Timeline: Follows Fatherklok.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters contained herein are the property of their respective owners. The author of this story is in no way affiliated with the people who make Metalocalypse. No profit is made and no copyright infringement is intended.

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Mother Figure

By Fae Touched

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Toki and Skwisgaar were arguing. Again. This time it was over the last baked potato on the serving platter.

"I saws it first!"

"You alreadies ates two of dem!"

Nathan looked from one guitarist to the other, stuck between them in the arrangement. The band was seated at the dinner table, having a "snow barbeque." This involved several Klokateers braving a snowstorm to prepare barbequed foods for Dethklok (and keep them hot on their way in). It could have been done indoors considering the size and stone walls of Mordhaus; however, they insisted that to get the true barbeque flavour it had to be prepared out-of-doors. So far only one Klokateer had been taken down by the yard wolves – along with a plate of raw steaks.

"I wants it!"

"No you doesn'ts, you's just copiesing me."

"Ams nots! You's copies me!"

"Stops copies me!"

"Stops copies me!"

"SHUT UP!" Nathan yelled. Toki and Skwisgaar did so, and even Murderface and Pickles looked up from their plates. "That's really fucking annoying. Watch." Nathan took his steak knife and cut the potato in half.

Realization dawned across Toki's eyes. "Oh!" and he stabbed at the half of a potato on his side, pulling it onto his plate and proceeding to slather it in butter.

Skwisgaar had a ghost of a frown still, since he didn't get his way, but he took his half and said nothing.

"Fucking guitarists…" Nathan muttered under his breath.

"You know what Nathan?" Murderface asked.

"What?"

"What you did just there – that was very fatherly of you." Murderface said, "You know, I think I need to turn over the role of band father figure to you, sinche you're sho much better at it than me." And since Servetta was obviously not interested in him.

Nathan looked a little complimented at being called a good father figure, but then began to wonder what the motivation here was. "Yeah. Well, I wouldn't have to be if you guys weren't so fucking dysfunctional."

"Heh," Pickles snorted, "oh yeah. But we're SAWWRY!"

"Yeah right," Nathan muttered, just barely audibly.

"If Nate'ns ams the fathers figures, then who ams the motherings figures?"

"Schkwishgaar. He looksh like a lady."

"I AMS NOTS A LADIES!"

"Now Murderface, quit teasin' Skwisgaar," Pickles said, "ya'know he's sensitive abowt that partic'lar issue."

"Schaarry. I wouldn't know what a mother ish like schince mine was brutally murdered by my father before he killed himschelf."

"AHA! Pickle, you ams the motherings figure!" Toki said, gleeful at his revelation.

"Eh?"

Nathan grinned and patted his drummer over the head, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess he kinda' is."

"Hahah, yes. Pickle am de band mudders. He ams all de times drunk."

"And he walks around in his underwear and housecoat all day."

"And he ams listenings to glams rock always."

"And drinksh fruity drinksch."

Initially Pickles considered resisting this, but honestly… well, it was true. "Band mother?"

"Uh… yes. You. Pretty much."

"I caen do that." He brandished a wooden serving ladle, "Toki, ya'd better be finishin' that dere potato if ya' want any dessert."

Toki began to giggle, but stopped that by shoving potato into his mouth; he was not going to risk Pickles taking this seriously and denying him sweets.

After a few minutes, Skwisgaar said what had begun to dawn upon them, "If Nate'ns ams de fader, and Pickle ams de mudder, does dats mean…"

"Oh!" Nathan said, "Fuck no. It's just figurative… role… the role that we play…"

Pickles ignored that, gripping Nathan's shirt like an extremely friendly, extremely drunk octopus, "What was that hun'?" Pickles nuzzled his cheek and began to run a hand through the long, dark hair.

"Pickles? Let go of me please." Nathan stood up and lifted Pickles up by the scruff of his shirt. He eyed the flailing drummer, and then set him back down in his seat. "Just because I'm the father figure and you're the mother figure does not mean that there's… anything… between us."

"Why don'tcha love me?" Pickles wailed, unable to get up anymore without falling over, "I try and I try to make this family better, but everything I do, all the sacrifices I make, go unnoticed and unappreciated! You guys don't love me, so I've gatta' drink an' do drugs to soothe my emotional wounds!"

He began to chug back the bottle of wine he had at the table. Then he lit a bong (mysteriously appearing from bong space – the Pickles equivalent of hammer space) and took a big hit.

"Uh…"

Pickles then took out a bag of shrooms and began eating them, dipping them in the barbeque sauce on his plate, and he followed this by tying up his upper arm with a strap and preparing a spot to inject some unrecognizable liquid in a needle.

"Great Nate'ns, now yous has driven ours mom to heroin, how does that makes you feels, eh?"

"Thisch ish scho going to schcar me for life…"

Skwisgaar had his Gibson out and was plucking away furiously with a look of intense concentration, as if he wanted to forget what was going on at the moment. Toki was eating cake, his potato forgotten, and Murderface began stabbing the table with his steak knife.

Pickles injected himself with the needle and then leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and ignoring all of this. He fell out of his chair with a thud, but everyone else ignored him.

"Uh…" Nathan said, "Charles? Little help?"

At least they had a butler and servants, because if Pickles were in charge of housekeeping they'd all be having Vodka and Kraft Dinner out of Tupperware for supper and not wearing underwear because of a lack of laundry as opposed to a conscious decision to freeball.

Oh gods, they really were one big dysfunctional family…

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