How To Debate An Armchair
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As with any day in the life of House God, the morning began not with an alarm, not with the cock's cry, and nor by the creaking of the floorboards. No, the morning began with the daily shouting match between Toilet God and Armchair God from across the hall, as Guardian stood in the bathroom, quietly humming to himself as he swished mouthwash between his cheeks. Consumables did not seem to be very lenient towards the Enlightenment, but that was okay. Guardian was content with what he had, and what he had was-

"You blunt, incompetent depository! Why won't you concede?"

Guardian sighed as he patted the lid of the deity's tank, giving it a faux-affectionate rub. He swished a finger past the lever and let it flush, drowning out his voice for a moment as Toilet God experienced what was most akin to climax. Armchair God did not seem to be ready to ring out with his reply as of yet, and instead was groggily murmuring from the living room. There was idle chatter from Fire Alarm god in the hallway just outside the bathroom, but nothing past complaints of the kitchen's fighting the previous night, and the sudden strain of smoke and burnt odor.

The Guardian stepped outside the bathroom and left the door open, for the furnishings' ease of communication with the rest of the home. Although they were all ambivalently aware that their thoughts and arguments could be settled telepathically, through their Protector and Savior, House God, they rather chose to vocalize their discrepancies. It was quite the act, yes, one that D-Class 17350, formerly Thomas Perry-Mills, had grown accustomed to. It had truly become a part of his daily routine, as it were, to listen and mediate as Coffee Table God and Nightstand God, from down in the bedroom, screeched at each other. He gave them both the privilege of holding one of his beverages every day, which was usually the origins of their argument.

Guardian patted the walls as he walked out into the kitchen, listening to the home creak in response. It was a welcome and hushed good morning, but he was the only one who would know that. There was certain privileges for having sentience twofold. As he popped an egg into Pot God (not to be mistaken with Bong God, who had long been removed from the household. It was simply a hampering to the happy home, and made a rather long and messy recovery for Chimney God), Stove God purred. He heard whispering from Oven God, but only that of a lazy wake-up. He had used her the day before for breakfast, and Stove God was on rotation today. Microwave God had been up the longest, and he was already glaring with a youthful hatred at the gas stove.

Pot God piped up to announce that the egg had finish hard-boiling, and Guardian turned from his conversation with Refrigerator God to remove it with the one, and the only, Major Spoon God. (There were, of course, many other minor deities that were under this one— Yogurt Spoon God, Soup Spoon God, Ladle God, if only as a distant cousin, and the bastard child, Spork God, and more.) He set both Major Spoon God and Pot God in Sink God to rest in a lukewarm bath of water, removing himself from the kitchen. The tensions were already rising as it were. Lunch today was meant to be appliance-less, and the whole of the kitchen domain seemed to be attentively aware of this fact.

Using Minor Plate God and a napkin, Guardian sat down in Couch God, flipping on Television God with a few commands from Remote God. The two of them had a rather close relationship, despite their occasional arguments, which were usually minor in nature, and really only when Remote God was feeling especially burnt out. He bit into the egg, well-cooked as always, with a contempt huff, and a swallow that made Minor Plate God shudder. Guardian laid the dining-ware deity on Coffee Table God, who struck up a conversation the moment they made contact. The two were always happy to meet, especially on mornings after sweeter breakfasts. Television God played the previous night's Minnesota Gophers game at a volume just high enough to be heard, and right in the most comfortable spot for Guardian. Everyone in the home had grown used to his preferences. He was highly appreciated as a caretaker and a fellow member of the Holy Home1 of House God.

It was a good day, Guardian decided, as he watched events unfold over the smooth screen. There was ambient conversation across the home, but not of a significant enough volume to be a bother to him. They were all of a light tone, and very few were hushed arguments. (He was sure that Microwave God was trying to chastise Oven God again, and he was also certain that Water Heater God was trying to make peace with the ever-hardy Water Softener God, who was running especially low on salts this day.)

And the sun shined, as the morning came onto early afternoon.

And the house creaked.

And the kitchen quieted. Which was abnormal, for sure, catching Guardian's attention immediately. His head swiveled and glanced toward it, the open archway leading into it quite well displaying the scene that had occurred. He sighed. Refrigerator God was growing older, and she had a very weak stomach, when under stress. This morning, Microwave God's profanity seemed to have done it. The food was on the floor, some splattered, some strewn and leaking from its containers still. It was looking to be a visit to the supermarket, now, as he stood and whistled. "Gods of the Cleaning Domain… would you be so kind?"

There was no immediate movement, really. Everything in the home took its own pace, but it always achieved what it sought, one way or another.

As he turned Key God and reintroduced him to Car God, Wallet God in his pocket, Backpack God in the seat beside him, buckled up, and the usual Closet Domain group now donned, he set off from the driveway. The last he heard was House God's quiet blessing of safety, and the hum of Vacuum God.

"Shh, quiet, young'uns. We're on a trip. No need to fret."

"Who did you bring with you, Backpack God?" Guardian whispered, grabbing a shopping cart as he waved goodbye to the nice Foundation guard who had ensured his safe trip here, via stalking him with a black coupe. "Just a few," she whispered back, her happiness contained, yet apparent. "Gel Pen God, #2 Pencil God, Spork God, Headphones God-"

"You brought Spork God?" he whispered harshly, feeling the shudder from within the pack. "Yes," a weak whimper came from within, obviously the bastard child. Guardian huffed, grabbing a container of milk from the refrigerated section. "Could you please not make this a repeat of last time? Control yourself a tad better?"

There was a psychic nod of sorts as Denim Jeans God commented shrewdly, to which Guardian scuffed a leg of him against a shelf. He quieted quickly, although Left Tennis Shoe God and his brother were quick to quip. "Watch it, wisecrack," Left Tennis Shoe God intoned, to which his more comedic sibling replied: "Yeah, watch it, asscrack."

Guardian scoffed and scuffed the Right Tennis Shoe God on the floor with a groan of complaint coming from the joker. Red Polo God wasn't saying much, as usual, and rather absorbed her environment and enjoyed her surroundings. Every trip out was an adventure for her, and she was on of the few articles of clothing that truly appreciated the concept of innocent curiosity. As Guardian restocked his cart with condiments, Gel Pen God finally spoke out. "C-can we pick up s-some ink for my s-sister today? S-she's feeling a little e-empty…"

"No," Guardian said, but calmly. "I promised that I'd order her some tomorrow. I can't just pick up ink worthy of Fountain Pen God anywhere," he ensured. That quieted the writing implement enough, who snuggled back up into #2 Pencil God. Guardian had never really been sure of their relationship, but the two of them made quite the pair. They were both soft-spoken.

After a full round trip of the market, Guardian made a headcount as he grabbed a bag of salts for Water Softener God. "Oh, for the love of House God," he breathed, suddenly aware that Spork God was missing. He patted down both his pockets, and all of his garnments suddenly, even Underpants God, related that they had no clue where the prankster had gone off to. Well, Guardian had an inkling of an idea, if anything.

Of course, as he expected, the youth was found within the aisle containing the plastic silverware. He was idly flirting with a box of plastic knives, inciting his love for danger and adventure, with little to no success. They did not seem horribly interested in such a confusing utensil, albeit unnecessarily loud and enthusiastic. Guardian counted his lucky light-bulbs as he scooped him up and deposited him in Backpack God for a scolding. Needless to say, they left without the knives.

With Water Softener God sated in their oxymoronic thirst for salt, Guardian slipped comfortably into Armchair God mid-argument with Toilet God. It silenced him fairly quick, and Guardian shifted to get comfortable as Armchair God squirmed in delight. It wasn't often he was chosen to be sat in, as he couldn't be quite lounged in as Couch God could be. (There was jealousy there, yes, as well as an attraction. Couch God had the widest, greatest hips, in Armchair God's opinion.) Spork God was somewhere in the kitchen being collectively scolded, as per the norm of an outing involving the youth. He was thankful, though, that the plasticware hadn't taken unkindly to him- it would not have been the first fight with heretics that he had to interfere in. Heretics, though, was such a strong word. He frowned at the thought. Non-believers. Yes, that would do. The Unenlightened.

Maybe one day others would experience the joy of the Revelation of House God.

Until that day, though, Guardian was content.

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