Chapter 30

“There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you.”
― Beatrix Potter

“When you play a game of thrones you win or you die.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

1735 hours, local time
Wednesday, 24 December, 2014 (Christmas Eve)
Temporary Tremaine Residence,
Wheeling, West Virginia

Charles Tremaine looked at his first wife, Justine, at his co-husband Mike Hawkins, and then at Susie and Miranda, even as they began exchanging gifts. Jeannie was assigned the job of handing out the gifts to all of the recipients, small though the presents were. They were mostly thoughtful or practical and very limited in quantity for a combination of reasons, not least the weakened supply chain and shortage of goods. Unlike sexual favors, this really was a zero sum game.

“My chili should hopefully make everyone nice and warm. I made a big-ass bowl of it, naturally. I really enjoy making that,” Nicole aka “Nicki” or “Slave Nicki” announced while reveling in the way that Bill and Bethany in particular had fondled her that afternoon.

“Honey, that chili is the fucking bomb ... where did a Brooklynite learn how to make that?” Tabby laughed while remembering her earlier foursome with Joey, Courtney, and Dandelion.

“It was a good thing that we made both Christmas and Christmas Eve public holidays, shops and offices to be closed. Schools, too, of course,” Larry remarked.

“I’d still vote for making that whole week something, to help those of us of the Faith as well as Solstice and Kwanzaa or whatever. Does anyone here celebrate Kwanzaa?” Rupert thought aloud.

“I don’t know anyone who does,” Naomi added.

“Don’t look at me. I might be a sista, but I’ve never been into the whole ... Pan-African thing. I’m an American, at least by birth. Now I’m gonna be a Havenite. I see no reason to change that and embrace a movement or whatever that was very much a product of its time,” Courtney laughed while adding, “I guess that some might get salty at me for that, or for marrying a cracker, but that’s their problem. One of my favorite aspects of Havenism is that it is entirely post-racial. There has never been a racist or ethnonationalist aspect of it at all.”

“Yeah, it’s truly a civic brand of nationalism and patriotism, no question of that. Not that I object to all ethno-nationalism. It doesn’t have to be racist. Just look at Israel. It seems to work out pretty well for them,” Cecilia answered with her usual candor.

“Well, yes, but Rupert’s larger point is a solid one. There should just be a single week in which to celebrate whatever bloody holiday one wishes, right? Even if it’s Global Buggery Day or whatever!” Chelsea laughed, “anyone who doesn’t care for that can bugger off, too.”

“I love how you think, honey,” Helen told Chelsea with a kiss, even though it was more restrained around the brats.

“I’m all for Global Buggery Day myself,” Charles chuckled as he said that.

“Me, too,” Mike laughed.

“Same here,” Kirk agreed now.

“And I,” Simon concurred.

“But probably not during this time of year ... how about a tradition, at least within our tribe, that New Year’s Eve is also Sodomy Day or whatever. Take the Backdoor to celebrate the caboose of the year,” Dandelion licked her lips now.

“Oh, damn ... hot damn, that sounds wild!” George guffawed as he put back a bit more hard cider, his favorite poison.

“And that’s in just a week,” Tim observed with a grin.

“That it is,” Lisa and Dave agreed in unison before realizing that and laughing together.

“Cute,” Vo beamed as she kissed each of them.

‘Oh, damn, it’s delicious!” Anika chortled.

“As are you,” Daevi told her.

“Pretty wild,” Smitty stated with delight at Courtney’s breasts.

“That is, bro,” Brig countered while admiring Vo’s tush right then.

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” Carrie Moskowitz-Williams winked at Doc, Hank, and Moon. “My first name is Moon. What do you think?” Moon licked her lips as she thought about bending over and getting her ass taken by men and women alike.

“Sounds sweet to me,” Hank waxed a bit poetic.

“Aye, aye,” Doc got the last word this time.

That was when a massive angel stood in their midst and handed a turquoise to Charles along with a staff. He also sliced through the man like he was made of butter with his flaming sword, causing the Prophet’s unexpected death. Before anyone could get upset, God appeared again and touched Charles’s ghost, reviving him with a green asterisk as a tramp stamp. The man was now permanently naked, hairless below the neck, and easily picked up his staff and turquoise. It was apparent that something major was in progress.

“Sorry, I forgot two things ... one, that it was high time that the Prophet Charles Tremaine became undead through death and resurrection. The other, of course, was the need to introduce his father, the Archangel Uriel. Here he is, lads and lasses. This is the Archangel Uriel, the true, biological father of the Prophet Charles Tremaine. That’s right, twins, Chantal, Richard ... your grandfather is an angel of God. Oh, and that turquoise can and will change people’s sexes ... depending upon your current status, it will either make you a man, a woman, or a futa. That staff, by the way ... it’s very powerful and do a lot of harm ... or good.