A/N: Set immediately following the events in "Church Of The Black Klok."
I Don't Care
"There's always someone who cares. Someone whose life would simply stop."
- Fuyumi Soryo
"He's a fucking basketcase," Nathan said gruffly.
"Yeah, dood, like I said, he's gaht issues," Pickles agreed.
Murderface said nothing, but stabbed his knife into the table, as if in agreement.
Offdensen coughed lightly.
"Oh, uh, hey, dood…uh…we were just, uh…" Pickles trailed off. "We weren't talkin' 'bout yeh," he finally said, albeit defensively.
"Yeah, we were, uh, talking about Skwisgaar," Nathan explained, "Fucking mental," he added.
"Ah, I see, ah, that you're all recovering from the events that have led up to the, ah, tragic, loss of your bandmate. Rest assured, boys, I'm, ah, doing all I can to locate Toki at this time," Offdensen reported.
Nathan huffed.
"Have any of you seen Skwisgaar?" Offdensen asked. "No? Ah, well, okay, then, I'll just leave you boys to your coffee, then," he said, exiting the room as stealthily as he'd entered.
Skwisgaar lay on his bed, flat on his back, his long, blonde hair laying across his pillow in every direction, giving him the serene appearance of someone who was floating, inside of simply lounging about. His breaths were low and ragged, almost shallow, his chest rising and falling with shaky, uneven movements. Tears gathered in his eyes and threatened to spill down the sides of his face, but he blinked them back, wouldn't let himself cry. He took a deep, labored breath in and gasped at the jarring knock coming from the other side of his door.
"Comes in."
"Ah, Skwisgaar, I was just, ah, informing the rest of the band that I am, doing all I can, to find Toki…" Offdensen trailed off, a sick feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach. "I've hired the, ah, best search team possible and they've been informed to use, ah, all methods at their disposal…" he trailed off again.
The loss of Toki had been hard, but it was no where near as hard for anyone else as it was for Skwisgaar. The expression, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' had never rang more true when it came to the pair. Arch nemesis yet best friends at heart; That was Skwisgaar and Toki, Toki and Skwisgaar.
Offdensen started to leave, not wanting to wait for a response, but paused, looking back over his shoulder at the lounging Swede.
Skwissgaar looked a wreck. The most self-centered member of the band, he was always impeccably groomed, his long, silken hair free of split ends, so blonde, that in the sun, the tips of his flaxen hair nearly white, his skin an unnatural pale, nearly bone white, his high cheekbones casting dim shadows in the hollows of his cheeks, hell, he even had the Klokateers iron his jeans. However, since the loss of Toki, Skwisgaar had shut himself up in his room, only making an appearance for meals and retiring back to his lush, white domain immediately afterwards. He'd barely said a word to anyone about anything at all. He hadn't even bothered to pick up his guitar, his ever present Gibson Explorer collecting dust on its stand in the corner of his bedroom.
Offdensen bit his lip, in deep thought. Skwisgaar's eyes were hollowed out, his chest so concave if Offdensen hadn't known better, he'd have thought the Swede to be suffering from severe anorexia. His once lustrous hair had lost nearly all of its sheen; It appeared Skwisgaar hadn't bothered to properly wash it in God knows how long. His expression completely blank, Skwisgaar never made a motion to do so much as to acknowledge Offdensen at all, except to allow him entrance. He gazed up at the ceiling, and appeared to be in deep thought. 'In deep mourning,' Offdensen thought to himself. He opened his thin lipped mouth to speak.
"Skwisgaar…I, ah, what I'm trying to say, is, ah, the loss of Toki has been very, very difficult on all of us, ah…I'm aware that this has been especially, ah, hard, on you, and I just want to let you, ah, know, that if you feel that you need to reach out, ah, I can, ah, have Twinkletits here for you, if need be. So, ah, please do not hesitate to let me know if you-" Offdensen started to say, before Skwisgaar abruptly cut him off.
"I don't cares," Skwisgaar spat out, his voice harsh and hoarse as if he wasn't used to his own speech. After all, he'd been nearly mute since the incident.
"I see," Offdensen said, "That's, ah, all fine and well, but, ah, if you, do, decide that you wish to speak to someone about this, ah, tragedy, ah, you do have someone at your disposal in the event-" Offdensen started to say, again.
"I don't cares," Skwisgaar repeated, louder and even harsher than before. But Offdensen thought he caught the faintest of trembles in the lead guitarist's voice.
"Ah, very well, then…" Offdensen said, quietly letting himself out.
The door shut with a faint thud. Skwsigaar blinked, and as he did, he blinked the tears from his eyes once more, wet saline running down the sides of his face and into his matted hair.