Memoir of the Satanist

Summery: A simple misunderstanding leads Noodle to explode at the famed bassist, and soon wonder of his well-hidden past. While hunting him down for an apology, she finds herself asking him something no one had ever asked him before, “Why did you choose to become a Satanist, Murdoc?”

Part 1

The hallway was a range of shadows, mind-playing tricks on her eyes with every step she took. They would expand...morph...follow her down until her glowing emerald eyes would shift for a moment, unable to catch their playful banter. One had to be careful in such a residence as hers. Anything could catch you off guard. Anything could kill you...nothing was of the impossible. Her thin fingers ran along the dirty wall on her right, the sky a dead blue on her left, the grey swirls of nothingness forcing the bright moon to play hide and seek with the world below. This only delayed her every two minutes or so. A blocked cloud meant a drape in darkness, a clear moon meant maneuver. Obscurity called for alertness. It was the only way to live in Kong Studios.

Her bare feet padded along the old, swollen wood, occasional creeks whining their way down the hall and into various rooms, forcing her to freeze her movement to sense any from her own. The lump in her throat seemed to get in the way as she swallowed, not bothered at all by the way she traveled, or where she had to travel to, but whom she was traveling in hopes to see. The daylight couldn’t have bothered her more than earlier that day.

That had been a disaster...

She had been innocently eating some oatmeal that she had cooked up early that morning, making some extra for 2D since he had surprised her with his presence, staring out of the kitchen window with an aura of confusion on his face. Gently, he had tapped his finger twice on the pane, eyes focused on the dark sky above, until the third flick, a wash of thick water marbles showering onto the world below. A pleased and more relaxed grin fixed upon his face, he slowly turned, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of the eighteen year old spying on him from the doorway. “N-Noodle!” he gasped, holding a skeletal hand to his chest, “Wot are yeh doin’ there all quiet like? Nearly sent me to the other side!” A small giggle escaped the young woman, pushing herself from her hidden leaned position, her bangs brushing past her glowing green orbs, “Do you have some powers you have not told us about, 2D?”

“...Powers?”

Digging her hands into her hoodie’s center pockets, the youngest band member nodded her head towards the window, expression as innocent as eight years previous, “I believe you provoked the rain to fall.” His neck turned just a bit to join her interest, spectating the view of the horrendous outcome outdoors, sheets so thick one could only see thin white lines and black in between. Their landfill had disappeared in the event, the wood of their porch barely visible. “You fink I did tha’?” he chucked in a whisper, almost wishing it were true, “I may be a bit special,” the singer winked, poking at his own noggin while pulling out a wooden rickety seat for himself, “But I ain’t that special, love.” Crossing his arms, he sat down, bending his left leg in to rest the foot atop of his right knee. Shortly sighing, the Asian axe princess softly walked to the cabinets, opening them in search of a decent pot that wasn’t corroded or filled with mold among other indecent growths.

Finding one, she ran it under some hot water, just in case, and began her hunt for some edible food in the top shelves. Who knew when was the last time Murdoc (or mainly Russel) had gone food shopping? They, as a band, had been eating out almost every day for the past two weeks. Yes, they could afford it, but it wasn’t exactly the healthiest of things to do. Not to mention Noodle was missing the taste of the home cooked love ingredient that everywhere else lacked. Five minute prepared lo mien just wasn’t the same outside of Kong. Ah, a box of oatmeal, and not out of date. That would do just fine. Now she just needed some milk. Eying the fridge behind the singer, the teen placed the box on the counter and closed the cabinet door, listening to the pelting outside. She almost felt bad for the undead that had gotten caught in that mess. Almost.

No. She wouldn’t lie to herself. Not at all.

Pushing the singer in to get past him, she shook her head, “You are absolutely fine just the way you are. Do not try to downplay how much you mean to anyone, D-kun.” Opening the tab of the milk, she closed an eye as she dared her nose to take a whiff, pleasantly surprised that it was nearly new. Closing the fridge door, she carefully went passed the singer’s chair, pulling him out to where he had been before. The blue haired man giggled as if it were a ride, a shadow of a smile on his lips. “You are special to your fans, you are special to the band, and you are special to me. I think that is worth enough in itself.” she finished, pecking between his locks before moving onto breakfast.

Leaning far forward, the pill addict closed his eyes in bliss, elbow propping his cheek up from the table. “By the way,” she added, forcing one of his bruised sockets to lazily lift open, “It is nearly seven and you are not the morning type...yet, you were in the kitchen before me.” Offering a slight sniff, he glanced down at himself with shrugged shoulders, “I’m in me pjs, love. Yo’ in full attire.”

“Does not give a reason to why you are awake so early.”

“A disturbance in the force, there wos.” the pretty boy chuckled with a sly grin as the guitarist flushed a bit. Around five thirty or so she had awoken, gotten dressed, and gone up to the roof where she normally did her morning meditation unless the weather prevented her from doing so. Sitting on the edge of the roof had never provided a threat before, however this morning proved to be a change in the winds, teasing her mind into some allusion that her body was swaying forward when she wasn’t, forcing her to wrench her eyes open and scoot back a bit with a speedy heart, completely ruining the peace her mind had generated, and 2D’s as well. Offering him a shy, sheepish smile, the girl opened the oatmeal packet and dumped its contents into the pot, pouring some milk into the mixture, “Sorry...”

“No ‘arm done. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that, though. Tossed an’ turned till...”

Glancing back at the singer, Noodle opened up another packet and added it to the blend. He was reverting back to his unhealthy skinny mode again. A small bowl of breakfast in his stomach would at least comfort her. “Until what?” she asked, stirring the mush while adjusting the heat. Clearing his throat, 2D crossed his arms in front of him, burying his chin within them. A light blush sprinkled his cheeks, knowing he couldn’t very well lie about the topic, because lord knew he was only good at that kind of thing when Murdoc was around. Maybe it was some form of toxin that waved off the man in vibes, but whatever the cause, the thin singer didn’t have it in him now. “Wull...I know yeh ain’t a kid anymore, Noods, but...’ell that scare was pretty big...I mean I woke up gaspin’...it just kinda bothered me an’ I knew it wouldn’t be right if I just ignored it so...I just sorta...yeh know...checked up on yeh. I found yeh on the roof, but I don’t think yeh saw or ‘eard me, so I came down ‘ere an’ relaxed for a bit. Now I’m gunna get the ‘ole, 2D yo’ just old an’ paranoid, I’m old enough teh take care o’ meself, give me some space an’ all that.” he ended with a higher pitched voice than normal, grinning at the guitarist’s perplexed expression.

Pouring the porridge into two bowls that she had retrieved during the singer’s speech, she washed out the tiny residue and left the pot in the sink, gathering up some spoons, “When have I ever called you old or paranoid?” she questioned, glancing up at him from a drawer. Shrugging, the singer squeezed his left shoulder, eying the window, “I dunno...I’m overdue for it, though. Yo’ the bloomin’ flower now.” he said quietly with a gentle smile, rubbing his tickling nose.

“Sounds like someone is jealous.” the teen giggled, finding one spoon among the many, many knives they owned.

“I am not!” he quirked, a bit surprised at his reaction, cheeks turning pink. Ruffling through his hair, he glanced up, watching the young woman determined to find that other spoon. It seemed only yesterday when she could barely get her thoughts out in English and wrestling Murdoc whenever he yelled at her had become the new spectator sport, and now here she was, his darling little angel love, all grown up. Drawing a circle in the table with his finger, the singer leaned his cheek on his right arm, it bent to continually comb through his hair, “Just...just sayin’ yo’ the one in yo’ prime now.” Scrunching her nose, the teen glanced over her shoulder at the slump on the table, too awkward for any more words. Hand grasping at what she had been searching for, the violet haired woman stood up and closed the drawer shut, setting her bowl on the table. Turning to get the second, she ran her finger against the many types of spices and flavors Russel kept on the bottom shelf of the top cabinet and snagged one. “You, too, are in your prime, 2D. Why are you making yourself sound like a grandfather? You have more youth in you than I do.” the teen nodded, shaking a bit of the brown powder onto the steaming oatmeal.

Shaking his head vigorously, the singer disagreed, “Yo’ the one in yo’ prime. I’m just in survivor mode.” Furrowing her brows, Noodle placed the bowl before him, patting his back, “If you do not eat a little more often, you truly will be.” The bluehead rubbed his belly, wincing a bit. He didn’t like to eat when he wasn’t hungry...which was nearly all the time. It wasn’t healthy, he knew that, and downing pills without sustenance did take its toll, but he couldn’t help it. Like many things that weren’t important to him, it would occasionally slip his mind. “Ehhhh...” he mumbled, slowly glancing up at the cook about to send him on a guilt trip. Her lip was pouted and about to tremble, her lovely emeralds large and shimmering. “I added cinnamon...” she sniffed, pushing the spoon towards his hand. If that didn’t get him eating it, nothing would.

Giving it a once over, 2D rubbed his eyes and leisurely took the spoon, “Awright, awright...guess I better get used teh this...s’an old person’s delicacy,” he joked lightheartedly, however, Noodle took this as another complaint. Giving him a cutting glare, the martial arts expert wrung her arms around his neck just as he stuffed a large spoonful into his mouth, his neck nearly snapping as she hugged him close, “You are not old!” she snapped, not realizing her caring motives were causing her friend to choke. “Noo’le!” he coughed, whacking himself in the chest. Immediately she released him, the stacked glob shooting down to the pit of his stomach, his lungs panting for air. Again the teen wrapped her arms around his neck, however, much more gently this time, nuzzling her cheek in his hair, “Sorry...but, please, no more old jokes. They make me feel uncomfortable. I do not want to think of you ever as a creepy, perverted, old man.” Leaning his head against hers, he calmly closed his eyes, accepting the affection. That was, until a demonic shriek ruptured from a floor below.

“Speaking o’ which...” the blue haired keyboardist mumbled, poking at his breakfast as Noodle released him, curious of their leader’s cry. Angry or hurt, neither would be good news, and his lash on them even less so. Rubbing her wrist awkwardly, the violet haired teen tilted her head towards the doorway without a step towards it, a thin finger placed on 2D’s lips for any statement she knew was going to come. Batting her lashes twice, she arched a curious brow, sliding her hand to the backrest of the singer’s chair. Strange...when Murdoc yelled...and by yelled it was understood to be bellowed...he normally sniffed out the closest pumping arteries to thrash his tantrum on. Rare that he would remain so soundless.

Craning his neck over a fist, the singer arched a brow in weary boredom, curious but not as perplexed as Noodle seemed to be. “Looks like we won’t be gettin’ a visit from Cap’n Hellfire after all...” he muttered, receiving an unexpected force fed spoonful of cinnamon dusted glob. Noodle, giving up on the wonder, dusted off her hands and turned towards the counter, glancing over her shoulder. “No more talk out of you until that bowl is empty,” she ordered, tapping her chin as she kept her eye on the milk. A nice glass of milk would go nicely with some oatmeal...but there was always the possibility of her personal favorite, tea.

Swallowing roughly, the singer mentally whimpered, less than motivated to scarf down the whole bowl. Releasing a sigh, he plucked the utensil from between his lips, sneaking a peek at the strangely frozen teen. Returning his glance to his food, he sighed again, swirling it over and over, eyes popping when he noticed a pair of interested orbs spying in on him from the doorway. Gap toothed grin breaking through, the piano man sniffed gently, ridding himself of his toothy veneer with a quick glimpse towards the teen and waved hurriedly at the treasured companion of the guitarist, its curiosity getting the best of him. He offered the singer a friendly, eager grin, quickly squeezing his furry little body under the chair across from 2D, poking his smiling face between the man’s knees. Giving the favored creature a pleased rub on the head, the music man’s fingers carefully hooked on the rim of the bowl, lifting it soundlessly above and over the awaiting primate.

“I think I shall simply make tea with milk.”

The singer’s shoulders lurched as the unexpected comment flew out, nearly thinking he had been caught. Relaxing out a sigh, he lowered the bowl towards the monkey’s hands.

“Oh, and, 2D? Don’t you dare.”

Shifting his gaze between the girl and his hands, he squinted in utter confusion of how the girl could possibly know. His lips motioned over and over...possibly trying to spit out, “But...”, however, without a word he returned the bowl to the table, lifted the monkey onto his lap, and hunched over in misery, allowing him to climb on his shoulders in order to pick through the man’s hair. “Good morning, Mike.” the Asian smiled, washing out the pot stuck with oatmeal residue. Waving at the eighteen year old’s back with a light shriek, he made himself comfortable on the singer’s shoulders, sliding his legs on either side of the thin man’s neck, leaning over with crossed arms to rest his chin within. Shaking the water out, Noodle set the pot back down on the burner, pouring some milk in to heat up. She needed to get a start on her breakfast. It would get cold if she ignored it too long, and with 2D around, he’d most likely offer her food to their furry mate currently using him as a forward recliner.

Slowly, she pulled out her chair and sat (after giving the monkey his morning ruffle, of course), dragging her bowl before her. If she didn’t get something in her stomach soon, the smell of breakfast would soon make her nauseas, therefore ruining her ability to enjoy it...or eat it, for that matter. The first spoonful was warm and the top layer had already cooled off compared to the rest underneath it. A quick spin of the spoon soon cured that. Eying 2D while she continued to consume her bowlful, the teen noted that, although it was taking him forever to do it, he was actually trying to complete the task of operation breakfast in stomach. It was rather entertaining to watch the poor man scrunch his nose, or squint, or even taste test each and every time before finally deciding it was either safe or edible to finally enter his mouth. Running his fingers along his throat, the bluehead arched a brow at the peering girl, seemingly realizing that the pressure on his neck and back was Mike as he lifted his head, “The milk is about teh spill over...”

Snapping into panic, the teen jetted her chair out, nearly leaping to the stove in order to save the milk. She gently blew on it as the rising liquid settled from the temperature change, twisting the knob to turn off the burner. “Good catch,” she muttered, the singer unsure if the remark was aimed at him or not. Tilting his head with some difficulty, the keyboardist jabbed his thumb up towards the creature residing, “Oy, wot’s Mikey gunna eat if not some oatmeal? I don’t mind sharin’. Honest!” he tried innocently with a child-like smile, holding the pose until the teen turned around, a mug filled with steaming milk in each hand. Placing the mugs on the table, the young woman turned to the cabinets, searching behind the chewed box of pasta for her hidden tea bags, “He will have some fruit and probably help himself to the termites that have made the walls on level two their home.”

Patting the monkey’s hanging leg, the singer sighed, leaning over his half eaten bowl with a sideways prop, “Poor little guy...wot if ‘em things ‘old tha’ zombie disease...? Wot if ‘e gets sick from pesticides? An’ ‘ow about if we don’t got fruit?” Pouting with an annoyed grunt, the teen grabbed a handful from the topmost shelf and swung the door shut, turning on her heel to march towards the table. Swallowing hard, and not from forced food, the singer mustered a sweet smile, brows pressed worriedly, however even Mike understood the change in his owner, deserting his human beanbag for the safer spot under the chair. The fuzzy primate grabbed onto his own tail, lifting his brows as he peeked up with a, “You’re on your own, pal,” look to his typically relaxed features. “Is it really so bad to eat just one meal? Must I spoon-feed you?” the karate junior growled, tossing the mini bags onto the table as she crossed her arms.

Pulling on a slightly brighter facade, the pretty boy perked up a bit, batting his eyes, a shy blush dotting his cheeks, “...Would yeh?” Eyes squinting into piercing slits, the singer sunk his neck in, stirring what was left of his food with a nervous twitch. Noodle could be awfully threatening when she wanted to. What was the big deal? He had gotten this far with his usual eating habits...

A shuffling at the doorway pulled the teen’s attention away from the moping singer, much to his relief; however, upon glancing up, he knew the feeling wouldn’t last long. There, blocking the entire exit was the grimy beast of a bass player himself, a dark mask pulling his features into an ugly mug (although the singer couldn’t say much for the man when he was in a good mood, either). He stood in an unusual combination of cinnabar plaid pajama pants, bottoms tucked into his combat boots, his golden cross medallion proudly resting upon his bare chest, favored raven floating more than flying above him as if scoping out the intention for trouble. Ignoring any form of communication with the devil’s bird, the bony male scrunched his nose as he leaned forward. The bassist was hiding something behind his back...much too big to be hidden from either of them for long.

Noodle had always been quick to figure out puzzles and such, more so than 2D ever could, and it was no surprise that she quickly darted at the Satanist, her visage a mixture of obscure emotions, “What are you doing with my Les Paul, Murdoc?” Her voice carried no tune of questioning rather than a dark underlying, “put that back where it belongs because it does not belong to you or face the consequences.” Noodle was not one to convey attachment to her belongings. This was common knowledge to the three men of Kong. She strongly believed that items controlled their owners if allowed the chance to, and the only way to enjoy the freedom of life was to rid oneself of such false love.

However...

Her Les Paul fell into a different category. It involved too many emotions...connected her past with her present...held too many memories. It was a part of her, and never would she part with it. Normally, it was found in her room, either in the corner on its stand, or on its wall host next to her many decorations. However, the past few nights, she had been practicing with it out of her room, but she was unquestionably certain that the last place she had left it was the recording room. What business did Murdoc think he had lugging it around like so?

Brows furrowing with a clenched growl, the unstable jailbird kept his venomous glare on the youngest band member, bringing his arms forth, the left one wrapped poorly in some gauze, but this meant nothing to the girl when her emeralds fell on the item in his grip...or items. From behind her she could hear the bluehead gasp within a hiccup, obviously about ready to jump out the window if necessary, blinding rain or not. Without a doubt, things were about to get far worse than just ugly. Latching onto 2D’s leg, Mike shivered a bit. Within seconds, the young songwriter cursed at the fact that their leader was blocking the only way out and simply scooted his chair in between the wall and fridge. Curling the monkey into his grasp, they clung onto each other and mentally prepared for Armageddon.

The teen’s drained face barely moved as her shaking hands reached forward, fearful of her fingers actually touching her once prized, and once working, Les Paul. “What....have...you...done...?” she snarled, her shoulders trembling her entire body, lips curling back into a rage Murdoc knew only too well. The answer was simple. Her demand was searching for the reason. He knew how much that guitar meant to her. Her worries took no consideration of his irked, but strangely softening glare, or the fact of his deep wounded gash. No. This was not about Murdoc.

This was about her.

Who she was.

What she loved.

The cowering singer, face snuggled within the hair of the primate, kept his eyes on the bassist’s arm, curious of the strange situation. What could Murdoc have possibly done in order to break a guitar and injure himself so? The man was known to be reckless, but even he wasn’t that careless. Murdoc wasn’t one to get hurt from accidents. The singer, himself had suffered through a coma, holding onto the thread of life by its strands, and Murdoc? Why, the poor soul had cut three of his fingers while entering in through the broken display window, doing his best to shove drumsticks down his shirt before the cops could show up. The blood dripped down along his forearm, neatly falling into a thick and rather dainty puddle on the already filthy linoleum tiles. The singer’s eyes followed the drops one by one, swallowing nervously in the awkward silence. “Why wosn’t this in yo’ room...?” the front man whispered in a dangerous tone, clearly about to turn the tables of blame on the young woman. Her once trembling fingers hastily morphed into fists tightening by her sides, teeth clenched so hard the bluehead feared her ears would begin to spout blood from the pressure her temples were going under. However, he remained silent as the night. Only a fool would bring up any form of fun fact for Noodle at the moment.

Her eyes held burning revulsion for the man before her; only he was able to make a decent morning turn to shit before her very eyes. She wrenched the two pieces from his throbbing grasp, horrified that the thick slime that had smeared against her hands was not the bassist’s sweat, but his warm, viscid blood. The body of the guitar slipped out from her clasp, the spread of blood easily sliding the flow until the five inches of the remaining neck released itself from the young woman’s hand. It clanged against the floor, absent of any non-broken wires that might have vibrated in the effect. The other half of the guitar’s neck dropped on the other side of Noodle, the shock of her guitar falling startling her nerves beyond control. Her hands slowly lifted while she kept her head low, merely staring at the foul fluid that was not hers. Those miraculous emeralds gazed up numbly at the silent bassist, his own anger lost to the attention he was giving his arm. She watched him lift the gauze in annoyance, huffing a grumble, either slightly disgusted or irritated at the hack job engraved into his flesh.

He brushed past her nonchalantly, eying the frozen chameleon apparently trying to merge himself with the wall aside the fridge on his way to the sink. A low snarl escaped the dark one, his nose wrinkling in the process, “The fuck you lookin’ at, faceache?” he snapped, and the nervous young man merely shook his head in quick jerks, lifting his hands, palms out, innocently. However, the quivering monkey took this chance to leap out of the singer’s hold and make a hurdling jump over the mess blocking the doorway, out of sight, out of mind. Watching the animal’s tail disappear into the hallway of darkness, the singer furrowed his brows, crossing his arms sourly, “Lucky bastard...” Quietly sighing, he arched a brow at the moptop’s grunts, squinting curiously at the injured man. It took quite a lot of willpower to overcome the wave of nausea that shot through the singer’s body and almost out his mouth. He wasn’t exactly positive what to call the injury, but it sure as hell wasn’t close to any cut or gash he had ever endured. The flesh seemed to have ripped a decent sized flap out, blood flowing but not gushing out, as the singer would have expected. It didn’t appear that any important artery had been punctured from what he gathered, considering the Brit was still standing, albeit wearily. His hand gently tapped the flap of skin back in like a triangular shaped doorway, all the way until it fit back, then hastily wrapped nearly the entire roll of paper towels around the arm, closing his eyes tightly for a moment to catch his breath. The bluehead had seen this and worse in his time...but it wasn’t ever on a body that was still alive.

Heart before brain, the tender souled 2D perked up a questioning finger, features slightly wincing, “M-Muds? I fink yeh might need a doctor. Like in a ‘ospital...” he started weakly, voice disappearing as the bassist slowly cracked his head to his left to face him. Although his face was paling, nothing could ever cover the look in the man’s eyes that threatened malicious intent if anything was further aggravated. Mismatched eyes falling back on his work, the hardly even-tempered musician’s clawed fingers lightly tightened the self-made cast, folding and tucking here and there to avoid the lack of security his arm was already suffering through. However, it just wasn’t enough. Such an injury required stitching and proper disinfectant at the very least, nonetheless the singer knew the bassist, and neither of the two required were going to be any options Murdoc would ever think of. Kissing his face good-bye, 2D gulped roughly, leisurely making his way out of his seat. He only wished a better distraction had come over him eating his breakfast. He would’ve eaten his bowl along with everyone else’s had he known this was intended for his future.

“...U-Uhm...M-Muds? Yo’ seepin’ frew the p-”

The dark one’s screech of ominous torment echoed through the narrow halls of Kong Studios, slightly disturbing the American from his dream world. His eyes lifted lazily, barely holding steady until his lids capped the whites once more.

2D, then lying on the floor, was clutching his nose dearly, holding back the tears threatening to river down his cheeks. The pain had shot to the back of his brain, almost knocking him out cold, but it hadn’t for only one reason. The bassist had drawn back his fist as quickly as he had fired it. In his moment of aggravation and fury, Murdoc had thrown out the closest arm facing the dullard...his left. As if he were feeling the wound open up for the first time, the grimy Brit yelped in horror as once again, the blood began trickling down, now staining the whites of the paper towels much more rapidly than before. Before he could catch his breath, the entire arm was a bloody mess, and even more so that it had paper stuck to it. Tearing the covering off as quickly as he could without further damaging himself, the bassist cursed and cursed again until he ran out of profanities to exploit.

“Yeh fuckin’ good for nothin’ dickless skeeve! Mind yo’ own fuckin’ business! I ain’t need no crack’s ‘elp! Or yo’ advice!” the wounded Brit snarled, raising his right arm this time in order to finish the bluehead’s sentence. A bloodied hand shot out and caught the fist before it could graze the singer’s nose, capped by both hands, now sprinkled with droplets of blood, as were his clothes and a fraction of the refrigerator.

“Do not touch him again...or I will even up your other arm.”

The young man from Crawley furrowed his brows, finally realizing the level of threat the teen had offered, soft worried eyes popping ample their size. Oh, why did he have to get stuck in the middle of their mess? What had he gotten from it so far? A stinging nose and now an uprising continuous fight between two band mates. Gently touching his nose to verify it wasn’t broken, he quickly glanced at his hands grimly. Ah yes, a personal touch of Murdoc was coating him as well. Fantastic.

Squeezing the bassist’s wrist far tighter than necessary, the Asian guitarist glared up at him without the slightest tinge of pity. She threw his arm back into his chest, taking up the space between the two men in case he decided to try again. Crossing her arms icily, she spared him no mercy with her words, “You are the most unbelievable, selfish, disgusting disgrace that I have ever been forced to cross paths with. You have no consideration for what is not yours; You injure yourself while shattering my guitar, something that holds so many memories dear to me that I cannot fathom any replacement for it...then drag yourself in here so you can gloat like the leader you think you are? You smeared your fluids on everyone and everything and...when 2D worries for your sake, you resort to violence...?” she snarled venomously, teeth grinding together between each and every syllable, “What is your fucking problem?”

Half of the singer’s face had disappeared within the neck hole of his shirt. Never in all the years he knew her had Noodle ever cursed such a word...and in such a dark and residual way. Knees pulled up to his chest, the caps buckled in fear, even though as he was sure as day that the martial arts expert was on his side of the chessboard; the young woman could be frightening when officially furious, and he was positive she was past enraged. Peering out from behind Noodle’s figure, the singer snapped back into his previous position, ducking his head as far as it could hide between his shoulder blades. If the teen was pissed...Murdoc was absolutely livid.

For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten his pain as his face burned up with his rising anger, “An’ just ‘ew the ‘ell do yeh think yo’ talkin’ to, girlie?” Lifting a finger of warning, the bassist hissed, “I ‘ad this fuckin’ roof over yo’ ‘ead since before you got yo’ period. If some fuckin’ piece of equipment ‘appens to break in my ‘ouse, oh, fuckin’ well. If all this could’ve been avoided but you decided teh be a fool an’ leave somethin’ that precious to yeh out in the open, oh, fuckin’ well. An’ if I’m in a really...really...horrendous...mood, bleedin’ out life as we speak, an’ a fuckin’ retard ‘as the balls to make my day worse...an’ I clock ‘im...OH, FUCKIN’, WELL!” he spat at her, heavily breathing as his hand slapped his arm to somewhat prevent the bleeding. However, in respond to this, Noodle kneeled beside the singer, placing her hands gently on his face, (though too late realizing she still had blood on them), and pulled his shirt down to where it belonged so she could tend to his nose. Running a tender finger down the young man’s nose, she slowly pinched each part, asking him questions with her eyes.

“I should feel sorry for you.”

She tilted her head as the keyboardist winced at the bridge.

“You are the type who deserves pity. You are angry...and rotten to the core. You believe hurting others is your gain to pleasure. Is it so wondrous, Murdoc?” She paused, looking down at her lap, “Do you enjoy doing what you do? Even when it hurts the ones who care?” She had held this in for so long...some of it recited from thoughts passed years ago. Thoughts then had been unable to be brought forth due to a language barrier. Yet, she had not forgotten them. Not one bit. The singer held a special bond with her. He always had. He had always protected her as a child...and when had she returned the favor? His beatings were numerous, as well as merciless. When had he become so deserving of such a haunting punishment? “I had once believed that people could change...I believe you are the only one who has proved me wrong, Murdoc. You cling to the evil that has been eating you alive...you exert it through your words and actions, and take no regard of the consequences that come with it.” Shaking her head, the young woman slowly lifted her eyes and peered over her shoulder, gazing at the middle aged man giving her a strange and peculiar stare, “You will always remain the angry, lonely Satanist who pretends to gain his happiness through things that cannot make him smile. You will always feel guilt and despise yourself, though preach of your self-fondness. You will forever envy the untouchable emotions that the rest of us can achieve...”

Her eyes sadly lingered, almost as if she had lost something in him long ago, “I should feel sorry for you...but the sad thing is...I do not.”

Author’s Note: Hello all, I’m back...which is odd to say because I never actually left. I’ve still been reading, reviewing, and writing, as well as drawing. However, I just haven’t uploaded anything in a long time. Reason? Well, if anyone had been reading my profile news updates, I had a virus in my laptop for a few months now, and my laptop continuously had been shut off by itself. Now, I thought this had been due to the virus, but when I popped open the back panel, I discovered a wad of dust clogging the vent. No wonder it had been shutting down. It was merely saving the hard drive from melting. After cleaning that out, I ran an anti-virus scan and voila! Brand spankin’ new laptop in my hands once again. I’m thrilled to the bone.

Now, for this fic. It’s going to be quite a bit different than my other fics.

Why?

Unlike my other story, Want Me Not, where 2D has obviously found himself within a monastery, I don’t actually mention much of actual Buddist beliefs, but more of his escape from his past while trying to make his present comfortable. This story might and probably will be much more controversial, especially in the next chapter. I’d like to state right now that personally, I merely view this as another way to reach out in my creativity. I have my own views and beliefs, and hold onto them strongly. As you read this story, I would simply like reviews to be based on the story of course, and not of any religion banter. We’re all entitled to what we believe and like I said, I am merely being in character. (And when I do that, I try my hardest). Btw, I planned for this to be a oneshot, so these chapters aren’t really chapters, but more like cut offs for you to read easily. I, myself, enjoy a nice long read, but I understand most people take a while to read very long chapters, and eyes start crossing after a while, so I’ll be generous and chop it down, only because it would be a super ridiculous read, probably like a chapter in Addiction. XD

Tidbit for the audience: While writing this, I had a hard time deciding what Noodle needed to say to project her anger using foul language. XD I don’t see her as a character who throws it around, but the other phrases I originally intended seemed too out of character.