Pickles (the drummer) (doodily doo ding dong doodily doodily doo) ; Metalocalypse

[doodily_doo]

((Okay'd by zee Dethklok muns!))

Definitely not as cool as Mordhaus. But hey. Any kind of castle's pretty brutal.

What looks like just about the only man to be able to be just about totally Irish and pull off a dreadlock'd comb-over suddenly appeared in the middle of the sorting room, giant cloud of TOTALLY METAL smoke wafting out through the

Comments

[carri3_whit3]

Arrgghhh. Money. An' lots of it. Please.

[doodily_doo]

"Hey, uh. Money, I mean. That's awesome. Bribes!" Pickles vaguely pats down his body and... pulls out his checkbook. And it probably wasn't a great idea to ask where he'd just gotten that from. "So, uh. How much are we talkin' here, ah?"

[carri3_whit3]

*rubs her temples*

Seventy-five hundred. Dollars. Made out to Carrie White, please.

[doodily_doo]

Pssssh. Seventy-five hundred's nothing when you're a billionaire. Or... at least were the last time you checked. Still. Pretty forward. Pickles scrawled out something that seemed barely legible to the untrained eye (and you really... REALLY don't want to know where the pen came from) and handed it to Carrie, all business-like. Er. As business-like as a man in his tighty whities could manage. "There yeh go, huh?"

Vote: Hufflepuff

[carri3_whit3]

*takes the check*

*glances at it suspiciously*

Thank you. Hufflepuff. There aren't, ahh, any more of you guys, are there?

[doodily_doo]

"Hey, thanks, lady," Pickles offers back appreciatively, holding up the vodka bottle and taking a swig. "And, eh. There's Murderface, the bass player, yeh know. Only you don't want him here." He paused a moment, for emphasis. "No, like. REALLY. Don't want him here."

[carri3_whit3]

*grimaces*

I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the warnin'. An' the check.

[doodily_doo]

"Yeah, man, I mean, any time." Well. Maybe not on the money thing. But Murderface warnings, definitely.