Apocalypse Dawning : Chapter Thirty-Three
Sorry for the delay guys. Writer's block needs to GTFO. This is the last one before Pickles comes back for more air time, so bear with me. (I miss the crazy little guy.) I feel like this chapter is boring and that may be why I got stuck. It's one of those that sets you up to tackle the ending. Thanks for being so patient guys!
Nathan goes back to the hotel with Offdensen. The rest of the guys are there and it's time to see what their opinions are. Do they have a preference for the drummer? Would they rather just move on and find someone less complicated? Will Nathan have to stand alone to defend his friend or will someone stand with him?
Offdensen gets a taste of what the guys are all like together. (Hey, no one ever said his job would be easy.) There's still a power struggle between manager and frontman. And we're left wondering what the fate of Pickles will be...
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I won't make money from this, I'm sure. (It would be nice!)
Warnings: angst, swearing, mild violence (for Metalocalypse standards anyway)
Just so no one's unpleasantly surprised: This is a N/P slash. There may be some dark moments, violence and other non happy things, but hey, there will be some smut and laughs along the way as well! I will warn you at the start of each chapter.
Link to first chapter:
http://community.livejournal.com/capslokdethklok/1112715.html#cutid1
Link to the last chapter:
http://capslokdethklok.livejournal.com/1716960.html#cutid1
Cut to this chapter:
Nathan stomped into the suite of the hotel, his bag over his shoulder and a deep frown set on his face. He glanced around at the joined rooms. He didn't like the flat white paint or the bland furniture. The sterile smell of cleaning chemicals hung in the air and choked him. He curled his nose.
This sucked. He missed the peeling paint, worn out carpets and musty beer smell. It was too quiet here. There was no crazy land lady downstairs to bang on her ceiling with her broom if the guys made too much noise. There was no shitty futon or creaky floor. There was no broken elevator to force him to climb the stairs and there was no crazy redhead.
He threw his bag down in an out of the way corner and stormed over to a contemporary styled, creme colored sofa where he flopped heavily. His temper flared at it's audacity to be more comfortable than Pickles' old futon. He sighed and glared at the blank television screen, blinking sullenly.
Offdensen swept through the still open front door a moment later with his cell phone up to his ear. He closed it behind himself and didn't give Nathan a second glance. Silent as a shadow, he stalked up to a door across from the common area and knocked briskly before turning back to seat himself across from the frontman. The only thing between them was a glass top coffee table with a couple of recent magazines and a remote control. There was nothing to stop the bigger guy from hurling himself at the bastard and trying to pound the shit out of him; nothing except an unshakable feeling that his opponent was dangerous and not to be underestimated. Nathan balled up his fist and stayed where he was.
The manager cleared his throat before talking into his phone. "Ah, yes. This is Charles Offdensen, attorney at law. I need to speak to the director of your probation unit... Yes, I'll hold."
Anger quelled for a moment, Nathan turned his attention to Offdensen's conversation. What was he calling probation for? Was Pickles in more trouble? Was the manager turning in Beau Pratt? Maybe there was a way that he could fix everything with a phone call!
'Get real. Stupid.'
The manager's eyebrows raised suddenly and he shifted his weight. "Yes. Charles Offdensen here. I am an attorney and my client has been seeing one of your probation officers for the last two years. Now, my client was arrested yesterday evening and I am preparing a defense for him. I need his files to be released to me... Yes, I faxed over the forms to your office this morning to the attention of the director. He's released his information to me... His name is Jacob P. Calvert... The worker's name is Beau Pratt... Thank you, I'll wait."
Nathan didn't understand what was going on really, but he leaned forward to better listen. Maybe he could pick something up. He was so focused on the manager that when the door clicked open softly it startled him. He snapped his head around to look at the tall blond guy and Murderface as they approached.
"Nathan, when did you get here?!" Murderface called loudly, either not seeing that Offdensen was on the phone or, more likely, not giving a fuck. His voice was over enthusiastic and sugar coated as he strolled past the frontman and helped himself to the mini-refrigerator. "Finally scheeing reaschon, eh?" He grunted before going on with a lower volume and superior tone. "Well, I can schee your point. Picklesch' apartment wasch a rat hole."
The big guy clenched his fist and probably would have told the bassist to go fuck off, but he was distracted as the new guitarist sat coolly at the opposite end of his couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Nathan scanned the tall, skinny man. It was the first good look he'd gotten of him, the only opportunity to study him in a relaxed setting. They weren't making first impressions or arguing about the authenticity of the band.
He still looked like an arrogant prick with his strong features set in a permanent frown. Nathan imagined that one day this guy would look as scary as Magnus. He was as tall as Pickles was short, and pale as hell. His all white wardrobe didn't help.
'Huh.'
Did he always carry his guitar with him? Was he afraid it would get stolen or something? Had he been so famous before that he felt like he was slumming it now, and he didn't dare take his eyes from his instrument for even a second? Nathan frowned.
Before he could decide if he wanted to ask or not, Offdensen's voice went on flatly. "Good. Yes, actually I do have a number for you to fax the forms to. I enclosed the number on the cover letter I sent you-"
"Still no Pickles, huh?"
Nathan turned to look at Magnus, who was leaning in the open doorway that the others had just come through. The frontman clenched his jaw, conflicted feelings getting the best of him. On one hand, Magnus seemed to be a pretty rational guy. He had a cool demeanor and seemed responsible, trustworthy. Nathan sort of wanted to be able to confide in him, for lack of any better options. On the other hand, the guy had fucking thrown Pickles under the bus. "Hey, Nathan, I know this isn't gonna be what you wanna hear, man, but- ..." He'd agreed with Offdensen, said that Pickles was guilty. "I like Pickles as much as the next guy but this isn't his first time around the block..." He'd just assumed because the red head had fucked up before that he'd done it again.
Nathan swallowed. He wished that he had someone, anyone, he could trust to talk to. "No. No bail yet."
Magnus nodded slowly, seeming to think something over. "When's he goin' to see the judge?"
"2:30."
"Offdensen gonna be his lawyer?"
"Yeah." Nathan turned away from the older guy. He didn't want to talk about it any more. He was suddenly so tired. Offdensen was right, he did need some sleep.
He blinked slowly. 'What time is it in Florida? Is it earlier or later there?' He couldn't ask any of these guys. They'd laugh at him and think he was stupid. 'Wonder if Dad's up? What day is it? Is he at work?'
He could trust Oscar, his father would listen to him and believe what he had to say. Fuck these guys.
"Alright. I appreciate your cooperation." Offdensen clicked his phone off and stood up. He glanced at the guys, making eye contact with the frontman. "Nathan, I really do suggest that you get some sleep. Then later you all can perform for my associate. You should also make a decision about what action to take concerning having a drummer-"
"I have a drummer." Nathan hadn't meant to snarl it the way he did but he didn't bother to apologize either.
Shrewd dark eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should discuss that with your band. A majority vote would probably be the best way to make decisions." His voice was lead, heavy and cold.
Nathan looked up blearily. His insides were clenched so tight that he could feel himself shaking from the inside out. When would this be over? Was the manager ever going to be neutral again? When would he be able to rest? He was so tired of being angry and strung out. This last 24 hours had been Hell. He was tired of thinking. He wished that Pickles was here to do the talking for him-
"How likely is Pickles to get out of this? In your opinion, that is." Magnus had advanced on the rest of them. He closed the space between himself and the manager in a way that was vaguely aggressive. Nathan was a little confused but sat up straighter. He wasn't sure if it was the way Magnus' spine seemed to stiffen or the almost over-confidence in his steps that made his stance look imposing. Either way, the frontman was tensed, ready in case there was some action.
The manager picked up on it as well and squared his shoulders. "My opinion is unimportant."
"Nah. I want it anyway." The guitarist stood his ground. His face was pulled down into the same intimidating frown that Nathan had noted when he first met Magnus. The guy knew how to use his age as authority. "You're a lawyer. Ya've seen things. I think we, as a band," he nodded toward the other three guys at this point, "could use your input." He paused there to look pointedly at each of the other members.
Murderface feigned indifference and shrugged as he poured himself something to drink. The blond guy seemed to at least understand the basics of what was going on and muttered a simple "Ja." Nathan nodded. He, for one, would like to hear more.
Magnus turned his dark eyes back on the manager. "So tell us, what do you think?"
Offdensen cleared his throat and straightened his tie despite not needing to. He was clearly unhappy about being confronted like this. "Professionally? I'd say he has a long shot. Pickles is well known in these courts. His reputation preceeds him. As far as most judges would be concerned, he would be one less high profile junkie on the street."
The air was thick. Nathan felt like he was being suffocated. The words that Offdensen was saying were heavy, but his voice indicated that he wasn't done. The frontman gritted his teeth, waiting for more.
Magnus made a rolling motion with his hand as if to tell Offdensen to hurry up or keep talking. "But?"
The manager's voice dropped dangerously. Nathan braced himself once more, just in case this got messy. He didn't know for sure, but he suspected that the smallish, unassuming man could actually be lethal. It was something in the way he carried himself. And even now, Offdensen seemed to begrudgingly consent to this interrogation but he didn't look intimidated by Magnus in the least.
"However," he ground out, "on a personal level, I believe he stands at least a decent chance of getting this charge dropped... but only because I'm his lawyer."
Nathan nodded despite wanting to sock the manager in his mouth for his attitude. He was sure that this was the truth, it wasn't just some asshole being cocky. It seemed that he was able to make things happen, he wasn't like regular jack-offs. People jumped at the snap of a finger for Charles Offdensen.
"How long?" Magnus was either unimpressed or a damned good bluff.
Still unwilling to make this easy, Offdensen shrugged. "Who knows?"
Teeth bared, Nathan slammed his fist off of the coffee table. The glass groaned in a troublesome way and the blond guy pulled his feet back quickly, hissing in surprise. "Skit!"
Nathan didn't know what that meant and he didn't care. "Tell me! How long before we get him back?!"
Offdensen sighed and put his hands up as if in defeat, though the front man suspected it was more an act of being fed up and just wanting to move on. "I already told you, Nathan. Pickles probably won't get bail. If things go smoothly, I'll try to have him out after his preliminary hearing-"
"How long would that be?"
"What? To get to the hearing?" He thought for a moment. "A week? Two weeks? Whenever there's an availability at the court-"
Murderface, who'd been quiet up until now, spluttered on his glass of orange juice. "Two weeksch? That'sch too long! We can't go without a drummer for that long! Not if we're going to be getting gigsch!"
Nathan was sort of surprised that Murderface had put that together on his own. Before he could say anything, Magnus agreed. "Fuck, man. Didn't you say you were goin' to be booking us something for the end of this week?"
'Wait. What?'
The frontman frowned. He hadn't booked any gigs. He glanced at the rhythm guitarist only to realize that the question hadn't been directed at him. Magnus was looking at Offdensen. Offdensen was nodding- "Wait!" The whole room went quiet as Nathan jumped out of his seat. He stormed over to the manager and leaned down to his face. "You booked a gig without telling me?!"
Cool dark eyes leveled with him. Offdensen didn't even take a step back. "Yes. Last night an opportunity presented itself-"
"Last night?!" He could feel the rage swelling up inside of him.
"Yes. After we returned to the hotel a business associate contacted me and offered you guys an opening space at one of his clubs-"
"Pickles is in jail! He can't play!" Nathan's brain felt like it was whirling around inside his head. Why the fuck would their manager do this to them? He was setting them up to fail!
Murderface threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Oh great! I guessch now we bomb! Fucking Picklesch!"
In hind sight, it was the wrong thing to do, but in the moment Nathan just couldn't stop himself. Without a single coherent thought, he stomped over to Murderface, pulled back and punched him square in the jaw. The bassist flew over backwards and crashed to the floor. It didn't help anything, only made matters worse, but it made Nathan feel better.
There were simultaneous outcries from Murderface, Magnus and the other guy. The rhythm guitarist jumped to help the other guy up and the foreign dude noodled nervously on his guitar, eying Nathan in a shrewd way.
"This isn't Pickles' fault!" Ignoring the others, the frontman spun around and pointed savagely at Offdensen. His voice was more a growl. "It's yours."
The manager stood perfectly still with his arms folded in front of him. He kept his voice calm and emotionless, eerie. "It's my fault for finding work for you and your band? What is it you believe a manager is supposed to do, Nathan?"
He stormed closer, closing the gap between himself and the manager once more. Slamming one fist off of the bar he could barely form a coherent thought. "You know what I mean!" His insides were trembling. He couldn't remember a time he'd been this angry. "Pickles is in jail! You booked us anyway!"
Offdensen narrowed his eyes. "This is a part of the music industry, Nathan. The show must go on. I suggest you make a back up plan."
Nathan clenched his jaw until he was sure he heard his teeth crack. He hated Charles Offdensen. The searing contempt was enough to burn a hole right through him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Everything had to be perfect. Certain things had specific places or requirements that needed to be met and this was one of them. He didn't know why, but Death Clock had to be perfect. If it wasn't 100% then it wasn't going to work. He could feel it in his core.
"NNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" He whirled around and punched the wall. The plasterboard crumbled away and his fist went straight through with a hollow 'pop' sound.
'Fuck.'
The manager sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Nathan, you need to stop punching things."
He instinctively pulled his fist back to himself. "Yeah. Sorry." Something in the 'oh shit' moment of realizing that he'd broken the wall brought him back around a little. His anger was still there with him, but Nathan was in control now.
Magnus stepped around Nathan, stole a closer look at the hole in the wall and then pushed on with Offdensen like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "So after this preliminary hearing? How long after that?"
Feeling a little numb, Nathan locked his eyes on the manager. Yeah. Pickles. When would they get him back?
Another heavy sigh. "Possibly instantly. Possibly not at all. It would depend on whether he was sentenced or not."
Magnus nodded and turned to Nathan. "Alright, two weeks and we get Pickles back. What's the plan until then?"
The manager narrowed his eyes. "I said if he doesn't get sentenced."
The look that crossed the rhythm guitarist's face was something Nathan couldn't quite place. It was something like impatience or frustration, like Magnus was just about fed up. "Right, and you also said he stood a good chance because you are his lawyer. Is that the way it is or are you just talkin' bullshit, Chuck?"
Shoulders squared, Offdensen's voice was tight, livid. "It's Charles, actually, and no. I wasn't 'talking bullshit'. I am Pickles' last chance, but I can't say what the future brings."
Magnus shrugged. "Close enough. We trust ya." There was something in the way he said it that wasn't exactly friendly. It was a challenge. He was daring the manager to prove his worth.
A muscle under Offdensen's eye twitched and Nathan couldn't tell what he was thinking. That was nothing new though, and the frontman shook his head, trying to clear the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions. The band. He had to think about the band.
"Uh. What about-" He took a deep breath. 'Pull it together.' "What about the gig?"
Murderface snapped back at that almost as if he hadn't been knocked to the ground a few moments earlier. "Yeah! How are we gonna play without Picklesch?!"
Nathan furrowed his brow. Fuck. How were they going to do this? If Pickles wasn't out in time then who would play the drums? 'Think! Stupid fucker... Magnus had an idea last night. What was it?' The gears that had been over worked seconds ago were now slowly grinding along, trying to compute an answer. He glanced at the rhythm guitarist, trying to jog his memory or, you know, silently call for help.
Magnus picked up his cue as if he'd been doing this for years and stepped closer. "What about the chick?" He looked at Offdensen. "You still have her contact info?"
Offdensen sighed. The tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen some. "For Miranda? Yes. I have her phone number and address, providing nothing has changed."
Nathan swallowed. "Can we get her for just one night? Like, pay her to go on instead of Pickles? Then... when he comes back she can leave?" It seemed like a dick move, but these were desperate times. They could always say it was like her final interview and then decide that she wasn't good enough.
Magnus shrugged. "Or wait until after the preliminary today ta see if we'll even need her."
Nathan felt his spirit jump just a little. Yeah! They could wait. Pickles might come back today.
"I would suggest calling her sooner rather than later." The manager cut in. "What if she's moved on? She may be working with another band by now guys."
Shit. His stomach knotted. What if she couldn't or wouldn't do it? Who then? Did they know anyone else?
Murderface stumbled closer, holding his swollen jaw. Nathan looked at the floor. He felt just a little guilty until the nasty fucker started talking. The bassist spluttered spittle into the air as he offered his opinion that no one had asked for. "Whoa. Guysch! A chick drummer?" His voice sounded incredulous. "Isch that even posschible?!"
Nathan squinted and Magnus cocked an eyebrow. Offdensen pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he serious? Was what possible?
"Yes, William." Offdensen pressed. "I assure you that it is entirely possible to be a woman drummer. Miranda is quite talented actua-"
Something lit up behind the bassist's yellow eyes, making Nathan shudder. "Isch sche hot? Like on a schcale of 1 to 10, sche'sch at leascht an eight, right?"
Nathan exhaled in a whoosh. "Fuck! Murderface-"
"Nej."
Everyone stopped to look at the blond. He'd remained quiet up until this moment, but he seemed to have something to say now. He waved both of his hands in front of him once in a dismissive way, his usual sneer deeper than normal. "Bad. Noes good."
Nathan felt the tightness in his guts loosen just a little. Thank God.
The manager spoke up immediately, not that Nathan could understand a damned word of what he was saying. They seemed to be having some sort of debate though, with a lot of shaking heads and speaking over one another... Okay, so the foreign guy was the one who kept over-speaking the manager. Nathan shrugged his approval and leaned against the wall for support. Fuck, he was tired but he refused to close his eyes for even a second. He couldn't understand what they were saying but he could watch the body language.
After a few more moments, the manager seemed to be getting tense and the blond was beginning to throw his arms around. Nathan clenched his jaw, ready to step in when Magnus beat him to it. The guitarist had the benefit of speaking whatever language it was so it stood to reason that Nathan let him do the talking.
Things only seemed to heat up from there though. Offdensen's face was starting to twitch and his voice had dropped low. The blond guy's sarcasm was dripping off his words despite the language barrier. Magnus even seemed to be on edge.
Murderface sidled up to Nathan, his eyes wide. "What the fuck isch going on?" His voice sounded a little distorted, probably because of his jaw.
Still feeling a little bad, Nathan stooped to try to be more on level with the bassist. He'd heard that it also made him less intimidating if he didn't look as big. "Don't know."
He fixed his eyes on Magnus' severe look. He looked pissed off but with Magnus it was hard to tell. "Hey! What are they saying?"
Magnus turned his head to glance at the two guys standing by the wall and recognition dawned behind his eyes. "Oh shit, man. You guys don't-" He sighed. "Skwisgaar doesn't want a different drummer. It could fuck things up. Offdensen says that we need somebody to fill the spot... They're both fuckin' stubborn as hell-" He turned back just then when the blond- Skwisgaar- directed a question at him.
Nathan felt his spirit jump, however tentatively, at that. Finally! Someone else that was on his side! He took an involuntary step forward, eyes fixed on the guys as the conversation was passed back and forth. Offdensen still looked and sounded pissed off as he lifted his chin authoritatively but the other two seemed to take their stand together, practically shoulder to shoulder. Nathan's gut churned into a knot. What were they saying?
Before he could ask, the manager cleared his throat. "Nathan, Murderface, I am being told that Skwisgaar and Magnus would like to hold off on contacting Miranda until after today's proceedings." Nathan grunted there, but the manager kept on going without offering him a chance to speak. "I have advised that this may be a bad idea. If Pickles doesn't come back today then we will only be wasting more time. You have a gig booked at the end of this week, five days from now. Time is more precious than air. This show that I have set up for you boys isn't just any regular show. It is at a very well known club, it is an honor that the owner is willing to give you a chance. You are going to be performing for your target audience with a twenty minute slot, enough time for three songs... This could be your shot guys. What's it going to be?"
Nathan swallowed. Why was the air so thick? He couldn't breathe. What should he do? He wanted Pickles to be there with them... They couldn't play without their drummer, not for their first show... But what if this really was it? Would there ever be another chance? What if he didn't take this opportunity and regretted it forever? He'd worked too hard to be denied now...
He glanced around at the other guys. Skwisgaar had his nose up in the air and was sneering openly. Magnus had his arms folded over his chest and the same unreadable severe look on his face. Murderface was rubbing ineffectively at his swollen jaw and carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone.
He pointed at Magnus. "What did Skwis- Skwi... Fuck. What the hell did he say?"
Dark eyes still masked, the guitarist locked onto Nathan. "Skwisgaar. He says that introducing a new band member so late is a bad idea. She's not as good as Pickles and we don't have time to teach her our song. And it'll cause confusion with the crowd. If we get fans we don't want them ta be expectin' the chick instead of Pickles. We could be slittin' our own throats."
Nathan nodded slowly. He scanned Offdensen, who looked like he'd gotten a mouthful of fish oil. There was no point in asking his opinion, he'd made it quite clear that he was ready to be done with the 'deadbeat drummer'. "Magnus, what do you think?"
The oldest member of their band, if you could even call it that at this point, didn't hesitate. "I say we're fucked without Pickles. We can't train someone new in five days, hell, we haven't even practiced with Skwisgaar yet. I think we should wait until after the preliminary."
"Alright." Nathan stared at Murederface until the bassist was forced to look up. "You?"
Suddenly the center of attention, Murderface seemed to feel self-conscious. His cheeks colored a little and he stuck his nose up like the blond. "It schould be obviousch what I think."
Nathan frowned. He didn't know what that meant, but even if it meant that Murderface wanted the chick, he was out numbered. Nathan wanted what the other two wanted. He looked at Offdensen squarely. "We'll wait."
***
Nathan heavily sank into the hotel bed. The crisp linen grated on his skin and served to irritate him even further. He needed sleep, Offdensen had been right about that, but how was he supposed to sleep now?
In just a few short hours Offdensen would either get Pickles back or he wouldn't. The wheels of fate were in motion. There would be no going back after this hearing. And also, they had their first gig in just a few days. How would they ever be ready in time? With or without Pickles, it seemed impossible. Nathan rolled over to face the blank white wall, hoping it would help lull him to sleep.
He closed his eyes and tried to drift off, but every time he let his mind wander he kept coming back to recent events. He could still see Pickles being carried away by the police. He cringed at the memory of how he'd talked to Mrs. Palmira. It was like he and Offdensen- Charles- were sitting in the kitchen all over again. He still didn't know how to feel about the manager and Pickles' past. It made him uncomfortable, made his insides tense and squirm, so he tried not to think about it.
There was another problem. Offdensen was still acting weird. He was angry or something, but Nathan didn't know why. He didn't like the choices Nathan was making and he didn't seem to like that Nathan had become friends with Pickles. That same tense, squirming feeling crept up in his guts. He didn't know, did he? The manager couldn't possibly know about what Nathan and Pickles had been doing could he?
Nathan rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He was remembering the stone cold glare that Offdensen had given him at the police station earlier and it was still causing him to shudder. He'd never seen a person look so cold or angry. With a look like that, the young guy could understand why Pickles had been so upset that night in the motel room. Just the thought of going against the manager's wishes was enough to induce nightmares.
It wasn't normal for Nathan to get spooked, but there was something about the manager that made him instinctively reverent. The guy was like a force of nature and Nathan understood and respected that he wasn't yet an able opponent for the other man. He may never be. His mind would never be a match for that shrewd intellect of Offdensen and he'd probably never be a fast as him either. All of the strength in the world was no good if he was too slow to get a hold on the slippery bastard...
Nathan swallowed the bad taste at the back of his throat and closed his eyes again. He needed to think about something better, something good.
It would be good to hear Pickles' laugh again. When he came home later Nathan would be sure to get the dip-shit to laugh, even if it fucking killed him. The corner of his mouth turned up. "Huh."
'If he comes home later.'
Fuck. The bad feeling surged again. But Offdensen couldn't lose, right? He'd talked to the probation office once they had gotten to the hotel room. And after he and Nathan had had their 'talk' at the apartment Mrs. Palmira had said that she had a security tape or something. He'd kept Nathan's tape recorder, he'd been clutching it as he retreated to his room ten minutes ago. What else could he need?
Nathan exhaled heavily. Pickles would be back tonight. He had to be. And then they would be able to rename Death Clock and blow minds at their first show. Death Clock was going to work. Nathan could feel it. It wasn't just an amateur's dream. He couldn't explain it, but now that he'd had a chance to see them all, his band, he knew. He'd never succeeded before because the pieces had never been right. He'd been missing Pickles, Magnus, Skwisgaar, and even Murderface. And even though he was a pain in the ass, Nathan was sure that he needed Offdensen too. They were all essential pieces. They were all gears in the Death Clock.
Nathan goes back to the hotel with Offdensen. The rest of the guys are there and it's time to see what their opinions are. Do they have a preference for the drummer? Would they rather just move on and find someone less complicated? Will Nathan have to stand alone to defend his friend or will someone stand with him?
Offdensen gets a taste of what the guys are all like together. (Hey, no one ever said his job would be easy.) There's still a power struggle between manager and frontman. And we're left wondering what the fate of Pickles will be...
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I won't make money from this, I'm sure. (It would be nice!)
Warnings: angst, swearing, mild violence (for Metalocalypse standards anyway)
Just so no one's unpleasantly surprised: This is a N/P slash. There may be some dark moments, violence and other non happy things, but hey, there will be some smut and laughs along the way as well! I will warn you at the start of each chapter.
Link to first chapter:
http://community.livejournal.com/capslokdethklok/1112715.html#cutid1
Link to the last chapter:
http://capslokdethklok.livejournal.com/1716960.html#cutid1
Cut to this chapter:
Nathan stomped into the suite of the hotel, his bag over his shoulder and a deep frown set on his face. He glanced around at the joined rooms. He didn't like the flat white paint or the bland furniture. The sterile smell of cleaning chemicals hung in the air and choked him. He curled his nose.
This sucked. He missed the peeling paint, worn out carpets and musty beer smell. It was too quiet here. There was no crazy land lady downstairs to bang on her ceiling with her broom if the guys made too much noise. There was no shitty futon or creaky floor. There was no broken elevator to force him to climb the stairs and there was no crazy redhead.
He threw his bag down in an out of the way corner and stormed over to a contemporary styled, creme colored sofa where he flopped heavily. His temper flared at it's audacity to be more comfortable than Pickles' old futon. He sighed and glared at the blank television screen, blinking sullenly.
Offdensen swept through the still open front door a moment later with his cell phone up to his ear. He closed it behind himself and didn't give Nathan a second glance. Silent as a shadow, he stalked up to a door across from the common area and knocked briskly before turning back to seat himself across from the frontman. The only thing between them was a glass top coffee table with a couple of recent magazines and a remote control. There was nothing to stop the bigger guy from hurling himself at the bastard and trying to pound the shit out of him; nothing except an unshakable feeling that his opponent was dangerous and not to be underestimated. Nathan balled up his fist and stayed where he was.
The manager cleared his throat before talking into his phone. "Ah, yes. This is Charles Offdensen, attorney at law. I need to speak to the director of your probation unit... Yes, I'll hold."
Anger quelled for a moment, Nathan turned his attention to Offdensen's conversation. What was he calling probation for? Was Pickles in more trouble? Was the manager turning in Beau Pratt? Maybe there was a way that he could fix everything with a phone call!
'Get real. Stupid.'
The manager's eyebrows raised suddenly and he shifted his weight. "Yes. Charles Offdensen here. I am an attorney and my client has been seeing one of your probation officers for the last two years. Now, my client was arrested yesterday evening and I am preparing a defense for him. I need his files to be released to me... Yes, I faxed over the forms to your office this morning to the attention of the director. He's released his information to me... His name is Jacob P. Calvert... The worker's name is Beau Pratt... Thank you, I'll wait."
Nathan didn't understand what was going on really, but he leaned forward to better listen. Maybe he could pick something up. He was so focused on the manager that when the door clicked open softly it startled him. He snapped his head around to look at the tall blond guy and Murderface as they approached.
"Nathan, when did you get here?!" Murderface called loudly, either not seeing that Offdensen was on the phone or, more likely, not giving a fuck. His voice was over enthusiastic and sugar coated as he strolled past the frontman and helped himself to the mini-refrigerator. "Finally scheeing reaschon, eh?" He grunted before going on with a lower volume and superior tone. "Well, I can schee your point. Picklesch' apartment wasch a rat hole."
The big guy clenched his fist and probably would have told the bassist to go fuck off, but he was distracted as the new guitarist sat coolly at the opposite end of his couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Nathan scanned the tall, skinny man. It was the first good look he'd gotten of him, the only opportunity to study him in a relaxed setting. They weren't making first impressions or arguing about the authenticity of the band.
He still looked like an arrogant prick with his strong features set in a permanent frown. Nathan imagined that one day this guy would look as scary as Magnus. He was as tall as Pickles was short, and pale as hell. His all white wardrobe didn't help.
'Huh.'
Did he always carry his guitar with him? Was he afraid it would get stolen or something? Had he been so famous before that he felt like he was slumming it now, and he didn't dare take his eyes from his instrument for even a second? Nathan frowned.
Before he could decide if he wanted to ask or not, Offdensen's voice went on flatly. "Good. Yes, actually I do have a number for you to fax the forms to. I enclosed the number on the cover letter I sent you-"
"Still no Pickles, huh?"
Nathan turned to look at Magnus, who was leaning in the open doorway that the others had just come through. The frontman clenched his jaw, conflicted feelings getting the best of him. On one hand, Magnus seemed to be a pretty rational guy. He had a cool demeanor and seemed responsible, trustworthy. Nathan sort of wanted to be able to confide in him, for lack of any better options. On the other hand, the guy had fucking thrown Pickles under the bus. "Hey, Nathan, I know this isn't gonna be what you wanna hear, man, but- ..." He'd agreed with Offdensen, said that Pickles was guilty. "I like Pickles as much as the next guy but this isn't his first time around the block..." He'd just assumed because the red head had fucked up before that he'd done it again.
Nathan swallowed. He wished that he had someone, anyone, he could trust to talk to. "No. No bail yet."
Magnus nodded slowly, seeming to think something over. "When's he goin' to see the judge?"
"2:30."
"Offdensen gonna be his lawyer?"
"Yeah." Nathan turned away from the older guy. He didn't want to talk about it any more. He was suddenly so tired. Offdensen was right, he did need some sleep.
He blinked slowly. 'What time is it in Florida? Is it earlier or later there?' He couldn't ask any of these guys. They'd laugh at him and think he was stupid. 'Wonder if Dad's up? What day is it? Is he at work?'
He could trust Oscar, his father would listen to him and believe what he had to say. Fuck these guys.
"Alright. I appreciate your cooperation." Offdensen clicked his phone off and stood up. He glanced at the guys, making eye contact with the frontman. "Nathan, I really do suggest that you get some sleep. Then later you all can perform for my associate. You should also make a decision about what action to take concerning having a drummer-"
"I have a drummer." Nathan hadn't meant to snarl it the way he did but he didn't bother to apologize either.
Shrewd dark eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should discuss that with your band. A majority vote would probably be the best way to make decisions." His voice was lead, heavy and cold.
Nathan looked up blearily. His insides were clenched so tight that he could feel himself shaking from the inside out. When would this be over? Was the manager ever going to be neutral again? When would he be able to rest? He was so tired of being angry and strung out. This last 24 hours had been Hell. He was tired of thinking. He wished that Pickles was here to do the talking for him-
"How likely is Pickles to get out of this? In your opinion, that is." Magnus had advanced on the rest of them. He closed the space between himself and the manager in a way that was vaguely aggressive. Nathan was a little confused but sat up straighter. He wasn't sure if it was the way Magnus' spine seemed to stiffen or the almost over-confidence in his steps that made his stance look imposing. Either way, the frontman was tensed, ready in case there was some action.
The manager picked up on it as well and squared his shoulders. "My opinion is unimportant."
"Nah. I want it anyway." The guitarist stood his ground. His face was pulled down into the same intimidating frown that Nathan had noted when he first met Magnus. The guy knew how to use his age as authority. "You're a lawyer. Ya've seen things. I think we, as a band," he nodded toward the other three guys at this point, "could use your input." He paused there to look pointedly at each of the other members.
Murderface feigned indifference and shrugged as he poured himself something to drink. The blond guy seemed to at least understand the basics of what was going on and muttered a simple "Ja." Nathan nodded. He, for one, would like to hear more.
Magnus turned his dark eyes back on the manager. "So tell us, what do you think?"
Offdensen cleared his throat and straightened his tie despite not needing to. He was clearly unhappy about being confronted like this. "Professionally? I'd say he has a long shot. Pickles is well known in these courts. His reputation preceeds him. As far as most judges would be concerned, he would be one less high profile junkie on the street."
The air was thick. Nathan felt like he was being suffocated. The words that Offdensen was saying were heavy, but his voice indicated that he wasn't done. The frontman gritted his teeth, waiting for more.
Magnus made a rolling motion with his hand as if to tell Offdensen to hurry up or keep talking. "But?"
The manager's voice dropped dangerously. Nathan braced himself once more, just in case this got messy. He didn't know for sure, but he suspected that the smallish, unassuming man could actually be lethal. It was something in the way he carried himself. And even now, Offdensen seemed to begrudgingly consent to this interrogation but he didn't look intimidated by Magnus in the least.
"However," he ground out, "on a personal level, I believe he stands at least a decent chance of getting this charge dropped... but only because I'm his lawyer."
Nathan nodded despite wanting to sock the manager in his mouth for his attitude. He was sure that this was the truth, it wasn't just some asshole being cocky. It seemed that he was able to make things happen, he wasn't like regular jack-offs. People jumped at the snap of a finger for Charles Offdensen.
"How long?" Magnus was either unimpressed or a damned good bluff.
Still unwilling to make this easy, Offdensen shrugged. "Who knows?"
Teeth bared, Nathan slammed his fist off of the coffee table. The glass groaned in a troublesome way and the blond guy pulled his feet back quickly, hissing in surprise. "Skit!"
Nathan didn't know what that meant and he didn't care. "Tell me! How long before we get him back?!"
Offdensen sighed and put his hands up as if in defeat, though the front man suspected it was more an act of being fed up and just wanting to move on. "I already told you, Nathan. Pickles probably won't get bail. If things go smoothly, I'll try to have him out after his preliminary hearing-"
"How long would that be?"
"What? To get to the hearing?" He thought for a moment. "A week? Two weeks? Whenever there's an availability at the court-"
Murderface, who'd been quiet up until now, spluttered on his glass of orange juice. "Two weeksch? That'sch too long! We can't go without a drummer for that long! Not if we're going to be getting gigsch!"
Nathan was sort of surprised that Murderface had put that together on his own. Before he could say anything, Magnus agreed. "Fuck, man. Didn't you say you were goin' to be booking us something for the end of this week?"
'Wait. What?'
The frontman frowned. He hadn't booked any gigs. He glanced at the rhythm guitarist only to realize that the question hadn't been directed at him. Magnus was looking at Offdensen. Offdensen was nodding- "Wait!" The whole room went quiet as Nathan jumped out of his seat. He stormed over to the manager and leaned down to his face. "You booked a gig without telling me?!"
Cool dark eyes leveled with him. Offdensen didn't even take a step back. "Yes. Last night an opportunity presented itself-"
"Last night?!" He could feel the rage swelling up inside of him.
"Yes. After we returned to the hotel a business associate contacted me and offered you guys an opening space at one of his clubs-"
"Pickles is in jail! He can't play!" Nathan's brain felt like it was whirling around inside his head. Why the fuck would their manager do this to them? He was setting them up to fail!
Murderface threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Oh great! I guessch now we bomb! Fucking Picklesch!"
In hind sight, it was the wrong thing to do, but in the moment Nathan just couldn't stop himself. Without a single coherent thought, he stomped over to Murderface, pulled back and punched him square in the jaw. The bassist flew over backwards and crashed to the floor. It didn't help anything, only made matters worse, but it made Nathan feel better.
There were simultaneous outcries from Murderface, Magnus and the other guy. The rhythm guitarist jumped to help the other guy up and the foreign dude noodled nervously on his guitar, eying Nathan in a shrewd way.
"This isn't Pickles' fault!" Ignoring the others, the frontman spun around and pointed savagely at Offdensen. His voice was more a growl. "It's yours."
The manager stood perfectly still with his arms folded in front of him. He kept his voice calm and emotionless, eerie. "It's my fault for finding work for you and your band? What is it you believe a manager is supposed to do, Nathan?"
He stormed closer, closing the gap between himself and the manager once more. Slamming one fist off of the bar he could barely form a coherent thought. "You know what I mean!" His insides were trembling. He couldn't remember a time he'd been this angry. "Pickles is in jail! You booked us anyway!"
Offdensen narrowed his eyes. "This is a part of the music industry, Nathan. The show must go on. I suggest you make a back up plan."
Nathan clenched his jaw until he was sure he heard his teeth crack. He hated Charles Offdensen. The searing contempt was enough to burn a hole right through him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Everything had to be perfect. Certain things had specific places or requirements that needed to be met and this was one of them. He didn't know why, but Death Clock had to be perfect. If it wasn't 100% then it wasn't going to work. He could feel it in his core.
"NNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" He whirled around and punched the wall. The plasterboard crumbled away and his fist went straight through with a hollow 'pop' sound.
'Fuck.'
The manager sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Nathan, you need to stop punching things."
He instinctively pulled his fist back to himself. "Yeah. Sorry." Something in the 'oh shit' moment of realizing that he'd broken the wall brought him back around a little. His anger was still there with him, but Nathan was in control now.
Magnus stepped around Nathan, stole a closer look at the hole in the wall and then pushed on with Offdensen like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "So after this preliminary hearing? How long after that?"
Feeling a little numb, Nathan locked his eyes on the manager. Yeah. Pickles. When would they get him back?
Another heavy sigh. "Possibly instantly. Possibly not at all. It would depend on whether he was sentenced or not."
Magnus nodded and turned to Nathan. "Alright, two weeks and we get Pickles back. What's the plan until then?"
The manager narrowed his eyes. "I said if he doesn't get sentenced."
The look that crossed the rhythm guitarist's face was something Nathan couldn't quite place. It was something like impatience or frustration, like Magnus was just about fed up. "Right, and you also said he stood a good chance because you are his lawyer. Is that the way it is or are you just talkin' bullshit, Chuck?"
Shoulders squared, Offdensen's voice was tight, livid. "It's Charles, actually, and no. I wasn't 'talking bullshit'. I am Pickles' last chance, but I can't say what the future brings."
Magnus shrugged. "Close enough. We trust ya." There was something in the way he said it that wasn't exactly friendly. It was a challenge. He was daring the manager to prove his worth.
A muscle under Offdensen's eye twitched and Nathan couldn't tell what he was thinking. That was nothing new though, and the frontman shook his head, trying to clear the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions. The band. He had to think about the band.
"Uh. What about-" He took a deep breath. 'Pull it together.' "What about the gig?"
Murderface snapped back at that almost as if he hadn't been knocked to the ground a few moments earlier. "Yeah! How are we gonna play without Picklesch?!"
Nathan furrowed his brow. Fuck. How were they going to do this? If Pickles wasn't out in time then who would play the drums? 'Think! Stupid fucker... Magnus had an idea last night. What was it?' The gears that had been over worked seconds ago were now slowly grinding along, trying to compute an answer. He glanced at the rhythm guitarist, trying to jog his memory or, you know, silently call for help.
Magnus picked up his cue as if he'd been doing this for years and stepped closer. "What about the chick?" He looked at Offdensen. "You still have her contact info?"
Offdensen sighed. The tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen some. "For Miranda? Yes. I have her phone number and address, providing nothing has changed."
Nathan swallowed. "Can we get her for just one night? Like, pay her to go on instead of Pickles? Then... when he comes back she can leave?" It seemed like a dick move, but these were desperate times. They could always say it was like her final interview and then decide that she wasn't good enough.
Magnus shrugged. "Or wait until after the preliminary today ta see if we'll even need her."
Nathan felt his spirit jump just a little. Yeah! They could wait. Pickles might come back today.
"I would suggest calling her sooner rather than later." The manager cut in. "What if she's moved on? She may be working with another band by now guys."
Shit. His stomach knotted. What if she couldn't or wouldn't do it? Who then? Did they know anyone else?
Murderface stumbled closer, holding his swollen jaw. Nathan looked at the floor. He felt just a little guilty until the nasty fucker started talking. The bassist spluttered spittle into the air as he offered his opinion that no one had asked for. "Whoa. Guysch! A chick drummer?" His voice sounded incredulous. "Isch that even posschible?!"
Nathan squinted and Magnus cocked an eyebrow. Offdensen pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he serious? Was what possible?
"Yes, William." Offdensen pressed. "I assure you that it is entirely possible to be a woman drummer. Miranda is quite talented actua-"
Something lit up behind the bassist's yellow eyes, making Nathan shudder. "Isch sche hot? Like on a schcale of 1 to 10, sche'sch at leascht an eight, right?"
Nathan exhaled in a whoosh. "Fuck! Murderface-"
"Nej."
Everyone stopped to look at the blond. He'd remained quiet up until this moment, but he seemed to have something to say now. He waved both of his hands in front of him once in a dismissive way, his usual sneer deeper than normal. "Bad. Noes good."
Nathan felt the tightness in his guts loosen just a little. Thank God.
The manager spoke up immediately, not that Nathan could understand a damned word of what he was saying. They seemed to be having some sort of debate though, with a lot of shaking heads and speaking over one another... Okay, so the foreign guy was the one who kept over-speaking the manager. Nathan shrugged his approval and leaned against the wall for support. Fuck, he was tired but he refused to close his eyes for even a second. He couldn't understand what they were saying but he could watch the body language.
After a few more moments, the manager seemed to be getting tense and the blond was beginning to throw his arms around. Nathan clenched his jaw, ready to step in when Magnus beat him to it. The guitarist had the benefit of speaking whatever language it was so it stood to reason that Nathan let him do the talking.
Things only seemed to heat up from there though. Offdensen's face was starting to twitch and his voice had dropped low. The blond guy's sarcasm was dripping off his words despite the language barrier. Magnus even seemed to be on edge.
Murderface sidled up to Nathan, his eyes wide. "What the fuck isch going on?" His voice sounded a little distorted, probably because of his jaw.
Still feeling a little bad, Nathan stooped to try to be more on level with the bassist. He'd heard that it also made him less intimidating if he didn't look as big. "Don't know."
He fixed his eyes on Magnus' severe look. He looked pissed off but with Magnus it was hard to tell. "Hey! What are they saying?"
Magnus turned his head to glance at the two guys standing by the wall and recognition dawned behind his eyes. "Oh shit, man. You guys don't-" He sighed. "Skwisgaar doesn't want a different drummer. It could fuck things up. Offdensen says that we need somebody to fill the spot... They're both fuckin' stubborn as hell-" He turned back just then when the blond- Skwisgaar- directed a question at him.
Nathan felt his spirit jump, however tentatively, at that. Finally! Someone else that was on his side! He took an involuntary step forward, eyes fixed on the guys as the conversation was passed back and forth. Offdensen still looked and sounded pissed off as he lifted his chin authoritatively but the other two seemed to take their stand together, practically shoulder to shoulder. Nathan's gut churned into a knot. What were they saying?
Before he could ask, the manager cleared his throat. "Nathan, Murderface, I am being told that Skwisgaar and Magnus would like to hold off on contacting Miranda until after today's proceedings." Nathan grunted there, but the manager kept on going without offering him a chance to speak. "I have advised that this may be a bad idea. If Pickles doesn't come back today then we will only be wasting more time. You have a gig booked at the end of this week, five days from now. Time is more precious than air. This show that I have set up for you boys isn't just any regular show. It is at a very well known club, it is an honor that the owner is willing to give you a chance. You are going to be performing for your target audience with a twenty minute slot, enough time for three songs... This could be your shot guys. What's it going to be?"
Nathan swallowed. Why was the air so thick? He couldn't breathe. What should he do? He wanted Pickles to be there with them... They couldn't play without their drummer, not for their first show... But what if this really was it? Would there ever be another chance? What if he didn't take this opportunity and regretted it forever? He'd worked too hard to be denied now...
He glanced around at the other guys. Skwisgaar had his nose up in the air and was sneering openly. Magnus had his arms folded over his chest and the same unreadable severe look on his face. Murderface was rubbing ineffectively at his swollen jaw and carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone.
He pointed at Magnus. "What did Skwis- Skwi... Fuck. What the hell did he say?"
Dark eyes still masked, the guitarist locked onto Nathan. "Skwisgaar. He says that introducing a new band member so late is a bad idea. She's not as good as Pickles and we don't have time to teach her our song. And it'll cause confusion with the crowd. If we get fans we don't want them ta be expectin' the chick instead of Pickles. We could be slittin' our own throats."
Nathan nodded slowly. He scanned Offdensen, who looked like he'd gotten a mouthful of fish oil. There was no point in asking his opinion, he'd made it quite clear that he was ready to be done with the 'deadbeat drummer'. "Magnus, what do you think?"
The oldest member of their band, if you could even call it that at this point, didn't hesitate. "I say we're fucked without Pickles. We can't train someone new in five days, hell, we haven't even practiced with Skwisgaar yet. I think we should wait until after the preliminary."
"Alright." Nathan stared at Murederface until the bassist was forced to look up. "You?"
Suddenly the center of attention, Murderface seemed to feel self-conscious. His cheeks colored a little and he stuck his nose up like the blond. "It schould be obviousch what I think."
Nathan frowned. He didn't know what that meant, but even if it meant that Murderface wanted the chick, he was out numbered. Nathan wanted what the other two wanted. He looked at Offdensen squarely. "We'll wait."
***
Nathan heavily sank into the hotel bed. The crisp linen grated on his skin and served to irritate him even further. He needed sleep, Offdensen had been right about that, but how was he supposed to sleep now?
In just a few short hours Offdensen would either get Pickles back or he wouldn't. The wheels of fate were in motion. There would be no going back after this hearing. And also, they had their first gig in just a few days. How would they ever be ready in time? With or without Pickles, it seemed impossible. Nathan rolled over to face the blank white wall, hoping it would help lull him to sleep.
He closed his eyes and tried to drift off, but every time he let his mind wander he kept coming back to recent events. He could still see Pickles being carried away by the police. He cringed at the memory of how he'd talked to Mrs. Palmira. It was like he and Offdensen- Charles- were sitting in the kitchen all over again. He still didn't know how to feel about the manager and Pickles' past. It made him uncomfortable, made his insides tense and squirm, so he tried not to think about it.
There was another problem. Offdensen was still acting weird. He was angry or something, but Nathan didn't know why. He didn't like the choices Nathan was making and he didn't seem to like that Nathan had become friends with Pickles. That same tense, squirming feeling crept up in his guts. He didn't know, did he? The manager couldn't possibly know about what Nathan and Pickles had been doing could he?
Nathan rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He was remembering the stone cold glare that Offdensen had given him at the police station earlier and it was still causing him to shudder. He'd never seen a person look so cold or angry. With a look like that, the young guy could understand why Pickles had been so upset that night in the motel room. Just the thought of going against the manager's wishes was enough to induce nightmares.
It wasn't normal for Nathan to get spooked, but there was something about the manager that made him instinctively reverent. The guy was like a force of nature and Nathan understood and respected that he wasn't yet an able opponent for the other man. He may never be. His mind would never be a match for that shrewd intellect of Offdensen and he'd probably never be a fast as him either. All of the strength in the world was no good if he was too slow to get a hold on the slippery bastard...
Nathan swallowed the bad taste at the back of his throat and closed his eyes again. He needed to think about something better, something good.
It would be good to hear Pickles' laugh again. When he came home later Nathan would be sure to get the dip-shit to laugh, even if it fucking killed him. The corner of his mouth turned up. "Huh."
'If he comes home later.'
Fuck. The bad feeling surged again. But Offdensen couldn't lose, right? He'd talked to the probation office once they had gotten to the hotel room. And after he and Nathan had had their 'talk' at the apartment Mrs. Palmira had said that she had a security tape or something. He'd kept Nathan's tape recorder, he'd been clutching it as he retreated to his room ten minutes ago. What else could he need?
Nathan exhaled heavily. Pickles would be back tonight. He had to be. And then they would be able to rename Death Clock and blow minds at their first show. Death Clock was going to work. Nathan could feel it. It wasn't just an amateur's dream. He couldn't explain it, but now that he'd had a chance to see them all, his band, he knew. He'd never succeeded before because the pieces had never been right. He'd been missing Pickles, Magnus, Skwisgaar, and even Murderface. And even though he was a pain in the ass, Nathan was sure that he needed Offdensen too. They were all essential pieces. They were all gears in the Death Clock.