FIC: La Belle au bois dormant
Title: La Belle au bois dormant
Author: tikistitch
Rating: R
Summary: An evil king has stolen Dethklok. Where will they find cute groupies?
Warnings: Slash, het, OCs, swearing, dissing Ken Burns
Notes: I was sort of experimenting with POV. And also had a mental image of an abandoned Mordhaus. And then IT ALL WENT WRONG.
Cross posted from tikific.
Just an FYI: I was trying to do several things with this, including POV writing, and coming up with a non-repellent OC. I don’t think it’s entirely successful, but I ended up kind of weirdly fond of it, and it’s been sort of quiet here, so I’ll cross post this in case you want a diversion while you’re Xmas shopping or waiting for the comic.
La Belle au bois dormant
Drugged.
All right. Did Pickles slip me something?
This isn’t his room. This isn’t Mordhaus. Where the fuck am I?
Floor meet face. Well. This is really not good. I’m somewhere with the band. Where?
Oh. That crazy king. He seemed kind of shady. But they wanted to come pal around. Why do I agree to this crap? I’m so fucking busy. And now I’m gonna have a hangover. Or flashbacks. Or a hangover flashback! Probably with singing rabbits again. What the fuck did they give me?
I’m up, but the floor doesn’t wanna stay put. And I’m not sure where I was headed. To my room? From my room? Wait. We were at dinner. And then I walked away. No, I ran away. Why would I run away? I’m Charles Fucking Ofdensen. I don’t fucking run from people. People fucking run from me!
Running footsteps. And I’m being grabbed but I knock him out. These guys! These idiots were chasing me. I punch a second one in the jaw and he’s down. But then there’s two more holding me, so I rear up and kick another guy, but then there are more guys, and I can’t tell how many anymore.
Face, meet floor. And there’s someone on top of me. And I can’t breathe.
Not good.
It’s dark.
Do I have my glasses? No. Not that it would do any good. It’s so fucking dark.
I’m on a cot. I can sit up, but things are still spinning.
What else? I get up. Bars? Fuck, am I in the dungeon? No, wait, this isn’t Mordhaus. Where the fuck am I? Whoever put me down here is gonna get their ass so sued....
We came to stay with someone. A king. Who wanted a death metal band. My fucking band.
Footsteps. I lie back on the bunk. I wait in silence. Let them think I’m still unconscious. Wait.
A guy is leaning over me. And then his head meets the wall and he’s unconscious. And there’s another guy, and he gets flung into the bars. I think I hear a crack when his head hits. Do not fuck with me, people! I am just getting warmed up!
OK, out of the cell, which way? But then there’s more guys and I get it in the side and it’s time for my face to meet the floor again. Goddammit this is so not my day….
It’s dark.
Oh god. My side. My side.
It’s all right. Push through the pain.
Why can’t I move my leg? They better not have fucked my leg. I need it for golf. If they have fucked my golf swing, I am going to rain down on their heads with great fiery vengeance.
Up on my elbows. I’m lying next to the bars. I’ll use the bars. Hand over hand. The leg is still there. Ankle manacled to the fucking bars. Oh, fucking fuck.
Light-headed....
I’m burning up.
My clothes are damp rags. I can’t sweat enough to put out the fire.
I’m still on the ground. It’s cold. But it’s not cold enough.
There’s someone hovering over me. Furtive movements. There are hands pressing on my side.
I strike cobra-fast. I have them in a headlock. OK. OK. What the fuck am I supposed to do with them now?
“What’s happening?” I whisper in their ear.
“To fight the infection. Let me go.”
“I just had this suit tailored!” I tell them.
“What?” Whoever it is, obviously has no fucking idea about bespoke. Where do they get their help?
Someone is going to get a memo….
The fire is out. I sit up, but I’m light-headed. I lean on the bars. I like how they’re cool against my forehead.
There is a clatter nearby. Someone had clumsily dropped a food tray. A big guard yells at her and laughs and finally moves off.
She’s scooping stuff back onto the tray, her head near mine. “Is the fever down?”
I know the voice. “Yeah. But I still feel like shit.”
“We’ll wait a couple days then. Eat.” And she shoves some food into my cell and hurries away.
She didn’t say what we were waiting for.
I can stand now. I’m not sure whether I can walk. Fucking manacle. I’m careful to practice standing when the guards aren’t around.
She comes around just once more and asks, “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Anything.”
Oh, hells yeah.
I tell her, “Yes.”
There was a small golden key in my food.
I unlock the manacle. But I leave it around my ankle.
Then she’s standing by my cell door. There’s one guard. She pulls out a sawed off shotgun. And smacks him in the head with it. All right. I will almost forgive her for her sad lack of knowledge regarding fine tailoring.
She grabs his weapon and his keys and unlocks my cell.
“Follow me,” she says, handing off the gun.
That’s simple enough. Though she forgets to add, “…if you want to live.” Which would have been cooler.
We have to put bullets into a couple of guards. But there aren’t a lot of them around. She must have picked a time when it’s quiet.
And then we’re at a door leading to the courtyard.
“Snipers,” she says. “We need to serpentine.”
“Oh, god, don’t tell me that!” She frowns, but I do it anyway, running back and forth like a crazy man across the garden. My side still really hurts, but I can also hear an occasional ping of a bullet. I really don’t wanna end up as a dead skin mask.
And we come to a halt at….
A pool? What the fuck?
“Jump,” she says.
I don’t know where the fuck this leads to, but goddammit, she’s going too, so I grab her by the scruff of the neck and jump.
We’re underwater for a long fucking time. I can hold my breath, but I didn’t think I was gonna make it. My lungs are bursting when I come up for air. I can hear her ragged breaths as well. She probably didn’t have time to take a lungfull when I grabbed her. I toss my gun on the shore, drag myself out, and then drag her as well. I’m listening for shots, but I can’t hear any more gunfire. Then I get a look at the gardens.
It’s daytime, not the night any more. What the fuck?
Hey! I know this place. We’re in Mordland! We made it! We…
Holy fuck.
Where the hell are we?
“Where are we?” She is wondering too. I turn around. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten a good look at her, in the light. Great. She's like a toddler or something. I’ve been rescued by a Mouseketeer.
“This is where we live. Or where we used to live.” We’re outside. It looks like nobody has cut the bushes in years. And Mordhaus is almost completely covered in some sort of vine. This is ridiculous. How long was I gone?
“Come on,” I tell her. She marches warily in my wake, still clutching the rifle. Good. I’m not willing to offer any ridiculous words of comfort, because we might be in a whole world of shit.
The front door is open. OK. The first fucking Klokateer I locate is gonna get a brand new asshole, ripped courtesy the big boss.
Only there aren’t any Klokateers. There’s no one.
There’s a mirror. Now, I’ve heard it said that you can’t see my reflection in a mirror. Not a story I’d care to suppress, as I find it darkly amusing. But I want to say, for the record, that you can damn well see my reflection in a mirror. I mean, how would I shave? Be serious, people. Anyway, good Christ, I looked like shit. I obviously needed a shower and a shave and a change of clothes and a haircut and maybe a manicure, and probably some medical attention to various injuries the girl hadn’t been able to deal with.
But here’s the thing: I looked like I’d been gone a week, or at most, two. My home looked like no one had been around for a decade.
When I was a kid, my folks took me to see some sappy cartoon about an annoying singing princess. At some point, this really kick ass witch comes and does us all a favor and knocks her the fuck out. And she sleeps for years and years. And, that’s what Mordhaus looked like - like someone had knocked the fuck out of some sappy princess.
The girl isn’t talking, which is something I could like about her, but she is looking puzzled, so I tell her, “I just hope we have some fucking hot water, so we can get cleaned up. You look like you need to scrape off a few layers.” And it’s true, it looks like it’s been a while since wash day. I motion her to move. “I need something first.”
I lead her to my office. Thank god, whatever the hell happened here, my bottle of brandy is still just where I left it. I pour out two glasses. I don’t know if she’s of age, but I’m not fucking drinking alone. Besides, something tells me there are worse things in this universe than contributing to the delinquency of minors.
I point to the rifle. “That. When you sit down. On the floor, to your right.” She still looks confused, but sits and lays down the rifle. “Always on the floor, always to your right. That way, you always know where it is.” I push the brandy her way.
“We’re going to drink?”
“Yes. We are going to sit for a while and have a fucking drink.” My chair feels familiar. I’m getting it all soaking wet, but I don’t give a shit. The brandy burns, but in a good way. This is good. “All right. Tell me about that guy. The king. Back in your world.”
She is choking softly on the brandy, so her first few words are strained. “He showed up a couple years ago. He had the dark magic. My father was a minister. He warned against him. But, no one listened. The magic was too seductive. And he took over.”
“What happened to your father?”
“They killed him. They made me watch.”
“It’s brandy,” I tell her. “Sip, don’t gulp.”
So. Some asshole who thinks he’s worse than me? No one is worse than me!
“Why did you think I had magic?”
“He’s been pulling in people who have magic. Gathering them. Like your band. I thought you had magic too?”
“No. I just manage a rock band.”
“You don’t use magic?”
“No. I don’t use magic. I just fucking improvise.”
It’s annoying not having any assistants. But there is hot water, so I’m grateful for that. I hand her a stack of clean clothes and order her to hit the showers. I put her in Toki’s room. That’s probably too indulgent, but I want her up where I can keep an eye on her.
By the next morning, I have a plan. OK, it’s not much of a plan, but it’s the best I can do when all I’ve got is my own non-magical powers and a snotty teen sidekick. And, yes, I’m taking her back with me. Yeah, I’m an asshole. So sue me, see how far you get!
Whatever it is Dethklok does, they need all five of them. So I just need to start by getting one away from him. It doesn’t even matter which one. Although, I think I have an idea about the best candidate.
*****
I didn’t think television could possibly get any worse. But, it did!
We were supposed to spend the weekend pallin’ around with some rich king dood who’s a big death metal fan. But something’s weird. I mean, even weirder than usual. And Charles went out for a smoke, and never came back. I mean, it usually doesn’t take him a week to smoke a fucking cigarette. Unless he’s smoking the whole carton? Which kind of sounds like something epic that I’d do.
Anyway, I’ve pretty much been in my room since Charles went out for a smoke. All the other doods wanna do is bitch and play poker. Which is even more why I’ll take my chance with the TV in my room, doods.
It’s not really my room. It’s the room they gave me here. Which isn’t as cool as my real room. And not only does the TV really suck, I’ve had to figure out how to use a fucking gay remote control, like I’m some regular jackoff.
And also, the weed here is just pretty harsh. I mean. How much is one man supposed to take?
There’s a knock on my door, which means ten seconds where I won’t be bored. It’s a couple of dildos with my room service. They even push in one of those douchey little carts like they have in those snooty hotel rooms that are most fun to destroy. Hey, maybe these doods will help me throw the fucking television into the swimming pool! If they’ve got a swimming pool here. Maybe they need to put in a swimming pool? Where is fucking Charles when we need him for stuff!
Then one of the serving dildos has a pillow sack over my head, and they’re stuffing me into the bottom of the cart and wheeling me out. And I’m like, oh my god, dude, I’m being kidnapped from being kidnapped! Seriously, it’s kind of epic. I wonder where they’re taking me now? Maybe I’ll be like, a sex slave in Lucy Lawless’s ancient Roman empire? Oh, fuck yeah!
I hear the sound of firecrackers. Hey, is that Murderface? And the cart is tipped me over and they’re pulling me in the water, and HOLY FUCK I CAN’T SWIM YOU DOUCHE BAG KIDNAPPERS!
Someone pulls me out of the water. It’s Charles! Oh, so he went swimming instead of smoking? In his suit? Seriously. That guy, sometimes.
Oh, and there’s a girl in a wet Dethklok t shirt. All right, this is not so bad!
“Whoa, is dat a groupie?” I ask Charles.
“No!” Damn.
“Are you sure? She’s wearin’ our t shirt!”
“She’s, uh, underage.”
So I ask her, “Dood! Are you underage?”
“I’m 21,” she says
“What?” goes Charles. Yep. Didn’t even think to ask. What would that guy do without us? I mean, seriously.
And then I get a good look around. Holy fuck! “Whoa, dood, what happened t’ da gardens?” We’re definitely in Mordland, but the castle is all fucked up with vines and shit. The hell? How much are we paying the gardeners anyway? Hope it’s not coming out of my weed money.
“It got fucked up when you guys were away. Some magical shit.”
“We need a plan, dood!” Obviously. Do I have to do everything around here?
“Well, you were the first step.”
“Yeah? And den what?”
“Uh.”
Typical. But, that’s OK. I’m on the job now. “Well, if we need a rescoo plan, den I need somethin’ t’ get my mind workin’!”
So, I’m opening the wine.
“Isn’t three at once a little much, even for you?” We’re in my room. My real, awesome room. And Charles is already being all sniffy.
“One is fer yoo, dood. I ain’t drinkin’ alone. An’ no sippin’ one feckin’ glass while I down a bottle.” You must sometimes deal in a firm manner with your employees. This is what I have found.
“All right.”
“An’ dis is fer Talia. Yer drinkin’, right?”
“Who?” goes Charles. God, whatta douche!
“Sure!” Talia goes. And she grabs the bottle.
“You din’t even ask her name. Yer such a feckin’ douche, Charles. You wanna glass, Talia?”
“No thanks!” She has already made herself at home on my bed, and is tipping back the bottle like an old pro.
“Don’t I get a glass?” says Charles.
“No! Yer not a girl.” I mean, if he can’t keep up with the chick, it’s pretty bad, right?
Well, of course this was one of my best ideas ever. I can feel my brain loosening up. And I can see the tie has loosened up. Which give me an even better idea.
“You got an idea?” Charles asks. Yeah, I got an idea. My tongue in his mouth. As usual, he acts annoyed for the first five seconds, and then his hands find my ass. Ha. Like I said, a firm manner. And I’m pretty firm right now.
After a couple minutes, though, I hear a “Whoa!” I look up from what I’m doing there down on the floor. Oh, I’d totally forgotten about Talia. But she’s there at the edge of my bed, with the bottle, grinning, and looking like she wants maybe some popcorn too. Hey, I am really good. Maybe I should sell tickets?
“Oh, don’ lemme innerupt ya,” she smiles, waving the bottle. And hiccups.
And then I get an even better idea! And I grab her by the back of her Dethklok t shirt and drag her down on top of us. And she goes “Ow!” Um. OK, maybe in retrospect we shoulda climbed up onto the bed on top of her? But! I’m just filled with ideas now. Lots and lots of ideas. If only Charles had thought to pick up a few more girls? But, ya know, maybe we can go back there….
I’m awake before either of them the next morning, and it takes a bit of untangling to get out of the bed without disturbing them, especially Talia. I really hope there’s more cute girls where she comes from! Maybe Charles has some kind of badass plan where we go back and shoot a lot of guys. And maybe a sword fight! Dood, this is probably the coolest adventure, ever.
Anyway, maybe I wasn’t as careful about not disturbing doods as I thought because when I get back, Talia is awake. But that’s OK, because I’ve got breakfast. See, more guys should know this, but when you sleep with a girl, and they stay at your place, you gotta make ‘em breakfast. (I dunno how it works with a guy. But, that’s the way it is for girls.) I’m not sure how long Mordhaus has been all weird and abandoned like this, but it looks like the freezers are still working, plus it’s a scientific fact that Twinkies never expire. (Really! Look it up on the internet!) So, I make my epic specialty, Twinkie omelets! Seriously creamy.
She’s sitting wearing just a Dethklok t shirt, and I think maybe all girls everywhere should only wear Dethklok t shirts. They look really cute! Oh, and the rifle? She’s got it by her feet. A hot chick with a weapon! This is so very metal! I wish Nathan were here! And then I’m kind of sad, because Nathan is not here.
“So, are there a lot more cute girls where you come from?” I ask, sort of to cheer myself up.
“Uh. I don’t know. They’ve been keeping me in the dungeon. Did you see any?”
“I mostly stayed in my room watching suck ass TV. Why were you down in the dungeons, dood?”
“Oh. My father tried to oppose the evil magician. So they killed him.”
Dood!” I say. By way of being empathetic. Empathy goes a long way with chicks. “Did you have any other family? Like, a sister? Or maybe, several sisters? Or, a lot of female cousins?”
“My family was all killed.”
“Dood!” You gotta have empathy.
I hear a grumble then. Oh shit, it’s Charles. I had forgotten about him, since I was being all empathetic and shit. He’s pulled on some pants, and is standing there in front of us looking kinda pissy.
“You guys are already up?” he grumbles.
“Uh-oh. Sorry,” I tell him. “C’mon,” I tell Talia. “We’re not bein’ efficient.”
“What?”
“It’s more efficient!” Charles is muttering. “You’re already undressed! And everybody is warm!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell him. “Morning sex,” I tell her. He’s got this whole deal where it’s the best use of time, or something. So, I march him back to the bed, and Talia and I both go down on him. And then we get him coffee. And then he’s better. Usually oral sex and caffeine are what does it for our manager in the morning.
“So what’s your plan?” I ask him. Over the coffee, not over the oral sex.
“Huh?”
“We gotta get back to dat place! Dere may be more cute girls there!”
“Uh,” Talia goes, “Don’t you wanna get your band mates back too?”
“Yeah, and those guys! Nat’an! And Skwisgaar! And … dat other dude!”
“You mean Toki? Or Murderface?” Charles asks with a sigh.
“Does it gotta be both?” I ask him. “If we get both, den we’ll need to get more girls.”
“So,” Talia says, “Um. By cute girls, did you mean like the harem?”
“THE WHAT?” And Charles and I both say the exact same thing at the exact same time, and I think we’re even making the same face! Jinx! Epic jinx!
“Dooooooood!” I tell Charles. “What’s your plan?”
“I wasn’t planning! I was getting drunk and…. You know….”
“But yer subconscious was plottin’! I know it was!” ‘Cause, Charles’ subconscious is pretty evil, and it goes off and does shit like that.
And I’m wondering if we need to make another pot of maybe suck him off again, but then he gets this look, and I know….
*****
My dearest Prunella,
I hope this missive finds you well. It has been many months since we have come to this place. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I'm no more. Prunella, my love for you is deathless. Yet my love of Death Metal come over me like strong wind. I long for the day when a soft breeze that fans your cheek, and to touch your throbbing temple, maybe with my throbbing temple. Think I am gone, and wait for me, for we shall meet again.
XOXOXOX
William Murderface
“MURDERFACE!” Natan bellowed. “Quit writing Civil War missives and come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM! I swear that guy. If I ever find Ken Burns, I’m gonna kick his FUCKING ASS!” He wearily turned his attention back to the poker game.
“How long ams it beens since we seen Pickle?” asked Skwisgaar, not looking up from his cards.
“Dude, I dunno.”
“Maybe he ams gone out for da smokes wit’ Charles’,” the Swede mused.
“I think maybe he’s out SMOKING CHARLES,” Nathan muttered. “Stupid gay band.”
“Hey, it ams beens da longs times! I t’ink maybe my dicks ams falls off from disuse. Even Murderfaces ams starteds lookings goods!”
“Oh, god, Skwisgaar, NOOOOOOOOO!” Nathan wailed.
“Ams you guys gots any threes?” asked Toki brightly.
“Toki, for the last time, we’re not playing GO FISH!” Nathan rumbled.
“But you ams got any threes?”
“Yeah,” Nathan admitted, and he and Skwisgaar handed cards over to the young guitarist.
“Hey, waits, what ams dat!” said Skwisgaar, hearing some explosions.
Nathan looked up from where he was peeking at Murderface’s cards. “MURDERFACE! Did you have baked beans again?”
“Hey, what ams happenings in da courtyards?” Toki asked, leaning out the window. Nathan and Skwisgaar courteously smacked him away from the window so they could get a look.
A weird vehicle was emerging from the large pool in the center of the courtyard, firing off the many deadly guns mounted on the nose cone. As the nose poked further out of the pool, the contraption slowly sprouted giant metal legs, and waddled out of the water and onto the courtyard, like a huge metal mudfish. It then stood fully upright on the jointed legs, and began relentlessly marching towards the castle, firing its cannon. Wave after wave of the king’s soldiers fired at it, but the machine was mounted on all sides with a variety of deadly and brutal weaponry, and the courtyard was soon littered with their mangled bodies.
Charles and Pickles emerged from the submarine, followed by Talia, to accept the army’s surrender.
Nathan and the Scandanavians had just arrived as well. The lead singer pointed to Talia. “Dudes. You guys BROUGHT A GROUPIE? Because, seriously, that’s pretty metal.”
“Uh, she’s not really a groupie, Nathan,” Charles told him.
“Shure she is, dood,” Pickles said.
“Well, I mean, not technically,” Charles corrected.
“But, we totally slept with her.”
“Yes, but I’m not really a member of the band.”
“Oh, I t’ink management counts.”
“Does it?”
“Yeh, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’ve never been certain about the boundaries on that sort of thing.”
“Oh, and what is THIS THING DUDE?” Nathan asked, point to the weird crawling submarine.
“It’s the Dethsubmarine,” Charles told him. “Don’t you remember, Nathan? You wanted us to construct an amphibious vessel, so you could, and I quote, ‘Get all Jacques Cousteau and shit.’”
“Oh, I wanted this?” Nathan asked.
“Yes, you did Nathan.”
“Huh. Was I drunk?”
“Yes. Yes you were.”
“Oh. Well, it was a pretty metal idea.”
“Have any of you guys seen the evil King?” Talia was asking. “Because I have some business with him.”
Some of the soldiers were bringing the king out into the courtyard even as she spoke.
“Uh,” said Charles. “Isn’t he an evil magician?”
“No worries,” said Talia, handing him her sawed off shotgun. Talis strode up to the evil king and immediately swept him into a long, lingering kiss.
“DUDE!” said Nathan, punching Charles’ shoulder.
The king swiftly turned into a frog, and hopped away.
“Eek!” squealed Nathan.
Talia walked back to address Charles and Pickles. “Sorry you guys, I kind of lied. I wasn’t the minster’s daughter. I was the king’s daughter. So, I’m a princess. So, I can do stuff like that.”
“Does dat make you queen now?” Pickles asked. He had read fairy stories before, so he knew about this royal stuff.
“Huh. Yeah. I guess so. But we can still hang out, right?”
"Uh," said Charles.
"Yeah, totally," said Pickles. "We're down wit' queen doods!"
“I mean, I probably better stick to blow jobs instead of kisses, so I don’t do THAT by mistake,” she said, pointing at the frog.
"Uhhhh," Charles began. But Pickles had him in a headlock.
"Dat's awesome. We'll totally come and hang wit’ yoo, Queen Talia dood!"
“Cool. Did you guys wanna see the harem? I don’t think I’m gonna need it anymore.”
“THE WHAT?” bellowed Nathan.
My dearest Marabella-Anne,
I do not know how many days I shall have passed here in the bathroom composing Civil War missives. We have liberated the kingdom, which is now a queendom, and so my colleagues had requested our manager take our Dethsubmarine vehicle back to Mordhaus to acquire sufficient Dethklok t shirts for all members of the royal harem, that they may look way cute in this novel attire. And although Charles the manager hath bitched mightily about the assignment, he also retrieved many hoodies. I am willing, perfectly willing, to lay down all the joys of this life to help maintain this victory for merch. I'll always be with you; in the brightest day and the darkest night, always. Always. At least until Nathan kicks me out of the bathroom. Hey, occupado, amigo!!
XOXOXO
William Murderface
William Murderface was inadvertently turned into a frog a week later.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: R
Summary: An evil king has stolen Dethklok. Where will they find cute groupies?
Warnings: Slash, het, OCs, swearing, dissing Ken Burns
Notes: I was sort of experimenting with POV. And also had a mental image of an abandoned Mordhaus. And then IT ALL WENT WRONG.
Cross posted from tikific.
Just an FYI: I was trying to do several things with this, including POV writing, and coming up with a non-repellent OC. I don’t think it’s entirely successful, but I ended up kind of weirdly fond of it, and it’s been sort of quiet here, so I’ll cross post this in case you want a diversion while you’re Xmas shopping or waiting for the comic.
La Belle au bois dormant
Drugged.
All right. Did Pickles slip me something?
This isn’t his room. This isn’t Mordhaus. Where the fuck am I?
Floor meet face. Well. This is really not good. I’m somewhere with the band. Where?
Oh. That crazy king. He seemed kind of shady. But they wanted to come pal around. Why do I agree to this crap? I’m so fucking busy. And now I’m gonna have a hangover. Or flashbacks. Or a hangover flashback! Probably with singing rabbits again. What the fuck did they give me?
I’m up, but the floor doesn’t wanna stay put. And I’m not sure where I was headed. To my room? From my room? Wait. We were at dinner. And then I walked away. No, I ran away. Why would I run away? I’m Charles Fucking Ofdensen. I don’t fucking run from people. People fucking run from me!
Running footsteps. And I’m being grabbed but I knock him out. These guys! These idiots were chasing me. I punch a second one in the jaw and he’s down. But then there’s two more holding me, so I rear up and kick another guy, but then there are more guys, and I can’t tell how many anymore.
Face, meet floor. And there’s someone on top of me. And I can’t breathe.
Not good.
It’s dark.
Do I have my glasses? No. Not that it would do any good. It’s so fucking dark.
I’m on a cot. I can sit up, but things are still spinning.
What else? I get up. Bars? Fuck, am I in the dungeon? No, wait, this isn’t Mordhaus. Where the fuck am I? Whoever put me down here is gonna get their ass so sued....
We came to stay with someone. A king. Who wanted a death metal band. My fucking band.
Footsteps. I lie back on the bunk. I wait in silence. Let them think I’m still unconscious. Wait.
A guy is leaning over me. And then his head meets the wall and he’s unconscious. And there’s another guy, and he gets flung into the bars. I think I hear a crack when his head hits. Do not fuck with me, people! I am just getting warmed up!
OK, out of the cell, which way? But then there’s more guys and I get it in the side and it’s time for my face to meet the floor again. Goddammit this is so not my day….
It’s dark.
Oh god. My side. My side.
It’s all right. Push through the pain.
Why can’t I move my leg? They better not have fucked my leg. I need it for golf. If they have fucked my golf swing, I am going to rain down on their heads with great fiery vengeance.
Up on my elbows. I’m lying next to the bars. I’ll use the bars. Hand over hand. The leg is still there. Ankle manacled to the fucking bars. Oh, fucking fuck.
Light-headed....
I’m burning up.
My clothes are damp rags. I can’t sweat enough to put out the fire.
I’m still on the ground. It’s cold. But it’s not cold enough.
There’s someone hovering over me. Furtive movements. There are hands pressing on my side.
I strike cobra-fast. I have them in a headlock. OK. OK. What the fuck am I supposed to do with them now?
“What’s happening?” I whisper in their ear.
“To fight the infection. Let me go.”
“I just had this suit tailored!” I tell them.
“What?” Whoever it is, obviously has no fucking idea about bespoke. Where do they get their help?
Someone is going to get a memo….
The fire is out. I sit up, but I’m light-headed. I lean on the bars. I like how they’re cool against my forehead.
There is a clatter nearby. Someone had clumsily dropped a food tray. A big guard yells at her and laughs and finally moves off.
She’s scooping stuff back onto the tray, her head near mine. “Is the fever down?”
I know the voice. “Yeah. But I still feel like shit.”
“We’ll wait a couple days then. Eat.” And she shoves some food into my cell and hurries away.
She didn’t say what we were waiting for.
I can stand now. I’m not sure whether I can walk. Fucking manacle. I’m careful to practice standing when the guards aren’t around.
She comes around just once more and asks, “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Anything.”
Oh, hells yeah.
I tell her, “Yes.”
There was a small golden key in my food.
I unlock the manacle. But I leave it around my ankle.
Then she’s standing by my cell door. There’s one guard. She pulls out a sawed off shotgun. And smacks him in the head with it. All right. I will almost forgive her for her sad lack of knowledge regarding fine tailoring.
She grabs his weapon and his keys and unlocks my cell.
“Follow me,” she says, handing off the gun.
That’s simple enough. Though she forgets to add, “…if you want to live.” Which would have been cooler.
We have to put bullets into a couple of guards. But there aren’t a lot of them around. She must have picked a time when it’s quiet.
And then we’re at a door leading to the courtyard.
“Snipers,” she says. “We need to serpentine.”
“Oh, god, don’t tell me that!” She frowns, but I do it anyway, running back and forth like a crazy man across the garden. My side still really hurts, but I can also hear an occasional ping of a bullet. I really don’t wanna end up as a dead skin mask.
And we come to a halt at….
A pool? What the fuck?
“Jump,” she says.
I don’t know where the fuck this leads to, but goddammit, she’s going too, so I grab her by the scruff of the neck and jump.
We’re underwater for a long fucking time. I can hold my breath, but I didn’t think I was gonna make it. My lungs are bursting when I come up for air. I can hear her ragged breaths as well. She probably didn’t have time to take a lungfull when I grabbed her. I toss my gun on the shore, drag myself out, and then drag her as well. I’m listening for shots, but I can’t hear any more gunfire. Then I get a look at the gardens.
It’s daytime, not the night any more. What the fuck?
Hey! I know this place. We’re in Mordland! We made it! We…
Holy fuck.
Where the hell are we?
“Where are we?” She is wondering too. I turn around. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten a good look at her, in the light. Great. She's like a toddler or something. I’ve been rescued by a Mouseketeer.
“This is where we live. Or where we used to live.” We’re outside. It looks like nobody has cut the bushes in years. And Mordhaus is almost completely covered in some sort of vine. This is ridiculous. How long was I gone?
“Come on,” I tell her. She marches warily in my wake, still clutching the rifle. Good. I’m not willing to offer any ridiculous words of comfort, because we might be in a whole world of shit.
The front door is open. OK. The first fucking Klokateer I locate is gonna get a brand new asshole, ripped courtesy the big boss.
Only there aren’t any Klokateers. There’s no one.
There’s a mirror. Now, I’ve heard it said that you can’t see my reflection in a mirror. Not a story I’d care to suppress, as I find it darkly amusing. But I want to say, for the record, that you can damn well see my reflection in a mirror. I mean, how would I shave? Be serious, people. Anyway, good Christ, I looked like shit. I obviously needed a shower and a shave and a change of clothes and a haircut and maybe a manicure, and probably some medical attention to various injuries the girl hadn’t been able to deal with.
But here’s the thing: I looked like I’d been gone a week, or at most, two. My home looked like no one had been around for a decade.
When I was a kid, my folks took me to see some sappy cartoon about an annoying singing princess. At some point, this really kick ass witch comes and does us all a favor and knocks her the fuck out. And she sleeps for years and years. And, that’s what Mordhaus looked like - like someone had knocked the fuck out of some sappy princess.
The girl isn’t talking, which is something I could like about her, but she is looking puzzled, so I tell her, “I just hope we have some fucking hot water, so we can get cleaned up. You look like you need to scrape off a few layers.” And it’s true, it looks like it’s been a while since wash day. I motion her to move. “I need something first.”
I lead her to my office. Thank god, whatever the hell happened here, my bottle of brandy is still just where I left it. I pour out two glasses. I don’t know if she’s of age, but I’m not fucking drinking alone. Besides, something tells me there are worse things in this universe than contributing to the delinquency of minors.
I point to the rifle. “That. When you sit down. On the floor, to your right.” She still looks confused, but sits and lays down the rifle. “Always on the floor, always to your right. That way, you always know where it is.” I push the brandy her way.
“We’re going to drink?”
“Yes. We are going to sit for a while and have a fucking drink.” My chair feels familiar. I’m getting it all soaking wet, but I don’t give a shit. The brandy burns, but in a good way. This is good. “All right. Tell me about that guy. The king. Back in your world.”
She is choking softly on the brandy, so her first few words are strained. “He showed up a couple years ago. He had the dark magic. My father was a minister. He warned against him. But, no one listened. The magic was too seductive. And he took over.”
“What happened to your father?”
“They killed him. They made me watch.”
“It’s brandy,” I tell her. “Sip, don’t gulp.”
So. Some asshole who thinks he’s worse than me? No one is worse than me!
“Why did you think I had magic?”
“He’s been pulling in people who have magic. Gathering them. Like your band. I thought you had magic too?”
“No. I just manage a rock band.”
“You don’t use magic?”
“No. I don’t use magic. I just fucking improvise.”
It’s annoying not having any assistants. But there is hot water, so I’m grateful for that. I hand her a stack of clean clothes and order her to hit the showers. I put her in Toki’s room. That’s probably too indulgent, but I want her up where I can keep an eye on her.
By the next morning, I have a plan. OK, it’s not much of a plan, but it’s the best I can do when all I’ve got is my own non-magical powers and a snotty teen sidekick. And, yes, I’m taking her back with me. Yeah, I’m an asshole. So sue me, see how far you get!
Whatever it is Dethklok does, they need all five of them. So I just need to start by getting one away from him. It doesn’t even matter which one. Although, I think I have an idea about the best candidate.
*****
I didn’t think television could possibly get any worse. But, it did!
We were supposed to spend the weekend pallin’ around with some rich king dood who’s a big death metal fan. But something’s weird. I mean, even weirder than usual. And Charles went out for a smoke, and never came back. I mean, it usually doesn’t take him a week to smoke a fucking cigarette. Unless he’s smoking the whole carton? Which kind of sounds like something epic that I’d do.
Anyway, I’ve pretty much been in my room since Charles went out for a smoke. All the other doods wanna do is bitch and play poker. Which is even more why I’ll take my chance with the TV in my room, doods.
It’s not really my room. It’s the room they gave me here. Which isn’t as cool as my real room. And not only does the TV really suck, I’ve had to figure out how to use a fucking gay remote control, like I’m some regular jackoff.
And also, the weed here is just pretty harsh. I mean. How much is one man supposed to take?
There’s a knock on my door, which means ten seconds where I won’t be bored. It’s a couple of dildos with my room service. They even push in one of those douchey little carts like they have in those snooty hotel rooms that are most fun to destroy. Hey, maybe these doods will help me throw the fucking television into the swimming pool! If they’ve got a swimming pool here. Maybe they need to put in a swimming pool? Where is fucking Charles when we need him for stuff!
Then one of the serving dildos has a pillow sack over my head, and they’re stuffing me into the bottom of the cart and wheeling me out. And I’m like, oh my god, dude, I’m being kidnapped from being kidnapped! Seriously, it’s kind of epic. I wonder where they’re taking me now? Maybe I’ll be like, a sex slave in Lucy Lawless’s ancient Roman empire? Oh, fuck yeah!
I hear the sound of firecrackers. Hey, is that Murderface? And the cart is tipped me over and they’re pulling me in the water, and HOLY FUCK I CAN’T SWIM YOU DOUCHE BAG KIDNAPPERS!
Someone pulls me out of the water. It’s Charles! Oh, so he went swimming instead of smoking? In his suit? Seriously. That guy, sometimes.
Oh, and there’s a girl in a wet Dethklok t shirt. All right, this is not so bad!
“Whoa, is dat a groupie?” I ask Charles.
“No!” Damn.
“Are you sure? She’s wearin’ our t shirt!”
“She’s, uh, underage.”
So I ask her, “Dood! Are you underage?”
“I’m 21,” she says
“What?” goes Charles. Yep. Didn’t even think to ask. What would that guy do without us? I mean, seriously.
And then I get a good look around. Holy fuck! “Whoa, dood, what happened t’ da gardens?” We’re definitely in Mordland, but the castle is all fucked up with vines and shit. The hell? How much are we paying the gardeners anyway? Hope it’s not coming out of my weed money.
“It got fucked up when you guys were away. Some magical shit.”
“We need a plan, dood!” Obviously. Do I have to do everything around here?
“Well, you were the first step.”
“Yeah? And den what?”
“Uh.”
Typical. But, that’s OK. I’m on the job now. “Well, if we need a rescoo plan, den I need somethin’ t’ get my mind workin’!”
So, I’m opening the wine.
“Isn’t three at once a little much, even for you?” We’re in my room. My real, awesome room. And Charles is already being all sniffy.
“One is fer yoo, dood. I ain’t drinkin’ alone. An’ no sippin’ one feckin’ glass while I down a bottle.” You must sometimes deal in a firm manner with your employees. This is what I have found.
“All right.”
“An’ dis is fer Talia. Yer drinkin’, right?”
“Who?” goes Charles. God, whatta douche!
“Sure!” Talia goes. And she grabs the bottle.
“You din’t even ask her name. Yer such a feckin’ douche, Charles. You wanna glass, Talia?”
“No thanks!” She has already made herself at home on my bed, and is tipping back the bottle like an old pro.
“Don’t I get a glass?” says Charles.
“No! Yer not a girl.” I mean, if he can’t keep up with the chick, it’s pretty bad, right?
Well, of course this was one of my best ideas ever. I can feel my brain loosening up. And I can see the tie has loosened up. Which give me an even better idea.
“You got an idea?” Charles asks. Yeah, I got an idea. My tongue in his mouth. As usual, he acts annoyed for the first five seconds, and then his hands find my ass. Ha. Like I said, a firm manner. And I’m pretty firm right now.
After a couple minutes, though, I hear a “Whoa!” I look up from what I’m doing there down on the floor. Oh, I’d totally forgotten about Talia. But she’s there at the edge of my bed, with the bottle, grinning, and looking like she wants maybe some popcorn too. Hey, I am really good. Maybe I should sell tickets?
“Oh, don’ lemme innerupt ya,” she smiles, waving the bottle. And hiccups.
And then I get an even better idea! And I grab her by the back of her Dethklok t shirt and drag her down on top of us. And she goes “Ow!” Um. OK, maybe in retrospect we shoulda climbed up onto the bed on top of her? But! I’m just filled with ideas now. Lots and lots of ideas. If only Charles had thought to pick up a few more girls? But, ya know, maybe we can go back there….
I’m awake before either of them the next morning, and it takes a bit of untangling to get out of the bed without disturbing them, especially Talia. I really hope there’s more cute girls where she comes from! Maybe Charles has some kind of badass plan where we go back and shoot a lot of guys. And maybe a sword fight! Dood, this is probably the coolest adventure, ever.
Anyway, maybe I wasn’t as careful about not disturbing doods as I thought because when I get back, Talia is awake. But that’s OK, because I’ve got breakfast. See, more guys should know this, but when you sleep with a girl, and they stay at your place, you gotta make ‘em breakfast. (I dunno how it works with a guy. But, that’s the way it is for girls.) I’m not sure how long Mordhaus has been all weird and abandoned like this, but it looks like the freezers are still working, plus it’s a scientific fact that Twinkies never expire. (Really! Look it up on the internet!) So, I make my epic specialty, Twinkie omelets! Seriously creamy.
She’s sitting wearing just a Dethklok t shirt, and I think maybe all girls everywhere should only wear Dethklok t shirts. They look really cute! Oh, and the rifle? She’s got it by her feet. A hot chick with a weapon! This is so very metal! I wish Nathan were here! And then I’m kind of sad, because Nathan is not here.
“So, are there a lot more cute girls where you come from?” I ask, sort of to cheer myself up.
“Uh. I don’t know. They’ve been keeping me in the dungeon. Did you see any?”
“I mostly stayed in my room watching suck ass TV. Why were you down in the dungeons, dood?”
“Oh. My father tried to oppose the evil magician. So they killed him.”
Dood!” I say. By way of being empathetic. Empathy goes a long way with chicks. “Did you have any other family? Like, a sister? Or maybe, several sisters? Or, a lot of female cousins?”
“My family was all killed.”
“Dood!” You gotta have empathy.
I hear a grumble then. Oh shit, it’s Charles. I had forgotten about him, since I was being all empathetic and shit. He’s pulled on some pants, and is standing there in front of us looking kinda pissy.
“You guys are already up?” he grumbles.
“Uh-oh. Sorry,” I tell him. “C’mon,” I tell Talia. “We’re not bein’ efficient.”
“What?”
“It’s more efficient!” Charles is muttering. “You’re already undressed! And everybody is warm!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell him. “Morning sex,” I tell her. He’s got this whole deal where it’s the best use of time, or something. So, I march him back to the bed, and Talia and I both go down on him. And then we get him coffee. And then he’s better. Usually oral sex and caffeine are what does it for our manager in the morning.
“So what’s your plan?” I ask him. Over the coffee, not over the oral sex.
“Huh?”
“We gotta get back to dat place! Dere may be more cute girls there!”
“Uh,” Talia goes, “Don’t you wanna get your band mates back too?”
“Yeah, and those guys! Nat’an! And Skwisgaar! And … dat other dude!”
“You mean Toki? Or Murderface?” Charles asks with a sigh.
“Does it gotta be both?” I ask him. “If we get both, den we’ll need to get more girls.”
“So,” Talia says, “Um. By cute girls, did you mean like the harem?”
“THE WHAT?” And Charles and I both say the exact same thing at the exact same time, and I think we’re even making the same face! Jinx! Epic jinx!
“Dooooooood!” I tell Charles. “What’s your plan?”
“I wasn’t planning! I was getting drunk and…. You know….”
“But yer subconscious was plottin’! I know it was!” ‘Cause, Charles’ subconscious is pretty evil, and it goes off and does shit like that.
And I’m wondering if we need to make another pot of maybe suck him off again, but then he gets this look, and I know….
*****
My dearest Prunella,
I hope this missive finds you well. It has been many months since we have come to this place. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I'm no more. Prunella, my love for you is deathless. Yet my love of Death Metal come over me like strong wind. I long for the day when a soft breeze that fans your cheek, and to touch your throbbing temple, maybe with my throbbing temple. Think I am gone, and wait for me, for we shall meet again.
XOXOXOX
William Murderface
“MURDERFACE!” Natan bellowed. “Quit writing Civil War missives and come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM! I swear that guy. If I ever find Ken Burns, I’m gonna kick his FUCKING ASS!” He wearily turned his attention back to the poker game.
“How long ams it beens since we seen Pickle?” asked Skwisgaar, not looking up from his cards.
“Dude, I dunno.”
“Maybe he ams gone out for da smokes wit’ Charles’,” the Swede mused.
“I think maybe he’s out SMOKING CHARLES,” Nathan muttered. “Stupid gay band.”
“Hey, it ams beens da longs times! I t’ink maybe my dicks ams falls off from disuse. Even Murderfaces ams starteds lookings goods!”
“Oh, god, Skwisgaar, NOOOOOOOOO!” Nathan wailed.
“Ams you guys gots any threes?” asked Toki brightly.
“Toki, for the last time, we’re not playing GO FISH!” Nathan rumbled.
“But you ams got any threes?”
“Yeah,” Nathan admitted, and he and Skwisgaar handed cards over to the young guitarist.
“Hey, waits, what ams dat!” said Skwisgaar, hearing some explosions.
Nathan looked up from where he was peeking at Murderface’s cards. “MURDERFACE! Did you have baked beans again?”
“Hey, what ams happenings in da courtyards?” Toki asked, leaning out the window. Nathan and Skwisgaar courteously smacked him away from the window so they could get a look.
A weird vehicle was emerging from the large pool in the center of the courtyard, firing off the many deadly guns mounted on the nose cone. As the nose poked further out of the pool, the contraption slowly sprouted giant metal legs, and waddled out of the water and onto the courtyard, like a huge metal mudfish. It then stood fully upright on the jointed legs, and began relentlessly marching towards the castle, firing its cannon. Wave after wave of the king’s soldiers fired at it, but the machine was mounted on all sides with a variety of deadly and brutal weaponry, and the courtyard was soon littered with their mangled bodies.
Charles and Pickles emerged from the submarine, followed by Talia, to accept the army’s surrender.
Nathan and the Scandanavians had just arrived as well. The lead singer pointed to Talia. “Dudes. You guys BROUGHT A GROUPIE? Because, seriously, that’s pretty metal.”
“Uh, she’s not really a groupie, Nathan,” Charles told him.
“Shure she is, dood,” Pickles said.
“Well, I mean, not technically,” Charles corrected.
“But, we totally slept with her.”
“Yes, but I’m not really a member of the band.”
“Oh, I t’ink management counts.”
“Does it?”
“Yeh, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’ve never been certain about the boundaries on that sort of thing.”
“Oh, and what is THIS THING DUDE?” Nathan asked, point to the weird crawling submarine.
“It’s the Dethsubmarine,” Charles told him. “Don’t you remember, Nathan? You wanted us to construct an amphibious vessel, so you could, and I quote, ‘Get all Jacques Cousteau and shit.’”
“Oh, I wanted this?” Nathan asked.
“Yes, you did Nathan.”
“Huh. Was I drunk?”
“Yes. Yes you were.”
“Oh. Well, it was a pretty metal idea.”
“Have any of you guys seen the evil King?” Talia was asking. “Because I have some business with him.”
Some of the soldiers were bringing the king out into the courtyard even as she spoke.
“Uh,” said Charles. “Isn’t he an evil magician?”
“No worries,” said Talia, handing him her sawed off shotgun. Talis strode up to the evil king and immediately swept him into a long, lingering kiss.
“DUDE!” said Nathan, punching Charles’ shoulder.
The king swiftly turned into a frog, and hopped away.
“Eek!” squealed Nathan.
Talia walked back to address Charles and Pickles. “Sorry you guys, I kind of lied. I wasn’t the minster’s daughter. I was the king’s daughter. So, I’m a princess. So, I can do stuff like that.”
“Does dat make you queen now?” Pickles asked. He had read fairy stories before, so he knew about this royal stuff.
“Huh. Yeah. I guess so. But we can still hang out, right?”
"Uh," said Charles.
"Yeah, totally," said Pickles. "We're down wit' queen doods!"
“I mean, I probably better stick to blow jobs instead of kisses, so I don’t do THAT by mistake,” she said, pointing at the frog.
"Uhhhh," Charles began. But Pickles had him in a headlock.
"Dat's awesome. We'll totally come and hang wit’ yoo, Queen Talia dood!"
“Cool. Did you guys wanna see the harem? I don’t think I’m gonna need it anymore.”
“THE WHAT?” bellowed Nathan.
My dearest Marabella-Anne,
I do not know how many days I shall have passed here in the bathroom composing Civil War missives. We have liberated the kingdom, which is now a queendom, and so my colleagues had requested our manager take our Dethsubmarine vehicle back to Mordhaus to acquire sufficient Dethklok t shirts for all members of the royal harem, that they may look way cute in this novel attire. And although Charles the manager hath bitched mightily about the assignment, he also retrieved many hoodies. I am willing, perfectly willing, to lay down all the joys of this life to help maintain this victory for merch. I'll always be with you; in the brightest day and the darkest night, always. Always. At least until Nathan kicks me out of the bathroom. Hey, occupado, amigo!!
XOXOXO
William Murderface
William Murderface was inadvertently turned into a frog a week later.