AN: if you are confused, go back and reread the end of part 15

18

After a few minutes of being trapped in the bathroom, Pickles decided that no matter how sweet it was to see the two men finally come to an understanding, he wanted out.

"Hey guys?"

Nathan was nuzzling his manager's neck, completely oblivious to the interruption, still blocking the door.

"Uh, GUYS?" Pickles tried again.

"Um, Nathan, I think Pickles wants our attention."

Nathan ignored them both. There was nothing else on earth that could be quite so important as what he was doing right now. Another tight squeeze and Nathan's breath tickled Charles' ear. Charles had to struggle to remember what he was trying to say. He tried again.

"Nathan, don't you think it's time we let Pickles out of the bathroom."

"Damn right it's time we let Pickles out of the bathroom." Pickles grumbled. "Pickles has been stuck in here for over an hour."

That got Charles' attention.

"Oh My God, what time is it?"

Charles detached a reluctant Nathan and went in search of a clock. Pouting, Nathan slumped back against the door, keeping Pickles trapped.

"HOLY HELL! We have twenty minutes before your next show! Go, go! Get ready!"

Charles stormed back into the hallway and rescued an underdressed Pickles from the bathroom.

"Dear God, you're not even dressed yet, go! Hurry!"

Charles shoed them both off to get ready and then ran into his office. Luckily for Charles, years of schooling had made him hyper organized. He quickly grabbed all the necessary papers. He'd stared having venue owners sign liability waivers. Some how, though no fault of their own, disaster all ways struck when Dethklok played. Stages would collapse, random things would catch on fire. Charles blamed the shoddiness of the venues catering to death metal. Not a one of them would pass a safety inspection. Although no one had tried to sue them yet, Charles considered the waivers to be a sensible preventive measure. Last week one of the fans had broken an arm when a stage light fell after a freak localized earthquake. Charles was considering making the audience sign them too.

After he had all the paperwork gathered he spared a moment to call Skwisgaar and hassle him to be on time. He may have been the fastest guitarist in the world but the man had no concept of time.

It was a testament to Charles' skills that every one showed up at the venue with a minute to spare. Murderface turned out to surprisingly prompt and Charles never had to worry about him running late, just about him peeing on things. Charles dreaded the thought of what his patents must have been like to have created such a mess of a human being.

With the show starting and all the proper waivers signed, Charles sat back to watch the crowed. He was starting to recognize a few familiar faces of Dethklok fans. The boy who had broken his arm last week was there, wearing his cast like a badge of honor. Charles would have to get the band to sign it in exchange for not suing.

Charles liked to observe the concert from the back of the club, well beyond the probable damage zone. Just because Charles has yet to be hurt by any of the accidents that plagued the band, didn't mean he wanted to tempt fate. Most of the people in the club were crowed around the stage, cheering and jostling one another. Only a handful of more cautious patrons hung back in Charles corner.

One of the men he recognized from previous shows. He was an elderly professor with a taste for metal but no desire to be injured in the throng mobbing the stage. Charles had shared a companionable drink with him a few shows ago and had learned quite a lot about death metal from an academic stand point. Charles nodded at him, but kept watch from his vantage point toward the back.

Charles noticed another elderly gentleman in the corner furthest from himself. He looked exceptionally out of place in a suit, although Charles was hardly one to talk. Charles always looked out of place, wherever Dethklok happened to play. Still Charles found something off about the old man. Maybe it was the old-fashioned hair cut. Not that senior citizens were known for keeping up with the latest fashion trends. Charles continued to watch the old man but couldn't get a good look at his face.

As Dethklok wrapped up on stage the fan and the chunk of ceiling from which it hung, came crashing down on to the crowed. No one appeared to be seriously injured but Charles again considered having the audience sign some kind of form. He could call them pain waivers. As Nathan would probably say, warning people that there was a chance of death at a death metal show was pretty brutal. It certainly couldn't hurt the image of the band.

As the crowed dispersed Charles caught one final fleeting glance of the man who had so intrigued him. There was something hauntingly familiar about him, if only Charles could put his finger on it.

After the show Nathan came charging right toward Charles and swung him around in a way that had become characteristic. Murderface made an unattractive gagging noise when Nathan leaned in to nuzzle at Charles again, but they just ignored him. A man that actively homophobic had to be in denial about something.

As the band settled in to drink the night away Charles let himself relax. So much had happened today. He'd been on the verge to kicking Dethklok out of his life for good. For the record he was glad he hadn't. His apartment had been completely wrecked during a crazed race between death and a gangly Irish drummer. Despite all his promises to himself he was letting himself care about another human being again and hopefully it would go better this time. All this and he'd still managed to get the band set up and to the show on time. Maybe he was as great as Nathan seemed to think.

Charles tuned back into the conversation just in time to over hear them arguing about dead prostitutes.

"Yah, but if you taxidermied her than you could still have sex."

"No, dude. That's, like, gross."

"Ja, why you is wanting to makes the sex with the dead ladies?"

"Yah, taxidermy is kinda weird, I'm always worried that the eyes are moving."

Wait.

Like being struck by lighting, Charles knew who the man from earlier remind him of. The shock must have been apparent on his face because Nathan put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Dude, are you okay?"

Charles did his best to appear normal. There was no need to worry his boys just yet.

"Yes, I'm fine." Just wondering why a man who's been dead for a hundred years is attending a Dethklok show.