Here we go again...
Slash, drug/alcohol usage, bad language, and possible death.
If you don't like, don't read.
No, I still don't own any characters...except Toki's girlfriend.
I guess I'll take credit for her and the idea for the story.
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Occasion for sinners
alive if it seems
given to wander
alone at the shore
wanton to whisper
I am no more
Am as my heart beats
live as I can
wanton to whisper
~~Untramped Footsteps by Jim Morrison
CHAPTER 1: GOODNIGHT
It all began in a luxurious hotel room in the heart of some grand, sprawling Mexican city. Everyone had always told Pickles his whole life that the water in Mexico was bad—Ofdensen had given the whole band a speech about how it was contaminated and would make any tourist sick—but of course he hadn't listened. He had been so thirsty, and it was right there. Toki had spotted the sparkling, crystal pool of water as well and they'd exchanged glances. A few sips and several hours later here they were lying in a fancy hotel room, both sick to their stomachs and being waited on by the Klokateers while the rest of the band shopped and picked up girls. Pickles glared up at the ceiling and sneered.
" 'Dis is so stupid. Whose stupid idea was it to keep us in a Gad damn hotel room for the rest of the trip?"
"Ofdensen's." Toki answered, turning his pale and sick face towards the drummer; he added proudly, "Camille saids that-"
"I don't give a livin' fuck what your stupid girlfriend said!" Pickles snapped, letting out a hiss of annoyance. Camille, Camille, Camille, that stupid amber-haired, green-eyed little bitch. Toki's bitch, or more like Toki was her bitch. She'd showed up a few months ago, had a fling with Skwisgaar, then had started going out with the Norwegian after things between her and the lead guitarist turned sour. It didn't take a genius to see the game she was playing with Toki. Pickles crossed his arms over his chest as he thought about her. Camille, all anyone ever heard about now was that bitch Camille.
Toki was silent for a long time before he said quietly, "You know that she asked me to meets with her parents once we get back to the Americas?"
"She says that she wants to marrys me."
His mind suddenly exploded, went everywhere at once. Thru his disbelief he managed to say, "N-No, you can't do 'dat! She's a total fuckin' idiot, Toki. You can do better, trust me."
The guitarist shrugged and shifted in his bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin and said quite simply, "I think I might loves her."
"You don't! She's a bitch and she's just usin' you to stay close to Skwisgaar." Pickles insisted. "You ain't stupid, you know that. You have to know that."
"You don't wants me with her?" he scoffed. "What ams new? You don't likes anyone who I go outs with, Pickle. I don't gets it. Ams you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Pickles glared over at him. "Dude, don't be an asshole. That chick's been eying Skwisgaar ever since we let her come backstage. She-"
"Likes me now!"
"No she don't!"
His face turned red with both anger and shame as he blurted, "Why ams you being like this? Ever since we started goings out you've beens a dick."
Pickles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm bein' the dick. Whatever."
There was a long while of silence; whenever Toki brought up his girlfriend in the presence of the drummer there was always a fight. Finally Pickles worked up the courage to say gently, "Dude, just trust me, you could do way better."
"Likes who? Camille ams so perfect! She ams smart, funny, pretty-"
"I know, alright? I gat it, she's great, but..."
"But whats, Pickle?"
He shut his mouth and thought. The truth was that Camille really was perfect. She was hot, smart, funny, and on top of it all she played the guitar like Toki. Logically nothing seemed simpler in the world—Toki and Camille were made for each other—but Pickles still didn't accept it. Didn't the Norwegian remember the bond they'd made together way back as teenagers, the first time they'd met? Didn't Toki remember that he had given himself to Pickles for the first time and that they'd always promised each other that one day they'd be together like that again? Apparently not, because in a moment the guitarist had fished his Dethphone out of his pocket and was madly texting. Pickles felt his face burning with envy and hatred for Camille as he rolled over in his bed to face the wall. Stupid Camille ruined everything; she always did.
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"S'okay, it's nat your fault."
"I'm sorrys, Pickle..."
"It's fine, really."
"...that you haves to put up with me."
The drummer stood over Toki's bed; he was busy holding back Toki's hair as the guitarist puked into a trashcan. Where were the Klokateers when he needed them? Oh well, he supposed that he could put up with this just as long as there was no Camille. Just as he thought this, as if on cue, the door to the room opened up and a skinny, bare-legged girl entered the room. She threw her gigantic designer purse down onto the floor and looked over at Toki, a concerned look on her face.
"Your manager called me and said you were sick."
"I was shopping, darling."
Toki looked up at her, his face dripping with sweat, and flushed. "Suh-sorrys." he gagged and puked some more into the trashcan. Upon seeing this, Camille let out a disgusted little scream and pushed Pickles away from the trembling Norwegian.
"What happened to you, sweetie? Do you have the flu?"
The drummer scoffed at her stupidity. "The flu? Wow."
She narrowed her green eyes at him and said in a deadly voice, "Oh, Pickles, darling, I didn't know that you were here."
"I've been here all day."
"Well I've been out shopping for him."
"Yeah, well, I-"
"I thinks I'm going to puke agains." Toki said above their bickering. Pickles stepped forward, totally prepared to help him, but Camille pushed him away and picked up the puke-filled trashcan; she forced it into the drummer's arms and gave him a devious smile.
"Be a dear and go empty this out for me."
"Sure thing, hat stuff." he answered sarcastically before going to dump the sickness into the toilet in the bathroom.
Just before he left them, he heard Camille distinctly say to him, "Sweetie, you might want to just check yourself in the mirror; you have something on your face, right above your eyes." Stupid eyebrow piercings. Camille always teased him about them. Like now, how she smiled over her shoulder at the drummer and added in a sly tone, "You look like a stupid fag with those things in your fa-"
"Camille, maybes you shouldn't..." Toki interrupted her, giving Pickles a warning glance. "And maybe you should gos and do what she says."
"I'll do what she says, alright..." he mumbled begrudgingly as he stormed into the bathroom. He cleaned the trashcan up and then brought it back out to the Norwegian. Truth be told, he wasn't feeling that great either, but he'd puked earlier that day so he didn't feel that bad now.
When Camille saw that Pickles was back, she immediately stopped her chatter and turned to him, a hateful look on her beautiful face. "You're back, are you? Toki was just telling me how he got sick. Apparently you let him drink some water."
"Well yeah, but-"
"How could you do something so stupid?" and she flashed him a wicked smirk before saying, "Well, I suppose it's my fault, really; I thought that Toki could depend on someone to watch him, but I forgot that all of his little friends are nothing but stupid, mindless drunks."
"I ams nat a drunk!" Pickles objected. Camille laughed at this and took Toki's hand in her own in an obvious display of just how much power she had over the guitarist. She changed the subject.
"Dear, you look tired—oh, wait, is that a gray hair?" she indicated a spot on the drummer's head and gasped in faked surprise. "Oh my, I think you're going gray, sweetie. You look so old...how old are you again?"
"None of your Gad damn business!" he snapped. Everyone knew that Pickles was shy about his age; he was the oldest musician in Dethklok, even though that wasn't saying much. The drummer said nothing else, only went and threw himself onto his bed. His stomach was killing him and he was starting to sweat. He shut his eyes tightly and tried so very hard to tune out Camille as she rambled onto Toki about the stupidest crap.
"...and another thing, dear," she said in a disgustingly honey-sweet voice. "I'm going to need to borrow about fifty-thousand dollars—well it's not actually borrowing because we're about to get married!"
"Wells...I don't know..."
"Please? I love you, sweetie.
"Why do you needs it?"
"For..." a slight hesitation then, "clothes, of course." Pickles tried not to scoff. Clothes? Was that the best she could do? Sure, she spent 87% of her time shopping for clothes, but the other 13% of the time she was using her boyfriend's money to feed her growing cocaine habit. Still, he said nothing, only let out a tired groan and shifted under the covers of his bed. This made Camille glance over at him and frown.
"Darling, why do you spend your time with these kinds of people? They're a horrible influence on you, you know."
"They ams my friends, my family."
"Well in a few months I'll be the only family you'll ever need, won't I?"
"I...I guess sos."
"And I don't really think that they should come to the wedding, especially that redhead. Look at him, he's always doing stupid things and getting drunk...you could do better than him, darling."
"Stupid bitch..." he whispered to himself. Thankfully neither of the two heard him, because in a moment Camille was begging Toki for money.
"C'mon, darling, please! I promise I'll make it worth your while..."
"Uh...nos, gets off of me, please."
She gasped. "Toki! Don't tell me what to do!"
"Looks, just—I needs some times to think, okay? Just gos out and shop some more or somethings."
"And next time you comes to see me, don't be so mean to Pickle. He ams doing the best he can; he even held my hair back when I pukes."
"That's...humph...lovely." she said with obvious bitterness. A pause before, "So you really want me to go?"
"Ja. I'll see you laters, though. Come by tomorrow, alrights?"
"I'll come over when I damn well please, you idi-" Camille caught herself and was able to control her temper enough to say, "Tell your stupid friend I said goodnight and pleasant dreams." there were stomping footsteps and the sound of a slamming door.
Once Camille was gone, Toki let out a tired sigh and said aloud, "Pickle, you ams not asleep, are you?"
"So you heards all that?"
"Yep. Crystal clear, dude."
"S'fine." Pickles said kindly, rolling over to face Toki. "If you love her then I guess we can all learn to put up with her."
Toki just looked down and repeated hopelessly, "Sorrys."
"I...maybes I should thinks about her—you knows, sorts of not seeing her anymore? She ams really mean to you and all she really does when the band ams together is stare at Skwisgaar..." his face turned red as he asked, "Do you think they ams still fucking?"
"Nah, I don't think Skwisgaar would do 'dat to you."
"But do you think she would if he would lets her?"
The drummer shrugged and answered awkwardly, "I dunno, dude."
Toki nodded, as if his mind were already made up. "Okays, I gots it."
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"What did you just say? You think that you can break up with me just LIKE THAT?"
Toki was sitting up in his bed, an oddly calm and collected look on his face as Camille yelled at him. "Looks, it just ams not going that great. You-"
Her green eyes were ablaze with rage as she asked, her voice a shrill yell, "HOW ARE THINGS NOT THAT GREAT?"
"You hates all my friends, you don't even wants me in the band no mores, you don't lets me talk to my deddy bear no mores—you tried to gives him to charity. I just can't takes it." he glanced over to Pickles and added curtly, "And plus you ams a real bitch, you knows that?"
Camille let out a frustrated cry; the heavy layers of eyeliner and mascara that she usually wore ran down her cheeks in dismal lines. She wasn't crying out of sadness, though, only out of rage and humiliation. "You can not brake up with me, you fucking piece of shit!"
"I just dids."
Another yell and she was getting her purse, turning and walking towards the door. Before she left, she whirled around, picked up a lamp, and threw it against the hotel's television. The screen shattered into pieces, but she still wasn't satisfied. She went over to the window and snatched Toki's deddy bear. "You are so stupid!" she howled. "Do you know what I've had to put up with to be with you? You're an immature, retarded little long-haired prick!"
"Gives him back!" Toki begged, his pale eyes growing wide.
Pickles rose up from where he was sitting and took a careful step towards Camille. "Sweetie, just give him back his bear, alright?"
"I'll fuckin' throw your skinny little fake ass outta that window."
Her face flushed with fresh anger as she launched the bear out of the window and into the busy street below. Once that was done, she went to get her purse and run out of the room, but Pickles stuck out his arm and stopped her, threw her against the wall. "You Gad damned little bitch! Go down and get it or I'll kill you, I swear!"
"Pickle, don'ts dos it!" Toki exclaimed, grabbing the drummer by the waist and trying desperately to tug him away from the girl. Pickels let himself be pulled back a few feet, but didn't release Camille. He wrapped his hands around her throat and let out a triumphant laugh. How long he had wanted this, to just break that slut's scrawny, anorexic neck, to fucking rip her throat out and laugh as she bled to death...
Camille latched onto Pickles' face and scratched as hard a she could, breaking skin and drawing blood. "You..." she gagged, clawing and tearing.
"Bitch!" he howled, releasing her and pressing his hands to his bloodied cheeks. "Damn bitch, you almost clawed my eyes ou-"
She slapped him as hard as she could, and before Toki could try and restrain her, she had kicked Pickles as hard as she could between his legs. He went down right away, sobbing and turning red. "You...bitch..."
And just like that, it was ended. Camille spat in Toki's face, pushed him to the side, got her purse, and walked over Pickles and out the door. The drummer just laid on the ground for a long while, writing and sobbing in pain. All he could do was repeat, "Stupid bitch, stupid bitch, stupid-"
"What?" he asked thru gritted teeth. He shut his eyes tightly. God, had she gotten him good. He wished so badly that he could've killed her...
"You ams okay?"
"Your girlfriend just kicked me in the nuts, dude..."
"I knows." he smiled down awkwardly at the drummer and ventured to say, "I'm sorrys about that. Maybe I don't loves her that much after all."
"She looks like she got you real bads, huh?"
"I think I'm bleedin'." Pickles groaned, sitting up. He removed his hands from his crotch and looked down. Surely enough there was a bit of blood there, about the size of a dime. He wiped the tears from his eyes and said in agony, "I'll be pissin' blood for a week 'cause of this."
Toki helped him to his feet and over to his bed before saying, "Well, there ams good news."
"How d'ya figure?"
"You never wanted kids anyways, rights? Now you probably can't haves them."
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Eventually they did recover from their illness and the show was rescheduled. The whole reason that they had even gone to Mexico to begin with had been to play a million-dollar concert, but with two of the musicians falling ill, needless to say there were changes made to the schedule. The day of the show was good and the crowd was huge. The whole band played and everything was okay again...for a while. Truthfully Pickles was forcing himself to power thru each song, having to fight to stay awake. He still was feeling tired—the sickness had taken a toll on him—and he ended up falling asleep behind his drum kit at least twice already. They were only on the fourth song by the time he was drifting off again, pounding away robotically at his drums.
He had to stay awake, he'd already cost the band too much. In desperation he glanced down at Toki and watched as the Norwegian played and was outdone, as always, by Skwisgaar. He loved how the kid played, how he got so into the songs and let all of his emotions flow thru him and onto the strings of that Gibson. Hatred, love, sorrow, agony, and ecstasy; all were being transferred from Toki's iron fingers onto that guitar. Pickles felt himself grow numb and he watched as the guitarist began to bleed. Blood dripped from the Norwegian's fingers down the strings of the Gibson, falling onto his boots and the stage below him.
Drip, drip, drop.
More blood, Toki's fingernails were a mess of raw flesh and red stickiness. Didn't he notice? No, apparently not, because there was more drip, drop, drip, splat as blood dyed the stage crimson. What was wrong with him? Didn't he feel the pain? God, Pickles thought that he might be driven insane if he had to watch one more moment of it...still Toki played, and the more he did the worse his fingers became, until large chunks of skin and flesh fell from his raw hands; he was falling apart, littering the stage with his blood. Pickles gagged, tried to be sick, but couldn't—it was far too disgusting for him to even react or puke. He stopped playing his drums and got up, went to help the guitarist, but stopped when he saw Toki throw down his guitar.
"T-Toki? Dude, are you-"
The Norwegian fell into a crumpled heap onto the stage, his body bloody and cut, crushed and distorted horribly. He looked dead. Pickles immediately went to help him, but before he could he discovered that Toki was still alive, still breathing. He turned to the drummer, his pale eyes full of desperation, crying tears of blood. "Pickle, what happened?"
"I...what?" This wasn't real, couldn't be real. Didn't anyone else notice? Pickles looked over, but discovered that the screaming fans had disappeared along with the rest of the band. It was just he and Toki on the stage now. The wind blew and the scent of gasoline and smoke filled Pickles' nose. He gave Toki a disgusted look and went over to him, his hand outstretched. "Are you-"
The rest of his words were drowned out by the insane sound of crunching metal and screaming. The drummer looked around, expecting to see something, but instead was met with the sound of Toki's screaming. When he looked down to where the guitarist had been laying moments before, he saw only a puddle of blood shining under the hot stage lights.
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"Pickles, what the fuck is wrong with you? Get up, you dildo! We're in the middle of a show!"
The drummer let out a confused groan and opened his eyes. Standing above him was Nathan, Skwisgaar, Murderface, and Toki, all appearing to be quite concerned. He blinked and looked around, a clueless look on his sweating and pale face. "What happened to everything—everybody, they're gone."
Nathan let out an exasperated little huff and said angrily, "What happened was that you quit playing and passed out."
"Like a shtupid panshy!" Murderface jeered. He imitated what Pickles had looked like when he had fainted and laughed. Skwisgaar grinned, but didn't find it that amusing. He seemed more annoyed that he had stopped his guitar solo for this.
"So what, ammnest you drunks or something?"
"No I'm nat, I swear to Gad that everyone left and Toki was—" he cut himself off before shutting his eyes. That image of the broken and horribly manged body came racing back to him and he began to sob, "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead..."
The harsh voice of Nathan asked him, "Whose dead? What are you talking about?"
Everyone in the band turned to stare at the Norwegian, who just shook his head and touched Pickles' hand. "No, Pickle, I'ms not. I'm right here, okays? I'm fine."
"No," he said, weeping openly in front of the thousands of fans. "y-you were dead and falling apart and—blood, the whole stage was covered with it, and there was screaming and this crunching noise, like metal grinding together, and then-"
"You were asleep," Nathan interrupted. "it was all a dream."
"That's what happens when you ammnest sick," Skwisgaar agreed, nodding. "You shouldn't have playeds tonight. Nathans, I told you that we should haves pushed the concert backs a littles more. Him and Tokis still weren't better."
"I didn't imagine it!" Pickles cried, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "He was dead and nobody cared! Everyone was gone and he was alone and just..."
"I was alones?"Toki's pale eyes flittered down to the floor as he muttered sadly, "I died alones? Wowee..."
"Wow, you're a real dick, Picklesh." Murderface commented, seeing the sad look on the guitarist's face.
"But I—it was real, I swear to Gad! I wasn't asleep, it happened!" the drummer insisted, getting to his feet. He noted the skeptical looks on the other musician's faces and added unwaveringly, "I'm tellin' you the truth! I saw what I saw and I'm nat crazy or sick or drunk or high. I'm just-"
"A dick." Nathan repeated, seeing tears shining in Toki's eyes.
"But he was dead, I-"
"Just gives it a rest, idiots." Skwisgaar snapped, placing a careful hand on the Norwegian's shoulder. "Come on, Tokis, lets gos backstage and gets some fan girls to-"
"Why me?" he asked, pulling away from the Swede and turning to face Pickles. "Why was I the one whats has to be dead? Why not Murderface or Nathans or-"
"I dunno, dude."
"So you wants me to die?"
Pickles quickly shook his head. "No, course I don't want that!"
"Then why did you dreams it?" When no answer came, Toki gave him a hurt look then retreated backstage, dragging his guitar behind him.
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I'm back after a short break in which I drew Metalocalypse fanart and started typing a story with another fanfic writer. Yes, I have set up a DeviantArt account that is called TheLastFlowerchild. I've uploaded Pickles/Toki fanart and plan to add much more, so check it out if you want [Skwisgaar/Toki, Skwisgaar/Pickles...lots of stuff]. What's up with Camille? I think that it's a beautiful name, but I've never met a Camille that I've liked-the only one that I know glares at me at lunch for no reason and points and stares at me…she is quite an odd girl. Other than that I hope you're enjoying this story and plan to read more of it. Reviews are appreciated.
Peace & Love