Disclaimer: I don't own Metalocalypse, Dethklok, any members or people associated with them. They belong to Brendan Small and Tommy Blacha. I do, however, own Gloria Ofdensen. Please don't steal her.
Chapter 1
()Approximately 14 years ago()
"Are you sure you have everything?"
"Yes, mother."
"You have all of your clothes? A warm blanket? You know, the blankets on those dorm beds are never warm enough."
"I know, I'm well prepared."
"Are you sure you don't want one more cup of coffee before you go? I mean, New York is a long ways from-"
"Mother."
Gloria Ofdensen closed her mouth, looking desperately at her son's face. He was giving her a stern yet gentle look.
"I'll be fine. I've been preparing for this day since before I graduated. I'm ready."
Gloria looked at the ground. "I know, Charlie. I just... I can't believe you're leaving. Aren't you at least going to wait for your father?"
"You know him," Charles sighed, though it was an understanding one. "If I waited to leave until then, he'd berate me for putting off my life another few hours. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."
"I know. I know, you're just like your father. You'll take the world by storm."
Charles looked at his mother one last time. He then looked around, as if afraid what the neighbors would say if they say, and gave her a quick hug before turning and heading for the taxi that awaited him. "Goodbye!" he waved from the door before stepping in.
"Goodbye, Charlie! I love you! Be careful!" she called after him as the yellow cab took her son away. She somehow knew he would be okay, but couldn't help but worry. After all, that was what mothers were for.
()Present day()
Charles Foster Ofdensen always came to his meetings well-prepared. Especially when those meetings were with the band. He had to multi-task in ways that he was sure most managers could never imagine. He had to keep everything in terms the boys could understand. Try not to lose their focus, as their attention spans seemed to rival that of gnats. And above all, he had to keep them from doing anything stupid. The last part was especially important, and especially hard.
"Okay, boys, a few things to discuss."
The members of Dethklok responded in a low murmur of apathy. Well, it was certainly off to a swimming start. So he cleared his throat.
"First of all, the new demos have come back from the testing group. They liked everything but tracks 3 and 9. Apparently it wasn't 'metal' enough for them and they'd appreciate it if you tried a little harder to 'kick them in the ass' with your music."
"Dude, I loved track 9! That was, like, the best drummin' I've ever done in my life!" Pickles sat up, scowling. "F(riff)k them!"
"Yes, be that as it may, they are your fans. You don't have to like them, but they're paying for your music, so it would be nice to show a little support for their opinions."
"Their opinions means s(riff)t," Skwisgaar snorted, plucking away at his guitar at his usual lightning pace. "We ares the multi-billionaires."
"Yeah, they'll just end up buying our CDs anyway," Nathan reasoned. "So why should we care about a couple of f(riff)king songs they didn't like? It's our music, and we don't wanna do it again."
"I understand that, but..."
"But nothin', we're not doin' it again!" Murderface snapped, folding his arms with a huff.
"Yeah, we workeds real hards on them!" Toki complained.
"What's all this 'we's' crap?" the Nordic guitarist snorted. "Yous were doings nothings, as usual."
"F(riff)ks you!"
"Guys, please. It wouldn't take too long to record two new songs, and I'm sure the fans would-"
"We said no!" Nathan snapped, slamming his fists on the table. "The fans can f(riff)k themselves if they don't appreciate the hard work we put in those f(riff)king songs! End of discussion!"
Charles stared at him and the determined faces around the table and sighed, shifting to the next paper on the table. "Alright, then. Next order of business is the matter of your most recent business proposal. You wanted to have machines made that will shoot... metal roses into the audience? Am I reading this right?"
"Yeah. Hundreds of them," Nathan affirms, nodding.
"An unholy alliance of metals and arts!" Skwisgaar pumps a fist in the air. "The chicks'll loves it!"
"You do realize that would kill a good portion of your audience, and injure the rest."
"They're our fans, they don't care!" Murderface snaps. "God, you're like the world's biggest killjoy!"
"Boys, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this is one thing I can't okay. All other fan deaths are unintentional, if just as unavoidable. We're not going to actively try to kill our fanbase."
"Oh, come on, you don't care when they die anyway!" Pickles groaned.
"I care when there could be a potential lawsuit involved. The waivers we have them sign gives up their right for them or anyone else to sue us in case of injury or death, but it could cause a potential landfall if the harm is intentional."
"Killjoy," the bassist repeated, huffing.
"Moving on," Charles announced firmly. "As the last order of business..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, quickly saying, "Mymotherwouldlikeustovisit." He then stood up, shuffling up the papers quickly. "No? You're too busy? I understand, alright, good meeting." He turned to go when he was stopped by Toki.
"Waits, did you just says your moms wants us to visits?" he asked excitedly.
"Whoa whoa, you means the ones whats sends us those little cookies?" Skwisgaar asked.
"Yeah, and sends us presents for Christmas every year," Pickles added, grinning as he sat up straighter. "Dude, that's awesome! We never actually met her, I wanna go!"
"Yeah, I think it'd be awesome! Your mom's totally awesome!" Nathan agreed.
"Better than my mom, that's for damn sure!" the drummer nodded.
Charles sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling while they couldn't see it. "Look, I know my mother likes you boys, but I just don't know if she's ready to actually meet you."
"Oh, comes on!" Skwisgaar encouraged. "She'll loves us just as much in persons!"
"Yeah, she knows more about us than our own parents, or in my case grandparents, do!" Murderface agreed.
Their manager turned and stared them all down. His stern glare was met with a set of five enthusiastic grins, which reminded him of children being told they were going to Disneyland. He managed to stare them down for a total of 14 seconds before conceding. "Fine. I'll call her and tell her we're coming down next week. But under one condition." He looked around at them again. "You have to promise to redo those two songs when we get back."
"Anything!"
"Awesome!"
"Yippee!"
"It's a deals!"
"We're going to Ofdensen's mother's house!"
As they all celebrated their victory over their CFO's willpower, Charles turned and left the room. On the way down he'd have to lay ground rules. He'd have to keep a tighter leash, and sterner guidelines. After all, there was a far cry between making an appearance to their fans...
...and one to his mother.
(To be continued...)
