Follow up piece to Breathe Into Me. You don't have to read that one to understand what's going on in this one. Again, takes place after Black Fire Upon Us. As always, please read and review.
Pickles lay naked in his bed, beer and vodka bottles scattered around him. On the nightstand next to him, a joint burned itself to ash in a beautiful painted ashtray, untouched by its owner, the pungent stench of which filled the large room.
The drummer hadn't moved in days (except for going to the bathroom and occasionally showering), choosing to simply lay there and drown his misery in booze. Still no word about Charles's condition. No one had come to tell him anything and he refused to go to him for fear that he wouldn't like what he saw. The memories of that night remained vivid in his scattered mind.
Mordhaus had suffered some significant damage, but thanks to the help of the remaining Klokateers, most of the mansion had been restored in a short amount of time. Thankfully the infirmary had been relatively untouched so everyone was still able to receive medical treatment. Toki for alcohol poisoning, Nathan for getting smacked in the balls and especially . . . him. The one who needed it the most.
The blood, it was the blood that bothered him. How could anybody stand to lose that much blood and still be alive? It was everywhere, on the ground, on his clothes, and on his hands. He had to throw away the clothes he was wearing that night, the bloodstains refused to come out of the black cut-off shirt and blue pants. Even his wristbands got tossed. It wasn't like he could throw away his hands though and they didn't make water hot enough to wash memories away.
He remembered the taste of Charles's blood. It was like sucking on a penny, that coppery, metallic taste. Brushing one's teeth very hard didn't help remove the taste. Brushing them hard enough to make them bleed actually made things worse. Sure, it made his teeth pearly white, but the taste still lingered on his tongue. The only thing that seemed to help was alcohol.
The blood that came from the wound in their manager's stomach had been accompanied by a gurgling sound. At the time, Pickles had compared it to slurping a milkshake through a straw. Now, he swore he would never drink a milkshake ever again. That sound had scared him, along with the sight of the blood that accompanied it. In his mind, there was no way a person could survive losing that much blood. He still didn't know what had caused that hole. Then again, he didn't really want to know.
A soft knock came from his door. Ignoring it, Pickles rolled over in bed and put his pillow over his head, scattering a few bottles that were in the way. The knock came again, louder this time.
"Whaddya want?" Pickles yelled, angry at being disrupted.
"Master Pickles," a female Klokateer replied, "the rest of the band is looking for you. There is a band meeting in the infirmary concerning current matters. They are asking for your presence before they begin, master." He remembered that the only places they had females working were the library and infirmary. The Klokateer at the door must have been a nurse.
The drummer grunted, "Tell 'em I'll be there in a minute."
"Yes, my master."
He waited until the footsteps faded before getting up and rummaging around for a clean pair of underwear. After finally donning a pair, he checked his appearance in the mirror. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but he had a feeling that this wasn't going to be good. His dreadlocks were everywhere, bags had formed under his eyes, and his goatee was shaggier than usual -- all signs that the man hadn't been taking good care of himself. Hey, at least he smelled okay.
Taking one last huge gulp of vodka, Pickles placed the empty bottle on his dresser and began the long trek to the infirmary, bracing himself for anything, good or bad. At this point, he was just too numb to care.
Comments appreciated, both on this story and the previous one. Thank you.
- Silvarius