Fandom: Metalocalypse
Rating: M
Warnings: het sex
AN: This is a fic about the birth of the Klokateers and how Dethklok members used to be. I think their attitudes changed when they got hyper famous.
As Toki signed his name for the seventh time on a different contract, he could feel four pairs of eyes trained on him, appraising him, measuring him up and down.
Charles noticed it too. He had a sudden image in his head of four large and muscular wolves, glaring at a hare. The wolves were not hungry, they were simply deciding if they would tear the hare's head off for shits and giggles. Was the hare scared?
If he was, he was hiding it well. Toki's mood had only become more cheerful the further away they got from Norway. By the time the plane landed in United States, he was practically skipping. Then again this could be a combination of sleep-deprived exhaustion and a brain addled by alcohol, since the teen did not even nap during the entire 14-hour flight back home.
Much to Skwisgaar's annoyance, Toki fell asleep almost as soon as they got in the company van and leaned on his shoulder the entire way back to the dorm. The world's fastest guitarist tried poking, pinching and pushing to no avail. Charles had hoped that the band would get better acquainted with their newest member in the car ride since they had been in separate classes for the flight (Crystal Records would only pay for an economy class ticket for Toki since they assumed this guitarist would be rejected like the others).
The only consolation was that Murderface was also fast asleep and Pickles was dead drunk, so that plan would had been moot anyway.
Toki finished signing his name and put the handsome fountain pen down. Charles carefully archived the contracts and put the pen in his front pocket. He extended his hand at Toki. "Welcome onboard." They shook hands briefly, and Charles noticed how warm Toki's hands was.
The new rhythm guitarist turned around and gave the band a good natured smile which nobody returned (Pickles might have if he wasn't trying really hard not to vomit on the nice carpet). Skwisgaar and Murderface were glaring at him with thinly veiled hostility. Nathan's expression was unfathomable, so Toki decided it would be safest to extend his hand to him.
The band frontman grasped Toki's hand but did not shake it. Instead he gripped it hard to see how the teen would react. Toki's smiled faltered but he didn't say anything.
"Listen here. We're here to become the most brutal band in the world. We're here to make the world metal. So you better don't cramp our style."
Toki nodded. He was beginning to notice how much taller Nathan was.
"So lose the loser get-up. You look like one of our sad fans."
"Yeah, dude, why are you weahring a Mareelyn Manson tee-shirt? Hee's irrelevant, whut year do yoo think eet is?" Pickles was looking considerably better now that he had thrown up in the garbage can. He produced another beer, apparently out of thin air. "And frayed pants? Grunge ees over." He took a swig of his beer.
"Guys, don't worry about Toki's looks, I'm sure Ms. Rosenthal can take care of that. What's important is how you guys produce music together."
"Yeah, if you fails at being goods, you ams out. If you cannots rock you better walks off the pier like the sads dildo you are." Skwisgaar was still in a bad mood.
"Well, we'll find out tomorrow about his guitar-playing abilities. Toki, I'm going to show you your room. Nathan and Pickles, you two have a photo shoot for Screamer magazine. Skwisgaar and Murderface, you have to shoot the scenes for the Testament of Solomon music video in three hours, so I suggest you take a shower, get changed and eat something. Let's go."
Most of the Dethklok band murmured in resentment of having to work so soon after coming back, though they knew it was because their Norway tour had taken longer than expected and they were behind schedule.
Toki walked behind Charles, looking at the hotel-converted-to-dormitory. The doors still had numbers on them and the locks had key cards but the carpet had been replaced with hardwood floor and different locks had been placed above the non-functional electronic ones.
"The rest of the band doesn't usually sleep in the same building, but work has made this an efficient arrangement. I suggest you take advantage of it and get yourself acquainted well with Dethklok. You could have a very comfortable future if you gain their acceptance."
They arrived at room 544 and Charles got a small metal key out of his pocket. Unlike the hallway outside, this room was carpeted. The was a large bed with beige sheets that matched the drapes. Somebody had hung an Annie poster on the wall.
"You get your own bed, your own bathroom." He turned and handed the key to Toki. There's a laundry room downstairs with vending machines. If you need to use a phone, you can go downstairs to the lobby."
He looked at Toki's frayed duffel bag, his only piece of luggage and swallowed the question about his parents. The whole process was smoother when no parents were involved, but he still found it a bit odd that someone as young as Toki would not even call. He decided to check his criminal records to see if he was running away from something.
"Anyway, you have the rest of the day to yourself. Just remember that tomorrow I expect you guys to begin recording the new album. Be ready to work hard, Nathan is a perfectionist."
And he left the room, closing the door behind him. As he was walking down the hall he got the nagging feeling that he should have said something like "just ask me if you need anything" even if it was a complete lie because he was a very busy man and extremely likely to delegate the task to someone else. Next time he'd ask but leave before anybody could answer. That way he could say he'd asked.
As soon as the door was closed Toki began feeling rather alone. It was finally starting to sink in that he had travelled across the Atlantic Ocean to the other side of the planet. At least this was as far away from his parents as he could get. He shivered slightly and tried to push them from his mind.
He sat on the bed and began to "unpack", though he only took five objects out of the bag before it was empty. An advanced calculus textbook in Norwegian, his only souvenir from school. An abused copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in German that he'd stolen from the public library. His toothbrush. The bleached skull of a badger (he had somehow gotten past airport security without a problem) and a little kitten keychain he bought the one time he'd been in Oslo.
He secured the key to his room to the keychain. Someday he'd have a cat of his own.
He laid down on the bed, trying to ignore the increasing feeling of worry. When he was with people, it was easy to forget his parents existed. Alone it felt like he was doing something wrong, like he was stepping out of bounds. Any minute Revered Aslaug would walk in that door and beat him senseless for drinking. For being friendly to the stewardess in the plane. For playing the Devil's music.
He had a sudden urge to go to the lobby and call his parents and tell them he was sorry. Sorry for being a bad son. Sorry for not coming home when he graduated. Sorry for purposely choosing a school in another county to get away from them. But he wasn't sorry. He'd done that because they were mean to him all the time. They beat him with the belt, with the stick, with the bicycle tyre.
They beat him because he'd been bad, because he had the Devil in him. Because he didn't like going to mass. Because he didn't like praying.
The memory of kneeling on the rough wooden floor for hours on end made him swing out his fist violently. His swing caught the bedside table, smashing the cheap plywood drawer to pieces.
"Mamma, jeg er lei meg!" He said out of reflex, expecting his mother's slap to come any moment. But his room was empty.
All four Dethklok members took the elevator together since the photo studio and the penthouse rooms were on the same floors. The elevator was a really old school one that even looked like a cage you could trap large animals in. The band liked it because it looked rather hardcore, but it was so slow that by the time they got to the top Charles had caught up to them from the stairs.
As they walked together down the hallway they met two women.
"Hi guys!" The first one that spoke was rather tall, with natural reddish blonde hair cut in a boyish cut. Despite being in her mid-30's, she dressed like a teenager with bright colours and shirts that were snug against her figure, accentuating her breasts.
"Welcome back." The second woman was a bit short in comparison to an average person, but next to Skwisgaar and Nathan she looked tiny. She had her curly black hair collected into a neat bun and was wearing a thick turtleneck and a white miniskirt.
"Hello, Miss Rosenthal, Miss Boyle." Charles greeting was short yet polite.
"Hellos! How ams my sweeties?" Skwisgaar put his arms around both of them. He acted like he had not seen a woman the entire time they were in Norway despite the fact that he'd joined the mile high club with the cute stewardess on the flight back and had liaisons with plenty of groupies while they were there.
Charles cleared his throat loudly and shot Skwisgaar a "we-talked-about-sexual-harassment" look that the guitarist completely ignored. The black-haired woman took his arm off her shoulder giving him a "thanks but I'm not interested" look. The tall one kissed him on the cheek, which he returned by kissing her on the mouth.
Pickles, Nathan and Murderface rolled their eyes. They had learned that being next to Skwisgaar meant that out of every female in a 100-meter-radius, two thirds of them would willingly have sex with him. It was as if he consciously diffused pheromones from his pores into the air.
"So how many girls did you bang while in Norway?" She knew him well.
"Not thats many, Arrie."
"Yeah, right. Well, just you wait to see what panties I have on today, I'll drive you crazy."
"Why cant's you shows me right now?" He put his hands on her ass, as if to pull her jeans down.
"Get a room, you two, jeezis!" Murderface complained. It was easier to ignore how much success the Swede had with the ladies when it wasn't happening in front of him.
Nathan looked thoughtful for a moment and took a notepad out of his bag.
"Oh, you're using the notepad I gave you!" The black-haired woman smiled at Nathan.
"Uh, yes I am, Marika, thank you."
"Well I got tired of trying to read the song lyrics you wrote on napkins, at least this is neater."
"Are these for the new album?" Charles interjected.
"I dunno, I just write down whatever when I think of something."
"What do you have so far?"
"Uh...Lay on the Floor of the Company Rape Van, Drowning in a River of Shit, Vitreous Fluid on My Face, Freeze your Guts and Fornicators of the Night. I...I added the last one just now."
Charles nodded. Maybe they could record an album before the next fiscal year. But he would have to plan the publicity carefully. A couple of brutal music videos usually did the trick, but they were still recording videos from their last album "Hooves of the Anointed Covering Cherub". What if they included some of their more popular songs from their previous albums in this one? Would that piss off the fans? The title Vitreous Fluid on My Face conjured up very metal imagery, maybe the cover art could be based on that. But then the title of the album would have to be that song title and it was kind of a mouthful, it didn't bode well for marketing. Did the guy who did the art for their last album still take comissions? He'd been inexplicably injured while working on Dethklok covers...
While Charles was off to managerland, Marika turned to Pickles.
"I heard you hired a new guy! How is he like?"
"Kaind of weird. He seems too cheerful to be metal but at leest he can rock the guitar pretty well."
By now they had walked into the photo studio, which was actually a converted presidential suite. Skwisgaar and Murderface left while Nathan and Pickles changed and sat down to get their makeup on.
Arrie put on a tool belt filled with combs, brushes and various powders. She began to brush Nathan's hair. She was an expert at making it fall on his face in a way that allowed him to glare at the camera while having his face partially obscured.
Marika looked over at the printed schedule Charles had handed to her. Skwisgaar was scheduled to be in a talk show tomorrow. Nathan was giving an interview at the same time with a music expert. The next day Murderface would had an appointment for a tattoo magazine, but he still had not agreed to get pictures taken of his Pobody's Nerfect tat.
Charles set the schedule, but she was the one made sure they went to their appointments in time and were kept fed. She also had to make sure they worked on the new album instead of slacking off. She really wished there was more staff. Unfortunately, the fact that Dethklok staff had a high propensity to be maimed or killed was now well known in Crystal Records and few people applied for the job. She glanced at her left arm, which was a robotic prosthesis thanks to a little incident involving a real tiger at a live show.
"By the way, Thomas' appeal trial is today. I don't think he'll win it, but in theory he could be out of jail in one year instead of five." She mentioned while she was shuffling through the papers.
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that douchebag." Nathan closed his eyes as Arrie dusted anti-shine powder on his nose.
"Even if he wins, he's already in the sexual offender list. If he goes on parole he'll still be very restricted by the location. I'm still a bit surprised that he got five years. I bet he is the first clear sexual assault case the court sees in years, so they're not let him go."
"Haw come yoo know so much about law? I remember you also told me how I could legally heet the bong the public when we were in Indiana." Pickles asked while Arrie did her best to hide his shitfaced pallor.
"I went to law school in Stanford."
"Seriously?" Arrie was surprised enough to stop her makeup. "You went to a fancy law school? What are you doing babysitting these guys then?"
Marika smiled sheepishly. "I was hired by Crystal Mountain Records almost as soon as I graduated."
"I didn't know you went to school," Nathan commented, getting up. "We should get to know each other better, Marika."
"That's not going to happen." Working with Dethklok, she'd learned she had to be blunt and clear when rejecting their advances. Things such as subtlety were not metal. "But Charles wants you to have at least one definite song recorded by the end of the week, so let's work hard, okay?"