It's a common trope in movies to show two fencing masters start out with supremely slow, weak opening moves to supposedly 'judge their opponents.'
William didn't fence like that.
Charles was instantly on the defense, driven back by a flurry of blows from William's saber. The bass player took full advantage of his greater height and reach to push Dethklok's manager back. The circle of spectators ebbed and flowed around them as they danced across the flagstones, swords flashing in the tropical sun.
"C'mahn, Ahffdensen, he's kickin' yer ass!" Pickles called, whooping loudly.
"Beat 'is face off rotten!" Aiden agreed.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Nathan thundered.
Charles noted with a sort of dull numbness that William even had the nuances of parrying with the flat of his saber rather than the blade. Epees and foils only scored with the point and therefore one didn't have to rotate the blade to avoid nicking it on a parry. Sabers could also slash as well as score points with the tip, but to keep the blade side in good working order one couldn't catch an opponent's lunge on the sharp edge. That took quite a bit of time to perfect, which was why there were a lot more foil and epee fencers than saber fencers. Sabers fell out of popular use around the time dueling did, when the extra edge provided by the extra edge ceased to be practical.
Of course, if you were trying to keep up historical accuracy, then a saber would be the blade to use. Charles feinted to William's left and was rewarded with an unprofessional flinch. Ah ha, he did have a bad side. Odd that it would actually be William's left side, since he was left handed. In fact, he had been fencing right handed the whole time.
Charles kept up the attack on William's left, forcing the larger man to back in a circle to protect his weaker side.
"C'mahn, Murderface; he's kicking yer ass!" Pickles yelled, apparently completely neutral in this fight.
William played bass right handed, but that came from teaching yourself by mimicking right handed players. Playing guitar right handed was actually a lot easier for left handed people which fit well with William's philosophy that everything in life should be easy.
Murderface was suddenly pressing the attack again, defending his weaker left side with ease. It was if he simply needed to adjust his thinking. Which was very odd, because William didn't take well to change at –
The epee, never meant for anything more than hanging on a wall and looking cool, suddenly bent under Murderface's saber and snapped in half. The broken end cartwheeled past William's face and cut a gash across his cheek.
"William! Are you all right?" Charles asked, immediately stopping his attack.
The bass player's fist to his nose was all the answer he got. Offdensen fell back still clutching his broken sword. He curled on impact and somersaulted back over his shoulder to leap back to his feet.
"HEY!"
William Murderface – or at least the person using his body – looked over just in time to receive a full-force punch from Nathan Explosion.
"No hitting Charles!" the frontman roared.
Nathan may have been a tad overweight and edging towards fat, but when he hit something, it stayed hit. Murderface went down like a house of cards. Dixie let out a whimper and rushed to his side.
"You okay?" Nathan asked his manager.
"I'm fine, Nathan," Charles said, dabbing at the blood running from his nostrils. "It's ah . . . . just a busted nose." He didn't say how grateful he was that Nathan had stopped the fight with his fist and not the maquahuitl still clenched in his hand.
"Charles!" the cry came from three voices at once.
In the next instant, the manager was in the center of a concerned set of triplets, who cooed and dabbed at his nose with tissues and generally made a fuss over him. Charles slipped an arm around Mercy's waist before she could remember she was mad at him.
"What the fuck hit me?"
The band looked around. Murderface was levering himself into a sitting position, half helped and half hindered by Dixie. The bass player massaged his jaw experimentally.
"It fucking feelsh like Nathan," he accused darkly.
"Yous hitteds Charles," Toki informed him. "Of course Nat'an hitted you, asshole!"
"I hit . . . . what?" William looked over at Charles, bloody nose and all, then down at the saber lying by his side. "I – I didn't hit Charlesh," he protested weakly. "I did have thish really weird dream. There wash a mariachi band and a duel . . ."
"You're developing a split personality or something," Nathan growled. "Make sure the other guy knows there's no fucking hitting Charles."
"Uh . . . ok-ay," Murderface allowed. He looked over at Dixie. "Who the fuck are you?"
Dixie stared into her lover's face and cursed internally. So that was the reason she hadn't seen William Murderface's soul; it was still in his body. In Ben's haste to save the body, he hadn't waited for the soul to be fully severed. Maybe the act of another soul entering the corpse had drawn William back to his body like a leaf caught in an eddy. Whatever the mechanics, the result was that two men now shared one body. One of them adored her beyond all reasonable measure and the other one didn't even know her. Fucking great. It would have been nice to have more than a few seconds to process and plan for this. Damn it, Ben.
"Dood, don'tcha even recognize your girlfriend?" Pickles asked.
"You're back, sugar!" Dixie squealed, catching William's head in her arms and pressing it firmly into her cleavage. "You was actin' all kindsa strange this mornin'!"
Murderface made a vaguely happy noise and wrapped his arms around her waist. Split personalities and mystery girlfriends were one thing, but tits were tits and anytime you got to bury your face in them was good.
"Who else is hungry?" Pickles asked. "Can we have lunch now?"
"I could eat!" Aiden announced.
Swords paid for and bleeding stopped, the group made their way across the square to the same outdoor restaurant they had patronized on their first night. Three waiters set up an enormous table on the patio and swiftly replaced the wooden chairs with plastic ones. Oh yeah, they remembered Dethklok.
Dethklok and guests, rather. Charles had to admit, the triplets had helped him immensely on the trip, disastrous press conferences notwithstanding. Maybe he should invite them to move into Mordhaus. He'd have to speak to Conway about some sort of special precautions to protect them from the curse. It was rather nice having both of his families in one spot.
Then there was Miss Dunlap. She was having a good time. If there was an Olympic sport of having a good time, she wouldn't be able to compete because she'd be a professional. Upon arrival at the restaurant, the redhead had plopped down and ordered shots for her 'three favorite women'. Faith had coolly responded that they weren't doing tequila shots at eleven thirty in the morning. Dixie flashed her a mega-watt bright smile, asked 'Who said they were for you, bitch?' and downed all three herself.
The band thought it was hysterical. Dixie made a few extremely profane jokes that likewise had Dethklok in stitches. William laughed along with the others, but continued to sneak glances at Miss Dunlap as though he'd never seen a woman up close before.
" . . . and if ya believe that, then I've got a ten-inch dick!" she announced to further laughter. "And ya know I don't have a ten-inch dick, 'cause if I did I'd have it out showin' it to ya right now! I wish did I did have a dick," Dixie said, suddenly philosophical. "They look like so much fun t' play with."
Mercy shielded a snicker with one hand.
"Her sense of humor is . . . rather infectious," the middle triplet announced.
"So is chlamydia," Charles muttered.
There was just something about Miss Dunlap's routine that felt rehearsed. That's it; it felt like a routine. A comic warming up the crowd and keeping them laughing too hard to notice she wasn't supposed to be consorting with megastars.
"Well, hang on, I reckon I do have one t' play with now," she reflected.
The redhead reached over and gently cupped William's crotch. In the name of all that was unholy, he blushed. Murderface was the band member least capable of socially interacting with a woman and he was starting to flounder in the face of Hurricane Dixie. The rest of the band groaned and told them to get a room. Dixie giggled and . . . no, she didn't giggle, she cackled and slipped her arm around William's instead. The bass player still stared at her, mildly panic-stricken. The redhead abruptly dialed things down and rested her chin on his shoulder. Charles couldn't hear what she said, but Murderface's shoulders relaxed a bit.
Offdensen's mouth tightened. He really didn't like that Dunlap could read William so well and respond accordingly. That woman was going to eat Murderface alive.
"Aiden, what's up whichez? Ye dump us t' join Dethklok?"
A group of four men who looked like they were all cloned from the same mold were approaching the table. They all had curly black hair and flashing green eyes and similar features, but they were all over the board in terms of style, facial hair, and general cleanliness.
"Caderyn! Oengus! Padraig! Phooka! I'm just hangin' out wi' Pickles," Aiden said innocently.
"Oooh, right, he's getting in wi' th' band so's he kin replace Pickles when he finally OD's," The shaggiest one declared.
"Pickles is th' drummer, Oegnus," Aiden reminded him gently. "You're our drummer. If anybody would replace Pickles in Dethklok it would be you."
"Oh, right then so."
"I don't think they'll be hirin' you," said a man with his dark curls carefully combed back and a very short beard said. "We only put up wi' you 'cause you're blood."
Charles was about to ask for introductions since it seemed that Pickles knew these people, but just then Toki looked over his shoulder, eyed one of the men and blurted out a sentence in Norwegian.
The long-haired man gave him a lazy smile.
"Ja, honnig," he answered.
Evidently Toki had offered to let the newcomers join them, because he held out the chair next to his for his fellow Norwegian speaker. Skwisgaar was sitting in it, but it was only the work of a moment to dump him on the ground.
"Whats de fucking fucks, Toki?" the Swede yelped.
Toki ignored him and gestured for the waiters to bring more chairs.
"You guys speak Norwegian?" Pickles asked in surprise.
"Th' family had t' move there for a while after . . . . after th' bad times," Aiden said. "Ye know . . . like I was tellin' ye about?"
"Oh . . . oh, right."
"Will?"
Charles looked around. Occasionally Dick Knubbler called Murderface 'Will', but he certainly didn't coo the name as sweetly as a courting dove. Dixie set her beer bottle in front of Dethklok's bass player, the lime forced into the neck, but still floating at the surface.
"Could you flip my beer for me, sugar?"
Murderface gave her a bewildered look. Charles wasn't sure if it was because a woman was speaking so sweetly to him or if he really didn't understand the request.
"Huh?"
"Put your thumb over th' hole an' turn it upside down so th' lime floats up," she requested, pushing the bottle towards him another inch. "Pleeeeeeease."
"You can't do that yourshelf?" Murderface sneered.
"No. My thumbs are too small t' fit over the hole. See?" Dixie tried to put her thumb over the bottle opening.
"Schit. You have tiny little doll handsh," William observed, putting his hand over hers.
"I'm a girl," Dixie announced. "See? Titties." The redhead cupped her hands under her breasts, lifting them for inspection.
"Yeah, that'sh uh . . . . could be padding," he said, trying to joke. The bass player copped a feel. Dixie didn't make any move to stop him, but tapped her bottle again.
"Beer, please."
This time William didn't protest, just sealed the bottle opening with his thumb and flipped it upside down, letting the lime float to the top of the beer.
"It's her," Mercy growled.
Charles looked to the other end of the table, where the remaining two Aughiskys were joining the party: Fion and Nessie.
"Who . . . ah . . . who is that?" He asked.
Hope and Mercy exchanged a look, then stared at Charles.
"You don't remember her?" Hope asked in amazement.
"Is there a reason I should?"
Hope and Mercy squealed in delight and hugged Charles from either side.
"You were so drunk," Faith observed. "And you still told her to take her skank act on the road."
"Ah . . . what?"
"Miss Augustine over there offered to fuck you for access to a business deal," Mercy reminded her lover gently. "She must have thought you had three ladies already so obviously you didn't care about them beyond the carnal."
"You implied she was a cheap hussy and then told her you weren't interested. And this while you were so drunk Toki had to hold you up!" Hope said, beaming.
"Oh . . . .ah . . . good?"
"Wonderful!" the triplets announced, hugging him again.
"Oh, ah, good. Can I ask a favor of your women's intuition? What . . . ah . . . what do you think of her?" Charles pointed discreetly at Dixie. "Her jokes seem . . . . rehearsed."
"Maybe she's a comedienne," Hope offered.
"She probably does rehearse them," Faith murmured.
"I use humor t' make up for bein' fat," Dixie announced loudly. "Men prefer a fat chick in a good mood t' a . . . . oh, what's th' word I'm lookin' for? A beautiful bitch? If you look like me, you'd better be in a good mood an' carry a joke book in your back pocket just t' make sure."
The triplets blushed hotly.
"I – I never brought your appearance into the equation," Charles stated.
"You're not that fat," Murderface protested. "And . . . . uh . . . you're . . . uh –"
"You have a nice smile," Nathan offered.
"Yeah! Yeah! That'sh it!"
"Awwwwww, lie t' me some more," Dixie requested, cuddling up to William.
"You . . . uh . . . you have a very cute facshe!"
Behind Dixie's back, Nathan gestured to his eyes.
"And pretty eyesh! Pretty . . . little . . . kitty cat eyesh. . . and incredible titsh!"
"Ohhh, how sweet! Somebody's gettin' his cock sucked tonight," Dixie announced.
William's eyes widened.
"Ish it me?" he inquired.
"Yes, sugar, it's you."
"Yesh! Blowjob!"
Dixie giggled in amusement. In truth, the only way she was going to stick around long enough for Ben to take power again was to be in Murderface's good graces. If she had to fuck him, so be it. Luckily, he seemed to be a lot nicer the second time. If Pickles said she was his girlfriend, Will appeared to take it at face value.
She could stand this for a while.
Down the table, Toki was flirting shamelessly with Phooka Aughisky. More to the point, no one appeared to care. Nathan glanced at the pair once and merely rolled his eyes. Skwisgaar frowned at Toki occasionally, but he seemed more hung up on getting dumped out of his chair than anything else. William had his hands full with his new companion – literally and figuratively. Pickles sat in the middle of a big crowd of Irish musicians and appeared to be having the time of his life.
"'Stinky dog'?" He asked Caderyn. "I thought it was 'Stinky Da'."
The Bograts rocked with laughter at this declaration.
"Yeah 'a beggarman, Stinky Da'," Pickles sang.
"'A beggarman's stinky dog'," Padraig corrected, chuckling.
"Ye're new name is 'Stinky Da'!" Aiden laughed.
The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table. Food came, plates were emptied and taken away. Coffee and pie came around and still the huge group chatted and talked and relaxed until pink streaks started to form across the sky. They finally got up and started across the plaza towards the cabs and carriages waiting for fares.
Pickles wobbled dangerously, but Aiden grabbed his arm and put it around his shoulders.
"Easy, Stinky Da'," the young musician said.
Fion Aughisky started to hum as they strolled.
"I was prowling all night
down the Hell Street
beside me a beggarman, Stinky Da
Talking 'bout life so bona fide
then woke up beside an old beggar mug
Slept in the alley and dreamt about Sally
My pillow was my torn shoes
Had a marvelous sleep on a drunk cold night
Thanks for the bittersweet booze," Aiden sang, Pickles still leaning on him.
"If you don't see the light
On drunken winter nights
And the pain's deep in your bones
And if you need a friend
I'll be there to hold your hand
Then you'll never walk alone," every Aughisky sang in perfect harmony.
Nessie's voice was pretty much drowned by her brothers', but she moved to Phooka's side and put her arm around his waist. The other Aughiskys moved into a long line, their arms around each other's shoulders with Pickles right in the middle of them.
"Don't let the sun and the skies fall down
Whisper the sound from your soul
Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye
Then we'll never walk alone."
Charles had never heard this song before, but just by the way the brothers (and sister) sang it, he could tell it was more than just a song. It was an anthem for their family; something to live by. Even if you didn't have a dime and nowhere to sleep, you still had your brothers (and sister).
"I'm prowling all night with my hands in my pocket
They're hardened into stone
Just pull me in deep so I dare to confess
Sometimes you can't make it on your own
Can't hear my heart beaten until it's covered
with sorrow, we're two worlds apart
As I can find a silent place
I'm one foot close to my heart."
Aiden took up the bridge alone, his young voice sweet and clear. Pickles stared at the young musician as if he was undergoing a religious experience. Something was happening around him – something he didn't quite understand, but suddenly wanted to be a part of. The rest of the family chimed in for the chorus again.
"If you don't see the light
On drunken winter nights
And the pain's deep in your bones
And if you need a friend
I'll be there to hold your hand
Then you'll never walk alone
Don't let the sun and the skies fall down
Whisper the sound from your soul
Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye
Then we'll never walk alone."
Aiden took up the song again. Pickles wondered why the Bograts didn't have their youngest brother sing, because he had the voice of an angel.
"How do you find the right way
If there's no shining light?
How do you trust your real belief
If destiny's the one who's defied?
How can be the pain so timeless
If time is on your side?
How do you find your real belief
If there's no shining light?"
This time Pickles joined in, feeling a strange and unfamiliar sense of belonging as he did so. He didn't feel any real connection to his own family, other than a sense of loss. There should be something there, but there wasn't. There should be feelings like this.
"If you don't see the light
On drunken winter nights
And the pain's deep in your bones
And if you need a friend
I'll be there to hold your hand
Then you'll never walk alone
Don't let the sun and the skies fall down
Whisper the sound from your soul
Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye
Then we'll never walk alone
Then we'll never walk alone
Then we'll never walk alone."
The last of the song died away as the line of kelpies approached the ocean side road. The rest of Dethklok trailed along behind them, enjoying the song, thinking on the evening's activies and (most of them) planning sex.
In hindsight, it was a good thing a line of immortal beings were there to catch the bullets.