A/N: The final installment in my practice-story. As always, please let me know which paragraph I should turn into a one-shot!

1. Timber

They have built an empire. A sprawling palace for them and only them. And Murderface is apart of it. Apart of the legacy that is Dethklok. That knowledge should fill him with pride but it doesn't. Instead, it fills the bassist with a sick feeling of dread. Because, like every empire that grows to big and every tree that grows to tall, he knows that eventually they will all have to go falling down. And it won't be pretty.

2. Departure

There is a look in Pickles' eyes that Murderface has never seen there before. Dread, maybe? Or shock? He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. Not now, when he has already made up his mind and announced his decision. So Murderface forces himself to tear his eyes away from the drummer and pick his bags up instead. And as he turns away from Mordhaus, from the band that had been his life and soul for over twelve years, and enters the car he knows what it is. It's sorrow. And somehow that makes leaving all the harder.

3. Misfit

They are misfits in every sense of the word. Most of them without families, or wishing that they could be without them, yet having a family in each other. Yet, in this family of misfits, there is one who stands out all the more. William Murderface; not as big a member in the band, not as handsome, not as smart. Not as loved, inside the band, or outside of it. Dethklok is made up of misfits in every sense of the word, yet none as big of one as Murderface.

4. Hope

It is a gangly man with thinning red hair pulled into dreadlocks that wakes Murderface up that morning. He reeks of stale beer and old pot and has to stop and clear his throat several times as he stops because his voice is breaking. But his words are still captivating. They are of a band that is about to rise to the top, a band like no other. One that they want him to be a part of. This man, Pickles he calls himself, speaks of an opportunity that Murderface has never before been offered. He speaks of hope. And the homeless bassist is quick to snatch it up.

5. Scars

Pickles is staring and Murderface stares right back. There's fear in the drummer's eyes, maybe more. In the bassist's eyes there is the barely there glint of a challenge. Silence fills the air as Pickles draws in a shakey breath, hazed green eyes flickering from the light yellow of the other man's to the scars that criss-cross his arms and shoulders. To the slightly raised skin that covers Murderface's sides and, Pickles can only assume, down to the curve of hip that is still covered by jeans. Then the bassist snashes his teeth and slams his bedroom door shut, locking Pickles out and leaving an empty ache in the drummer's chest.

6. Found

Bass was never Murderface's life. It was never his soul, like guitar is for Skwisgaar. It was never his life-line, like drums are for Pickles. It's not how he expresses himself, like Nathan. It isn't even a way to escape, like playing is for Toki. It's a hobby. Simple as that. It's something that he learned so there was a way to pass the time until the next fight started up or the next odd-job had to be done. That doesn't mean he has no talent - far from it, actually. He just never thought that a band like Dethklok would be the ones to find that out.

7. Safe

Pain courses up Murderface's jaw, racing through the bone and into his teeth. Blood gurgles into his mouth and, for a moment, he is choking on the metallic liqued. Something hard is rolling about in his mouth, sharp enough on one end to slice open his rapidly swelling tounge. All Murderface knows in that instance is fear and anger and bloody red - and then his eyes jerk open and he's staring into the worried face of Pickles, blanket twisted about his legs and a cold sweat on his forehead. His jaw still aches. It always aches now. But he knows that he's safe in the drummer's arms and so he lets himself relax back into the bed with a sigh.

8. Underdog

Growing up, Murderface didn't have a lot going for him. He wasn't good looking, wasn't smart, wasn't funny. Didn't have a family to support him and make him feel good about himself. Now, in the world's most popular death metal band, almost nothing has changed. Murderface is still the underdog - not as handsome as the rest of the band, not as smart as Ofdensen, not as funny as Pickles. No one to make him feel good about himself, family or otherwise.

9. Passion

Niether of them are what you would call romantic. Being romantic isn't metal. It's gay - and just because they both are gay doesn't mean they're allowed to go around and do gay things. They wouldn't know how to be romantic even if it wasn't gay. So their courtship, instead, is filled with awkward gestures and many cleared throats. A few private jokes and some extra time in the hot tub, watching tv, drinking beer just the two of them. It's not romantic. Not in the least. But that doesn't mean that Nathan and Murderface aren't incapable of passion.

10. Sober

It's a small, plain ring. Made of twenty four karat gold, no diamonds, no engravings. Simple. Yet Pickles hand is shaking as though he's holding the Crown Jewels. Not because he's afraid of dropping the ring, he could always buy another one if that happened, but because he hasn't had anything to drink yet that day. He doesn't want Murderface to think that he's only asking because he's drunk; not for something so very, very important.