Disclaimer: I do, in no way, own Metalocalypse, or any of its settings, characters, or items. I do, however, own Thora Wartooth, and her belongings, personality, and appearance although she is based off previously created characters.
Authors Note: Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! My computer died, like, 100% and college ate my life! But my computer's fixed now. I am just, oh my gosh, so sorry for not writing. Forgive me?
Although punctuality was a necessity on Charles' List Of Important Things, he felt this meeting just simply could not wait for eight o'clock. So, at six fifty eight p.m, the manager of the world's most important economical force sat in his leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then making his fingers into a steeple, tucking the top under his chin. His mousey brown hair was slightly disheveled from running his hand through it time after time, and his glasses were the tiniest bit askew from his meddling with them. Habits he made a mental note to break. Aggravated was a word he had left behind long ago.
"So, Toki, would you like to tell me, ah, why all three Scandinavians under my roof are severely bruised?" He ventured, cringing inwardly at his fear of the answer. They were beyond bruised. They were fucked up beyond all reason.
"But Charles, Pickle ams hurt too! Hims ams not a Scandeenaveeycan." Toki's child-like simplicity and innocence still took Charles by surprise. He almost had to chuckle. The kid was pretty cute. To keep face, he turned his steely gaze to the silent, sullen, slumped body beside her brother.
"Ah, yes Toki. What happened to the, ah, four of you?"
"Jackalopeses, boss." His imitation of Pickes voice was incredible, and shocked him far more than his answer.
Charles eyes flew open as his jaw damn near hit the table. "Ah, what!?"
"A Jackalopes, Charles. Yous know, it ams American legend. Body of cutes little bunnies, antlers of—"
"I know what a, ah, Jackalope is, Toki."
I just want to know if you expect me to believe that bullshit. He thought quietly. Must be one of Pickles plans. Oh, Pickles…
A memory flashed behind his eyes as a flush crept onto his face, but he shook his head sharply, knocking his focus back into place.
"Then whys da question, Charlies? It ams just viciousest little creatue I ever did saws."
"You ever did see, Toki."
"I's ever did sees. Ja Charles. I ams not so goods at the rememberings part, 'cause it ass kicked us, buts Pickle says—"
Charles blocked out the rest of the statement. He knew it! But a Jackalope? Charles knew a demon fit when he saw the aftermath, but to see Thora so injured damn near broke his heart. The poor little thing. Tok had beat her badly, but from what Nathan said, she hadn't so much as said "ouch". He just hoped Toki didn't make a habit out of it.
"Yes Toki." He visibly shifted his attention to the other Wartooth. "Miss Wartooth, it is quite a shame that we are meeting under such, ah, interesting circumstances."
Thora looked up from her lap, her eyes cold, spiteful. They reminded him of Skwisgaar. And he shuddered.
Maybe Toki isn't who I have to worry about with brawling…
"Ah, yes, I am very sorry to hear about your circumstances, and you are welcome to stay here for as long as you require."
Toki gave his sister's hand a re-assuring squeeze as he giggled and nodded. Little bastard always got his way.
"However," Charles continued, ignoring the thawing in his chest. "You have no money, and cannot stay for free." Matching faces fell. Toki's in his face, Thora's in her eyes. They melted.
" So, I offer this suggestion. You are a, ah, lovely woman, and Dethklok just so happens to be opening a new line of female clothing and, ah, accessories."
Thora nodded, not sure where this was going, fear a raging tempest in her chest. Where could she go?
"It is our interest that you, ah, model for DethChik. Earn your keep and such."
He paused, turning to the task of cleaning his glasses to give her time to mull it over.
Toki froze, suddenly the childishness fleeing. Although they both knew it was a façade, and he could turn it on and off at will to get his way. Why did he feel like "model" had some underlying, unspoken meaning?
Thora did too. She sighed silently. She was being sold, again.
"Charlie, I's don't thinks it ams such a good ideas, and –"
"Ja." She cut her other half off. "I ams at your disposals." She struggled with the words, knowing what they could possibly mean for her, but her eyes were as cold as ice, and she knew what she had to do. She would do anything to stay. Even sell her soul to the cameras, her body to the crowd.
One Hour Later:
The Swede slipped into his office with a smirk. "How be Pickle?"
Charles was taken aback. "How should I know?" The knife cut into his voice. He had just met pith Pickles in the back hall to his office to confront him about the Jackalope bullshit. But it hadn't gone as planned. When he saw the gash oh Pickles lip from Toki's stray elbow, he had tenderly kissed it. And Pickles has let him. Again.
"I amnest thinkings you should, considerabling what I ams seeing in da hallways."
Charles paled. Skwisgaar had seen his brief talk about the bullshittery.
He'd seen them…
Oh God!
He composed himself, thinking quickly. There had to be something nasty he knew about Skwisgaar. There had to be…
The light bulb flickered on, and a grin spread across his shaved, smooth face. He could blackmail too, only, the Manager was better at it. Damn, he hadn't become the babysitter of Dethklok by kissing ass and sucking dick.
Five Minutes Later:
"YOU'S AMNEST NOT FUCKIN' SERIOUS!" The cold, Swedish voice boomed, rattling the windows in Charles' office in a way that would have made Nathan proud.
"I am one hundred percent serious." There was a growl in Charles voice that was very uncharacteristic of him. It was threatening. They were on grounds now no man was to cross, but the Ice King had made that mistake. And now he would pay for it. Dearly.
Several moments passed in silence as Charles bore holes into the top of the Swede's skull. Finally, the blonde looked up, eyes solid, frozen. "Ofdensens, yous amnest not serious. Ams you?" Skwisgaar lowered his voice to a growl, staring angrily into his lap, fingers playing out an inaudible riff. He knew his anger would get him no where except in some exploiting media magazine with every secret he kept so close to him.
"Oh, but I am very serious, Skwisgaar. You're going to do it."
The Ice King glared upward, his eyes startling Charles. They were as cold as Thora's had been when he'd explained this part to her
"But she amnest…" He searched for a word, finding none to his Swedish equivalent. "Toki sisters. I can nots even stands him!"
Charles leaned across the desk, glowering. His anger was beyond belief at the Swede, who had tried to blackmail him into getting Thora to leave, and then defied him.
"Mr. Skwigelf, my little bulimic ice king, you will touch her, hold her, caress her, and look like a sex God as long as the Photographer asks for it. You will pose how you are told, and you will not complain. Unless you'd like your eating disorders to make headlines for the rest of your life. Is that understood?" Charles was forehead to forehead now with the fastest guitar player in the world. And he snarled low, deep, a rumbling in his chest.
Skwisgaar was honestly scared shitless. He hadn't seen Charles lose it like this since Will tried the stupid sand-scape thing in the living room. He had no idea what to do other than tuck his tail between his slender legs, and take a deep blow to his pride. Nobody could know. Nobody.
"Okays, Charlie." He managed to whimper, trying to keep a disagreeable tone in his voice. But the last time Charles had lost it like this, he'd disappeared for a few days. And the last thing the band needed was that again.
Charles took a step back, settling in his chair, and attempted to rub the migraine from his temples. "I'm glad we've reached an understanding Skwisgaar." He rose, having an urgent need to escape the confines of his office.
As he reached the door, he paused, keeping his eyes focused on the task ahead.
"And Skwisgaar, if you ever threaten me again, threaten her again, threaten…" He swallowed hard, keeping the seething calm in his voice, "Pickles again, you won't make it out of this office in anything but a body bag."