Chapter Text
Arthur stood near the airport baggage claim, tapping his foot impatiently while incessantly checking his pocket watch. His time was important; he was important. That was his new mantra for the week: I am important and I matter to those in my life. Considering he’d given so much of his life to his job, the only real people who believed he mattered were his dotty sister and aging mother in Nowhere-sville, USA. Thanks to his hard work and decent successes with pushing small bands to stardom he was able to give them a comfortable life outside of the trailer park where he’d grown up. It was the only reason, he suspected, they bothered to care about him at all but it wasn’t as if he was pining for company anyways. Solitary life suited him just fine.
That’s what he told himself every time he looked in the mirror and saw his softening middle and rapidly receding hairline. He repeated it after any date where he stuttered too much or bored his companion into fleeing because he couldn’t think of anything interesting to talk about. He learned his lesson early on when mentioning the acts he managed – it still surprised him how many groupies successfully disguised their obsession until he trusted them enough to introduce them to band members. Growing up as rough as he did, he probably should have been suspicious the second a gorgeous twenty-something showed interest in a bookish man pushing forty (who was pretty average on good day).
Arthur sighed. His newest assignment was supposed to send a car to pick him up as soon as his flight landed, but he saw no hint of a driver who might be there for him. He wasn’t rocked by the revelation, seeing as how his new charges didn’t look like terribly responsible people. They were by far the most “out there” band he’d ever been tasked to manage and he was willing to bet a years salary his bosses were hoping to foist them off on a bigger label sooner rather than later. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure how a group like Ghost ever came to sign with an agency who specialized in promoting pop/alt music. He’d heard the lead singer, Papa-something-or-other, was a progressive kind of guy, but was he progressive enough to give up the Satantic schtick? Because that’s exactly what Arthur was going to suggest once he met the man.
Of course, he’d need a ride first. It had been ages since he last traveled through the airport in Stockholm but he finally managed to make his way to the outside pick up area. Perhaps this was where his car was to meet him? When making arrangements with their lawyer Arthur tried to insist he could find his own way to Ritual House, the supposed home of Papa, his Nameless Ghouls, and various members of their “Church”. His offer had been politely declined and an invitation to stay with the Clergy for a few weeks had been extended in its place. It was an odd way to begin his relationship with his latest employer but he assumed they would give up the charade once he was ensconced in a local hotel, probably somewhere close to the studio used for local recording.
“Mr. Anderson?” A voice broke through his daydreaming and he shook off the usual flash of annoyance that came from hearing his name. Going through school as little Artie Anderson had been a nightmare, but after the release of The Matrix his last name projected memories of being bullied like a movie on Hugo Weaving’s giant forehead.
Turning, he found a wizened creature tottering toward him. Fear for the old mans balance had him reaching out to grip the sleeve of his heavy tweed jacket as a precaution in case the cane he held in his shaking grip happened to go flying.
His chivalry earned him a sharp rap on the knuckles with said cane and he immediately let go of the feisty devil’s arm with a shout. “Hey!” He massaged his hand to ease the pain away quickly.
“No touching! Damn Americans.” Though the words were said with a growl, Arthur was caught off guard by how young the man sounded – at least three or four decades younger than he looked.
“Sorry, sir. I thought you loo- wait, how did you know I’m American?”
The man let out a mocking laugh and replied, “I’m here to pick you up, dunce.” He gestured to Arthur’s suitcase with his free hand. “That all your shit?”
Well.
He nodded and nearly grabbed the cranky geezer again when he picked up the suitcase. It left him terribly unbalanced but Arthur figured the man wouldn’t appreciate his interference a second time. He was more worried this ancient turtle had been sent to drive him someplace. Drive! It wasn’t as if Arthur had big plans for the rest of his life but letting a strange old coot send him careening straight to his grave in a fiery explosion of metal and fuel did NOT intrigue him in the slightest.
Arthur lost himself in his thoughts, furiously trying to concoct a way out of his predicament, and failed to notice just how far they had walked away from the lanes meant for idling cars. He realized there were actually no cars anywhere in the vicinity.
“Excuse me, sir. Whe-“
“Call me Grandpa.” Another laugh, this one full of some inside joke no one was around to get.
“Uh…okay…Grandpa.” God give him strength. “Have you forgotten where you left the car?”
Grandpa grumbled beneath his breath but still loud enough for Arthur to hear. “Satan damn all these Americans. Touchy and insolent.” A little louder he said, “I know where we’re going. Now shut up before I bash your head in with my cane and bury you in that empty field.”
Arthur was the first to admit he could be rather sensitive over silly things on occasion but he was fairly certain his inner outrage at Grandpa’s words was not overreacting this time. Sadly, he knew he lacked the spine to stand up to someone forty years his senior who had the bone density of a dollar store Halloween skeleton. Falling silent, he followed obediently while continuing to search for the transportation Grandpa claimed to know the location of. They ended up in the empty lot that had almost become his final resting place but instead of getting murdered, Arthur spied a black carriage situated on the side of the road leading out of the airport. Surely that could not be….
But it was.
Grandpa threw Arthur’s suitcase carelessly in the rear boot and effortlessly vaulted up into the drivers seat. Twisting around he gestured impatiently for his passenger to get in. Arthur gaped around his driver at the four gleaming black horses hitched to the front, eyes darting between them and the ornate fixtures adorning the carriage itself. It was large and unabashedly ostentatious, looking like something the black sheep of the Royal Family might have used back in the day. An irritated grunt had him hurrying for the door and clamoring inside with all the grace of a drunk turkey. Arthur thought carriages like these had some sort of footstool attachment but he wasn’t about to request help from Grandpa with a task he figured the old man would find beneath him.
He barely shut the door when the carriage lurched forward, leaving Arthur grateful the passenger seating was fully enclosed from the elements. The seats themselves were rather uncomfortable and the unsteadiness of the vehicle left him slightly motion sick but he did believe it a better alternative to letting Grandpa drive a car. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and attempted to will away his nausea.
There you stood, that’ll teach ya
To look so good and feel so right
Let me tell you ‘bout the girl I met last night
Arthur lurched up from his slumped position, smacking his head against the low roof above him. Music? His eyes roamed the cabin but found no devices resembling speakers. Pushing aside the curtains to his right revealed nothing unusual except for a window. It looked large enough to fit his head through and upon finding the sliding latch he pushed his face out into fresh air. From his vantage point he could barely see Grandpa but he could definitely hear him singing along to Survivor, the music piped in from somewhere unknown still. Arthur chuckled to himself as he brought his head back inside; he shouldn’t be so surprised to find Gramps had a pretty decent voice!
Arthur rested his head on the side wall and once again allowed his eyes to close. They were on a deserted side road and he hoped they would reach town soon enough. He then allowed the familiar sounds of Kiss to soothe him to sleep.
His attempted slumber was interrupted for a second time a few hours later. The blaring of horns interplayed with Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone”, cutting through his blissfully dreamless state and Arthur pulled the curtains back from the window, regretting his action almost instantly.
Whizzing past his window were dozens of cars. He slammed the window open and only succeeded in terrifying himself more when he discovered they were now on some kind of multi-lane highway filled with traffic. Cars coming up behind the slow moving carriage too quickly were forced to brake hard and swerve into the lanes next to them. Grandpa was the recipient of many rude hand gestures in a very short period of time.
“Old man! Hey! Grandpa!” Arthur screamed to be heard over the furious rush of vehicles. Grandpa didn’t turn to look at him but instead waved his hand, acknowledging he’d heard Arthur’s pleas but had no patience for him. It only succeeded in irritating Arthur more.
“Pull over, damn you!” He forced himself to sound angry, rather than horrified he was going to die at any second. “You have to get us off this road!”
Arthur continued shouting variations of this sentiment until Grandpa became so annoyed he jerked on the reins and guided the horses to the shoulder. The music cut out and all was silent.