The next day rolled around in a hazy blur of decadence for Dethklok, and a morbid dawning for Scout. They partied as hard as ever, thoughts of their newest roommate nonexistent in their amber web of booze and crystalline guillotine of abusable substances. So dead to the world, Scout had slept through it all, even when the party had broke out into her hallway. The agonizing pain in her chest, coupled with the shock of her sudden predicament, had acted as the ideal catalyst for a solid night's sleep. Probably the last deep sleep she'd actually get while living under this roof...

Regardless of how well she had slept, it didn't change the fact that, as she reviewed her meeting with her father, he had told her the cause of her moving (being forcibly placed) into Mordhaus. As casually as one might comment on the weather, he had told her that her mother's will had been changed to name her father (himself) as her primary guardian. And now that she was under his guardianship, it could only mean one thing - Ravenia Jane Selatcia-Nightfury (or Ravenia S. Nightfury as she had preferred to be known) was dead...

Scout had no one left in her family but her father, and her estranged grandfather on her mother's side. But she had heard even less of her grandfather than she had of her own father, so she had no way of even knowing if he was still even alive. Not that it matter anyways, as legally, she was stuck here, in this cold and lonely place. In the light, she could see how it had actually looked, with its Neo-gothic design, which if you liked that sort of thing, it would have probably been breathtaking to behold. But it was so barren, just as void of life as the person that had created it, the air freezing cold as the first breath of winter coming to kill the weak and unworthy creatures of summer.

It was as dead as...

She couldn't bring herself to even think the words...

Pulling herself up out of bed, even though she wanted nothing more than for it to shallow her whole, Scout thought about her mother, and of how she would allow absolutely nothing to interfere with going through the day. Chicken pox? If you can't go to school, then you better study twice as hard at home. Broken wrist? You still have toes, don't you? A mouth? No matter what it was, if there was a way to do it, she had the will. Scout recalled that even when her own mother had died, Ravenia had held her head high and went on with her business. That kind of attitude was one of the many things that Ravenia had tried to instill into her daughter, with a passing mark.

Running a hand under the shower head to see if the water was hot enough, Scout stood in the equally glamorous bathroom attached to her bedroom, staring off into space, remembering her mother's advice, If you're hurt, you take a hot shower, and if you're heated, you take a cold shower. If you don't know what you feel, just turn on the water and let it rain. Let it rain? No, she had every intention of letting it flood. Of burning away her skin and numbing whatever was still left...

- Metalocalypse -

Two weeks later...

If he hadn't been expecting it, he probably would have missed the soft, hesitant rapping on the wood door. The one thing he could say about her was that she had a good system going (she would knock first, and if he didn't answer the door, she knew to just come in), but it was too discreet to be very effective. When Charles wasn't around (which due to an important business matter that came up, he had been called away for a couple of days), Scout would go to Pickles, and she would get high with him.

Sure, Mordhaus was full of people who could have supplied her with what she needed to cope, but who better to go to than the most infamous addict in the world? Pickles would no doubt have the strongest stuff available, and being so surrounded by drugs, he would probably know what to do in the event of an accident. But truthfully, there was another reason why she had chosen to go to him... A reason that made her feel deep shame...

Before she had moved in with her (largely absent) father, Scout wasn't that kind of girl. She was a straight A student, on the student council, was dating the star of the basketball team, and had her choice of any college. If she had a problem, she wouldn't turn to drugs to numb it all away; she would have turned to the violin, but ever since her mother had passed way, all she could do was look at the instrument her mother had bought for her sixth birthday and cry. The comforting, classical music she had once loved now haunted her, bringing forth a new tidal wave of agony that stung worse than lemon juice over a raw, bleeding wound. Drugs were the only crutch she had now, the only thing that could help her ease the pain.

Walking in the bedroom, careful to close the door behind herself, she looked at Pickles sideways, "What's on the menu tonight?"

The first time he had seen her, she had stood in the same exact spot, though the look on her face had changed since then. When he had first seen her, she had been a minx-woman looking for a good time. The second time, when they had been officially introduced (her face slightly pink and her gaze averted), she was just kind of there, the hell she was in clearly visible. The next few times they had met, he noticed that her gaze would follow him for a few seconds before she would look away, but it wasn't the usual kind of gaze that the fans (or groupies) had ever given him before. It was different than that... To an outsider, it was just a corpse trying to blend in with the living, and to a trained eye, it might have looked like a girl with a crush. Had it been any other smart preppy chick, he would have thought that it was an itch only she would let him scratch. But no, Scout didn't strike him as that type, her naivety radiating like a light from one of Ofdensen's good lamps. Maybe she just wanted someone who could understand her, or could at least be there for her. His parents were still alive, but he knew what it felt like to be over-looked. Assholes.

That was the girl he saw, but that wasn't the girl he found himself thinking about. Fantasizing would be a better word, as he had lost count off all the times he had thought something about the teen that he shouldn't have. The first time was probably the most mild and innocent, as at the time, he wasn't even sure that she was real. The next few weren't too bad either; it wasn't anything different from what he usually thought about women and groupies. But then one night, the very same night that she had first came to him, his thoughts had taken a different course...

That night was relatively quiet, not unlike tonight...

Scout had been watching the band from afar, pretending to study (her father had pulled her out of school and was currently in the process of having her transferred to a very prestigious private school), observing how they seemed to feel better when they indulged themselves. She had once opposed that sort of behavior vehemently, but that was before she had understood it, and the need for it. She had been foolish to condemn drugs and the people who used them, so close-minded she had thought beratingly of herself.

Getting that thought into her head, she had began to watch her father more closely, to make sure of his schedule so that he won't catch her in the act. He had been around it for such a long time, but he hadn't seen the practical side, and she was certain that if she tried to explain it to him, he wouldn't believe her, so she had no choice but to keep it a secret. So she watched and waited until she was sure, and once she felt confident enough about the timing, she approached Pickles.

He was already pretty wasted, sitting alone in the living room in his usual place at the end of the couch, randomly changing channels. Walking up to him, biting her lower lip with uncertainty, she sat near the middle of the couch, pretending to be adsorbed in watching the tv. She was always so sad, but she seemed to function normally enough, so that didn't raise his eyebrow. What did raise his eyebrow was the fact that she was trying to play it cool, nervously pulling at the hem of her cargo shorts.

Green eyes rolling casually over her, Pickles happened to see her fingers toying with the fraying cuffs of her shorts. The famous drummer wasn't one for paying attention to the details, but he certainly saw the way the dark olive material curved to the shape of her hips, cutting off abruptly at the thigh, her crimson tank top bunching over her lap. For the life of him, he failed to see how the others didn't want to just shove her into the wall and ravage her... Crap, there he went again! He could not believe for one second that she was oblivious to how hot she was, though judging by the way she held herself in general, she was in the dark. Was it possible that she was testing him on purpose? Possibly on behalf of her father? Because he refused to believe that she could look that sexy without meaning to.

She cleared her throat, shaking her head, "So, um, are you holding?"

Not missing her light brown hair falling down her shoulder as she shook her head (her constant showering fading away the blonde to gradually reveal her naturally brown locks) he laughed, "Are you kidding me?"

She looked at him earnestly, the green in her grey eyes blazing like a star before it devours itself, "No. I've seen you guys - "

"Sorry 'bout that." He rubbed his neck, assuming that she had seen them all slopping drunk and at their worst.

She cracked her lip up, the first thing like a smile he had seen on her, "Don't be. It helped me come to the conclusion that being sober is to face your problems. I don't want to face mine. I can't face mine, not yet."

He was about to refuse her, knowing full well where this road would lead her, "I-"

Making a ballsy, desperate move, she clutched at him, close enough only to grab his leg, "Please, help me. I need this... I... I'll do anything... Just don't make me feel this pain anymore... Please!"

Her voice broke, and she began to cry. The last time Pickles had seen a girl crying like this was... Ok, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen a girl crying like this, or if he had ever seen a girl crying like she was crying right now. Her face all scrunched up, snot dripping down her nose, eyes getting bloodshot and puffy, she looked like crap. Well, maybe she did look terrible enough to hide it...

"Alright, fine! But we ain't doing it out in the open where any jack-off could see us." He got up, dragging her along behind him, thinking what was mild enough to not kill her, but strong enough to do what she was asking for. He came to no solid conclusion.

They had gone to his room, her looking around shyly at the wreckage. Maybe it would be enough to scare her away? Pulling out a needle, the necessities, and a small container, he set them down on the bed. She looked at him, the look of a doe-in-the-headlights-before-it-gets-obliterated on her face. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all... No, she would have to endure this, because she could not endure the other stuff, not anymore. Taking a deep breath, she held out her arm, squinting as she looked the way.

Pickles took her arm , tying the cord just above her elbow, "You sure 'bout this?"

Without a second thought, she nodded, "Do it."

"Alright." He pressed the needle down, piercing it through the skin.

The rest was history.


I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.