Cuckoo (Mythklok Interstitial)
Nov. 10th, 2011 03:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Cuckoo (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Maybe be spoilery if you've missed the last few chapters.
Warnings: I may have written my first S/T
Notes: Written in great haste and solely to amuse Z, who wanted her Mythklok.
“Why ams you always late on da choruses! You ams lates agains!”
“I ams not lates! What you ams talksings abouts!”
“Pffft. You ams does dis to annoys me, Toki!” averred Skwisgaar, staring down his nose at his rhythm guitarist.
“Hoo boy,” Nathan, who was also standing on the rehearsal stage, told Murderface. “It's like World War.... World War.... What was that war between Sweden and Norway anyway, because it's like that one? Only of course there's just two guys. Instead of a country I mean....”
“You ams messes up on purples!” Skwisgaar was saying.
“I ams not messes up! You ams kimpossible to follows wit da showings offs an da licks!”
“I ams not showings off! I ams playings da geetar! Maybe you ams learns to plays?”
“Maybe you ams ... shuts up!” breathed Toki at last, his eyes blazing.
“Maybe you ams goes back to da cuckoo clocks where you belongs!”
Toki froze.
Very softly, Toki said. “What you ams says, Skwisgaar?”
“Maybe you ams go builds da nests!” snorted Skwisgaar. “Ha!”
And just like that, Toki was no longer Toki, brown wings unfurling, bursting through his thin T shirt, arching out, his blue eyes now burning.
“This is not good,” said Nathan, who wisely stepped back.
Skwisgaar glared as well. He stood his ground, seeming to shimmer with some kind of unworldly power.
“This is definitely not good,” added Nathan.
Skwisgaar turned.
There was a hand on his shoulder.
Pickles, seemingly oblivious to the quarrel, was standing at his side, joint fizzling in one hand, another friendly hand on Skiwsgaar's bare shoulder, up on his toes now, whispering in Skwisgaar's ear.
“Yoo know Skwis dood, when he duz dat, it's kinda hawt,” grinned Pickles, eyes blurry and red-rimmed, flicking ashes all over the damn place.
Skwisgaar blinked. His gaze was suddenly drawn back to Toki: at the guitarist's tensed muscles gleaming under the tattered remnants of a shirt, wings rippling in the air, eyes like two blue panes stolen from the sky, boring into him.
He wanted to....
It was....
Skwisgaar gulped. “Uh, ja. Toki ams.... He ams....”
He heard chuckling, and rounded, on Pickles, who was snickering.
“Nawt yoo dood, I mean DEM!” Pickles waved the joint at the nearly empty seating area, where a huddle of Skwisgaar's lady friends were now gazing rather fondly – if not outright drooling – at the sight of winged Toki.
“PFFFFFT!” grunted Skwisgaar. He aimed a glower at Nathan and Murderface, who were standing downstage, laughing as well.
He turned to pfft Pickles but good. But there was no one standing beside him. He whirled. Somehow, the drummer had wafted back up behind his kit.
“Can we quit fucking around and TAKE IT FROM THE TOP, ASSHOLES?” Nathan rumbled, grabbing up his microphone.
“Ja. Ja. If Toki ams quits making da distractedness,” Skwisgaar muttered.
Muderface mimed a smooch at Skwisgaar, but then Pickles was counting off on his sticks, and then Skwisgaar bent over his Gibson, and took it all out on the music.
And fucking Toki came in late again.
Angel bastard.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Maybe be spoilery if you've missed the last few chapters.
Warnings: I may have written my first S/T
Notes: Written in great haste and solely to amuse Z, who wanted her Mythklok.
“Why ams you always late on da choruses! You ams lates agains!”
“I ams not lates! What you ams talksings abouts!”
“Pffft. You ams does dis to annoys me, Toki!” averred Skwisgaar, staring down his nose at his rhythm guitarist.
“Hoo boy,” Nathan, who was also standing on the rehearsal stage, told Murderface. “It's like World War.... World War.... What was that war between Sweden and Norway anyway, because it's like that one? Only of course there's just two guys. Instead of a country I mean....”
“You ams messes up on purples!” Skwisgaar was saying.
“I ams not messes up! You ams kimpossible to follows wit da showings offs an da licks!”
“I ams not showings off! I ams playings da geetar! Maybe you ams learns to plays?”
“Maybe you ams ... shuts up!” breathed Toki at last, his eyes blazing.
“Maybe you ams goes back to da cuckoo clocks where you belongs!”
Toki froze.
Very softly, Toki said. “What you ams says, Skwisgaar?”
“Maybe you ams go builds da nests!” snorted Skwisgaar. “Ha!”
And just like that, Toki was no longer Toki, brown wings unfurling, bursting through his thin T shirt, arching out, his blue eyes now burning.
“This is not good,” said Nathan, who wisely stepped back.
Skwisgaar glared as well. He stood his ground, seeming to shimmer with some kind of unworldly power.
“This is definitely not good,” added Nathan.
Skwisgaar turned.
There was a hand on his shoulder.
Pickles, seemingly oblivious to the quarrel, was standing at his side, joint fizzling in one hand, another friendly hand on Skiwsgaar's bare shoulder, up on his toes now, whispering in Skwisgaar's ear.
“Yoo know Skwis dood, when he duz dat, it's kinda hawt,” grinned Pickles, eyes blurry and red-rimmed, flicking ashes all over the damn place.
Skwisgaar blinked. His gaze was suddenly drawn back to Toki: at the guitarist's tensed muscles gleaming under the tattered remnants of a shirt, wings rippling in the air, eyes like two blue panes stolen from the sky, boring into him.
He wanted to....
It was....
Skwisgaar gulped. “Uh, ja. Toki ams.... He ams....”
He heard chuckling, and rounded, on Pickles, who was snickering.
“Nawt yoo dood, I mean DEM!” Pickles waved the joint at the nearly empty seating area, where a huddle of Skwisgaar's lady friends were now gazing rather fondly – if not outright drooling – at the sight of winged Toki.
“PFFFFFT!” grunted Skwisgaar. He aimed a glower at Nathan and Murderface, who were standing downstage, laughing as well.
He turned to pfft Pickles but good. But there was no one standing beside him. He whirled. Somehow, the drummer had wafted back up behind his kit.
“Can we quit fucking around and TAKE IT FROM THE TOP, ASSHOLES?” Nathan rumbled, grabbing up his microphone.
“Ja. Ja. If Toki ams quits making da distractedness,” Skwisgaar muttered.
Muderface mimed a smooch at Skwisgaar, but then Pickles was counting off on his sticks, and then Skwisgaar bent over his Gibson, and took it all out on the music.
And fucking Toki came in late again.
Angel bastard.
