Author's Note: A short two part story about Murdoc and Noodle's father-daughter type dynamic. Hope you like it!
Kong Studios: Phase 1
"Noodle," Murdoc rapped his knuckles on the young girl's door. "Get a move on, we've got places to be."
He stood in the hallway as patiently as the short tempered man could manage. He knew she was in there, he could hear her rustling about. "Noodle! I said let's go! We don't have time ta be playin around!"
It was no secret that Murdoc had a soft spot for the sprog, he really did… but he usually left her actual care-taking to his bandmates, preferring to think of himself as a fun uncle rather than a father figure. He was none too happy with the fact that the responsibility of getting Noodle to their gig tonight had fallen on his shoulders and the girl's dawdling was only souring his mood further.
"Get yer skinny arse out here this instant or I'm leavin without you!" he threatened... a hollow threat of course since they couldn't play a show without their guitarist, but he had made it sound convincing enough.
When the girl still made no attempt to answer him, he pressed his ear to the wood of the door. His sneer softened when he realized the sound he was hearing was… crying. With a voice as gentle as could come from his gravelly vocal chords, he spoke again, "Noodle luv… you alright in there?"
Still the same bloody radio silence on her end, and the bassist felt his shoulders stiffen, knowing the only way to deal with this problem would be to confront the crying 11 year old head on. "I'm coming in. You'd better be decent."
The girl was sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the room, her bed blocking his view of her. In the dim light he would have hardly noticed her if it weren't for the rise and fall of her shoulders, shaking with small sobs.
Cautiously, he edged further into the room until he saw the source of her dismay. She was sitting pretzel legged on the floor and before her on the ground was a mirror and a pair of scissors… both covered in dark purple hair. In fact, everything was covered in thick snippets of hair… aside from the girl's scalp where the sparse remnants of her dark locks sprouted upward in uneven tufts.
He was about to laugh at the scene, when suddenly the girl looked up at him with her big green eyes, red rimmed from crying. The laugh died in his throat and he knelt down beside her, "What happened, luv?"
Through sniffles, she managed the words, "tried to trim," before breaking out into hysterics again.
"Awright, awright," Murdoc said, pulling the girl into his arms, feeling her instantly latch on with a vice like grip as she continued to cry. "It'll be okay. Why don't we find your radio helmet, eh?"
The girl's voice cracked as she spoke, "B-broken."
So the girl was an emotional wreck over her bad hair cut, the only hat she liked to wear was out of commission, and they were going to be late to their own concert if couldn't get them out the door in the next fifteen minutes. Murdoc had been in worse scrapes than this one and always managed to think/talk his way out of it. There were a lot of negative things people could say about Murdoc, but being a quick thinker was one of his more positive traits.
He stood and pulled Noodle up with him, hoisting her onto his hip. "Awright, I 'ave an idea. You're just going to have to trust me on it."
He carried the girl to the shared bathroom in the hallway and gingerly placed her on the counter before rummaging through the messy cabinet under the sink, speaking up to her as he did so. "Ya see, luv, the only thing standin between a bad haircut and a good haircut is attitude. If you go out into the world looking all nervous like, the people will smell it on ya and pick you apart like the scuzzy fuckin vultures they are… but if you can go out there and OWN it, those vermin won't have shit to say."
Finally, he found what he was looking for and stood up again with an old electric razor, plugging it into the wall socket. The girl was looked up at him, then down at the razor in his hand, and then back at him again. She was chewing on her bottom lip, but her eyes held a determined spark.
She nodded her head and in a crystal clear voice said, "Own it."
He flicked the on switch, used his free hand to steady her shoulder and place the razor to her hair. He didn't have any plan… to be honest the kid had done a bang up job on herself. All he could really do was shave down the places where she had cut off so much hair that you could see her scalp and try to make the sides somewhat symmetrical.
When he was done, he brushed the hair from her shoulders and took a step back surveying his work. "Well, well, well," he spoke, trying to sound as impressed as possible without it coming off as pandering. He made a sweeping gesture to the bathroom mirror, "Have a look see!"
Tentatively, the girl turned around so she was kneeling on the countertop, facing the cracked mirror above the sink. For a second, her eyes were wide and her jaw went slack and the bassist was sure he was going to have to do more damage control… but then her round face was split by a devious smile.
"Punk rock…" she said in an airy voice, as if in awe of her own reflection. She then proceeded to make faces at the mirror, sticking out her tongue and pulling at the corners of her mouth.
"Aaye! There's my ickle riot grrrl!" Murdoc smirked, scooping the girl up again, carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, glad the crisis was averted and they could get to the bloody gig. "Let's go knock um dead."
He started heading toward the garage, but before he got very far, Noodle started flailing her lanky little limbs, "Murdoc-san! Shoes!"
She kicked her feet and he could see they were in nothing but a pair of striped gym socks. He gave a slight grumble of recognition and made a pit stop in the girl's room, not daring to put her down lest she get caught up and delay them even further. Luckily he spotted her lavender converse beside the bed and managed to grab them by the laces with one hand while not dropping the girl. "These'll do. You can put them on in the car."
When they arrived at the show, only about 15 minutes late, the duo stumbled into the dressing room backstage, Murdoc carrying his bass strung over his back, Noodle's guitar case in one hand, and Noodle in the other arm… as she had decided to climb up and cling to his side the moment he parked the god-damned car.
As soon as they were in the small space, Russel turned on them, obviously ready to let Murdoc have it for being late, but his face softened the moment he laid eyes on Noodle and her new haircut. His heavy brows knit together and he looked at her with a look of sympathy so intense that you'd think someone had died, "Aww... Baby girl..."
This drew 2D out of his usual pre-performance nervous pacing fit, and his darkened eyes fixed themselves on the girl with a similar look. "What happened to your hair, luv?"
Murdoc could feel the girl stiffen, her previously loose posture becoming rigid, her grip on his shoulder getting just a little too tight. A growl rose from the bassist throat. "It's called fashion, you ponce! Something you two wouldn't know if it bit you on your arses, with your jeans and t-shirts every god-damned day."
2D jumped and Noodle laughed, relinquishing her grip on Murdoc and allowing him to put her down. She ran toward Russel and 2D, playfully growling and howling, baring her teeth before pouncing at each of them with a laugh. After a quick hug for both of them, she grabbed her guitar from it's case and jogged off toward the stage for the sound check, leaving the drummer and singer absolutely gobstruck… and the bassist pleased as punch.
Wobble Street: Phase 3.5
"Murdoc," Noodle called, banging on his door in a rhythmic pattern. When he didn't answer she called again, drawing his name out, "Muuuuurrrdooooc!"
She tapped her foot impatiently for about 30 seconds of silence. She knew from experience that if he didn't answer after the first knock he probably wasn't going to answer at all… but today was not a day that she could just give up. Her mouth pulling up into an angry pout she turned the knob and let herself into the darkened room, surprised that she wasn't immediately met with a string of curses for her invasion.
Until she saw where the room's occupant was… laying face down in his bed, out like a light. "You have got to be kidding me," she groaned.
He rolled in his bed, mumbling something and swatting at the air, a half asleep way of telling her to bugger off no doubt. She sighed and walked across the room to the window, making sure her boots hit the floor as loud as possible with every step and not being shy about kicking over empty bottles along the way. She opened the shades so fast she nearly tore the pullcord out. "MURDOC!"
The combination of the sudden bright light and loud noise had it's desired effect. The man jumped up in bed, eyes wide with terror… until they landed on her and he let out a deep breath of relief, sinking back onto the bed. "Bloody hell, you little banshee," he groaned between panting breaths, his hand rubbing at his chest.
She felt bad for a moment, as she watched him catch his breath. He was getting older and it was no secret that he wasn't exactly kind to his body. If she gave him a few more frights like that, he might have a heart-attack and they'd be out a bassist.
His stupid leopard print silk sheets had fallen away when he jolted, and she could see that he was sleeping shirtless… probably just in his underwear as per usual. She rolled her eyes, unphased, she'd seen him in those tighty whiteys so many times over the course of her life… it was gross, but not any more gross than seeing a spider on the ceiling or a clump of hair in the shower drain.
She found a pair of dark jeans on the floor that looked relatively clean and tossed them in his direction. "Come on, we're going to be late. Interview today, remember!"
"I remember…" he mumbled, "I'm the one who landed us the fucking thing…" He was ornery as ever, but sat up in the bed none the less, putting on the jeans with all the speed of a slug. It was clear he'd partied a little too hard the night before and was paying for it. "Where are fatty and face-ache?"
"They left earlier this morning, Russ said they had errands to run," Noodle explained absently ignoring the impolite nicknames. She scanned through the clutter on the floor to find Murdoc's boots. Once she located them, thrown against the wall behind the door, she placed them just in front of where Murdoc was sitting so the still half asleep satanist could slide his feet in with minimal effort.
As he donned his footwear, she headed to the closet, flipping through the few clean articles of clothing that hung there. "What do you want to wear, Murdoc-san?" She asked, as sweetly as possible, hoping it would make him more cooperative so they could leave sooner.
He growled and squinted at the closet for a moment, "Hadn't really thought about it… what are you wearing?"
She let out a slight laugh, turning around and gesturing at her current outfit, "This. I'm already dressed." His bloodshot eyes did a once over of her attire: brown combat boots, black low-rise skinny jeans, and a red ringer tee she'd stolen from 2D and cut into a crop top that hit just above the bottom of her rib cage. He nodded absently, apparently forgetting the task at hand as he laid back down on the bed.
"So…" she continued, trying not to let his lethargy deter her, "Do you want your turtleneck? … captain's jacket?... silk button up? … black pullover? … biker jacket?... army jacket? What do you want?"
He didn't respond, other than to shoot a brief glare in her direction.
"If you don't pick something, I'm going to pick for you… and we both know I'm going to pick the cloak of darkness," she joked, pulling out his black cape from the closet and swishing it dramatically.
"Awright, just give me the bloody biker jacket," he groaned, pushing him back up into a slumped sitting position.
"Okay," the girl smiled, glad they were finally making some progress. The jacket had been hung up improperly and caught on the hanger, taking a little bit of effort on her part to free it from the closet. When she turned around she saw that Murdoc was pulling a wrinkled black undershirt over his head, wincing as if every small movement caused him pain.
She frowned and scooted onto the bed so that she was sitting on her knees behind him. She held the jacket up so he could get his arms through easily.
"Since when are you mother hen, dressing me like some sort of fucking invalid?" He hissed, but let her help him into the jacket anyway.
"Maybe since we have an interview across town in 5 minutes and you're too hungover to lift your arms over your head," she snarked as she smoothed his collar from behind him, "Don't get used to it, you cranky old codger."
He let out a gravely chuckle, "Watch it with the sass, luv. It's not too late to mark you 'return to sender' and leave you with the post."
Noodles eyes rolled at the comment. If he'd made that joke once he'd made it a thousand times. "That stopped being funny when I was thirteen," she huffed.
She was about to pull away when he grabbed her hand that was still resting on his shoulder and tugged it lightly, "And how old are you now… Thirteen and a half?" He laughed at his own joke, the way he always did when he thought he was being funny.
Noodle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek onto the worn, soft leather of his jacket. "Thirteen and 3 quarters," she joked back, soaking in the familiar smell of cigarettes and brandy that seemed to seep from the man's pores.
Things had been… different since she'd come back. Since Plastic Beach. Murdoc had always had his issues, even as a little kid she had been able to see that. He was violent and crazy, an alcoholic and a womanizer, she'd always known that. But Plastic Beach had been an all time low for him… kidnapping 2D and holding him in that underwater prison… building that thing out of her DNA… it was disgusting and Noodle knew it. But he was still her family, right?
He wasn't the kind of family that tucked her in at night, and made sure she ate vegetables, and kissed her boo-boos. No, that was definitely Russel. He wasn't the kind of family that made pillow forts in the living room, and let her win at video games, and always brought her back candy when he went to the grocery store either. No, that was Toochie.
Murdoc was the kind of family that helped her egg the house of the first boy who broke her heart. He was the kind of family that taught her to drive by let her sit between his knees and steer the car when she was too short to even reach the pedals. He was the one who took her seriously when she said she wanted creative control on their second album when she was still a preteen. And he was the one she'd called for when those helicopters shot down her windmill. He was the one she called for because he was the kind of family that would dive face first into hell to pull you back out.
She squeezed him tighter for a moment and felt his him relax into the hug, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand which he still had in his grasp. After a moment he released her hand and she let him go, crawling around him and rising from the bed.
"Come on, we're already late!" She clipped, trying to sound annoyed but her smile giving her away as she extended a hand to help Murdoc up.
"Fashionably late," he corrected, "Fashionably late, luv."
