Fandom: Metalocalypse

Pairing: Skiwsgaar/Toki

Rating: M

Charles Foster Ofdensen was annoyed at the boys. Not angry, no. His anger was reserved for special occasions and even more special people. The man in the metal mask flashed in his mind momentarily.

No, Dethklok members did not get that reaction from him. However, they did have a knack for getting on his nerves. Right now they were in Denmark for a concert and to apologize to the royal family for the injuries the crown prince and the queen had received during Murderface's birthday party.

As per usual Dethklok way, the band had somehow managed to perforate the crown prince's lung and destroy half the Amalienborg Palace. Fortunately their concert tickets had sold out and they had made more than enough money in merch to pay off the repairs. The Dethpencils, which was actually a regular black pencil with a skull eraser, was selling well enough for them to buy another jet or make more additions to Mordhouse.

Still Charles felt that the band needed to be...punished for their obnoxious behaviour. Not directly, because he'd never hear the end of it and they might try to hire a new manager again. But he knew he could do something in particular to put knock down the boys a peg.

"I cannot believe we have to get a hotel room like the regular jack-offs." Nathan complained.

"I'm sorry boys, but this is the only arrangement we could make-last minute after the jet broke. I have people working on it around the clock, so you should back on it and back on tour by tomorrow morning."

They walked into the lobby, the band members with absolutely nothing but their own clothes (save for Skwisgaar and his guitar) and Charles with three suitcases. He did not expect any of them to pack anything useful, so he had taken the liberty of getting a change of clothes and an emergency supply of liquor and condoms in each bag. He was almost surprised that they had agreed to put on coats, normally they needed to be nagged to show some common sense.

As he went up to the clerk to check in, Nathan turned around and did a mental headcount of his group.
He noticed there were only four of them.

"Hey." His deep growled in mild confusion. "Hey...hey guys where is Toki?"

Indeed the Norwegian guitar player was missing. Pickles and Murderface glanced around, but Skiwsgaar merely pointed his thumb behind him. "He rans aways as soon as we walks into heres. Like a moose lookings at car lights he looks."

"You mean deer in headlights?" Pickles caught on.

"Ja, like a rabbits that sees a fox."

Even though the entire band had met Anja, Toki's scary, silent mother, none of them made the connection between the fear she inspired in him and the Catholic nun that was lounging in the lobby.

"Well, uh...go look for him then." Nathan ordered the tall Swede.

"What? Whys me? Asks Murderface, waste his times."

"Isn't this your country? It should be easy for you to find him. C'mon how many people can there be in Sweden?"

"I don't wants to look for the stupids scardy-cats dildo! He cans fend offs for himself!"
"Just do it!" Nathan's growl had lost its questioning edge and become the full roar of authority that drove the female fans wild.

They glared at each other for a second before Skwisgaar took off his guitar, handed it to Pickles and went outside, where the snow was beginning to fall heavily.

At that moment Charles returned. "Where is Skwisgaar going?"

"To look for Toki, the little gay dildo ran away again."

Charles blinked. "He has his dethphone, why not just call him?"

"Uh...I guess none of us thought of that."

The fastest guitar player in the world stomped around unfamiliar streets of his native country.

"Dumma lilla dildo som rinner av, jag ska smälla honom!" He muttered to himself.

Coming back to Sweden had always been an unsavoury idea for him, since there was always the chance any of these random jack-offs in the street had banged his mom. At least they did not land in his hometown, where it was not a chance, but a certainty.

He kicked the snow in front of him, wondering what was wrong with Toki. The guy went from hugging everyone in the band and giving them teddy bears one day to pouring pig intestines on himself and setting fire to Mordhouse to sobbing and eating ice cream by himself in the corner. Definitely not normal behaviour. Why couldn't he party, get drunk, do drugs and bang groupies like the rest of the band? Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had that illness they saw on TV. What was it called? Bicycle polar disorder? Bicycle polar bear? He would ask Charles to give Toki some medicine so he would get over his polar bear disorder so he wouldn't have to babysit him anymore. He wasn't a guvernant.

"Har du sett en vuxen man som agerar som ett barn i behov av ett smiska?" He asked angrily at a random pedestrian, who may or may not have rubbed genitals with his mother in the past.

Eventually he found himself in a park, finding the rhythm guitar player huddled and shivering and the foot of a tree.

He betters not bes crying. "Toki, let's go, my assholes is freezing. Let's go backs to the hotels."

Toki looked up and to Skiwsgaar's surprise he was not crying. His lips looked rather blue though, and he was shivering fiercely.

"Whats wrongs with you?"

"I sits down on the park benchs to look at the hedgehogs burrow in the snow, but it was wets and now my pants are frozen."

They stared at each other for a moment before Skiwsgaar lost his composure. He began to laugh loudly, and it took a lot of restraint not to point as well.

"It's not funnys! My balls freeze!" Toki tried to protest, but the taller man's laughter was contagious and he cracked a smile too.

The band's lead guitarist laughed until his sides hurt, wiping tears from his eyes. This stupid little trek was almost worth it just for that.

His dethphone started a guitar riff. "Charles has texted messages the name of the hotels in case we forgets and our rooms numbers."

His face fell "Whys is there only threes rooms? There's fives of us!"

"Six." Toki corrected.

"Stills! This means we haves to shares! Sharings is gay!"

Skiwsgaar knocked loudly on the door of room 338, where Charles was sleeping. Oh he was going to let him have it. Rockstars did not share rooms! Toki shuffled uncomfortably behind him. The ice in his pants had melted and now it looked like he had pissed himself. It wasn't fair to have the look of having been drunk off his ass without actually having been drunk off his ass.

The door opened and instead of a straight, serious, suited up and bespectacled Charles; the man that answered was wearing a robe and rosy cheeks and was smirking. If Skiwsgaar had been less self-centered, he would have noticed that his band manager was drunk.

"What is this all abouts? I will not shares a room with Tokis! I demand my owns rooms! How am I supposed to-"

Without warning, Charles shoved one of the suitcases at him. "We leave early tomorrow. So I suggest you two go to bed right away. There is a change of clothes in that bag for both of you. You guys can call a couple of girls if you like, but just remember that you cannot do it on Dethklok's dollar. We are still paying for the damage done to the palace. Any food or girls you call to your room is out of your own pocket."

"Thats ridiculous! I never pays girls to-"

"Good night." And he shut the door.

Skiwsgaar stared dumbly at the door without moving. He had never been cut off like that, especially not from Charles.

Eventually Toki spoke. "Can we go into our rooms now? My pants ams wet and I ams hungry."