Chapter Text
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Capochin couldn't help but compare Bauspace to the God Complex. Both kept their respective deities bathed in darkness, perhaps to aid with the overstimulation of their domains. Both had flickering lights, whether it was Inspekta's endless lines of computer data or Bauhazzo's mysterious floating runes. Both in their heyday had been sources of infinite information to anyone who dared to ask for it. But while the God Complex was now gone, this realm still was.
Bauhazzo, the stoic centerpiece of this realm, paused his meditations to open his eyes and acknowledge Capochin standing there.
“Ah, Capochin. I have not seen you here since you came to apologize for separating me from my dearest Huzzlemug. Heartfelt it was.”
“Yeah, well, I'm here for Cobigail this time, kinda.” He tried to explain as he held out the interview form. “Hector's on some mission to round up as much info as he can on Milldread's history. Make a museum or something. He wants to make sure nobody there forgets their traditions again, like they did.”
“Yes, Milldread forgetting its past and the effects it had on Cobigail were tragic, it was.” Bauhazzo mused. “I had offered to spread the tales of those lost rituals. But alas, none came to hear them.”
“Ya gots people willin’ to listen now.” Capochin said as he fished around in his pockets for the mini tape recorder he had borrowed for this task. Not as fancy as Megapon, but the tape inside had two hours of space on it, and as long as the old slab didn't ramble off topic too often, he figured it was enough to get the answers Hector was looking for.
Thinking about Hector gave him a surge of melancholy.
“It's ironic, I told people that what happened in Milldread was a reason people shoulda let the Bizzyboys make you the sole ruler of Buzzhuzz. Dat was kinda messed up, huh?”
Bauhazzo paused in consideration.
“Many times in the past, those who wished to hold power over others would do so using half truths, they would. Avoiding Milldread's mistakes would have been a reasonable justification, on the surface. However, I am not Cobigail. My domain does not function as hers does. As such, believing that holding onto the past without embracing the future would be good for Buzzhuzz would be folly.”
“But Gods, they are affected by their followers, right? What happened to Cobigail wasn't some fluke”
“True. Had your ruinous campaign been successful, my dear Huzzlemug would have gone neglected. It would have suffered, it would.” He paused. “But you need not worry. I do not hold grudges for events that did not transpire, I do not.”
“Dat's not what I was worried about.” Capochin shuffled uncomfortably. “Yah know how the thing that everyone did remember about Cobigail was that she was scary, right? But she wasn't a scary person, she was a prankster. But every time somebody came to visit her, the first thing she'd do was spook’em, even though that only made people more afraid of her.
What if she did that because it was the only thing she could remember about herself? Because that's what everyone believed about her.”
He was unknowingly twisting the papers in his hands as he got to the point of his babbling.
“What if that was also happening to Inspekta? That ova’ the years we Bizzyboys got so fanatic that it gave him a big head, made him think he was more important than the other gods.”
And by we Bizzyboys, I mean me.
Bauhazzo was unsettlingly silent for several moments.
“There were several elements that led to Inspekta's fall from grace.” The old rock finally spoke. “Yes, you and your Bizzyboys worshipped him excessively. Inflated his ego, it did. But there were underlying insecurities as well. The trauma of growing up in the Drain. The fear of living an unremarkable life, of being forgotten. It haunted him.
The feeling of needing to earn every ounce of praise. The jealousy of seeing King seemingly receive praise without effort. An illusion he convinced himself to be true. The isolation he imposed upon himself to focus on his misguided attempt at perfection, only made things worse.
It all created an unstable foundation, a house of cards you could call it.”
“So he was doomed to fail?” Capochin trembled at the thought of thirty years wasted. Helping Hector become the first god to represent the Drain, only to prove the deep seeded fear that they were ultimately worthless.
“There is no failure when knowledge is gained.” The elder God sagely offered. “The world did not end, it did not. Now more people understand the importance of communication. They are more mindful of mental health for themselves and others. Hector recognized his mistakes and is working towards doing better, he is.”
“Does doing better include cutting himself off from bad influences?” Capochin asked bitterly.
Observant as his eons of omnipotence granted, Bauhazzo picked up on the hint.
“You fear that this bad influence is yourself, yes?”
Capochin sighed, “I think back to when things started goin' downhill. When he started doubtin’ he'd be a god worth remembering, I pushed the boys even harder to spread his name. He deserved it. I never questioned his orders, never said ‘no’ to him, even when he started spreadin’ lies about King. Even when he started plottin’ against you other gods.”
‐-----------------------
He knew something was wrong the moment the van's alarm went off. Nobody was anywhere near it, and the only key was still sitting in his pocket. Yet the horn blared and the lights blinked, insisting something urgent was occurring.
Capochin made a quick inspection of the exterior. No sign of vandalism, no evidence of a hit and run. But the headlights still flashed and now the wipers were going. He quickly deducted that the trouble was originating from inside.
He rushed through the portal into the God Complex. It looked as if a tornado had struck the godly lair. Papers were scattered everywhere. Remnants of fast food deliveries were littered this way and that. Sparking wires that appeared to be connected deep in the darkness beyond the desk buzzed as they lay randomly on the floor. Other office supplies were scattered about haphazardly.
Capochin looked around for his god and found him in his usual spot, under his oversized desk, which was bouncing and rocking as the deity underneath was screaming and howling,
“IT'S NOT FAIR!!!”
Inspekta was thrashing about like a wind dancer gone mad, crashing his head and body into the walls and computer screens, causing them to crack and spark.
“It's not fair!” He repeated, before picking his hat up off the floor and biting down hard on it, shaking it like a ravenous dog would a steak. Unsatisfied with this, he threw it down and stuffed the lower half of his own body into his mouth, forming into a hoop and starting to roll around the empty space around the desk.
Disturbed by this behavior Capochin cried out, “Boss!” He called out louder, trying to be heard over the muffled screaming of his god. “Hey Boss! ‘Ekter!”
Upon hearing the remnants of his true name, Inspekta stopped rolling. He blinked to get his bearings, opened his mouth to release his lower half which plopped to the ground with a thump, and shook his head. He started to cough, then choke, then he horked up his pair of yellow boots. They hit the ground with a bounce, then a pair of hands slipped inside them and they took their place beneath his dangling form as he stood up.
“You…you okay dere Boss?” Capochin asked, cautiously approaching. “What's goin’ on?”
Inspekta stared at him blankly for a moment before speaking.
“Oh Cappy, it's awe-full, horror-bull, the woist.” He lamented with melodrama. “D'other gods, dey con-firmed King's elect-shin into goddyhood.”
“Yeah, I heard she won by a landslide.” Capochin noted.
“And it ain't fair!!!” Inspekta exploded, his previously tired eyes now wide and swirling red. “Godhood ain't supposed t'be some pop-you-larity contest. Godhood is supposed to be for those who WORK for it!” He grabbed his hair in two hands and pulled hard. “Who does she think she is? Comin’ along and stealin' my thunder. I'm the one who brings peas and order to the Grove, not that sweet talkin’ cowgirl!”
He slammed a fist down on the ground hard enough for Capochin to feel the tiles beneath his feet shake from the other side of the room.
“We were doin’ just fine before she showed up. But now it's all, King this and King that. ‘Oh that King, she's so elly-quint.’ Do I not tawk nice, Cappy?”
Capochin was shaken from his neutral state of rant observing and stumbled towards an answer. “Oh! Yeah. You speak with such authority, Boss. We love listenin' t'you.”
Inspekta huffed, “I bet she wouldn't have gotten all the votes if it wasn't pub-lick knowledge she and Miss Mitternaucht were datin'. Nobody'd dare separate Miss Missy from her dear lovah.” He batted his long eyelashes mockingly, then frowned. “The hussy.”
Capochin couldn't disagree that since King had arrived at the Grove she had single-handedly stolen attention away from Inspekta and the Bizzyboys by seemingly doing their job more efficiently than they ever could. Defusing confrontations between Grove citizens with only a few choice words. Solving problems faster. Gaining favor with each delivered letter and tip of a hat.
Sure, there was the fact that these days the Bizzyboys were more focused on promoting Inspekta's greatness over doing any actual mystery solving, but they still had a good reputation amongst the Grove folk. Something they had spent decades building. So it did seem unfair that she'd usurp Inspekta's best boys as the Grove's most sought after helper in such a short time.
“You're right boss, she's makin’ us all look bad. But she don't have the strategic mind that you've got. You've got real leadership skills. That's way better than some quotable one liners and occasionally good advice."
“Da gods don't think so.” Inspekta slumped, deflating like a popped balloon flattening on the ground. “She's all they could talk about after they counted the votes. She's all they could talk about since she was nom-e-nated. It's like they've forgotten all about me.”
Capochin frowned at the idea of the other gods not giving Inspekta his proper respect. King wasn't as perfect as everyone made her out to be. That's when an idea hit him.
“That King ain't all she's fluffed up to be. I betcha I could get some dirt on her. Send some boys to follow her around. See if they can dig up anything unflatterin' on her.”
Inspekta raised himself up off the floor, a far off look in his eyes that Capochin recognized as him forming an idea.
“Or we could man-you-facture something unflattering.” He suggested with a devious grin overtaking his face. “What if people in the Grove started gettin’ letters from King giving them some bad advice?”
Capochin hesitated. Inspekta was really contemplating using deception to sabotage the next god nominee. But, this would be harmless right? Just a way to lower King's popularity until the gods changed their minds about her and rescinded her nomination approval. It could potentially keep Inspekta on top, but there was one glaring issue.
“That's a clever idea boss, but wouldn't King just tell people she didn't write any of these hypothetical letters?”
The critique didn't phase Inspekta one bit.
“Naught if she's not around to tell anybody it wasn't her.” He smiled with his tongue poking out, reveling in his nascent plan coming into focus. “We can keep her busy, give her some goose chase-y errands to keep her away from the other folks. And if she does start asking too many questions, we can tie her up, throw her in the van and keep her all hidy-holed up until the Rift closes!”
Capochin fell back as Inspekta increased in volume, both audibly and physically. His eyes swirling with red and blue as he loomed over his audience of one. Then he paused, his expression souring.
“Of course with the Rift approaching, the other gods are gonna come together to close it. Those sent-a-mental fools are gonna wonder, ‘what happened to our dearest King?’ They only care about their special mail Pokey. They stopped giving me the time of day years ago!”
“They just forgot how important your work is.” Capochin offered. “We know what you do is more important than making art or singing songs. Why, without proper leadership keeping the Grove safe and orderly, those other things wouldn't be possible.”
He beamed when Inspekta smiled at him.
“Cappy, yew always know what ta say. And you've given me a goody-good idea on how to crack two eggs with one stone.”
Inspekta slid back under his desk and with a swipe of his hand, removed the damage he had caused. Wiping away the cracks from his screens as easily as one might rub a smuge away with a rag. With the screens fixed, he began downloading information at a rapid pace.
“What if the Gods started gettin’ some unreliable information from ‘King’ as well? Some bad advice that kept them so diz-stracted that they didn't even notice how big the Rift was getting? What if it got so big, in fact, dat it sucked them all out when they weren't paying attention.” He grinned widely, not bothering to hide the sharp fangs he usually kept secret from the public. “Leavin’ me the last god standing. The one and only God of the Grove!” He chuckled, a laugh that cascaded into something loud and manic.
Capochin was frozen. Was Inspekta serious? Dare he even question this aloud?
“Boss… that's a literally world changing idea you got there. You, uh… really think you can pull it off?”
Inspekta turned back to his screens, “I'm gonna half to do some research to figure out the best way to exploit each God's fate-all flaw. But in the mean time, let's keep this just between yew and me. Okie dokie?”
Capochin wanted to answer, but all his words were clogged up deep down in his throat. This would reshape the world as everyone knew it. It would make Inspekta the supreme authority. Which he deserved. He had done so much for the people of the Drain and the Grove. Inspekta had done so much for him. But it would all come at such a high and mighty cost.
“Of course, Boss.” He choked out. “Concider it locked down.”
Inspekta leaned in close, smiling sweetly, completely calm, as if his previous outbursts had been non-existent.
“Oh Cappy, I can always count on yew.” He praised, “Yew are the only person I can truly trust.” He laid a godly hand on Capochin's shoulder. “We've been threw sew much together, doing big things, haven't we?”
Capochin could have melted right there and then. Only he was trustworthy enough, worthy enough, to be in on such an important plan. His god wanted him and him alone to be at the ground level of the biggest endeavor they would ever pursue. Any fear of consequences vanished. If it was for Inspekta, he'd do anything.
“Yeah, Spek. We sure have.”
‐------------
“I knew deep down it was a bad idea. That it wasn't right. But I was so afraid of disappointing him. I didn't want him to think I wasn't 100 percent dedicated to him. He had made me feel like I was something special and I didn't want to lose that. So when he told me to jump, I asked ‘over which cliff’.”
Bauhazzo waited patiently as he continued to rant.
“And what did it get me? I can count on one hand the number of people who still trust me. Godpoke's been sorting death threats outta my mail. I don't know if I pity Hector for all he's been through or if I'm still mad at him for playing me like a cheap harmonica. I'm mad at myself for letting him. And to top it all off, he's moved out anyway. He thinks we need to take a break from each other.”
“Hmm, I have witnessed many friendships, many young couples, take time away from one another in order to gain perspective.” The elder God mused. “Some succumbed to longing and returned to one another, they did. Others came to the conclusion they were better off apart. Whatever the outcome of this separation, I feel it would do you good to gain a fresh perspective without Inspekta…” he verbally backspaced, “Hector's influence. I do.”
“Easy for you to say.” Capochin scoffed. “I don't even know what to do with myself now without him. I never pictured having a life without him.” Truthfully he had found himself content with the idea of living out his life as Inspekta's number one devotee and nothing more.
“It can be difficult, yes, painful even, to leave a life you are comfortable in. Even when you see there are problems within it. Sometimes change can only happen when outside forces intervene, or when the pain of continuing as you are becomes greater than the pain of leaving what you know.”
Capochin was reminded of the shopkeeper, despite no longer trusting their safety in the Grove, they did not want to leave.
Bauhazzo continued, “which is why I see Hector's decision to leave as an opportunity, a blessing, yes. Instead of blindly following out of fondness for someone else, you can direct your own path, become your own man, you can.”
“Figure out who I am without him, huh?” Capochin asked aloud, then sighed with defeat. “Where do I even start?”
“It is best, I have learned, to start simple.” The stone god advised. “Find what sparks your interest. What causes little pleasures. Try new experiences. Growth comes from challenge, it does. I have seen it too many times to refute.”
“What other choice do I have?” Capochin resigned himself. He looked back up to the God of Memory, those all-knowing eyes looking back at him encouragingly. “Thanks for the advice, Bau.” He turned to leave.
“It is my purpose and pleasure to offer my knowledge to any and all who ask of it, yes. But, was there not another reason for your visit?”
Capochin jolted, mentally kicking himself. He had almost completely forgotten the folder still gripped in his hand, slightly more wrinkly now that he had been fidgeting with it.
“Oh Spek, the interview!”
+++++++++++++++++++
Sometime later Capochin emerged from Bauhazzo's shrine, his tape recorder filled with lengthy, in depth answers. He had even scribbled notes in the margins of the questionnaire. He was on his way to the library now, planning on transcribing everything into easily readable text.
Hector would be pleased with his good work…
No…
He had to stop thinking like that.
This project was for the people of Milldread. For Cobigail.
He could no longer be living solely for Hector's praise. He would have to make himself feel special and remind himself that he was worth it.
As he got to the square before the library's main entrance, he spotted Godpoke decending the massive staircase.
The messenger spotted him and came over with a tip of their hat.
“You get a good haul?” He inquired.
Godpoke held Megapon to the side and it spat out a pile of old books, newspapers, photocopies and even a film reel or two.
“Not bad.” Capochin commented as the pile was sucked back up. He held up his tape recorder and folder for them to see. “Got what I needed too. Just gotta type it up.”
Godpoke dug through their pocket and took out a flyer and showed it to Capochin, then pointed back towards the library. He looked it over, seeing that it wad advertising open enrollment for classes at Buzzhuzz University.
“What, the University fishing for new students in there?”
Godpoke took out another paper. An enrollment form.
“‘Psychology 101’. You signed up for classes?” Godpoke nodded. “Why psychology?”
They pointed Megapon at him.
“The gods sure are cuh-razy.”
It was the same quote from this morning. Perhaps the shopkeeper's plight had inspired some call to go above and beyond the usual godpoke duties.
“You gonna try to be their therapist?” He asked with disbelief “HA! Good luck.”
Godpoke didn't look disuaded in the least. They held out Megapon one more time and Capochin heard his own words quoted back to him,
“It's for a good cause.”
“Well, if you really think so.” He conceded. He knew from experience, once Godpoke put their mind to something, they'd pursue it regardless of who told them otherwise. “Guess I'll see you around.”
“See ya later, alligator” chimed from Megapon in a cutesy voice Capochin assumed was pulled from some pre-school show. Godpoke tipped their hat and went on their way.
Capochin headed up the library stairs. Once inside the grand atrium he found a sign indicating the direction of the computer lab. But to his left he spotted some tables the University had set up. Various people were quietly promoting the upcoming semester and what classes were available.
Maybe it was Bauhazzo's advice. Maybe it was seeing Godpoke taking some time to better themself. Maybe it was just so he'd have something to fill his days now that he no longer had the Bizzyboys or Hector to take care of anymore.
He approached the table and perused the academic offerings.
A few hours later he left the library with a neat stack of his printed interview transcription, a university flyer and class enrollment forms for culinary studies and restaurant management.
[The End]