Part 2: Brangot and Diotitus
Brangot heaved a heavy fist of tightly knotted roots against his neighbor’s apartment door. When no answer came, he rapped the door with two fists, his other two fists holding a towel around his naked trunk. Soapy water dripped from his bark and leafy skin onto Diotitus’ doormat. He knew there would be no response at Tif’s door. She was a Drooler in Myrrh Desert Park and hadn’t been home in several years.
Diotitus opened the door and gave a wry grin upon seeing the wet and mostly naked warrior. The hulking plant warrior appeared flustered and Diotitus offered, “Greek bath? It’s been a few millennia, but I’m sure I can recall those techniques that really curled your leaves.”
“We have to talk,” Brangot declared and pushed his way into Diotitus’ tiny apartment. He had to stoop so as not to bump his head-branches on the doorframe.
“Hold on,” Diotitus rushed past Brangot. “I just polished my ceremonial armor and you’ll get it wet. That hard water you like to bath in will leave mineral deposits.”
Brangot shot one of his long arms around Diotitus and forcefully shut the door. “We’ve got a problem. We need to get Tif. Now.”
As Brangot had expected, Diotitus was completely unphased. “She’s gone,” he said soberly. “Been gone for a while,” he twirled his finger at the side of his head to indicate insanity. “The managers know she’s at the park and are ready to reassign her room.”
Brangot shook his head, sending water droplets flying around the room. “I realize her situation. But, now we have our own situation related to hers.”
“What?” Diotitus exclaimed irritably, trying to herd the much larger plant warrior towards the door. “Why don’t you dry off and then tell me what’s got your leaves all wrinkled?”
“When a god sends you a message in the shower, you don’t stop to dry off.” Brangot explained in an exasperated tone, not letting Diotitus crowd him out of the room.
Diotitus sized over Brangot, trying to ascertain the context of what now sounded like one of his extremely dry jokes. “And?” he asked, unconvinced.
“You and I have been summoned to the Conservatory,” Brangot said, and waited for Diotitus to grasp the implication.
“You had better not be joking,” Diotitus said firmly. “Why would the two of us be invited there? Well,” he nodded in sublime arrogance, “I could see why I might be invited.”
“No,” Brangot snapped, “It has nothing to do with your five minutes as a Grick god with, how many worshippers did you say there were? Four?”
“Greek god, and it was ten,” Diotitus snapped. “And it was for four months. At least three, anyway.” He picked up a half-polished circlet lying on a stack of clay-tablet magazines. “If we were not asked to the Conservatory because of my long-standing status as a god,” and Diotitus leveled his index finger at Brangot, “and because I was grandfathered in before the billion-worshipper rule was enacted doesn’t change the fact. Anyway, if not because of my status, then why would we be invited?”
“Tif,” Brangot said simply. “Something to do with Tif is all I was told. And whatever it is, we’ll eventually have to get her.”
Diotitus exhaled a lengthy sigh, turned the circlet in his fingers, and tossed it back to its place of prominence on top of the clay tablets. “They’re gods,” he said matter-of-factly. “They must know we can’t simply shake her a bit and wake her up.”
Brangot adjusted his towel and shrugged anxiously. “I told them she was a Drooler. I figured they would know what I meant.”
“What could they possibly want with a Drooler?” Diotitus mused. “And how would we get her back? She may be physically a couple of blocks away, but she’s long gone.”
Brangot shrugged. “I didn’t ask. When you get a message from multiple gods of significant stature, you don’t waste time asking.”
“More than one god? And you didn’t take the time to ask who they were or what exactly we were supposed to do with a Drooler?” Diotitus asked incredulously.
“No,” Brangot said, annoyed. “Like I said, I told them she was a Drooler, but they didn’t appear to understand. Maybe they were gods with a GeD. I didn’t get the impression they spent much time around here.”
“Great,” Diotitus said and became deflated. “So you want to come running because a bunch of bookworms with their God-like effect Doctorates called? They’re the only ones at the Conservatory anyway because they don’t have another afterworld of their own.”
“I don’t know who it was,” Brangot droned. “But when was the last time a god called you to the Conservatory?”
Diotitus didn’t answer. In the seemingly eternal amount of time he had spent in this afterworld, no god had ever summoned him. “So what did Tif do? Maybe some god she had a fling with?”
“Don’t get sour because she never had any interest in you,” Brangot said. He wadded the towel in his leafy knuckles and looked expectantly at Diotitus. “Well, are you coming?”
“What, now?” Diotitus asked.
“Yes, now. Right now. Get in your in-a-god’s-presence best and let’s go.”
Diotitus motioned at Brangot. “You’re not going like that, are you?”
“I don’t take half as long as you do to get dressed,” Brangot replied.