Note: There's a serious lack of OC fics in this fandom, so here's my contribution. Summary will change as story progresses.
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Charles Foster Offdensen was a man who was devoted to his work. His main job was to keep the members of Dethklok safe and healthy, which is why he had called this meeting today.
Yes, his job was to keep them safe and healthy, whether they liked it or not.
And he was sure they were not going to like this.
Taking a deep breath, he cast a glance to each member, all in various states of distraction, with little regard for whatever it was he had to say, as per usual. He cleared his throat and prepared himself for the push back he was going to get. But it was for the best, for their safety and prolonged health, so he would grit his teeth and argue his point until they agreed.
"Alright, gentleman, given the, ah, recent events," his eyes flashed over to Nathan, who had only recently recovered from his liver transplant, "I think it would be prudent to, ah, be more aware and prepared as far as each of your health is concerned."
"So you, uh.. want us to to like, get more checkups and stuff?"
"Well, yes, Nathan, but ah, I was thinking something a bit more drastic than that is necessary."
He took another deep breath, bracing himself for their complaints.
"It would be in all of your best interests if we were to have a, ah, doctor with you. At all times."
Five pair of eyes shot to him in disbelief, mouths dropping and brows furrowing in confusion and growing anger.
"A doctor! For fucksh shakesch"
"Followin us all deh time? Like a damn babysitter or somthin?"
"We donts needs that!"
"Ja, we donts needs no babysitters like some small tiny babies what's cant takes care of himselves!"
Charles closed his eyes, taking another breath.
"Look, I know you guys don't think its necessary, but what if something were to happen to one of you, like what happened to Nathan, and you were somewhere where you couldn't see a doctor immediately? What if one of you were to suffer serious bodily damage and end up unable to play? It's best for us to play on the safe side of things."
They were all giving him skeptical looks, and seemed ready to burst into more protests.
"I'll let you pick who it is, and you won't even know they're there. You'll be free to continue doing whatever you want, I'll make sure they just stay on the sidelines and monitor, only interfering if its absolute necessary. Can you all at least agree to try it for a while?"
He was met with various grunts and groans, until Nathan spoke up.
"Fine, but it can't be some regular jack off like our other doctors. Someone really badass. Like uh, what are those people called? The ones who cut open dead people? And like pull out all their organs and stuff?"
Charles sighed.
"You mean a mortician? You want someone who works on corpses to be your primary care doctor?"
"Yeh, that'd be preetty sweet" Pickles chimed in. "Someone that's not gonna be a douche bag aboot, ya know, drinking and drugs and stuff too. They gotta be cool."
"Ya, can we gets a pretties ladys doctor whats cans take cares of us?" Toki stared off dreamily at the thought.
"Yeah! If we have to have schomeone around all the time, it can at leascht be a hot babe!" Murderface exclaimed, and the rest of the group piped in their approval. "And schesch gotta have a good schensche of humor too!"
"Ja, someone whats cans makes us laughs and whos cans pals around withs us," Skwisgaar agreed, fingers never ceasing gliding over his guitar.
"Alright, let me get this straight," Charles couldn't let the conversation diverge any further into the land of ridiculous requests, "you want me to find a, ah, attractive, funny, cool, female mortician? One who is qualified and capable of taking care of all five of you and your medical needs at all times? You do realize how unlikely it is that a person like that exists?"
"Well, you heard us. That's, uh.. that's what we want. If you can't find us someone who meets our, uh, requirements, you can forget about this whole stupid thing."
Nathan's words were said with a sense of finality, and Charles knew there was no way around it. If this is what it took, he would do his damndest to make it happen, to make Dethklok happy.
"Very well. I'll look into it."
He'd find a way. He always did.
.
"Well I'll be damned."
Charles took a sip of his bourbon, eyes scanning the monitor in front of him, nearly in disbelief at his discovery. There actually did exist a person who met Dethklok's ridiculous qualifications for a personal doctor, at least on paper. She looked promising, very promising, and he read over her file once more.
Born as a twin to a Mexican mother and Korean father, the first few years of her life seemed to be normal, until tragedy had struck in the form of a terrible house fire, leaving only her and her sister as survivors. They spent the next two years bouncing around to different foster homes, and had eventually been adopted by the illustrious billionaire Alastair Axworthy, the very Alastair Axworthy who's breakthroughs in the field of robotic prosthetics and androids had made possible Dick Knubbler's eye replacements and Dr. Twinkletits' new arms.
Charles had never met the man, but had heard he was eccentric to a fault, and it was rumored he adopted only the most intelligent children he could find, almost as more of a collection than out of a sense of philanthropy. From the looks of the rest of her file, she was no exception. Winner of the World Junior Chess Championship at only 11 years old, perfect scores across the board on all standardized tests, valedictorian of her graduating class of which she was the youngest at only 16, fluent in Spanish, Korean, Japanese, French, and German, holder of a Mensa card.
She had attended Columbia University's Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons, and speed tracked her courses there, graduating with full honors in half the time of a typical student. After that, there was little information on her until she began working in the morgue at a rather unremarkable hospital in New York City. It was intriguing, that drop in ambition, and Charles hoped to capitalize on that, knowing anyone would jump at the chance to work for Dethklok, but especially if there was as sizable a pay difference as there would be for her.
Scrolling further down, he glanced over her criminal record; underage drinking, a couple DUIs, a marijuana charge. Normally these would turn him off to a potential employee, but in this case, it was a bonus. Hopefully this meant she could better handle the parties and excessive drug use and drinking episodes the band would no doubt drag her along on.
And lastly, her picture. She was young still, at least by doctor standards, at only 27 years old, and fairly pretty. Tan skin, round face, dark eyes, pouty lips, multiple piercings in her visible ear, and hair styled into a long, curly, pastel pink mohawk.
"Olive Axworthy…" Charles took another sip of his bourbon, "I can't wait to meet you."