Chapter 7.4 After Glow

Skwisgaar lay there, a sore and sticky mess. He rolled out of the light that was following him across the bed as the morning passed, closed his eyes and hugged one of the pillows tighter to him. That stupid prick of a Norwegian; maybe Skwisgaar had crossed the line but this reaction was overkill.

The swede sighed internally. He had started it, though; he always started it. He just loved to see Toki riled up, it was so damn easy but the lack of a challenge didn't make it any less appealing. He smiled to weakly himself. It was kind of good to have seen Toki like that, though; to see the young Norwegian, well, stand up for himself. Not that Skwisgaar had put up much of a fight.

That's all this had been after all, a fight. This was just an extension to the punch ups and wrestling matches they already had when they were angry with each other. The blonde man understood the concept of fucking someone in anger, although he couldn't recall a situation where he had actually been angry with the person below him. For many years now it had just been another faceless whore who would occasionally cop the brunt of his frustrations. In the past, jealous women had tried to do it to him thinking they were special but he had managed to change the hearts of each and every one of them (and then once again by kicking them the hell out of his bed).

Toki's little attempt at a power play had been thwarted too. Lovers were so easy to manipulate, all it took was a little affection. Just that little bit of validation and he had fallen in line and danced to the same tune as everyone else. Skwisgaar was a bit disappointed at his victory and he couldn't quite figure out why. Everyone fell at his feet and into his bed, it was normal and familiar but he hadn't wanted that from Toki, even though he had specifically engineered it to be so.

The weird thing was, Skwisgaar liked fighting with the Norwegian. He liked to argue with him and tease him, he liked it when Toki got mad at him. Even when they got into physical fights, he somehow felt closer to him afterwards, like they understood one another just that little bit more, like they had forged another small link between them in some subterranean space.

However, he didn't like to see Toki upset by anything other than him. Not understanding why the Norwegian was angry, sad or anxious made Skwisgaar very uncomfortable. It crossed over from their private tug-of-war to the outside world, to the real world. The few times Toki's demons had reared their ugly heads they had utterly shredded the force field of conceit Skwisgaar surrounded himself with and this had frightened him.

Toki could bring down his wall; he had brought down his wall, that's why it had hurt so much. Skwisgaarhad attempted to seal the wound with his guitar. He had used music to flush out the poison, to extract the Norwegian from his veins and rebuild his wall, brick by brick. He had played until he was exhausted but the feeling wouldn't leave him, so with chemical help, he had forced himself to continue. He had licked furiously at the strings but they never became hot enough to cauterise his punctured heart.

He poured out his hate and his hurt into those riffs. Each solo was a series of stiches mending the fabric of his tattered ego… and that little fucker had attempted to play them. He had smeared the wet paint of Skwisgaar's soul and inflamed the wound again. That music wasn't created for Toki, it had been created BECAUSE of Toki! If he wanted to be that close to Skwisgaar then why had he recoiled from him? So, drunk and brooding, Skwisgaar had decided to show him what it was to be close to him; to feel his hate. He had added in the head fuck just to be malicious and maintain his dominance.

So why had he found his belligerence … soothing? Especially since it had been so unnerving until ...

Skwisgaar sniggered at himself,

… until Toki's teeth had hit his neck. So it wasn't just Toki who danced?

He took another small sip of water. By rights he should have been in the hospital wing on an IV drip. He rolled onto his side again and tried to trace it all back.

It was that straight edge. He had never seen Toki lose it like that before and it had scared him. Not just a fright or an irrational fear; It had change Skwisgaar on the inside, changed his view of the world and of Toki. It was similar to the way he had changed after their first album:

Skwisgaar had always used his guitar to express himself but it had been just another reflection of his arrogance. It was a just way to display his brilliance and another reason for people to love him. He had believed he had reached a point of technical purity, his precision was unmatched and his music was as pure as the driven snow so he had taken to wearing all white as a personal symbol of reaching Nirvana.

The five of them had been at some bar down town where the bar tender had taken one look at Nathan and decided he didn't care that Toki was only nineteen. They were still riding the high of the success of their first album and the royalty cheques had begun to flow. Skwisgaar and Pickles had been talking for a while now;

"Skwisgaar, I'm not sayin' somethin' like you're nawt a feckin' amazin' guitarist…"

"Dats 'cause I ams."

"Yeh, ya are, but it's jus' that we gotta start really defining our sound as Dethklok."

"What's you mean by dats? We haves de sound. We makes de record and now we drunks because of how well it ams doing."

"Yeh, I know, but tha first album is always a bit of a tester 'n', well, how can I put this?" The red head took a long swig of his beer as he thought. "Ye've played in a lot o' bands, haven't ya?"

"Ha ha, ja! Fuckings lot!" Skwisgaar laughed like each band was a notch on his bed post.

"Well, I'm nawt tryin' ta be rude or wadever but yer can sort o' tell."

Skwisgaar lost his happy expression. "Whats you mean?" he asked defensively.

"Well, when I was in Snakes'N'Barrels…" Pickles stared and Skwisgaar took a large gulp of beer in preparation for yet another SNB reminiscence "The music suited me ta begin with then I kinda felt I was jus' goin' through tha motions. I thought I got to express myself but as ya change the music's gotta change too or ya…" The drummer stopped when he noticed the bored face of the swede as he rested his head in one hand. "…or ya end up like you right now." He said in an annoyed voice.

"Whats de hells?! What ams dat supposed to means!" Skwisgaar said loudly and slammed his beer down on the bar. The others looked over.

"Ah, fuck." The drummer didn't quite know how to broach this subject with a touchy guy like Skwisgaar. He was only twenty two and insanely talented so of course he couldn't take any criticism. "Look, I'll just come right out an' say it then. Ya sound the same on our album as ye have on all ye others."

Everyone went silent. The lead guitarist narrowed his eyes.

"So whats? I de bests. I already proves dat so you knows it yourselves."

"God! Will ya stop bein' so damn defensive! It's got nothin' ta do with how good ya are! If anythin' yer technically better than ever! I'm tryin' ta tell ya ta nawt… fuck! I dunno." Pickles trailed off into his beer.

"Nos, you fucking tells me!" Skwisgaar was getting pissed off.

"Arrg, what I'm tryin' ta say is don't play fer other people, play fer yourself, play what's inside you."

Skwisgaar was disarmed by this; he had been gearing up for a fight. "Whats….whats you mean wit dat?" he said much more calmly. This is where Nathan joined the conversation.

"He means we're Dethklok and we're the most brutal band in the world. We're not out to please. Everything we do is dark and brutal and filled with hatred, so that means we have to be as well." Nathan spouted like a mission statement then finished his beer.

"Yeh! That's what I'm tryin' ta say! Thanks Nathan. Yeh, you gotta find yer hate 'n' let that play out. That's our sound. That's what it means ta be a part o' Dethklok. Yer gotta hate." The drummer finished content that he had gotten his point across. He ordered another round of beers.

Skwisgaar didn't move for a while as he tried to tackle with this pseudo criticism. He respected Pickles on a musical and personal level but this stemmed mostly from the red head's admiration of his skill. He glanced over at Toki three seats down. What about the kid? The swede had admitted him into the band based purely on technical ability. Where was Toki's 'brutality' talk? The swede had his first pang of resentment towards the Norwegian as the teenager giggled and went off with the front man to play pinball in another room. Murderface moved up and sat next to pickles.

The two rough looking men at the other end of the corner bar had been pointing mockingly at the musicians all night. They had also been talking loudly and crudely about how the one in the trucker cap had left his pregnant girlfriend. "If she thinks I'm goin' to help her raise that fucking kid she's got another thing coming! I ain't gunna give her one thin dime neither!"

"Serves her fucking right!" The other one said, "She can feed the fucking thing off the scraps from that shit-hole diner she works at."

Skwisgaar overheard their conversation and unconsciously gripped his drink a little tighter.

"God, whad fuckin' assholes." Pickles said to Skwisgaar but loud enough for the two men to hear. Murderface made a loud murmur of agreement.

"Ja, I knows." Skwisgaar agreed with tense, hunched shoulders.

"You ladies got a problem over there?" The one in the trucker cap said, sneering at the musicians. Skwisgaar was drunk enough to bite at his pet hate insult.

"Ja, you guys ams fucking dildos."

"What did you just call me you long haired, foreign asshole?" The man said standing up and pushing back his shoulders.

"Maybe you nots speaks de English! I says you ams a fucking dildo!" Skwisgaar said a louder and more clearly. The man in the cap walked around the bar and up to the swede.

"You wanna go, princess?" The man said, trying to stare the blonde man down.

Skwisgaar swivelled on his stool then rose to his full height. He smirked at the look of regret on the face in front of him as he wrapped his tendril digits around the neck of his beer bottle.

"Ja. I dos." He said and smashed the bottle against the man's skull.

Blood sprayed all over him as the trucker cap went flying off and landed half way on the other side of the bar. The man fell back into a table and Skwisgaar immediately pounced on him, grabbing the front of his jacket and head butting him hard on the nose. More blood sprayed the swede as the man coughed and swore.

"Oh shit." Pickles said when he saw the man's drinking companion run over. The initial shock had worn off and he and Murderface jumped in to help. The young bartender just hid out of sight and the other patrons had all either backed up or run off as the two men and three musicians brawled around the room. It all ended as quickly as it had begun when Nathan powered up and knocked both of the dildos out cold. He looked at the other three panting band members and was about to ask what the fuck that had been about when Skwisgaar turned around.

Nathan was completely silent for a moment and enjoyed the vision like a fine cheese. Skwisgaar's pure white clothes where splattered in crimson blood. He looked like a polar bear on its tenth seal cub, like a dove ripped apart by a hawk, like the serial killer from every B grade horror movie ever made. He had split his eyebrow and the trickle ran down the side of his face and dripped off his jaw onto his heaving chest. Nathan shuddered slightly.

"Wow. You look fucking brutal, Skwisgaar." He had to validate his vision with words and everyone looked over at the swede.

"This is nawt…. what I fuckin'….. meant!" Pickles rasped between breaths.

"Well, be more clear! He'sch fucking foreign, remember?" Murderface huffed; he hadn't gotten quite as involved as Pickles in the skirmish.

Toki was hiding behind the front man but poked his head around the behemoth to view the situation.

"SHIT! Skwisgaar, you're bleeding!" Toki burst out with and side stepped around Nathan as he pulled off his shirt.

"Huh? Ja, probably." Skwisgaar said and gave Toki a questioning look.

"No! Your fucking hand!" Toki replied in a panicked voice as he began tearing his T-shirt into strips. The swede held up his throbbing, oozing hand; the bottle had sliced it right open. Panic washed the faces of the other band mates as Skwisgaar stood there in shock, watching it bleed freely. Toki grabbed his hand and bound it tightly in an expert fashion.

Pickles spent the entire car ride back home to their shitty suburban house reprimanding Skwisgaar for his injury. Nathan kept stealing glances in the rear view mirror of the swede sitting in the back seat; he couldn't help it. Toki made reassuring comments in his native tongue and Murderface just sat there sulkily (no one cared this much when he cut himself up). The swede was still in shock and said nothing to anyone. Pickles called Charles the moment they got home and a half an hour later the swede was being stitched up at their kitchen table by some Mob doctor.

The proceeding healing time had driven Skwisgaar insane. He moped around the house, cursing under his breath and kicking things for almost three weeks. At one point he had even asked Toki to play for him just to hear the sound but it had been about as much use as a Porno verses the real thing. He was convinced that he would never be able to play as well as before, so in a particularly strong episode of self-loathing, he had grabbed all of his crisp, white clothes and dyed them black. Nathan had approved.

When Skwisgaar finally could play again he had played for a week straight. He released all of his pent up anxiety about being separated from his instrument, he released all the anger he had for himself and his surroundings, his deep emotional anguish, his fear and stress. He played for no one but himself and for his own desire and purpose.

One evening, when they were all sitting around watching television, Pickles smiled his crooked smile over at Skwisgaar as he plucked away mindlessly.

"So it only took nearly losin' yer career to finally understand what I was getting' at?" The red head asked. Skwisgaar gave him a sour look before replying.

"Ja, I tinks I gets it now."

"Well it sounds great! I'm really startin' to hear the hate behind it."

"Ja. I hateds not beings able tos play, so nows dat I cans, I guess I tells dat story in de musics." He leaned back into the sofa and ran through some scales just for joy of movement.

"Hates ams really personals den." Toki piped up from the other end of the couch and Skwisgaar arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "I just means dat, well, you an amazings guitarist already but dis, um, wells…" The rhythm guitarist looked down in thought.

"Dis ams what, little Toki?" Skwisgaar asked. Toki didn't much care for being called 'little'.

"I just means dat dis sounds more like you. Whats you really are, nots what you wants people to tinks you are." Toki finished a bit more strongly.

"You see? The kid gets it." Nathan said and leaned over to tussle Toki's shoulder length hair. Skwisgaar scoffed and turned back to the television. So this was hate? This was the sound of Dethklok? Interesting. He was glad he had stuck around after all.

Skwisgaar finally managed to sit up and lit a cigarette. It made him feel sick but he sat there and smoked it anyway as he mused.

Hate was the most pure form of a persons' soul; it was where the true you lay. People liked lots of things but what you didn't like said much more about you. People usually had lots of friends but only a few choice enemies. What you hated defined you as a person because of the intensity of feeling and specific focus. Hate actually meant something.

That's when it stuck him. Toki's aggression had been calming because it was focus on him. He had been able to help Toki vent, to heal, to express his hatred. Even though the majority of it was now dotted about under the sheets, Toki had poured a little of his soul into Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar had completely undermined him. He had failed him as his band lover (well, apart from the obvious and he winced as he put out his cigarette).

The lead guitarist rolled his way to the edge of the bed and found his clothes. He groaned as he gingerly stood up; being a vessel for hatred had taken its toll. He rummaged around for the last of his things when he found Toki's shirt hiding in the sheets. He smiled warmly to himself as he wrapped the dark blue fabric tightly around his faded scar. Toki's hate was too pure and precious for anyone else to have and too wild and strong for anyone else to tame; it was up to Skwisgaar.