"What the fuck is wrong with you, Niccals?" Murdoc slammed his fists against the outside wall of Kong Studios, feeling a tinge of satisfaction with the flood of pain that the action resulted in. He stood for a few moments, in somewhat diagonal stance: palms pressed against the wall, head slightly bowed, legs bracing themselves.
"Sweet Satan," he murmured to himself, mismatched eyes narrowing at the ground, "Maybe there really is something wrong with me."
Murdoc turned then, to lean his back against the wall. He closed his eyes with a sigh, facing upward. Arms folded over his chest, he balanced on his heels, his legs still bracing against the wall at a diagonal angle. He tried to clear his thoughts long enough so he could think about- just anything, at the moment. First, he needed to stop thinking about everything, and just leave his mind blank, so he could process one thought at a time, slowly.
"That," he said carefully to himself, "can probably be placed under overreacting. Russ is right; she's just a little kid… and I was ready to smash her face in. Christ." He opened his eyes, staring at the midday sun. "That is really not good. Shit. I don't want to feel this way," he continued, his voice lowering, "I don't like this."
He noticed that a few clouds had gathered off in the distance and were slowly moving their way toward the studios. With a tug at the hem of his sleeve, Murdoc shifted again to lean one booted foot against the wall, his knee perpendicular to the ground. He fiddle with the sleeve's edge for a little while longer, suddenly wishing he had something sharp, "I fooking don't like this," he repeated, eyes lowering to the ground again. He closed them with a frown, trying to force the ideas of slicing himself open away from his head.
I don't need this right now, he thought to himself, I'm stronger than that. It was just a fucking mood thing on my fault. Noodles probably already forgotten about it, or she's just chalked it up to me being the sadistic cunt everyone knows I am.
"Jesus fuck," the bassist muttered closing his eyes more tightly, "I don't want to be like this."
He waited for a few more seconds, trying to will the thoughts away. But the thoughts refused to be pushed onto the proverbial back burner and only intensified by tenfold every millisecond the Satanist didn't act on them. "F-f-f, fuck," he opened his scarlet eye partially staring at nothing in particular, "I'm not in control anymore, a-am I?"
Don't be such a sodding idiot, his mind yelled back, of course you're in control. It's not as if a fooking pocketknife can take over your contemptible existence. The only things you're addicted to are fags, vodka, women and Satan. Everything else is addicted to you. You can break free any fooking time you want.
"Then why the hell can't I put it out of my head?" Murdoc asked himself. The other end of his internal conversation didn't respond, most likely because it knew the answer and so did Murdoc.
"Fuck. I don't like this."
Murdoc avoided seeing 2-D, Russel, or even Noodle on his way to his Winnebago. He debated for a few moments over if he should have even gone anywhere near the carpark, as he knew what he would do to himself once within the confines of the Winnie. But it had started to rain, so he went inside the Studios to keep from getting soaked and everywhere else in the Studios, save the Winnebago, he would come into contact with someone else, and he wasn't exactly in the mood for visiting.
So, he slipped around the corners and took obscenely out-of-the-way routes to the carpark, to guarantee he didn't have to see anyone. Satan would be merciful if he didn't have to contend with crazed fan girls- wouldn't that make a lovely cover story? Murdoc mused.
He knew that he must have looked physically ill, or at least mentally unstable. The insensitive twats down at the Sun would probably put up some story about him being back on speed.
But Satan must have been particularly pleased with Murdoc that day- possibly for giving 2-D such a sound thrashing earlier, he supposed- because there were no fan girls in the lobby, no Russel in the hallway, no 2-D in the tv room, no Noodle-
"Murdoc-san?"
The bass player tensed, staring longingly down the hallway – the carpark was so close. Only about five meters away- and- beyond that – the Winnebago. So Close. He could just- he could pretend he didn't hear the guitarist, and just keep moving toward the carpark, toward the Winnie, toward solace.
"Yeah, Noodle?" Murdoc turned around, putting on his best non-threatening smile, which wasn't actually all that non-threatening.
"Anata-wa okay desu ka?" Noodle watched the bassist carefully, and he noticed that she looked rather concerned. Maybe she understood that Murdoc wasn't doing alright after all. Maybe that's what she was asking, since he really had no idea what she said other than 'okay'.
"Uh. Yeah, I'm fine, Noodle," Murdoc said, nodding.
She looked at him doubtfully, but nodded as well, "Hai, Hai, Mudroc-san?"
"Yessss, wot?" Murdoc glanced quickly toward the door to the carpark. So close He looked back to the guitar player, who stared back, thoughtfully for a moment.
"Ashikarau," she said, with a slight bow. Murdoc lifted an eyebrow, distracted from the Winnebago for a moment.
"Um, y-yeah. Thank you , I-I-I think." He paused for a second, then turned and continued toward the doorway.
Noodle called after him again, "Murdoc-san!"
With an aggravated sigh, he turned, "What?"
"Wo an ni, Murdoc-san," Noodle said cheerfully, then turned and skipped down the hall, humming to herself.
"Wotever that meant," he muttered to himself, spinning on his heel. He had already wasted too much time, too much time, too much time. But the Winnebago was so close….He pushed open the door to the carpark and suddenly found the energy to almost jog towards the caravan.
"2-D aniki, kenban," Noodle said, pointing to the vocalist's keyboard.
"My Piano, right." He nodded, scribbling something down in a music lined manuscript paper notebook. Just little random thoughts and such, most of them unrelated to each other. At the moment, he was jotting down how he figured Japanese things were spelled phonetically, in English letterings –romanjii, Noodle called it- and their English equivalents. Somewhere on the page there were a few lines of non-rhyming poetry, which even 2-D himself was confused over their meaning, as he had written it while fairly doped up on painkillers.
"Um…how 'bout your guitar?" He pointed with the end of his pencil to the indicated axe.
She nodded, "Ereki, Watashi-no ereki desu."
"Oi, slow down," 2-D scrambled to write down misinterpreting Noodles sentence for a full name of the guitar.
Noodle apparently understood his dilemma, for she rolled her eyes slightly and took a few steps toward him, reaching up to pull the notebook away. "Iie, kore-wa ereki desu. Ereki," she added slowly, "Ereki."
"Ohhh, I see," 2-D nodded dumbly, he did not see at all.
The guitarist shook her head slowly, handing the notebook back to him. She said something in Japanese, then settled herself down on the floor of the sound room, picking up a martial arts magazine. 2-D assumed that meant that their mutual lesson was over for the day. He nodded in particular, eyes unfocusing- even more so then usual.
"2-D aniki," Noodle said after a few moments – or it could have been longer; 2-D really wasn't paying attention to the time when he was spacing out. He blinked down at her, titling his head to one side slightly.
"Yeah, Noodle?"
The girl paused for a few seconds, setting her delicate jaw, "Murdoc-san okay?"
2-D blanched, "Y-yeah I fink so." He nodded, then taking on a slightly determined look, "Yeah he's fine."
"Sou ka," Noodle said, softly. She pointed toward the bandage over 2-D's left temple, eyebrows slightly raised and asked a question.
"Um, I'm fine. It's not a big deal rilly," 2-D half lied. The cuts themselves didn't really sting anymore, but every time Murdoc attacked the vocalist like that, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He opened his mouth to add on that thought, but his mind promptly switched gears when he thought he heard a sound coming from the roof, "Wot's 'at…?"
Noodle blinked twice, "Ame," she said.
2-D quirked his brow slightly, "I have no idea what you jus' said."
The guitarist sighed heavily, standing up. She tugged on 2-D's hand for him to follow her and they went out of the sound room to a nearby window. "Kore-wa ame desu," she said, pointing out. It was raining rather heavily, creating a greyish fog all around the studios.
"Ohhh," 2-D said, nodding slowly. "That's rain." He jotted these new words down in his notebook as well, frowning slightly, "Bloody hell, I hope my room doesn't get flooded again," he added, as an afterthought, as his room was located in the basement of Kong Studios. Dazed eyes shifted up from the notebook to stare out the window. He lowered the manuscript paper and pencil to his side, noticing absently that Noodle clung a bit tighter to his hand.
"2-D-Aniki afraid?" she asked, in broken English
The vocalist shifted his gaze down to the guitarist, smiling affably, "Of the rain? Not at'oll, Noodle-chan."
She returned the smile, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, "Noodle-chan go Russel-haku," the girl said skipping off to her surrogate older brother.
2-D watched her go, still smiling. The grin faded slowly, however, as he returned his blank gaze to the window, "Of somefink else…? Well, that's a diff'rent answer entirely," he said to the rain outside.