Author's Note: Some of you might remember me for my Devil May Cry fanfic, but university got busy over the year, and at one time I lost all my old files, so I almost had to start Do My Calculations all from scratch again. But while I try to continue that from where I left it last, here's a Dethklok fic.
Dethklok is not mine; this fanfiction is a form of textual poaching.
The nerdism does not end here.
I don't own Sunway either. In the Deth-universe, I'd just like to think of it as a multi-billion-dollar corporation that can afford building a futuristic sky garden.
Dethwoodwind – Chapter One: Louis Althusser
The two managers and their respective musicians sat on opposite sides of the table, on their semi-circular couches. Here is the highest floor of Sunway Sky Garden; being the café floor, the food tasted quite different as well.
The balding Maurice Glendale took a good look at the window-wall to his left. Such a magnificent view of the city and towns below made him feel powerful. He returned his gaze to Dethklok's manager. Serious Charles F. Offdensen, always wanting to get to the point and not stop to smell the roses.
"Have you had any thoughts on our agenda?" Maurice asked.
"Wait. What?" Skwisgaar replied with a question, startled.
"Didn't I tell you guys what this meeting is for?" Charles questioned the guitarist.
"I don't thinks so. I remembers trying to make a tub-sized beer-flavored jelly, though," Toki answered, breaking the chain of questions.
"Yeah, that was a good one," Pickles agreed with a chuckle.
"Anyway – I'd like to introduce you five to a prospective collaborating artist."
'This isn't gonna end well,' Murderface thought.
"What's his name?" Nathan soon asked.
"Louis Althusser," he spoke in an accent.
He can see how they stare at him with skepticism. Beneath his personal metal look – the shoulder-length black hair with red highlights, the black T-shirt with silver prints of guns and knives, the three-quarter camo pants – the dark pupils in his narrow eyes and the tan of his skin resembled no part of his name.
"Are you even French?"
Maurice laughed politely to ease the tension. "Of course he's not! His name is Halvard Leong, and he is from around here."
Skwisgaar scoffed. "How'd you thinks that this local wonderboy can co-agulates with us?"
"Halvard is farther from the local scene than you can imagine, Mr. Skwigelf. Just last week he has finished his tours in Africa, East Europe, Russia and South America. But there's no place like home, is there, Hal?" Maurice spoke like a conscientious parent.
"I stuck around for the cheap food," the Asian man spoke in a low voice.
"Those places are uncommon markets for heavy metal, the genre which I understand you play," Offdensen said to him.
"Bullshit," Murderface spoke out. "There's no shuch thing as a one-man metal band."
"Got that right." Halvard set on the café table a black case no larger than his arm. "The local bands play the backing for me while I play this," he said, opening it.
'Crap. Look at all those buttons,' Pickles thought.
It was a standard student-flute, but to Toki it seemed like a shiny guiding scepter.
"It's pretty." He looked at Halvard. "Can I touch it?"
"You play the flute?" Nathan tried to piece it together, but Murderface is faster, and interprets it in his own way.
"A flute? Holy motherf–ing shit!" He seemed torn between outrage and ridicule. "Can you get any gayer than that? The flute's a girl's instrument! A girl!"
Some heads were turned their way, but most of the Sky Garden patrons returned to the mundane things they were doing.
Unfazed, Halvard began assembling the three parts of his instrument.
"Sirs, you are about to witness," Maurice told the rest, "why they said the flute is a heavy metal instrument."
I hope I did well for an introductory chapter. I needed the writing practice.
Althusser is one of the theorists whose concepts I had to explore in relation to text, history and the relation of individuals to government. In my current Communications assignment.