Title: Carry On
Author: Slashydutchie
Rating: G
Characters: Roddy, Death of Rats
Genre: Humor
Summary: Roddy catches a glimpse of the Death Of Rats.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money
A/N: Originally written for grimm_kink on Dreamwidth
Nick wasn't too big a fan of classical music. Oh, he appreciated it well enough, but Roddy had enough experience as a musician to know when someone was bored of something after five to ten minutes. This didn't mean they thought it was bad, merely that it wasn't really their thing... so tonight Roddy had spent a good hour working on a proper violin version of Carry On Wayward Son.
Not that there weren't any pre-written versions. He simply preferred to play it by ear. Somehow the music seemed to flow better when he did it like that.
Even though they'd been something approximating friends for a while now, Roddy still felt like he owed the Grimm and the only way he really had to repay someone was through his music.
On his third play-through, something strange happened.
SQUEAK.
Now, that was... odd. Roddy couldn't even remember the last time he'd hit a string wrong enough for it to make such a noise.
Except that it hadn't felt like a real noise at all. It felt more like the idea of sound.
He tried to shrug it off and lifted his bow to continue playing.
EEK-EEK!
Roddy's bow hadn't even touched the strings yet.
Frowning, Roddy looked down on his violin. The two tiny blue lights staring back at him were enough to make him jump, but not enough to make him drop his violin. Aunt Marie in her prime and on full PMS-rage would have had a difficult time making him do that.
Instead he gingerly put the instrument down on his bed and backed away slowly, his face morphing into a more rat-like visage as something that could only be described as a rat skeleton in a black robe managed to worm its way out of one of the F-holes. As if this wasn't weird enough, it then proceeded to stick its skeletal paw back into the hole and fish around until it returned with a tiny scythe.
SQUEAK, it announced before hopping off the bed and walking out of the room, little scythe slung over its shoulder. It seemed almost... cheerful.
Once he'd calmed himself down, more or less, he grabbed his phone.
"Hey, Monroe? Can I stay over at your place tonight?"