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In the months Mutt has spent existing in this altered form, he’s gotten pretty adept at the art of multi-tasking. Using dozens of pairs of arms at once had been tricky at first, but after a bit of practice, he was confident that he had everything within his field of vision under control.
As inconvenient as his body can be most of the time, it feels good to put it to some level of productive use.
There was a lapse in business, so Mutt was taking advantage of the free time to get some idle busywork done. Polishing glasses, wiping down the counter, adjusting the items in his inventory; all things he could do without putting much thought into it. He mostly zoned out, focusing on his own movements as if coordinating a dance. Whistling a tune as he worked, he indulged his mild perfectionist tendencies.
With his mind occupied, he hadn’t noticed the distinctive jingle of the shop’s front door. When the latest potential customer approached the front counter, he didn’t even look until the other man opened his mouths.
“GREETINGS, MORTAL! LOOK UPON OUR TRANSCENDED FORM AND BE STRUCK WITH AWE!”
Mutt let out a sharp yelp. A glass dropped from his hands and shattered when he ducked down behind the counter, the sheer shock of the situation sending him firmly into flight mode.
It was a cacophony of voices all speaking at once — an echo localized within a single point of origin.
As the proprietor of a store during the post-calamity era, Mutt has seen many bizarre-looking altered people. However, when he snapped his head upwards to meet the owner of those booming voices, he saw something unlike anything he’d ever seen before.
A massive, vaguely humanoid entity floated in front of the counter, glowing with a bright white light. With three heads and a body littered with extra faces, it literally beamed at him with dozens of grinning mouths. The center head had a massive pair of wings sprouting from the eye sockets, sets of eyeballs and a stretched jaw forming the bulk of the feathered limbs. Atop its head, amongst a sea of wiry hairs, was what appeared to be a red halo.
When the adrenaline wore off, a light flush spread across Mutt's face as the embarrassment set in. It got worse when he heard the thing start to chuckle.
“Heheheh, man, that never gets old.” The thing said, voice now significantly more normal. He still spoke with multiple mouths at once, but he now sounded casual and relaxed.
There was something about his voice that was… naggingly familiar.
“Mutt, buddy, you good? Didn’t have a heart attack on me, didja?”
He leaned over the counter, two face-hands gripping the wood as he did so. The bizarre man gave his victim an annoying look of smug self-satisfaction; his smirk made even worse because he could make that face multiple times at once.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mutt said, his voice a low growl. He seldom loses his cool like that — not enjoying the feeling. “You made me break one of my good glasses!”
“Ah, you’ll live.” The entity responded. He reached out and patted Mutt on the top of the head, earning himself a quick smack to the hand as the other man recoiled from his touch.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “Seriously though, how’s it going? Business treating you well?”
Mutt gave him a weird look. That voice… he’d heard that voice somewhere before, hadn’t he?
Staring up at him from his spot behind the counter, Mutt countered his question with one of his own. “… Do I know you or something?”
“YOU MET ME BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, AND YOU WILL RETURN TO ME WHEN YOUR BONES ARE BUT DUST IN THE SOIL OF THE EARTH!”
“Can you STOP doing that?!” Mutt shouted, cringing with his entire body.
“Haha! You should see the look on your face! Priceless!” He mocked, his words prefaced with another fit of laughter. “Can’t believe Sam thought I wasn’t scary!”
From his spot peeking over the countertop, Mutt gave him an unamused look.
The weird guy retreated a little, floating backwards to give Mutt more space. He shrugged again, shaking his center head from side to side.
“We’ve never formally met, but you know of me, and I know… too much about you. So we’re basically already pals, right?”
“… What?”
“The name’s Frederic, but you can call me Godhead if that’s easier for ya. I know Toxic kinda ran away with the Frederic moniker around these parts, yeah?”
The name Frederic made everything click in Mutt’s head.
His friend and business partner is one of nine painted clones of a man named Frederic. The Fred that Mutt’s familiar with mostly avoids discussing the others that share his name, but he’s gotten bits and pieces of information over time.
This one has to be the “angel portrait” that Fred has mentioned on a couple of occasions. According to Fred, he’s a con-artist who uses his divine appearance to scam people out of their valuables. These days, he mostly spends his time lazing around Frederic’s old flat, content to do pretty much nothing all day.
Mutt didn’t exactly know what he’d been expecting from him, but the person who stood before him wasn’t all that surprising.
From somewhere Mutt couldn’t see, Godhead produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“You smoke?” He asked, holding out the pack.
“No.” Mutt replied, his expression twisting into a grimace. “And this establishment prohibits indoor smoking.”
Godhead retracted the pack, lighting one up for himself between the teeth of his left head. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Indoor smoking—”
“Awesome.” Godhead took a puff of tobacco, sighing to himself.
Mutt considered his options. Could he kick this guy out? He’s large and freaky-looking, but Mutt has an edge on him in size. Not that Mutt’s gangly form is in any way suited for combat, but he hasn’t come this far without being able to hold his own. Maybe he could…
No. He shook his head. Frederic must be rubbing off on him a little too much — Godhead hadn’t done anything other than be annoying. Considering violence when the other man hadn’t thrown the first punch was unlike him; though Mutt couldn’t say that he didn’t somewhat understand why Fred had wanted to kill this guy so badly. If Mutt were the type of person to murder people, Godhead has a very murder-able way of carrying himself.
What would Frederic do?
That’s a question Mutt often finds himself asking these days. Think about what Frederic would do to solve whatever problem is bugging him, and then do the exact opposite. It’s served him well up to this point — Fred is both predictable and incredibly bad at problem-solving.
If Fred were here, he’d probably shout something like, “YOU—! What the HELL are YOU doing here?!” And then he’d try to jump on Godhead and melt his faces off or something. Mutt… wouldn’t be doing that.
“So… Toxic.” Godhead said, placing the cigarette back in one of his mouths. “He’s not here, right? I mean, I know he’s not here, but just to confirm.”
“… Toxic?” Mutt questioned. “Ehehe… is that what you call Fred?”
“I mean, we gotta call him something. And the nickname fits, yeah? He’s… uh, toxic. In more ways than one.”
Mutt’s expression twisted a little. Toxic… doesn’t sound like the name of a person. Sure, Godhead isn’t the greatest name either, but at least that doesn’t sound like an insult.
Not that the insult isn’t funny. It’s a little funny.
“… No, Frederic’s out right now. Why? Do you need to speak with him?”
“No! God, no.” The angelic portrait suddenly snapped, before letting out a deep sigh with multiple mouths. “Believe me, I’ve had enough of that guy for one lifetime. He’s still in my head, you know.”
“… Oh.”
“Yeah, that’s actually what I came to talk to you about.”
Mutt raised an eyebrow.
His cigarette spent, Godhead took it out of his mouth and crushed the butt between his fingers. He didn’t even flinch.
“Actually, lemme tell you a story first. It’ll set the scene.” Godhead said. “So, I dunno how much you know about us, but we got a portrait living over in Vancouver. We call him Bites. Cool guy, hope he comes back for Christmas this year. Anyway… I can’t really hear his thoughts that great anymore ‘cause he’s so far away — they come in as the occasional vague feeling. So because of that, I actually got a letter from him. Sam delivered it to me the other day. He’s a real one; love that guy.”
“Ehehe… Where are you going with this?”
“Patience, man. It’s a virtue. When you die, it’ll help ya go to heaven.”
Mutt gave a pleading look over to the clock on the wall, as if the inanimate object had the power to free him from this interaction. It did not.
“So… that letter. I’ll paraphrase it, but basically, it was asking me about Toxic. Specifically, if I’ve been hearing Toxic’s thoughts lately. Then, it listed the exact contents of what’s been going through that weirdo’s head over the past few months.”
Godhead paused for a few moments, as if he were waiting for Mutt to give him some sort of reaction. However, a blank stare was all he received.
“Yeah, that means nothing to you, but if you were part of this thought-sharing mind connection bullcrap, you’d find that crazy, too. Bites has been hearing it, and he’s in Vancouver. That’s on the other side of the goddamn country! So if he’s hearing it, you can probably imagine how bad it is for someone in my position.”
“I’m sorry, but why are you telling me this?” Mutt asked. “I’m not sure what you expect me to—”
“It’s about you, man.” Godhead interrupted. “His thoughts. At all hours of the day. Just a constant stream of the most annoyingly corny bullshit you can imagine. Toxic’s always been insufferable, but this is on a whole different level.”
Mutt blinked. He didn’t know how to react to that.
“Yeah, so I don’t want to kill him anymore. If he’s out here living his life, then he’s entitled to that. Especially if he’s not in our apartment anymore. But, like… can you get him to stop? Or like, at least slow down. I figured that hey, since you’re the subject of his obsession, maybe you can make him chill out…”
Raising himself up a little higher from his spot behind the counter, Mutt leaned forward on a pair of hands.
“… What… ” He glanced around the room, his voice lowered. “Ehehe… What about me is he thinking, exactly…?”
“A lot,” Godhead said, exasperated. “The things you like… the things you don’t like… how to maintain his facade of mock-aggression when he interacts with you…”
He lit up another cigarette, but Mutt was too busy thinking about the implications of his words to get mad at him for it.
“Once, he spent an entire day just coming up with different ways to make you laugh. Cute, right? Not when you’re trying to sleep and you keep getting flash banged with visions. Now I know the sense of humour of some random guy I don’t care about! What am I supposed to do with this information, huh?!”
Godhead had lost his cool a little, gesturing wildly with his hands as he raised his voice. Catching himself in the midst of his outburst, he visibly deflated as he took another long drag from his cigarette.
“Sorry, no offense. Sure, you’re an… interesting guy, and all that. Happy that Toxic’s found someone.” He said. “… Just. Dude, sometimes when I shut my eyes, I see your face. No… now that I’m looking at you in person… The version of you I get from Toxic’s mind is hotter. No offense.”
“… You can’t just insult me and then tack on no offense to the end of your statement.”
“Hey, I didn’t say you’re not hot. I just said that Toxic’s version of you is hot-er.” Godhead crushed another cigarette butt between his fingers, then flicked it onto the floor. “… You’re not, though. I mean, you’re not my type. Sorry.”
Mutt’s only response was to hope this conversation would end soon.
This time, when the jingle of the shop’s front door rang out, Mutt noticed it immediately. Though even if he hadn’t, the loud, angry voice that followed would’ve certainly grabbed his attention.
“YOU—!” Fred shouted, bits of bright green paint flinging out from his body as he flailed his tendrils around. He looked exasperated, like he’d just run a marathon. “What the HELL are YOU doing here?!”
“Fred!” Mutt said, the name punctuated with a soft chuckle. There was a note of relief to his tone, like he’d just released a breath he’d been subconsciously holding. “Ehehehe, your friend was just leaving, actually.”
“OH HE’LL BE LEAVING ALRIGHT!” Fred screeched.
The green Fred launched himself at Godhead, the teeth on his underside bared and snapping. Predicting his movements, Godhead ducked out of the way — leaving Fred to careen past him and splat against the front of the counter.
“Pro-tip, Toxic: if you’re gonna attack me, try thinking about it a little quieter.” Godhead said, crossing his arms as he floated up a little higher. He laughed, watching Fred attempt to pull himself back together.
Spreading his wings out wide, Godhead once again emitted that brilliant light in his attempt to mimic the divine.
“FAREWELL, MORTALS!” He shouted, enjoying this way more than he should be. “WE SHALL MEET AGAIN — AT THE END OF DAYS!”
With that, the angel portrait was out the door in record time; leaving Mutt and Fred alone with each other.
Mutt let out a heavy sigh, glancing at the cigarette butts on the floor in front of the counter and the broken glass behind it. Not only that, but Fred had once again gotten paint everywhere.
That was… not the ideal interaction. Thankfully, the store wasn’t busy when all of that went down, or he would’ve had to deal with mass panic, too.
The customers that were there all minded their own business — even when what looked like a grotesque humanoid angel descended upon what should’ve been a quiet evening. Anyone who frequents Mutt’s Fish & Chips these days is already used to dealing with the occasional freak, and if anything did go wrong, Sam would most certainly put things back in order.
“So… uh… Fred…” Mutt began, awkwardly fiddling with a pair of hands. “… That guy, huh? Ehehehe…”
Fred crawled his way on top of the counter, splayed out flat against the wood surface.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Fred hissed, reforming his body at the center of his mass.
“… He said you’ve been—”
“I DON’T want to talk about him!”
Mutt laughed, leaning against the counter and putting his head down next to where Fred sat. Grumbling under his breath, Fred reached out a tendril and flicked Mutt directly on the nose, leaving a smear of green paint in the middle of his face. Mutt barely reacted to this, just laughing again at Fred’s half-hearted attempts to shut him up.
In the back of his mind, he thought about what Godhead had said about Fred spending an entire day brainstorming ways to make him laugh. Was that really something Fred thought about, or was Godhead just pulling some bizarre new scam? According to Fred, he’s a con-artist, so perhaps taking anything he’d said at face value was a bad idea.
There was a brief lapse of silence, the two of them staring at each other with strange expressions.
“… Fred, could you help me clean up around here?” Mutt asked. “I… uh, broke a glass.”
“Yeah sure. Whatever.” Fred spat, crawling down from the counter to retrieve the broom and dustpan.