Intervention (Mythklok Interstitial)
Sep. 9th, 2011 03:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Intervention (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A band member acquires a new item from a Scandinavian furniture maker. Hilarity ensues.
Warnings: Swedish dance music, references to unnatural acts by metal sluts
Notes: I realize I've been going kinda OC-crazy lately, so I thought I'd do a bit where they guys actually get to appear and do stupid stuff.
There were four people splayed around the conference table in Mordhaus's band meeting room.
Four people.
At least three of whom were becoming quite annoyed.
“Eh. Where is that guy?” fumed Nathan, casting a rather metal green glower towards the empty chair at the head of the table.
“Something wit' dat kids,” muttered Skwisgaar as he noodled up and down his fretboards.
“Oh, Boon?” asked Nathan, his expression softening somewhat. “Yeah, he's been running fucking twenty minutes late since he started chasing a kid around.”
“Where'sch Picklesch?” demanded Murderface, scraping his knife against the well-whittled surface of the table's once fine veneer.
“Was watching some shit in the living room on TV or something like that TOKI WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” said Nathan. “Because when we leave you alone for five minutes you always end up doing something that's not particularly BRUTAL.”
“I ams settings up da Klump Wonkker,” Toki cheerily explained as he connected input leads to output leads.
“The Klump.... WHAT the fuck are you doing?” asked Nathan, now raising a very metal eyebrow. “I suspect non-brutality,” he muttered.
“Sillies Nat'ans! Ams da kara-pokeley machines....”
“What? Why is it all white like that?” asked Nathan.
“Ams froms IKEA! Ams da Swedish kara-pokely!” explained Toki, who was joining tab A to slot B with a strange little L-shaped wrench.
“Oh, well, dat ams good mansufracturer, you gots to admits,” allowed Skwisgaar.
“SKWISGAAR! Dude, you can't think this is metal in any way, shape or form?” whispered a very concerned Nathan.
“Ams froms Sweden!” Skwisgaar insisted. “Ams good qualites. And alsos affordsables on nearlies any budgets!”
Toki had finally finished connecting all the wires, and a hum arose in the meeting room. Carefully consulting his sixteen pages of directions, all written in Japanese, he pushed a white button.
A very recognizable soft electronic beat started.
“Oh. Toki. Dude!” pleaded Nathan. “Not this! ANYTHING BUT THIS!”
Blissfully ignoring Nathan, Toki had already picked up a pure white microphone and began to sing....
Friday nights and da sluts ams out
Lookin' for a dude wit' a pout
Dudes dat play da rock music
Some dude wit' a guitar
Don't gotta look too far...
“Skwisgaar! DUDE! He's your COUNTRYMAN! Well, sort of, those countries sort of confuse me. STOP HIM!” Nathan pleaded.
“Ams da biggest number ones hits ever in Swedens!” Skwisgaar informed him. “Ams biggers dans da Be-attles!”
“Skwis, dude-”
But quite suddenly, perhaps in a fit of patriotism, the guitarist was on his feet, grabbing the neutral colored microphone from Toki's hands and adding his own verse.
Anybody could be da dude
Just gotta do to hims somet'ings rude
Dudes dat play da rock music
Anyt'ing is fine
You're in da mood for a group o' tree...
Or maybes da whipped cream....
At this point, Charles appeared in the doorway, with what looked very like a peanut butter stain on his tie, and holding onto Elias' little hand. “I gotta apologize guys, I got.... Uh, what the heck is going on?” he asked as he took his seat, pulling Elias up onto his lap.
“Make them stop Charles!” Nathan pleaded. “When my ghost-written celebrity autobiography is published, this will no doubt go down as the most un-metal incident of my life.”
“Oh, god,” whispered Charles to Nathan. “Ganesh absolutely loves this dance shit. I didn't mind, but, you know, now we have a kid!” he said, pointing to Elias, who was watching the two guitarists with utter fascination.
“It's gotta have an effect on him!” Nathan acknowledged.
Toki and Skwisgaar were now standing together, Toki's arm draped in a friendly manner over Skwisgaar's shoulders, and belting out the chorus....
'Cause you ams da metal sluts
Youngs and hots
Or maybes old and fat!
Metal sluts
Feel da beats
Of my gee-tar frets
Oh yeah!
You can rim
An' Santorum
Paging t'rough da kama sutra
Ups da butts
Ain't enough
For da metal sluts
Charles looked down and gasped in horror.
Elias was cheerily swaying to the music now, waving his little arms above his head.
“OK, THAT'S ENOUGH!” barked Nathan. He abruptly rose, snatching Elias from the stunned Charles' lap, and barreled out of the meeting room. After a moment to recover from his shock and horror, Charles rose and followed after him.
“That's is, we CAN'T LET THE KID BE RUINED FOREVER,” Nathan was bellowing. “There is only ONE MAN who can help us.” He strode into the living room, where Pickles was sprawled out on the couch, amidst piles of beer bottles, cinnamon buns and cocaine. “PICKLES! Get off your ass. Or, actually, stay on your ass. WE NEED THE OZ MAN!”
“Da Oz Man?” answered Pickles.
“The kid is listening to DANCE MUSIC. WE NEED THE OZ MAN, STAT!” repeated Nathan. “This child's FUTURE is AT STAKE!” And so saying, while Charles watched in bemusement, set the child down before the meathook-barbed television.
Pickles kicked the foot pedals, and the screen was filled with the image of Ozzy Osbourne, in full metal wail.
Nathan sang along....
Finished with that disco 'cause it made a black hole in my brain
People think it's music but it's just crap to turn you insane
All day long the same dumb beat you could make with a drum machine
Think I'll lose my mind if I don't soon hear a good metal scream
Can you help me? I need distorted guitars.
Oh yeah....
Overcome by the heat of the moment (or perhaps feeling a buzz from the combined sugar rush of the cinnamon buns and some rather pure cocaine), Pickles leapt up and took another verse....
I need someone growling out some lyrics I can't understand
I can't see how you could live without help from a metal band
Crunchy chords will make me laugh but electronica just makes me cry
Happiness can only come from song titles where someone dies.
And then Nathan and Pickles sang together....
And so you hear my song about zombie demons staking hell
Enjoy tales of disembowelment it's not too late to tell!
Nathan elbowed Charles.
Elias was now whipping his little head up and down. And miming a tiny electric guitar solo.
“We got a HEAD BANGER!” Nathan declared. He held up a meaty paw, and Charles gave him a hearty high five. “SAVED BY THE AWESOME POWER OF METAL!” added Nathan.
Charles sighed and fell back on the couch in relief. He took a drag of beer from an opened bottle. He frowned and picked out a cigarette butt from the stem and flicked it away. And then he took another long drag from the same bottle. “Thank you, Nathan,” he said.
“Don't THANK ME! Thank THE OZ MAN!”
“Thank you, uh, Oz Man!” Charles said, saluting the screen with the beer bottle. “And, uh, Pickles?”
“Yeh, dood!” said Pickles, flopping back on the couch next to Charles.
“Ah, why exactly weren't you at the band meeting.”
“DOOD! I jest saved yer kid from a life o' dicso hell!”
“OK, well, that's true. But, what are you doing?”
“Yeah, Pickles, what the fuck are you doing here?” asked Nathan, who also flopped onto the couch.
“I'm watchin' da debates.”
“Oh, the presidential debates are on already?” asked Charles.
“Hey, I wanna see if that one chick is wearing a tight blouse,” said Nathan as Elias scrambled into his lap.
“Da Os Man,” said Elias.
“No, doods, da Metal Channel's hunnert twenny-seven part series, goregrind versus deathgrind.”
“Well, it's obviously deathgrind,” said Charles.
“Wut, are yoo kiddin'? It's goregrind,” said Pickles.
“YOU'RE BOTH WRONG!” said Nathan. “It's deathgore.”
“Oh, I hate dat shit,” said Pickles.
“Yeah, me too,” agreed Charles. “Uhhhh, you think Skwisgaar and Toki are still doing the IKEA karaoke thing?”
“I think yeah,” said Nathan.
Pickles nodded. “Dey're Scand-who-vian. Dose doods never stop.”
The three exchanged a glance, and then Charles gestured with his beer bottle at the screen. Pickles grinned and hit the foot pedals. Everyone sat back.
“Gowe gwind?” asked Elias.
“Deathgrind,” corrected his father.
“Melodic death metal....” came a plummy voice from the television, to a cascade of thrown beer bottles.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A band member acquires a new item from a Scandinavian furniture maker. Hilarity ensues.
Warnings: Swedish dance music, references to unnatural acts by metal sluts
Notes: I realize I've been going kinda OC-crazy lately, so I thought I'd do a bit where they guys actually get to appear and do stupid stuff.
There were four people splayed around the conference table in Mordhaus's band meeting room.
Four people.
At least three of whom were becoming quite annoyed.
“Eh. Where is that guy?” fumed Nathan, casting a rather metal green glower towards the empty chair at the head of the table.
“Something wit' dat kids,” muttered Skwisgaar as he noodled up and down his fretboards.
“Oh, Boon?” asked Nathan, his expression softening somewhat. “Yeah, he's been running fucking twenty minutes late since he started chasing a kid around.”
“Where'sch Picklesch?” demanded Murderface, scraping his knife against the well-whittled surface of the table's once fine veneer.
“Was watching some shit in the living room on TV or something like that TOKI WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” said Nathan. “Because when we leave you alone for five minutes you always end up doing something that's not particularly BRUTAL.”
“I ams settings up da Klump Wonkker,” Toki cheerily explained as he connected input leads to output leads.
“The Klump.... WHAT the fuck are you doing?” asked Nathan, now raising a very metal eyebrow. “I suspect non-brutality,” he muttered.
“Sillies Nat'ans! Ams da kara-pokeley machines....”
“What? Why is it all white like that?” asked Nathan.
“Ams froms IKEA! Ams da Swedish kara-pokely!” explained Toki, who was joining tab A to slot B with a strange little L-shaped wrench.
“Oh, well, dat ams good mansufracturer, you gots to admits,” allowed Skwisgaar.
“SKWISGAAR! Dude, you can't think this is metal in any way, shape or form?” whispered a very concerned Nathan.
“Ams froms Sweden!” Skwisgaar insisted. “Ams good qualites. And alsos affordsables on nearlies any budgets!”
Toki had finally finished connecting all the wires, and a hum arose in the meeting room. Carefully consulting his sixteen pages of directions, all written in Japanese, he pushed a white button.
A very recognizable soft electronic beat started.
“Oh. Toki. Dude!” pleaded Nathan. “Not this! ANYTHING BUT THIS!”
Blissfully ignoring Nathan, Toki had already picked up a pure white microphone and began to sing....
Friday nights and da sluts ams out
Lookin' for a dude wit' a pout
Dudes dat play da rock music
Some dude wit' a guitar
Don't gotta look too far...
“Skwisgaar! DUDE! He's your COUNTRYMAN! Well, sort of, those countries sort of confuse me. STOP HIM!” Nathan pleaded.
“Ams da biggest number ones hits ever in Swedens!” Skwisgaar informed him. “Ams biggers dans da Be-attles!”
“Skwis, dude-”
But quite suddenly, perhaps in a fit of patriotism, the guitarist was on his feet, grabbing the neutral colored microphone from Toki's hands and adding his own verse.
Anybody could be da dude
Just gotta do to hims somet'ings rude
Dudes dat play da rock music
Anyt'ing is fine
You're in da mood for a group o' tree...
Or maybes da whipped cream....
At this point, Charles appeared in the doorway, with what looked very like a peanut butter stain on his tie, and holding onto Elias' little hand. “I gotta apologize guys, I got.... Uh, what the heck is going on?” he asked as he took his seat, pulling Elias up onto his lap.
“Make them stop Charles!” Nathan pleaded. “When my ghost-written celebrity autobiography is published, this will no doubt go down as the most un-metal incident of my life.”
“Oh, god,” whispered Charles to Nathan. “Ganesh absolutely loves this dance shit. I didn't mind, but, you know, now we have a kid!” he said, pointing to Elias, who was watching the two guitarists with utter fascination.
“It's gotta have an effect on him!” Nathan acknowledged.
Toki and Skwisgaar were now standing together, Toki's arm draped in a friendly manner over Skwisgaar's shoulders, and belting out the chorus....
'Cause you ams da metal sluts
Youngs and hots
Or maybes old and fat!
Metal sluts
Feel da beats
Of my gee-tar frets
Oh yeah!
You can rim
An' Santorum
Paging t'rough da kama sutra
Ups da butts
Ain't enough
For da metal sluts
Charles looked down and gasped in horror.
Elias was cheerily swaying to the music now, waving his little arms above his head.
“OK, THAT'S ENOUGH!” barked Nathan. He abruptly rose, snatching Elias from the stunned Charles' lap, and barreled out of the meeting room. After a moment to recover from his shock and horror, Charles rose and followed after him.
“That's is, we CAN'T LET THE KID BE RUINED FOREVER,” Nathan was bellowing. “There is only ONE MAN who can help us.” He strode into the living room, where Pickles was sprawled out on the couch, amidst piles of beer bottles, cinnamon buns and cocaine. “PICKLES! Get off your ass. Or, actually, stay on your ass. WE NEED THE OZ MAN!”
“Da Oz Man?” answered Pickles.
“The kid is listening to DANCE MUSIC. WE NEED THE OZ MAN, STAT!” repeated Nathan. “This child's FUTURE is AT STAKE!” And so saying, while Charles watched in bemusement, set the child down before the meathook-barbed television.
Pickles kicked the foot pedals, and the screen was filled with the image of Ozzy Osbourne, in full metal wail.
Nathan sang along....
Finished with that disco 'cause it made a black hole in my brain
People think it's music but it's just crap to turn you insane
All day long the same dumb beat you could make with a drum machine
Think I'll lose my mind if I don't soon hear a good metal scream
Can you help me? I need distorted guitars.
Oh yeah....
Overcome by the heat of the moment (or perhaps feeling a buzz from the combined sugar rush of the cinnamon buns and some rather pure cocaine), Pickles leapt up and took another verse....
I need someone growling out some lyrics I can't understand
I can't see how you could live without help from a metal band
Crunchy chords will make me laugh but electronica just makes me cry
Happiness can only come from song titles where someone dies.
And then Nathan and Pickles sang together....
And so you hear my song about zombie demons staking hell
Enjoy tales of disembowelment it's not too late to tell!
Nathan elbowed Charles.
Elias was now whipping his little head up and down. And miming a tiny electric guitar solo.
“We got a HEAD BANGER!” Nathan declared. He held up a meaty paw, and Charles gave him a hearty high five. “SAVED BY THE AWESOME POWER OF METAL!” added Nathan.
Charles sighed and fell back on the couch in relief. He took a drag of beer from an opened bottle. He frowned and picked out a cigarette butt from the stem and flicked it away. And then he took another long drag from the same bottle. “Thank you, Nathan,” he said.
“Don't THANK ME! Thank THE OZ MAN!”
“Thank you, uh, Oz Man!” Charles said, saluting the screen with the beer bottle. “And, uh, Pickles?”
“Yeh, dood!” said Pickles, flopping back on the couch next to Charles.
“Ah, why exactly weren't you at the band meeting.”
“DOOD! I jest saved yer kid from a life o' dicso hell!”
“OK, well, that's true. But, what are you doing?”
“Yeah, Pickles, what the fuck are you doing here?” asked Nathan, who also flopped onto the couch.
“I'm watchin' da debates.”
“Oh, the presidential debates are on already?” asked Charles.
“Hey, I wanna see if that one chick is wearing a tight blouse,” said Nathan as Elias scrambled into his lap.
“Da Os Man,” said Elias.
“No, doods, da Metal Channel's hunnert twenny-seven part series, goregrind versus deathgrind.”
“Well, it's obviously deathgrind,” said Charles.
“Wut, are yoo kiddin'? It's goregrind,” said Pickles.
“YOU'RE BOTH WRONG!” said Nathan. “It's deathgore.”
“Oh, I hate dat shit,” said Pickles.
“Yeah, me too,” agreed Charles. “Uhhhh, you think Skwisgaar and Toki are still doing the IKEA karaoke thing?”
“I think yeah,” said Nathan.
Pickles nodded. “Dey're Scand-who-vian. Dose doods never stop.”
The three exchanged a glance, and then Charles gestured with his beer bottle at the screen. Pickles grinned and hit the foot pedals. Everyone sat back.
“Gowe gwind?” asked Elias.
“Deathgrind,” corrected his father.
“Melodic death metal....” came a plummy voice from the television, to a cascade of thrown beer bottles.
