If there were no desire to heal
A damaged and broken man along
This tedious path I've chosen here
I certainly would've walked away by now.
And I still may...
It has been a displaced, distorted howl of a bent guitar sting that had stirred him from his unwarranted - and also rather uncomfortable - slumber, and Skwisgaar regarded it with a snarled curse and a rumbling growl. However, he couldn't be certain whether the volatile reaction was targetted at the dumb dildo jack-off had woken him up with some stupid message, or whether it self-targetting anger in regards to the fact that he had managed fallen asleep in the first place. Sleeping hadn't even been on the damn agenda for Skwisgaar. He'd been happy enough siphoning whatever alcohol Toki still had hidden throughout his room and stressing himself out by overthinking fucking everything - all the while hoping that he'd miraculously get some message that would inform him of the Norwegian's awakening.
Yeah, he wished he'd be that damn lucky…
For the first few moments of waking, Skwisgaar had considered ignoring whatever the hell it was, throwing a pillow over his head and going back to his restless sleep. In all honesty, he just wanted to roll over, close his eyes, and not have to deal with anything for at least about three months. And maybe give himself a chance to sleep off his damned hangover…
Perhaps a "brief" vacation was in order after everything was all dandy and back to normal…
At least in regards to the whole Toki issue...
With another liquor-soaked groan, the Swede allowed his eyes to slip shut, a lanky arm precariously thrown over his haggard features; mentally debating whether to get up before the need to explain his little sleep over in the rhythm guitarist's room or not. But Skwisgaar knew sure as hell that he'd never hear the goddamn end of it if he didn't reply to that stupid text soon, regardless of who it had been sent by. Besides, there was always the possibility of the relayed message being of some form of importance to him. Of course, that not exactly likely if it turned out was from Murderface, or if Pickles was in one 'those' drunk moods.
Still a possibility of them messaging with some importance; albeit, still highly unlikely.
Bleary eyed and furrow-browed, the Swede sluggishly lifted his heavy head from the supposed make-do pillow he must have grabbed in his drunkenness; Toki's stupid plush deddy bear. It seemed in whatever dumb-ass drunken state he had ended up in last night had forced him to completely mangle the bedding in his attempt to get into the damn thing, leaving the sheets in various states of untuck and the single pillow somehow cast right across the room.
No wonder his neck hurt so fucking much...
Still, the dumb and musty-scented toy did seem to help him sleep somewhat, even if it was only minimal. The softness of the dumb toy was actually rather... comforting. Even if only slightly. Maybe that's why Toki seemed so damn protective of the aged stuffed animal.
He made a mental note to at least get someone to take it to the hospital for him, seeing as the rest of the band had now gone out of their way to prohibit him from even entering the damn lobby.
Then again, it wasn't like Toki would even notice the bear's absence anyhow.
Not with being in that goddamn medically induced coma bullshit and all.
The bend squealed through the tinny speaker of his phone once again, and with another hissed curse, the Swede violently snatched the buzzing device from its resting place upon the floor. "Dis better bes fuckings importants or I swears to fuckings Odin I ams going to kills whoever de fucks ams textingsk mes so fuckings earlies..."
Squinting against the harsh light of the screen, he managed to unlock his phone and lower the brightness to something more suitable for his aching eyes; groggily tapping on the messages app, slumping heavily back against the tiny, rock-hard mattress. It was almost a sigh of relief that slithered through his lips at the sight of Nathan's name. Well, at least with him there was a higher possibility of the message including information that could be of some importance.
Unless he'd found tequila of course...
'Abi discharged. Stil lil batturd n bruised n shit, n stil pretty pissed but got the all clear. Didn't end up as bad as T, just the stab wound n sum othr minor shit. Wnts to speak to u later. Idk y. Wudnt tell me. Also watched that annoyin dipshit dr re-break T's nose with these weird metal tong thngs. Herd the crunch. Fukn brutal. Kinda disapointed there wasnt any blood and shit tho. Wud hav been so metal if blood was lik floodin out of his nostrils
'Shud probably tell u that dr dickhead said he can have visitors now. So u can come up, but don't get all fukn weird and shit again. If I catch u like sleeping in his hospital room or smthin, I'm goin to tell everyone ur a closet homo. He's still fkn uncunsius tho. Idk when he gunna b wake. Reducin the sleep drugs or watevr the fuk they r. They were using to many big words. dr dickhead said he shud hopfully be up in the next day or so, so that's good I gues. Face still realy fukd up. Looks fukn weird with a full beard too. Kinda temptd to wax it off for shits n gigs.'
Well... It wasn't exactly the news he wanted, but it was news nonetheless. And besides, he knew, regardless of how much he wished for it to be true, that he unfortunately wouldn't be receiving a 'he's awake and perfectly normal' message any time soon. At least they were going to let him start going back to the hospital himself, instead of him having to continuously pester the information out of the others on Toki's condition - for relatively good reasons; or have to send in Klokateers as spys for him instead.
He did admit, it was pretty entertaining, however. Even armed with a smartphone that had spell check, Nathan still seemed to struggle with writing legible text messages for the most part; unless he really concentrated on what he wrote. Either that or he just didn't care. Or maybe his giant fingers made it too much of a struggle...
He couldn't help but snicker at that last part.
Still, he'd be lying if he said the thought of Abigail wanting to speak to him didn't have him shitting himself. What the hell would she want to speak to him about anyway? After the whole (rather embarrassing) sex-deprivation fiasco on the Dethsub, they hadn't really talked much; except for when she was recording his guitar tracks.
In fact, that was the only damn time they had ever really spoke to one another.
Was she going to chew him out for not rescuing them earlier? Of course, that wouldn't be surprising, but still... Was she going to have a go at him for being such an asshole to Toki? Plausible... Warn him of some big dark secret she'd found out whilst trapped? Probably not. Inform him of the horrors they endured? Probably...
Most likely wouldn't get a choice in whether he was told or not either...
Skwisgaar attempted to calm himself, hebetudinously dragging himself from the warm confines of the rhythm guitarist's absurdly minuscule bed; kicking over his collection of now-empty 'borrowed' bottles of whatever booze he had been able to get his hands on.
After struggling to clamber out of Toki's stupidly small bed, Skwisgaar bit down on his tongue and roughly ran his lithe fingers through his tangled hair; a waining attempt to keep him from losing his temper, and kicking the shit out of that dwarfish fucking bedframe.
He didn't want to think about having to walk with broken toes…
One of the richest fucking men in the world and the idiot still chose to sleep in a fucking children's bed. Of course, it went with Toki's child-like demeanor, but this was fucking ridiculous. He wasn't very tall either, but even he didn't fit in the damn thing comfortably. Skwisgaar had even seen how his damn legs hung over the end if he'd slept in any position that didn't require him to curl up like a cat.
Hell, he was considering buying a damn new bed for him himself after seeing how damn uncomfortable that one fucking was!
"Fuckings stupids Norsk träskalle..."
With a dreary sigh and another grunted curse, thelanky Swede languidly stretched out his stiffened joints with a gruff groan of satisfaction; slender fingers once again raking through his unkempt and rather greasy golden tresses, electric eyes wandering over his brother's hovel of a bedroom. He'd made an effort to keep the place neat-ish (except for the whole, bed and booze bottles issue) - unwilling to allow any Klokateers to even enter the desolate room in it's master's absence - but compared to the usual standard of tidiness that Toki would normally pride himself with, the room looked like a bloody pig sty.
Alcohol bottles sat, dormant and discarded; whatever liquor once held within the glass confines long since evaporated. Papers and dirty clothing alike lay, strewn across the floor in messy piles, awaiting the moment they would be picked up and sorted through by their MIA owner. His long and well-loved pair of favoured boots, the leather scuffed and torn and distressed from years of use, toes arched up and heels worn down to nothingness sat loyally where they had been tossed, carelessly thrown into the emptiest corner of the room. Exchanged for a pair of scarcely touched dress shoes, planned only to be worn for that godforsaken funeral.
God, they shouldn't have fucking gone to it in the first place. They'd seem like arrogant, rich assholes - well, even more like arrogant rich assholes - but at least then none of this shit would have fucking happened. They could have just been fucking televised at the damn thing, and Nathan could of had his stupid heartfelt apology and they would have all been fucking fine. Toki wouldn't be lying fucking half dead in a fucking hospital, and none of them would have to suffer with all this fucking guilt. No, that little moustached loser would have still been around to annoy them, and they would have been happy - more-or-less - and they could have all had fun pal-ing around. They'd still be arguing over stupid things and Toki would still be whining for a goddamn guitar solo… Things would have been normal.
Then again, if they had taken some fucking responsibility, and looked for him the moment that Toki been kidnapped by that crazy asshole and the silver-faced freak, liked they'd originally fucking planned to - rather than go on that stupid fucking party tour around the fucking globe - then this shit probably wouldn't have been a damn major issue either…
With the plan of grabbing a cup of coffee to clear his foggy head and a handful of pills to numb the throbbing pain of his head before heading back over to the hospital, Skwisgaar decided to leave the room in is unfastidious state. It wasn't like he would have time to give it a half decent once-over later anyway.
Albeit, the dead-on-his-feet guitarist's plans were all but completely smashed to pieces when the squeal of his phone's earsplitting ringtone had his heart faltering fearfully within his chest.
"Skwisgaar, I'll keep this call quick. Can you please meet me in the conference room in about five minutes? I need to talk to you, and I feel that this would be a conversation that would be easier... Well, it'll just be better in person, okay? See you soon." And with that, without allowing the blonde a moment to argue, Abigail ended the call as soon as it had begun, leaving the Scandinavian chewing anxiously on his thumbnail.
"Oh, fucks me…"
