Dead Ends and Deadlines

[Anonymouse]

HI MARU. I don't know if you still wanted to trade, but this is what I've been working on with you in mind. Not really sure where it's going. It was going to be a oneshot, but I just kept on writing so I'm going to break it into small sections. Just Nathan, Pickles, and Skwisgaar being sick pains in the ass while their producer is trying to get shit done. For those of you who watch the show, this takes place during Dethsiduals, when Toki and Murderface are temporarily kicked out of the band for suing the other guys. I'm thinking they caught this cold or whatever on the plane back from France.

Maru, if you read this, let me know what you'd like to see in the next sections or if what I'm doing so far is okay.

---

Part I

With Toki and Murderface on suspension, Knubbler was looking forward to a productive songwriting session with their more musically inclined band mates. They had eight hours set aside to focus on putting the finishing touches on their demos for the label. Well, seven hours and fifty-three minutes. The guys were seven minutes late.

Normally he wouldn’t have cared, but the deadline was coming up fast. He called Skwisgaar first, and as usual there was no response. Next he called Pickles. The phone rang four times before he heard the drummer’s slurring voice.

“Y’ello?”

“Pickles, it’s Knubbler, you’re—”

“Who? Who is dis?”

Knubbler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. It would be a miracle if the drummer wasn’t drunk. “Dick Knubbler. We were supposed to meet—”

“What’d’ya want?”

As the producer took a moment to gather his patience it became obvious that Pickles was not actually on the phone. “Heh, gotcha! I’m not actually here right now, so please leave a message. I prahbably won’t call ya back, but eh, whatever.”

Pickles was notorious for his voicemail pranks. By this time Knubbler was too incensed to leave a message. Instead he hung up and called Nathan.

He saved Nathan for last because if he wasn’t here, he was probably sleeping in, and waking the singer up was a terrifying experience. But it had to be done.

Nathan picked up mid-ring. Knubbler braced himself for the inevitable flurry of curses, but he actually had to struggle to hear the weak, scratchy “What the hell do you want?” that was uttered on the other end.

“… am I speaking to Nathan?”

There was a series of deep hacks, followed by a gravelly “Who else would it be, dipshit?”

“Rough night?”

“Yeah, I guess… I feel like shit.”

“Well, take some DayQuil and head over to Studio 3. We need at least ten demos by—”

“HRRUHSSHHHHUUUH!”

Knubbler was certain he could feel his eardrums literally bursting. It was the same sickening sensation he’d experienced when his eyeballs popped out of their sockets in that submarine, except in his ears. During a brief moment of deafness he wondered if they made bionic eardrums – he would be useless as a producer if he’d actually lost his hearing. He'd never been so relieved to hear Nathan’s voice. The singer sounded completely unapologetic, as if he had no idea that he'd almost permanently damaged his producer’s hearing. Even if he did know he probably didn't care. “I’ll come,” he growled, “but there better be some fucking food.”

“Grab Skwisgaar and Pickles on your way down, willya?”

“Fuck that, I’m not their mom.” And with that he hung up.

Knubbler looked at his watch. Only seven hours and forty-four minutes to go. The session hadn’t even started yet and already he couldn’t wait for it to end.

Edited March 30, 2012 by AnonyMouse

[March Hare]

Fuck yeah I'm still game. This looks VERY promising, indeed! I love the idea of the three of them being sick and bitching around and their producer going crazy I'm also working on my part of the trade right now, so that'll be up in a bit!

Thanks again, this is awesome

[Anonymouse]

w00p w00p. I feel like I have to step up my game after reading your story. I'm still grinning like an idiot about how great it was. Here's the second part of mine!

Part II

Pickles was the first to trudge in. He was wearing nothing but his briefs and a frown. Not even the sight of the table sagging under the weight of enough French toast and bacon to feed an army of Vikings seemed to cheer him up.

Trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was at least ninety percent naked, Knubbler pretended to jot something down in his notepad as Pickles plopped onto the couch across from him. At least he had a blanket drawn around his shoulders, though it did little to hide anything else. Knubbler snuck a glance in the drummer’s direction and, in trying to keep his eyes above neck level, noticed dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “What the hell’d you guys do last night?”

“I’unno what they did, but I went to bed at three.” Three o’clock in the morning was an early bedtime by Dethklok standards. “I felt like shit.”

“Well, I hope you’re feeling better, because we have a lot to get done today.”

Pickles gave a sullen snuffle, rubbing his nose against the corner of his blanket. “These’re just the dembos, right? Can’t you use a fuckind’ drum machine or subthind’?”

“I would prefer to use—”

“Hnngh’schoo!”

“Bless you. A drum machine wouldn’t—”

“Hh’NHxgshiuu!”

Knubbler cleared his throat and waited with tenuous patience as the redhead slumped forward, his face buried in his blanket. “Ihngxshhuu! – NGXShhoo! Uhhg…”

“… are you finished?”

Pickles nodded, sniffled, and, much to Knubbler’s dismay, blew his nose in the blanket before laying back against the couch. “Yeh…”

“So you’re sick too, huh?”

“Who else’s sick?”

Before Knubbler could answer the door to the recording studio flew open, slamming into the wall with enough force to send cracks through the plaster up to the ceiling. Nathan loomed in the doorway, though he wasn’t giving off his usual intimidating aura. In fact he looked almost comical, his shoulders slumped and his expression twisted into a mask of agony. For a moment Knubbler thought he might have hurt his hand punching the door open, but when he saw the singer’s nostrils flare he knew that there was going to be another assault on his ears shortly.

“Hh’uhhh… HUHHRASCHHHHHuuhahh!”

Both Knubbler and Pickles managed to clap their hands over their ears in time, but even with that extra protection the sound still brought on a mild case of tinnitus. Snuffling miserably, Nathan plunked onto the couch beside Pickles and sulked, wiping his nose on his massive forearm and leaving a glistening streak across his skin. “Y’know, there’s a box of tissues right there,” Knubbler pointed out, indicating the box within Nathan’s reach while trying to suppress his gag reflex.

He gave Knubbler a defiant look. “I kndow.”

“Where’s Skwisgaar?” Pickles whined.

“Yeah, where the fuck is that guy endyway?” Nathan grumbled, folding his arms and glancing around impatiently. “I wanda get this stupid beeting over with.”

“Well, Nathan… we’re going to be here for a while.”

“What? WHY?”

“We have to get those demos recorded, dumbass,” Pickles said.

Nathan gaped at Pickles, then whirled towards Knubbler. “You didn’t tell me that!”

Despite the very real threat of getting facefisted, Knubbler managed to remain calm and composed. “Yes I did. On the phone. Before you blew my eardrum out.”

“Heh.” Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. He could shift between moods faster than a toddler. Sometimes this worked out in their favor – at least he no longer looked like he wanted to smash Knubbler’s face in.

“Well, we can't afford to wait much longer,” Knubbler said, glancing at his watch again. “I’ll go get Skwisgaar myself.” He’d sent a Klokateer to fetch him, but he hadn’t returned yet. “You guys should eat something. I’ll be back in a few minutes, God willing.”

Nathan nearly knocked the couch backwards in his enthusiasm to climb over the back of it and beeline straight towards the table of food. Pickles, who was nearly knocked backwards along with the couch, merely shrunk further down into his blanket cocoon and sniffled, leering petulantly at Knubbler.

With a sigh Knubbler turned and left the room, hoping to find a healthy Skwisgaar. If these guys were acting like a little cold was the end of the world, he could only imagine how the prima donna guitarist would behave.

[March Hare]

They are the champions of man flu and I am laughing so hard right here in my chair.

My Lord, woman! How brilliant is this Ooo, Pickles is such a sick li'l baby. Nothing but his briefs and a frown... and a blanket. I can see it, all right. Heh heh. Hngh, and Nathan's sneezing is just too sexy for words. That has to be my favourite sound of all... although/because* you can't use it for everyone. But it's definitely all Nathan.

You've made a concentrated mass of major enjoyment moments here. Pickles's entrance, Nathan's bitching, Knubbler's smartassery, Nathan and the couch, and a truly twitchy-exciting Skwisgaar cliffhanger. I can hardly wait, GRSJBLNDRZFCKMNG.

This trade was the best idea ever. I'm off to write some more drunken hot-tub sneezing action!

* I can't make up my mind on that one.

[NameTaken]

Yes. Yessss. It's happening. The best trade ever. I'll just sit back and let it all unfold.

God. They're too sexy. Pickles' fits and Nathans deafening sneezes. And I lovvvve Nathan just wiping his nose on his arm and cocoon!Pickles, omg. I am dying to see what a sorry state the Scandinavian Sex God is in.

Words cannot DESCRIBE how happy I was to find this on the forum. Aghhh! <333

[Masking]

GNNNHHH HOLY RIFFING RIFF.

OH GOD, sneezy Dethboys. They all need hug therapy...and lots of tissues...and lots and lots more sneezes to clear out their tickly noses. This is SO AMAZING.

[Anonymouse]

Part 3.

---

“We have a problem, sire.”

That was the last thing Knubbler needed to hear right onw. The door to the recording studio hadn’t even closed behind him yet when the Klokateer delivered the bad news.

“Yes?” Knubbler prompted him impatiently to continue, his eyes flashing red.

Though the servant’s expression was hidden behind a dark hood, Knubbler could hear his voice wavering slightly. “Skwisgaar is not in his room, nor the rec room.”

“Where else did you check?”

“Uh… that was it.”

Knubbler sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Dismissed, #6703.”

It was probably his own fault for sending a new hire out into the labyrinthine hallways of Mordhaus in search of the elusive guitarist. The Klokateer scampered off and sighing again, Knubbler set out on the Swedish goose chase himself.

After checking every bathroom, closet, and studio along the way, Knubbler finally passed through the rec room to double-check before continuing into the kitchen. When he began to open the door he felt it wedge against something, preventing him from opening it fully. Peering around the door, he saw a large woman sleeping on the tiled floor, oblivious to the fact that she had a door wedged against her ass. There seemed to be quite a few groupies sprawled across the kitchen floor, clues to where Skwisgaar was most likely hiding, and after playing a bit of Where’s Waldo Knubbler saw the guitarist’s long legs stretching out from behind one of the granate counters.

With the dexterity of a man navigating a minefield, Knubbler slipped through the crack in the door and stepped carefully over the sleeping women, making his way towards Skwisgaar. During his journey he noticed that most of the girls were covered in various foodstuffs – whipped cream, sprinkles, and what he could only hope was hot fudge. A few of them seemed to be lying in puddles of booze. The entire room reeked of alcohol. Sick or not, Skwisgaar probably wouldn’t be in any condition to record today.

Stepping around the counter, Knubbler scowled down at the guitarist, who had a woman in each arm, cuddled against his chest. They were all sleeping, but when the producer nudged Skwisgaar’s leg with his foot his eyes fluttered open.

“You were supposed to be in the studio an hour ago,” Knubbler whispered.

Skwisgaar actually had the gall to shush him, apparently concerned for the women sleeping beside him. Rolling his robotic eyes, Knubbler kicked his leg again, less gently this time, eliciting a slightly pained but silent look from Skwisgaar, who frowned and shook his head defiantly.

With a shrug Knubbler made his way over to the window. The curtains were closed so he flung them open, unleashing a stream of sunlight into the room. He’d worked with Skwisgaar enough to know what this did to him, and when he turned around he was pleased to find that it was having the desired effect. The blond scrunched his eyes shut, unwinding his arm from around the woman on his right and pressing his fist against his crinkling nose. “Hh’nngpft! Hh’NXXKT!”

The women closest to Skwisgaar began to stir, and the one he’d had his arm around opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Good morning, sexy.”

He turned away from her to stifle another “HH’NNKTCHH!” and she giggled, stroking her fingers lightly across his bare chest until she noticed Knubbler. Looking unnerved, she glanced back at Skwisgaar. “Who’s that?”

“Just mby dick-ndose record producer,” Skwisgaar sighed, keeping his eyes closed as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Knubbler, closes the coitans, please.”

“Only if you promise to get up.”

“Ja, ja, I prohh—hihh! – promises.”

“You’re going to make him work?” one of the girls asked, pouting. “But he’s not feeling well!”

“Apparently he felt well enough to party all night.”

Skwisgaar forced himself into an upright position, muffling another “Hhng’FFSCHHHahh!” against his fist that elicited coos of sympathy from his companions.

“C’mon,” Knubbler encouraged him. “The other guys feel shitty too but they showed up.”

“Ja, I dows, I’be cuhh—hh’IHSCHHHHHieww! – cuhbbing.”

But he was taking his sweet time getting up. Knubbler was growing tired of waiting and trying to ignore the fact that some of the ladies were leering at him like he was a Nazi for insisting that Skwisgaar do his job, so he tried another tactic he hoped would prove more helpful. “Y’know, Skwisgaar, I’d let you rest today but I just know the guys won’t be able to get stuff done without you there.”

Skwisgaar nodded knowingly. “I dow, I dow, I’s in-dih-spanks-kables...”

With a dutiful sigh he grabbed onto the counter and pulled himself to his feet, much to the chagrin of his bed (well, floor) mates. Almost tripping over a naked FBL plastered to the floor behind him, Knubbler turned and led the way out of the kitchen, checking back every so often to make sure Skwisgaar was still following, though his occasionally coughs and sneezes were enough proof.

They made it back to the studio with surprisingly little complaint from Skwisgaar. Finally they were going to get some work done.

But when Knubbler opened the door he saw Nathan and Pickles passed out on the couch, leaning against each other, with an empty bottle of NyQuil on the table in front of them.

[March Hare]

In-dih-spanks-kables, indeed. Holy urnkh. SKWISGAARRRR Y U SO SEXEH.

I promise I'll get to work on my part of the deal again soon. PROMISE. Really. Honest. Even though your shining talent makes me self-conscious about everything I write.

[Anonymouse]

Wrapping this up! Part 4!

---

“Whats ambs you t’inkings, Dubblers? Moida-suicides?”

“Well, Skwisgaar, I’m thinking they drank this whole thing of NyQuil,” Knubbler replied, picking up the empty bottle and examining it from every angle, “because they’re sick and their tolerance is too high from drinkin’ and doing drugs all the time.”

“Or baybes they don’t wants to works so badlies that they kills thembselves,” Skwisgaar said, sounding almost hopeful. If they were dead maybe Knubbler would let him go back to bed.

Pickles murmured something and slumped further down, resting his head against Nathan’s stomach. The frontman was snoring loudly, his head tilted back and his mouth wide open. “Nah, they’re alive,” Knubbler concluded, after taking Pickles’s pulse to make sure.

He chucked the empty bottle of NyQuil at Nathan, though such an action was equivalent to climbing into the bear cage at the zoo with a stick and poking the biggest, meanest-looking bear you could find. Nathan was so knocked out that he didn’t even flinch when the bottle collided with his jaw. It bounced down and bonked Pickles on the head, prompting him to snort, open his eyes and blink tiredly up at Knubbler.

“Oh, Pickles, hey… stay with us, buddy, we got some demos to do, remember?”

Pickles looked from Knubbler to Skwisgaar, who merely stared back at him, before smushing his face against Nathan’s stomach to smother a sneeze. “HhkfSHH!”

Nathan giggled at the sensation but didn’t wake up. Brushing the NyQuil bottle off the couch, Pickles curled back up against him and closed his eyes, despite Knubbler’s desperate protests. “Guys, come on!” he cried, actually shaking Pickles, but the drummer was hopelessly limp in his arms. “You gotta get up! We have a deadline to meet!”

Skwisgaar chuckled at his efforts, then coughed, turning into his shoulder to muffle the sound. When he recovered he plucked the empty bottle of NyQuil off the floor and twisted off the childproof cap with some difficulty, tipping it back into his mouth in an attempt to get the dregs. When Knubbler saw him doing this he wrestled the bottle from the Swede’s hands before tossing it into the garbage can. “Come on, guys, this is serious!” he whined, though only one pair of ears seemed to be listening.

“Fucks de label, we ambs Dethkloks. We bakes our own deadlides.”

It was true. Dethklok wouldn’t get in trouble for the late demos, Knubbler would. Which was is precisely why they didn’t seem to give a shit.

“Alright, let me give the label a call…” Knubbler sighed, defeated. “See if I can’t work something out.”

“Dat’s de spirits,” Skwisgaar said with an approving pat on the shoulder.

Shrugging the guitarist’s five-billion-dollar hand off, Knubbler pulled out his cell and put some distance between himself and his three nitwits, clearing his throat nervously as the phone rang.

“This is Roy Cornickelson.”

“Yes, hey, uh… Dick Knubbler here. Got some bad news for ya… the guys aren’t feeling very well, and we—”

Behind him Skwisgaar succumbed to a quick, violent flurry of sneezes. “Hihh’ISHHHoo! NNSHHHoo! Hh’EHSHHHeew!”

“See, hear that?” Knubbler exclaimed, excited to have proof to back up his claim. He pointed the phone towards Skwisgaar, earning himself a glare from the guitarist, who was done for the time being. “I’m not making this up.”

“My question is why the demos aren’t done yet, when you’ve had two months…”

“Oh, you know these guys, they’re busy, busy, busy… flying all over the goddamn place all the time. It was Charles’s fault, really… scheduling them for so much stuff, even though I was tellin’ him hey, you know, we need to be working on this demos, but you know, it’s Dethklok, so.”

His explanation made little sense but Cornickelson seemed to buy it, if only to save himself from more of Knubbler’s drivel. “How sick are we talking?”

Knubbler turned around again to check on his boys, all of whom were now cuddled on the couch together. Skwisgaar had joined the other two and was curled up comfortably at Nathan’s other side, and in his sleep the singer had draped an arm around the Swede’s thin shoulders. Pickles had his head nestled against Nathan’s thigh, his dreads sprawled across the larger man’s lap. Even if he could physically wake them up, Knubbler wasn’t sure he would want to.

“Pretty sick,” Knubbler reported. “Barely functioning.”

“Alright, I’ll give you guys two more weeks… but these demos better be outstanding.”

“You got it, chief.”

He hung up and pocketed his phone, gazing at the unconscious trio for a moment before laughing softly to himself. Two weeks was plenty of time. For now, he’d let them rest.

[Masking]

BLESSES YOU, SKWISGAAR.

This helped take my mind off my cystitis, so thank you.

[NameTaken]

Poor stupid babies I love how this whole thing could quite literally be an episode. If only...