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tikificTitle: The Second Best Manager (Career Day, Part 2) (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Charles corrects some misconceptions
Warnings: The usual nonsense.
Notes: This is a roundabout answer to Tam's comment.
“Their second best manager?” laughed Ganesh, leaning back in one of Charles' guest chairs and sipping his whiskey.
“It's the best I can claim,” Charles admitted, filling his own glass from the decanter on his desk.
“Well, I had a bash at it....”
“That's right. You did. While I was in the Southwest.”
“I cannot disagree in your rankings,” smiled Ganesh.
“And Raziel sat in for a couple weeks there.”
“She has told me that, in retrospect, she would rather raise angel octuplets.”
Charles snickered.
“But tell me, won't you,” said Ganesh, leaning forward. “What about that fellow who was briefly co-managing the band with you?”
“What had you heard?”
“Only what I assume I was intended to divine, that you bested the fellow in a sword duel.”
Charles' grin could only be described as ferocious. “And,” he inquired, narrowing his eyes “I'm hearing you didn't believe it?”
“Sariel! For the gods' sake! A duel? You would have lopped off his head before he had drawn.”
“That story: it may not have been precisely what happened,” Charles allowed modestly.
“So you are admitting it was just that, a story?” observed Ganesh who, it must be remembered, was also an attorney.
Charles steepled his hands for a moment and appeared to be thinking. He grabbed the decanter, and Ganesh leaned forward for another refill. “All right. Let's say this. That story: it's one thing that might have happened. What if I tell you another story about what might have happened?”
Ganesh sat back.
“HE HAS LONG HAIR!” attested Nathan Explosion.
“Uh-huh,” said Charles, sitting at his usual spot at the head of the conference table.
“And he goesch out drinking and pallin' around with usch!” added Murderface.
“Yep,” agreed Charles.
“And he ams even likes da GMILFs,” attested Skwisgaar.
“He does, does he?” asked Charles.
“An' he shewts heroin, dood!” said Pickles. “Da good stuff!”
“And vomitsch into the dumpschter,” said Murderface.
“AND HE'S COOL,” concluded Nathan.
“Well, you guys sound like you've decided,” said Charles agreeably. He stood up. “I'll leave my letter of resignation in my desk, good luck with Melmord, and nice knowin' ya.”
“WAIT!” said Nathan. “What do you mean?”
Charles paused. “You guys just told me you want Melmord to manage you. OK. I work alone, so, I'll just quit, and he can come right in.”
“Dis ams seems too easy,” commented Skwisgaar.
“Naw, I gotta go visit my sister anyway,” said Charles. He donned his hat, and departed.
Dethklok looked at one another for a time.
“Doods,” said Pickles. “When did Charles git a HAT?”
Three days later....
“Don't you care whether we're REHEARSING?” demanded Nathan.
“I told you guys, hey, you can do what you want. It's all bullshit!” Melmord told them, sitting down in Charles' usual chair at the head of the table.
“What, you don't CARE if we're rehearsing?” asked Nathan.
“He ams not cares about us?” whispered Toki.
“Charles yoosed to care,” commented Pickles suspiciously.
“No, you guys, dig! I care, but- Wait, what the fuck is Murderface doing?”
“Oh, he's just marking his territory,” explained Nathan as a horrified Melmord watched the bassist pissing in a corner.
“The transchition in management hasch left me schtressched,” Murderface sighed as he zipped up.
“He ams pees in da corners like dat, and den he ams dumps da loads sometimes,” Skwisgaar helpfully explained.
“Wait. That pile I stepped on in my office-?” asked Melmord.
“Ams Charles' office!” protested Toki, crossing his arms.
“My office, Toki, man! I told you, I'm your manger now. Like we agreed!”
“Charles' offices!” repeated Toki. “Maybes I ams tells Charles!”
“You can't tell Charles-” Melmord began.
“Dood, why nawt! Yoo sed we cud doo anyt'ing!”
“Ofdensen isn't your manager! I am!”
“I ams calls him!” said Toki.
“You shouldn't call him,” said Melmord. “Ofdensen is not your manager any more.”
“There you go with schould and schouldn't again,” said Murderface.
“Yeah, that's why we fired CHARLES, for being an old lady,” said Nathan.
“Pffft! It ams not take dis butler long!” said Skwigaar.
“I'm NOT a fucking BUTLER,” protested Melmord.
“Yer nawt?” said Pickles. “Doods! We don't gawt a butler no more!”
“YAIIIIIIIIII!” screamed Toki, who rose and raced out of the room.
“Crazy bastard!” said Melmord, rising. “Where the fuck did he go?”
“Oh, Toki ams dramaticals. Ams no worries. He ams probablies flings himselfs off da dragon spires.”
“He's going to … WHAT? That's your rhythm guitarist!”
“Dood, you kin replace a rhyddim geetarist. Mellow out.”
“You guys are nuts!” said Melmord, running out of the room after Toki.
“Boy, what a TIGHT ASS,” grumbled Nathan.
“He ams da lousy butlers. Sees? No one ams cleaned up afters Murderfaces yet!”
“An I t'ink he's been stealin' from my secret stash,” grumbled Pickles.
“Who, dude. That's NOT COOL,” said Nathan. “Hey, where are you going MURDERFACE?”
“I'm going to schee Toki commit schuischide!” announced the bassist. “And maybe leave schome more marksch around.”
And so, with one or two rest stops along the way, the remainder of Dethklok made their way to the top of their great castle, Mordhaus, and the great dragon spire there. Toki was indeed standing near the ledge. Melmord was standing nearby, both of them being whipped by the high wind that had kicked up.
“I told you, man, I'm not your fucking butler!”
“WE AMS NOT GOT DA BUTLER!” wailed Toki.
“Dood, did anybuddy bring da popcorn?” whispered Pickles.
“DAMN! I forgot,” said Nathan.
“You ams just got to talks him downs,” suggested Skwisgaar, playing a bored riff on his Gibson.
“How the fuck do I do that? He's CRAZY!” Melmord told them. “And he's out at the edge! With waves of pink sunshine wafting off his glorious person!” he squealed, voice breaking.
“See wut I meant about gittin' int' my speshul stash?” grumbled Pickles.
“Now, you shouldn't make FALSE ACCUSATIONS, Pickles,” scolded Nathan. “Maybe he's got his own weird shit? I mean, we dunno.”
“DOOD!” shouted Pickles. “Are yoo seein' pastel colored dancin' rabbits?”
“They're just down there!” explained Melmord. “Hoards of them! And they're SINGING!”
“Yeh, dat's my stuff.”
“What a douchebag,” muttered Nathan.
“Douschebag,” agreed Murderface, peeing in a corner.
“Hey, what about me?” wailed Toki.
“Beware! The poodles of doooooom!” wailed Melmord.
“Well, now our butler ams freaksing out,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“Can't handle da good stuff,” said Pickles, shaking his head.
“I CAN FLYYYYYYY!” yelled Melmord, launching himself up up up off the Dragonspire, where his course quickly reversed from a hop to a plummet.
“Or, mebbe yoo can't,” conceded Pickles.
“Oh. Uhhhhhh,” said Nathan. “Oops.”
“Maybe he's schtill OK?” said Murderface.
“Huh. You think?” asked Nathan. The band as one leaned over the ledge of the Dragonspire to take a closer look.
The Dethtrain thundered over the broken body, leaving behind a red smear.
“You t'inks he ams still OK?” asked Skwisgaar, playing a nervous chord.
“Uhhhhhh....” said Nathan. “Pickles, what a you doing? Who are you calling?”
“Whoo doo yoo t'ink?” asked Pickles.
“So, that's the story?” asked Ganesh, he foot lazily stroking the back of Charles' leg.
Charles wriggled into a bit more comfortable position on Ganesh's chest. “That is one possible story, yes.”
Ganesh was reaching a long arm over to the bedside table to retrieve a joint and the lighter. “One possible story,” Gahesh said, sticking the cigarette between his lips. “From the man who happens to have security cameras positioned in every corner?” He lit up and replaced the lighter, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
Charles didn't reply, but pushed himself up on one arm to grab the joint. He smiled at Ganesh, who smoothed back his hair. Ganesh looked deeply into the Court Formed green eyes. You didn't notice so much when they were covered up with eyeglasses, but sometimes when he was angry, Charles much resembled their son, Elias. And he also very much resembled the boy when he had just gotten away with something a bit naughty.
“I guess it helps to actually know how to fly,” Charles conceded.
“So. Our Boonie remains Dethklok's best manager?”
“Yeah,” said Charles. “But, you know. I keep on trying.”
“Three days....”
“Longer than I would have given him, actually. By about 70 hours.”
“And, what, may I ask, did you do during this time?”
“Well,” grinned Charles, grabbing back the joint. “That's another story. For another time.”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Charles corrects some misconceptions
Warnings: The usual nonsense.
Notes: This is a roundabout answer to Tam's comment.
“Their second best manager?” laughed Ganesh, leaning back in one of Charles' guest chairs and sipping his whiskey.
“It's the best I can claim,” Charles admitted, filling his own glass from the decanter on his desk.
“Well, I had a bash at it....”
“That's right. You did. While I was in the Southwest.”
“I cannot disagree in your rankings,” smiled Ganesh.
“And Raziel sat in for a couple weeks there.”
“She has told me that, in retrospect, she would rather raise angel octuplets.”
Charles snickered.
“But tell me, won't you,” said Ganesh, leaning forward. “What about that fellow who was briefly co-managing the band with you?”
“What had you heard?”
“Only what I assume I was intended to divine, that you bested the fellow in a sword duel.”
Charles' grin could only be described as ferocious. “And,” he inquired, narrowing his eyes “I'm hearing you didn't believe it?”
“Sariel! For the gods' sake! A duel? You would have lopped off his head before he had drawn.”
“That story: it may not have been precisely what happened,” Charles allowed modestly.
“So you are admitting it was just that, a story?” observed Ganesh who, it must be remembered, was also an attorney.
Charles steepled his hands for a moment and appeared to be thinking. He grabbed the decanter, and Ganesh leaned forward for another refill. “All right. Let's say this. That story: it's one thing that might have happened. What if I tell you another story about what might have happened?”
Ganesh sat back.
“HE HAS LONG HAIR!” attested Nathan Explosion.
“Uh-huh,” said Charles, sitting at his usual spot at the head of the conference table.
“And he goesch out drinking and pallin' around with usch!” added Murderface.
“Yep,” agreed Charles.
“And he ams even likes da GMILFs,” attested Skwisgaar.
“He does, does he?” asked Charles.
“An' he shewts heroin, dood!” said Pickles. “Da good stuff!”
“And vomitsch into the dumpschter,” said Murderface.
“AND HE'S COOL,” concluded Nathan.
“Well, you guys sound like you've decided,” said Charles agreeably. He stood up. “I'll leave my letter of resignation in my desk, good luck with Melmord, and nice knowin' ya.”
“WAIT!” said Nathan. “What do you mean?”
Charles paused. “You guys just told me you want Melmord to manage you. OK. I work alone, so, I'll just quit, and he can come right in.”
“Dis ams seems too easy,” commented Skwisgaar.
“Naw, I gotta go visit my sister anyway,” said Charles. He donned his hat, and departed.
Dethklok looked at one another for a time.
“Doods,” said Pickles. “When did Charles git a HAT?”
Three days later....
“Don't you care whether we're REHEARSING?” demanded Nathan.
“I told you guys, hey, you can do what you want. It's all bullshit!” Melmord told them, sitting down in Charles' usual chair at the head of the table.
“What, you don't CARE if we're rehearsing?” asked Nathan.
“He ams not cares about us?” whispered Toki.
“Charles yoosed to care,” commented Pickles suspiciously.
“No, you guys, dig! I care, but- Wait, what the fuck is Murderface doing?”
“Oh, he's just marking his territory,” explained Nathan as a horrified Melmord watched the bassist pissing in a corner.
“The transchition in management hasch left me schtressched,” Murderface sighed as he zipped up.
“He ams pees in da corners like dat, and den he ams dumps da loads sometimes,” Skwisgaar helpfully explained.
“Wait. That pile I stepped on in my office-?” asked Melmord.
“Ams Charles' office!” protested Toki, crossing his arms.
“My office, Toki, man! I told you, I'm your manger now. Like we agreed!”
“Charles' offices!” repeated Toki. “Maybes I ams tells Charles!”
“You can't tell Charles-” Melmord began.
“Dood, why nawt! Yoo sed we cud doo anyt'ing!”
“Ofdensen isn't your manager! I am!”
“I ams calls him!” said Toki.
“You shouldn't call him,” said Melmord. “Ofdensen is not your manager any more.”
“There you go with schould and schouldn't again,” said Murderface.
“Yeah, that's why we fired CHARLES, for being an old lady,” said Nathan.
“Pffft! It ams not take dis butler long!” said Skwigaar.
“I'm NOT a fucking BUTLER,” protested Melmord.
“Yer nawt?” said Pickles. “Doods! We don't gawt a butler no more!”
“YAIIIIIIIIII!” screamed Toki, who rose and raced out of the room.
“Crazy bastard!” said Melmord, rising. “Where the fuck did he go?”
“Oh, Toki ams dramaticals. Ams no worries. He ams probablies flings himselfs off da dragon spires.”
“He's going to … WHAT? That's your rhythm guitarist!”
“Dood, you kin replace a rhyddim geetarist. Mellow out.”
“You guys are nuts!” said Melmord, running out of the room after Toki.
“Boy, what a TIGHT ASS,” grumbled Nathan.
“He ams da lousy butlers. Sees? No one ams cleaned up afters Murderfaces yet!”
“An I t'ink he's been stealin' from my secret stash,” grumbled Pickles.
“Who, dude. That's NOT COOL,” said Nathan. “Hey, where are you going MURDERFACE?”
“I'm going to schee Toki commit schuischide!” announced the bassist. “And maybe leave schome more marksch around.”
And so, with one or two rest stops along the way, the remainder of Dethklok made their way to the top of their great castle, Mordhaus, and the great dragon spire there. Toki was indeed standing near the ledge. Melmord was standing nearby, both of them being whipped by the high wind that had kicked up.
“I told you, man, I'm not your fucking butler!”
“WE AMS NOT GOT DA BUTLER!” wailed Toki.
“Dood, did anybuddy bring da popcorn?” whispered Pickles.
“DAMN! I forgot,” said Nathan.
“You ams just got to talks him downs,” suggested Skwisgaar, playing a bored riff on his Gibson.
“How the fuck do I do that? He's CRAZY!” Melmord told them. “And he's out at the edge! With waves of pink sunshine wafting off his glorious person!” he squealed, voice breaking.
“See wut I meant about gittin' int' my speshul stash?” grumbled Pickles.
“Now, you shouldn't make FALSE ACCUSATIONS, Pickles,” scolded Nathan. “Maybe he's got his own weird shit? I mean, we dunno.”
“DOOD!” shouted Pickles. “Are yoo seein' pastel colored dancin' rabbits?”
“They're just down there!” explained Melmord. “Hoards of them! And they're SINGING!”
“Yeh, dat's my stuff.”
“What a douchebag,” muttered Nathan.
“Douschebag,” agreed Murderface, peeing in a corner.
“Hey, what about me?” wailed Toki.
“Beware! The poodles of doooooom!” wailed Melmord.
“Well, now our butler ams freaksing out,” sighed Skwisgaar.
“Can't handle da good stuff,” said Pickles, shaking his head.
“I CAN FLYYYYYYY!” yelled Melmord, launching himself up up up off the Dragonspire, where his course quickly reversed from a hop to a plummet.
“Or, mebbe yoo can't,” conceded Pickles.
“Oh. Uhhhhhh,” said Nathan. “Oops.”
“Maybe he's schtill OK?” said Murderface.
“Huh. You think?” asked Nathan. The band as one leaned over the ledge of the Dragonspire to take a closer look.
The Dethtrain thundered over the broken body, leaving behind a red smear.
“You t'inks he ams still OK?” asked Skwisgaar, playing a nervous chord.
“Uhhhhhh....” said Nathan. “Pickles, what a you doing? Who are you calling?”
“Whoo doo yoo t'ink?” asked Pickles.
“So, that's the story?” asked Ganesh, he foot lazily stroking the back of Charles' leg.
Charles wriggled into a bit more comfortable position on Ganesh's chest. “That is one possible story, yes.”
Ganesh was reaching a long arm over to the bedside table to retrieve a joint and the lighter. “One possible story,” Gahesh said, sticking the cigarette between his lips. “From the man who happens to have security cameras positioned in every corner?” He lit up and replaced the lighter, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
Charles didn't reply, but pushed himself up on one arm to grab the joint. He smiled at Ganesh, who smoothed back his hair. Ganesh looked deeply into the Court Formed green eyes. You didn't notice so much when they were covered up with eyeglasses, but sometimes when he was angry, Charles much resembled their son, Elias. And he also very much resembled the boy when he had just gotten away with something a bit naughty.
“I guess it helps to actually know how to fly,” Charles conceded.
“So. Our Boonie remains Dethklok's best manager?”
“Yeah,” said Charles. “But, you know. I keep on trying.”
“Three days....”
“Longer than I would have given him, actually. By about 70 hours.”
“And, what, may I ask, did you do during this time?”
“Well,” grinned Charles, grabbing back the joint. “That's another story. For another time.”
