AN: Alright kiddos my first fic in a while...new account new day. Hope you likes pre-Dethklok glam Pickle. Feed back is great!
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Backstage of the "Library" smelled like old vomit and rubbing alcohol but the young front man of Snakes N' Barrels felt like he was entering a rock n' roll hall of fame, walking in the footsteps of his heroes.
Here the Razzle Sticks partied and made their claim to fame, Razor clan and Super destroyer fucking machine made their mark here. All rock artists in L.A vied for a spot in the "Library's" line up.
Pickles had dreamed of being here since he got to L.A and no amount of vomit, piss or possibility of contracting herpes from the couch was going to make it any less sick.
"Hey kid! You gonna fuckin' move or what?" A gruff grip was nudging Pickles pointedly in his ribs with one of their shitty amps.
"Oh yeh, my bayd." Pickles ignored the attitude. Besides, the fact that they even had someone helping unload their van was a surprise. No one had ever down that for Snakes N' Barrels before.
Tony followed Pickles in, he dropped onto the couch flicking a 40' Olde English cap into the air. "Here we are baby! Who would'a know it was gonna be this trashy!" His Black razor cut hair fell across pasty pockmarked skin making Tony look like a corpse.
"Whaddayou care? We all live like fuckin' animals anyway." Pickles dropped his sack of various gaudy stage makeup and threads onto a beat up mirrored amenity. He smirked thinking of all the cocaine and sluts that had most likely laid across its surface.
Tony grunted and took a chug of malt beer spilling it down his prickly chin without care. "Whatever," Another chug, "Where the fuck is everyone?"
"Probably raisin' hell somewhere, I told yoo lettin' them git ripped before 'da set was a bayd idea. Jackoffs cayn't handle it." Pickles slammed open a greasy fridge to find it blessedly full of beer. He grabbed three and thumped them onto the amenity with his stage make up.
"That's how Pickles tricks guys into bein' fags with em'" Even though they all wore make-up on stage and Pickles only might have accidently fooled a drunk dude into thinking he was a chick. Not on purpose. Obviously…
"Well hell we got an hour don't we?" Tony finished his 40' and heaved himself off the couch to look for another.
"Whatever I guess so…" Pickles rolled his eyes and gulped down some of the piss thin beer. At least it was cold though. Staring at the mirror Pickles ran his fingers through his red frizzy hair, nervous suddenly.
Fuck it, time for the transformation.
Heavy black eyeliner always made Pickles look fierce. It wasn't about looking like a chick or even how other people looked at him, the man just looked good in eyeliner and enjoyed looking good for himself. And besides, it hid the bags that hung perpetually from his eyes.
Pickles came to L.A to put as many miles between Tomahawk and himself as possible. Especially his father. He could still remember the son of a bitch drunkenly beating his ass while slurring 'What's that around yer eyes? Is that your mam's makeup? Yoo a fuckin' homo now, boy?' Wearing eyeliner was only part of a long list of things his father didn't approve of.
Pickles was thirteen when he had found his heroes in the world. These rock god's wore heavy eye makeup and leather jackets, tight shirts and had big hair. And, of course consumed drugs and alcohol.
Pickles was no stranger to either, even when he had his first beer at eight he felt like he was greeting an old friend. Maybe that's why his strongest relationship had always been with the bottle.
"Damn Pickles, your hair is getting' huge." Suddenly Tony's reflection loomed over Pickles, Tony had a presence about him that sometimes put Pickles off, a kind of greasy presence.
"That's da point innit'?" Pickles continued teasing his bright red hair with a beat up comb. Trying to ignore Tony behind him.
Jackooff…. Pickles used his free hand to gulp down the remainder of his first beer. Once he had gotten his hair sufficiently teased he sprayed a cheap can of hair spray all around it. Rummaging through his sack he grabbed an embroidered head band that a groupie had made him, they had sewn little green and purple snakes with a colorful patterned background. It may have been a little much, but Pickles wanted tonight to be different.
"That's a new head band huh? Looks good." Tony cupped his cold clammy hand around the back of Pickles neck. Goosebumps and anger bubbled over Pickles. He tossed the head band at the mirror and shoved back from his chair, while swinging a mostly empty beer bottle toward Tony.
In any band ecosystem there is always a good amount of mutual respect and ball-busting. And Pickles could hang with the best of the ball-busters, but Tony had always been about mind-fucking his band mates. Mostly Pickles though, maybe because Tony knew that Pickles would fight back or because he was the youngest in the band.
"Git yer fuckin' hand off me Tony, I swear ta God!" Pickles held the bottle high, eyes smoldering like some witches brew. "Let me jist finish gittn' buzzed and ready for fecks sake."
Tony laughed and mimicked fear, "Soooorrrry! Didn't know tonight would make you so uptight! It's just a gig, Pickles!" He took a swig of his beer and glared at Pickles with red rimmed eyes. "You know, I wonder if you can handle this kind of pressure."
Instead of breaking his empty bottle against his smug band mate's skull, Pickles swung it against the wall, why not? They were fucking rock stars after all, they were supposed to break bottles against walls.
"Ha ha! Hell yeah! There he is!" Tony laughed suddenly clapping Pickles on the back, "I love that fuckin' energy man!" Tony gave Pickles a lingering stare.
Pickles pupils dilated, a prominent Irish scowl fixed to his brow. Body tensed. Upset that Tony had gotten a rise out of him but also happy that he hadn't broken a bottle against the bassist's face. Any good band needs a bassist.
Pickles violently grabbed a fresh beer, suddenly it seemed like the only possible course of action was to finish it as fast as possible. He flinched away from Tony's hand.
After a mere 20 seconds Pickles had finished his rage beer.
Tony made a lavish mock bow to Pickles, then he silently sauntered off toward the bathroom; probably to get high.
Pickles glared at Tony as he crossed to the bathroom letting the empty bottle slip out of his fingers.
Screw it, Life's aboot to git a lot better.
Smirking Pickles took one long look in the mirror. His eyes were still unfinished. Grabbing an old snub of black eyeliner he applied it in heavy strokes along his eyelid. The adrenaline and beer had made his hand a little unsteady, but then again, it seemed like his hand was only ever steady when he was smashed.
Content with his eyes, Pickles grabbed the fan-made hairband and slipped it over his head. Pickles liked it, it was remarkably well made and fit him perfect.
Now he just needed to feel stage ready.
One more step.
Cocaine had been introduced to Pickles when he came to L.A. He became an addict fast and hard. He wanted that feeling of oblivion followed by adrenaline and feelings of godliness. Reaching into his dirty sack he found the little brown box where he kept his drugs. Pickles took out the little bag of coke and a dirty razor, carefully dabbing the bag with his finger to pour it onto the mirrored surface.
Lines, straw, inhale.
Pickles sniffed at his nose, feeling the runs going down his throat. The force hit him like a ton of bricks, "wha…whooooaaaaa…" Pickles fell back into his chair and let his head fall back. The world was spinning but in an absolutely blissful way. He felt like he was holding onto this powerful light growing in his chest, but he couldn't let it drop, he was saving it for the stage.
"Hey guys! We got 5 minutes! Pickles! Pickles! Where tha' fuck is Tony?"
Pickles registered Candynose's voice. Pickles jumped up out of his seat, allowing a little bit of his high to leak from his chest.
"He's shittin' or sumthin' whatever mayn! Wanna line? We're gonna kill it boys!"
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On the stage Pickles shined. If anything could be said for Snakes N' Barrels it was that they put on a wicked live show. Pickles loved the lights, the way his fingers flew down his fret and elicit moans of lust from the audience. He loved bellowing into the mic and strutting across the stage in energized lunges.
An hour in they were finishing up, one last rock ballad. This particular ballad Pickles was especially proud of. He had written it while he had been living on the street; having only a backpack and his gold top Gibson to his name. Pickles wrote it on buses, during parties even, it was his baby, his masterpiece. It went everywhere with him.
Cast out of hell, too many dirty angels at His feet,
Still don't know how to reach release, all these killer tendencies
Wonder how long till I experience release
For this ballad Pickles was still. No exciting romping across the stage, he wasn't even focused on the audience. He was focused on himself. The audience was quiet. Some rock n' roll was meant to illicit silence.
Pickles voice softened and rung like a bell. Not many singers around could reach those soprano notes like Pickles, he was sexless in this moment, something more than a man or a mere mortal.
Rage, rage against this neon heaven,
Not gonna' let those masked angels change me
Gonna' grab this gilded kingdom by it's' throat and squeeze
Still don't know how to reach release, all these killer tendencies
Wonder how long…
Till I reach my sweet release.
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Snakes N' Barrels played a sold out show. They all had so many panties and joints thrown up on stage they were just bundling it all together at the end, sweaty panties and all.
The band was in high spirits on their way back to the green room. The recent tension between Pickles and Tony had mostly diminished and they were all getting along drinking heavily and engaging in heavy drug use.
The front man had one arm draped over some random hussie that had wandered in. The kind of groupie that was thankfully just happy keeping her mouth shut at the right times and being topless. The groupies love Pickles, for more than being the lead singer, Pickles had a reputation as a good lover.
This particular hussie had heavy breasts that were almost on the comical side, she wasn't a little thing either but Pickles had liked them curvy anyway…all the better for what he had planned later.
"Didya see how smooth we jist played? Doods, we're totally gonna get signed from dis!" Pickles exclaimed knocking back one of the set of tequila shots lined up in front of him. He'd drank a lot in the few minutes they were backstage. Pickles felt invincible.
"Hell yeah, we're fuckin' Snakes N. Barrels for fucks sake!" Candynose wailed after sniffing from his ether soaked rag. "We're gonnna hafta' beat 'em off with a stick!"
"And look at these chicks amiright?" Snazz slapped a groupie on the ass. In most other circumstances he would've been whupped, but the buxom girl in the pleather pink mini only giggled and sipped her beer, actually eyeing the rhythm guitarist.
Tony did not have a woman draped over him, he was too busy knocking back shots and snorting coke. The bass guitarist eyed Pickles suddenly. Pickles broke his gaze and just by happenstance stared into the adjacent mirror.
Pickles saw more than one Pickles, literally, but what surprised him was his eyes. They were unfocused, red, his eye makeup had smeared and left two deep hollows in his face. His nose was bright red and thin lines of snot were sticking to his beard. He was used to seeing himself strung out, but something felt strange about looking at himself. Like he was staring at a stranger.
It was then that Pickles realized he was the only one drinking the tequila. It was strange because tequila was Tony's favorite and he had abstained from tequila all night. Was it just the tequila getting to his head?
Feck what else did I do today…? This was no mere coke and liquor high, or even a coke, liquor, and crack scenario. Something was off.
Let's see so wasit four or five when I woke up? Where did I wake up? Aw hell… Pickles decided that trying to think back to what he did earlier that day was futile.
"You doin' alright there?"
Suddenly Pickles realized he was alone. The soft fleshy woman at his side had disappeared and his other band mates were heard outside in between the allies probably fucking or pissing. Tony and Pickles were alone again.
"Huh? Oh yeh, I'm fayntastic…" Pickles clipped his words at the bassist. Like a reflex Pickles reached for the bottle of tequila, Must just be good shit…
"You sure? You look fucked up dude!" Tony smirked down at his lead vocalist. "Wanna go back to couch mountain? Your fat chick will probably be there later." Couch Mountain was the name of their little homestead. It received its name for having annual couch burning parties. Those parties were fucking legend.
"Uh, sure, as longas I hit that laters." Pickles tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words were slurring more than usual. "She's hot, heheh." Pickles sat back in the couch closing his eyes to try to picture the lady in question face, but try as he might he just saw her double D's staring back at him.
"Sure man, whatever. Come on grab the horse too! Fuckin' Snazz will get over it."
Snazz's stash of heroin sat on the stained coffee table, beckoning Pickles.
Pickles had only tried heroin a few times, and although he could hang with the hardest of druggies he himself had always been a bit of a lightweight-at least compared to bigger guys. Horse had bit him in the ass that first time, he could barely do anything but stare at the ceiling in his room and ride waves of pleasure at first but afterward, for what felt like eternity, he experienced terrifying hallucinations.
The rock star saw his father and brother crawling toward him, desiccated corpses with crazed toothless smiles. The carpet in his dingy room coming alive and trying to eat his feet. It culminated in Pickles screaming trying to break his mirror to use the shards to fight the grisly apparitions.
It was Tony who came to him, grabbing Pickles tightly and wrestling the ginger to the ground. Pickles cringed from his touch, not sure what was real or hallucination. Tony had almost been gentle to him, until he realized how high Pickles was.
"Well I'll be damned! Tried to chase that dragon huh? Well you gotta learn from your highs buddy…"
Tony had dropped Pickles back onto his high ass and grinning down at the slowly unraveling young man, turned and switched the bathroom light off.
Pickles didn't like to recall the rest of that night.
It was one bad high…Tony was jist bein' hard on me…
Determined to show up Tony, Pickles pulled himself out of his drug induced glaze and grabbed the horse. He found his sense of balance almost completely gone.
"Em…whoaa!" The ginger fell hard against the edge of the couch stumbling over the arm of the chair. The room spun, this time in a disoriented troubling way. Pickles regained his footing and waited for the room to stop spinning.
"Come on, Pickles, get your shit together we gotta' get paid before we blow this place." Tony slung a bag over his shoulder, presumably full of more malt beer and coke and started for the door.
Pickles cursed under his breath and, with difficulty, grabbed his sack from the amenity and groped along the walls out of the room. Taking one last look back at the room he had longed to be in since he arrived in L.A, Pickles followed his band mate out into the hallway.
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AN: So this is my first Metalocalypse fic. It's been ages sinces I've written any fiction so please give me some critiques! I really tried to get Pickles' dialogue right. Not sure exactly where this fic is going...but I want to update soon!
Cheers,
Katrina