The Nosferatu Adventures
page 352, chapter 352
Bacchus's Day Off
The sandy haired god shimmered into the parking lot. Glaring around at the faceless sheep before him, he let out a deep breath of disgust. It was training day for the company and he couldn't think of a better way to lay off some steam. Slowly he walked through the patches of crowded people scattered like forgotten weeds in the middle of some unkept garden. He hated it there. The smells of sweat and heat and cheep everything else invading his nostrils like rotten sewage backed up on a hot day. The sound of his shoes crunching on the ground was almost soothing in it's rhythmic patterns. Squish squash squish squash crunch crunch squish squash crunch. The door to the back of the building creaked as he grabbed hold, feeling the metal bend in his fingers. He hadn't even meant to, but the god was so into his own thoughts. First thing first, he needed to find the man who he was being today. That wrestler dude from Detroit. Bacchus had always wondered if he'd just taken the image of the dark haired one instead of Loki that day when they'd probed Nosferatu's mind; would she have been his by now? Would the last decade have even happened if he'd just sussed out which one of the tag team she liked more? Probably not. The god had to shake his head as he scanned the darkly lit locker room. Seeing his prey he snapped his fingers as everyone else in the room fainted into oblivion. Tapping the wrestler on the shoulder, Bacchus didn't wait for him to even turn around, he just waved his palm in front of the guy's ear and watched him shimmer into thin air. The dude would wake up in the cinema reality stuck watching a marathon of some horrible sci-fi movies. At lest 20 hours of bad nerdom that would have the dude mindlessly employed. Bacchus sent him there frequently when he needed to shapeshift into him in this particular reality. Sighing, the god opened the wrestler's locker to see the outfit waiting for him there. "Shack." He pulled the mask over his face a few minutes later as he headed out to the ring in the red and blue costume. He couldn't see properly through the mask as it kept slipping down. Running to the edge of the ring, Bacchus sprang up as if on a trampoline and hurled himself halfway across the ring to land mid-center on one knee. Spinning, he slithered out of the opposite side landing on his toes before grabbing hold of the rope and propelling himself back into the ring with a triple corkscrew. The crowd stood screaming for more. The god smiled to himself under the cartoon's mask, as he played along giving them the character's trademark fingers to the skull to impact his character's name. He did however, love the adrenaline rush that this reality provided. The bell sounded indicating the match was officially underway. Scanning the layout of the arena, he spotted three cameras indicating this was being taped. That gave the god a second boost of the giggles, knowing that while people watched at home thinking it was their favourite wrestler under this mask, he was really the one. Really the one doing the flips and spins and moves that seemed to defy gravity. They were not just witnessing greatness but an actual god. Over the centuries Bacchus had been so many things to so many people in countless realities, but being this wrestler in this reality always had him returning. No; he thought. No, he was glad he'd chosen this one of the two that day when he'd entered Nosferatu's mind raiding her memories. This image, this man she respected and admired for over a decade was the perfect fit. Bacchus rammed his knee into the neck of his opponent as he watched him stumble backwards a few steps arms flaying around before hitting the rope and sliding to his knees hard. Bacchus turned towards the far rope running at a speed too fast to be considered human but too slow for the god; using it to propel himself across the ring once more to land a perfectly timed low drop kick to the opponent's jaw. Bacchus hung there in midair for a long hesitation before allowing himself to fall onto his ass. He then sprang back up from a flat position flying over the opponent, landing on the top turnbuckle, and diving down on the opponent's chest in a backwards frogsplash. Pulling the opponent back up to a semi-standing position, he delivered a hard chop across the collarbone, causing the opponent to rock and bounce off the ropes once more. Grabbing him by the wrist, Bacchus used the age old Irish-Whip to send the almost unconscious opponent two steps and watched him fall flat. He forgot for a brief second that he was wearing the costume. That the dude he'd shapeshifted into was suppose to be playing a completely different wrestler for this match, as he lifted the opponent up and gave him the dude's trademark move. The cradle-shock. He wasn't even breathing heavy yet as the ref leaned down and told him he needed to cut the match as they were already at the time limit. Nodding, the god pinned his opponent. His arm raised in the win. The character's theme music sprang to life through the speakers of the building as the crowd cheered and clapped. Quickly the sandy-haired blue eyed god made his way back to the locker room, removed the mask and headed to the shower.
He sat in the little cafeteria not more than an hour later, rolling a paper cup steaming with coffee between his palms. It wasn't enough. Shapeshifting constantly into others to create his art, being onstage performing to the love and adore of humans. None of them ever knowing that he was more than what they thought they saw. More than the rock stars they'd loved back in the previous three decades, more than the painters they both scorned and worshiped for the last four hundred years, more than the movie stars or tv heroes that had sprung up in the last fifty years that they threw themselves at. Bacchus had let himself become complacent with the scraps of pop-culture stardom. Had let himself be forgotten along side the other gods. Letting out a deep sigh, Bacchus snapped his fingers once more as the wrestler was returned to the locker room unaware of what had happened, as the god shimmered into thin air.
His back stiffened as he shimmered back into view in front of the house. There was a faint scent of a protection spell. Snorting, Bacchus squinted up his eyes running a palm across the fringe of bangs still flopping over his eyebrows. The wrestler needed a haircut he thought as he shook his head wildly. The too long shaggy do the wrestler favoured suddenly became an inch shorter allowing the god the relief from the itchiness of the long scruff always had against his neck. He walked a few feet towards the house, stopping for a half heartbeat before rolling his eyes and continuing on. Astrid's grandmother had been a very powerful seer, but Astrid was still too young to have the kind of power her spells needed to keep the god out. Bacchus entered the house letting the door slam against the wall in a single huff as he did. Snapping his fingers, both Edric and Seward fainted on the spot into a deep sleep just as he entered the kitchen to see Mercury shimmer off with Nosferatu. Swearing, Bacchus tilted his head deciding to return to the other reality for another match.
Tune in again for another installment of the Nosferatu Adventures starring your heroine...me(straight up story. Miss me?)