"Mn," 2-D grunted slightly, wincing at the sting he felt as he placed an iodine-treated bandage over a cut on his right cheek. He was sitting in the middle of the floor across from the blank tv screen, headphones clamped over his ears. The electricity had been out for about an hour after Russel and Noodle had left, and the darkness was spreading fairly quickly as night approached. Murdoc hadn't been out of his Winnebago since he stormed off and 2-D was slightly thankful for that – the bassist always tended to be overly sensitive after executing a beating, for whatever reasons.

With a slight sigh, the singer capped the iodine bottle and set if off to the side with the bandages. He brought his legs up to his chest, wrapped his gangly arms around them and rested his right cheek on his knees, pausing a few times to make sure he didn't irritate the bandaged cut. He closed his eyes halfway, staring off into nothing, the music droning on in his ears.

His mind began to wander after a while, as it was apt to do – he thought of paint and records, of candles and organs, and perhaps even painted organs playing records with candles on them. But no matter what direction his addled brain drifted in it always drove back to the satanic bassist. 2-D idly wondered what Murdoc had been talking about when he had said that he wouldn't be kept away from "her." He figured that it really wasn't any of his business – or biddness, as Russel's voice warning reminded in his head- but it still didn't bother him any less.

More importantly, the keyboardist wondered over why Murdoc had been so angry in the first place. True enough, 2-D rarely touched the bandleader – it was just the way things worked, just the way things were, like so many things involving the bassist – but even the fuzzy-brained vocalist could see that the way the Satanist had reacted was a bit too harshly, even for him.

"Fook, it's dark in here," a voice growled from somewhere near the threshold between the room and the hallway. 2-D released his legs, sending them straight out in front of him as he turned his head slightly toward the sound. He placed his hands behind him, palms down, for support.

"There you are, Stu-Pot," Murdoc nodded slightly to the singer, his inverted cross glinting faintly in the dim light. 2-D hid the iodine bottle and the bandages behind him, nodding in response.

"Hey Murdoc…"

The bassist walked over to 2-D and nudged the singers elbow slightly with a toe, 2-D winced faintly, partially because his arm hurt a little from when Murdoc had hi pinned down and partially because he had been kicked with that same boot a little more than an hour prior. "How's your headache coming along, Tosser?" The keyboardist absently noticed that Murdoc was considerably more chipper than he was when Russel and Noodle had left, as well as the fact that he was ignoring 2-D's cuts and bruises blatantly.

"Er, s' painful, like always," the vocalist said slowly, dazed eyes carefully watching the bassist. Murdoc leaned over at the waist and roughly mussed up 2-D's hair with his left hand, grinning widely.

"In'nat a shame?" 2-D cringed as the seemingly playful action made his constant migraine about six times worse. The bassist straightened himself, the grin broadening slightly, taking a malicious tint. "So th' powers not back on yet, I gather?"

"N-no," the singer murmured, rubbing fingertips to his templets. "It was on for about a minute, but it went right back off again and hasn't come back since." Murdoc wasn't paying attention, however, as 2-D could plainly see, even in the dim light. The vocalist frowned slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at the bassist. "Wot's wrong….?"

"Er," Murdoc seemed to be searching for words, clashing eyes slightly wide. "You 'ave some, uh, ah….blood…in your hair."

2-D paled noticeably, feeling himself go cold. Blood was in his hair? He had stopped bleeding about half an hour ago, hadn't he? Dazed eyes, slightly widened, flicked to the bassist left hand – but Murdoc had that hand hidden behind his back. The singer suddenly felt somewhat sick. He shakily lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, locking his eyes on the bassist face.

Murdoc gave him a tight smile, "There's not that much, dullard." He paused, "It's probably from your nose or something. I think I got a little on my hand, too." 2-D cringed. "So I'm just gonna go to th' loo and wash up, awright?" Without waiting for an answer, the bassist turned and stalked down the hallway. As he turned the corner, 2-D thought he heard the boot's speed quicken a little.

The singer remained sitting on the floor for a few moments, staring at the blood smudged on his fingertips. He had stopped bleeding by then…hadn't he? Rubbing his fingers together, he turned his vacant gaze toward where the bassist had just left a few moments ago. With a slight sigh, 2-D stood. He slowly made his way toward the studio's loo, mind set on cleaning the blood off his fingers and out of his indigo locks. As he walked, he ran a few tentative fingers through the red-tinged area of his hair.

"Fuck it," Murdoc hissed, slicing deeply into his arm with his pocketknife. He had brought the knife along with him from the Winnebago so he'd be able to threaten 2-D with it and get a few laughs. He was in the mood for a bit of fun, to get his mind off what he had done to his left arm about an hour and half prior. But apparently, he hadn't even cleaned up properly after turning the knife onto himself following giving the singer a sound thrashing.

"Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck-" he paused here, gritting his teeth as he made a hurried incision, "- it." Gasping slightly, the Niccals dropped the darkened knife into the sink, clashing eyes shutting tightly as he gripped his now-free right hand over the left wrist. Soon the rushing in his ears had halted, and all he heard was the sound of his ragged breathing, and the blood dripping slowly into the stillness. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Goddammit," the bassist rasped, feeling the blood ooze between his fingers. "Now he knows, he knows…" Mismatched eyes opened a sliver, staring at the dark mirror in front of him. Even in the dark, the bassist instinctively knew where to put the knife, how to move it and how not to move it – but he wasn't sure at all how to react to what had just happened in regards to the singer. Murdoc knew 2-D and Russel had their own little ideas about what the bassist did behind the closed doors of his Winnebago, but there was never an real, actual proof that the two bandmates could use. But now that Murdoc had bled on 2-D, there was no way…no way…

"Sweet Satan," the bassist murmured, lifting a shaking hand from the left wrist. He managed to somehow grab the knife again and pressed it to the inside of his skin, willing himself to slice downward, downward, downward – and just end it all, just end the pain that he knew was coming and end the shattered look that 2-D would give him once the Satanist worked up the nerve to be seen around the Studios again. But, like always, he slashed horizontally – across, across, across.

He grimaced deeply, slowly dragging the blade through his flesh, running through old scars and marks. He allowed himself a bitter, wild smile at the blood – the blood, the pain, the torture, the escape. Murdoc began to drift away from himself, merely observing the dark-haired Satanist slice his arm open, and feeling an ill emotion that he enjoyed it so much. And then – there was a sharp intake of breath – but not from the bassist. Murdoc snapped back to himself, blinking dazedly in the direction of where the gasp had come from.

The lights were on, he realized.

And in the now-light of the room, the shattered look that he sought to escape started right back at him.

"M-Murdoc, I'm s-s-sorry," the singer stammered, his expression pure confusion and devastation. He turned and hastily exited through the doorway. Murdoc stared at where 2-D had left, then he turned back to his reflection in the mirror.

"Fuck," he hoarsely whispered to himself, clashing eyes shutting tightly as he deepened the darkened blade.