Without whining or being self-deprecating, I will say that it is hard as hell to write Murderface accurately. A lot of people in fandom ignore him, maybe because he's ugly, maybe because he's basically an asshole who's totally not self-aware. I didn't want to ignore him, but there's a reason his turned out to be the shortest (and his author's note is the longest...) Brendon Small put it as Murderface is, "thin-skinned and incredibly sensitive and just wants to be accepted constantly but can't get that because he's such a dick and pushes people away", so I strove for that. Let me know if I pulled it off. In an additional, somewhat related note: seriously, reviews are love. I can't thank everyone who's reviewed so far enough.
Disclaimer: see chapter one.
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It is four-thirty, and Murderface is not sad.
Murderface had been upset for precisely four minutes after Nathan had told him their butler had died, and immediately left the room before anyone could see it. Upset. He wasn't sad, and don't you forget it.
He hadn't been sad when his father had killed his mother, and then himself. He hadn't remembered it, not really, and when he'd asked his grandmother why, she'd caned him with that damn extend-and-reach grabber she had. At sixteen, he ran away from his grandparents' and joined a band. And then another band. And then he'd found Dethklok at twenty-four and had been there ever since. No 'Where Are They Now' required. Life goes on. Except for robots.
And anyway, he was tired of everyone around the damn haus moping in a ridiculously unmetal way. He doesn't know what's to miss, anyway. If the butler had moved a little faster on registering the Planet Piss domain, Toki never would've been able to set up that damn bestiality website. But no, he'd been so concerned with Pickles and his super-gay so-not-metal Snakes 'n' Barrels. Murderface had never dragged the band anywhere half as gay as Los Angeles, and they gave him twice as much shit as they did the drummer.
The butler had at least been supportive when he and Toki had showed off "Takin' It Easy". He'd hand him that much. He'd been the first person to hear that bit of lyrical genius, actually, and had pronounced it a "very strong effort". That praise what was made Murderface first think that maybe it just wasn't for Dethklok, that it was good enough for Planet Piss. And that warrants maybe being upset for a little while. Not sad.
He's not sad. He's not. Murderface has to admit he was feeling a bit off his game lately himself. He doesn't feel like watching his favorite Tivo'd slasher porn flicks and Civil War documentaries; hasn't for weeks. Or sharpening his knives. Or practicing some new licks with his special bass technique. But it's not like that meant anything; especially not that he missed the robot. Everybody gets down sometimes. But not everybody gets sad, and Murderface wants that point to be noted.
No matter how mopey his bandmates had been lately, they were moving on, though, with Murderface in the lead. It had been his genius that had lifted Mordhaus into the air, in fact. So maybe it was Nathan who'd suggested going up into the air, and Pickles who had rounded up those idiotic scientists who worked out how to record music on water from wherever they'd been cowering after the release party, and they'd found out how to get and keep what remained of Mordhaus into the air with all the spare parts lying around, but it had been Murderface who'd started the conversation of getting them somewhere to keep them safe from the Revengencers. And without the conversation it never would've happened.
He had no clue why Nathan was getting so damn pissy lately, especially about making them go to the funeral. He had been the most adamant about not giving a shit about each other, and that should've definitely extended to the pile of rotting meat that used to their robot-butler.
Could robots even rot? He made a point to ask—well, nevermind.
Whatever. Maybe he'd write the butler some sort of metal tribute song for Planet Piss. One of these days.
It wasn't so bad that the butler was gone, anyway. There needed to be some changes around Dethklok; Murderface has been saying that for ages. With the butler out of the picture, well, let's just say Murderface has a chance now to step up and display some of his natural leading skills. Nobody had expected him to help when Mordhaus was burning, even if he had been fire marshal. Ex-fire marshal. He bet nobody expected him to be able to competently manage Dethklok, either. And what kind of butler ran a band, anyway?
Nobody looked to be much in the mood right now to do anything band related. That was fine; he had something else to work on, too. Besides Planet Piss, anyway. No, right now he was worried about the house. Like a lot of klokateers, much Mordhaus's furniture had been either burned or smoke-damaged and had to be thrown out. While they were refurbishing the place, maybe it was time to make a few changes in the décor. Murderface had never decorated a room before, but he was certain he'd be awesome at it.
The butler's room, though, he'd leave alone. It hadn't been hit by the fire, and the idea of changing it felt weird. It hadn't been Dethklok's room, not really, even if it was their haus. Even if they got a new butler, Murderface would make sure he knew to stay away from that room. With knives, if necessary.
Brutal.
