Approximate ages of the band (in this story... not in the show)

Nathan: 25

Pickles: 28

Murderface: 30

Skwisgaar: 22

Toki: 16

Hmmm... I really don't know who is the oldest in the band, Dethklok, but I made a semi-educated guess, since I thought their ages might be relevant to this story, of how the band came together. I know I've already written story about how they ended up together, but I am so bored, and fan fictions of a sort that attract me are rare lately, so I'm just writing my own, even though I've already written another story, the events of which this one will contradict.

In this story, Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface have already met, but need a guitarist to complete their band. Contradicting my other story, in this one Toki and Skwisgaar haven't met each other yet.

xxxxxx

Skwisgaar sat backstage at his band's show. He hated his band. As a whole, they weren't impressive. The only reason why they had any fans was due to Skwisgaar's guitar. He would constantly try to get the other members of his band to sing softer or play more quietly, because he knew the fans were only there to hear him, but his band mates wouldn't listen, and their fan base was dwindling. A band is only as good as it's weakest member. All but one of the members were quite weak, and the fans were beginning to notice.

There was nothing he liked about his band. They were all from the states, and he couldn't even understand what they were saying half of the time; he wasn't great with English, and his band mates constantly used English slang, which Skwisgaar had never heard before. After a while he stopped even trying to understand half of what they said to him. He had little desire to know, because on the rare occasion that he had taken the time to figure out what they were saying, it was never worth knowing. Instead, he simply nodded tiredly at anything they told him, and just went about with his own business, playing the songs in the show and then staying as far from his band as he could manage whenever he had the chance.

He wondered how much longer his band would be hired to play anywhere, since he was the only member with real talent. It came as no surprise to him when the band's manager met him where he sat backstage after their unimpressive show.

"Hello, Skwisgaar," the manager greeted him, "I'm afraid I've got some bad news," he said, in a slow pace so that Skwisgaar could translate his words in his head, "you know that I think you've got some real talent, but if you're going to stay with these guys, I cannot keep managing your band," he lowered his voice, "these guys suck..."

"You don'ts thinks I alreadies knows dat?" Skwisgaar agreed, "dere's aints no ones in dis stupids towns datcans plays no instruments or sings, nothings! What's I supposed to do? You's blamings me fors dis guys whats can'ts plays nothings?"

"No. I'm not blaming you. But you're not going to make it anywhere with these guys, and you know it. You need to find a better band," his manager told him.

"Why nots you finds dem?" Skwisgaar suggested, "how's I supposeds to knows wheres any guys dats cans plays anythings are?"

"I'd be glad to help, but you haven't paid me for this month," the manager said, "I organized this show, and you guys haven't paid me."

"In case you didn'ts notices," Skwisgaar began, his voice becoming increasingly angry, "we don'ts gots no monies, 'cause no ones likes those dumb jack off dildos in dere whats can'ts plays or sings for nothings! How's I supposed to pays yous when I don'ts gots no monies!?"

"Well, you better come up with some money, because I'm not doing you any more favours until I've been paid for what I've already done," the manager explained.

"Fine den!" Skwisgaar yelled, "I just finds my own bands all by myselfs! Yous wills be very sorries dat you don'ts be de managers of us whens I finds dem."

"I'll be your manager," the man said, "you just have to pay me."

"No," Skwisgaar argued. The man had already made him too angry. He didn't want to work with him anymore, "no, I finds a differents managers. Screws you!" Skwisgaar stormed out of the room, without even informing his band mates of the situation. He didn't care about them anyway.

xxxxxx

Nathan, Murderface, Pickles, and their manager, Ofdensen had traveled long and far to Sweden. Ofdensen had suggested that they go there to search for a guitarist. All three of the current members of the band which was to be called Dethklok, when the proper members were located, had been in bands before, but their bands had each either failed due to drugs, alcohol, and/or death or due to the fact that the rest of the band members couldn't quite reach the fans.

At present, they were sitting in a hotel room. They had each gotten their own separate rooms, of course, but they were currently conversing in Nathan's room.

"So, what you're saying is, all we need is some guy who can play a guitar... and then we can be a band?" Nathan asked Ofdensen.

"Yes," the manager replied, "of course, that's no guarantee that you'll be successful."

"Scho... why don't you get a guitarischt who will be schuccesschful?" Murderface asked, "I mean scheriously... why waschte our time?"

"Well," Ofdensen began, "I'm going to do my best to find a guitarist who can keep up with your skill levels. If we don't find one who's good enough here, we'll look elsewhere."

Nathan sighed loudly, "Why did we even have to come with you then?"

Ofdensen paused for a moment, "I figured you might want some say in the matter... It is your band after all. I thought you might help decide who to hire... If we find a guy who you all hate, maybe you wouldn't want to hire him..."

"Why would it matter if we hate 'im?" Pickles asked.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed, "I mean... we all hate each other, right guys?"

Pickles and Murderface both nodded.

Ofdensen sighed, "if you want to go back to the states, I can arrange it, but try not to waste too much money. You've all got quite a sum of cash from previous bands, but if you're unable to start a new band, the money won't last forever. You're already here, so I'd suggest you just stay."

"Fine," Nathan growled.

"Okay..." Ofdensen started, "Well, I'm going to go around to clubs and ask them if they've had any guitarists who have stood out. Are you guys going to come with me or stay here?"

"Can we drink?" Pickles asked, "ya know... at the clubs? Can we get drunk?"

"Well, it's in the middle of the day..." Ofdensen said hesitantly.

"Sooo... yes?" Pickles continued.

"Actually... I'd rather you not," Ofdensen told him.

"So, yes then?" Pickles persisted.

Ofdensen sighed, "you can drink... just don't over do it."

"Okey then... I'll go with you," Pickles agreed.

"How about you guys?" Ofdensen asked, turning to Nathan and Murderface.

"Uh... Hmmm," Nathan hesitated, "I don't know... how long will you be gone? I mean... I don't want to run around doing that boring stuff all day... Uhhh... No. Well, yeah... No... I don't want to go."

Ofdensen sighed again, "William?"

"Nope," Murderface told him, "I'm schtaying right here...Well... I'll be going to my own room."

"Alright then," Ofdensen agreed, "don't break anything in the rooms."

Ofdensen and Pickles left the hotel and headed toward the first club in the area on Ofdensen's list. It was close to the hotel, so it didn't take long to find it. Pickles immediately started ordering drinks as Ofdensen talked to the manger of the club.

"Hello," he greeted, "I'm Charles Ofdensen, and I am looking for a guitarist to finish a band which I will be managing. Have you had any bands play here, with an exceptional guitarist? I don't just mean good. I mean exceptional. And don't feel hesitant to give names. I'm willing to pay you if the guitarist is what we're looking for."

The club's managers eyes shined with the desire to come into the possession of the money, "Oh... surely there was someone... just let me think..."

"Do you think that you could think it over and then give me a call if you think of anyone?" Ofdensen asked, "I'll just give you my card..."

"Sure thing," the man told him, taking the card.

"Thank you," Ofdensen said. He walked over to where Pickles was already on his second drink in the short time it took Ofdensen to talk to the club's manager, "come on, Pickles."

Pickles threw some money onto the table and followed Ofdensen out of the club and back to the car which they had driven in. They drove a few miles to another club, where Ofdensen had a similar conversation with another man, and where Pickles had a few more drinks. After going to three more clubs, Ofdensen was becoming quite sick of the seemingly fruitless search, and Pickles was becoming quite intoxicated.

They were now at the sixth club, "I think maybe you should wait in the car, Pickles," Ofdensen suggested, not wanting him to drink any more than he already had. He didn't want to have to find a new drummer as well.

"Awwwee... I'm fine," Pickles slurred, knowing why Ofdensen hoped he would stay out of the club.

Ofdensen didn't argue. He and Pickles went into the club. Ofdensen expected the conversation to be the same as the previous five, but he was quite pleasantly surprised.

"Actually, there was this band that we had play here all the time up until yesterday," the manager told him, "the band sucked. But the guitarist was really good. He was the only reason we ever kept having them play here. At first the fans didn't notice that the rest of the band sucked, because Skwisgaar's guitar lead almost drowned out the rest of the band, but eventually the other members of the band tried to be heard, and unfortunately, they succeeded, and the fans didn't care for it."

"But the guitarist was very good?" Ofdensen asked, thinking it was too good to be true, "I mean, the best you've ever heard kind of good?"

The manager nodded, "yeah, I'd say he probably was the best. It was hard to tell sometimes over the drums. That guy just didn't know how much he sucked... but he insisted on playing those drums so loud it almost drowned out the lead guitar... It was a real shame..."

"Yes... quite..." Ofdensen agreed, "do you have a number where we could reach him?"

"Yes, sir," the man told him, "well... it's just an address. He wouldn't give a number. Maybe he just didn't want us calling, or maybe he doesn't have a phone. I never asked."

"Alright," Ofdensen agreed, "well, if he turns out to be what we are looking for, we'll gladly pay you."

"Well, thank you," the manager said, "oh, and before you go over there, just be warned that he doesn't speak English all that well, so talk kind of slowly or he might not understand you."

"Alright, thank you," Ofdensen told the manager, and then turning to Pickles again, "come on," he said tiredly, pulling Pickles along behind him. As Ofdensen dragged him away, Pickles threw some money at the counter, to pay for his several drinks. Most of it, coins, scattered all over the counter and floor.

Ofdensen and Pickles made their way to the address. When they arrived, Ofdensen suggested that Pickles stay in the car this time, so this new guy wouldn't be put off by his complete drunkenness.

"If he doesn't like drinkin' he doesn't need ta be in our band, ya know?" Pickles argued, "besides... I wanna talk ta 'im too."

"Very well then," Ofdensen agreed reluctantly. They made their way into the apartment building where Skwisgaar lived, and went up to the correct floor. Ofdensen knocked at the door and waited. After a few moments, the door opened. Skwisgaar, with narrowed eyes, looked at Ofdensen, without speaking.

"Hello," Ofdensen greeted him, "a manager at a club told me that you were very talented on the guitar, and we were wondering if you'd like to audition to be in a new band."

Skwisgaar looked at Ofdensen for a moment longer, as though he was thinking, "you wants me to auditions fors a bands?" he asked finally.

Noticing his accent, Ofdensen remembered what the club manager had said about him not speaking English well, so he talked more slowly this time, "yes," he told him, "would you be interested in being the lead guitarist of a death metal band? That is, if you meet our standards."

"I mights considers it," Skwisgaar told him, "you don'ts gots to worries abouts me meetings your standards. I maybes wonders if you meets my standards, maybes."

"Alright," Ofdensen agreed, "fair enough. Would you like to try our band out with your playing to see if you're a match then?"

Skwisgaar nodded, "okays. But if yous all sucks, den I nots doings it."

"Very well," Ofdensen told him, "are you free right now? The rest of the band is at a hotel, and you could audition right now... and have them audition for you as well."

"Okays," Skwisgaar agreed. He looked at Pickles who had been standing silently beside Ofdensen, "who's is dat?"

"This is Pickles," Ofdensen told him, "he's the drummer... he's been drinking a bit today... so his drumming might be off... but I assure you he is good..."

"Yeah," Pickles agreed, "I'm the... uh... the uh... the drummer. And I 'ave been drinkin... jest a little." he slurred, obvioulsy quite drunk.

"We'll sees," Skwisgaar said.

Skwisgaar took his guitar and followed Ofdensen and Pickles down the stairs and to their car. Though he could have easily been excited at the possibility of finding a band to match his talent, Skwisgaar hardly even expected the band to be half as good as he was. His past experience told him that he might possibly be too talented, and would never find any band mates good enough.

xxxxxx

Eh... This is pretty boring so far... I'm making it up as I go... Hopefully it will get better... I probably won't be updating for a while. Maybe next weekend, but I have a lot of school work, and other stuff that I have to do... so just expect that it might be a little while before I update... if you even care...

and yes... Toki will be in it later... of course... :)

Leave me a review, por favor. I really do think it will get better...