Five Metal heads, one manager and an insect
I'd like to give out a special thanks to lepidoctor and invadertwinkie, as they were very kind in beta-reading this fic. Let's give 'em a round of applause, everybody! :D
Series: Metalocalypse
Character(s): Dethklok and Ofdensen
Prompt: There’s a bug, in the room!
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,241
Something had caught Pickles’ attention, and it made him tense as he stared at it with the utmost surprise.
“…Uh, dude? Don’t move.” Before he could even begin the topic for tonight’s meeting, the manager looked away from his papers and gave the drummer a quizzical look.
“I’m sorry?” He asked, while raising an eyebrow in added response. Pickles leaned over toward him from his seat at the long table.
“Now, don’t freak out but, ah…there’s a bug, behind your chair.” Turning around, Charles Foster Ofdensen noticed that there was indeed an insect crawling behind him. Much to his disgust, it was also of the long, dark brown variety. A cockroach.
“I see…excuse me.”
Pushing back his chair to stand up, Ofdensen raised his foot above the small pest. Sadly, another of his clients had decided to intervene.
“Hey, whats you doings?” Toki yelled out, in protest against the manager’s chosen course of action.
“Well, I’m going to get rid of it, since it’s a cockroach--”
“Don’ts kills it - I wants it! Lets me haves it!”
“Cockroaches are vermin, Toki. They can carry infectious diseases...”
“So whats? I wants it - I coulds trains it to do magic tricks, or feeds it to my iguana!”
“Dude, you don’t have an iguana.”
“I can gets one!” he replied back. “I’s gots plenty of rooms for an iguana.” The second guitarist immediately got up from his chair and kneeled to the floor. Using his hands to surround the insect, he began to bring them together, gently coming closer towards its long, thin antennae
--just before a bullet exploded near his hands, and sent pieces of the ground flying up in to the air.
“Dammit, I almoscht had him!” cried Murderface in frustrated rage, as he held up the smoking barrel of his .22 calibre hunting rifle. “I almoscht had that little piesche of shit!” Reaching into his pockets for some spare shells, he watched angrily as the cockroach scuttled among the shattered debris on the floor.
Toki winced at his hands and let out a short breath of relief when he saw that they were unharmed. Then he turned his attention over to the gun-toting bassist, from his position on the ground.
“Hey, you coulda killeds me!”
“Well, I could have, but hey look on the bright schide: you’re schtill alive and kickin’,” his puffy-haired band mate shrugged, calmly. “Shit happensh. Jusht move on and akschept it, y’know.”
“Aw, fuck yous!”
“Hey - hey, the bug’s gettin’ away!” Pickles pointed at the insect, as it quickly ran out of the rubble.
“Don’t let that baschtird eschape!” Murderface screamed, just before cocking back the fresh bullets into his rifle and readying his aim.
“Hey, don’t kills it! I wants it!” Toki shouted, while scrambling back up to his feet.
Ofdensen watched as the insect darted towards the back of the room, in hot pursuit from Murderface’s rifle.
“William, I don’t think you should-”
Blam!
“Now, William, that doesn’t really help our current floor insurance problem-”
Blam!
“Uh, are you even listening to me-”
Blam!
“William!”
Klik-klik, ka-klik. Realising that he had now run out of ammunition, the bassist angrily threw down his empty rifle.
“I got it: throw your knife at the bug!”
“What?? Dear Gawd, Picklesh; I eat with tchat. How can you be sho dischguschting!”
“Oh yeah, that’s a good point…well, I guess I’m all out of ideas.”
“Waits - I gots a plans!”
Acting quickly, Skwisgaar reached over for the opened bottle of red wine on the table and splashed all of its contents out to the ground. Unfortunately, he had poured it onto his side of the room; thus missing the cockroach completely.
Staring at the scarlet liquor as it stained his shoes; Pickles then looked up at the lead guitarist with a baffled expression on his face.
“Dude, what--?”
Skwisgaar stood in an awkward hesitation, before he could even explain his actions
“Well…ah…I hads reads som-where dat coggaroadess…dat ifs yous useds de wines, on de floors, dey woulds have drunks it and den becomes drunks.” The drummer blinked at what he had just heard.
“Hold on…you’re telling me that bugs can drink? I always thought, y’know, that they live on air. And crap.”
“Ja, it’s amazink whats yous can learn, from reading…plus I couldn’t finds anythink else in de bathsroom, at dat old lady’s house. Just de Martha Stewarts stuffs…”
Toki scooted over towards the terrified insect, and crouched down to pick it up in his hands. Careful so as to not scare it away, he slowly reached out his fingers to lift the cockroach up from under its body.
As the second guitarist did this, images began to flash through his head of a big, spiky green lizard. He smiled to himself, while he pictured it loyally following him wherever he went. In his mind’s eye, he watched the scaly creature gallop along in a bright field of dandelions. And when it turned around, the reptile would leap up into the air to catch a metal Frisbee in its mouth; before throwing the disc back… just for it to pass through the neck of a by-standing klokateer.
Grinning with anticipation, Toki’s fingertips were now nearly half an inch away from touching the cockroach’s legs…
--until a heavy, black boot had suddenly squashed it to the ground.
“Ugh, bugs. They’re like fans without money. Hate them.”
“Thank you, Nathan.” Ofdensen wearily sighed. Although he wasn’t pleased that the lead singer had left when the band meeting had began (presumably on an extended bathroom break), the manager was still relieved that the insect fiasco was over.
“Yeah, Nat’ens. Thanks for nothins!” The second guitarist snapped; annoyed that his plan had been foiled. “Iguana killer! Now he’s gonna starves.”
The large front man raised his right foot and grimaced at its sole.
“Brutal…I think I can see its guts - argh!” Nathan shut his eyes and turned his head away, repulsed by what he had seen. “Oh God, it blinked at me. I’m not wearing these boots again!”
Sitting down in disgust at the long table, he removed his heavy footwear and threw them aside. “Hey you,” Nathan directed his attention to the manager. "Tell them I need new boots, okay? That’s our answer.”
“That may be so, Nathan, but today’s meeting isn’t about asking for new items. We have actually been receiving numerous complaints about the recent Asia tour, including one from the president of Kazakhstan for burning-”
“I want a new rifle! One with lascher trakching night vischion, and a built-in flame-tchrower.”
“I want fresh bed sheets.”
“I wants my owns man-si-on!” Unfortunately, Toki was too upset and angry to use this supposed opportunity to call out for what he wanted.
Ofdensen glanced at each of the band members’ faces, after being so abruptly interrupted.
“Most of you don’t intend to let me finish what I was saying, do you?”
“…Nope.” shrugged Pickles. “We just want our stuff.”
“Fine, but this is a very important issue, since it could greatly jeopardise your global popularity-”
“Ah-ah-ah! Our. Stuff.” The manager stared at the red-haired drummer; who was clearly determined in his resolve to get clean bed sheets.
“…Okay, fine. I’ll make up a list right now.” Putting aside his papers, Ofdensen sighed to himself as he pulled out a small notebook from his left pocket.
As he was doing this, a fly had started buzzing towards his head…