It wasn't common knowledge, but Nathan Explosion was an equestrian.
Of course, nobody would actually use the word 'equestrian'. It was far too non-metal a word. A few generous souls tried 'horseman', but the average brain seized up when trying to picture the hulking, huge man described by the word 'horseman'. What seemed to fit the best were the words of the remainder of the band.
In various accents and speech impediments, it went 'Nat'an likes horses'.
Charles had heard it mentioned before, but he hadn't paid much attention to it.
Likewise, he knew there were stables at Mordhaus, but he considered it another hobby that had captivated someone's attention for .06 seconds and then been forgotten. Of all the things Dethklok did, buying some horses and then forgetting about them was the very least of his worries.
Ofdensen had suspected there was something more to Nathan's interest when an investor at an industry party pitched the sale of a racehorse and the frontman treated the seller to a twenty minute lecture on various horse abuses replete within the racing industry, liberally laced with profanity.
"Years of f/guitar riff/ing 'selective breeding' made Thoroughbreds a s/guitar riff/load faster – but it makes 'em so f/guitar riff/ing delicate they barely survive their f/guitar riff/ing career. Did you know more than eight hundred horses die on f/guitar riff/ing tracks every year? Why isn't that s/guitar riff/t illegal? If I broke a horse's legs here, they'd f/guitar riff/ing lock me up, but on a f/guitar riff/ing racetrack it's just fine? Bull/guitar riff/t!"
It was one of those little glimpses of competence Charles got to see occasionally, like the time Toki purged a virus from his laptop, or Murderface saved him untold time and fees by notarizing a stack of legal documents. They were always pleasantly surprising.
Nathan's true prowess on horseback wasn't revealed until they shot the video for 'Thunderhorse'.
The song itself was a tad unusual for a Dethklok song, but Charles hadn't thought much of it; the boys had written metal songs about mermaids before. Dethklok could probably make kittens metal.
Then the video director had suggested Toki for the 'lead role' in the video. The director was a rather strange, sad woman who was continually trying to get the young Norwegian in various states of undress. The band had vetoed the idea instantly.
"Nat'ans should do it; he likes horses," Toki offered.
"Dood, you could probably, like, use one of your own or somethin'. Y'know, whatever," Pickles slurred.
"I could. Brutus can, like, kick on cue. We could make it look like he kicked somebody's head off. Oh, good song title 'Head-Kick-apitation!' . . . . . . .well, might need to work on that one."
"Brutus is de ones wid de furry feets?" Skwisgaar asked.
"No, Brutus is the black one. Like, which one with the furry feet? I've got three with feathers," Nathan asked.
"Eh . . . . de brown . . . and whites one?"
"That's Belladonna; I can't use her. She's pregnant."
"Yay! Babies!" Toki cried, clapping his hands.
"Oh, she can't work jusht because she's knocked up?" Murderface sneered.
"No, she could still work, she's just a b/guitar riff/h right now."
The director turned the conversation back to the video in question, but now Charles' curiosity was piqued. Upon returning to his office, he pulled the records for the grounds. Mordhaus was a palatial estate and people paid good money to come see certain parts of it that Dethklok rarely or never visited. Certain species of animals were kept and the sale of their offspring or products brought in a fair amount of money.
Charles knew the yard wolves were the favorites of the bunch and zoos routinely got in bidding wars over the large, hearty wolf pups. Various rare species of flowers were often sold off to collectors for tidy sums. Charles knew there was more to the operation than that, but as long as the numbers added up, he didn't pay more attention to the details.
To Ofdensen's shock, Nathan Explosion was the proud owner of no less than fifteen of the finest horses ever to put hoof to ground. Their breeds varied, but they were all accomplished show animals, boasted expensive pedigrees, and the stud fees from the ten stallions practically paid for the entire operation. At the moment, four stallions and two mares were on the show circuit and winning $50,000 pots often enough not to bother mentioning.
There were other little surprises; Toki apparently owned a small herd of reindeer that supplied Mordhaus with most of its venison and some of its fur needs, Murderface raised Russian boar, and a small allotment was set aside for 'Pickles' chickens'.
Charles finished up his work and made his way to the stables.
The sun was setting as the lawyer made his way to the heavily fenced section in the very rear of Mordhaus. The Gears guarding the entrance let him through without question.
A gigantic barn built from oil-blackened beams loomed over the surrounding grounds, which were fenced with split-rail fences, also blackened with oil. In the nearest grassy lot, an incredibly fat brown and white horse grazed. When Charles walked by, she lifted her head to look at him.
'That can't be natural," he thought.
The brown and white markings on the horse's face picked out two dark circles around her eyes, and two slits jutted into the white over her nostrils. A few thin, narrow spots were pocked along her lips.
It wasn't perfect, but it looked like a skull.
"So that's why they called you Belladonna," he observed.
Belladonna snorted, groaned, and farted in Charles' general direction.
"Lovely," the CFO sighed.
Charles continued into the barn. He was a city boy and not at all familiar with barns. It was far bigger than he thought it would be and he certainly wasn't prepared for the smell, but everything *looked* clean enough, so maybe that was the way barns smelled.
He started down the aisle, peering into empty stalls. All of them were huge and bore engraved name-plates. Instead of the long, flowery names that Charles had read on the registration papers, short names that you could actually use marked the stalls. Charles had no way of know which was which, but you certainly couldn't call an animal 'Lord Greystroke's Ascent to Civilization' and expect him to answer. You could, however, call him 'Tarzan'.
Charles was just starting to wonder where all of the horses were when he became aware of rushing movement behind him.
The deadly lawyer whirled, ready to defend himself.
He found himself face to face with a flock of chickens.
At least, he was pretty sure they were chickens. He had never seen long-haired chickens before. Their color ranged from all white to black and white to all black with a white head, but to a bird, they all sported wild crests that poofed up in front and hung down on the back and sides and gave the poultry an overall 'headbanger' feel.
Metal chickens.
Only the boys.
One chicken approached him and inquired: 'kuk-kaaaaawww?' in a tone of such curiosity Charles felt a twinge of regret that he didn't know what the rooster was asking for.
"I'm sorry; I don't speak chicken," Ofdensen stated. "Um . . . . good day."
He started back down the aisle, only to hear the shuffle of scaly feet on concrete. Charles looked over his shoulder to see the chickens following him.
He stopped.
The chickens stopped.
He started walking again.
The chickens started walking again.
Just when he was considering ducking into a nearby stall to shake them, he spotted a Klokateer coming out of an enclosed stall with two large buckets. Charles skittered towards the man, intent on rescue.
"Gear! The . . . the chickens are following me," he muttered, feeling like an idiot.
The Gear peered around him at the flock, nodded, set his buckets down and stepped back into the stall. Up close, Charles could see the stall was filled with metal garbage cans, large plywood boxes, buckets filled with brushes, ropes aplenty and various other devices he couldn't even begin to put a name to.
The Gear popped the lid off of a garbage can and reached into it. He came up with a double handful of black sunflower seeds.
"They're horrible beggars, sir," The Gear informed him, throwing the seeds down the aisle.
The chickens were instantly pecking and scratching at the treats, Charles forgotten.
"Chickens can beg for treats?"
"Aye, sir, the Lords spoil them."
An image of Murderface scattering seeds like a flower girl traipsed across Charles' mind before he could really stop it.
"Wh-where are all the horses?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Out in the fields this time a' day, sir."
"Oh. Well, thank you. Carry on," Ofdensen said.
The Gear nodded, picked up his buckets and started down the aisle.
Charles followed him, looking around. Now that he got used to it, the smell wasn't all bad smell, there were grassy smells and dusty smells and a few that he couldn't quite place but they weren't entirely bad, just . . . . very organic. He paused for a few moments when he spotted a large room filled with wagons, carriages, buggies and sleighs, all black and all decorated to look very metal.
More noise drew Charles' attention forward. The CFO crosses a large cross path and suddenly the scale of the place took a turn for the smaller. The stalls got smaller and shorter; the halters hanging on the stalls looked practically miniature and -
Something banged loudly ahead. Charles hurried forward to see the Gear he had been following pouring the contents of his buckets into a long, low trough. Grunting and blowing, a herd of reindeer pushed through the narrow doorway and started chowing down. A few of them wanged their antlers on the metal doors, causing loud bangs. This didn't seem to slow them down for an instant.
Interesting. These must be Toki's reindeer.
Charles continued on out the back of the barn, following the path that ran alongside the reindeer enclosure. He spotted another barn a few hundred yards away, this one low and long. The lawyer only got another fifty feet closer when the smell hit him.
With a stench like that, it could only be Murderface's pigs.
Gagging, Charles circled around the outside of the barn in an effort to escape.
Charles picked his way around the front of the barn, eschewing the rank stink of pig for the more acceptable stink of deer and horse. A noise like muted thunder reached his ears and he looked up to see horses galloping across the fields.
Charles didn't know anything about horses. He could just about hazard a guess on which way you were supposed to face while riding them, but anything beyond that was out of his purview. When even he could tell the animals Nathan owned were beautiful horses, they must have been drop-dread gorgeous.
They were all large; Nathan explosion was a big man and heavy set. The heavy metal beast had a soft spot for animals and probably wouldn't force a small one to attempt to carry him. He'd err on the side of generosity and find the biggest horses out there to tote around his bulk. Of course, he'd never say 'err on the side of generosity', but that's what he would be doing.
Black was the main color for most of the animals, some with white on their faces or feet. Belladonna had been allowed in because of her skull marking, even in a more common color of brown. Two separate herds in two separate fields galloped by, pulling up short just shy of the gate and rearing and bucking. They were having fun and playing. They stopped and stared over the fences at a distant figure. Some of them went back to running around. A few cast a distracted glance at Charles.
Ofdensen squinted in the afternoon light, trying to see what they were looking at. Something big was moving across a distant field. The manager climbed up onto the board fence and stared hard.
He had heard or read somewhere once that 'it was hard to tell where the horse left off and the man started'. At the time he thought it was ridiculous bullshit. The man started where the horse stopped and in all of his limited experience in seeing people riding horses, he had never had trouble distinguishing the dividing line.
Watching Nathan ride bareback across the field made him realize how that saying came about.
As powerful legs reached out in a stride, Nathan's own legs gripped the broad ribs and moved fluidly, with absolutely no break in motion. It was if they were truly moving as one. Nathan's hips moved - no, flowed - forward and back in perfect time with his mount's back, almost . . . almost thrusting.
Charles felt a little color touch his cheeks.
He had a major crush on Nathan Explosion.
Like every other crush he'd had in his life, it was destined to go unrequited, but Charles still had it. A tiny hint of it had come out when he'd gone drinking with the boys and ended up playing with Nathan's hair, but evidently the band had written it off as drunken affection. Good thing, too. Nathan liked women, that much was obvious. No one liked the robot. It would complicate things. Charles had enough complications in his life.
Something hot and soft nudged Charles' thigh. The CFO looked down to see a black horse sniffing at his pants pocket. For a moment, he was tempted to jerk back, but he remembered the chickens begging for treats. This huge equine was probably doing the same thing.
"I don't have anything for you," he informed the beast. "And I doubt you'd be satisfied with sunflower seeds."
The horse ignored his words and lipped at something in Charles' pocket.
"I don't have any apples or carrots. Just . . . what are these?" The lawyer dug the lumps out of his pocket and inspected them. "Oh; peppermints Toki gave me. But horses don't eat . . . "
He trailed off as the horse lapped up the candies, plastic wrapping and all, and crunched them happily.
"Ah. I stand corrected."
More horses were heading his way, having seen one of their number get treats. Charles climbed down off of the fence and walked away before the others could show up and be disappointed at him.
He followed the path as it twisted back and forth between pens and barn. Horse grazed, played and watched Charles pass with equine curiosity. Toki's deer must have had the run of the place on the other side of the barns, because Charles didn't see any of them here. Presently, the manager found himself back by Belladonna's pen and prepared to head back to Mordhaus.
A groan made him look over.
Belladonna was lying flat out on her side. That wasn't good, was it? Horses weren't supposed to lie down like that, were they? Was she sick? Was she -
Belladonna tensed, her legs stiffening. She held the position for about a minute, and then relaxed with another groan.
Wait - how pregnant was she?
Charles moved around until he could see the horse's rear end and got his answer. The answer was: extremely. In fact, so extremely that she was about to stop being pregnant.
Two little hooves, covered in blood, mucus, and other fluids, peeped out into the world. Belladonna strained and the hooves slipped forward a few inches. When she relaxed, they slid back inside.
Charles looked alarmed. They weren't supposed to go back in after they were out, were they? Was Belladonna having trouble? Could she die?
The thought of Nathan's horse dying struck a nerve in the manager and he was on his feet in an instant running back into the barn, searching for the Gears. The pair that had been feeding Toki's reindeer earlier was nowhere to be found. Charles circled through the barns twice searching for them.
It never occurred to him to check the farrowing barns amongst Murderface's pigs.
Charles ran back to Belladonna's pen. It didn't look as though the legs had made any progress. The manager groaned to himself and climbed through the fence. Belladonna only looked up once as he approached, then lay back down with a groan. Charles fretted harder. If a wild animal like a horse wasn't even alarmed when he was approaching her while she was in labor, it must be very bad indeed!
In truth, Belladonna, like all of Nathan Explosion's horses, equated humans with food, scratches, and comfort. The occasional swat with a riding crop or open hand did little more than hurt their feelings. Belladonna was very uncomfortable right now, but here came a human, so he was probably going to help. Well bred, pedigreed horses like her were watched like hawks during labor; every one of her babies had been born with human supervision. Charles' company did little more than assure her things were progressing normally.
Bella tensed again and this time a little nose appeared on top of the legs, poised in a diver's position.
Charles ran his hands shakily through his hair as the nose slipped back out of view. This was very, very bad! Once the head was out that was supposed to be it, wasn't it? The lawyer grimaced as he stripped off his suit jacket and tie. Tossing the expensive silk garments onto the grass, he rolled up his sleeves, crouched down and took hold of the little forelegs. When Bella pushed again, Charles pulled. The nose reappeared and this time the whole head came into view. When the mare ceased pushing, the baby was drawn back in slightly. The manager tried to keep a grip on the half-born foal to keep this from happening, but he sack tore from around the baby's legs and head, sending Charles sprawling in the dirt.
The foal hung limply from his mother's passage. After a moment, the half-born creature flopped as he tried to get up. It ended up crashing back to the dirt, tiny nostrils flaring as it struggled to draw a breath.
It couldn't breathe? It couldn't breathe! The baby's ribcage was still trapped in Belladonna's birth canal. If it didn't pass through soon, it would suffocate!
Charles struggled back to the baby's side and wrapped his hands around the front legs just above the knees.
"Come on now; you have to live, little one! As much death as the boys are surrounded with, they need a little life, too! Come on!"
Bella pushed once more, Charles pulled and for a long, tense moment, nothing happened.
Then the foal's shoulders slipped from the birth canal. Unlike human babies with their large heads, horses need to get their shoulders free and the rest of the body usually slips free quite easily.
One hundred pounds of infant equine slid into Charles' lap, soaking him with blood and fluid.
The newborn thing – he hesitated to call it little! – panted and blew as it tested it out its lungs. Belladonna lay panting herself. As she had just pushed something the size of a Great Dane through an opening the size of a football, Charles could hardly blame her. The foal lifted its head and looked around at the bright new world.
"Wow . . . look at you," Ofdensen observed. The baby was black with large white spots across his body. His? Hers? Charles didn't know and he didn't feel like checking. It was a boy until proven otherwise.
The baby flopped again, flailing out with legs that seemed far too long for its small body. The effect was not unlike Bambi trying to ice skate. The action did serve to tear the sack that still covered the baby's hind legs.
Charles did his best to push the remnants off of the foal, thoroughly filthy and soiled as he was.
The foal made a squeaking, snorting noise. Belladonna rolled onto her stomach and looked over her shoulder at her offspring. She let out a soft, soothing whicker that was an unmistakable 'Mommy loves you!' noise. The baby definitely responded, squeak/snorting again and attempting to get his feet underneath him.
"What are you doing?"
Charles started. Standing on the other side of the fence, looking at him incredulously, was Nathan. Charles suddenly had a very good idea of what he looked like; smeared with dirt, blood, and fluids he didn't even know the names for. Oh yes, with a newborn foal in his lap.
"Um . . . I . . . uh. . . she was – having trouble. So I had to help," Charles offered.
"Huh. Really." Nathan climbed over the fence in what seemed like two steps. "That's kinda weird."
"OOAAAHHH! BELLA HADS HER BABIES!" Toki squealed, hurtling around the corner. The Norwegian didn't even have to climb; he simply vaulted over the wooden barrier.
The foal decided with all these newcomers, he really needed to be upright. The baby fought to his feet in a move that was one part instinct and two parts wild flailing. He straddled Charles' lap, long, spindly legs braced outwards. The expression on the infant's face clearly said: Holy crap, what do I do now?
"Uh . . .you might wanna – " Nathan began.
The baby lost his balance and crash landed on Charles' head. The soft, fuzzy baby with the too long legs disappeared as a creature that seemed to be put together from bloody slime and baseball bats flailed on the lawyer's face.
Toki hurried forward and picked the baby up bodily before it could break something; most likely Charles. He carried the little one out of harms' way and deposited him in front of his mother. Bella mommy-whickered again and started to lick her little one.
Nathan hauled Charles to his feet.
"It's . . . it's weird that she was having trouble, 'cause Bella's had five babies and she's never had a problem before," the lead singer observed.
Charles gave him a look of disbelief.
"The baby was sliding back in after she would push it out! That's not supposed to happen, is it?"
Nathan Explosion was curiously silent.
"She was perfectly fine, wasn't she?"
"Yeah, probably." Nathan admitted with a grin.
Charles took in the new baby, who was toddling along on his first shaky steps. Bella heaved herself to her feet to follow him, whickering and licking at the wet baby. Then he looked down at his blood and fluid sodden self, his expensive silk suit good for nothing but the trash heap.
"Well . . . . for the record, I tried."
To his surprise, Nathan laughed out loud and slapped a hand on his back.
"Ya did good, Robot!"
"Nat'ans, is a little girl!" Toki declared. The guitarist paced patiently along beside the baby, letting her crash into him instead of the fence.
"Ya did real good," Nathan repeated.
Charles soaked in the atmosphere of Nathan being pleased with him. He felt warmth stir in the deep recesses of his heart, but he tried not to let it show.
It would complicate things.
"Come on; we should get you cleaned up," Nathan declared.
Charles started at this, looking down at his disgusting clothes.
"But –"
"Toki's good at imprinting babies. He's out here all the time when his reindeer are calving. He'll be fine."
Nathan shoved Charles towards the barn before he could protest further and dragged the manager into a large stall lined entirely in tile and floored only in rough concrete. Charles took it in curiously. This was a strange stall. It looked like a big, horse – sized . . . . shower.
The sound of a faucet being turned on made him start. He turned to see Nathan aiming a hose towards him with a smirk. Charles ducked, expecting the horrid shock of cold water. To his surprise, the water washing over him was pleasantly warm.
"Horses don't like to shower in cold water either," Nathan explained.
"Oh. Well. I guess that is understandable," Charles allowed.
Nathan walked closer to him, holding the hose up so that it was a similar height to a regular shower. Charles tried to scrub the worst of the mess from his face and hair.
"You could . . . . um . . . . you could probably get cleaner if . . . y'know. . . you took off your clothes."
Charles blinked owlishly at the lead singer from behind his water-speckled glasses.
"I could go get some of my riding clothes from the tack room. They'd be big, but . . . y'know, clean and dry and stuff," Nathan offered.
"You want me to strip naked and shower in front of you?"
Green eyes raked over him thoughtfully.
"I don't mind," Nathan murmured.
Okay, this would definitely complicate things! As clear as day, Charles Ofdensen heard a familiar voice lisp "Shometimes you gotta do something 'caushe your heart tellsh you it'sh the right thing to do."
Quick as a wink, Charles reached up and jerked Nathan's arm, causing the hose to spray the lead singer in the legs. Nathan looked down at his wet jeans in shock.
"Your pants are all wet, too," Charles observed.
A slow smile spread across both men's faces.
Toki was leaning on the fence, watching the new filly nurse when Nathan and Charles rejoined him, both dressed in Nathan's riding clothes.
"She looks like she's doing well," Charles observed.
"Yeah, she's sucking like a bilge pump," Nathan declared.
Toki gave them both a sidelong look.
"Oh! Uh . . . I uh . . . got stuff on me when I was helping Charlie get cleaned up," Nathan said by way of explanation. "So I changed too. And took a shower."
"Okays . . ." Toki sighed.
'Uh oh . . .' Charles thought.
"So, . . . . . . . . . uh . . . . . did you get her imprinted?" Nathan continued, obvlious to the sudden knowing tone.
"Ja. Rubbeds hers all over, gots her used to peoples, dipped her cord in iodines. . . Iodines whats was in de tack room."
Now Nathan caught on.
"Toki, don't be a dick!" he snarled.
"Charlies," the guitarist said innocently. "I t'inks my reindeer coulds use their owns barn, don't you? What's with de expanding herd and everyt'ings?"
"Dick move, Toki!"
"Nathan, it's fine. I'm sure Toki's reindeer deserve their own barn. I'll see to it in the morning."
Toki beamed as though it were Christmas and skipped off towards Mordhaus.
"You didn't have to do that!" Nathan growled. "Just threaten to not be pals with him anymore; he caves instantly."
"You boys are so mean to him! Nathan, if Toki has his own barn that means he won't be in this one nearly as much."
"Oh –Ooooooooooooh . . . . . you ever f/guitar riff/k on a Corinthian leather saddle?"