Part five

It was no surprise the next morning when Charles found Nathan still asleep on the couch. Charles had never quite shaken his school time habit of waking up at the ass-crack of dawn. At first he tried to go about fixing breakfast quietly, but after one of his bowls made a spectacular crash he realized he needn't have bothered. Death was dead to the world. After fixing himself a bowl of sensible cereal with fruit he sat down at his kitchen table to read the newspaper. As the sun climbed higher in the window and Charles had just about finished his morning paper, Death showed signs of life.

Groggily he murmured something that could have been a morning greeting or the blackest of threats. Grabbing one of the plastic bags full of clothing he pressed it to his face to block out the light.

Charles was instantly reminded of that oft repeated parental advice about children and plastic bags.

"Nathan, don't smother yourself with the plastic bag!"

"Too bright," was the groggy reply from behind the unmoved bag. So Charles got up and closed the blinds, dimming the light somewhat. The lump on the sofa made another one of those indecipherable noises and shifted a little. If Nathan did wind up suffocating, at least he could say he tried. Charles cleared his breakfast things and walk quietly into his home office.

Around one o'clock Charles heard the distinct beeping of his microwave in distress. Running to it's rescue, it gave one last shrill beep before giving up the ghost.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Nathan was jabbing at the buttons, trying to bring the machine back to life.

"I was trying to make breakfast," he growled, still poking frantically at the corpse on the counter. Charles reached over to stop Nathan's hands and save what was left of his microwave's dignity.

"But why is the coffee machine inside the microwave?"

"Well how else was I going to heat up the coffee?"

In a twisted way it almost made sense. But that didn't bring his microwave back from the dead.

"Just go sit down and I'll make you something."

Nathan did as he was told. Charles rescued the coffee maker from the microwave. It was none the worse for the indignities it had just suffered so Charles plugged it back in. He fixed Nathan a bowl of his sensible cereal but left off the fruit. Half a cup of sugar later, breakfast was demeaned suitable.

After "breakfast" Charles went back into his room to keep studying and Nathan went back to his broken TV. Sometime after dark Charles found that his office had been invaded.

"Come on, we're going out."

Charles let himself be dragged out of his office.

"Out where?"

"A place."

Why not? He couldn't study all day. Heck without classes or the bar he wasn't even sure why he was studying in the first place. So he went along with it and found himself in a seedy little club called The Scuzz. It was in that part of the city that the news warned you not to walk through at night. It wasn't even terribly wise to walk through during the day. But his companion's shear size was enough to deter would be assailants, so he felt relatively safe. The building looked like it should have been condemned. He found out later that it actually was, it just hadn't stuck. Walking into the club the first thing he noticed was the pervasive smell of cheap booze and bad blood. The cheap wooden electrical spool tables were stained and broken. The chairs were held together with hope and duck tape. Despite the dinginess of the club, it was packed. The patrons were predominately drunk and they all looked like the sort of people you wouldn't want to meet alone in a dark alley. Charles felt incredibly out of place with his nice button down shirt and sensible hair cut.

Ignorant of his companion's discomfort Nathan lead them to an empty table in the back of the club, situated behind a pillar. Carved into the unfinished wood of the table's surface was the ominous word "KILLER". Charles could swear there was dried blood in the etching, accentuating the letters. He did his best to touch nothing. An aged blond in a faded denim jacket came by to take their order, never once removing the lit cigarette from her mouth. Nathan, familiar with the club ordered something called an "Octo". At first Charles respectfully declined, fearing for his intestinal fortitude, but after some wheedling from Nathan he conceded to a gin and tonic.

"So, do you come here often?" Charles asked after their waitress had left.

"All the time. I love this place. It's so fucking classy." Charles wasn't sure what classy might mean in this context but it certainly wasn't being used in any way he was familiar with. Nathan continued, "Some day Dethklok is gonna play here."

"Dethklok?" Charles was genuinely confused.

"That's the name of the band. The one that you're manager of." Dude you should know this. That last bit wasn't spoken out loud but it was heavily implied.

"Well I'm sorry but I didn't know. How long has the band been Dethklok?"

"Since forever."

Right then the waitress returned with their drinks. As it turned out the "Octo" was eight separate pints of beer meant to be drunken in quick succession. Charles' gin and tonic held no surprises and for that he was thankful. While Charles carefully sipped away at his drink, Nathan was already on his third pint.

"Don't you ever worry about your liver?"

Nathan made a noncommittal noise as he finished off the pint. "When I'm a big famous rock star I can just buy a new one."

Charles was really not happy with that response and reminded him, "You're not famous yet, so maybe go easy on your liver for now." Nathan said nothing but took a little more time with the next pint.

About then the lights dimmed. Not that it was really noticeable, it was pretty dark to begin with. The stage lights came on and a group of scruffy misfits took their places at the instruments. The largest of all of them took the microphone and walked towards the audience.

Shouting, despite the amplification of the speakers, he announced "This here is Outer Nimrod and we're about to make some noise. Anybody wanna make something of it?"

It seemed like he was waiting for someone to fight him over it. When nothing happened he looked a little disappointed. "Alright let's fucking do this!"

Charles was physically assaulted by the sudden noise. He had to grab on to the filthy table to keep from toppling over in his duck taped chair. The noise was reminiscent of what the boys had played back at Nathan's apartment when they broke the floor. But these guys had real instruments and amplifiers. After the initial shock wore off he was able to listen more objectively. They were good but they don't have the raw potential of Dethklok. Charles is sure that they've never made a floor collapse with shear intensity. The singer employed the same lyrical shouting as Nathan but he lacked that gravely otherworldly quality that initially inspired the nickname Death. The guy on the guitar was good. He's not as fast as Skwisgaar but he's just as capable. They also had a fuller band and Charles thinks that Nathan will have to find a few more players.

As the band segways into the next song a fight breaks out near the stage. One large mountain of a man clocks another mountain in the jaw for no apparent reason. Before long the neighboring tables join in and there is a full scale brawl going on. The band plays on as if world war three had not just broken out around them.

Nathan finished his last pint and hurled the empty glass at a particularly scruffy man moving menacingly in their direction. The location of the table kept them out of the worst of it but when two burly people of indeterminate gender bump into their table and spill Charles' half full drink, Nathan breaks a chair over them.

The band on stage was shouting something that sounded like a farewell but it was impossible to hear over the din. Nathan grabbed Charles and drug him down a dark corridor. Charles tried to ask where they were going but it was impossible to be heard over the sound of the brawl. It turned out to be another exit. Even outside with the door closed Charles can still hear the battle raging on inside. Nathan let go of his hand and Charles briefly regrets the loss of contact until he remembers that he feels absolutely nothing for the other man.

On the way back Nathan asks him what he thinks.

"Well, they were good but I'm sure Dethklok will be better."

That makes Nathan smile a little.

"Outer nimrod is pretty brutal. They always have the best riots"

"You mean, it's always like that?" Charles asked aghast. He couldn't imagine how that building was still standing if riots like those were a regular occurrence.

"Na, that was pretty tame. I'm normally in there busting skulls but I figured I should stick close. It can be pretty brutal for a little guy like you."

Charles finds himself offended at the notion that he needs protecting like some damsel in distress. "I'll have you know, I was Harvard fencing champion and I have a black belt in karate."

Nathan looked at his comparatively little manager with a new found respect.

"Good," he growled. "Next time we can both join in."

Charles paled at the thought and regretted his sudden outburst all the way home.