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God, the floor was filthy.
The fancy rug on top of it didn’t help the cleanliness that much, either. Instead, it smelt like someone’s bloated corpse blistered on it before the band had bought the damn thing. If only there was an outline of the body, permanently autographed by their mark of death… brutal.
It was a damn beautiful floor piece, though. Which meant Pickles the Drummer and Nathan Explosion needn’t worry about the aged nasty history inside each detailed stitch. Instead, they had to focus on bigger priorities, such as laying on top of it by the fireplace in the main hall, listening to death metal music.
Spacing to the music would be more appropriate. In their extremely drunken stupors, the two listened to each song and let it digest in their brains, enjoying the warmth of the fire, as well as the somewhat-cold beer they had near them.
“What song was that?” Nathan asked as one ended. The drummer weakly grabbed his phone, looking at what had just ended.
“Let’s see… hm,” Pickles struggled, squinting his eyes as he jumped back to the song. “Here we go… Laceration Masterbation. Goregasm. Not bad, not bad.”
“Hmmph,” Nathan grumbled, accidentally knocking an empty bottle as he adjusted his back on the rug. He grabbed the neck of it, chucking the glass into the fire.
“Oh. It’s getting hungry… Poor little fella,” Pickles said, joining his friend, chucking another empty bottle into the flames.
It shattered nicely, the two giving each other an Oh Yeah supportive nod and smirk.
“…We should throw the rest of them out,” Nathan hiccuped, gesturing to the mess of empty bottles on the ground.
“Yea… Throw them. Out. Syide. Outside… That’s a great idea, Nate’n.” Pickles slurred, gathering some of them up.
“Huh. Where outside?”
“Uh huh. That sounds perfect.”
Nathan cocked his head, confused. “ …where ?”
Pickles chuckled, giving Nathan his collection of bottles thus far, then went back to picking the rest. “Yeah…”
That was Pickles Mumble-Talk for Dood, I don’t fuckin’ know. Let’s just shoot the shit and see where we land.
They started their spree on top of Mordhaus, watching the bottles turn microscopic before crashing below, gears that looked like ants at the ground jumping from the startle.
It was fun, but it could be better.
The two went to the ground and reached the MurderTrain tracks, quickly lining a section of it with bottles.
On schedule, the Midnight Train sped through, the impact causing the glass to nearly powderize itself, glittering the station with shimmering sharp debris.
It was so beautiful, Pickles and Nathan had to shut their eyes.
It hurt so bad…From the beauty, totally not from jagged, tiny chunks of dirty booze ware being sprinkled in their open eyes. If they cried, it was manly and due to the inherent beauty of douchebaggery.
A few minutes of blinking later, there were no red flags in their activity thus far, it was just starting to get exciting, plus, they were near the golf court. The field was practically begging to be walked on.
Prep,
and swing.
The Tennis Court was only a few yards away, too. Perfect opportunity for Pickles to show off his wicked tennis drummer arm… Play ball. He didn’t know the terms of tennis. Net. That was a term… maybe.
Prep,
and Swing-
“It’s fine Pickles, I’m fine.”
“Dood. It sounded like a rock hitting a melon. Let me see.”
“Ooooh. Oh, yer bleedin’, Nate’n. yer bleedin’ …”
“I’m fine, Pickles, really-”
“I thought it’d crash all beaootifully with my Weelson … Oooo…”
“Don’t cry, ugh. Cry, and I’ll kill you,” Nathan groaned, not noticing that Pickles was now drooling.
“…Help me up, Pickles.”
“Okey…” Pickles staggered, pulling his friend up from the ground.
The vocalist brushed off his shirt, surprised no blood had dripped on it.
“Hey, my shirt’s still clean,” Nathan said aloud to himself, proud in an awkward way. Pickles didn’t hear him, growing a stare a thousand yards off as Nathan admired his shirt, a churning sound erupting as the drummer quickly spewed on it, himself dead-weight falling into Explosion’s arms.
“…Thank you, Pickles…” Nathan breathed out his mouth. He began to tell his mental state to not join the puke train, closing his eyes. “Okay. I’m gonna drop you onto the grass for a second while I rip my fuckin ’ SKIN OFF. ”
“ I wanna diet coke,” Pickles slobbered, face-planting into the lawn outside the court. “ I wanna diet coke in a six flyags cup, where you can taste the plyastic… And I’m hungry.”
“I’m not,” Nathan shuddered, his shirt now hanging off the corner of a barrel trash can.
“ Well you gyet hungry, mister!” Pickles shouted, looking up at the stars.
“Oh my god. You’re taking a shower.”
“ Yer not my mam, you dyick!”
“You clean up, I’ll get you food, I’ll clean up , and then we can… I dunno. We can call it a night.”
“Can ye carry me like I’m a little drummer in distress?” Pickles performed a drunken attempt at a Ohh lookat me, I’m a sleepy little guy, it would be a shame if somebody helped me up and put me in a cozy little bed hee hee, pose. However, he moved weird and instead cracked his back, causing him to have a brief moment of sobriety, eyes wide open.
“ …Dood .”
“What?”
“I just slipped a disc.”
After a walk filled with redheaded Oooooughhhs and Aaaghhhhhh s and Weeeeees to Nathan’s room, Pickles was washed. He attested at first, telling Nathan he’d melt like the wicked witch with the contact of water, but once the warm jets hit, the short sucker stayed in there and nearly waterboarded himself with the way he let the shower head shoot directly into his face.
Dethklok’s chef Jean Pierre always put leftovers in the fridge, in case the group got a bit peckish after hours. The Gears of Mordhaus always were on it, a thing the band had yet to follow.
Nathan grabbed a couple various wrapped-up plates and balanced them on one arm, and then grabbed two diet cokes. Once he got back, he had to knock on the bathroom door due to the silence making Nathan fear the drummer had fainted.
To his luck, the drummer let out a little “ Nyeh?” and plopped out like a wet frog ten minutes later.
As Pickles began to munch, Nathan went to the bathroom and proceeded to take his own shower, piping hot with the lights off. It was like his own little sanctuary, as he scrubbed his chest hard, making sure no stray trace of bile laid within his pores.
“Thanks, Nate,” Pickles chewed, towel wrapped on his head like an aunt. He was in a robe too big for him, eating in a bed even more so.
“ Eugh . Don’t thank me,” Nathan scowled, drying his hair with his towel, standing in fresh boxers. He would have a robe on, but somebody else took it.
“I liked yer singin in there,” the drummer smiled. “Tune sounded familiar. Something from the ancient days.”
“Hm, I dunno. I didn’t realize I was humming something, to be honest.”
With a shrug, Nathan approached his bed and adjusted into his favorite spot.
His face stung a little bit. He didn’t look at the mirror once, a little worried that something would look weird and he’d become self conscious for the rest of the night.
“It looks like it scabbed up alright,” Pickles said with perfect timing. “Next time, you can throw a bottle at my face and we’ll call it even.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Nathan muttered, looking up at his ceiling.
“I’m not mad, Pickles. Really. It’d be pretty obvious if I was.”
“Hm. Sure,” Pickles shrugged, scooting the last plate of food to Nathan. “Hey. If you have an appetite, wanna help me destroy these seasoned fries?”
Explosion sat up on the bed, pouting in thought. “Sure.”
They cleaned up the plate, leaving a stack of crumb-filled empty ones by Nathan’s dresser. Pickles swished diet coke in his mouth, tossing his bandmate’s giant robe and towel to the hard floor before laying back down.
“Hoo-hoo-hoh... I’m gettin’ old .”
“How’s your back?”
“Better. Thanks,” the drummer side-smirked, adjusting on the bed to look Nathan in the eyes.
“You know, those knicks actually look badass.”
“ Hah .”
“I’m not joking, dood, you’re one out of very few that can take a bottle smash to the face, and rock it.”
Nathan grew an ever-so-slight smile, before going back to a stoic frown.
“Oh. Oh wait. Shit…” Pickles gasped, getting up and crawling to Nathan. “I didn’t notice that ,” He sucked in his teeth, making the vocalist raise an eyebrow.
“What? What is it?” Nathan mumbled, concerned.
“It’s… Oh, it’s right there . Do you mind if I look at it up close?”
Nathan groaned in confusion. “ What is it, Pickles?”
“I’ve got it… right…” Pickles leaned in, acting all analytical before placing a kiss on Nathan’s cheek.
“…There. …Huh. Oh, there’s another one,”
Peck.
“And another one, Jesus. ”
Smooch.
Pickles grabbed onto Nathan’s head. “Holy shit, there’s so many!”
Smooch smooch peck peck smooch
“You want some ham with that cheese routine?” Nathan sighed. It didn’t take long for his performance of apathy to crumble, a smile from the goofy sensory creeping up, even a soft chuckle slipping out.
“Huh. It’s funny. My back’s hurting,” Pickles quipped, “but not from me being an idiot on the grass, from the fact I’m fuckin’ carrying this!”
Nathan, without another word, grabbed his bandmate and pulled him over. Securing The Drummer onto his body, he used his hands like a gentle giant, cradling Pickles’ sore lower back with one, feeling his back’s landscape with the other.
The former Snakes ‘n’ Barrels star’s skin was soft and peach-fuzzy with blonde hairs, all which were across his arms and legs, freckles seen underneath them in various tones of brown. Nathan never really thought about that much, but always found it interesting when he rediscovered such details.
…Okay. Nathan might have been humming an old SnB tune in the shower. But if you asked him such, he would answer back by serving you a knuckle sandwich.
Pickles now landed on Nathan’s lips, the two tasting eachother’s history of the day. To Gods that Don’t Exist, Nathan felt blessed no taste of Drummer-Trademarked-Retch was existent, muted by the diet soda and snyacks . Beer was a prominent flavor, but when was it not?
Nathan pulled back to look at his drummer, feeling something… else.
Pickles looked smug, adjusting himself before playing it up. “Shall I… remove these qwearable linens ?”
Woah, Fellas! Looks like it’s gettin' a little warm with these metal-aged buffoons! Unfortunately due to Metal Legal reasons, Dethklok has threatened to deep fry me alive if I show any more! I can’t even introduce myself properly as I share these deetz!
But hey, fuck those goobers. I read the transcript from the cameras in their rooms!
You know, the cameras that are in some fan fictions that I, I mean, Not I, Some random CFO has, in each of their rooms to ensure their safety but instead this totally random CFO checks them to see the band fuckin’ each other’s brains out?
Yeah! Those ones!
What I’ll tell you is…
Hm. I don’t think there’s any words to describe it. Wait, maybe two.
Love Wins .
Booyah! Period! Whatever the young people say! I’m hip! I’m with it, besties!
But what happened after that? Maybe they had good dreams. Or nightmares, to fit the theme of brutality.
It’s now the mornin’ for them, fuckos. And they woke up to actually have breakfast at a realistic time for it! Maybe you should make some breakfast too, live a little! You need that energy to keep thinkin’ of brutal things! And if you’re tired, how the hell are you going to continue to stream the dethalbums, you selfish assholes?
Shoo. Go on. Git!
