, or stealing it (except theft is usually wrong) when he hears the awkward not-throat clearing.

“What?”

Taweret passed on a message. She says she thinks she found out who is responsible.

So the river-horse is still assisting. She will want her own Avatar happy, but it directly benefits him.

“And?”

Papa Legba. Do you know him?

“The dick-for-brains dog-lover who thinks he’s the greatest rhetor of all?”

See, saying this about the other gods might contribute to why they don’t treat you that nicely?

“There is nothing nice to say about any of them.”

Even so, you could… keep those opinions a little more to yourself? Maybe?

“You asked me!”

Steven winces. Well, if we could be cordial for a bit, maybe she can convince him. You know she’s good at this.

“If you were half the Avatar you should be, you would fix this yourself.”

Hey, cut it out. We’re babysitting you, remember?

Marc is not asleep on the job after all. Good. Khonshu wants them both to suffer at least one more time. He can’t fix this because he’s stuck in a stupid bag of wet electricity with needs, and they are squandering divine power by sulking.

Which leads to the obvious solution.

***

I AM NOT DEALING WITH YOUR HANGOVER, KHONSHU, PUT THE PITCHER DOWN.

This body has a tolerance, even if it’s not exercised it in a while. Khonshu knows it will manage just fine, and besides: it’s been a while since he’s consumed in company. Now most of the other gods have buggered off again, this is the closest he will get.

“If you insist.”

Khonshu up-ends the pitcher at his mouth. He manages to glug most of the hot pink, sugar-drenched monstrosity, but some of it streaks over his cheeks and wets his shirt. A piece of lemon gets trapped against his cheek and one of the weird straws ends up in his hair.

Oh my god oh my god this isn’t happening Marc we can’t let him go on a bender oh my god--

That terror is much better. His mood is lifted already, and he briefly considers the merits of squeezing the lemon into his eye but figures the suffering will be all his and none will be lingering for the others when they resume tenancy.

Despite being now-sticky and clearly not a worthy life-partner if his choices are considered, he’s found several females and more than one male casting salacious looks over the body.

Khonshu has no desire to reciprocate, but the fact they are making the Avatars queasy is a bonus.

He decides he needs more drinks, and goes back to the bar.

If you want to drink, maybe we could take it back to the flat?

Steven is wheedling, and Khonshu orders one of the drinks that includes fire. Much to his disappointment the fire is doused before he is allowed to consume it.

“We are celebrating,” Khonshu insists.

Celebrating what?

“There must be several reasons by now,” he demurs, and the next drink has a tiny baby drink floating in it. Heh. It’s kinda cute, even if it tastes like someone burned the Hanging Gardens in tribute and then stuffed it up his nose for good measure.

It’s also kind of blurry.

No.

Everything is kind of blurry.

And there’s a glowing… thing… someone put on him. Somewhere around the time he had his rear end inspected.

Mmm.

Fire.

There’s WEIRD THINGS. In crunchy bags. They have SALT. He needs salt. He could lick his armpit maybe (but not his elbow, he tried) but it would be nicer to eat the crunch from the crunch bag. He buys three.

Is… is he wasted?

Try not to think about it, buddy.

What if he--

Don’t give him ideas.

“I like crunch,” Khonshu says, and then bites his tongue by accident and cries a little. And then tries to see if his tongue is okay by poking it out, and then thinks the only real answer is more alcohol.

Alcohol and salt on ouchie is double ouchie.

So he drinks more, and the swaying is totally not either being drunk or attempting to dance. It’s… eh. Body bullshit stuff.

Marc, I really think we need to cut him off.

“I could get a tattooooooo,” Khonshu says. “Ce’brate. Stuff. Memory.”

Don’t even think about it.

Marc’s chilled tone is not as funny as it should be, and Khonshu sticks his (now a bit numb) tongue out at him. “We saved the world!”

Could we maybe get a commemorative plaque instead? Steven suggests.

Boring. Khonshu is tired now. And his tummy feels weird. And his eyes want to close. And he really wants to lick things to see what they taste like.

“No one ever thanked me,” he whines, finding a beer mat and playing with the frayed edge. “Allllll those years… they said I was sssssstupid, and then! And THEN! STONE! But - but it was ME!”

We did help, you know.

Stop encouraging him, Steven!

“Okay, okay, you helped.” Khonshu waves a hand around. “Sometimes. When it wasn’t the other one.”

Other one?

Khonshu giggles. And then slaps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late and now he’s laughing his ass off, all the way until he slumps backwards into someone.

“Oh, hiiiiii.”

“Khonshu, are you drunk?”

“Hi drunk, I’m Khonshu.”

Layla looks weird upside down, but she likes the body, so he can probably go to sleep okay now? Yeah. Good.

***

Khonshu finds his consciousness returns (with no hangover) some time later.

Some time later, and also (thanks to Taweret) back in his own body.

The Avatars’ body is in the recovery position next to a bucket filled with disinfectant. The woman is asleep in the bed.

Taweret isn’t around, but Khonshu knows she will be watching.

He’s considering maybe changing his name and moving to Peru when a very unwell Marc staggers towards the bathroom.

Oh, he hasn’t realised the unfortunate side-effect of Khonshu leaving the door unlocked yet. They weren’t burgled, but…

“AAAAAAAARRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! WHY IS THE BATHROOM FILLED WITH SEAGULLS AND POOP? KHONSHU?!”

In his defence…

Nope.

He’s not even going to try to defend this.

At least he didn’t blow Jake’s cover last night, though. That’s one good thing.

“KHONSHU I SWEAR I AM GOING TO FIND SOME WAY TO GIVE YOU YOUR OWN BODY SO I CAN MAKE YOU SUFFER PROPERLY. GET BACK HERE AND SORT OUT THIS MESS!”

Definitely time to leave.

He’ll come back when they stop puking. He knows that body will be suffering for some time.