"Now Noodle-chan," 2-D said slowly, "this….is a see-minor chord. Can you say see-minor?" To emphasis, the vocalist played the indicated chord on the keyboard. The ten year old guitarist looked at him incredulously, mimicking the chord on her axe.
2-D nodded, "Right, that's see-minor. See. Mine. Or."
"See mine or," the girl repeated slowly.
The keyboardist grinned, the nodding increasing drastically, "Right Right Right! Good, Noodle!"
With a slight eyebrow quick -2-D's head looked in danger of falling off because he was nodding so much- she smiled back, then said something in rapid Japanese.
"Um," 2-D's nodding ceased, "Ye…s?"
With a sigh of exasperation, Noodle repeated the phrase slowly, eyebrows raised, "See mine or," she added, then said the Japanese phrase again.
"Oh…I see," the vocalist nodded again, the grin returning.
"Fucking Christ, 2-D," Said a familiar scratchy voice, "Wot the fook're you wasting your time teaching that wasabi bitch English for? She gets along fine without it." Murdoc had the strange ability of suddenly "appearing" out of thin air. He did it so often, however, that his bandmates really didn't take notice of it anymore. When they had company over, well, that was different.
"Wasabi," Noodle said, eyebrows raised.
"Er, " 2-D responded to the bassist, not really sure what to say.
"N-now, now-now, if you want to make yourself useful," Murdoc added, tapping a heavy boot on the floor once, "you can teach her how to cuss a roadie out. Fuckin' idiots don't know how to set up microphones, I swear to Satan…"
"2-D-ankiki," she said, tugging on the vocalists sleeve. He glanced down to her, brow slightly askew. She said something in Japanese, nodding twice afterwards.
"What….?" 2-D began, but trailed off as Noodle walked away in the other direction, taking her guitar with her. Both men stared after the girl for a few beats, possibly on equal levels of confusion. They turned to each other, shrugging in unison. Murdoc spoke next.
"So how are things, Stu-Pot?"
2-D paused for a moment, watching the bassist shuffle through papers idly, his back turned to the singer. It was sort of strange for Murdoc to be asking 2-D anything about his life that didn't somehow loop back to a new method of torture. "Err…why d'you ask, Murdoc?"
The Satanists back stiffened slightly and he paused in his paper shuffling. Resuming, he half-growled, "Wot, can't I ask a simple question? You're so suspicious, tosser."
"Sorry," replied the keyboardist, still slightly wary of the others intentions, "I'm fairly alright, I guess."
"Uh-huh," came the response.
Losing a bit of his doubt, 2-D ventured further, idly playing a melody with his left hand. "Paula's cross wiv me again, you know, and she has this rilly bad habit of not telling me why she's angry wiv me, so I can never fix it."
"Right."
"An'I ask her and everyfing, about why she's mad at me, so she can't say I never ask."
"I see."
"But other than that, and the usual problems, I'm doing okay."
"Right."
A slight pause and then, "You're not paying any attention to me, are you?"
"None wotsoever."
2-D sighed, somewhat dejected, "Okay. Then how are you, Murdoc?"
The bassist turned around at that, eyebrows slightly lifted. He had a few sheets of music clutched in his left hand, which was in somewhat of a tightening fist. "H-how am I" The vocalist nodded. "I'm absolutely terrible; Ta for asking, Stu-Pot." Murdoc shifted his gaze to the door, brow leveling as his expression took on a scowl. He started toward the exit, when 2-D's voice stopped him for a brief moment.
"W-wait," the vocalist stammered.
With a sigh, Murdoc turned around, "What?"
"Um, I was just… Murdoc, if y'ever need to talk about somefink… I'm always….I mean…" 2-D winced visibly at his inability to form a complete sentence, hand stopping his idle chords and key-plunking.
The addressed seemed unfazed by the sickeningly sweet (Much like 2-D's wasted coffee) almost-offer coming from the singer. "Uh-huh, I doubt I'll ever need to talk to anyone – let alone your dullard self – about anything, but I-I-I'll keep that in mind, Stu-Pot." Murdoc turned back around and stalked out the door.
2-D sighed slightly, blank eyes looking down to focus on his keyboard. After a slight hesitation, he continued plunking out a melody, in c-minor.
"We must remain logical, logical, logical," said a voice off the television.
"For fuck's sake, Stu-Pot – You're not watching that insipid rubbish that barely qualifies as a film again, are you?" Murdoc grumbled from the hallway, crossing over the room to stand near the blue-haired vocalist – who was indeed, watching Dawn of the Dead.
"Oi, Murdoc," 2-D said, dazed eyes flicking off the tv for a split second to the bassist, before gluing back to the screen, "I happen to like it."
"Tch. You would," Murdoc said, mismatched eyes darting to the screen.
"Are you insane?! No human being thinks like that-!" the movie continued.
The bassist's attention shifted back to 2-D, narrowing his left eye, "You know, the only reason I'm not burning this videotape right now is because of the misanthropic undertones of what this fellow here," he indicated toward the eye-patch wearing doctor on screen, "is saying."
The singer grunted slightly, either not believing the idle threat, or not paying attention. Either way made Murdoc a bit angrier then he already was. "Oi, why don't you watch Zombie or something? At least that one has some tits in it- oh wait, I forgot you're a fookin' poof, aren't you?" No really being in the mood for depression or anger at that moment, the bassist decided to taunt the blank-eyed vocalist instead, to get his mind focused on outwardly lashing out. That being the case, he allowed himself a small sadistic grin.
"Sshhh," the vocalist hissed, albeit gently. But that didn't really matter, Murdoc's almost non-existent temper boiled over. The proverbial fuse had ben lit and explosion was imminent.
"Well fuck me, Stu-Pot," the bassist growled in mock-surprise, over fury. He took a quick step over the singer , made a fist, and deftly punched the younger man's jaw.
2-D yelped, his head jerking backwards and slamming against the back of the sofa. Blank eyes widened slightly as he tried to stand up, in order to escape in the opposite direction. But Murdoc grabbed onto the front of the vocalist's shirt and smashed him across the face again, afterwards shoving him back onto the sofa. "Who the fook do you think you are, you brainless cunt?!"
The bassist absently registered his attempt at keeping himself from being angry.
The singer whimpered slightly in response, bringing up his arms to cross at the wrists in front of his face, forming somewhat of a makeshift shield; a rather useless shield, being only composed of bones and muscle, skin and veins. Murdoc felt himself growing angrier by the second, his fury intensified by the simple fact that 2-D wasn't even trying to fight back, "Well!?" Murdoc grabbed the singer roughly by the collar, pulling him to his feet, "Say something, you simpering half-wit!"
2-D lifted his face to stare at Murdoc , a pained look crossing his features. A few lines of crimson trickled down the left side of his face, their sources being located at the temple and corner of his mouth. The blood was surpassed by the absolute shattered look in blackened eyes, however the vocalists gaze locked shakily with the Satanist's.
"Say something, or I will fucking kill you," Murdoc said, his voice lowering.
"I'm sorry," was 2-D's quavered response.
A slight pause followed, after which the bassist shoved 2-D back into the sofa with a slight scoff, "Well, you should be." As he turned to leave the room, the singer curled up onto his side, dulled eyes staring blankly at the still-running videotape.
"Enjoy your film, Stu-Pot," Murdoc called over his shoulder.
"What have we done to ourselves…?!" the movie dialogue continued.