Kids ams Pffft (Mythklok Interstitial)
Sep. 13th, 2011 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Kids ams Pffft (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An emergency band meeting
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing
Notes: I'm about halfway through the next real chapter, but things have been sort of insane here (new job + houseguest).
“Dude, is he LATE AGAIN?” rumbled Nathan Explosion, glaring at Charles' empty seat at the conference room table.
“Hims ams not late,” explained Skwisgaar, who had just flounced into the room. He planted himself in Charles' chair and began to play a very agitated riff on his Gibson. “I ams calls dis meetings!”
“Oh. OK,” said Nathan.
“Cool, dood. Den can we be dismissed?” inquired Pickles. A couple of the guys began to stand.
“NOs!” barked Skwisgaar. Asses dropped back into chairs, and some band members were even persuaded to sit up straight.
“It ams da last strawrs," the Swede declared.
“The lascht … uh, what?” asked Murderface.
“The last STRAWBERRY, I think,” whispered Nathan.
“Oh, ams da end of summers!” sighed Toki, poking at his DS system.
“NOS!” insisted Skwisgaar. “De lasts draws!”
“Dood, da last … wut?” asked Pickles.
“The last FROGS? That's pretty fucked up,” commented Nathan.
“No, I think it's the last drugsch," Murderface explained.
“WUT!” sputtered Pickles.
“NO! To alls of yous!” said Skwisgaar. “I AMS FEDS UPS!”
“You're … OK, what exactly?” asked Nathan.
“Would you perhapsch prefer to act thisch out in pantomime?” suggested Murderface.
“Dood!” whispered Pickles. “I t'ink he said he ams pedo!”
“JA!” agreed Skwisgaar! “I ams da pedo!”
“Ewwwwww,” said Pickles.
“I ams hates kids!” said Skwisgaar.
“Uh, Skwisgaar, dude,” said Nathan. “I don't think that's what a pedo....”
“Dat ams why I calls dis band meeting! I ams tried of da snotsy kids in Mordhaus! It ams our homes! It ams supporthosed to bes BRUTAL! It ams not da kidsygarden, for da damn toddles an' da daycares an' diapers an' noisery grimes!”
“Huh,” said Nathan. “Well, if that's what you feel....”
“It ams not feelings! IT AMS NOT METAL!” shrieked Skwisgaar, causing several band mates to cringe.
“Yeah, well, that's cool, that's cool,” Nathan mused. “Uhhhh. Yeah, sure, you don't want kids here.”
“Yeh. I guess I'm ok wit' dat,” shrugged Pickles, who had actually thrown up his arms to shield himself from the metal temper tantrum.
“Whatever,” Murderface whittled.
“OK! It ams moved and seconded and t'irded,” said Skwisgaar, “so we ams go tell Charles, an' he ams take Booms aways some places....”
“WAIT!” bellowed Nathan. “What about Boon?” he demanded, now glowering towards the guitarist.
“Booms ams da kid!” said Skwisgaar, who played an exasperated chord. “We ams banning Boom!”
“Boon is NOT A KID,” said Nathan.
“Whats?”
“Naw, I don't t'ink he counts,” Pickles agreed.
“BOOMS AMS DA KIDS!” Skwisgaar protested.
“Wait,” said Murderface, stabbing the table. “Thisch doeschn't apply to Abigail either, doesch it? Becausche, we have an appointment to reschtage the War of the Roschesch thisch coming weekend.”
“I ams means no kids! No kids in da Haus,” said Skwisgaar. “Dey ams annoyingses. Ands evils!”
“But, dood, evil is pretty metal,” suggested Pickles.
“Well, I'm not gonna go along with thisch banning schit,” grumbled Murderface.
“No Booms, and no Abignail, and especiallys no Liams!” Skwisgaar ticked off.
“Dude,” said Nathan. “You can't invite Abby and not her brother. That wouldn't be cool.”
“No, dat's not cool,” agreed Pickles.
“Dis ams an important issue!” insisted Skwisgaar. “Just today, I ams nearly killed myself trippsing over da dumbs squeaky toys of da dumb kids!”
“You ams tripped on da squeaksy toys, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, who was suddenly distracted from his DS system.
“Ja! What if I had been killed? Or knocked my heads? What ams you do wit'out da lead gee-tarist, huh?”
“What kinds of squeaksy toys, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, his blue eyes hopeful.
“Dis dumb rabbids!” growled the guitarist, digging a little rounded toy with rabbit ears out of his pocket and tossing it on the table, producing a little high-pitched squeaky-squeak as it bounced.
“MISTER BUNNY-BUNS!” squealed Toki, tackling the object with great delight. “You ams found him, Skwisgaar! I ams t'ought I ams lost him forever!” He hugged the toy, producing more annoying squeaks.
Skwisgaar stared. “You ams lost dat toys, Tokis?” he asked.
“It ain't a toy, Skwisgaar, it ams Mr. Bunny-buns! You ams not hurt, ams you, boy?” he inquired, to a chorus of squeaks.
“I COULD HAVE BEEN KILT OR WORSE!” thundered Skwisgaar.
“Mr. Bunny-buns ain't means no harms,” Toki assured him.
“I t'ink you set hims out on porpoise! You ams leaves him outsides my rooms, knowings dat i ams tripses! You ams wants to cripples me!”
"Naw, Skwisgaar, Mr. Bunny-buns ams loves everyones in da woilds, all inanity!" He reached the squeaky toy into Skwisgaar's face and gave it an affectionate squeak.
Skwisgaar glowered and batted the toy from Toki's hand.
As he bounced away, Mr. Bunny-buns squeaked in terror at the insult. "Squeak! Squeak! Squeakily-squeak!"
"You ams gestalted Mr. Bunny-buns!" gasped Toki, who was rising. "Gestalt and batteries!"
"Hims ams annoysings! And Hims tried to moider me! Ams da plots!”
"You shoulds apologize!" Toki warned.
Skwisgaar glared.
"Pfff-"
But the then he started gargling: in mid-pffft, as Toki had him around the neck.
"Is there stuff on TV tonight, Pickles?" asked Nathan as we watched his lead guitarist getting throttled.
"Yeah, dere's some stuff tonight,” said Pickles.
"But the live schow isch pretty good," noted Murderface.
"Yeah, it's kinda hard to top live entertainment," agreed Nathan. He leaned over to where Skwisgaar was now impotently clawing at Toki's hands on his throat, and punched an intercom button near Charles's usual seat. "Hey, could we get some popcorn up here?"
"Nat'an!" said Pickles as Skwisgaar turned blue.
"What?"
"Don't fergit da beer!"
"Oh. Yeah. AND BEER TOO,"
“Uh, was there a band meeting?” asked Charles from the doorway. Elias, who was holding his hand, looked curiously at Toki and Skwisgaar. “Why is Skwisgaar in my seat?” Charles added.
“Dude called a meeting to ban kids from Mordhaus,” Nathan gleefully explained.
Charles' expression darkened several shades. “My kid?” he growled.
“Yeh, dat wuz on da agenda!” Pickles agreed.
“Dada, Swissar an bwoo!” said Elias, pointing a small finger at the thrashing guitarist.
“Yeah, Boon, Skwisgaar is turning a very lovely shade of blue,” Charles grumbled.
Elias toddled off across the room to retrieve a cute little toy that had fallen to the ground. “Dada, an bunny!” he said, holding up the little ball-like item and giving it a squeak.
“Mister Bunny-buns!” said Toki. It was as if a spell had been broken. He let go of Skwisgaar's neck, and scooped up Elias and the toy into his lap. “Dat ams Mr. Bunny-buns. He ams our friend!”
Skwisgaar gasped, holding his neck. He turned around and looked pleadingly at Charles. “Did you ams see whats he dids?” he choked.
“Skwisgaar,” said Charles, his voice very low and even. He leaned over, so his face was nearly touching that of the guitarist, their eyes locked. “Why are you in my chair?”
Skwisgaar gave a tiny strangled noise. And then, without taking his eyes from Charles, he he reached out and grabbed the chair next to his, and then wordlessly slid into it.
Charles deposited himself in his usual chair, not taking his eyes from Skwisgaar's, ignoring the Klokateers clattering in, bearing snacks.
“Popcorn?” offered Nathan, tilting the bowl towards Charles.
Without moving any of the rest of his body, Charles snaked one arm back, grabbed a healthy handful of Nathan's popcorn, and jammed it all into his mouth. “Wha'. Abou'. M' kid?” he demanded around a mouthful of buttery Orville Redenbacher.
“Uhhhhh,” explained Skwisgaar.
“I believe Schwisgaar prefersch not to encounter your schon around the environsch of Mordhausch,” tattled Murderface, tilting back a beer.
“Is this true?” Charles asked.
“Noooooo. It ams not trues! Ams da misapprehensile!”
“Really? Dood? 'Cuz, dat's wut I heard,” grinned Pickles.
“Yeah me too,” agreed Nathan between bouts of stuffing his mouth with popcorn.
“Oh no no no no no. Dese guys ams da jokesers!” claimed Skwisgaar.
“So. We don't have a problem?” asked Charles, raising an eyebrow.
“No! I ams goods. Everyt'ings fine. Uh. How ams you? Is dat da new suits?”
“All right,” said Charles, rising. “Then good day to you all. Boon!” Elias scrambled off Toki's lap, handing him back his Mr. Bunny-bun, and toddled off with Charles.
Skwisgaar watched them leave.
“Ah, well, gonna go watch some TV then?” asked Nathan. There were grunts of agreement, and the band slowly shuffled out, with the exception of Skwisgaar, who sat, thoughtfully rubbing his neck.
He turned. And scowled. “I t'ought you ams left!” he scolded Elias, who now stood beside him.
Elias raised his little arms, as if he expected to be picked up.
“NO! You ams not getsing in MY lap! Dis lap ams for da gee-tar! You see? Not for da horribles little kids!”
Elias smiled and raised his arms.
“Arrrrgh!” exclaimed Skwisgaar, angrily taking off his Gibson and slamming it onto the table. “Dis day ams pffft!”
Elias clambered into his lap. He took out his extra set of arms, and laced them for a moment around Skwisgaar in a sticky toddler hug. And then he wiggled back down to the floor and scooted out the door.
Skwisgaar watched the kid leave, and sat quietly for a moment. “Dat not ams makes me likes you!” he finally shouted at the empty doorway. He grunted, and rose, grabbing his guitar by the neck. He strode to the doorway, turned, and then suddenly cried out, “TOKIIIIIIIIIIS!” as he fell on his face.
There was a little noise: squeak, squeak, squeak, squeakily-squeak.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An emergency band meeting
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing
Notes: I'm about halfway through the next real chapter, but things have been sort of insane here (new job + houseguest).
“Dude, is he LATE AGAIN?” rumbled Nathan Explosion, glaring at Charles' empty seat at the conference room table.
“Hims ams not late,” explained Skwisgaar, who had just flounced into the room. He planted himself in Charles' chair and began to play a very agitated riff on his Gibson. “I ams calls dis meetings!”
“Oh. OK,” said Nathan.
“Cool, dood. Den can we be dismissed?” inquired Pickles. A couple of the guys began to stand.
“NOs!” barked Skwisgaar. Asses dropped back into chairs, and some band members were even persuaded to sit up straight.
“It ams da last strawrs," the Swede declared.
“The lascht … uh, what?” asked Murderface.
“The last STRAWBERRY, I think,” whispered Nathan.
“Oh, ams da end of summers!” sighed Toki, poking at his DS system.
“NOS!” insisted Skwisgaar. “De lasts draws!”
“Dood, da last … wut?” asked Pickles.
“The last FROGS? That's pretty fucked up,” commented Nathan.
“No, I think it's the last drugsch," Murderface explained.
“WUT!” sputtered Pickles.
“NO! To alls of yous!” said Skwisgaar. “I AMS FEDS UPS!”
“You're … OK, what exactly?” asked Nathan.
“Would you perhapsch prefer to act thisch out in pantomime?” suggested Murderface.
“Dood!” whispered Pickles. “I t'ink he said he ams pedo!”
“JA!” agreed Skwisgaar! “I ams da pedo!”
“Ewwwwww,” said Pickles.
“I ams hates kids!” said Skwisgaar.
“Uh, Skwisgaar, dude,” said Nathan. “I don't think that's what a pedo....”
“Dat ams why I calls dis band meeting! I ams tried of da snotsy kids in Mordhaus! It ams our homes! It ams supporthosed to bes BRUTAL! It ams not da kidsygarden, for da damn toddles an' da daycares an' diapers an' noisery grimes!”
“Huh,” said Nathan. “Well, if that's what you feel....”
“It ams not feelings! IT AMS NOT METAL!” shrieked Skwisgaar, causing several band mates to cringe.
“Yeah, well, that's cool, that's cool,” Nathan mused. “Uhhhh. Yeah, sure, you don't want kids here.”
“Yeh. I guess I'm ok wit' dat,” shrugged Pickles, who had actually thrown up his arms to shield himself from the metal temper tantrum.
“Whatever,” Murderface whittled.
“OK! It ams moved and seconded and t'irded,” said Skwisgaar, “so we ams go tell Charles, an' he ams take Booms aways some places....”
“WAIT!” bellowed Nathan. “What about Boon?” he demanded, now glowering towards the guitarist.
“Booms ams da kid!” said Skwisgaar, who played an exasperated chord. “We ams banning Boom!”
“Boon is NOT A KID,” said Nathan.
“Whats?”
“Naw, I don't t'ink he counts,” Pickles agreed.
“BOOMS AMS DA KIDS!” Skwisgaar protested.
“Wait,” said Murderface, stabbing the table. “Thisch doeschn't apply to Abigail either, doesch it? Becausche, we have an appointment to reschtage the War of the Roschesch thisch coming weekend.”
“I ams means no kids! No kids in da Haus,” said Skwisgaar. “Dey ams annoyingses. Ands evils!”
“But, dood, evil is pretty metal,” suggested Pickles.
“Well, I'm not gonna go along with thisch banning schit,” grumbled Murderface.
“No Booms, and no Abignail, and especiallys no Liams!” Skwisgaar ticked off.
“Dude,” said Nathan. “You can't invite Abby and not her brother. That wouldn't be cool.”
“No, dat's not cool,” agreed Pickles.
“Dis ams an important issue!” insisted Skwisgaar. “Just today, I ams nearly killed myself trippsing over da dumbs squeaky toys of da dumb kids!”
“You ams tripped on da squeaksy toys, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, who was suddenly distracted from his DS system.
“Ja! What if I had been killed? Or knocked my heads? What ams you do wit'out da lead gee-tarist, huh?”
“What kinds of squeaksy toys, Skwisgaar?” asked Toki, his blue eyes hopeful.
“Dis dumb rabbids!” growled the guitarist, digging a little rounded toy with rabbit ears out of his pocket and tossing it on the table, producing a little high-pitched squeaky-squeak as it bounced.
“MISTER BUNNY-BUNS!” squealed Toki, tackling the object with great delight. “You ams found him, Skwisgaar! I ams t'ought I ams lost him forever!” He hugged the toy, producing more annoying squeaks.
Skwisgaar stared. “You ams lost dat toys, Tokis?” he asked.
“It ain't a toy, Skwisgaar, it ams Mr. Bunny-buns! You ams not hurt, ams you, boy?” he inquired, to a chorus of squeaks.
“I COULD HAVE BEEN KILT OR WORSE!” thundered Skwisgaar.
“Mr. Bunny-buns ain't means no harms,” Toki assured him.
“I t'ink you set hims out on porpoise! You ams leaves him outsides my rooms, knowings dat i ams tripses! You ams wants to cripples me!”
"Naw, Skwisgaar, Mr. Bunny-buns ams loves everyones in da woilds, all inanity!" He reached the squeaky toy into Skwisgaar's face and gave it an affectionate squeak.
Skwisgaar glowered and batted the toy from Toki's hand.
As he bounced away, Mr. Bunny-buns squeaked in terror at the insult. "Squeak! Squeak! Squeakily-squeak!"
"You ams gestalted Mr. Bunny-buns!" gasped Toki, who was rising. "Gestalt and batteries!"
"Hims ams annoysings! And Hims tried to moider me! Ams da plots!”
"You shoulds apologize!" Toki warned.
Skwisgaar glared.
"Pfff-"
But the then he started gargling: in mid-pffft, as Toki had him around the neck.
"Is there stuff on TV tonight, Pickles?" asked Nathan as we watched his lead guitarist getting throttled.
"Yeah, dere's some stuff tonight,” said Pickles.
"But the live schow isch pretty good," noted Murderface.
"Yeah, it's kinda hard to top live entertainment," agreed Nathan. He leaned over to where Skwisgaar was now impotently clawing at Toki's hands on his throat, and punched an intercom button near Charles's usual seat. "Hey, could we get some popcorn up here?"
"Nat'an!" said Pickles as Skwisgaar turned blue.
"What?"
"Don't fergit da beer!"
"Oh. Yeah. AND BEER TOO,"
“Uh, was there a band meeting?” asked Charles from the doorway. Elias, who was holding his hand, looked curiously at Toki and Skwisgaar. “Why is Skwisgaar in my seat?” Charles added.
“Dude called a meeting to ban kids from Mordhaus,” Nathan gleefully explained.
Charles' expression darkened several shades. “My kid?” he growled.
“Yeh, dat wuz on da agenda!” Pickles agreed.
“Dada, Swissar an bwoo!” said Elias, pointing a small finger at the thrashing guitarist.
“Yeah, Boon, Skwisgaar is turning a very lovely shade of blue,” Charles grumbled.
Elias toddled off across the room to retrieve a cute little toy that had fallen to the ground. “Dada, an bunny!” he said, holding up the little ball-like item and giving it a squeak.
“Mister Bunny-buns!” said Toki. It was as if a spell had been broken. He let go of Skwisgaar's neck, and scooped up Elias and the toy into his lap. “Dat ams Mr. Bunny-buns. He ams our friend!”
Skwisgaar gasped, holding his neck. He turned around and looked pleadingly at Charles. “Did you ams see whats he dids?” he choked.
“Skwisgaar,” said Charles, his voice very low and even. He leaned over, so his face was nearly touching that of the guitarist, their eyes locked. “Why are you in my chair?”
Skwisgaar gave a tiny strangled noise. And then, without taking his eyes from Charles, he he reached out and grabbed the chair next to his, and then wordlessly slid into it.
Charles deposited himself in his usual chair, not taking his eyes from Skwisgaar's, ignoring the Klokateers clattering in, bearing snacks.
“Popcorn?” offered Nathan, tilting the bowl towards Charles.
Without moving any of the rest of his body, Charles snaked one arm back, grabbed a healthy handful of Nathan's popcorn, and jammed it all into his mouth. “Wha'. Abou'. M' kid?” he demanded around a mouthful of buttery Orville Redenbacher.
“Uhhhhh,” explained Skwisgaar.
“I believe Schwisgaar prefersch not to encounter your schon around the environsch of Mordhausch,” tattled Murderface, tilting back a beer.
“Is this true?” Charles asked.
“Noooooo. It ams not trues! Ams da misapprehensile!”
“Really? Dood? 'Cuz, dat's wut I heard,” grinned Pickles.
“Yeah me too,” agreed Nathan between bouts of stuffing his mouth with popcorn.
“Oh no no no no no. Dese guys ams da jokesers!” claimed Skwisgaar.
“So. We don't have a problem?” asked Charles, raising an eyebrow.
“No! I ams goods. Everyt'ings fine. Uh. How ams you? Is dat da new suits?”
“All right,” said Charles, rising. “Then good day to you all. Boon!” Elias scrambled off Toki's lap, handing him back his Mr. Bunny-bun, and toddled off with Charles.
Skwisgaar watched them leave.
“Ah, well, gonna go watch some TV then?” asked Nathan. There were grunts of agreement, and the band slowly shuffled out, with the exception of Skwisgaar, who sat, thoughtfully rubbing his neck.
He turned. And scowled. “I t'ought you ams left!” he scolded Elias, who now stood beside him.
Elias raised his little arms, as if he expected to be picked up.
“NO! You ams not getsing in MY lap! Dis lap ams for da gee-tar! You see? Not for da horribles little kids!”
Elias smiled and raised his arms.
“Arrrrgh!” exclaimed Skwisgaar, angrily taking off his Gibson and slamming it onto the table. “Dis day ams pffft!”
Elias clambered into his lap. He took out his extra set of arms, and laced them for a moment around Skwisgaar in a sticky toddler hug. And then he wiggled back down to the floor and scooted out the door.
Skwisgaar watched the kid leave, and sat quietly for a moment. “Dat not ams makes me likes you!” he finally shouted at the empty doorway. He grunted, and rose, grabbing his guitar by the neck. He strode to the doorway, turned, and then suddenly cried out, “TOKIIIIIIIIIIS!” as he fell on his face.
There was a little noise: squeak, squeak, squeak, squeakily-squeak.
