Chapter Text
The tapping is quiet, but insistent enough that they notice it from the kitchen. Steven's up to his elbows in washing up, so Layla's the one to investigate. It takes her a while to narrow down where it's coming from as it's intermittent; a short flurry of taps followed by silence, then more frantic tapping. She tracks it down to one of the windows; probably something caught and flapping against the glass in the wind.
The window's more than a little stiff. A flicker of movement catches her eye as she struggles to get the sash to start moving, but she's more focused on applying enough force to get the stubborn window to move without smashing it into the top of the frame than the drama playing out along the guttering outside.
A pitched battle between the God of the Moon and a pair of the most fearsome beasts to be found in the British Isles is taking place on the rooftop. Layla watches as Khonshu leaps back, a deft swing of his staff intercepting slashing yellow talons that pass a hair's breadth from a disemboweling strike. A twist of the haft arrests the swing and sends the sharp tines of the crescent moon whistling towards the jaundiced eye of his second foe. It recoils with a scream of rage, and he takes the opportunity to sweep low and fast at the legs of his first attacker, sending them staggering back out of his reach to avoid being swept over the edge of the roof. He spins, sending another jab towards the head of the enemy he near blinded before, then ducks low to avoid snapping jaws as the first recovers their balance and lunges back in towards him. Layla can appreciate that when pressed, Khonshu is apparently a fast and efficient fighter able to hold his own against two much larger opponents. He's actually significantly better than she would have assumed. However, the fight she's observing would be a lot more impressive if Khonshu were not all of eight inches tall, and trying to fend off a pair of seagulls.
"Get out of here," Layla says, and flaps her arms around to shoo the seagulls away from the roof. They take off with twin shrieks of rage, the draught from their wings making the god unsteady on his feet. He turns and glares at her balefully for having the temerity to witness his indignity. Again, this would have been more impressive were he not small enough to put in a shoebox.
There is a clink as he throws his staff up onto the windowledge, then scrambles up after. He stares up at her haughtily, for all the world as if she hadn't just watched him scale a brick wall while muttering near inaudible curses every time his foot slipped.
Take me to my Knight, Layla, he commands, I wish to speak with him.
"What was it?" Steven calls from the kitchen as the kettle comes to a whistling boil.
"Just a pigeon," she replies, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
The tiny arms and legs flail in protest as she picks him up by the back of his robes. A very small breeze ruffles her hair as she carries him back to the dining table.
Unhand me, woman! He rages, twisting and turning in her grasp.
"What?" She coos. "I'm doing as you requested, because you asked so very nicely."
She places him gently onto the table, and generously stacks a couple of the scattered books for him to sit on. She wonders vaguely whether her mother still has her dolls house furniture from when she was a child boxed up in the loft, and whether it might be worth getting Marc to go fetch it should this situation continue. The idea of Khonshu sitting primly on a pink plastic chair is nearly enough to tip her into hysterical laughter, but she really doesn't want to tip Steven off that anything is amiss.
Steven emerges from the kitchen nook with two cups of tea. On the table, Khonshu unfolds to his full height and leans on his staff in a pose that would surely be intimidating under other circumstances.
"What the…"
Two full cups of tea can cover a lot of floor if dropped from chest height.
"Oh bloody hell Khonshu, who did you piss off this time?" Steven asks, once he's mopped up the worst of the wave of tea, and settled himself at the table next to Layla.
Heka is being entirely unreasonable, the god warbles from where he lounges on the stack of books.
"He's the god of magic. I imagine he frequently is," Layla observes, and wonders how come she's about to give a Primary School life lesson to an ancient deity. "If he's annoying you, you should ignore him and leave."
He cheats. The piping voice is heavy with outrage. At Senet.
Clearly an accusation worth getting yourself shrunk over.
Steven closes his eyes for a moment.
"Marc mate, I think you might wanna wake up for a bit," he says aloud. "You too Jake."
The tiny figure waves his knitting-needle-sized staff at him furiously.
I will not be a spectacle for your amusement, Worm! He chirps indignantly. I am a god!
Steven jerks a little in his seat, and straightens into Marc's more contained posture.
"Sure you are buddy," he says, "but currently you're a very small one."
Layla can tell from the set of his shoulders when Jake pushes Marc aside.
—Voy a ver qué carajos está pasando—
He leans down close and peers curiously at the god, face mere inches from Khonshu's tiny form. Very gently, more gently than Layla would have expected from him, he pokes him in the chest with one finger, as if he's not entirely convinced he's not an illusion. The diminished god swipes with his staff and catches Jake on the nose. He sits back, rubbing where the moon atop Khonshu's staff has left a scratch.
—¡Es muy jodidamente divertido!— Jake laughs, until tears squeeze from the corners of his eyes. He turns and looks at his reflection in the fishtank, and gives a small nod before Steven turns to Layla with a devilish grin. She knows what he's about to ask without him saying a word. Fixing him with a stern look she says,
"Before you ask, no, we cannot keep him." She sighs. "I think I'd better speak to Taweret, and see if she can persuade Heka to undo whatever it is he did."
Steven looks desperately disappointed.
"Do we have to, love? I think I prefer him like this."