![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Essential Personnel (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A school report on Dethklok's Dethtour of Deth and Summer Fun
Warnings: AU, OCs, swearing, mayhem, use of mysterious Pickles-supplied substances.
Notes: Thank you tonugatorytm for brutal beta-ing!!!
NOTE: This was already posted to CLDK. I just put it here too because I ams compulsive.
I am ELIAS but you can call me Boon because everybody calls me Boon except my Grandpapa he calls me Sen Michel and he is a PIRATE but this is not about him this is about my uncles and they are DETHKLOK and that is how you spell it and I know because I checked with my dad and he knows everything (almost).
My dad is the manager of DETHKLOK and it is a big job because they are the biggest DEATH METAL band in the world and what is a death metal band I don’t know but they go places and they are very loud and make people jump up and down and things fall from the sky and things blow up and it is COOL.
And so we went ON TOUR this summer to places and because I am very big now (I am almost 7 years old) I went along with my dad so he doesn't get all lonely so my Tutor who is Kam told me to write an essay all about it so here it is.
I will tell you about the TOUR. My dad can do many things because he is my dad but he can not be everywhere and do everything so we have many people in the ORGANIZATION and they are my father’s helpers and they areklokk clock klockq GEARS and they wear hoods and they have guts inside and they go squish squish.
"Did he go squishie?" Elias asked, pointing to the pooling remains of what had until recently been Klokateer 113.
"Yep. Dat one went squishie," Pickles told he boy.
"Aw. They have pretty guts inside!" Elias supplied, crouching down for a better view.
"Dat dey do. Wanna help practice drums wit' me?" Pickles inquired, gently tugging on the boy's hand.
"Will you help me with the pedals?” Elias asked, standing up. “Because, the pedals are really far away!"
"Shure. Mebbe you kin help me wit’ unnerstandin' da new kit dat da scientist doods made fer me."
"It runs on..." Elias sucked in breath and took a running start, "ELECTROMAGNETISM and that’s a word because the scientists told me and I made them tell me again!”
“Dat’s a pretty big word,” Pickles agreed. He drew his red eyebrows together. “Wunder if it helps wit’ da double kick?”
And here is today’s stop on the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN it is at the ALUKSANDER BURJIS MAMORUL STADEEUM AND VIDDDEODROM. I had Uncle William help me with the spelling because he is the best speller.
First we have to do PUBLIC RELATIONS, because my dad says it is our BREAD AND BUTTER. I asked my dad, so, what is our PIE. Because, pie is good. And he said he did not know, he had not thought of that before, and I said it is good that I am here and he said yes Boon you are ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL, and then he got me a badge that has Facebones on it and Facebones is really cool and it says ALL ACCESS ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL which is a lot of words it is a very big badge.
"Guys, just a few minutes with some VIPs."
There were moans and groans and weeps and whines.
Charles took a deep, calming breath. "Just.... Just stand here and say hi to some people. We have Pink Mink and her kids...."
"Pink Mink?” asked Pickles. “Ain't she da groupie? Da one wit' da pink.... Yoo know wut?"
"Pink WHAT?" asked Elias, who was clinging on to Charles' hand and did not know what.
"Da pink-"
"WHEN YOU'RE OLDER," Charles completed, giving Pickles The Stare. "Whatever her, uh, storied history, she is now the head of the record label's wife. Please. No grievous bodily harm?"
"Awwww," said Murderface, stabbing the wall with his hunting knife.
"Dood, she's Damien's wife?" Pickles inquired.
"No. Uh. Roy's."
There were several OOOOs and wolf whistles.
“Guys! Just….” But Charles never finished the sentence. He crouched down next to Elias. “Try and keep your uncles outta trouble. OK?” Elias eagerly nodded, and Charles went to herd in the industry douche bags.
A group of self-satisfied looking individuals soon oozed into the room. A blond woman dressed in the fashionable and tight-fitting garments of someone a decade or so younger than she soon breezed up to the band.
"Will you sign autographs for my precious children, Nx'kwellah and Ramblanctious?" said Pink Mink. "They are your BIGGEST FANS!"
Pink Mink indicated two small beings who were dressed in many thousands of dollars of designer kiddie rock ‘n roll wear. The kid who apparently went by Ramblanctious, who looked to be a year or so older than Elias, gave a sigh of derision. Nx’kwellah, a somewhat smaller child of indeterminate sex and age holding tight to Pink Mink’s long-finger nailed hand, simply rubbed his or her butt and looked confused.
"Dood. How do yoo spell Ramblanctious?" Pickles whispered to Nathan as he put pen to a rhinestone-encrusted autograph book.
"PHONETICALLY."
Ramblanctious Cornickleson (né Ramblanctious Ibsen, and formerly, for a brief but storied three week period, Ramblanctious Kixx) surveyed the scene backstage with a jaundiced eight year old eye. How he despised having to bump elbows with these scruffy musicians. When he ran the label, things would be different!
He spotted the small child standing silently in the background. How he despised silently standing small children!
"Who are YOU?" he snorted at the little brat, who wore a backstage pass practically bigger than himself.
"Hi! I'm Elias, but everyone calls me Boon!"
"Boon is a dumb name. You're dumb." Ramblanctious preened, efficiently putting that little upstart swiftly in his place.
"I'm not dumb!" Elias answered cheerily. “I'm in the top tenth of one percentile..."
"Person ties are dumb."
"Percentiles! It's math!"
Ramblanctious squinted. “Math is for dumb people.” This one was literally too dumb to know he was dumb. How dumb was that? He squinted at the dumb kid’s badge. It had a lot of words that he didn’t know on it. How he despised words he didn’t know. "What are you doing here?" he sneered.
"My dad is the manager of Dethklok! Dethklok is a death metal band! Dethklok is the biggest death metal band!"
"Dethklok is dumb."
"My dad says it's nicer to say IMPAIRED."
Ramblanctious glowered, readying himself for the coup de grace. "Your dad is dumb."
But then it got very quiet. And weird, like all the air had gotten sucked out of the room. Ramblanctious glanced around nervously and then risked another look at the dumb kid. He had thought the dumb kid looked sort of scrawny, but actually, he was not scrawny. He looked sort of mean. Like one of those dogs they kept on a really big metal chain.
Ramblanctious held his tummy. It hurt, like when he tried to eat non-organic veal.
The dumb kid was frowning at him. No one frowned at Ramblanctious Cornickleson. He really needed to get Mommy to fire the kid like they did with that weird gardener who whistled too much.
"My. Dad. Isn't. Dumb," the dumb kid hissed.
Ramblanctious Cornickleson did something he rarely did: took a step back. "MAHMEE!" he squealed, running off to cling to the leg of the same.
"Ramblanctious, what has gotten into you?" asked Pink Mink.
"The mean kid is meeeeeean. An he's gonna kill me, Mahmeee!"
Pink Mink raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and cast her heavily mascaraed eyes in the direction of the child in question. Two very lovely brown eyes blinked up at her, the very picture of angelic innocence.
"Now, Rambly-Pambly, are you confabulating again?"
"Not confablin'!"
"Because if you're confabulating, we'll have to tell Dr. Twinklwtits during your bi-weekly session," she breezed, yanking Ramblanctious and his sibling towards the door.
“I don’t like that guy he has scary arms!” Ramblanctious squealed as they departed.
"He is the rock and roll child psychologist, and you will see him for all of your conditions!"
"Mah-meeeeee!" came the squeal from out the door.
“Damn, dood, now we’ll never figger out how t’ spell Ramblanctious,” Pickles sighed, dumping the autograph book in a wastebasket.
"So, Pickles, you, uh, gonna be ready with that new drum set up tonight?"
Pickles glared at Charles, who was suddenly hovering, mom-like, nearby. "Gahd! ‘A course Ah'm ready. Why wouldn' Ah be ready?"
"Because, ah, the last time we tried out new technology on your drum kit, it caused billions of dollars in damage and, untold death and suffering."
"Death and suffering is METAL!" Nathan interjected.
"Yes, Nathan, but, uh, in my recollection, you guys VOTED to remove him from the band as a consequence!" Charles noted.
Nathan glowered at Charles. "Really? Because that's not MY RECOLLECTION."
"Well, that is my recollection," said Charles, his cheeks getting hot.
"MY RECOLLECTION is that you BANISHED PICKLED TO REHAB and then brought in a PSYCHOPATHIC DRUM MACHINE that DRANK OUR BOOZE, SNARFED UP OUR DRUGS, GRABBED ALL OUR SKANKIEST GROUPIES, and then threatened to BLOW US THE FUCK UP! That is MY RECOLLECTION."
"Mistakes ... were made," Charles muttered. Nathan fixed him with a final glower of recollection and departed in search of skanky groupies and booze.
Pickles frowned after Nathan. "Ah'll be ready. Stop worryin'. Geez," he muttered, stalking off to find beer and cinnamon buns.
Charles spotted a somewhat friendlier face. "So, uh, how're we doin'?"
"YOU'RE NOT DUMB!" Elias told him most sincerely.
"Yeah, uh, that's actually debatable."
DETHKLOK must practice very hard every day because they are great ARTISTS and also because of MUSICIANSHIP which is an important thing though I don't know why. And Skwisgaar Skwigelf practices every day all day even when he eats or when he is in the hot tub because he is the fastest guitarist alive and he says he does not want somebody to sneak up on him though I do not know how someone could sneak up on him because there are always a lot of ladies around him and wouldn't they warn him if someone was sneaking? And I asked my dad but he said guitarists are VERY SNEAKY but not to tell Skwisgaar he said that.
And Unky Nathan has a very secret way of practicing he will practice and I will think that he is taking a nap but if you get too close he will tell you to get away that he is practicing.
And the rest of the band all practices very hard, but they must be really shy because I have never seen them do this.
Nathan Explosion lay on the worn couch, his mouth open. He was watching curiously to see when the drool trail that extended from his lower lip would hit the stained carpet.
Opposite him, Skwisgaar Skwigelf hunched over his Gibson, intently snoring, his fingers picking out tasty dreamtime licks. Murderface was playing mumblety peg solitaire, and, over at the arcade, Toki was attempting to equal his world record high score on DDR.
"So, you guys wanna go over the SET LIST?" Nathan muttered, as his spittle had now reached the floor and he had nothing better to do.
There were scattered "Nah's" and snores and beeping electronic dance music.
Pickles entered the room, leading Elias by the hand.
"PICKLES, what do you think you're DOING with that kid? We have a show in HALF AN HOUR!"
"Boon an' Ah, we're gonna go, uh, play slaht cars!"
"But Unky Pickles, I thought you said-" Elias started.
"Yep," Pickles continued, abruptly picking up Elias in his arms and holding his face into Pickles' body. "Racin' slaht cars!"
"OK, well, see you're BACK IN TIME FOR MAKE UP," Nathan warned.
"Shure, Nathan," Pickles assured him, hurrying out of the room.
"What's a slodcar, Unky Pickles?" Elias asked when his face was finally freed.
"It's anudder name fer practicin' da drums."
"Oh. Really?"
"Yeh. Now, what doo yoo know about dis drum kit?" Pickles asked, pointing to the shiny new assemblage of percussive instruments that had just been delivered by the technology team from Mordhaus' dungeons.
"Oh yeah they're drums and they're really cool and the scientists showed me but they're not for children to play on because they are SERIOUS BUSINESS."
"Okey. Well, uh, wut if yoo jest work 'em dis once an' den we'll naht hafta tell da science doods."
"Is that slodcars?"
"Yeh!" agreed Pickles, sitting down behind the kit. "Dat's how yoo play slaht cars."
Pickles began to play a drumroll, and watched as, giggling madly, Elias crawled to sit at his feet.
Elias whacked a foot pedal with his little fist.
"WHOA!" gasped Pickles, as he had left his stomach some 10 feet below.
The drum kit was now, somehow, hovering far above the stage.
"Up!" giggled Elias.
Then he pounded another foot pedal.
"Down!" he said, rather pointlessly, as they had returned to ground level.
Pickles looked down at the little boy, sitting cross-legged at his feet and madly grinning up at him.
"It's FUN!" Elias said.
Pickles wiped a sweat band across his wet forehead. "Okey. 'C'n yoo do dat one more time fer Unky Pickles?" He started to play again, and once again, drum set went up, drum set went down.
"Ah t'ink Ah gaht it," Pickles said, albeit somewhat shakily. Tentatively, he toed one foot pedal, and then the other, raising and lowering his hover drums. Encouraged by Elias' squealing and clapping, he tried it faster, and then began to synchronize it with some fancy drumming. It actually wasn't so hard to master: it was easier than driving the Murdercycle. And it was actually pretty fucking impressive.
"Boon dood, wut happens if I press both da pedals at once?"
"No! Don't do that, Unky Pickles!" Elias warned, waving his little hands.
"Wut? Why naht?" asked the drummer, ripping out a really awesome beat. Was he going to listen to a kid?
"Because it would be BAD!" Elias warned.
"Pfffft!" grinned Pickles, stomping on both pedals.
Pickles heard the screaming.
It was actually his own scream, as he and the drum kit toppled, end over end over end over end. Spinning and spinning. A horrible carnival ride.
He continued to scream, frozen in terror, spinning and spinning 20 feet above the ground.
Then he felt a pair of small hands, yanking his feet from the pedals.
The drum kit lurched to a stop and clattered back to the ground.
Pickles threw down his drumsticks, jumped off the chair, and barely made it to a corner to empty his stomach of its contents.
"Are you OK, Unky Pickles?"
The drummer wiped his mouth on his wristband and looked upwards, towards the sound of the voice. Elias had broken out his pair of dark, silvery-tipped wings, and was hovering, concerned, just overhead.
"Nah, Ah'm fine, Boon dood," Pickles assured him. The boy outstretched a hand, and helped the shaky redhead to his feet. "T'anks."
"It's electromagnetism!" Elias told him, obviously enjoying the feel of the word on the tongue.
"BOON, what are you doing with your WINGS OUT IN PUBLIC? You know what YOUR DAD would say?" At some point, Nathan and Skwisgaar had come into the room, and Nathan now stood, arms crossed, the picture of divine judgment. Skwisgaar, by contrast, looked bored and noodled on his Gibson.
"Sorry, Unky Nathan," the boy said, going back to his human Form and pulling down his T shirt. "We were playing sladcars!"
"You look like you were trying out THE DRUM KIT!" Nathan pointed out.
"Oh. Uh. Naw. No. Nope," explained Pickles.
"You're sure you weren't REHEARSING," asked Nathan suspiciously.
"Dood! ‘A course naht!"
"OK. Well. You wanna go play Ninja Ghost Bomb or something?" Nathan asked.
"Hey, yeah, shure dood."
Pickles hurried out of the room with Nathan.
"Psst, Booms," Skwisgaar whispered, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder before he could follow Pickles and Nathan out of the room.
"Uh, yes?" asked Elias.
The Swede looked back and forth and then leaned over to whisper. "You ams maybe shows me how to use dems new wah-wah pedals dats dems scientits dudes ams mades me?”
"Sure! It works with ... ULTRASONIC TECHNOLOGY!"
DETHKLOK perform in CORPSE PAINT, because it is BRUTAL. It is like make up, but it is not for ladies. Though Skwisgaar Skwigelf says my Unky Toki is a LADY and that he has LADY PROBLEMS, but I do not know what those are and no one will tell me. My cousin Liam says usually when ladies have problems, you can tell, because they will hit you with their sword, but I think he is talking about my Auntie Raziel, and I have not seen Toki hit Skwisgaar with a sword, although that would be really cool.
"OK, so, you guys are going on in five minutes."
Charles stood and stared at his band. What was the polar opposite of performance anxiety? Performance insouciance? Performance indifference? Performance just couldn't give a flying crap? Whatever the fuck it was, these guys had it. And was Nathan ... drooling?
"If there are ANY last minute issues? Anything at all you wanna tell me?"
Silence.
"Any questions? Anything you need?"
Studied silence.
"Anything concerning, say, new equipment?" He stared significantly at Pickles.
Sullen silence.
"So, I'm gonna leave right now, so if there's anything, ANYTHING AT ALL...?"
The sound of one hand throwing the horns.
"Well, I guess I'll be going. If there's nothing else?"
Charles sighed and turned to leave.
Hanging on to Charles' hand, Elias waved a small hand and said, "Don't go squishie!"
"Yeah," Charles whispered as they left the room. "Don't go squishie."
My Unky Nathan has written NEW MATERIAL for the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN and I asked if there was a CD too because they were all in the basement for a very long time with my Uncle Dick Knubbler and he is a genius and he told me so himself and he makes CDs and my dad said O do not ask about the CD and then he looked like maybe he would get a headache.
So the theme of the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN is that people think summer is fun because there is sun and people go to the beach but that is not true it is a time of ROTTING CORPSES and DESECRATION. So my Unky Nathan has written many songs to tell people of this because it is important information to have.
When DETHKLOK performs my dad watches from a special room and it has many TVs and all the channels are all DETHKLOK and also he DOES NOT SMOKE.
Elias stood on tiptoe eagerly trying to see what was on the viewing screen his father was hunched over so intently. Suddenly, and somehow without turning around, his father had hands around his waist and had hoisted him to sit on the table beside the monitor. Charles flicked ashes from the end of his Marlboro. "Remember," he told Elias, "THIS IS NOT A CIGARETTE."
Elias nodded enthusiastically. When his dad smoked in the special room, it was not really smoking. His Cousin Liam told him that was because when they were ON TOUR they had special cigarettes at made you see dancing elephants, but Elias wasn't sure Liam was telling the truth, as he had seen his Uncle Vishnu's dancing elephants before, and he could not recall smoking beforehand.
He peered into the monitor his father was surveying, sitting with one leg bouncing and the not-cigarette going to ash. The monitor had a picture of Dethklok as they were playing.
"This song is from our new surf CD, Rotting Hellbeast Sounds," Nathan announced from the stage to thunderous cheers.
Elias' father loosened his tie and leaned forward even further.
I sailed an ocean, a corpse-strewn ocean
Through bloody waters and rotting bodies
Desecration
Conflagration
Sail on sail on Satan.
Stumble through alleys, locust-plagued valleys
Sail through the horrors of undead mortals
Shark infested
Wounds have festered
Wail on, wail on Satan!
Then Nathan shouted, "Wipe out!"
And Elias saw his father stop breathing.
The image closed in on Pickles, behind his enormous drum kit. The drummer had already embarked on a blazing drum solo. Then, just as it seemed it could not get more frenetic, his entire drum kit started to rise. It floated ten, and then twenty feet into the air.
And then it fell.
There were screams from the audience, and then applause and cheers as, just in the nick of time, Pickles stopped just above the stage. And then he repeated the trick, guiding the kit higher and higher, and then letting it drop almost to the floor.
It was really cool. And the only casualty was Klokateer 138, a roadie who for some reason decided it was a very good idea to go underneath during one of Pickles' ascensions to get a really good look at the underside of the kit.
He got a very, very good look at the underside.
"Squishie!" said Elias, watching from the special room.
"Yeah, squishie," said his father, who was thinking very hard about where he had cached his bottle of brandy.
So then after the concert there are many pretty ladies who would like to be friends with DETHKLOK, although none of these ladies are Unky Toki. Sometimes the ladies say that I am cute, but Unky William can not tell them that I am his little brother and that he is raising me alone after our parents were eaten by a tiger because it is not true and that would be lying. But I do not get to hear about this until I am older, until I am 847 years old my dad says, although I do not know if that is right because that seems very old.
And so IN CONCLUSION this was a very fun tour and I am glad that I could help them out because I want to help the organization though my dad says I cannot get a gear brand yet even though they are cool maybe next year, or when I am 847.
“So, this is a pretty good essay,” Charles said, sitting back and squinting at the electronic tablet.
“Uh-huh,” said Elias.
“I like the pictures,” said Charles, flicking through the pages with an index finger. “That’s a pretty accurate 3D rendering of the Alexander Burgess Memorial Concert Hall and Videodrome.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Should I send it to Kam?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, did you use up all your words here?” Charles asked, smiling faintly at Elias and shaking the tablet. “None left for me?”
He didn’t even get an “Uh-huh,” just a nod.
“You need to come up here?” Charles asked, patting a leg. The boy didn’t even answer, but scrambled tiredly into his lap. “Oof. You’re getting big, huh?”
“I’m almost seven,” Elias commented.
“Wow. That’s pretty old. Soon you’ll be old as me.”
“I’m not old as you,” Elias muttered into his chest. “You’re OOOOLD.”
“Huh. You’re probably right.” Charles couldn’t see the boy’s face, as it was pressed into his body, just the small mop of dark hair that seemed to go off in every direction. There was a slight shiver. “You cold?” He felt the head nodding into him. “Let’s try this.” Charles put down the electronic pad and shrugged out of his jacket and shirt. “Is this better?” A head nod. And then he felt the boy’s body slowly go limp, and the breathing slow, and finally a muffled snore.
“Got da wings out fer da essential personnel?” Charles looked up from his dozing son, silvery eyes sliding over to the soft sound of Pickles’ voice.
“Guess maybe he’s not such a big kid today,” Charles said, slightly tightening his wings around the boy.
“Mebbe we all feel like dat sometimes,” Pickles commented, lighting some sort of something and taking a puff. It was definitely not a cigarette. He raised an eyebrow and offered it up.
Charles carefully checked that his son was asleep, and took the cigarette. “Should I ask what’s in this?”
“Naw. Really. Yoo shouldn’,” Pickles grinned.
There was a slight, involuntary shrug of Charles’ silver wings, and he took an experimental drag. He stifled a small cough.
"Don't you have, uh, places to be, groupies to do?" Charles inquired.
“Ah t'ought Ah’d sit fer a bit," Pickles told him. The drummer looked carefully into the medium distance and said, as casually as he could, "Good show, huh?"
“You did well out there,” Charles said, handing back the cigarette. “On that new drum kit thing.” Pickles was still avoiding eye contact, but Charles saw the corners of Pickles’ mouth quiver as the drummer forced himself not to smile.
“Eh. It’s pretty simple, dood,” the redhead explained. “It’s jest alectro-magna-tizzm.”
“Ah. Huh.” Charles grabbed the funny cigarette back and stole another puff. “So. Does that help with the double kick?”
“Well! Dat’s an interestin’ question….”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A school report on Dethklok's Dethtour of Deth and Summer Fun
Warnings: AU, OCs, swearing, mayhem, use of mysterious Pickles-supplied substances.
Notes: Thank you to
nugatorytm for brutal beta-ing!!! NOTE: This was already posted to CLDK. I just put it here too because I ams compulsive.
I am ELIAS but you can call me Boon because everybody calls me Boon except my Grandpapa he calls me Sen Michel and he is a PIRATE but this is not about him this is about my uncles and they are DETHKLOK and that is how you spell it and I know because I checked with my dad and he knows everything (almost).
My dad is the manager of DETHKLOK and it is a big job because they are the biggest DEATH METAL band in the world and what is a death metal band I don’t know but they go places and they are very loud and make people jump up and down and things fall from the sky and things blow up and it is COOL.
And so we went ON TOUR this summer to places and because I am very big now (I am almost 7 years old) I went along with my dad so he doesn't get all lonely so my Tutor who is Kam told me to write an essay all about it so here it is.
I will tell you about the TOUR. My dad can do many things because he is my dad but he can not be everywhere and do everything so we have many people in the ORGANIZATION and they are my father’s helpers and they are
"Did he go squishie?" Elias asked, pointing to the pooling remains of what had until recently been Klokateer 113.
"Yep. Dat one went squishie," Pickles told he boy.
"Aw. They have pretty guts inside!" Elias supplied, crouching down for a better view.
"Dat dey do. Wanna help practice drums wit' me?" Pickles inquired, gently tugging on the boy's hand.
"Will you help me with the pedals?” Elias asked, standing up. “Because, the pedals are really far away!"
"Shure. Mebbe you kin help me wit’ unnerstandin' da new kit dat da scientist doods made fer me."
"It runs on..." Elias sucked in breath and took a running start, "ELECTROMAGNETISM and that’s a word because the scientists told me and I made them tell me again!”
“Dat’s a pretty big word,” Pickles agreed. He drew his red eyebrows together. “Wunder if it helps wit’ da double kick?”
And here is today’s stop on the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN it is at the ALUKSANDER BURJIS MAMORUL STADEEUM AND VIDDDEODROM. I had Uncle William help me with the spelling because he is the best speller.
First we have to do PUBLIC RELATIONS, because my dad says it is our BREAD AND BUTTER. I asked my dad, so, what is our PIE. Because, pie is good. And he said he did not know, he had not thought of that before, and I said it is good that I am here and he said yes Boon you are ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL, and then he got me a badge that has Facebones on it and Facebones is really cool and it says ALL ACCESS ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL which is a lot of words it is a very big badge.
"Guys, just a few minutes with some VIPs."
There were moans and groans and weeps and whines.
Charles took a deep, calming breath. "Just.... Just stand here and say hi to some people. We have Pink Mink and her kids...."
"Pink Mink?” asked Pickles. “Ain't she da groupie? Da one wit' da pink.... Yoo know wut?"
"Pink WHAT?" asked Elias, who was clinging on to Charles' hand and did not know what.
"Da pink-"
"WHEN YOU'RE OLDER," Charles completed, giving Pickles The Stare. "Whatever her, uh, storied history, she is now the head of the record label's wife. Please. No grievous bodily harm?"
"Awwww," said Murderface, stabbing the wall with his hunting knife.
"Dood, she's Damien's wife?" Pickles inquired.
"No. Uh. Roy's."
There were several OOOOs and wolf whistles.
“Guys! Just….” But Charles never finished the sentence. He crouched down next to Elias. “Try and keep your uncles outta trouble. OK?” Elias eagerly nodded, and Charles went to herd in the industry douche bags.
A group of self-satisfied looking individuals soon oozed into the room. A blond woman dressed in the fashionable and tight-fitting garments of someone a decade or so younger than she soon breezed up to the band.
"Will you sign autographs for my precious children, Nx'kwellah and Ramblanctious?" said Pink Mink. "They are your BIGGEST FANS!"
Pink Mink indicated two small beings who were dressed in many thousands of dollars of designer kiddie rock ‘n roll wear. The kid who apparently went by Ramblanctious, who looked to be a year or so older than Elias, gave a sigh of derision. Nx’kwellah, a somewhat smaller child of indeterminate sex and age holding tight to Pink Mink’s long-finger nailed hand, simply rubbed his or her butt and looked confused.
"Dood. How do yoo spell Ramblanctious?" Pickles whispered to Nathan as he put pen to a rhinestone-encrusted autograph book.
"PHONETICALLY."
Ramblanctious Cornickleson (né Ramblanctious Ibsen, and formerly, for a brief but storied three week period, Ramblanctious Kixx) surveyed the scene backstage with a jaundiced eight year old eye. How he despised having to bump elbows with these scruffy musicians. When he ran the label, things would be different!
He spotted the small child standing silently in the background. How he despised silently standing small children!
"Who are YOU?" he snorted at the little brat, who wore a backstage pass practically bigger than himself.
"Hi! I'm Elias, but everyone calls me Boon!"
"Boon is a dumb name. You're dumb." Ramblanctious preened, efficiently putting that little upstart swiftly in his place.
"I'm not dumb!" Elias answered cheerily. “I'm in the top tenth of one percentile..."
"Person ties are dumb."
"Percentiles! It's math!"
Ramblanctious squinted. “Math is for dumb people.” This one was literally too dumb to know he was dumb. How dumb was that? He squinted at the dumb kid’s badge. It had a lot of words that he didn’t know on it. How he despised words he didn’t know. "What are you doing here?" he sneered.
"My dad is the manager of Dethklok! Dethklok is a death metal band! Dethklok is the biggest death metal band!"
"Dethklok is dumb."
"My dad says it's nicer to say IMPAIRED."
Ramblanctious glowered, readying himself for the coup de grace. "Your dad is dumb."
But then it got very quiet. And weird, like all the air had gotten sucked out of the room. Ramblanctious glanced around nervously and then risked another look at the dumb kid. He had thought the dumb kid looked sort of scrawny, but actually, he was not scrawny. He looked sort of mean. Like one of those dogs they kept on a really big metal chain.
Ramblanctious held his tummy. It hurt, like when he tried to eat non-organic veal.
The dumb kid was frowning at him. No one frowned at Ramblanctious Cornickleson. He really needed to get Mommy to fire the kid like they did with that weird gardener who whistled too much.
"My. Dad. Isn't. Dumb," the dumb kid hissed.
Ramblanctious Cornickleson did something he rarely did: took a step back. "MAHMEE!" he squealed, running off to cling to the leg of the same.
"Ramblanctious, what has gotten into you?" asked Pink Mink.
"The mean kid is meeeeeean. An he's gonna kill me, Mahmeee!"
Pink Mink raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and cast her heavily mascaraed eyes in the direction of the child in question. Two very lovely brown eyes blinked up at her, the very picture of angelic innocence.
"Now, Rambly-Pambly, are you confabulating again?"
"Not confablin'!"
"Because if you're confabulating, we'll have to tell Dr. Twinklwtits during your bi-weekly session," she breezed, yanking Ramblanctious and his sibling towards the door.
“I don’t like that guy he has scary arms!” Ramblanctious squealed as they departed.
"He is the rock and roll child psychologist, and you will see him for all of your conditions!"
"Mah-meeeeee!" came the squeal from out the door.
“Damn, dood, now we’ll never figger out how t’ spell Ramblanctious,” Pickles sighed, dumping the autograph book in a wastebasket.
"So, Pickles, you, uh, gonna be ready with that new drum set up tonight?"
Pickles glared at Charles, who was suddenly hovering, mom-like, nearby. "Gahd! ‘A course Ah'm ready. Why wouldn' Ah be ready?"
"Because, ah, the last time we tried out new technology on your drum kit, it caused billions of dollars in damage and, untold death and suffering."
"Death and suffering is METAL!" Nathan interjected.
"Yes, Nathan, but, uh, in my recollection, you guys VOTED to remove him from the band as a consequence!" Charles noted.
Nathan glowered at Charles. "Really? Because that's not MY RECOLLECTION."
"Well, that is my recollection," said Charles, his cheeks getting hot.
"MY RECOLLECTION is that you BANISHED PICKLED TO REHAB and then brought in a PSYCHOPATHIC DRUM MACHINE that DRANK OUR BOOZE, SNARFED UP OUR DRUGS, GRABBED ALL OUR SKANKIEST GROUPIES, and then threatened to BLOW US THE FUCK UP! That is MY RECOLLECTION."
"Mistakes ... were made," Charles muttered. Nathan fixed him with a final glower of recollection and departed in search of skanky groupies and booze.
Pickles frowned after Nathan. "Ah'll be ready. Stop worryin'. Geez," he muttered, stalking off to find beer and cinnamon buns.
Charles spotted a somewhat friendlier face. "So, uh, how're we doin'?"
"YOU'RE NOT DUMB!" Elias told him most sincerely.
"Yeah, uh, that's actually debatable."
DETHKLOK must practice very hard every day because they are great ARTISTS and also because of MUSICIANSHIP which is an important thing though I don't know why. And Skwisgaar Skwigelf practices every day all day even when he eats or when he is in the hot tub because he is the fastest guitarist alive and he says he does not want somebody to sneak up on him though I do not know how someone could sneak up on him because there are always a lot of ladies around him and wouldn't they warn him if someone was sneaking? And I asked my dad but he said guitarists are VERY SNEAKY but not to tell Skwisgaar he said that.
And Unky Nathan has a very secret way of practicing he will practice and I will think that he is taking a nap but if you get too close he will tell you to get away that he is practicing.
And the rest of the band all practices very hard, but they must be really shy because I have never seen them do this.
Nathan Explosion lay on the worn couch, his mouth open. He was watching curiously to see when the drool trail that extended from his lower lip would hit the stained carpet.
Opposite him, Skwisgaar Skwigelf hunched over his Gibson, intently snoring, his fingers picking out tasty dreamtime licks. Murderface was playing mumblety peg solitaire, and, over at the arcade, Toki was attempting to equal his world record high score on DDR.
"So, you guys wanna go over the SET LIST?" Nathan muttered, as his spittle had now reached the floor and he had nothing better to do.
There were scattered "Nah's" and snores and beeping electronic dance music.
Pickles entered the room, leading Elias by the hand.
"PICKLES, what do you think you're DOING with that kid? We have a show in HALF AN HOUR!"
"Boon an' Ah, we're gonna go, uh, play slaht cars!"
"But Unky Pickles, I thought you said-" Elias started.
"Yep," Pickles continued, abruptly picking up Elias in his arms and holding his face into Pickles' body. "Racin' slaht cars!"
"OK, well, see you're BACK IN TIME FOR MAKE UP," Nathan warned.
"Shure, Nathan," Pickles assured him, hurrying out of the room.
"What's a slodcar, Unky Pickles?" Elias asked when his face was finally freed.
"It's anudder name fer practicin' da drums."
"Oh. Really?"
"Yeh. Now, what doo yoo know about dis drum kit?" Pickles asked, pointing to the shiny new assemblage of percussive instruments that had just been delivered by the technology team from Mordhaus' dungeons.
"Oh yeah they're drums and they're really cool and the scientists showed me but they're not for children to play on because they are SERIOUS BUSINESS."
"Okey. Well, uh, wut if yoo jest work 'em dis once an' den we'll naht hafta tell da science doods."
"Is that slodcars?"
"Yeh!" agreed Pickles, sitting down behind the kit. "Dat's how yoo play slaht cars."
Pickles began to play a drumroll, and watched as, giggling madly, Elias crawled to sit at his feet.
Elias whacked a foot pedal with his little fist.
"WHOA!" gasped Pickles, as he had left his stomach some 10 feet below.
The drum kit was now, somehow, hovering far above the stage.
"Up!" giggled Elias.
Then he pounded another foot pedal.
"Down!" he said, rather pointlessly, as they had returned to ground level.
Pickles looked down at the little boy, sitting cross-legged at his feet and madly grinning up at him.
"It's FUN!" Elias said.
Pickles wiped a sweat band across his wet forehead. "Okey. 'C'n yoo do dat one more time fer Unky Pickles?" He started to play again, and once again, drum set went up, drum set went down.
"Ah t'ink Ah gaht it," Pickles said, albeit somewhat shakily. Tentatively, he toed one foot pedal, and then the other, raising and lowering his hover drums. Encouraged by Elias' squealing and clapping, he tried it faster, and then began to synchronize it with some fancy drumming. It actually wasn't so hard to master: it was easier than driving the Murdercycle. And it was actually pretty fucking impressive.
"Boon dood, wut happens if I press both da pedals at once?"
"No! Don't do that, Unky Pickles!" Elias warned, waving his little hands.
"Wut? Why naht?" asked the drummer, ripping out a really awesome beat. Was he going to listen to a kid?
"Because it would be BAD!" Elias warned.
"Pfffft!" grinned Pickles, stomping on both pedals.
Pickles heard the screaming.
It was actually his own scream, as he and the drum kit toppled, end over end over end over end. Spinning and spinning. A horrible carnival ride.
He continued to scream, frozen in terror, spinning and spinning 20 feet above the ground.
Then he felt a pair of small hands, yanking his feet from the pedals.
The drum kit lurched to a stop and clattered back to the ground.
Pickles threw down his drumsticks, jumped off the chair, and barely made it to a corner to empty his stomach of its contents.
"Are you OK, Unky Pickles?"
The drummer wiped his mouth on his wristband and looked upwards, towards the sound of the voice. Elias had broken out his pair of dark, silvery-tipped wings, and was hovering, concerned, just overhead.
"Nah, Ah'm fine, Boon dood," Pickles assured him. The boy outstretched a hand, and helped the shaky redhead to his feet. "T'anks."
"It's electromagnetism!" Elias told him, obviously enjoying the feel of the word on the tongue.
"BOON, what are you doing with your WINGS OUT IN PUBLIC? You know what YOUR DAD would say?" At some point, Nathan and Skwisgaar had come into the room, and Nathan now stood, arms crossed, the picture of divine judgment. Skwisgaar, by contrast, looked bored and noodled on his Gibson.
"Sorry, Unky Nathan," the boy said, going back to his human Form and pulling down his T shirt. "We were playing sladcars!"
"You look like you were trying out THE DRUM KIT!" Nathan pointed out.
"Oh. Uh. Naw. No. Nope," explained Pickles.
"You're sure you weren't REHEARSING," asked Nathan suspiciously.
"Dood! ‘A course naht!"
"OK. Well. You wanna go play Ninja Ghost Bomb or something?" Nathan asked.
"Hey, yeah, shure dood."
Pickles hurried out of the room with Nathan.
"Psst, Booms," Skwisgaar whispered, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder before he could follow Pickles and Nathan out of the room.
"Uh, yes?" asked Elias.
The Swede looked back and forth and then leaned over to whisper. "You ams maybe shows me how to use dems new wah-wah pedals dats dems scientits dudes ams mades me?”
"Sure! It works with ... ULTRASONIC TECHNOLOGY!"
DETHKLOK perform in CORPSE PAINT, because it is BRUTAL. It is like make up, but it is not for ladies. Though Skwisgaar Skwigelf says my Unky Toki is a LADY and that he has LADY PROBLEMS, but I do not know what those are and no one will tell me. My cousin Liam says usually when ladies have problems, you can tell, because they will hit you with their sword, but I think he is talking about my Auntie Raziel, and I have not seen Toki hit Skwisgaar with a sword, although that would be really cool.
"OK, so, you guys are going on in five minutes."
Charles stood and stared at his band. What was the polar opposite of performance anxiety? Performance insouciance? Performance indifference? Performance just couldn't give a flying crap? Whatever the fuck it was, these guys had it. And was Nathan ... drooling?
"If there are ANY last minute issues? Anything at all you wanna tell me?"
Silence.
"Any questions? Anything you need?"
Studied silence.
"Anything concerning, say, new equipment?" He stared significantly at Pickles.
Sullen silence.
"So, I'm gonna leave right now, so if there's anything, ANYTHING AT ALL...?"
The sound of one hand throwing the horns.
"Well, I guess I'll be going. If there's nothing else?"
Charles sighed and turned to leave.
Hanging on to Charles' hand, Elias waved a small hand and said, "Don't go squishie!"
"Yeah," Charles whispered as they left the room. "Don't go squishie."
My Unky Nathan has written NEW MATERIAL for the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN and I asked if there was a CD too because they were all in the basement for a very long time with my Uncle Dick Knubbler and he is a genius and he told me so himself and he makes CDs and my dad said O do not ask about the CD and then he looked like maybe he would get a headache.
So the theme of the DETHKLOK DETHTOUR OF DETH AND SUMMER FUN is that people think summer is fun because there is sun and people go to the beach but that is not true it is a time of ROTTING CORPSES and DESECRATION. So my Unky Nathan has written many songs to tell people of this because it is important information to have.
When DETHKLOK performs my dad watches from a special room and it has many TVs and all the channels are all DETHKLOK and also he DOES NOT SMOKE.
Elias stood on tiptoe eagerly trying to see what was on the viewing screen his father was hunched over so intently. Suddenly, and somehow without turning around, his father had hands around his waist and had hoisted him to sit on the table beside the monitor. Charles flicked ashes from the end of his Marlboro. "Remember," he told Elias, "THIS IS NOT A CIGARETTE."
Elias nodded enthusiastically. When his dad smoked in the special room, it was not really smoking. His Cousin Liam told him that was because when they were ON TOUR they had special cigarettes at made you see dancing elephants, but Elias wasn't sure Liam was telling the truth, as he had seen his Uncle Vishnu's dancing elephants before, and he could not recall smoking beforehand.
He peered into the monitor his father was surveying, sitting with one leg bouncing and the not-cigarette going to ash. The monitor had a picture of Dethklok as they were playing.
"This song is from our new surf CD, Rotting Hellbeast Sounds," Nathan announced from the stage to thunderous cheers.
Elias' father loosened his tie and leaned forward even further.
I sailed an ocean, a corpse-strewn ocean
Through bloody waters and rotting bodies
Desecration
Conflagration
Sail on sail on Satan.
Stumble through alleys, locust-plagued valleys
Sail through the horrors of undead mortals
Shark infested
Wounds have festered
Wail on, wail on Satan!
Then Nathan shouted, "Wipe out!"
And Elias saw his father stop breathing.
The image closed in on Pickles, behind his enormous drum kit. The drummer had already embarked on a blazing drum solo. Then, just as it seemed it could not get more frenetic, his entire drum kit started to rise. It floated ten, and then twenty feet into the air.
And then it fell.
There were screams from the audience, and then applause and cheers as, just in the nick of time, Pickles stopped just above the stage. And then he repeated the trick, guiding the kit higher and higher, and then letting it drop almost to the floor.
It was really cool. And the only casualty was Klokateer 138, a roadie who for some reason decided it was a very good idea to go underneath during one of Pickles' ascensions to get a really good look at the underside of the kit.
He got a very, very good look at the underside.
"Squishie!" said Elias, watching from the special room.
"Yeah, squishie," said his father, who was thinking very hard about where he had cached his bottle of brandy.
So then after the concert there are many pretty ladies who would like to be friends with DETHKLOK, although none of these ladies are Unky Toki. Sometimes the ladies say that I am cute, but Unky William can not tell them that I am his little brother and that he is raising me alone after our parents were eaten by a tiger because it is not true and that would be lying. But I do not get to hear about this until I am older, until I am 847 years old my dad says, although I do not know if that is right because that seems very old.
And so IN CONCLUSION this was a very fun tour and I am glad that I could help them out because I want to help the organization though my dad says I cannot get a gear brand yet even though they are cool maybe next year, or when I am 847.
“So, this is a pretty good essay,” Charles said, sitting back and squinting at the electronic tablet.
“Uh-huh,” said Elias.
“I like the pictures,” said Charles, flicking through the pages with an index finger. “That’s a pretty accurate 3D rendering of the Alexander Burgess Memorial Concert Hall and Videodrome.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Should I send it to Kam?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, did you use up all your words here?” Charles asked, smiling faintly at Elias and shaking the tablet. “None left for me?”
He didn’t even get an “Uh-huh,” just a nod.
“You need to come up here?” Charles asked, patting a leg. The boy didn’t even answer, but scrambled tiredly into his lap. “Oof. You’re getting big, huh?”
“I’m almost seven,” Elias commented.
“Wow. That’s pretty old. Soon you’ll be old as me.”
“I’m not old as you,” Elias muttered into his chest. “You’re OOOOLD.”
“Huh. You’re probably right.” Charles couldn’t see the boy’s face, as it was pressed into his body, just the small mop of dark hair that seemed to go off in every direction. There was a slight shiver. “You cold?” He felt the head nodding into him. “Let’s try this.” Charles put down the electronic pad and shrugged out of his jacket and shirt. “Is this better?” A head nod. And then he felt the boy’s body slowly go limp, and the breathing slow, and finally a muffled snore.
“Got da wings out fer da essential personnel?” Charles looked up from his dozing son, silvery eyes sliding over to the soft sound of Pickles’ voice.
“Guess maybe he’s not such a big kid today,” Charles said, slightly tightening his wings around the boy.
“Mebbe we all feel like dat sometimes,” Pickles commented, lighting some sort of something and taking a puff. It was definitely not a cigarette. He raised an eyebrow and offered it up.
Charles carefully checked that his son was asleep, and took the cigarette. “Should I ask what’s in this?”
“Naw. Really. Yoo shouldn’,” Pickles grinned.
There was a slight, involuntary shrug of Charles’ silver wings, and he took an experimental drag. He stifled a small cough.
"Don't you have, uh, places to be, groupies to do?" Charles inquired.
“Ah t'ought Ah’d sit fer a bit," Pickles told him. The drummer looked carefully into the medium distance and said, as casually as he could, "Good show, huh?"
“You did well out there,” Charles said, handing back the cigarette. “On that new drum kit thing.” Pickles was still avoiding eye contact, but Charles saw the corners of Pickles’ mouth quiver as the drummer forced himself not to smile.
“Eh. It’s pretty simple, dood,” the redhead explained. “It’s jest alectro-magna-tizzm.”
“Ah. Huh.” Charles grabbed the funny cigarette back and stole another puff. “So. Does that help with the double kick?”
“Well! Dat’s an interestin’ question….”
