Standard disclaimer: Characters belong to Small and Blacha. First chapter of six.
Nathan wasn't really sure how they'd gotten here. The Hatredcopter, probably, he decided, although the last thing he remembered was being at Mordhaus's studio with the rest of Dethklok, about to record a new track for their next album.
He looked over at the other three members of the band — three? That didn't seem right — only to find them looking equally perplexed. Maybe it wasn't just him, then.
"Did ... am I high?" Pickles asked, looking around. "I thought I was just stickin' ta alcohol because we were gonna record, but ..."
"I's not drunk or high," Toki pointed out. "And I don'ts know how we gots here, neither."
Skwisgaar was scowling around. "I don'ts even knows wheres we ams," he said. "But it's hots. I don'ts likes it." He crossed his arms over his chest.
It was fucking hot. They were at the edge of a town somewhere. In what looked like a desert, or that ridiculous sandscape —
Nathan suddenly realized why three was the wrong number. "Where's Murderface?"
The other three looked around, as if the bassist would just appear now that he'd been asked about.
"Who cares?" Skwisgaar said finally. "He ams used-less anyways."
Toki gave the Swede a reproachful look. "Maybes we should looks for him?"
"I'd rather look fer some beer," Pickles muttered.
That sounded better than looking for Murderface, at least to Nathan, but he felt a little guilty about it. Murderface was a dick, but he was still part of the band. Plus, it wasn't as funny to leave Murderface out of the fun when he wasn't around to bitch about it. But if he said that, the others would think he was caring or something. So he thought about it for a minute.
"Uh. Maybe he's already found the beer. And that's why he's not here," he said.
"That bastard's hogging the beer? Let's find 'im then!" Pickles started into the town, and the others followed him, Skwisgaar looking bored and Toki a little relieved.
They only made it a couple of blocks before Pickles stopped. "He could be anywhere. This is taking too long."
"Maybes we coulds asks one of dese peoples?" Skwisgaar suggested.
That sounded like a good idea. Nathan blocked the path of a man in a business suit. "Hey. Hey you. You seen Murderface? From Dethklok?"
The man didn't acknowledge him at all, or stop, or even go around the frontman. He just walked straight through, as if Nathan didn't exist at all.
"What the fuck?" He looked at the other three, to make sure that had really just happened. They were all gaping at him.
Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes, and stalked over to an elderly woman with a walker. He tried to drape an arm around her, but it went right through. He looked disgruntled.
"I don't likes this," Toki said.
"Yeah, what the hell?" Pickles asked. "We're Dethklok!"
"Ja, we ams Dethklok ands they just ignores us like — like nothing!" Skwisgaar sounded outraged.
"Whatever. Let's just find Murderface, maybe he knows what the fuck is going on," Nathan said. He was starting to get really annoyed by this place. Wherever it was.
It took a long time, and it seemed like they had covered half the town, before they finally found a huge stage. The audience was empty, but when they looked at the mostly bare stage, they saw Murderface there, sitting with his bass in his lap, staring at nothing. They made their way to the stage.
"What're ya doin' there, Murderface?" Pickles called. "Got any beer?"
The bassist jumped, then stared at them, after glancing behind himself. "You can shee me?" He sounded surprised.
"Of course we can sees you, Moiderface," Toki said. "Yous right there."
"Ja, and we cans smells you, too," Skwisgaar said, making a face.
The bassist looked annoyed at that. "Go away."
Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. "No."
Murderface scowled at him. "Thish ish my dream, sho you have to do what I shay."
Skwisgaar snorted. "What dreams? We's alls here."
Murderface glared at them all, his disbelief obvious. "Ashholes," he said. "Even in my dreamsh you guysh are ashholes."
"If this is a dream, then wake us up," Pickles said. "Or dream up somethin' ta drink. It's hot."
Murderface heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll wake ush up." He heaved himself to his feet and jumped down from the stage, bringing them back to the street. "Me, anyway."
"Uh, you're not leaving us here," Nathan said, as they all trailed after him.
"Nathan," Murderface said, his tone condescending, "you're jusht a dream."
"I'm pretty sure he's not, dood," Pickles said.
"All of you are, Picklesh. None of thish is real."
Nathan considered arguing with him, but then he began to think about it. "Whoa, maybe Murderface is right, you guys. Maybe we are just dreams."
"Thats ... almosts make the logicals sense," Skwisgaar mused. "Just a dreams in this meaningless universe."
"Told you," Murderface grumbled.
They walked through people for several minutes, Toki still trying to get their attention. He tried to hug one woman, and waved his hands in front of a child's face. No one even looked at him, and Murderface finally barked out, "Shtop it, it never worksh. And it'sh really annoying."
"Dood, that's creepy. You're creepy," Pickles said.
"No shit." The bassist led them into a weird little pink house, and up some stairs. Nathan almost stopped him at first, but Murderface seemed to know what he was doing, and it's not like they could get caught if no one could see them anyway.
They heard muffled voices from one of the bedrooms.
"Oh, Thunderbolt, I know we should be sad, but I've always wanted a sewing room," one of the voices said.
"Why should we be sad? We'd still have a son if that little bastard hadn't driven him crazy."
"And really I do want a sewing room," Stella said again.
Murderface scowled at that, then glared at his bandmates. "Shut up. And shtay here," he said. He stomped to another door, opened it and looked inside, then paled and swallowed hard. Then he slammed the door and motioned for them to all go downstairs again.
"What's in the room?" Pickles obviously couldn't help but ask. Honestly, Nathan was kind of curious, too. If it could scare Murderface ...
"My corpshe," Murderface said in a voice that strove to be non-chalant, jerking his head toward the front door. "Now we jusht go outshide ..." and they all trooped through the door into a sunny, well-kept cemetery.
A sign propped by one open grave said "William Murderface funeral." No one was there except for one man, leaning on a shovel and eating a sandwich. Not even his grandparents. Not even a priest.
"This is really fucking weird," Nathan finally said.
"Yeah, dood, what the hell?" Pickles looked at Murderface. "You dream about this?"
Murderface shrugged. "It'sh not like it'sh real," he said, but he looked uncomfortable.
"Does you dreams about this a lot, Moiderface?" Toki asked.
"Of courshe not, I'm not gay," Murderface said, but he wouldn't look at any of them. Nathan wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but it was Murderface, so he let it go.
When the gravedigger finally started shoveling dirt into the hole, reality started to twist around them.