Psychic City: Well, after the depressing nature of the last chapter, I set out to make this one more humorous and fun for all of you! I hope I've pulled that off, of course. So, definitely let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your feedback AND constructive criticism. All of it is welcomed, definitely. I would love to know what you think and how I can improve because I am definitely writing for all of your enjoyment! Thank you in advanced, and I can't wait to hear from you!

A big, big thank you to: LE Candeh, Lively McBrighten, MCLanna, XxproperxsadxladyxsilentxX, NeonZebra23, whats-up-people, and AkinaTakesora.


Chapter Nine:
Gone Running

Because Stu Pot had overheard his eight year old cousin call him 'scary', he had been more than overjoyed to find that the usually angry man had decided to take him out shopping for some new clothes.

Despite the blatant awkwardness of the situation, the man seemed to be in a more cheerful mood when he'd picked Stu up from the nursing home and wheeled him out the front doors. Nonetheless, he had shoved Stu into the special seat at the back of his car, murmured something feverishly to himself, and had taken off down the freeway with his foot pressed hard on the gas pedal. However, the speed didn't really bother Stu much. While he had usually taken great care in driving when he was behind the wheel, Murdoc Niccals' rush was perhaps quite livid in a lively way that made Stu feel a bit more like a human being, rather than just an existing essence. Though the man's awful driving had helped them arrive at the shopping mall in due time and Stu was whisked out from his seat in the car, thrown into the wheelchair hastily, and wheeled away from the car park with full force.

"Alright, Stu Pot," Murdoc grumbled down to the kid, rubbing his hands together in a greedy sort of manner. "You may look like a pretty boy, but you dress like a ten year old." When he shoved Stu's wheelchair through the main doors of the mall, he added proudly, "if ya ever do snap out of this t' find tha' your closet is full of bad arse clothes, don't say that I never did anything nice for ya."

But as far as Stu Pot was concerned, the man had done a great deal for him already. For one, Stu Pot hated being in that nursing home; thus, going anywhere else had always been a thrill. Besides, the gruff man didn't talk to him like a child, and he certainly didn't encourage him in any sort of high-pitched voices. He managed not to humiliate Stu and had somehow obtained the ability to make Stu feel like he wasn't somewhere far off in the unobtainable distance.

So, when Murdoc Niccals' fists touched Stu's chest, holding up to it a shirt that Stu could not see himself, he trusted the man when he breathed out, "ah, purrrrfffeecct," feeling less and less horrifying as he did so. He even trusted the man's jugdement later that night, when he felt a new shirt being pulled over his shoulders and a pair of tight pants being yanked on to each of his legs. And when his senses smelt the rancid smell of the man's favourite late night pub, Stu Pot almost felt as if he were one of the living souls gather around inside the place.

"There's the sodding bastard!" Tiny, with his beefy hands above his head, waved his arms around fractionally before excitedly slumping back into his seat. He exchanged a happy glance towards his friend, who was equally as unappealing, and then slammed his palms on the table top as Murdoc approached with the comatose kid sluggishly. "Finally!" he whispered, though a smile was still anxious plastered on his face. Despite trying to look angry at Murdoc for arriving late, he could not quite contain his enthusiasm. "Took ya long enough."

Murdoc's tired face shot back at Tiny, who glanced down and then back at Stu Pot, taking in the sight of his new look. The boy's blue hair had been messed up further, so that it stuck out at all different angles, and his face hadn't been bothered to have been cleaned up. In fact, it appeared as if Murdoc had intentionally pulled his blue hair behind his ears so that the deep purple bruise at the side of his face became more obvious. Then Tiny's eyes found the kid's new clothes. Bundled up in a rugged leather jacket, the trousers he was wearing had been pelted with holes and tears. On the boy's long hands, Murdoc Niccals had slid on a pair of biker gloves.

Tiny's thick eyebrow twitched. "Wot," he said analytically, "did you take the kid t' a biker shop or something?"

Fidgeting with the skull encrusted belt that looped around Stu Pot's thin waist, Murdoc huffed begrudgingly. "It's the 'bad boy' look, you arse! Birds go ape shit over this sor'a shite."

It was Billy-Boy's turn to fret. He pressed his ugly mug closer towards Stu and made a face at the dark black circles that rounded around his shut eyelids. "Is... is tha' eyeliner tha' 'e's wearin'?" the man scoffed, horrified. The disgusted twist that had tainted his face made him look sour. "You put the kid in fuckin' makeup?"

"Fuck off!" Murdoc hissed, flashing the two men his set of jagged teeth. He could not have given more of a flying fuck about whether the two men had fancied Stu's new look or not. For starters, makeup or not, Stu Pot looked a hell of a lot better than he did before Murdoc had gotten his hands on him. In fact, the bassist had made a point to set the remainder of Stu's clothes on fire, beginning with the outfit packed by his mother that made him look like a sodding school boy. And besides, Murdoc had watched enough of that damn MTV to know that birds these days, they just loved their bad boys. The rebels, Murdoc found, that was the ticket.

And, despite the fact that innocent old Stu Pot was a useless vegetable, that couldn't stop Murdoc from changing the kid's demeanor completely. Sure, Stu Pot had probably never stolen a thing in his life, and sure he enjoyed spending time with his younger cousins, but that didn't mean that any of the women in the pub had to know about it. Thus, Murdoc overlooked the fact that Stuart had received good markings in school, and had no criminal record to deal out. Instead, he'd been more than certain that it rebuilding the kid was his only other option.

Murdoc glanced grimily over his shoulder. The pub had been crawling with birds that night; all shapes and sizes of them, too. To his appreciation, he saw fat and slender ones, desperate and pompous ones, leggy and stout ones- all tweeting around the place practically begging for Murdoc to chuck a stone in their direction. He felt his chest rise up with excitement and, despite himself, he rustled Stu Pot's azure hair with satisfaction. "Alright then, you bloody git," he said, cocking his head to the left and passing a suggestive wink in the direction of a pretty girl in the far right corner. She had bright pink hair and a tongue ring that let Murdoc know right away what type of girl she was. "Let's get fucking laid."


Murdoc Niccals stared proudly at his reflection in the looking glass that hung above his sink at his ruddy condo. The pink haired girl had turned out to be exactly what Murdoc had labeled her to be, and then some. In fact, he'd been so satisfied that he hadn't even minded when she had left his condo in the early morning around two-thirty in a hurry, though she hadn't been in a complete rush; before darting out the door, she'd managed to kiss Stu Pot sweetly on the cheek. And then, without word to Murdoc, she fumbled out into the night, her coat sleeve stick stuck into the waist of her leather trousers. Though still, despite the slight setback, his big head had swelled to unbelievable proportions and he could not have been more proud.

However, still in his boxers, he glanced down at Stu Pot, slumped over in the bathtub where he'd left him for the night. His long arms dangled out the side of the thing and his head was cocked to the side, pressed up against the cool tile next to his sagging shoulder. Still dressed like a thuggish punk, Murdoc heaved a sigh and whipped the wash cloth from the end of the sink before dousing it with soap and water. He kneeled forward and pressed the thing up to Stu Pot's eyes, scrubbing away at the black eye makeup with full force. Before, when shopping for the stuff, Murdoc Niccals had made it a point to purchase the water proof brand because of Stu Pot's habit of crying throughout the day. However, as the makeup seemed to remain persistent, Murdoc found that he immensely regretted his decision in the first place.

Thus, too tired to be bothered with such a mess, he jetted himself around and positioned his back against the porcelain tub, legs striking outwards in two opposing directions. He massaged his wrists back and forth, stretching out his body with an aggressive force that made his head spin. He was quite certain that he had consumed far too much over the course of the night, yet he was deviously impressed at his almost steady composure. Like a true gentlemen, he'd managed to escort the pink haired girl, whose name he was almost certain was ironically Pinky, through the front door of his house and swiftly into the bedroom without much issue. She even seemed keen on having Stu Pot in the room with her while she climbed on top of Murdoc, however, the dopey kid's presence only made the bass player uneasy. So, despite her strange desires, he'd picked up the comatose boy by the wrist, dragged him into the bathroom and had, of course, thrust him into the contents of his tub conclusively.

So there the two of them were, exhausted and out of breath in the filthy space that Murdoc Niccals had called a bathroom. Murdoc's hovering vision spotted the set of St Pot's collected box of shit and an intoxicated smile spread across his face. He took to a groggily crawl, feeling across the tile towards it and reaching inwards to yank out the locked journal that he had previously overlooked. His eye twitched at the sight of it, for he had never heard of a grown man keeping a diary. Yet nonetheless, he proceeded to pry it open invasively; and since locks had never been a problem for Murdoc Niccals, the thing bounded open as soon as he gave it a hard enough tug.

"Good ol' Stu Pot," he drawled on, checking back on the kid over his shoulder. Stu's limp body made no reaction to Murdoc's comment. However, he carried on, looking just as sad as he had always looked, and just as miserable as he had been expected to be. Yet, in his drunken delirium, Murdoc pulled out his packet of fags and popped a single cigarette between Stu's wet lips. For good measure, he clocked Stu Pot devilishly at the side of his sore chin and then turned back to the pages curiously. "Sweet Satan," Murdoc hummed blatantly as his mismatched eyes scanned the insides of the boy's private journal, "you write like a fuckin' five year old!"

True enough to Murdoc's blunt statement, Stu Pot's wonky hand writing had been scribbled across the page like common chicken scratch. He'd misspelled a fraction of the words and used grammar that was unnecessary and rather useless. Raising an inquisitive eye back towards the lifeless being in the tub, Murdoc let out an amused little giggle before burying his face within the thing once and for all.

"Dear Dairy," the first page read, unknowingly referring to dairy products, thus causing Murdoc to howl with laughter. "I think mum's found out about me smoking becuase shes been searching frough me things all morning.

She says things about me lungs and how smoking makes em black cause shes a nurse but Ive been smoking since I woz seventeen and I only thought you could get the black lung from the coal mines or somefink. I dunno if dad minds it much cus he smokes too and hes fine too. But really I fink I like smoking cause it helps me feel relaxed like right now. But I wonder wot mum would fink if she knew about the pot and painkillers too. I fink tomorrow I going to try and stop smoking for her cause I know she doesnt like it. Not tonight though, but tomorrow I will. Stu."

With a broad beam, Murdoc decisively reached towards his lighter, flickered the thing on, and hovered the flame around the cigarette in Stu Pot's mouth. Whether or not Stu had quit smoking, it didn't matter; Murdoc had once again ignited the kid's addiction. "There ya are, mate," Murdoc said proudly, happy to help. "No need to thank me..."

He returned to the crinkled pages of the pathetic little diary, reading entries about sort of crazy high, or a horrifying zombie movie, or chasing a storm with a handheld camera. He read about the boy's trouble with his blue hair, and his frustration with being a slower thinker, and the pretty girl named Paula Cracker that came in and bought guitar picks from Uncle Norms every once in a while. He read about Stu's obsession with music and graffiti art and found that, no matter how hard he tried, Stu couldn't really help himself when it came to a bottle of spray paint.

Stu had never been in trouble with the law, had never had any real friends, had had sex once, and had only kissed three girls in his lifespan of nineteen years. He'd never had a girlfriend and, as far as he'd known, he'd never been inside a pub. Thus, with an unimpressed sigh, Murdoc Niccals came to the realization that Stu Pot, all things considered, was a rather good kid. It was a fact that slightly annoyed him in an odd way, as if his innocence were rather unacceptable. How had he ended up watching this pathetic kid in the first place? Sure, he'd hit him in the head with a car and created a massive dent in the side of his head, but, really, that wasn't the point- at least, not in Murdoc Niccal's eyes.

The two couldn't have been more polar opposite of one another. At eight years old, Murdoc had lost his virginity, broken his nose in a school yard fight, and passed out piss-faced drunk on the side of the road. At nineteen, Stu Pot hadn't even lived. And Murdoc was furthermore securely convinced- if he hadn't stumbled across Stu Pot in the first place, the fucking kid would remain a bloody wanker for the rest of his miserable life. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was now a vegetable. Better that than live a life of such low standards.

"Tosser," Murdoc finally grunted, thrusting the little booklet in the corner of his room and turning back to Stu Pot anxiously. He remembered the previous time he had dropped Stu back off at the nursing home greasy, unwashed, and smelling. Of course, Rachel Pot had an absolute fit. Them after she had finished going completely bonkers, she'd written up a new list. Bathing, of course, had been at the tipy-top. So, muttering under his breath, Murdoc whisked off the leather jacket and threw it over his shoulder before darting towards the boy's new trousers.

For the kid's sake, he left him in his boxers and turned to the water faucet carelessly. With the cigarette still burning in the boy's loose mouth, Murdoc twisted the handle of the shower and watched as the water fell from it as if from a rain cloud. He cocked an eyebrow down at Stu Pot, placing his own fag between his lips and lighting it up instinctively. The water had outed Stu's, leaving him with the half-yellow thing just barely hanging on to his lower lip. But with barely anything on, Stu Pot was, in fact, painfully thin. A long line of stitches ran up the side of his body from where he'd had an ample amount of surgeries, thanks to the car accident three months before. Of course, the extra bruises had been cause of the Niccals man himself and, much to his satisfaction, he stared at them with a blistering pride that brought an absolute smile to his face. Still, he remained unmoving, watching the water wet Stu Pot's head of blue hair and making it stick to his pale face.

Mudoc Niccals, he considered his options. He didn't want to be stuck with this scrawny kid for life. Sure, Stu Pot made getting laid a snap, but Murdoc never really had much trouble in that department to begin with. Yet, the overwhelming presence of the man's own mother made Murdoc's blood crawl and his lip curl. She had made certain that the time spent with her son had been taken seriously, and getting out of Stu-Pot-Care-Time had become rather impossible. He considered for a moment that, if he made a quick bolt for the door, he could leave Stu Pot in the shower to drown while he made his way to the nearest airport. However, the notion of doing so quickly deflated as he considered jail time to be a bit too drastic of a consequence.

But what Murdoc needed was a band, and Stu Pot was only just getting in the way of his progression. Sure, the bleeding kid could play the keyboard, but what use was he now? Perhaps he could just lie on stage like a dead fish and attract girls from across the room? No. Not practical. What he needed to do was think straight, think clear and... bloody hell he needed another drink.

Nonetheless, the sway of his previous consumption had taken the best of him. As he staggered away from the tub, feeling the onset of a painful hangover creep into his skull, Murdoc lost hold of his footing and found himself colliding with the tiled wall before slipping down the side of it, back to the place before the tub he'd began at. Perhaps, he thought drunkenly, Stu Pot was supposed to find Murdoc Niccals. And maybe Murdoc Niccals was just doomed to be damned for the rest of his life.

He allowed his eyes to fall back over to Stu, flicking the boy's nose with a twitch of his middle finger. "Fucking pain in my arse, you are," he grumbled before leaning his head back against the edge of it and passing out for himself.


When Rachel Pot arrived back at the room that belonged to her comatose son, she had been horrified to find that he was soaking wet, covered in muddy black ash, and crying smears of women's black eyeliner. She stood at the doorframe, considering the state of her unmoving and only child, before she noticed the note pinned to the front of his mint green hospital gown. Then, very slowly, she approached the thing with caution before reaching forward and plucking the crumbled paper up from Stu's carefully rising chest.

"Stu and I went for a jog this morning which is why, as you can see, he is exceedingly wet. Have to admit, he is a great sprinter; sweats like a dog, though.

- M"


Psychic City: How about that? A little bit of male bonding time! I'm not a Murdoc x 2D shipper, so there won't be any slash in this. It's all just in fun, of course. So, I'm going to try and make it as realistic as possible. I'm sure Muds hated 2D for the longest while, because he still does, but come onnn, how can you not like that little face?

You know what to do! :)