Everything is cold, everything is still, everything is quiet. The only noise in the house comes from the whir of a ceiling fan, and the hum of the refrigerator. It isn't a peaceful silence by any means.
Mournful, more like.
It's been three days, and the reporters still haven't stopped coming by. They should be by soon, thinks a restless 2D. Like clockwork, they arrive at 7:30 and don't go away until late at night- or until Murdoc turns them away. The two remaining residents of the shared household aren't in any sort of mood to speak with them, not this early after what happened Saturday.
It had been a lovely day, Saturday. At least, that's what it had seemed. Murdoc Niccals had been running his radio show, Stuart '2D' Pot playing a videogame, when the phone rang.
The blue-haired frontman was the one to answer the screeching landline, being that Murdoc was busy. A woman's voice said, "Hello, is this Murdoc Niccals?" she asked with a heaviness in her tone.
"'Fraid not ma'am," 2D answered back, glancing down the hall in the direction of Murdoc's room. "He's busy right now, this is Stuart Pot. Can I take a message?" 2D assumed this was one of Murdoc's old girlfriends. He's had a lot of those, boyfriends too, and they sometimes call the house phone trying to get back in touch with the salty satanist.
"Mr. Pot, it says on my computer here that you live with Mr. Niccals, Russel Hobbs, and a… er, Noodle? Is that correct sir?"
"Yeah, that's right…" 2D says slowly, leaning against the wall that the phone was mounted on. "What's this about?"
"Sir, there's.." the woman sighed a bit, "There's been an accident. Involving Mr. Hobbs and this Noodle."
Murdoc had just put on a track, "Dare" for the listeners, when 2D walked in without knocking. His faces was white as ash, his eyes wide, and his hands shaking.
"Oh, what is it, Dents? I said I couldn't play with you right now-" Murdoc cut himself off at the sight of the other man. Sweet Lucifer he looks pale… "What's the matter? Well, spit it out." the bassist began to worry for his frontman's health. 2D does get migraines, he thought, and when he does they'll make him ill.
"N-Noodle, an-and and Russel they- They're-" 2D couldn't even get the words out of his mouth before dropping to his knees.
Murdoc's eyes widened. He got up from his chair and got to 2D just in time for the tosser to pass out. "Bloody hell…"
Yes, neither of them had expected it. No one had, really. Where the news of Noodle and Russel's deaths sent the public into a frenzy, it sent the two musicians into hiding. Neither man has been out of the house in two days, save for Murdoc stepping out onto the porch to pick up takeaway or shoo away someone from the media. 2D in fact, despite being able to sleep, hasn't hardly left his own room in that time.
The doorbell rings just on time, and the frontman leaves it to Murdoc or no one to answer, as usual.
Murdoc has been up for hours, cleaning, doing laundry, doing what washing up there was left to do. He does this when something troubles him, he puts everything back in its place. Being that the bassist has been trouble free for a while up until now, the house was in dire need of a troubled Muds.
The old goth opens the front door with a sigh, looking sternly at the three men with cameras and notepads wanting to speak with him. "We're not taking questions yet." he says, and before any of them can protest, Murdoc shuts the door firmly in their faces.
2D hears the door slam shut once again, and upon hearing it, is reminded by the pounding it causes behind his eyes to take his medicine. The lanky musician has to take it thrice per day to try and prevent migraines- although it doesn't always do its job. He gets up out of bed and opens his adjacent door, just to be reminded of how bright the light flooding in through the windows is in the morning. 2D shields his eyes for a moment before opening them slightly, so to adjust, as he pads quietly down the hall. On his way, the blue-haired man notices how much the house has changed. Before now, all he's done is stumble to the bathroom and back for his pills, or to the kitchen and back for cold takeaway- but those had been in the dark. Now, in the light of day, 2D can see how much cleaner and well put-together the house looks. Garbage all taken out, junk all moved somewhere or another. 2D knows what this means. Murdoc is suffering just as badly.
The old goth himself sits at the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil and having a fag. Murdoc notices 2D, but more the rings under his eyes than anything.
"Mornin' faceache." he says with not a hint of malice in his voice. It's more casual than that, along with a twinge of sadness.
2D makes his way over to the table and sits down. "Morning…" he says quietly. A short while goes by of the two not talking, not looking one another in the eye, before 2D sighs and asks, "Can I bum a cig?"
Murdoc grabs his cigarette carton off of the table and the lighter out of his pocket, handing them both to his melancholy frontman. 2D gladly accepts them, and in no time at all the two are filling the air with a lazily hanging veil of menthol smoke. Smoking, 2D thinks, is a lot better than just sitting there not talking.
Once 2D has puffed away the last of his cigarette, he gets up to take his medicine- which, thanks to Murdoc and his cleaning, has been lain out on the counter for the lanky frontman. After taking twice his normal dose, 2D tries to think of a thing to say. After all, what can he say? The two have barely spoken a word since leaving the morgue. Aside from "take your pill, dents" or "chinese tonight", all 2D has gotten out of Murdoc is "Mornin' faceache."
Thankfully, Murdoc speaks up before 2D has the chance to leave in a cloud of smoke and awkwardness. "Russel's mum 'll be by tomorrow." he says, "Gloria, that's her name."
2D does little more than nod, wrapping his arms around himself. Shit, it's cold in here.
"She's gonna go through his room, take a few of his things, and leave the rest for us to do what we want with it." Murdoc stubs out his cigarette in the overfilled ashtray before getting up, "I'll be off then."
"Where're you goin'?" 2D asks, his tone abandoning most of its sadness in favor of curiosity.
Murdoc, pulling on the faded leather jacket that hung on the back of his chair, rolls his eyes. "We haven't got any food, ditz…" he answers. "I'm going to the grocery."
2D rings his hands a moment before asking, "Shall I come with?"
The bassist stares at his sleep-deprived frontman for a moment, "Why?" he asks.
The blue-haired man shrugs, "Dunno… I just," he sighs, "I don't wanna stay here alone. It's empty in here."
Murdoc can't say that it doesn't stab him somewhere where his heart should be to hear that. 2D hit the nail on the head with that one. It's been very empty in the house the past couple of days- the old satanist can't bear to think how it'd be to stay here by oneself.
"Fine." Murdoc answers finally, putting on a mask of dull irritation. "You're not goin' out like that, though." the old goth looks the other man up and down; he's in his sweats and his hair's a mess, not to mention how allaround depressingly worn-out he looks.
2D looks down at his own appearance, noticing the same things as Murdoc did. He hasn't taken a bath in heaven only knows how long. The toothless musician figures he'd better get on that, lest he make Murdoc impatient.
Author's note: Well there's chapter one and it's already depressing as all hell. I may or may not continue, this is just a really persistent plot bunny running about in my head.