Title: Lord, I'm Fine [El Manana // Gorillaz]
Rating: T [may be pushed higher]
Pairings: Murdoc x 2-D
Plot: Christmas songs float from loudspeakers, snow drifts from the sky, colored lights illuminate the cold air; and Murdoc hates every bit of it.
AN: Alrighty. I have not written in over a year, and this is my first Gorillaz fanfiction, so constructive critisizm is encouraged. Christmas is around the corner, and I haven't been able to find any 2DxMurdoc christmas fanfiction yet, so I thought I'd write my own.
The layout of the studio is based mainly on the website. I'm gonna try to make these chapters kinda long. Enjoy, and feel free to give suggestions. C:
!!!EDIT!!!
So I was just browsing through the Gorillaz fanfiction, and actually, there is already a 2DxMurdoc Christmas fic.
Face, meet palm.
The summaries are awfully similar too, so I might change mine to avoid getting called out on it. :I
Since I've got the first chapter all written out, I'm gonna go ahead and upload it. If anybody has any problems with it, then I'll just delete it or something.
In the meantime, check out -naiteki-kyuuri-'s fanfiction A Christmas to Remember! so i don't get attacked for slacking on my research...
This Chapter's Warnings: Lots of Language.
"Fucking holidays!" The bassist shouted, tugging at the web of lights that 'decorated' his beloved Winnebago. It was only forty-one dreadful hours into the twelfth dreadful month of the year, and already Kong Studios was starting to look like Opryland. Brightly colored Christmas lights were strung in almost every room, and the last time he'd dared to leave the car park, the other band members were setting up a fir tree in the main floor lobby. Until now, Murdoc's Winnebago had been the only thing to escape the Christmas fever.
If there was one thing Murdoc despised, it was Christmas. The idea that it was the birthday of his idol's rival was only half of the cause for his hatred. Christmas had never been a good day in his childhood. Hell, no holiday had been; but Christmas was definitely the worst.
With a final tug, the lights dislodged from the trailer and clattered to the floor. Fucking Christmas... fucking 2-D and Noodle and Fatass...
Murdoc started for the door to 2-Ds room. He paused for a moment and considered grabbing a gun out of the Winne, but even if he didn't fire the thing, he knew it would only earn him a lecture from Russel. Murdoc kicked open the door to his singer's room, finding that the lights were off and the only moving thing was the 3-screen Ping-Pong on the wall. The bassist stopped to take out his anger on the various cluttered items, turning over his bed and throwing things across the room. He continued through the studio's many rooms, walking without thinking where he was going to go until the sound of voices reached him. Murdoc turned down the hall and burst into the lobby to see 2-D attempting to wiggle his way out from under the massive tree, while Noodle, Russel, and the newly arrived Del made small attempts to move the fir, clutching their sides and roaring with laughter. Murdoc didn't so much as chuckle.
"Which on'a you fuckers put x-mas lights on the Winne?!" He roared, emphasizing the 'x'.
The group stopped laughing immediately and looked up at the tall man. Everyone but 2-D, that was.
"Murdoc-san, I was the one who plac-" Noodle began, but was quickly cut off by 2-D.
"'twas me... sorry mate, I 'idn't fink you'd mind..." He said quietly, finally making some progress in wiggling out from the tree.
Murdoc was on top of him in a second, yanking him the rest of the way out and throwing him across the room. 2-D flinched as his back and head collided with the wall, creating a loud bang that seemed to resonate through the studio.
"Listen you little fucker, if you ever pull off shit like that again, I'll pound in the rest of your face!" Murdoc growled, punching the azure-haired front man in the gut for good measure. 2-D doubled over, clutching his stomach and groaning. He lifted his chin to give the Satanist the most pathetic look he could imagine, and received a kick in the ribs for it. Murdoc turned and stomped toward the kitchen. The others didn't move to help their singer till they heard the balcony door slam shut.
---
The black haired man closed his eyes and took a drag off his cigarette. He was only wearing his infamous grey sweater and some jeans, but the cold didn't bother him terribly. It soothed his nerves and made everything numb, like how it should have felt when he kicked the pretty boy front-man. Little white flakes trickled from the sky and blanketed the scene before him, turning everything into a blindingly white oblivion.
Wish I could be like that. Blank. Murdoc thought.
Something had happened when he kicked the boy. Something that had never happened before. He'd felt what could only be described as guilt, where that emotion had never appeared before. It didn't make any sense. Hell, he'd run the poor boy... the dumbass over twice, and didn't feel any bit of regret. Why was it rearing its ugly head now of all times? Murdoc slowly opened his eyes as he threw the still-burning cigarette into the snow. Must just be the cold getting to me, he decided, turning to walk back in. He was met by an innocent, young face staring at him though the glass door. Of all people to talk to him about this, it had to be Noodle. Sweet Satan.
She slowly opened the door and shut it behind her quietly, her boots crunching against the thin layer of snow as she jumped on the rail and sat precariously on edge. Murdoc leaned back into the corner, placing his elbows on either side of him. They stayed quiet for a while, the only sounds being the breath that hissed from their lips and the click of Murdoc's lighter as he light another cigarette.
"2-D was only trying to make the car park look brighter." The unavoidable statement echoed through Murdoc's mind.
"Without my permission." He muttered gruffly.
"I did not realize he was in need of permission to do a kind deed."
Noodle's statement caught Murdoc off guard slightly. He wasn't used to her being so... blunt. But that was the irony of it all. She was like the mother of the band. Murdoc nodded and gave her a soft pat on the shoulder before stomping the second fag into the snow and heading back into the heat of the studio.
---
The tall young man sat on his now-righted mattress, holding a keyboard in his lap and idly pressing a few keys. The physical pain had subsided after he'd taking his pain medication, but the ache in his chest throbbed strong. When this had first happened, not long after the band had gotten together, 2-D thought he was having some sort of heart attack. After a while, he discovered that this feeling could be dulled if his distracted himself-- talking to Noodle, walking through the landfill, writing music... but every time Murdoc hit him, the ache would return to keep him up all night. He hated it, but he had no idea what could cure it.
"Murdoc is like... God." He thought aloud, chuckling at it without really knowing what was funny. That was when the idea hit him. He sang the line awkwardly a few times before taking away the 'like' and finding a pitch he liked. He grabbed his notepad, scribbled down the lyrics (although, he was sure we wouldn't forget them) and began hitting different keys on his keyboard. He finally found a tune that fit, and added on to it bit by bit. He was so involved in his work; he didn't even hear his door open.
"Murdoc is... oh! M-Mudsy! I eh..." 2-D stuttered awkwardly, gazing at the man who was giving him a skeptical look. He could feel his face getting warmer. Had Murdoc heard him?
"Eh... sorry about earlier, faceac... Stu." Murdoc said gruffly, his eyes focused on his boots.
"Oh, uh, 'tis fine. Fink you could... leave? Sorry." The taller man felt bad for rushing him out when he was finally getting an apology, but he was itching to keep working on the song. He still needed to tell Noodle and Russel, and get them to figure a way to make the song sound more Murdoc-ish...
"Whatever." The bassist snapped him out of his thoughts, spinning on his heel and briskly heading into the car park. 2-D sighed, but quickly swallowed his guilt and pushed the keyboard off his lap and onto the safety of his pillow. Notepad in hand, he hurried out his room and to the lift, pressing the button that would take him to Noodle's floor.
"It's coming up... It's coming up... It's coming up... Its there!" The signs flashed at him. The azure haired man smiled and stepped through doors as soon as they opened, his foot still tapping to the beat of his new song.
---
"I try to apologize, and what does he do? Fucking blows me off! Tells me to leave! Ungrateful little shit."
The shout echoed against the Winnebago's walls, heard only by the drunken man and the grimy black crow that sat on the steering wheel. It just wasn't fair. He created this band, he set them up for fame and fortune, he should have every right to kick and punch that stupid boy all he wanted. His voice was the only useful thing left anyways. But then that little Wassabi bitch had to come and make him feel bad. Her few, but well-chosen words stung even more than Russ' lectures usually did. Or maybe that was just the look in 2-D's eyes when he'd kicked him. He was too drunk to remember.
He jumped to his feet and took a step toward the bathroom, but had to stop and clutch onto the door frame as the Winnebago's clutter swam around him. He stared at the black blur he assumed was Cortez'. Such a fucking weird bird, hanging out with an old drunk when he could be flying free or fucking babes or whatever birds did... fuck, I'm drunk.
Stumbling the rest of the way, Murdoc tried to empty his stomach into the toilet, but was met by resistance. Too much drinking had built up his tolerance.
"Sweet Satan, my head..." he moaned, clutching onto the sink with one hand while turning one of the rusty knobs with the other. Black-tinged liquid spewed into the sink, and he waited till it rain clear before dipping his hand in and brushing it across his face. The man looked up into the dirty mirror before him, his image seeming to wiggle slightly.
"Lookit' you... fucking pitiful... forty and living with a bunch of fucking kids... in a fucking trashy trailer with a fucking bird and all that... fucking alcohol... fucking..." by the time his vision blacked out, he'd lost track of how many times he'd said the word.
AN: Hope you enjoyed. I'm gonna wait till I get a couple of reviews before I upload the second chapter, just to make sure its safe to go on.
| click it.
V you know you want to.