Before they knew what had hit them, the day of the party had arrived at last, Scout spending the earlier part of the day - the part not spent solely with Trent - in the recording studio with Nathan. Ever the perfectionist, he had gone back to the studio to re-re-re-record some of his stuff, and if that meant avoiding being crammed into his suit, so be it. So what started as hiding out had turned into a pretty good time actually, but they had been found by Toki and a Klokateer and were both stuck getting ready. If it wasn't for all the hard work Toki had put into it, she wouldn't even have bothered with the party and rather would have spent the night sleeping instead. But she couldn't disappoint Toki, sweet little Toki, so she had resigned herself to her fate and had shimmed her way into a gown she saw for the first time on her bed, waiting to be worn. Though she had her doubts about it, she had to admit to herself that he had chosen the perfect dress for her...
Too bad she really didn't want to celebrate her birthday, not even if had had just been her and the boys...
Once, there was a time when she had been looking forward to this day, but that was before he had ripped her still-beating heart from her chest. She had dreamt once of the day when she would be eighteen, when she could pursue her own ambitions and not those of her mother. And then she had met him, and there had been one more reason to become an adult, to be free of those who would tell her 'no'. Once she had turned eighteen, she could tell the world that she was a claimed woman, that she belonged to Pickles, and that he was off the market because he was with her. Fun as they had been, they wouldn't have to have their secret (mostly) late-night rendezvous, because they could walk in the sun together without the constant fear of being discovered. But that was before she had become a mother...
- Metalocalypse -
Downstairs, at the party, worse yet by the refreshment table, Pickles stood with Skwisgaar, the nearest possible interloper by the speakers, being a pissed-off Murderface fresh off rejection from a fake blonde day-glow Umpa-Lumpa. It had been the first time that he had been alone with the guitarist since he had seen him kissing Scout after Trent was born, and he was taking advantage of the relative solitude. Skwisgaar had been waiting for some kind of confrontation, the drummer acting strangely since Scout had given birth to his son. If it weren't for past experiences, he might have thought that the redhead was going to wait to be completely alone with him, but after everything with Nathan and almost breaking up the band, he had no idea of what Pickles was capable of.
Twirling his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger like a villain would twirl his mustache, Pickles turned to Skwisgaar and came right out with it, "So, ya enjoyin' my sloppy seconds? There's a gold-digger over there I could introduce ya ta."
"Whats ams yous tryings to says, Pickle?" He arched a golden eyebrow at the other man, unsure of what he was insinuating, but sure that he was implying something bad. His green eyes were blazing too darkly for the drummer to have any other intent.
"Scout. Do ya enjoy fucking her?" He cocked his head, waiting for a reply, goading him until he said something, rubbing it in that he was with her first, "Tha way that she works her tongue is magic, innit? I dunno bout you, but I still have the track marks from where her nails broke tha skin. And then tha way she moans in the back of her throat when ya enter her... She's pretty good for a novice, don't cha think?"
Setting his own glass down on the table, Skwisgaar was about to respond when the music warped, cutting off before changing tracks, the lights dimming and re-angling themselves to point at the top of the staircase. Distracted by this, they both fell mute, eyes following the spotlight. Looking like she was caught doing something unspeakable, clearly not expecting this kind of attention, Scout herself nervously poked her head out from behind the wall and waved anxiously at the hundred plus people that watched her as she came out and joined the rest of them. Sliding one black-gloved hand over the banister, praying that the satin didn't snag and that she wouldn't trip in her ridiculously high, strappy heels (she made a mental not to never let a guy, a straight guy, pick out her footwear ever again).
Breath caught in his chest, Pickles looked upon her in awe, never once imagining that she could look any more beautiful than when she had woken up in his arms after that first night. Brown hair - fading blonde when they had first met - pulled back into a low bun, the hair in front curling around her arms, bangs braided back behind her ears, she wore a small diamond headdress encrusted with real sapphires. An early gift from her father, her necklace hung on a thread of silver, a single blue gem dangling from the bottom of serpentine spirals, cradled at the base of her collar bone. Form-fitting and one-of-a-kind, her gown was strapless, shimmering like starlight in silver charmeuse silk, an additional embroidered midnight-blue tulle skirt belted under the bust by a sable sash. While none of them understood the specifics of her temporary make-over, they certainly didn't fail to see the effects of it.
"Laids-keys ands gen-ka-la-mens, Scouts Offs-dens-sens!" Toki's voice, pre-recorded, came on over the music, along with various bangs, crashes, and indistinguishable background noises, gleefully announcing the young woman so many only knew as 'mystery girl', 'harlot', or 'random payroll slut'.
Reaching the foot of the stairs, she looked around uncertainly, searching for a familiar face in the crowd. She found three, one of them standing out like a beacon, the look on his face one that any girl would dream of seeing, rapt adoration, but it was the wrong face, the wrong look at the wrong time. Still carrying some of the extra weight from the pregnancy, she felt like an idiot packed in a tin suit (though aside from the additional chub she felt amazing in Toki's gift), so why did he have to look at her now, when she looked like this? A whale trying to fit into a tuna...
Going to collect the guest of honor, Toki stepped between Scout and Pickles, pulling her into the fray, "Wowee! Yous ams lookings so beautys-fulls!"
Glancing over her shoulder as she was swept away, she was disappointed to see that he wasn't standing there any more, no longer looking at her. Cursing herself for crossing that line, she followed Toki, mindful of her skirts as they trailed behind like her raw heartstrings...
- Metalocalypse -
Raging at full-swing after ninety minutes, Toki well passed tipsy and pissing in the corner, suit stained with half of what he was drinking, Skwisgaar pulled into another room and forced into speaking with the new label head, Murderface sitting at the couch by himself, slashing at the leather with his knife, and Nathan no where to be seen, the party went on, the birthday girl absent from the proceedings. Scout had dipped into the background of things, politely shaking hands and thanking strangers for showing up when she had to, biding her time until she was able to break away and return to her son. Thankfully, that time had come, so she had slipped into the shadows, creeping up the stairs, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Pickles leaning against the wall only a little ways into the hallway.
Heart slamming against her chest at the sight of him, of being alone with him once more, a lump forming in her throat, the blood freezing in her veins, she realized that he was waiting for her, "Pickles," His name nearly choked her as she spoke around the tightness in her throat, sending her all the way back to square effin' one, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be down there with the rest of them? Enjoying the party?" Without me.
He acted as if she hadn't spoken first, the awe not hidden in his voice, "You look beautiful tonight."
"Not like Rockzo?" She had neither forgiven nor forgotten that little incident.
He laughed, dismissing that last remark, "Nothin' like Rockzo. I know ya don't like crowds, but I thought that ya would have lasted longer out there. What cha ya running from?" He looked into her eyes, reading her like an open book, "Meetin' someone?"
Scout couldn't resist the opportunity to throw his words back in his face, even though she knew exactly who was referring to, "Besides the Sandman? Just Trent. You do know who Trent is, don't you?"
Trying to storm passed him, shoulders squared, he caught her by the arms, swinging her into the wall none too gently, pinning her (not that this was the first time that had happened), hissing dangerously in her ear, "Don't play that game wit me, Princess. Ya won't like where it goes."
"Princess?" She repeated incredulously, "Jesus, Pickles, I thought you were more creative than that! I really have to wonder if you contribute as much as you're given credit for, with a piss-poor threat like that. In fact, I wonder a lot of things about you."
Already drunk, and now seeing red, he snarled, "Oh, yeah? I bet ya do think about me all the time. That's why you're always shut up in your room!"
The thing about knowing someone well was that you knew exactly where to go to make them suffer the worst, "Close, but no. I've been too busy fucking your band mate to spare a thought on the likes of an old has-been like you!" The minute the words had left her mouth, she regretted it, knowing that she had gone too far, so she didn't blame him for what happened next.
SLAP! His hand flew across her face before either of them could blink, leaving an angry red mark and a rather loud echo in its wake. And then things got even more heated from there. Yanking him forward by his candy-apple tie, she slammed her mouth into his, months upon months of pent-up aggression pouring out at once, all of the anguish of that time fueling the fire. Hands roaming freely, his fingers clamping down on the meat in back, her's twining savagely in his dreads, forcing him closer and closer, her leg joined in, wrapping itself up around his waist (thank you Toki for the flowing material), causing his pelvis to grind against hers. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to savor the feeling of her hips pressing against his as she attacked him with her tongue.
Breaking for a quick breath of air, he noticed that her eyes were closed as well, a look of demonic lust upon her countenance, a succubus enjoying her meal before she devoured her prey whole. Nipping his lip, grey orbs seductively downcast, her hand slid between the little bit of space there was between bodies, her fingers darting over his fly, practically ripping the buttons off. Mirroring her movements, he pushed her dress up, bunching the material over her thigh, picking her up so that he could carry her to a more private location. The party was only a flight away, and it sounded like someone was drunkenly wandering upstairs, ambling as slowly as possible.
Grasping his manhood firmly in her hand, wrist poking out of his zipper, her dress offering next to no coverage, she began to pump her arm back and forth, whispering as he carried her deeper down the hallway (with some difficulty), "Your room is closer."
He cringed at that (the state of it in worse shape than she had ever seen it), "Yeah..."
Taking them to her room (Scout too busy enjoying her snack to pay attention to their destination), Pickles caught off-guard to see how much it had changed with the addition of their son, he accidentally rammed her back into the doorway when he saw the Klokateer sitting in the sage-green armchair (that was new and placed between the bed and the crib). Tactful, Number 4128 made her way out of the room without a word, not even a look back. Even if she wasn't exactly a member of Dethklok, Scout was part of the family, much like her father was (meaning she would gladly lay down her own life for her mistress), and it was a good gig (with a considerably lower mortality rate than any other position), so Number 4128 wasn't about to jeopardize that by revealing what she had seen. Besides, her mistress looked far happier than she had ever seen her look, outside of when she was with the young master.
Throwing her on the bed, her head bouncing off the mattress, legs dangling off the side, Pickles dropped trou, climbing on top of her as she struggled with the zipper on the side of her dress. Not succeeding, he shoved her hands away, ripping the dress so he could slide it over her head, discarding it some place by his pants. It was a sickening sound, and a bit of a shame as a lot of hard work had gone into making it, but there was no comparison between the dress and Pickles. Looking down at her laying there with only a pink G-string on (the dress leaving next to no room for suitable skivvies), she looked away, blushing. It had been such a long time, and her body had changed with the baby, so she was worried that seeing her like this would make him change his mind about this. Luckily for her, he was still too fired up to think rationally (and anyways with her wasn't about the tits).
Ramming his tongue down her throat, payback for earlier in the hallway, he ran his hand over her bare thigh, fingertips grazing her skin, sending shivers up and down her spine, "Don't think this means I forgive you."
Had the pleasure she was feeling not overloaded her mind already, the time spent apart working against her and making her entire body a live-wire, she would have asked him what he meant by that...
I do not own Metalocalypse.
I do own Scout, her mother Ravenia, and her son, Trent.
I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.
Swedish provided by Google Translate.
REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!
Having written a majority of this chapter before chapter three, I give you the start of a very bad turn. Well aside from Skwisgaar's hair frizzing out like in "Writersklok", and the fact that I suck at profiles and never draw guys, this cover actually turned out alright! It probably helps that I took the time to clean it up in Paint. Anyways, lots of stuff going down in this chapter, and I don't just mean pants... Boom!