Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
...
After talking to the doctor and being cleared to leave, Charles indicated to his newly revamped watch that he wished to go to Recording Studio One. The female voice that indicated it was processing his request reminded him of the Enterprise Computer on Star Trek.
"In 100 feet, turn right to exit-door of Medical Complex."
His concentration was interrupted by a well-meaning Gear staffing the Medical Center.
"Sire, do you require assistance?"
"No, thank you. I'll call if I need anything."
"Very good, sire."
And with that he continued forward until his extended cane found the wall in front of him, at the same time as the GPS told him to turn to the right. His therapist had recommended that the directions be programmed in a way to where they worked in conjunction with the use of the cane, as this currently remained his primary guidance method. The GPS didn't account for moveable obstacles such as furniture or people. That was where the sonar would one day be able to come in, he hoped.
He continued on, splitting his attention between the instructions in his ear and the indications of the cane.
The trip was uneventful and, eventually, successful, to his great delight. He located the palm-scanner and triggered the glass studio door to slide open. He was greeted with a chorus of hellos from several of the band-members. Then a high pitched nasally voice exclaimed,
"Charles! Hey! How the fuck are you?"
He heard Knubbler approach and wasn't surprised when the slight Producer threw an arm around his shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. Without letting Charles answer, Knubbler continued,
"So I was saying that robotic eyes, man, they're the way to go but these guys are telling me that that won't work, which really sucks cause they are kind of freaking awesome, especially on LSD. Those bastards!"
Charles wasn't sure if the "bastards" Knubbler was referring to were the Revengencers who had injured him in the first place or the Mordhaus doctors who had sealed the deal. But Knubbler continued.
"I like the black cane. Nice. But, uhhh, what's with the dark glasses? Your eyes are fine aren't they? I mean… they're still there right? Cause I'm telling you, man, that was not fun…"
Charles knew the "that" to which Knubbler referred was his own harrowing eyeball experience. He shuddered inwardly.
"Ah, yes, they're, ah, there. The glasses… Well, I, ah.…"
He was saved from having to admit his own self-consciousness by Nathan's approaching voice,
"Charles! You made it! Sit down, let me get you a plate, what do you want? Besides French Toast?"
"Ah, just French Toast is fine. Thank you." Nathan was so proud of the French Toast that Charles didn't want to refuse it, although it could prove to be messy.
"Do you know where the couch is… sort of right in front of you… watch out for the coffee table…"
Charles was familiar with the layout of the room, and located the couch and table easily. He took a seat on the closest end of the couch, and heard Nathan put a plate and silverware down in front of him.
"How much syrup? And don't tell me you're one of those people who eats French Toast without syrup because that's just wrong."
"Alright then, regular amount, I guess." He had never had to quantify his syrup use before.
"Done. Eat! I'm gonna grab seconds, be right back. Do you want coffee or anything?"
"Sure, coffee's good. Black. Thanks, Nathan," Charles replied, as he felt the silverware in front of him to identify the knife and fork, and started to cut up the stack.
"Isch that hard to do, I mean without scheeing it?" Charles had heard someone approach and Murderface's voice indicated that he was now standing over the back of the couch, and was working on a plate of his own, as he observed Charles.
"Ah, it takes more concentration, I guess." Charles lifted a forkful quickly to his mouth, hoping there wouldn't be time for any syrup to drip off.
"And how do you, you know, get it in your mouth without schtabbing yourschelf in the facshe, if you can't schee it?"
Charles had to stifle a laugh to keep from choking. He put the fork down and turned backwards to face the bassist. He had to remind himself that it wasn't necessarily a stupid question.
"Well, ah, you just sort of know, where, ah, your hand and mouth both are, without being able to see them… Close your eyes and try it, you might be surprised."
A moment later Murderface exclaimed, with a mouth still full of food, "Oh yeah, that was easchy!"
"See?" Charles was pleased to show Murderface that not everything in his life had been rendered difficult or impossible.
"This better not be more robot questions!" Nathan had returned, and took a seat on the couch, closer to Charles, the manager noticed, than to the other empty side of the couch.
"No, Charlesch is teaching me how to eat!"
"Huh?"
Figuring Nathan didn't actually require an answer, Charles instead asked the two men if they could gather the others for him, as he had something he wanted to go over with them all.
Soon Charles felt another body sink into the couch and heard Toki's high pitched and enthusiastic greeting "Charles, you ams back! Agains!". This was followed by the approaching greetings of Skwisgaar and Pickles.
"Everyone's here," Nathan leaned over and whispered to Charles, who was already aware that such was the case. He swallowed his food and began.
"I got a call this morning, actually on my way down here, from the head of Associated Press claiming to want to put on a Dethklok concert, early next week, consisting of one song. It would pay the full price of a regular show. Guys, from what I gathered from the conversation, what they're really looking for is to see that you are all still alive and well. There's been a fair amount of speculation and, ah, rumor as to what has happened to me and it makes sense that this, ah, curiosity would also include the five of you, since no one has actually seen or heard from any of you since the end of the last promo tour."
"One song? Seriously? That's awesome!" Pickles spoke up enthusiastically.
"Which ones ams we playings?" Skwisgaar enquired.
"Your choice. Look at this more like a P.R. move than an actual concert. The fans and press just need to know that Dethklok is still alive and unharmed."
"You are a part of Dethklok," Nathan stated pointedly.
Charles felt himself flush slightly. He waited for dissenting voices but upon not hearing any he replied, "Well then, ah, shall we say alive and, ah, still kicking, then…"
Charles couldn't suppress a grin as he felt the singer lean into him. "We'll do it," Nathan with finality, and no one argued.
Continued...
