That boozy, smoky smell, the dimly lit stage, the intoxicated patrons that had to be kicked off the stage. It was just like the old days, Murdoc thought.
After all those infuriating coincidences and disasters that had prevented Gorillaz from playing in their concerts, Murdoc had decided to book a gig in a nice, small, intimate pub, hoping to avoid the attention of whoever "down there" he'd pissed off enough to curse them. And what'ya know, it worked!
Their show had been barely advertised, but that was still enough to get throngs of people who wouldn't have stepped foot in such a dank, seedy place otherwise. The barkeep ought to worship him for having lured all these new customers to rip off with heavily-iced sodas and piss-watered beers. It was bad enough for Murdoc to have brought his own private stash of rum along.
But what a show it was! A bit lower-budget than their global affairs, but still a hell of a good time. It was the first time the entire band had performed together in a long while.
Good to have the real Noodle back and strumming the strings. The cyborg might have been more pliable, but it was a tad … temperamental, to say the least. Russel was too large to fit in buildings anymore, but he could still drum outside, with a skin made from a whole elephant herd. (Murdoc would know, he'd had them smuggled in himself.) The impact of his massive drumsticks made the whole place vibrate like a living sex toy, you know, the best kind. There was himself, of course, tying the whole thing together with his crunchy bass. And the vocals …
He was glad that 2D's ordeal at Plastic Beach hadn't diminished his singing voice one bit. Otherwise, he would have had to build another robot, maybe kidnap one of those Japanese "vocaloids" he'd heard about, the blue haired one … But no, 2D still had it. Amazing, how a guy with no brain could make lyrics sound so deep.
They played through all the old favorites, showstoppers every one. They'd paid off some hotshot new rapper who wasn't half bad to go through the tricky bits. Within each song was the history of the band, the fights and breakups and makeups. Memories of long hours in the studio, frustration and release. The good times and the bad times. A good song tastes of sincerity, and Gorillaz was delicious.
After the last chord of "Feel Good Inc." had faded away, it was time for the second most important part of any performance: Picking up birds right after you'd ruffled their feathers. Murdoc picked up his handle of rum, sat down on the cheap plastic barstool, and waited for the chicks to come pecking for his "worm."
And waited.
And waited.
Somehow, no one was flocking to him tonight, He had given his most charming leer to all the women passing by who met his standards (i.e. all of them), but no one seemed even the slightest bit inclined to linger. What was wrong with this joint! Fuming, he looked to see how the denthead was faring. That sight made him drop his bottle.
He could barely see 2D's blue moronic head from the piles of ladies gathered around him, like flies crawling on an enormous dog turd. As doe eyes stared at faceache in admiration, that warbling high-pitched voice was going on about, "The time I hit me head, or was that the second time," nattering on about things he wasn't even conscious for. And like fools, all of his girls were eating it up!
Oblivious to any grouchy satanists who might overhear them, two nearby girls were having a heated discussion.
"Oh my, looks like the line for the cutie is pretty long already."
"Well, when else are you gonna have a chance to sleep with a real live Gorillaz!"
"He's not the only option. There are the others."
"Yeah, but I'm not much into little girls. And did you see the size of the drummer! Would split me in half."
"No, I mean the green bloke with the monkey face."
"Yuck, not him. He looks like a bad case of the clap. Plus, isn't he, like, 50? I'd rather take my chances with the singer, even if it has to be a threesome."
"Or a foursome."
"Or a fivesome!"
Then they staggered off to join the rest.
Murdoc could not believe his ears. How dare they pick that brainless beauty over him! It should be the denthead that picks up after his scraps, not the other way around. Murdoc got off his seat and stormed over to the flock gathered around its nucleus. With a snarl that could intimidate a pack of wolves, he grabbed 2D by the ear and started dragging him away."
"Ow, ow! What'cha doing! I was just havin' fun there."
"Shut up, faceache. Show's over, we're going home." Noodle looked up from the fruity mixed drink she was investigating, and took the cue to leave. The rode home in uncomfortable silence on the Taxi Russel.
"It's early. Not even twelve." 2D was the first one to break the silence after getting off Russel's shoulder. "I think it's the earliest we've been back since … ever."
"Murdoc is going to sleep alone tonight, right?" asked Noodle.
"It's not any of your business," snapped Murdoc, albeit a bit more gently.
"Yeah, that's right. I can't remember the last time you didn't pick up someone after a concert. On Plastic Island, you was always going 'The next time I'm on dry land, I'm gonna be rrrolling in ladies. Stick my – Yar!'" 2D was interrupted by a blow to the head.
"Well, y'all can sort out your own women problems," the booming voice of Russel added in, "I ain't going to be your personal Winnebago."
"Shut up already! Go to bed, and that's an order from your captain."
Murdoc sat on his bed, and let the alcohol consume him. Beer didn't cut it anymore, it was hard liquor all the way. The buzz from the concert (and various uppers) had long since faded, leaving only the numbness of booze. He drank through the exhaustion and nausea.
As he crouched on his bed, swilling his bitterness, the light playing off the back of an old CD caught his eye. A reflection of sunken, mismatched eyes set in a gangrenous face stared back. Wrinkled skin, patchy stubble. The man in the mirror looked old, worn out, past his prime. Thoughts that he normally drowned in alcohol bobbed to the top of his sea of inebriation. Was he really all used up?
With a snarl, Murdoc smacked his bottle into the CD. Instead of shattering into a million pieces and eliminating all trace of his weakness, the disk merely cracked into two uneven pieces. One flipped over, revealing it to be the bootleg copy of 28 Days Later that 2D had given him once, and that he had never gotten around to watching.
With a wrenching effort, he refocused his negative thoughts in a more familiar direction – his hatred of 2D. That man-child would be nothing without him. Nothing but a dead-end moron until Murdock graced him with his touch. Everything 2D was was because of him, and was he grateful for it? No!
Even Murdoc's drunken, aggrandizing mind couldn't swallow that horseshit he'd just thought. Of course 2D was grateful, which made him pliable. If he hadn't been so … receptive to influence, Murdock would never have been able to take advantage of lead him to success. And if Murdoc wanted his just payment, well, he deserved it.
That's why Murdock could smack 2D around for being too loud, or for having the audacity to smile. For any reason, at all. That's why he could just kidnap 2D and take his voice. Who wouldn't want to work with a genius? That's what he told himself on Plastic Beach when 2D was the only decent human being around for miles around and he'd …
He took a swig from his bottle. Thoughts were useless at a time like this. Need a distraction. Need …
Something other than 2D shyly peeking around the door, likely using it as a shield in case Murdoc threw something.
"What are you doing in here!"
"Well, um, ah, that is ..."
"Out with it!"
"I was wondering if you was alright, seeing as how you stormed off and pulled my ear and everything."
"Go to bed." But 2D ignored his order and continued.
"And I noticed how you seemed a bit … alone in that pub. Like you didn't have any groupies or anything. I was going to send some ladies over to you, but they didn't seem interested-" 2D ducked behind the door to avoid the bottle aimed for his face.
Murdoc lurched upwards, intent on teaching 2D that silence was golden, the hard way. But his body had a mind of his own, and when he tried to stand up, he lurched forward and fell to his knees. A noxious swill of undigested booze poured out of his mouth. 2D looked horrified.
"Murdoc! This is bad, this is very, very bad!"
Murdoc swayed and barely diverted himself from collapsing in a pool of his own vomit. Out of reflex, he reached for a bottle to wash the terrible taste from his mouth. But it stayed disappointingly far away. Worse, he was moving away from it, until he realized he was being pushed back onto his bed by 2D.
Murdoc clawed at the dirty t-shirt 2D was using to wipe his mouth.
"What's wrong with you? I'm just trying to help-"
"I don't need your mothering, pretty-boy pandering sellout git. Go crawl back to your legion of fans."
"Is that what this is all about? Jealous that you couldn't get a piece of the action?"
In these close quarters, Murdoc should have been able to bash 2D hard enough to give him a third dent. Surprisingly, however, 2D was holding his own, pinning Murdoc's limbs with his lanky body. Within a few minutes of struggle, Murdoc was exhausted, and the loser of the two men's struggle for the first time.
Being pinned brought back uncomfortable memories of his childhood, demons that haunted him like so many literal ones. He tried not to let his weakness show, putting up a scowling face.
"Now listen to me. I'm not blind, you know. I've seen you go from bad to worse. You've always been a drunkard and a man-whore, but you've never been this stupidly self-destructive before. And the older you get, the worse it is. So much of you is wrapped up in this dumb Satanist womanizer bullock that if you lose it, there's nothing left! I think you're scared of losing your touch. You take it all out on me, but I'm tired of being the only person you try to make even more miserable than you."
Trapped as he was, Murdoc could only listen to 2D's words piercing his intoxicated brain. And as 2D continued his rant, the Satanist welcomed the blackness of blacking-out.
Waking up was not unlike scraping encrusted bird shit from his Plastic Beach. Murdoc couldn't quite remember what had happened last night, but the puddle of dried vomit on the floor told him that it couldn't have been good. The disabled lift refused to move, no matter how much he kicked it, so he was forced to ooze downstairs on his own feet.
It seemed like there was no-one else in the house except for Noodle watching some insipid news show. All the food was gone too, except for some condoms and mints in the fridge. Murdoc's stomach didn't quite feel like taking anything, so he got a glass of water and one of 2D's pills and sat besides Noodle on the couch.
"2D has gone shopping for food," Noodle said.
"Making himself useful, finally."
"He also told me about what happened last night." That girl went straight for the kill.
"If that dullard remembers, then he's got a better memory than me." There was a pause.
"Uncle Muds, are you happy?" she said innocently, like the girl she had been so long ago.
"Of course I am. A world-famous band, plenty of booze, and no-one's trying to kill me anymore."
"But then, why do you drink like a man trying to drown?"
"What else is life for? A couple of nips never hurt anyone. Do what you want, raise a little hell, shag a few slappers, and go out with a bang, that's my motto."
"But is that really all you are? There are demons in your soul, and they eat you from the inside." This conversation was taking an uncomfortably existential road. And when Murdoc encountered existentialism, he tried to avoid it.
"Look, why don't we get out of the house before that dullard comes back, and grab a bite to eat, how's that sound?"
"Do not try to distract me. I am not 12 years old anymore." Noodle had a steely look in her eye that reminded Murdoc of the cyborg. "I cannot ignore you dying by degrees. You are my family. I love you."
"Now, ah, not that you haven't grown up lovely, but isn't that getting a bit incestuous?"
She made a noise of frustration.
"Is that all you think about! Are you just a robot programmed to fuck and fight and not give a damn about what others think about you! You act like an immature teenager. Is that all there is to you?"
Noodle was radiant with anger. She was, indeed, a woman and not a child. And if Noodle was all grown up, what did that make Murdoc? All grown old? That nagging hollowness that had haunted him at Plastic Beach reemerged, and there was no booze here to drown it.
"What's become of my life?" he groaned. "All my youth, gone! I'm almost 50 years old. Next thing you know, you'll pick some ponce with his balls plastered to his legs as the bassist and you'll be wheeling me to the old folks home where I'll spend my days playing Gin Rummy and wishing the nurses weren't so fat."
"Murdoc, we're not going to get rid of you, even if it might make our lives easier. We're family, and we're Gorillaz. Nothing is stronger than that." And she hugged him, just like old times. Like a fool, he hugged her back.
"I'm back! There was a sale on eggs, so I bought three dozen!" 2D took just the perfect time to spoil the mood. Murdoc picked up a glass to throw at his head, but Noodle stopped him.
"Come here and join us," she said.
"Really? You mean it?" 2D smiled like a retarded puppy and bounded over, dropping his eggs along the way. He wrapped his oversized frame around the both of them.
"Don't forget about me," Russel boomed, and reached a giant hand indoors to wrap them in his palm.
It was a disgusting orgy of friendship. But deep down, Murdoc couldn't help but feel a little warmth steal into his cold heart. As long as he had the Gorillaz, that was all he really needed.
"But if you really wanted to hit on women, I think a bath would be a good first place to start."
"Shut up, denthead."
Author's note
Welp, here is my first foray into Gorillaz. I'm not quite done exploring the idea of what happens to Murdoc when he loses everything. Let me know what you think!