Chapter Text
Get up! Wake up!
WAKE. UP.
HELLLLOOOOOO!
This isn’t working.
WAKE UP!
The utter racket is not appreciated. Khonshu isn’t sure who can possibly shout so loudly, or why it suddenly rings all the way through his skull. Only the older gods have ever made such a resounding impression, and why is he horizontal?
Khonshu does not like to be horizontal.
Khonshu sits up.
And then falls sideways, because things are not where they should be, do not weigh what they ought to, and are entirely the wrong shape.
There! Now he’s up!
Steven? There is no voice as grating as that, though it’s far too deep and booming. It reverberates around and seems to come from all locations at once. Khonshu turns his head to where he thinks the mortal is shouting from, and finds himself looking at…
Himself.
Except he doesn’t stand like that. And he’s currently wearing something very like the suit that Steven imagined for himself.
And he’s wringing both hands on the staff - or the Steven-him is - fretting.
Khonshu does not dream, for which he is eternally grateful. And Khonshu can drink, but usually doesn’t bother. The only explanation he can come up with for the Steven-him flustering about - oh, and now looking like Marc’s suit from the shoulders down - is that someone has decided to prank him with an illusion.
Plenty of gods can do that. Usually they can’t prank another god, but if Khonshu knows anything it’s to always assume people (read: gods, beings, deities, humans, entities and even inanimate objects) are both utterly wicked and out to make your existence insufferable.
Khonshu… That sounds like Marc. What did you do?
“What did I do?”
That is not his voice.
That.
IS NOT. HIS. VOICE.
Khonshu reels backwards, then realises he’s lying on his side on the bed and that the hand put out for balance is decidedly Marc-Steven-Jake-shaped.
Not Khonshu-shaped.
And it’s so small.
Avatars are supposed to be the voice of their gods on Earth, but this is taking it far too literally and is in no way funny.
I don’t think he knows
I’m getting the same impression, Steven.
His Avatar - looking like him - switches between the clothes surprisingly smoothly.
And Khonshu staggers to the (how do they function on such pathetic limbs) body’s feet and lumbers awkwardly to the nearest mirror. It isn’t hard, the narcissists have them all over.
“No,” he says, as he pulls at flesh with squat, sausage-meat fingers. “No. This is an illusion. It is not real.”
We don’t know what happened, either, Steven-him says, the voice still annoyingly like being hit over the head repeatedly with something he has no external frame of reference to truly compare it to.
We just woke up like this and we - weren’t here? Then we thought about it and we were.
“That’s how travel works, you fools,” Khonshu snarls, not liking the way talking now involves lips, tongue, teeth. Because those are also required for breathing.
Hmm.
He slams his hand (not his, not his) over his mouth and nose and holds his breath.
Marc, what’s he doing? Hey - hey! Don’t do that! Don’t bloody kill us! Khonshu? Marc, make him stop!
Khonshu considers stopping just to shut up the voice, but he’s determined to see this through as his willpower will clearly overcome basic bodily self-preservation, if this is even truly real.
Yeah, stop that! Don’t hurt our damn body! I’d rather not get brain damage!
Khonshu does not manage to hold his breath, so he sputters in annoyance that he’s forced to gasp in air. And now his nose is weirdly wet and one eye is twitching.
“Whoever is responsible for this is going to pay, and is going to regret ever attempting to ‘prank’ me.”
He doesn’t like how reedy the voice is. It sounds a bit too-Steven. Ugh. No one could possibly take him seriously like this.
“It was clearly one of you!” He whirls to the vision of himself behaving not-like himself. “You have done this! I demand you undo this and return my body to me!”
Did you miss the part where we thought it was you? Marc somehow manages to look like Marc even when he’s just a skull.
“This is undignified.
You reckon we like being stuck like this? Steven again.
“Fine. Summon the bug. Or - or Taweret. You should be able to reach her.”
Uhm… how?
They are beyond useless.
“How does your… phonic… work?”
I think he means the phone, Marc.
I got that. Khonshu, what are you planning?.
They are not working on this at the pace he needs. He finds the rectangle and tries to copy things he’s seen, squinting at the tiny writing, and--
Reading glasses, Steven prompts.
“Useless body,” Khonshu replies, and sloppily hits buttons until he hears the voice. “We require your assistance. Please bring Taweret.” He hangs up, expecting this will suffice.
Like she’s not going to notice the difference when you talk, Marc drawls.
“I fully expect and intend her to. I will require help from an actual god if you two are incapable.”
We just woke up like this! It’s not like you’re telling us how to ‘god’!
Khonshu rolls his eyes and oh actually that sort of feels wrong. Oh. Gross. Eyes. “I will not be teaching either of you how to use my powers, Marc. I will find a responsible deity and reverse this change.”
But first he is going to go back to bed.
And refuse to leave.
He doesn’t know if he can summon a suit or not, and he does not want to risk either himself or the Avatar’s meat puppet. He doesn’t know what would happen to him if he did.