Okay, a heads up. This is TOTALLY a love-driven fan fic. I am totally infatuated with the Dethklok boys, and I'm not afraid to admit it. My character is probably something of a Mary-Sue, but I'll try hard to make her more than just a that.
I've also been writing a Watchmen fic, and it's just plain depressed me. On the other hand, Metalocalypse is funny, smart, lots of fun to watch, and a ton of fun to write about. So forgive me for a couple clichés. I'm writing this for fun, and I hope that whoever reads this, has some fun with me.
Please enjoy!
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Deth, Come Near Me
Canto One: Background and Arrival
Dolly Codling decided that she would string her own bass on the day of her tenth birthday. And from that day on, she was a self-sufficient person. She took care of herself most of the time, after her father left their family for his beautiful, 25-year-old Swedish mistress. Dolly's mother had gone to pieces after that, and the 11-year-old girl had removed herself from her mother's motherly tutelage. She paid close to no attention to the woman, since she spent the majority of her days bashing her father. And her four older brothers did nothing to help. They hated their father just as much as their mother did.
Dolly enjoyed visiting her father and his other family. By the time she was 16, he had had 2 beautiful children, a little boy and a little girl. Dolly loved his new wife, Helene, much more than she did her own mother. And she spent a lot of her time with the woman and her kids, if not only to get away from her disjointed, dysfunctional family.
Though, when Dolly turned 17, Helene decided that she would bring her family back to their roots, back to Sweden. And of course, Dolly was crestfallen. She had hoped to live with her father's new family, but she couldn't just leave her country. The USA was a terrible place sometimes, but it was her home. Helene and Dolly's father promised the girl that they would send her things from Sweden and keep in contact with her as much as possible.
She thanked god that they kept their promises. They sent her trinkets and memorabilia and letters and pictures and the like. Dolly had it all sent to her oldest brother's apartment rather than the home that she shared with her mother, since her mother would probably just tear everything up and set it on fire.
The year after that, the day after her 18th birthday, her mother was hounding her oldest brother, James, about the Dethklok cover band that he had wanted to start up. She told him that he was worthless, like his father, and all he wanted to do was play and mess around until he died. She was always like that with James, since he was the one who looked the most like their father. She started picking on him when he was 17, 6 years older than Dolly.
After her outburst about the band that he wanted to create, James went silent, and walked into his grandfather's room. He came out with the old man's pistol and pointed it at his mother. Unfortunately, Dolly was in the room. The girl hurled herself in front of her mother as the gun went off, and a chunk of her arm was gone. James, surprised and terrified that he had shot his own sister, turned the gun on himself.
Her mother insisted on a low budget funeral.
At the funeral, Dolly's three other brothers and her mother weren't the only people at the funeral, much to her mother's discomfort. James had been a very popular, sweet, kind person. It was only when Dolly's mother saw a young woman kiss the dead James' hand did she start crying.
And in her grief, she paid no attention to Dolly and her arm wound. Neither did Dolly. She assumed that since it had gone numb she was safe...
Dolly was 23. Living in James' old apartment, she spent her time playing bass in her brother's various bands, since none of them seemed to want to play bass guitar. She didn't care to have a love life, though she had tons of great friends. Being in so many bands made it easy to meet people, and she kept in touch with all of them as she could. She still stayed in contact with her father and Helene and their kids, and she had been planning to go visit them in Stockholm when she had some time to herself.
But a call from her brother stopped her Swedish dreams in their tracks.
___________
Murderface always hated band practice. He always felt left out, and all it made him think of was how worthless he really was.
Skwisgaar had his fantastic guitar solos that made all the women bend over for him. Toki was Skwisgaar's second hand man, whether he wanted to admit it or not. The boy would always be there for him. Nathan was the lead singer, so he was automatically the leader and the most visionary of the group. That was just the role that front men took on. And Pickles was the underbelly, the beat keeper, the go-to guy. You could go to him for anything from general advice to worldly wisdom, as long as it had something to do with drugs or music.
And what was Murderface? The bassist. Whose bass was mixed out of most of the tracks, anyway. He was vestigial. And as he thought about it during practice, he just kept playing while the rest of them stopped.
"Murderface." Nathan growled. The bassist didn't hear him.
"Murderface!" Still nothing.
"MUURDERFAAAACE!"
"What isch it?!" The bassist yelled back.
"What are you doing to your strings?"
"... What'sch that schupposched to mean?"
Nathan nodded at his instrument, "I can hear the strings slapping the back of your bass. What are you doing?"
"I'm playing asch I uschually do, Nathan. I don't know what you're hearing." Murderface replied stubbornly.
"Huuh... Just pay more attention to what you're doing."
As Murderface checked his bass, Nathan walked over to Skwisgaar and whispered to him, "Keep an eye on him. I don't think he knows that he's fucking up."
Skwisgaar nodded, and they returned to practicing. The Swede did as he was told, and being the amazing multitasker he was, found it easy to play his guitar and pay attention to Murderface's playing at the same time. And he found the problem quickly enough. The bassist's wrist was torqued forward, making him pull the strings out instead of up, thus, the strings slapped back against the bass.
After practice, Nathan and Skwisgaar complained to Ofdensen about it, how Murderface's bad bass playing was getting to them. Ofdensen just sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I think he start taking uh... lessons." Nathan said, "'Cause... I don't want to deal with his bitching."
"I agree, Nathan." Ofdensen replied, replacing his glasses, "I'll get someone by tomorrow."
"Great. Awesome. Uh... Good." Nathan ended awkwardly, and walked away.
Ofdensen looked at Skwisgaar, "Unless, you would want to teach him, Skwisgaar?"
"I haves better tings to dos den teach a hardass like Murderface." The Swede scoffed, turning and following after Nathan.
Ofdensen looked at the wall for a moment, thinking over what he could do in the situation. He could do one of a few things: One, he could hire a professional. But knowing Murderface, he would hate the guy and end up either stabbing him or beating him over the head with a bass. Two, he could hire a cool guy who Murderface would most likely not dislike, but the guy would probably have some elaborate scheme for sneaking into the band as the new bassist or something.
Or three. He could hire a girl, and that choice would branch off into two sub-choices: Three-A, a really nice, sweet girl who could sort of play bass well enough to teach Murderface to the point where he wouldn't annoy his band mates any further. Or Three-B, he could get a total bitch who got the job done and got in done right.
As soon as he returned to his office, he made a phone call...
____________
"I'm... what now?" Dolly questioned her brother, Hunter.
He sighed, "You've been asked to teach Dethklok's bassist proper bass technique. Is that so hard to understand?"
"Erm... A little. I mean, he's Dethklok's bassist. Why would he need help?"
Hunter shrugged, "Fuck if I know. But hey, they'll be paying you a lot. Oh, and mom gave me this to give you."
Dolly rolled her eyes and took a letter and a box from Hunter's hands. She set the box on the table and tore open the letter.
Dolly,
Do your dear mother the favor of taking pictures in Mordhaus while you're there. I will love you all the more if you do this for me.
Your loving mother,
Molly~
Dolly sighed, "Is she kidding...?"
"Just do what she asks..." Hunter groaned, leaning back in his chair, "You know how mom gets if you don't do what she wants..."
"I can't wait until she dies." Dolly mumbled, and she was telling the truth. Hunter was always thinking the same thing, as were their two other brothers. Hunter and Dolly were the youngest, Hunter being two years older than Dolly. They weren't really close until James died, though. After that, they became best friends.
Dolly stood up and stretched, "So when do I leave?"
___________
"Murderface, your instructor will be in here in about ah, an hour. Shouldn't you, ah... be getting ready?" Ofdensen raised an eyebrow at the bassist, who was at the moment, stretched out on the couch eating a soggy looking sandwich. There was a bucket of beans at his feet, and unfortunately, it looked like his feet had been in them.
"No." He replied simply, tearing at his sandwich.
"I ah, did go to great lengths to find someone that you wouldn't hate, Murderface. I think it's only reasonable that you—"
"How could you find schomeone I don't hate?! I hate everyone!" Murderface exclaimed, effectively dunking his foot into the bucket of beans, "And I never agreed to taking lesschons from some dildo teashcher!"
An idea popped into Ofdensen's head, and he replied eloquently, "Your band mates came to me with concerns about you. They feel like you're taking away from the band by not being at the ah, top of your game, so to speak."
"Scho... The bass mattersch? I have an infuensche?!" The bassist stood up with a new vigor, "I will take their challengshe, good schir. And I will fuck these lesschons up the assch!"
"Ah... Good, I guess." Ofdensen walked off, slightly bewildered.
Approximately an hour later, the doorbell to Mordhaus rang. Most of the band was in one of the main rooms, specifically the one with the hot tub, thinking up ideas for the next album. Murderface, meanwhile, was in his room, attempting to look better. Anyone else would have said that the attempt was all for naught, but when Murderface walked out of his room his band mates were surprised to see how much better he looked.
He had shaved, for the first time in ages. There was no crusted over vomit on his clothing. He didn't have his knife in hand. It was quite a surprise to the band. Skwisgaar even stopped his perpetual guitar playing to stare at him with the rest of the band. Ofdensen joined Murderface on the way to the door, a couple Klokateers at his back just in case things got violent.
The Klokateer guards pulled the large doors open, and Murderface cleared his throat...
"Are you kidding me?" The bassist said, staring at the person who was going to be his instructor, "Shche's a chick! Chick's can't play bassch!"
The woman scowled, "Excuse me sir, but I assure you, girls can play bass just as well as boys can." She pulled her bag further up her shoulder and muttered, "Fucking sexist..."
Ofdensen cleared his throat, "Ah, Murderface, this is Ms. Dolly Codling, and yes, she will be instructing you in your bass playing from now on."
"I thought you schaid you went to great lengths to find schomeone I wouldn't hate!" Murderface yelled.
"I guess I failed then." Ofdensen replied offhandedly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He turned to Dolly, "I'll show you to the guest room." The girl nodded and, leering at Murderface, pranced after Ofdensen.
Murderface groaned. He was just glad that they wouldn't be passing by the main room; the good guest room was on another floor. What would his band mates say to a female bass teacher? Knowing them, they would probably just make fun of him and then tell him to go practice while they recorded.
Murderface scowled. He would show them. He would beat the teacher at her own game.
________________
"Okay, Murderface..." Dolly said, tuning her bass to the famous Dethklok "Drop C" tuning, "Show me what you can do. Play the bass line to... I dunno, Blood Puke."
The bassist grumbled as he stood up and started strumming. Dolly didn't say anything as she watched him. He sounded alright, but one of the most common faults that bassists had, was tone and technique. Most of them had such a big hang up about 'standing out' since they were always held back, that they only succeeded in looking good on stage and failed at playing.
This was kind of the case with Murderface, but she could also see one other thing. She too, noticed the torque in his wrist and the slapping strings. Dolly gave up all her preconceptions about Murderface, and smiled. He really was a good bass player, and she respected that. She could tell that he had never taken a lesson in his life though, and that was something that she decided she would fix.
"Not bad, dude." She said, and stood up next to him, "Can I fix a couple of things though?"
Her smile threw Murderface off. He hadn't expected her to be a nice person, at all. He had expected to be fighting her all the way, and somehow get something out of the classes. But as he nodded his head and she took his hand in hers, cold shivers shot down the bassist's spine, and he just barely heard her instructions.
"... So try not to lean your wrist out, okay?" She said, moving away from him and crossing her arms, "Try the first few measures of the song again."
Murderface did as he was told, and he was surprised to find that the slapping was gone. The way that she had situated him was uncomfortable and unnatural, but he did sound better. She smiled a toothy smile, "Good job, Murderface! You're a fast learner. If you keep going like this, we could be done with this lesson ten minutes early."
Murderface found that he didn't have to say anything through the entire lesson. And even with his lack of words, he managed to make Dolly laugh a couple times. When she would go on a rant about one thing or another, he couldn't help but notice the way her sea green eyes shimmered when she was fired up about something, or how strands of her messy almond hair would get caught in her lips, shining with a half assed coat of lip gloss. She had on a pair of army pants that hid a well-toned ass that Murderface ogled whenever she would bend over to do something. Her black wife beater left just enough to the imagination.
"Uh... Thanksch for the, uh... lesschon..." Murderface mumbled when the two-hour lesson was finally over.
Dolly smiled, "Not a problem. I enjoyed doing this a lot more than I thought I would. Everyone said that you would be a complete dick, but I see that they were wrong. You're a cool guy, Murderface. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"
"Yeah okay..." Murderface had never been one to be nervous. But around this woman, who was so strong in her own compassionate, caring way, he felt nervous as hell. And weaker than he had ever been. But it was a weakness that he enjoyed... No way would any of the guys find out that his teacher was a chick if he would help it.
Dolly started to walk to her room, but halfway there she decided against it, and wanted to see what Dethklok ate on a daily basis. So she looked at the directional chart on the wall and went off to the kitchen. Hunter had told her that there was a rumor of some grotesque being living in the kitchen, but she thought that maybe it was just some failed cooking experiment.
She finally found her way to the kitchen, and was slightly amazed to see that it wasn't covered in blood and didn't have animal heads and pelts up on the walls. It looked normal, if not a little on the morbid side. There didn't seem to be anyone there, but an intoxicating smell was coming from further into the kitchen. Curious and unafraid, Dolly walked in further, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her army pants, heels clacking on the hard floor.
She soon came to the source of the smell: A huge pot of amazing smelling Lobster Bisque. Dolly's mouth watered as she stared into the bubbling pot of overly fatty soup. It looked luxurious enough to take a bath in...
"Taste of the soup, and it will be your head." A voice came from behind the stove, and Dolly jolted. The man... If you could call it a man, was hideous. He had scars covering his face, and no doubt the rest of his body, and stitches that ran along the scars, even though they seemed superfluous.
"I-I'm sorry..." Dolly squeaked out, "I w-was hungry..."
"Ah, my child..." The man said with a grin that should have been toothy, "I cook for Dethklok, and Dethklok only. You must be a new Klokateer, no? You eat in the galley. Hurry, or they may run out before you have a chance to eat your slop."
Dolly shook her head, "I'm... not a Klokateer. I'm Murderface's new bass teacher. I guess Mr. Ofdensen didn't make that public knowledge, though."
The scarred man looked delighted, "Oh dear! Silly me. Here—" He sloppily pulled up a chair, "Since you are not dead yet, I can only assume that the master enjoys your company. And by extension, I enjoy your company." He ladled a spoonful of soup into a bowl and handed it to the girl, "It would be an honor for you to eat my soup."
"Oh!" Her face lit up with a smile, "Thank you so much!"
"It is my pleasure, Miss." The man bowed slightly, "If you need anything, my name is Jean-Pierre. Please visit again, dear. Such pretty faces as yours are few and far between."
Dolly smiled kindly, "I would love to visit again..." Taking another bite of the heavenly bisque, she asked, "So what kinds of things do you cook for Dethklok?"
"Ah mon cherie..." The chef sighed nostalgically, "Do you have time?"
She nodded with the spoon in her mouth.
"Then I may be able to get through half of what I serve to my masters..."
________________
Hungry and in need of his alcoholic fix, Pickles the Drummer walked to the kitchens in a half awake stupor. He yawned, in only a pair of pants, despite the fact that it was noon. He scratched his chin, and thought that he would perhaps follow Murderface's example and shave as well. On the subject of Murderface, Pickles' mind wandered to how his lesson must have gone. The bassist came out of it without a thing to say. It was like he in a trance. When he had arrived at practice and started playing, he had done something that he never seemed to do before, unless he was playing with his penis. He was actually concentrating. The band took this as a sign that the lessons were going to go well, but Murderface refused to talk about them. He didn't say who his teacher was, if the guy was cool or not, nothing.
With another yawn, the drummer walked into the kitchen and yelled, "Jahn-Pieeerree! I'm hungreee!"
"C-coming master!" The man limped to Pickles, and stood before him, waiting for the man to choose what he wanted to eat.
"Yeuh, uh... Make me... A hat dag and some onion rings. And grab me a battle a' vadka, would ya?" Pickles said, sitting at the table off to the side of the kitchen and swinging his legs onto its surface.
"Of course, master..." The man limped off.
Pickles sighed and leaned his head back, waiting for the sound of knives to pick up... But Pickles' ears perked as the sound of feminine laughter permeated through the air instead of the sound of knives cracking down on cutting boards. The dred-head stood up and followed the sound to the stove where Jean-Pierre stood. There was a girl sitting on a chair near by. She seemed to be laughing at something Jean-Pierre had said, and he seemed kind of embarrassed by it.
"Gourmet food, huh?" The girl laughed again, "I'm sorry Jean-Pierre, but hot dogs and onion rings don't seem too gourmet to me..."
The chef pouted and shook his spoon at her, "You have too many hang ups about what you think gourmet cooking is. You shall see, cherie, I can make anything gourmet. Just like how my masters can make anything metal. This is why we get along so well, you see."
The girl smiled and nodded, her shoulder length, wavy almond hair bouncing ever so slightly, "I guess I'll just have to see for myself, then."
The chef gave a sloppy smile, "I guess I won't have to keep making excuses to make you stay here."
The girl smiled sweetly, "Jean-Pierre, I love your food. I'd stay in here until I died if I could."
The chef put a hand to his chest, "Careful child, all this excitement could cause my heart to burst."
"Heh, sorry..."
Pickles watched, but he didn't make his presence known to the pair as he watched them talk. Maybe the girl was Jean-Pierre's... taste tester, or something? She couldn't have been his daughter... Maybe his niece? No, Ofdensen did a background check to make sure he had little to no family. He had no siblings, and if he had no siblings, then he had no way of having nieces...
Who the hell was she?!
Pickles scrambled back to his seat at the table and feigned sleep as Jean-Pierre limped back with his food. He snorted and 'woke up', vaguely thanking the chef before digging into his food. And he found that what Jean-Pierre had said was right. He could make anything gourmet.
After he was done eating, he sat there with his flavored vodka and waited for the girl to come out of the kitchen so that he could ask her whom she was. But even after he finished the bottle, she still didn't come. He hadn't heard her voice in a while, maybe she died...
"'Ey, Jahn-Pierre." The drummer called to the chef as he hobbled past, "Where'd that girl go?"
"I am not sure, master. She left some time ago..." He said, bowing slightly and returning to his cooking.
Pickles left discouraged, taking another bottle and downing half of it before he reached the door. He was on a mission to find out who that girl was. Mostly because he was massively bored and thought that after he knew some about her, he could approach her and ask her for casual sex. A roguish smirk settled onto Pickles' lips as he finished the bottle and returned to his room.
Dolly finally returned to her room and perched herself on the black covers of the four-poster bed. The room felt overly luxurious and much too extravagant, but she knew better than to complain about something as trivial as being too comfortable. Pulling her Mac Book onto her lap, she flipped it open and connected to the Mordhaus Wireless. Ofdensen had informed her that the passkey was "Banana". She attempted to ask, but before she got a chance to, Ofdensen shook his head, and said, "It's better than what the boys had wanted it to be originally."
"... Which was...?"
"Dildos."
"Ah. Good change, good change... Thank you, Mr. Ofdensen."
He had cleared his throat and fixed his collar, nodded at her, and walked out of the room. He was a sweet man, a little reversed and clean cut, but he seemed nice.
Opening her media player, Dolly lazily scrolled to her Silentium collection, and double clicked the song Dead Silent. She halfway sang along, dipping and out of the lyrics as she checked her e-mail.
'Spam... spam... Viagra, ech, gross... Mm?' She clicked on a message from an address she hadn't seen for a while: her mother.
"Remember to take lots of pictures, my love!"
And that's all that it said. Rolling her eyes, Dolly deleted the message and crawled over to her bag on the opposite side of the bed. She pulled out the digital camera and leaned back onto the plush pillows, turning the camera on as she did. She took a picture of the ceiling, and one of her door.
"There are your pictures, mother." She mumbled to herself, scowling.
All
my hopes are burning
Like a candle in the wind
The lyrics floated through her ears, and Dolly returned to her soft singing and began to internet surf. She checked up on Hunter's Dethklok Blog, and of course, he had posted the news of his little sister teaching Murderface how to play bass. Dolly's eyebrows lifted clear off of her face as she read down the very long list of replies.
A couple of them congratulated him at having such an awesome and talented sister. Some of them were violently accusatory, claiming that he was lying for the sake of lying. Dolly didn't blame them; for the first 18 years of his life, Hunter was a compulsive liar. A couple other replies laughed at him, told him he was daft and silly for thinking that he could get away with such a bad lie.
Dolly frowned. She decided that she would make Murderface take a picture with her next time she got time with him. And maybe if she met any of the other members of Dethklok during her time at Mordhaus, she would get them to take pictures with her as well. Dolly smiled at herself and turned on Photobooth to take a couple of ridiculous pictures of herself, just for the sake of it.
She didn't notice the teddy bear underneath the heap of pillows at the head of her bed.
_______________
Toki had lost Deddy Bear. Close to a very brutal mental breakdown for his stuffed friend, but too ashamed to ask his band mates, he scoured Mordhaus in all the areas he had recently been in.
He went to the game room, where Nathan was wracking his brain for song ideas.
No Deddy Bear.
He checked in one of the recording rooms, where Skwisgaar was passed out, his fingers tapping out the notes to a couple song ideas that he had.
No Deddy Bear.
Toki even checked on the patio, near the golf course.
But still no Deddy Bear.
Practically in tears, Toki rushed to the person he knew could get anything done in the shortest amount of time possible.
Ofdensen.
He knocked timidly on the manager's door, and waited. He hoped that the man would be able to help him, he didn't want to imagine a world without Deddy Bear. It had been his first friend's gift to him after he had gotten away from his parents; that stuffed bear was his saving grace.
Ofdensen opened his door, and saw a shivering Toki, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes red and puffy.
"Your bear is in the guest room, Toki." He said before Toki could get anything out. He went back into his office.
Toki blinked. Not caring about how Ofdensen knew what he wanted, how he knew where it was or anything of the sort, Toki scrambled to the stairs. He dashed up, accidently pushing a Klokateer off of the them and making her plummet to her death. But he didn't care.
Finally arriving at the door to the only guest room that they ever used, Toki leaned on the door as he caught his breath. Music floated from the room, but Toki was too exhausted to pay attention to it. He opened the door.
"... Um..." There was a girl on the bed. She looked surprised and confused.
Toki blinked, "Ohs... Um, hallo. I's Toki."
"Hi... I'm Dolly..." The girl cocked her head and got up from the bed, "Do you, uh, need something, Toki?"
"My... my Deddy Bears supposeds to... bes in here. Has you seens him?"
She shook her head, "No, but I can help you look."
Toki broke out into a grin, "Tanks you, Dolly lady!" He captured her in an unanticipated hug, and she awkwardly patted his back. After he let her go, they got to looking for the bear. Toki checked in all the cabinets, while Dolly checked in the bathroom. And after checking in the places where the teddy bear was unlikely to be, they checked the bed. Both of them used similar techniques to remove everything from the bed: they threw things. They threw the pillows from the bed, and there were plenty of those. Toki cried out when an ear popped out from underneath the pile of pillows, and he tackled the bear. Dolly blinked and stepped back as Toki clutched the bear to his chest.
... And he subsequently passed out.
Laughing, Dolly crawled onto her bed and looked at the Dethklok rhythm guitarist. There were beads of sweat lining his hairline, running down his neck. He had probably been looking for his Deddy Bear for a while. She smiled and smoothed his long, beautiful hair away from his face, and pushed a pillow under his head. Though Toki was older than her, he was so much more childish, which was odd for a Dethklok member.
Returning to the Mordhaus Wi-Fi, she logged onto her gazzilions of instant messagers, and noticed a couple of her friends online. Thankfully, one of her best friends, a 25-year-old woman named Maggie, was one of them. And she was the first one to contact Dolly.
Hey babydoll, how goes Mordhaus? Maggie teased. She thought that Hunter was lying. She knew him to be a liar, anyway.
It's fantastic, Maggie! Toki Wartooth is actually sleeping right behind me. He's such a cutie.
... You're fucking with me, right? How long are you going to drag this out, Dolly?
Dolly laughed, Webcam with me. I'll show you how adorable Toki really is.
Less than a second later, she got a webcam request from Maggie. Turning on her webcam, Dolly grinned at her beautiful blond, blue-eyed angel. Maggie waved a bit and signed to show her Toki. Dolly scooted back against the guitarist's body and leaned the webcam down. She was glad that the sound wasn't on as she saw Maggie scream out loud and start screenshotting like a mad woman. Toki groaned and rolled over with his Deddy Bear.
ROLL HIM BACK OVER!!! Maggie typed, vicious with fangirlish greed and excitement.
No can do, sweetie. I have to leave the poor guy alone now. Can you tell Hunter that you're sorry, though? He isn't nearly as big of a liar as he used to be...
In California, Maggie sighed, playing with a curl of dyed platinum blond hair and typed back with one hand, Yeah fine. Next time, get Skwisgaar on your bed, kay?
No promises~ I'll talk to you later, love you.
Love you too, bye!
Dolly switched off her webcam and logged off of all her IM services. She clicked her music back on, returning the song to Dead Silent and turning the sound down. She cautiously leaned onto Toki's back... He didn't wake up. Leaning her whole weight onto him, she smiled and looked back to her computer. She opened a Word file titled Dolly's Diary, and started typing for that day's time slot...
_______________
"Damn it, where's Toki?" Nathan rumbled an hour later. Ofdensen had nagged them into a last minute practice, and no one could find Toki. They had called for him over the intercom multiple times, in many different ways. Skwisgaar and Nathan had collaboratively called him a lady over the PA, and since he hadn't come barreling into the practice room to defend himself, they could only assume him dead or kidnapped.
Klokateers were sent out into Mordhaus to check all the nooks and crannies they could for the rhythm guitarist's body. Pickles and Murderface decided to join them, while Skwisgaar and Nathan complained about it in their more uncouth practice room.
"Dood, Murderface." Pickles said as they walked down the hall, "I saw some girl hangin' out in da kitchen taday."
"Wasch sche hot?" Murderface asked offhandedly, not making his brain go far enough ahead to think that maybe Pickles could've been talking about his new bass teacher.
"She was pretty." Pickles shrugged, "I dunno. I'd do 'er." They came to the level where Ofdensen had told them that Murderface's teacher would be staying. Pickles, not one to let an opportunity slip from availability, smirked and walked down the hallway towards the teacher's room.
Murderface broke out into a cold sweat, "H-Hey! Why are we walking down thisch way? Toki wouldn't be here--!"
"We have ta check everywhere, Murderface. Might as well meet your teach' at the same taime." Pickles pushed open the door...
"Dood dat's her!" Pickles cried, pointing at the girl, asleep on the bed next to...
"Toki?!" Murderface's face contorted into a displeased frown, "What the hell isch he doing with my fucking teacher?!"
"... Dat's your bass teacher?" Pickles said, "Not fair! I want a pretty teacher!"
From all the commotion, Toki and Dolly stirred. Toki woke up first, and, not seeing Pickles and Murderface at the door, he smiled down at Dolly and patted her head like one would do to a small child, "Hallos sleepys head."
Dolly sat and yawned, "I guess watching you sleep made me sleepy, Toki..." She closed her computer and stood up, mussing out her hair and turning around...
She blinked, "Murderface...? And..." Her favorite Dethklok member stood at his side, a sly smirk on his lips, "... Oh dear... Um..." She smiled a little, "Hello Pickles..."
Before Pickles could reply, Murderface cleared his throat, "Toki, we have rehearschal. Get outta here!" He threw a pillow at the rhythm guitarist, who just laughed, grabbed his Deddy Bear and ran out the door. But not without waving at Dolly first.
Murderface looked at Pickles with a look that said 'I'm attempting to look superior', and said, "We found Toki, now leave."
Pickles just rolled his eyes, "Teacher hog..." And he walked off.
Dolly watched the drummer leave with a forlorn look in her eye, "Aw Murderface, you didn't have to do that—"
The bassist scowled at her, "Your jchob here is not to get to know my asschoschiates, Missch. Know your plache." And he slammed the door behind him.
Dolly frowned at the door. She had always been a headstrong woman, no one had ever dared tell her to 'know her place'. She knew her place. It was wherever the hell she wanted it to be. Still, it was infuriating that Murderface thought that he owned her, like the master of a dog. No. She was no dog. She took her glass of water and flung it out the window, unknowingly hitting a Klokateer in the head and killing him.
Unfortunately, she was cursed with intelligence. She could see why Murderface wanted her for himself. He wasn't used to being around women, and based on how he had acted around her during their first lesson, he really seemed to like her. He was trying to be possessive over her. But she wouldn't let him; she was no one's possession.
She looked at the clock:
11:32 PM.
She yawned and climbed back into bed, the sounds of Dethklok practicing lulling her to sleep...
