Because I'm halfway through the new episode and it's already the bossest thing ever. In special thanks, or honor, or something, here's the next installment. All standard disclaimers apply.
It is four-thirty, six months after the attack on Mordhaus, and Skwisgaar doesn't believe Offdensen is dead.
It's not hope so much as disbelief. He'd seen what Offdensen had done to the masked assassin the first time around. For someone who'd never progressed beyond hair-pulling as far as fighting went, it had been both impressive. The small man had possessed a poised deadliness at odds with his bearing, like putting a jaguar in an expensive business suit. The only other time Skwisgaar had ever seen something with such graceful brutality was, well, Dethklok itself. Their manager had stabbed the masked assassin with his own dagger and sent the white-haired man flying into the cold waters before Skwisgaar and Toki could even do much more than sit up.
Offdensen had never brought it up after that. When Skwisgaar had tried, just once, to ask him something about it—he wasn't even sure what, the whole thing was a disjointed jumble single word questions, whats and hows and whens, nearly incomprehensible even for his version of English. Offdensen had waited until Skwisgaar trailed off before leaning forward.
"Protecting you boys is my number one priority." And even though it didn't answer much, not anything at all, Skwisgaar knew the conversation was 100% closed.
Which is why this whole death thing was just hard to believe, like when Pickles had told him that he'd actually managed to… well, it wasn't important. Nathan said they were putting that chapter of their lives behind them.
He found it hard enough to believe it when he and Pickles came up and saw the bloodied lawyer. He hadn't seen Offdensen fall, he'd had to hear about it from Nathan on the way to Mordhaus's hospital. The frontman had been the only one there in any condition to tell the story.
He'd never even seen the lawyer-man with so much as a paper-cut before, let alone so savagely beaten. It was like his eyes were playing tricks on him, bad acid trip or something.
He'd found it even harder to believe when Nathan came back from the hospital and told him, Pickles and Murderface that Offdensen had died. Skwisgaar had winced and looked away, reaching for his guitar, fingers already twitching. He'd excused himself not long after.
After the funeral, he had been so certain Offdensen would reappear in his office, having overseen the whole thing and ready with another lecture that none of them would listen to. Skwisgaar was already practicing the smug grin he'd use—only babies like Toki said 'tolds-you-sos'.
After they'd cast the boat away, sending it flaming gently out to sea, Skwisgaar had rushed up to the office, not even bothering to change out of his suit. At that moment he was almost sorry Offdensen wasn't really dead. Valhalla was supposed to be a beautiful place, and if anyone deserved it, it was him.
Well, it would have to wait. Dethklok was a large machine, and it needed managing. Skwisgaar moved so quickly he didn't open the door quickly enough, and as a result half-fell into the office. He stumbled for a few steps and recovered. He'd winced, though it hadn't hurt. He didn't want anyone seeing him trip like that, especially someone like Offdensen, who never tripped, fell, or skidded that Skwisgaar had seen, not even on slick floors or rumpled carpets.
But the lawyer man hadn't been there. Skwisgaar even checked the corners, to be sure. Well, no matter, he thought. It hadn't occurred to him for a second that he'd been wrong. The lawyer was just waiting for the opportune moment to appear. Skwisgaar knew all about dramatic effect. He was a showman, both on and off stage. He'd hoped the next chance he had to run into the lawyer would swing wide of tripping of any sort.
After a few months, though, dramatic or not, he wished the lawyer would hurry it up already. He'd never kept Dethklok waiting before, and Skwisgaar wasn't sure why he'd chosen right now to start. Stuff was just getting plain weird around here. The other day he'd finished up a foursome with some big fans (really big fans). He went to the kitchen. When he came back to his room, they were still there. He'd never realized before that Offdensen, or at least by his ministrations, was the one who'd gotten rid of the groupies once Dethklok was done with them. Skwisgaar had just figured everyone had gotten what they'd wanted and had wandered off. They still didn't leave, even after he pointedly ignored them in favor of his guitar. They just lay there, watching him worshipfully. Finally he opened the door and shooed them out, ignoring their coos of disappointment. He picked his guitar up and went back to work. Something jangled gently in his mind, like a note just slightly off. There was something he'd forgotten to—oh, damn. The front door still led into open air. Well, some klokateer would probably tell them.
He still doesn't really believe Offdensen is dead, but that disbelief is getting harder to take refuge in, and all of his new guitar riffs sound like dirges.