A/N: Sorry about the long wait folks! I just moved to go to college, and I won't have internet until the 12th or something like that. Right now I'm using a friend's computer, so everyone give Sarah a huge thank you; if it weren't for her, you wouldn't be reading this. Please excuse the bad "drunk" typing... having never been drunk, or around anyone who was, I only had stereotypes and gut instinct to guide me on the slurs. Also, on a sadder note, the story's end is coming; one more chapter after this one. Can't think of anything else, so umm... cheese.
The wild and exotic adamant singer, angry drunk and rain all coming up on this edition of The Sound of Breaking Plates, stay tuned, kiddies!
I don't own Gorillaz, but I do own Styx and the rival band. Wootness.
Chapter 8: Of New Beginnings And Mourning Skies
"Wot?" "Murdoc? It's Lee. I'm on my way to Kong." "Glad ta 'ear yer outta the 'ospital, Lee." "Listen, Murdoc, we have to talk." "Really?" "Yes, really!" "Wot's the catch?" "There is no catch. Look... I'm not gonna apologize for what I've done, just as I know you aren't either, but this... this has to stop. Frankly, I'm sick of fightin' with you, sick of bein' in the hospital, and sick of payin' medical bills... I'm tired of this, as I'm sure you are, so let's just agree to disagree." "Er, wot, 'm sorry?" "I said, let's bury the hatchet." "Oh, yeah, uh..." "You think it's a daft idea." "No, no... s'not daft at all, actually..." "Then... you'll show?" "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there." "A change of heart, eh?" "Yeah... something like that."
The conversation kept replaying itself through Murdoc's mind as he strode purposefully out the front door and down the path to the gate. He drew his jacket tighter around him as the sound of his heels pounded in his ears. There had been something in Lee's voice, something that made Murdoc want to believe that perhaps that's all this strange late-night calling out was; a chance to forgive, forget and carry on. And truthfully, that's all Murdoc really wanted. Sure, at first he'd been pissed and had planned to hurt them all in evil malicious ways that would impress even Satan himself, but then, something had happened... but what? Murdoc tried to think of all that had happened over the last 2 weeks, but his brain quickly asked him what hadn't happened? And then Murdoc knew; he didn't want to fight with Lee and his band because it was pointless. There were so many other things to do, like win Noodle huge, giant stuffed animals that she really didn't need, but very much wanted, and burying 2-D in the sand at the beach, then leaving him to holler as the tide came in, screaming like a little girl, before digging him out and watching him scramble away from the water like it was a monster out to get him.
Yes, Murdoc wanted the fighting to stop, if only because it was a waste of precious time. But, Murdoc also knew the world hadn't been built on trust, so he stopped to pick up a discarded brick when he passed one. As he straightened, someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Murdoc! Wait! Where ya goin'?" Murdoc turned to face the breathless 2-D with a mild look of annoyance.
"Go back inside, Tosser, 'n take that damned dog with ya."
2-D looked at Murdoc with eyes reminiscent of a pleading orphan. "Please, Murdoc, jus' ferget Lee 'n come back inside, please? I know ya wanna fight wif 'im but... but wot if somefin' 'appens – somefin' bad? I-"
"Nothing bad's gonna 'appen, Stu-Pot. Lee 'n I 'r jus' gonna talk. Bury the 'atchet, yanno?"
The singer still looked hesitant. "You sure?"
"Yeah. 'S gonna be fine."
2-D's eyes flicked down to Murdoc's hand. "Why ya got dat brick den?"
Murdoc shoved the brick into his jacket pocket. "Jus' in case Lee's yankin' me." He saw the worried expression reappear on 2-D's face. " 'Onestly, Tosser, I don't think 'e'll try anythin'." He lit up a cigarette.
"Den... Den I'm comin' wif you." 2-D said in what he hoped was an adamant voice.
"Don't be daft, Tos-"
"I'm comin' wif you!" It was a strong voice that spoke, and there was a beat of silence; 2-D's uncharacteristically defiant voice surprising the both of them. When 2-D spoke again, his voice was once again his more familiar meek pleading. "In case... in case somefin' bad does 'appen... I wanna be dere... Yanno, ta 'elp..."
/There had been something in 2-D's voice then, a strong something; a something that was almost but not quiet entirely out of place coming from the singer's mouth. It sounded strange, yet somehow right, and the demons that clouded around on this darkest of night shrank back, almost in fear, or perhaps even awe, at the sound of that strange, yet somehow right strength that emitted from the depths of the singer's soul. It was a strength very few people knew 2-D possessed; I knew it, as I'm sure did Noodle, for the small girl believed the world of all her band mates, and rightly so. Russel probably suspected that somewhere beneath all of the painkillers and blank stares there was something strong in 2-D. Murdoc was the only one who probably didn't have a clue./
Murdoc looked the singer up and down, as if trying to sum him up. That unyielding tone had taken him by surprise, and if it was one thing Murdoc Niccals didn't like to be, it was caught off guard. Finally he relented with a snort that sent a cloud of smoke out of his nostrils. "Fine." He glanced down at Styx, whose tail was wagging like always. "I s'pose you want 'im ta come?" When 2-D nodded, Murdoc only grunted and continued his walk to the gate.
Both Lee and Clayton were there standing beside Clayton's small black four door parked alongside the road, and though the drummer looked somewhat less than pleased to be there, he nodded to Murdoc and 2-D, who did likewise, before Lee dropped his cig, crushed it, and looked Murdoc in the eye. "Thanks for comin', Murdoc."
Murdoc extinguished his own cigarette. "Where's Damien?"
Lee shrugged. "Well... Damien got pretty pissed when I said I just wanted to forget this mess. Drove off like a bat outta hell. Probably went down to the bar. Been there a lot since the doc's told him..." When Clayton pointedly coughed Lee glanced over at him, and 2-D was sure he saw a knowing look pass between them before Lee waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, forget that jackass." He eyed Murdoc curiously. "In all honesty, I didn't think you'd come."
"Yeah, well-" Murdoc stopped, his tongue suddenly going dry in his mouth. He almost let it slip; almost said that 2-D had convinced him (that damned look in his eyes... and that damned dog, too), but after tripping over his tongue in an attempt to squash that thought, he shrugged, all the while maintaining that always cool 'don't screw with me' air about him. "Yer right, 'm sick a the doctor bills 'n that stupid 'ospital." There was a moment of silence before he held his hand out to Lee. "Right, so, no more fights."
Lee took his hand. "And no more blasting each other in interviews."
" 'N more whackin' me with a pipe." Murdoc felt the corner of his mouth begin to flutter up in a grin.
"S'long as you don't trash my car again." Lee countered, his own mouth tugging into a smirk. They shook on it, a promise for a new start, while 2-D and Clayton stood back, both relieved that the pointless rivalry was now over.
Then, Lee's car showed up. It was grey, covered in dents that could have been made by a shovel and graffiti that claimed Lee, Clayton and Damien were twats. It swerved a bit, but managed to park successfully behind Clayton's, which was a miracle, because the driver who stumbled out of the car was too drunk to see straight, let alone drive. Clayton and Lee looked both shocked and horrified to see Damien stagger out of the car, smelling of smoke and liquor and hate.
Lee looked incredulously at his brother. "Damien, what the hell-"
"Shadup, Lee." Damien's voice slurred. He pointed an accusing finger at his sibling. "Yer a fuckin' dishgrash, yanno that? Runnin' away from allayer fighsh... pathedic." He spun on his heel, nearly losing his balance, to glare at Clayton. " 'N you. The hell you thinkin', shidin' wit 'im? Yer ash much a fucker ash he ish."
The alcohol was burning though Damien's eyes and Lee moved closer to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Damien, yer plastered, just get in the car; Clayton 'n I 'r almost-"
The drunken guitarist wasn't interested, and he cracked his fist across Lee's jaw before hurling him into Clayton. "Fuck you, Lee!" He screamed as Clayton stumbled backward, Lee in his arms. The drummer tried to remain upright, but his foot slipped on a rock and sent the two tumbling to the ground in a heap.
Damien then turned and glared at Murdoc, his eyes filled with hate; hate fueled by the raging rampant buzz of alcohol. "You!" He hissed, his eyes narrowing. "You know what'cher damn dog did? 'E tore alla tendonsh in my hand! Doc shaysh I'll pro'lly never play guitar again!"
Murdoc, who had always liked Damien the least (the man was a thug and a drunk and though it might be hypocritical, Murdoc had never really liked those kinds of people), had come to learn after knowing the rival band for almost a year that Damien was not just a jerk, but also a lousy musician, a beater of both women and children and just an all around asshole. So, though he wanted to stop fighting with Lee and Clayton, Damien was another story. And as Damien had just admitted he couldn't play guitar anymore, it was natural to assume that he was no longer part of the band; after all, a guitarist who couldn't play the guitar was about as useful as elevator music. Before he had even turned that idea over in his mind, Murdoc's mouth split into a contemptuous grin. "My 'eart bleeds purple piss fer you."
Fury burned like ire in the drunken guitarist's eyes and Murdoc could almost physically feel crashing waves of hate and fire that stormed in the other man's eyes like raging hurricanes. Damien grabbed Murdoc's shirt with his undamaged hand, his eyes becoming glassy in a drunken rage. "You shoory shunuva bitch... I'm gonna kill you."
"Don'tcho touch 'im!" 2-D barreled into Damien, and though the singer wasn't exactly pro-wrestler material, he was able to make the already tipsy Damien lose his balance a bit more. The drunken guitarist released Murdoc's shirt to flail his arms and for a moment it seemed as though he would topple to the ground and that would be the end of it; 2-D and Murdoc would say their good-byes to Lee and Clayton and toddle off back to Kong. But as fate would have it, a strong wind pushed the drunk in the right direction, and his foot found solid ground once again.
Murdoc stared in disbelief at 2-D, who was now standing protectively in front of him; for the second time that night the singer had surprised him, and not with little trivial things like the ability to make pancakes, but in more crucial matters that involved strength and spirit. Perhaps he had been wrong; perhaps 2-D wasn't always the sniveling weakling he often portrayed. The bassist shoved that thought aside as Damien stepped up and grabbed 2-D's shirt.
The drunk glared at 2-D and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Shouldn'ta butted in ya pathedic excush fer a shinger... Now I'm gonna kill you too. "
"Don't fuckin' touch 'im." Murdoc had stepped up next to the singer, side by side with the man he often degraded and ridiculed, but tonight 2-D had shown something stronger; something strong enough to make the Heaven's begin to weep with rain. Murdoc glared at Damien with the fires of Hell burning behind his eyes and for a moment Damien believed that Murdoc wasn't just a Satanist; he was the devil himself.
Shaking his head, the drunken guitarist raised a fist, unconcerned with the angry bassist or the stanch face of the man in his grip. Then from the bushes along the road Styx burst forth, an avenging streak of brown fur. His large paws scrambled for purchase on the ground and he launched himself upwards, his teeth managing to grab a hold of the guitarist's arm. Damien howled in pain, freeing 2-D and wildly swinging his arm in an attempt to lose this new unwanted burst of feeling. With a hard shake he was able to send Styx sprawling to the ground, and when he looked down at the dog at his feet, his eyes became glassier, even more detached as the world melted away, erasing Murdoc and 2-D, Lee and Clayton, leaving only him and the dog who had ruined him. "You."
To this day no one knows where it came from; his belt, his pocket, maybe even up his sleeve. It happened so quickly, so mind-numbingly fast, that before 2-D was even aware of anything, everything was over. Damien had a gun; a small one, one you could buy at any shop in Essex that sold guns, and it was pointed at Styx. The dog was growling fiercely at Damien, his lips raised in a full-blown snarl that showed off every one of his large sharp teeth, and he was standing, head lowered, protectively in front of Murdoc and 2-D, standing his ground, ready to fight -to die- for his family.
There were voices, many of them, all yelling at once. "Damien, what 'r you doing?" "Put the gun down, Damien!" "Don't be daft!" But nothing flashed over the drunken guitarist's hardened, psychotic features, and still his finger was tightening around the trigger, the barrel still pointed downward at the unmoving, unrelenting dog. "Styx, no!"
The last voice belonged to 2-D, and even as the words were leaving his lips, he had started forward, scrambling to protect that scruffy dog with the mismatched eyes and the lolling tongue, who had given so much to him and the band. The dog he had promised to repay.
There was a gun shot.
There was a clap of thunder as the Heaven's split open, their tears pelting the ground relentlessly in a torrent of rain.
And then there was pain; pain like nothing the Butterscotch Angel had ever felt before. White hot fire that filled his body with pain as a dark red flower blossomed on his shoulder. The force of the bullet forced him backward, used his own momentum against him until he was crumpled on the ground.
The sound of the shot rang in his ears like the tolls of a great brass bell. He heard someone shout his name – his real name – and he felt strong arms wrap around him, cradle him. He felt the sky's tears raining down on him, drenching him in their downpour. The white-hot pain was fiddling with his senses, like he was almost detached from his body in a sense. He felt the arms around him, felt the raindrops soaking him, heard screams and yells and soft murmurs of comfort, he saw something unfolding in front of his eyes, but it all seemed like some deliriously dull movie that he'd already seen before.
Pain affected his vision, covering his eyes like they were playing a game of hide and seek. But every once in a while 2-D was able to see glimpses of things between pain's black narrow fingers; he saw Clayton on a cell phone, he saw the road already getting slick with rain and Lee struggling with Damien for the gun. He couldn't see Murdoc, but that could only mean that he was the one holding him. Which was, of course, absurd; Murdoc hardly ever comforted anyone, let alone 2-D, but as the singer strained to hear the world around him, it was indeed Murdoc's voice that was telling him to hang on and that everything would be okay. It was strange to hear Murdoc's voice sounding so subdued, and despite being so un-Murdoc, the tone seemed to suite him.
Another few seconds of blackness as pain covered his eyes completely, another few seconds of no sound, but of course it came back, only fainter. Lee was on the ground now, Styx attacking the drunken Damien who had somehow stumbled to his knees. The rain continued to beat down as the two rolled about, struggling in the road in a primal battle of man versus beast. 2-D heard Murdoc holler for Styx, and the Butterscotch Angel wondered why Murdoc was so close, yet sounded so far away. Styx didn't listen to the bassist's commands, and pain's black fingers began inching over 2-D's eyes again. He saw only one thing before pain closed his eyes completely.
He saw light. And then there was only sound, but that was fading too.
He heard thunder, booming out a cry of despair.
He heard Murdoc scream for Styx.
And screeching tires.
A sickening thump.
Then...
Nothing.