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When all the celebrations are finally over—when pictures have been taken and food has been eaten and everyone has exchanged relief over having survived the Oni invasion—Dareth goes home. He tries to get the ninja to let him stay the night and have a bonding sleepover, but they don’t have an extra bathrobe and he figures he ought to just go home, then. If after all this chaos he can’t have a little quality bathrobe time, then was survival really worth it?
It’s a long walk from the monastery back to town, so Ronin gives him a ride back to the city because “I was going there anyway. Don’t take this the wrong way, master of brown.”
“Sure thing, bud. Hey, Ronin, we can take the carpool lane, now,” he says cheerfully as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“This is a flying ship, Dareth. And don't touch the aux."
Ronin can talk all he wants but it’s a little harder than that to pull the wool over old’ Dareth’s eyes. Ronin’s a grade-A softie sometimes and no amount of gruff deflecting can change that. Dareth spends the ride trying to communicate his understanding of that through a series of knowing smiles, but he’s not sure Ronin gets the message. He’s not a master of subtlety, that guy. Doesn’t have a great EQ. That’s okay, though, because Dareth’s got EQ in spades. Hmm, maybe he should change from master of brown to master of subtlety…
Ronin drops him off in the park in the center of the city with a muttered goodbye. As he disembarks, Dareth shoots one last very charming wink over his shoulder and receives an adoring scoff for his trouble. He watches the ship disappear into the orange-streaked sky with great fondness and shakes his head.
“Oh, that guy,” he muses to himself as he begins the trek back to Laughy’s. “What a peach.”
The sun’s getting low in the sky when he finally sees his familiar storefront. Whistling, he unlocks the door and enters. It’s very big and empty in the half-light of the evening, full of shadows that collect in the corners among stacked chairs. Coming home to this place gives Dareth a funny, twisted feeling in the pit of his gut, but even his massive EQ is stumped as to what the feeling may be. Maybe dairy. They served ice cream at the mural unveiling and honestly, at this point, he should know better than to eat it in such large amounts, but it was a special occasion, okay?
Anyway, it’s a different feeling than lactose intolerance—it feels sunken a lot deeper in his tummy, weary and hollow. He wonders if he should have asked Ronin in for a drink or something. Ah, well. He probably would have said no.
There’s a lot of sorting out to do before he can hit the hay; when the evacuation began, he’d been in the middle of opening. He organizes the tasks in his head—there are glasses to polish and trash to take out and tables to wipe down and floors to sweep. That’s okay, though. He doesn’t mind the work. With the latest album of Ninjago’s favorite boy band, bumping, the time passes quickly. Slowly but surely, he crosses tasks off the list in his mind until finally, the last thing he has to do is take out the trash.
Belting along with the emotional bridge of “You’ve Great-Devoured My Heart”, Dareth props open the back door and heads into the alley where the dumpsters are. “ I can’t resist your serpentine wiles, you’ve hypnobrai’d me with your smiles. My heart constrictais in my chest, when you look at me, I— ,”
“Mortal.”
A manly and heroic shout of surprise escapes Dareth and he drops the trash bags as a tall dark figure emerges from the shadows of the alley.
“Stop squealing,” says Lord Garmadon, Master of Destruction, Personification of Evil, and Lloyd’s dad, crossing his topmost arms. Dareth obeys, jaw clacking shut.
“...Aren’t you going to throw your trash away?” Garmadon asks after a second, gesturing with one of his four hands to the forgotten bags. Dareth swallows dryly.
“I—uh. Yes.” With two narrowed amber eyes searing into the back of his neck, Dareth throws the rubbish into the dumpster.
Garmadon arches an eyebrow when he doesn’t move. “Aren’t you going to go inside?”
“Why are you in my trash?” Dareth blurts out before he can stop himself. “Are you here to rob me?”
Garmadon’s face appears to make six different expressions at once before settling on disbelieving disgust. “I’m sorry, do you really take me for a petty mugger?”
“I—well, I don’t know. What if you’re down on your luck?” Dareth says, voice quivering. To be fair, it seems fairly likely, given that it’s not a great time to be Lord Garmadon right now (what with the Ninjago’s #1 Most Wanted thing and all).
“I am not down on my—,” Garmadon’s eyes squeeze shut and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t even have anything worth taking!”
“I guess not,” Dareth concedes. He surveys him with a squint. “So are you just a garbage guy? Like is that your thing? No judgment from me, I guess, but it would be nice to—,”
“I am not a ‘ garbage guy ’!” Garmadon interrupts through gritted teeth, eyes flashing. His teeth are very big and pointy and Dareth remembers to be frightened again.
“R-right. Right.” He gulps. “Sooooooo...no garbage. No robbery. So what is it you—?”
“A drink, human,” Garmadon says with an unamused glower. “I’m here for a drink.”
“A drink,” Dareth repeats. It clicks. “Oh, because this is a—I run a bar, right.”
“Wonderful. Now you’re caught up,” Garmadon mutters, and then shoulders past him to walk through the back door. He has to both duck and turn sideways to make it through the threshold and Dareth is so captivated by his humongousness and also the fact that the Lord of Evil is in Laughy’s that it takes him a second to remember to run after him.
“Wait, wait, Mr. Lord of Evil, sir,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He clicks the music off. “We’re not actually open right now, we—oh, you’re sitting down. Oh, you’re pouring your own drink. Okay. Right.”
Garmadon doesn’t look over as he tosses back a shot, and then two more. Finally, he settles hard on a barstool that creaks under his weight. Dareth hesitates for a moment before quietly sliding behind the bar.
“What kind of bar isn’t open at eight o’clock at night?” Garmadon asks at last, his voice a rumble in his chest.
“Well, normally we are. It’s that just with the invasion and everything,” Dareth says, shrugging.
Garmadon pins him with an incisive look. “Isn’t that all the more reason for it to be open?”
He blinks.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Huh.”
Garmadon snorts softly as he pours another drink. Meanwhile, Dareth decides it’s probably optimistic to anticipate Garmadon paying for his drinks. Does he even have money? His armor doesn’t look like it has pockets. Maybe he keeps his wallet under that helmet? It seems to be the most logical place to him.
“Do you keep your wallet under your helmet?” he asks curiously.
Garmadon’s eyebrows knit. “No? If you are trying to rob me, I assure you, it will not end pleasantly for you.”
“No, no, no,” he says quickly, waving his hands. “I’m a ninja, I would never rob anyone! ...Unless maybe they were bad. Which I guess you are, but I wouldn’t rob you. If anything you’d—well, but we’ve been over that. Anyway, I don’t think I could rob you. Like, physically.”
“You could not,” Garmadon agrees, and takes his fourth and fifth shots of the night. When he catches Dareth watching in awe, he offers a slight frown and explains, “Bigger body. More resistance to the effects.”
“Oh, right.” He wonders what the Lord of Evil might look like drunk. It’s a strange thing to ponder, like seeing a grandma naked, or watching Lloyd do taxes. Speaking of him: “Are you going back to the monastery to see Lloyd?”
Garmadon’s head snaps up, his lips pulled back over those—again, very sharp—teeth in a snarl. “No. And don’t mention that boy to me again if you value your life, human.”
“I do! I won’t!” Dareth squeaks, backing up. “Sorry.”
“I don’t like small talk,” Garmadon says, glaring at him. “I will not steal from you. Leave me here and go about your business.”
“This is my business,” Dareth says. He cocks his head. “Do you, er, want a real drink? I don’t want to brag, but I make a mean cocktail. It’s one of my ninja powers.”
“Your existing repertoire of ninja powers do not enthuse me about your mixology skills,” Garmadon says wryly, and Dareth isn’t really sure what that means, but it’s definitely not a no.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he says cheerfully, taking his apron off the hook and tying it around his waist. He pushes his sleeves back. “What are you in the mood for? The Brookstone? The Zaptrap? The Ultra Super Flaming Tall Glass of Awesome?” At Garmadon’s skeptical look, he admits, “It’s just a fireball with three kinds of peppers in it. Kai named it.”
“I don’t know what any of those things are,” Garmadon says flatly, crossing his arms on the counter. “Give me something non-ninja-related.”
“You got it, boss.” A few minutes later, he crowns his masterpiece with a strawberry wedge and pushes it across the counter. Garmadon stares down at his very pink drink with some unreadable expression.
“I present you with Gayle Gossip’s Strawberry Scoop,” Dareth declares proudly. At Garmadon’s incredulous look, he smiles sheepishly. “It’s the only drink I designed after someone other than a ninja.”
“Ridiculous,” sighs Malignance Incarnate, and takes a reluctant sip. Dareth watches eagerly as surprise appears on his face, quickly chased away by stoic disinterest.
“Aha! I saw that! You like it!” he accuses triumphantly.
“I do not,” Garmadon growls, slamming two hands on the counter. “It’s bearable at best!”
“No, I saw it,” Dareth insists, crossing his arms. “You can’t fool me. I’m the brown ninja and my awesome drink-making skills have shaken you to the core.”
“It’s too sweet,” Garmadon mutters, but he takes another sip. It’s with some surprise that Dareth notices the slump of his shoulders and the slow twist of his mouth and realizes Garmadon is tipsy. The absurdity of the situation starts to hit. After a moment of consideration, Dareth makes a drink of his own.
“Self-medicating on the job, mortal?” Garmadon asks, watching him make it with distant amusement.
“You can just call me Dareth,” he says by way of reply, taking a sip. “And I don’t really think this counts as being on the job. Some people may not know, but even us ninja are human.”
“Right.” Garmadon swirls his drink. “You are human, aren’t you? Like... the boy.”
“The boy?” Dareth echoes uncertainly. Garmadon glares at him. “Ohhhhh, that boy. The, uh, boy who must not be named.”
Garmadon clears his throat. “Precisely. That boy.”
A silence creeps in. Dareth lets it sit since Garmadon looks like he’s working up to saying something. As usual, he’s right:
“I seek some counsel from you on the matter,” says the Lord of Evil reluctantly.
“Oh sure,” Dareth nods. “Lots of people do that. What can I counsel for you today?”
He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Garmadon mutters, mostly to himself. “To you of all people. Have I truly sunk so low? Can I demean myself any further?”
“Is, uh, is that the question? Because I’m not sure I—,”
“You asked earlier if I was returning to the monastery to see Ll— that boy . I am not,” Garmadon cuts in. He clears his throat. “I have been told I sired him. Some small part of me is able to recognize this truth—that in a past life, I may have even cared for him.”
“Yeah, man,” Dareth says softly. He thinks of Sensei Garmadon and the way Lloyd had looked at him—like he hung the moon. “You were a really great dad.”
“Well, be that as it may, I am no father as things stand. I hardly remember the boy, and our interactions have been somewhat unsavory since my return.” Garmadon seems almost frustrated as he mulls this over. With great difficulty, he says, “I cannot claim a lack of responsibility in that. Caring and other... human emotions do not come instinctually to me as they might have to that boy’s father. He desires from me something I cannot currently provide.”
The wheels in Dareth’s head turn. “So what you’re saying is...you’re here for being-human advice so you can be a better dad?”
“Something in me refuses to rest until I at least attempt it,” Garmadon agrees tightly. “And I cannot face the boy as I am. You are the most human person I could think of to be my solution.”
“Really? Because I’ve been told my good looks border on godly, so…”
“You are the only person I knew of to possess neither a divine elemental power nor the common sense to turn me away,” Garmadon says bluntly. “Your lack of greater spiritual or mental wisdom is also characteristic of a common human. Thus, you are the most qualified to provide counsel on my conundrum.”
“Aw, you got me,” Dareth says, chuckling. “I’m a bleeding heart and everyone knows it. I just can’t resist a student with potential! Alright, Garm, you got yourself a mentor.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Come on, be a pal,” Dareth tells him with a grin. “Humans love nicknames you know. I myself have quite a few. Danger D, for instance. Or maybe Daring Dareth? Your pick.”
Garmadon rolls his eyes. “Consider the fact that I bother to retain your given name a generosity already.”
Dareth sips his drink. “You know, Garm, most humans can keep tons of names in their memory.”
“My memory extends for hundreds of years and through a resurrection,” Garmadon says with a dark look. “I can’t be expected to recall every meaningless name of every meaningless mortal.”
“Now that’s non-human talk if I ever heard it,” Dareth says. “You’ve gotta lighten up and go with the flow, man. Humans can’t say stuff like that.”
Garmadon scoffs. “Why? Because they are cowards?”
“Because you’ll get a knuckle sandwich if you’re too mouthy,” Dareth counters sagely. “And for humans, that’s a real concern.”
“You mean a physical consequence. But that would pose no threat to me,” Garmadon says, his forehead wrinkling.
“Right, but it does to the average human.”
He blinks uncomprehendingly and sips from his drink. “But I am not the average human.”
“Right, but you’re trying to imitate one. So get in the mood!”
“The mood of fear and weakness? I would like to imitate a brave and perhaps callous human, then."
Dareth frowns. “Oh. Like Ronin? I can call him if you want. Although, between you and I, I'm starting to think he might have lost his phone, cuz he never calls me back."
“Don't bother. He would turn me into the police for the bounty without question,” Garmadon dismisses.
“You’re a criminal?” Dareth yelps and then realizes, “oh, wait, I knew that.”
“Are you going to turn me in, then?” Garmadon asks curiously, eyes slanting with interest.
Dareth hesitates, fiddling with his apron strings. The pros and cons weigh themselves in his mind. “Well… I probably should. But I guess not. For one, you’d probably kill me if I tried.”
“Correct.”
“Right, so I'm trying to avoid that scenario. Anyway, for another, you’re Ll—my friend’s family. And it would be good for him to have a family again,” Dareth says. “The kid’s had it pretty hard. He should get to have a good dad.”
There’s a long silence where neither of them say anything. Then Dareth looks up and grins.
“Hey, Garm, you wanna get real human with me?” he says, walking over to where his phone is still hooked up to the speakers. He restarts 'You’ve Great Devoured My Heart' and jams to the intro guitar riffs. “Because this is one of the greatest songs of the human experience!”
“This is a vapid love song for a boy band about one of the greatest traumas in my immortal life,” Garmadon says dryly over the music.
Dareth only grins and turns up the volume. “So you do know it!”
A snort. “Hardly. The guards at Kryptarium were fans.”
“Exactly! No one can resist the silky vocals and sweet, sweet jams of the Jamanakai Boys!” Dareth cries. “Sing with them, man. You don’t even know what you do to me, but you’re slithering into my heart. And I’m paralyzed, I’m helpless to stop you, so let’s finish what we start .”
“You are a grown man.”
“ Oh, when it comes to love, I’m no hatchling but you make me feel so new . You’ve Great-Devoured my heart so easily, I don’t know what to do! ”
“I can’t believe this.”
“ And it’s killing me, the venom’s spreading with every kiss and touch! But I can’t resist you when you call me, I love you oh so much !”
“I’ve changed my mind, I no longer want to be human.”
Dareth ignores him and breaks into the sickass air guitar solo with everything he has. The flawless discography of the Jamanakai Boys demands from him all the air-instrumental excellence he can offer—it’s the least he can do, really.
“Hey, Garm, do you have a place to stay?” he shouts over the music, still fully engaged in his air guitar solo. “I have a room upstairs, you know.”
“You’re a moron for offering it to me and I absolutely refuse,” Garmadon replies evenly. “Out of curiosity, have you forgotten who I am, or do you really have a death wish?”
“It’s called leading by example, my friend,” Dareth says, headbanging to the drum solo. “It’s the human thing to do. Don’t worry, that’s the advanced stuff. We’ll work up to it.”
A huff of what might be mistaken as amusement escapes Garmadon as he gets to his feet. “Indeed.”
“Wait, are you leaving?” Dareth pauses in his epic choreography and turns down the music, trying to catch his breath. “Seriously?”
He gets a nod in response. “I’ll return for my…”
“Human lessons?”
“Human lessons. I’ll return for them at a later date.”
“Okay, get home safe,” Dareth says cheerfully. “Or get wherever you’re going safely, anyway.”
“I highly doubt there are any threats I may encounter that would pose genuine danger,” Garmadon says. He lingers in front of the threshold for a moment. “Dareth.”
“Yeah?”
“Your...humanity is admirable to me. I am grateful for it.”
“Sure! You said it yourself, it’s what I do best,” he says with a shrug. “Well, right behind acts of heroism. Or maybe air guitar. I’m pretty good at that stuff, too.”
“Hm. Goodnight, then.”
And then that colossal, four-armed figure ducks out the back door and Lord Garmadon, Master of Destruction, Personification of Evil and Lloyd’s dad is gone, quick as he came. For such a big guy, he’s startlingly quiet and careful. Dareth stays where he is, straining to hear any decibel of sound that might indicate the last hour was not a hallucination. But the only sounds that greet his ears are honking cars and police sirens and the soft murmurs of passersby.
Human lessons to the Lord of Darkness, huh? What a strange and dangerous prospect. Dareth’s really quite brave for taking this on, but a soul in need is a soul in need and the Brown Ninja fears no obstacle. Besides, if there’s any chance at all Lloyd could regain the father he lost, well… after all this time, he owes it to the kid to do his best to assist in the endeavor. It’s the least he can do.
Dareth hums as he takes the two dirty glasses off the counter to the dishwasher and lets it wash away any trace of Garmadon’s presence. Until the next time, then.