Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, Dethklok, or any of the characters. Everything belongs to their respective owners, except for the story concept. I gain nothing but the pleasure of writing.
This story is dedicated to my sister, who feels there isn't enough Tokiface love out there. I can say though, this was hard for me to write because honestly, I'm not much of a fan and I don't think my brain can handle thinking about Murderface in a romantic way with anyone.. *shudders* So, I hope you enjoy Samantha, and everyone else who reads it! I haven't written in ages, so constructive criticism is welcomed and loved!
Chapter One
Toki Wartooth stood outside the door to the recording room, a gloomy and rejected frown replacing the usual playful and childishly happy smile. It was only moments ago where he was shoved out of the room by Nathan and the door slammed violently in his face, missing the chance to crush his nose from the force by a few mere centimeters. Pickles, Skwisgaar, and Nathan were hard at work, putting their talented minds together in an attempt to write their new album. It was obvious they were having issues, because the large brutish singer seemed to have his finger on a metaphorical delete button when it came to all their ideas, which only seemed to make the drummer and lead guitarist get more and more angered and frustrated.
Toki had entered the room just as Pickles threw his class of whatever colorful alcoholic beverage he had at the time, at the back of Nathan's head. The raven haired man easily dodged it, but only because he bent down to pick up a large bag of chips that fell at his feet.
"Fer the lahve of gahd, Na'tan! Stahp bein' so damn picky!" The red head grabbed at his own dreads and pulled at them as he let out an angry sigh. The blond sneered silently as his fingers flew over the strings of his Gibson. If he wasn't as sober as he was at that moment, he would have followed Pickles' example and chucked his guitar at Nathan as well. The three of them have been going through this endless cycle of constant rejection for the past two hours, which rewarded them with only half a song written, and even that seemed on the brink of being thrown into the garbage with the rest.
"It's not metal enough," Nathan simply said as he stared at the half finished song in his lap. He tapped the tip of his pen on the notepad before he ripped off the page (earning two groans and a sting of Swedish curses), crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the room.
"You can'ts be serious, Nathans. It's as brutals as its goingks to gets," Skwisgaar scolded as he placed his Gibson down beside him on the couch and got up to stretch. He glanced over at Toki, who stood by the door silently, watching the trio sheepishly. The guitar god's eyes narrowed at the sight of the rhythm guitarist as he lowered his arms.
"What do you be wantingks, hm?" The brunette's unsure expression brightened once he was addressed, filling with confidence as he stepped forward. "I mights have ideas for you guys! You cans use thems if you lets me help." Skwisgaar stared at Toki for a moment before he rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"Pfft. Yous? Writes musics? Not ons your lifes." Pickles looked up at Toki too and frowned, though his expression was more apologetic than mean. "Yeah-uh, Toki. No offense, but you ain't exactly a good lyricist. I still got nightmares frahm dat song you an' Murderface wrote together. Sahrry buddy."
"Yeah. Toki, man. Just go play your DDR or something. We're busy." The young man's hopeful smile soon became a dejected frown, his pale eyes prickling with threat of tears. He blinked a few times rapidly to fight them back and hung his head.
"Oh, okies dokie.. Buts... Can't I helps with one songs? Please? I gots real cool idea for one! It has to do with snowsball fightings!" the Norwegian flailed about as he began to go on and on about his song idea, his body doing most of the talking as his words became jumbled as his excitement grew. His idea, however, seemed to fall on def ears, as his energetic enthusiasm only seemed to agrivate the three more than inspire. Nathan stood up, his chair scratching against the ground loudly as it was shoved back. He turned and in a few short, long strides he grabbed Toki and shoved him out the door, slamming it in the poor boys face.
"I don't have time for your shit, Toki. Go bother someone else." At that, the trio went back to their work as the brunette stood outside the door, feeling rejected and unappreciated.
"Why does no ones like Toki's ideas?" With his head hung low, his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, Toki trudged through Mordhaus. His spirits we so low, he even refused to even look at a bowl of candy that sat in the common room of the haus. He only looked up when he passed by a closed off room, the sounds of rather horrid singing along with the sounds of a low base rhythm pouring out from behind it. The room no doubt belonged to Murderface- the poor bassist chose to have his room the farthest from everyone else, for various reasons that seemed logical and sometimes illogical. Example being, he didn't want to hear Swisgaar screwing his women, yet he didn't want to be near Toki's room because he didn't want to catch whatever disease that made the muscular guitarist's heart gay. Whatever the case, Toki knew whose room it was, and being in need of company, the boy saw no harm in entering and hanging out with the grumpy lump of a man.
"Moiderface, knocks knocks. I comes in now." He closed the door quietly behind him, the bad music continuing uninterrupted. Murderface probably didn't hear me, Toki thought as he ventured deeper into the room, passing the extensive collection of weapons, blunt and sharp, that the bassist collected as a hobby. It always fascinated Toki, why his band mate chose to collect them instead of something more practical. He himself, was rather fond of building and collecting model airplanes. They seemed more fun than a few knives and axes.
"Schmash, pound, schqueeze, kill! SCHMASH! POUND! SCHQUEEZE! TILL THEY'RE- No, no no! Let me think here..." The music stopped as Murderface hunched over a table with pen in hand, scribbling furiously at a sheet of paper (one of many dozens that littered the surface of it, as well as the floor around him.). Toki quietly walked up behind him and leaned over, though the fat mans large head blocked the view of the words on the paper.
"What are you doing?" Muderface yelled in surprise, his head snapping back as he sat up straight. Unfortunately, Toki wasn't quick enough as the back of Murderface's skull connected with Toki's face, hitting his nose and making him bite his tongue. The boy stumbled back, holding his abused nose as he groaned in pain. The other brunette sweared angrily, though it wasn't out of pain.
"You schonova bitsch! Why'd ya go trying to schcare me, HUH?" He shot out of his chair and turned to face Toki with a sour look on his face. He folded his arms over his chest, this guitar hanging by its strap over his shoulder. Toki whimpered pathetically, which came out nasally because of his hands. This didn't impress the fat man, who rolled his eyes and scowled deeper.
"Go bother schomeone elsche, Toki. I'm buschy here." Toki lowered his hands slowly, letting his lower lip quiver and pout pathetically. Toki knew more than half of the time, his band mates could never say no to that look. It also helped that the hit made his eyes water in pain, so it added to the whole "pathetically adorable" look. Toki wasn't stupid half the time. He knew he could get his way if he acted or looked cute enough. Though, sometimes it didn't work- and luckily it did this time.
Murderface rolled his ears and sighed heavily. "Fine, fine. You can schtay, Juscht don't touch anything." He sat back down and adjusted his bass back onto his lap comfortably. He barely began the first four note before Toki sat on the arm of the chair and picked up the paper he was writing on before.
"What are you doing" He asked again, which earned him another stink eye from the bassist.
"Nothing that conschernsch you, Toki. Now pleasche BE QUIET!" He plucked the paper from Toki's hands and slamme dit back onto the table without a word. Both fell silent for a few moments before Murderface felt it was safe to continue his work. He once again only managed to go a few notes before Toki leaned closer to look at the paper.
"You writing musics?" Muderface groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was, of course, but for Planet Piss. The bassist woke up that morning from a pretty brutal dream, that included a hot air balloon made out of human flesh (still dripping blood and still held the screams of the people who made it) and a giant bowel of mashed potatoes covered in blood gravy made out of children. It was metal as all hell, and it inspired Murderface the moment he woke up, to pull out his bass and write down as much as he could. Unfortunately, writing music was harder than it looked. What began early that morning had dragged on into late into the afternoon, and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get his thoughts onto the paper. Eventually the inspiration faded along with the vivid visions of the dream. He was at the point where he wasn't sure if it was a balloon or a whale, and whether the blood covered potatoes was really vanilla ice cream covered in strawberry sauce.
"You're ruining my conschentration, dildo! Have you ever heard of peschonal schpasch?" Toki eased up, hopping off the arm and sat on the floor by the table. He peered at the papers, most covered with lyrics and thoughts on every inch of them. He raised his eyebrows as he skimmed one page filled with ramblings about blood flavored potatoes.
"I has cool idea toos, Moiderface. Wants to hear? I can helps with your side bands!" Toki smiled happily up at him, his eyes shining with hope. Murderface only scowled, lifting his leg to press his boot against Toki's chest and shove him away. "No! Thisch isch my big break, not yours! Go away damnit!" Toki laid on his back, looking up at the ceiling sadly. Not even Murderface wanted to hang out with him. Loneliness crept up on him, which made him sigh softly as he slowly rose to his feet.
"Okies dokie. I'll go.. Haves fun.." Toki once again found himself out into the hall, alone and in need for company. No one seemed to want to be with him, and it made him feel lost. Why was everything so hard for Toki, he thought to himself as he meandered about the haus for the umpteenth time that day. He wasn't as useless as the others said he was, or so he had told himself all the time. He wouldn't have been in the band if he really was. Toki didn't know why they picked on him and made him feel badly about himself. They sometimes showed that they cared, but it all changed suddenly almost over night.
It was a win-lose situation though. On one hand, Toki was grateful they stopped babying him- he had a bed time for metals sake! But, he did miss it, and even with the others treating him like an adult, he felt they were more like shinning him than giving him space. No one talked to him unless he started the conversation, and even then it ended after a few short replies. They even avoided being in the same room as him, including Murderface.
"No one likes me no mores it seems. Oh wells." The rest of the week went by, everyday the same. Pickles, Skwisgaar and Nathan hauled themselves up in the recording studio, and Murderface locked himself in his room. That left Toki to do nothing but mindlessly play his videogames, build the last of his model airplanes and wander the lonely halls of Mordhaus. By Friday, Toki was ready to confront someone about the bands cold shoulders towards him. He was only a few short hairs away from going to Ofdensen's office and confide in their manager. He always fixed things and made everything better in no time.
The guitarist found himself again in the hall leading to Murderface's dungeon, though it was quiet today. All week, Toki would go in to bother the man, always to find him hard at work writing music, and failing miserably at it. So when Toki opened the doors into the dark living quarters of the most brutal bassist on the planet, it was a shock to find half of his weapons and furniture thrown broken and thrown everywhere. Toki frowned with worry as he cautiously made his way farther into the room.
"Moiderface..? Hello? You okays in heres? You in heres at alls?" No answer came, so the man kept going till he reached the back of the room. Murderface sat hunched over on his bed, his face in his hands and unmoving. He didnt even react when Toki cautiously sat down beside the larger man. Toki sat quietly beside the other brunette as he waited for him to respond.
Dethklok had a strict "no caring" policy that most of the members kept to most of the time. It was simply easier to not have to worry about each other when it involved emotions and simply stuck together for the music. They were hardly friends, hardly a family, but Toki never cared much for the rule and broke it on a near constant basis. Dethklok was his family, and he'd be damned if he wasn't there to lend a comforting hand to anyone who needed it. Murderface was no exception to this, so as they sat there in silence, Toki reached out and placed his hand gently on the other mans shoulder and squeezed.
"You okay?" Murderface didn't respond beyond his shoulders tensing and a grunt. Other than that, he didn't shrug off Toki's comforting hand, or move to get away from the man. The silence engulfed the pair as Toki waited patiently for Murderface. He didn't know what was wrong, but knew he shouldn't rush things or else the bassist may get violent once again.
"It'sch not fair. I had it, ya know? I had it in my head, but.. I guessch I wont be asch great of a lyricist asch the othersch." His lime green eyes stared at the floor with a forlorn expression. "I don't even know why I'm in thisch schtupid band. No one appreschiates me. I'm juscht a fat, schtupid blob taking up schpace."
"No you ams not, Moiderface. You ams not useless. I would know. You ams an amazing bassist. The others don'ts know whats they gots is all. And you ams nots alones. I'm here too." That didn't seem to comfort the other man at all for in a split second, with a strength that no one would have guess would come from a man like him, he shoved Toki practically off the bed and across the floor. He yelled and growled at the top of his lungs and pointed an accused finger at Toki.
"Get the fuck off me, you faggot! I don't need you! I don't need anybody! Get your gay assch heart outta my room before I beat the crap out of you!" Murderface picked up the bass at the foot of his bed and chucked it to where Toki lay. The boy rolled to the side, dodging the instrument as it crashed onto the floor, splintering slightly. Murderface continued to grab whatever was in arms reach so he could throw them at the retreating form of his band mate- knives, axes, more basses, and even a shelf. The objects flew, mostly aimed for poor Toki's head before he escaped, slamming the door shut.
He kept retreating till he found himself in his own room. He bolted the door tightly shut and threw himself at his bed. His arms curled up around Deddybear and tightly hugged the stuffed animal as he buried his face in it's plush head. He didn't know why Murderface got so angry. He was only being nice. Besides Pickles, Murderface was always nice to him- always let him hang out when the others were off doing more "important" things.
"Why is everything so hards for me, deddy?" The entire night, and most of the next day, the haus saw very little of either their beloved bassist and rhythm guitarist. The other three, who decided to take a break from their work, lounged in the hot tub, drinks on hand.
"Dood, I dunno. Why should I know where dose two've been ahff ta?" Pickles sipped his drink, the umbrella shifting and causing the ice to clink against the glass lightly. Nathan grunted as he drank his beer and shrugged. Honestly, he didn't give two shits about where they were or why. Both were prone to sulking, and often disappeared for hours on end. However, they still loved mocking them.
"They're probably out, uh, making out. Who knows what they do while we're working." This made Pickles chuckle and smirk, and Skwisgaar to scowl.
"Thanks yous. Now I have unwelcome images. Thanks much, Nathans." He plucked at his guitar faster, but a smirk began to spread across his lips. "Toki always hangks outs with Moiderface. Not suprisingks." The trio chuckled at the other twos expense, even going as far as mimicking them mockingly.
"Oh Moiderfaces yous soooooooooo smalls."
"I'm fat! What do you essssssssccchhhhpect! I haven't sccccchhheeeen my winky in yearssssccch!"
Their laughter grew and grew, till they were all supporting each other to avoid drowning in the hot tub. Nathan continued to make fun of Murderfaces lisp, spraying spit everywhere as the other two turned red from their laughter. They only stopped when an empty discarded bottle of tequila was thrown at them, hitting poor Pickles square in the back of the head.
"Ow! Hey! Who the fuck threw dat, HUH?" He Clenched the back of his head and whipped around to glare up at Toki, who was glaring back with equal, if not more gusto. His fists we clenched and knuckles were white as his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. Not only were they talking about both of them behind their backs, but mocking them! He felt betrayed, unloved, hated. Betrayed! How could they? Sure, he expected it from Skwisgaar, but Nathan and Pickles?
"Yous guys is jerks! Dildos! Fucks you all! I hates you! I'm going to runs away and then we'll see whos laughings then!" The boy stormed out of the common room, kicking their discarded bottles at them as he ran off and back to his room. He went out originally to apologize to Murderface, but instead found the other three making fun of the two. He would have spoken up sooner, way before they seriously got into it, but he couldn't. He wanted to hear what they had to say. He wanted one of them to go, "Hey, that's a bit too mean. They aren't so bad." But no. It never came, and it was foolish for him to think it would ever come. Murderface was right, only that it wasn't just him, but both of them. Toki knew this for sure. He heard it with his own ears.