It had been a long day for Charles. Work, work, work. It's always like that when Dethklok isn't wreaking havoc or performing up on stage. Repetition was how things were kept predictable. That's how Charles Foster Ofdensen liked to keep it. Predictable, easily kept in order, never caught off guard by anything. That was a rare thing as of lately, and so he took full advantage of the peace, the quiet, and the concentration he was able to keep for more than 5 minutes at a time.

The one thing that was really bothering the manager was himself. Yes, you read that correctly. Burying himself under piles and piles of contracts, bills, receipts, letters, and documents was how he hid from himself. It was sad, but it was all for the well-being of his boys. Not even he himself got in the way of that. Being professional, and strictly only professional, was what Ofdensen restricted himself to. It was his comfort, his safety rope.

Much to his displeasure, the frontman of Dethklok (aka: Nathan Explosion) had been making that specific rule more and more difficult for him. He knew it, too. He knew exactly what he was doing on a day to day basis. There was always that mischievous glint in his eyes that caused an uneasy chill to spike up Charles' spine like a river of tiny spiders. His skin would crawl, his defense completely diminished faster than a paper towel being put through a meat grinder.

Because of the lead singer's antics, he had been isolating himself in his office, knuckles deep in files and paperwork. It had become easily noticeable to Dethklok. Now and then one of the boys would strut up to his office door just to make sure he was still breathing. Ofdensen had also gotten a few visits from Nathan, exactly the person he had intended to repel. There were many excuses made for visits, usually ending up in uncomfortable situations for the poor CFO.

It was a dull day at Mordhaus, and it began to take a toll on the band. It was easily deducted from the commotion constantly coming from the hallways and the rec. room. A tad irritating, but not enough to rip Charles' eyes away from the work in front of him. After all, he was a professional (in most departments, anywho). There was a moment of peace that he had used to his advantage, taking a moment to sit back and close his eyes, letting his mind rest. It was visible that his mind wasn't the only thing that needed rest.

There were hints of dark circles under his eyes, and Murderface was the first one to point that out at the most recent band meeting. Apparently robots weren't supposed to get dark circles, and he should've been taken to a repair shop so chaos didn't ensue. This made the manager sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. Well, that and the fact that Toki immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ofdensen was dying. It took several hours to convince the upset Norwegian that he wasn't.

The door being swung open ruined the moment of silence, especially when it was noted that the person in the doorway was Nathan Explosion. Clearing his throat, the CFO was the first person to speak, as always. "Uh... Can I... help you, Nathan?" The distinct smell of alcohol coated the air surrounding the men. Whatever the turnout of the evening would be, he had a feeling it wouldn't be anything good.

"I... err... can I hide under your desk?" That certainly wasn't a 'predictable' question. "Is there any particular REASON you feel the need to hide under my desk?" There was a pause. "We're playing hide and seek." Well, that was slightly surprising. Then again, from body language and common sense, he was able to tell that he was completely drunk. "Very well. I'll be doing some work, so-" he was cut off. "Can you cover for me... if anyone comes in?" He had a feeling that nobody would be entering the room for a little bit. "I suppose."

He stood up and shifted the chair so that the fairly large frontman was able to fit into the space underneath his desk. It was spacious, yes, but Nathan wasn't exactly small. Once the other was situated, Ofdensen went back to his work. It definitely wasn't easy trying to work when someone was eye-level with your... well, groin area. The awkwardness in the room made itself very apparent. "So... uh... what kind of work are you doing?" Hmph. Not much of a save, Nate. "Just keeping track of receipts and upcoming, ah, events."

Attempting to go back to his work without another word, he ended up actually passing the time for a while. "Hm. Maybe I sh-should... uh... stand up. I don't think there's anyone coming." Thankful for the decision, Charles silently moved out of the way so that he could stand up. Though it was nice to have leg room and concentration, it was ruined with a single question. "Hey... remember... remember when you got drunk with us?"

The normally calm CFO felt his heart jump into his throat. All too well, Nathan... all too well. "I'd rather not talk about it, Nathan." The smirk on the lead singer's face practically revealed his intentions. It would've been nice to have the ability to shrink and fall through the floor right about now. "Why not? Is it because you almost fell down the stairs, or because I grabbed your ass?" His breath hitched.

It took all of his might not to let a blush rise to his face. 'Why me?' repeated in his mind over and over again. "I'd rather talk about something else." Charles kept in mind that he couldn't slip up. He knew this game, and he wasn't willing to lose. "What, you didn't like it?" ... Well... he'd rather keep the answer to that question unknown. "Was I supposed to?"

With each question or comment, he replied quickly and smoothly. Almost. The intimidating shadow of the frontman covered the manager, and it was enough to make him bite down on his bottom lip for a split second. Don't lose your cool, Charles. Whatever you do, DO NOT LET HIM GET TO YOU. "I like you better when you're drunk..." His red tie was tugged lightly. "You're less... professional."

The breath oozing down his neck had been the thing to crack him. Either that, the way he was stared at like a piece of meat, or how the other's voice sounded unbelievably sexual. It made his pulse quicken. "N-Nathan, I really think you shou-" He was interrupted by Toki throwing the door open. Even though he was thankful for the save, he knew he'd kick himself for his stuttering later on. "Ha-haaa! Toki wins! You alls losers! In yous face, Skwisgaar!" And off the oblivious Scandinavian went.

A particularly evil smirk played on Nathan's face as he chuckled and exited the room, leaving his poor manager impossibly flustered. One could only imagine what would've happened if the rhythm guitarist hadn't barged into his office. He'd rather not think about it. Well, at least he was FINALLY left to continue his work, right?

"Hey butlers man, can I hides in here?"

Wrong.