A/N: At last, meaning to the title! I bet you're all wondering about it, and finally the answer has come! -Sounds trumpets-
A major thanks to all my reviewers, Bravewolf, Kimmy-sama, Shepyt, Vilsy-chan, BoredCoed (I got a cookie! Yay!), Danakagome, Jade, Invader Blade, WhoDidn'tKillBambi, Venny, Yomiori-Wolfdemon (Thanks for the cake by the way, it was delicious!) and Xiao-Darkcloud! You guys have no idea how much your words inspire me to write. -Hugs all!-
Caution! Falling bassists, armature medical examinations, and plate abuse.
Gorillaz aren't mine, but Styx and the rival band are. Not that I really like the rival band, but, eh.
Chapter 4: Of Pain And Breaking China
About a half hour into their lovely breakfast meal a loud banging sounded through the building. "Buggery fuck." Murdoc growled as he rose and went to the front door. Expecting to see some lost tourist or perhaps the milkman, Murdoc opened the door with a growl. "Go the fu-" An acoustic guitar was broken over his head.
The Bass Demon staggered backward, pain exploding behind his eyes, but he struck out blindly with his Cuban heels, catching his assailant in the stomach. "Shit!" Murdoc was only semi-surprised that he knew that voice; Damien, Lee's brother and the guitarist of their crappy band.
"We're gonna kick yer ass, Murdoc." Clayton, the drummer, growled as he shoved past Damien, who was still trying to catch his breath, with a wooden baseball bat in hand.
"Jus' try it, ya bastards." Murdoc ducked the first swing and his fist made contact with Clayton's jaw, spraying spittle and blood.
The broken end of the guitar smashed into Murdoc's chest, dropping the Satanist to his knees, and Damien glowered down at him. "Worthless bastard." He snarled as he raised the broken guitar again.
A brown blur leaped from the studio's door and latched down upon Damien's hand, the long canine teeth slicing through the guitarist's skin and muscles. Dropping the guitar, Damien screamed as he tore the dog from his hand, tearing flesh and showering hot blood. Throwing the dog to the ground, the guitarist aimed a kick at Styx, but both he and Clayton could hear 2-D and the other band members approaching. Clayton grabbed his bleeding band mate and the two tore off across the property back to their car.
"Wot's goin'- Murdoc! Wot 'appened?" 2-D dropped to his knees before the bassist. "Are you okay? Lemme see."
The Satanist shoved 2-D feebly. "Sod off, Tosser." He tried to growl, but it sounded a lot weaker then he would have liked. He tasted blood and his head and chest were screaming; he wasn't sure he could stand, even if he wanted too.
Russel and Noodle appeared at the door. "Muds, what 'appened?"
"Man, Russel, wot the fuck 'r you thinkin', you ponce! Get Noodle outta'ere." Murdoc didn't want the little girl to see the surprisingly large amount of blood that littered the front steps. The American hesitated only a second before scooping up the small child, much to her protesting, and taking her back into the studios.
2-D, still on his knees, turned Murdoc's head to get a better view of the bassist's temple. "Muds, yer bleedin'!"
The Bass Demon hurt too much to roll his eyes, let alone stop the singer from touching him. "Bravo, brain ache, the world is now enlightened."
Styx walked up to them, tail wagging, and began sniffing Murdoc, much to the Satanist's displeasure. Finally, having enough TLC after the dog began licking the blood from his face, Murdoc tried to stand. "Sod off, the lot 'a you." Suddenly the world flipped over on itself and the bassist found that he was about to meet the ground in a most painful way until 2-D grabbed him and helped him stay upright.
"Murdoc, ya shouldn't be movin' 'round. You should be goin' ta the hospi'al."
"Fuck that. I'd rather bite me tongue off 'n bleed ta death." At this the bassist began coughing, sending a few red splatters down to the ground.
2-D went a little paler. "Muds, yer coughin' up blood! Dat's not good. In fact, I fink's it's bad!"
"It's fine." Murdoc growled. He fought to keep his vision from swimming. He was going to kill those stupid gits when he saw them next.
"What's fine?" Russel returned to the front porch after having dropped Noodle off in the kitchen.
"Nofing's fine! 'E's coughin' up blood Russ, dat's not good, right?"
"It's fine!"
"That's not fine, Muds! You could be bleedin' internally."
Murdoc shook his head at his two concerned band mates and found that made him dizzy. How strange. It was as if the very ground he stood on was stealing his strength. Only a few seconds before he had been standing more or less on his own, and now he found that he had to rest heavily against 2-D. Plus, it was taking more and more effort to keep his eyes open. "Bit me tongue."
Russel wasn't convinced. The Bass Demon would probably rather bleed to death slowly than admit he needed help. "Prove it."
The Satanist's mouth opened a fraction and his tongue flopped out, dripping blood from a nice little tear on the side. Satisfied, Russel took Murdoc's other arm. "Can you walk?"
"A'course I can walk." The bassist sneered.
" 'E can't." 2-D said when Russel glanced over at the singer.
"Let's get you inside, Muds." The big American sighed as he and 2-D half carried, half dragged their wounded band mate over to the couch in the lounge. Once Murdoc was situated comfortably (or at least as comfortably as he could be, all things considered) Russel looked the bass player up and down. "Now, what happened, Muds?"
Murdoc tried to prop himself up on his elbow, failed miserably, and sighed. "Damien 'n Clayton, probably gettin' back at me fer wot I did ta Lee."
Russel sighed. He knew the rival band would try and get back at the Satanist, but he never imagined it would go this far. What the hell was wrong with all these British musicians? Beating the snot out of each other and sending one another to the hospital... Russel shook his head. The big American's attention was suddenly snagged by 2-D, who was tugging on his shirtsleeve. "Russ, 'e's bleeding from the temple again. Should we take 'im to a doctor?"
"Hell no!"
Ignoring the outburst, Russel thought for a moment. "I'm more concerned about 'is already broken ribs. One coulda snapped off 'n punctured somethin', ya know?"
"I'm fine!"
"Wot should we do, Russ?" 2-D looked at the drummer anxiously.
The American sighed. "No way around it, D, we're gonna have to check his ribs."
The singer looked hesitant. "Won't it 'urt 'im?"
Glancing down at Murdoc, Russel sighed. "Seeing as he won't go to the hospital, we don't have much choice, if we want to make sure he's okay."
After a few minutes with a very uncooperative Murdoc, the two had finally managed to get the bassist's shirt off. The bandages around his chest were clean, unlike the bandage around his head, and they couldn't see any lumps or abnormalities that would indicate something wrong. "See." The Satanist growled, not liking being picked over by Russel and 2-D. "It's fine. Now leave me alone, lard ass."
Russel glared down at the bassist. "You're gonna hafta do it, 'D. I can't guarantee I won't strangle 'im."
"Ch. You 'n wot army?"
"Russ, I can't!"
Choosing to ignore the always instigative Murdoc, Russel focused more on the shaken 2-D. "Sure you can, 'D. You have too."
Gingerly 2-D placed his hands on Murdoc's chest and pressed down, feeling the older man's ribs. Carefully, he made his way down, making sure there wasn't a gap in the sequence or anything else that might indicate trouble. "Jus' lemme know if I'm 'urtin' ya, Muds." 2-D said.
"Lookin' at'cher face 'urts me, Tosser." Murdoc hissed through clenched teeth. Shit, but his chest was burning. /Why the bloody hell's it 'urting now? A fucking guitar was broken over me 'ead 'n it didn't 'urt 'alf as much fer Satan's sake/ It was the adrenaline, or rather the lack thereof, that was making the bassist feel like he was going to die. Now that the threat of attack was gone, his body was free to calm down, relax, and focus all it's energy on pain, agony and general hurting.
"I don't fink anyfing's broken." 2-D said, looking up at Russel after finishing his amateur examination.
Murdoc would have liked to make some sort of crack about 2-D's face being broken, but as it was, it took too much effort to keep his eyes open, let alone fire off some smart-ass comment. He tried to follow Russel's and 2-D's conversation about hospitals and cheese (or whatever it was they were saying), but everything sounded like he was underwater, and the more he tried to stay awake, the sleepier he became, until it was all just too much for him and soon he gave up and sank peacefully into unconsciousness.
Noodle came into the room, Styx in her arms. "Is Murdoc-san okay?"
2-D tried his best to smile. " 'E's gonna be jus' fine, luv. 'E's sleepin' now but 'e'll be better inna mornin'."
The young guitarist crossed the room and stood next to the unconscious bass player and planted a little kiss on his cheek. "Oyasumi (1), Murdoc-san." She whispered. Then she held Styx out and the scruffy dog gave the bassist a lick, and in his sleep Murdoc smiled.
For the remainder of the day 2-D fretted and worried about his hurt band mate, and though he tried to be cheerful when the others were around, they could all see that 2-D wasn't quite himself. Even Styx seemed to notice it, and 2-D's darkened mood seemed to be rubbing off on the dog, as the usually hyper little mutt was now listless and often went back to the studio couch to check on the still unconscious Murdoc.
As evening rolled around Noodle had finally had enough. She went into the studio, gathered up Styx in her arms and went to grab 2-D. She found the singer in his room, flopped languidly on the bed scribbling on a scrap of paper, burning cig dangling from his lips. "2-D-san?"
2-D looked over and cracked a smile, jamming the mostly spent cigarette into an ashtray on his nightstand. "Ey, luv. Whassamatter?"
Letting the dog go, Noodle grabbed the singer's thin arm and tugged. "Come outside! I want to show you a happy place."
"Noodle, 'm not really inna-"
"Please?" The guitarist gave another beseeching tug and 2-D couldn't help but give in.
"All right." He stood and Noodle practically dragged him out of his room and up the stairs, with Styx right at his heels. They crossed through the car park and out into the cemetery. "Noodle, luv, where we going?" He asked after nearly tripping over a half buried grave marker.
"2-D-san's special place!" It took 2-D a moment to realize that Noodle meant the golden valley where he had found Styx. The dog at his heels barked happily, as if he too had realized where they were going.
/We were back at the place. The place that 2-D wanted so badly to share with a friend. I could sense his unhappiness and his fear. They clung to him with fingers like knives and every prick they made on his pale skin was another bolt of dread and uneasiness. I glared momentarily at the figurative demons sitting on the young man's shoulders as they whispered of woe and misery./
Standing at his special spot, bathed in the warm glow of the sunshine, 2-D couldn't help but smile a bit, though the heavy weight of trepidation was still looming over him. Noodle tugged his shirt again and when he looked down at her she proudly held up a china plate and a marker. "Wot's dis, love?"
"It is a tradition in Japan, 2-D-san. When one is feeling angry or upset they write what is making them feel bad on a plate and then they break it." She smiled. "It is a metaphorical way of killing your problems, no? By writing them on a plate, you are transferring the negative energy and then by breaking it, you are releasing the negative energy so that it cannot bother you anymore." She paused and thought for a moment. "I think it works well for things that make us sad, too."
The singer took the small plate and looked it over. /Write me problems onna plate, break the plate, 'n problems go away./ It seemed simple enough for 2-D, though he wondered if one plate would be enough to hold all his current problems. Taking the permanent marker from Noodle he sat on the grassy rise and began to ponder what he should write on the plate's face.
/Lessee... problem number one... Murdoc bein' 'urt./ So, 2-D scrawled 'Hurt Murdoc' on the top of the plate. /Problem number two... I don't fink dere's anymore milk left inna kitchen.../ 'No Milk' was written under 'Hurt Murdoc'. 2-D grinned. This was easier than he thought, and it seemed to be working already. /Problem number free... well, Damien 'n Clayton... 'n Lee too, I s'pose.../ The rival band was inscribed onto the plate. /'N... oh! Dat evil telemarketer lady who keeps callin', 'n dat one magazine guy who said I wassa pansy, 'n I'm almost outta pills 'n does stupid zombies keep comin' back…/
Noodle watched as 2-D happily filled the plate with random problems, everything from Murdoc being hurt to the cable going out during his favorite part in some zombie movie and when the plate was covered front and back with the singer's almost completely illegible handwriting, the young girl pulled out her own small plate, that had her own (though far less 'random') problems.
2-D stole a quick glance and saw that there were only two things written, and he figured one had to do with Murdoc and the other with Lee, Damien and Clayton. He had to smile at her almost empty plate. Seemed that the young guitarist worried over very few things. That or she broke these plates often.
"Are you ready, 2-D-san?" The singer nodded. "Then, just throw your plate and watch it break!" Noodle threw her plate much like a Frisbee, and the small chunk of china went sailing out into the valley, drooping quickly because of the weight, until it crashed on some rocks, her problems breaking into a hundred pieces.
2-D followed her example, flinging his own plate in a Frisbee-like fashion and when his crashed on the rocks, a great weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders, as though all the worries and the pain written on that slim piece of china had shattered with the sounds of breaking plates, and he smiled. At his feet, sensing his happiness, Styx barked and wagged his tail.
"Dat was incre'ible, Noodle!" He said as the guitarist bent down and picked up the ever squirming dog.
"I am glad it helped you, 2-D-san." She smiled and the sun was suddenly caught between the two mountain peaks, drowning the valley in golden light. Noodle inhaled sharply. "Utsukushii...(2)" she whispered as she held the dog tighter. She leaned against the tall singer. "Gomen nasai (3), 2-D-san... I had forgotten how beautiful this place is..."
They stayed there for a few more minutes, until the sun had set and the orange had bleed from the sky. "Let's go inside, luv, 'n see if Murdoc's doin' any better."
As the three wandered back through the cemetery 2-D just had to ask, "So, Noodle, you frow dose plates often?"
The young guitarist nodded. "Usually from the kitchen window out into the landfill."
/So dat's why dere's never any plates inna kitchen... makes sense.../
(1)-Goodnight (2)-Beautiful (3)-I'm sorry