Historical Figures and Ancient Heads
Chapter Eight

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar, Murderface/Knubbler, Pickles/OC.
Warnings: Minor violence
Summary: The show must go on.
Notes: Erick Fisher and Roadie 666, aka Birget, belong to Rei.

Illustration of Ringmaster Pickles by Tenshio 5

The Show Must Go On – © Three Dog Night.
Dazed and Confused – © Led Zeppelin.
The Celebration of the Lizard – © The Doors.

Lyrics for The Celebration of the Lizard taken from the book The Lords and The New Creatures by James Douglas Morrison. May vary slightly from lyrics performed on the album ‘Absolutely Live’.

Hazel Wilder arrived, alone and dragging a suitcase and an old electric guitar, just after ten in the morning. Davida had been assured by Hazel’s mother that the boy’s father would be taking him and the chaperone to Mordland, but as usual the man had lied through his teeth. Hazel’s father took his son only as far as three miles from the Mordland Gates, stole his money, and dropped him and his bags on the highway. He then drove off with the woman who was supposed to be watching Hazel, leaving Hazel to walk in the rain the rest of the way to the great stone keep. He arrived just in time to be met by Charles, who told him that his mother had suffered a fatal brain aneurism ten minutes after she wished him well, gave him a kiss and sent him on his way, hoping the boy’s father was taking an interest in the child he had all but abandoned.

Hazel Wilder had definitely had better days.

He was a thin child, with pale skin, sunken eyes the colour of darkest chocolate, and a wild mane of thick black hair. He was nervous and timid, well convinced by his fretful mother that he was never more than a single breath from death. Of course that fact that she had keeled over into her eggs benny moments after he last saw her seemed to confirm she was right, and his emotional state was far from ideal for kicking off an eight-month tour.

“If you want, you don’t have to do the tour,” said Charles to the distraught boy. Hazel just stared at him with haunted eyes.

“And go where?”

So Hazel climbed onto the bus, soaking wet, emotionally devastated, and alone, too distraught to be excited about touring with the band he had adored since he was old enough to know what death metal was. He wasn’t even especially interested in the tour bus, other than where he could find a place to lie down.

Hazel couldn’t fix his life. So he just went to sleep.

He woke up just past midnight, surrounded by sleeping bodies, and the sound of quiet snoring. Charles and Nathan were cuddled together, as were Knubbler and Murderface, and Pickles and Erick; small sleeping piles of humanity, everyone happily paired, with him alone in the middle. Toki Wartooth was currently face down in his pillow, sleeping beside the only person awake other than Hazel. Skwisgaar Skwigelf, taller than a tree, was currently wearing only a pair of boxers as he played his ever-present Gibson.

Hazel had met Skwisgaar a number of times by now; had even had lunch with him a few times, as well as Toki, Nathan and Pickles, and struck up something of a friendship. Charles had wanted his boys to be familiar with the kid, to avoid the anticipated territoriality that would come with bringing in a stranger, and it seemed to have worked. Murderface had avoided Hazel like the plague, especially after it became clear that Skwisgaar was really fond of the boy, but that was just to be expected. However Skwisgaar seemed honestly affectionate towards the kid, so the pair began to bond, even after Toki gave Hazel a warning.

“Ja just makes sures if he gives you lesson dat you first looks up to see if you standing under a buckets of pig blood.”

“I said I was sorry,” said Skwisgaar.

“Pig blood?” squeaked Hazel.

“I never does it now,” said Skwisgaar. “Too hards to do blinds.”

“That’s not comforting!” said Hazel.

Skwisgaar had just smiled. “I was just wanting Toki to knows I hads a crush on him.”

Toki leaned close and nuzzled Skwisgaar. Hazel just rolled his eyes and finished his lunch. Still, it was the start of a shy friendship, and Hazel was glad to see it was Skwisgaar who was awake when he finally opened his eyes and sat up.

“So finallies you is wakes up,” said Skwisgaar.

“I didn’t want to.”

Skwisgaar tossed his head. “We nots payings you to sleeps.”

“I suppose,” said Hazel quietly. “It’s just been a really shitty day. I don’t know what to do.”

“Is not’ing you cans do,” said Skwisgaar quietly.

“But what about the funeral and all that?”

“Is takens care of. Davida say you pays her back when you is bigs famous rock star.”

“At least I got to say goodbye to mom,” said Hazel softly. “She was all happy my dad was picking me up. I had two hundred dollars, and he took it. That was all he wanted. That’s all he ever wants.”

“Ja, same wit’ Pickle’s family. Dey nevers glad to sees him. Just his money.”

“It sucks. I always used to say, y’know, at least my mom loves me. Now I don’t… have anybody.”

“Is always somebody. Sometimes you just nots knows it. Sometimes you is havings to learn family nots mean you is relates-ted. Is people who loves you. Is likes Nat’an’s abandoned kitten. He has dildos big boy-kitty who looks afters it. Thinks he’s his mama-kitty. No one knows why da kitty looks afters da baby. Is just right t’ing to do.”

Hazel sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “I just want my mom…” he said in a small voice.

Skwisgaar set aside his guitar and gently pulled the boy close, rocking him as Hazel sobbed.

“Is okies, little kitty. I bes you mama-cat for now.”

***---***

Damien Cornickelson and Jakob Death were standing backstage when Charles arrived to see how the set up was going, and he was not pleased to see them.

“What are you doing here?” Charles asked.

“We came to see the train wreck,” said Jakob.

“What are you doing, Charles?” Damien asked. “It’s bad enough you got your dying pony up for one last trick, but now you have to parade them on stage?”

“It was their idea. They wanted to.”

“Charles we all know that Dethklok’s last album was a fraud,” said Damien. “Why are you hauling those dried up old farts out in public to prove it?”

Charles shifted his weight, resting on his black cane. “They’re here to kick ass and take names. As always.”

Damien laughed. "And is the encore going to be one of them getting his diapers changed?" He indicated Skwisgaar standing in the walkway leading to the stage, looking confused and lost.

Charles narrowed his eyes, but gave no other indication of his thoughts. "No, they thought a cutthroat bridge tournament would be more suspenseful."

Damien uttered a brief sarcastic laugh. "Go round up your guitar player, Charles. Before he falls down and starts sucking his thumb. And if you have any compassion for those has-beens at all, you'll take them home before one of them wets himself." He narrowed his eyes as he saw a small, thin boy with a shaggy black mop that Alice Cooper would be proud of walk up to Skwisgaar and take his hand.

"Come on Mama Cat, the dressing room is back here. You got turned around."

"Cute," said Damien. "Is that who played the tracks on the record?"

"If you'll kindly wait until the concert, gentlemen, I'm sure all of your pressing questions will be answered."

"Oh I can hardly wait. Jakob and I will be in the VIP box. We wanted to make sure we had an excellent view of the disaster."

Damien and his new cash cow walked away. Hazel meanwhile was trying to get Skwisgaar back to the dressing room. Skwisgaar may have been blind, but he wasn't deaf.

“Come on, Mama Cat. They're not worth it."

"No, they are not," Charles agreed, making his way to the pair, mentally cursing himself for landing in this impaired state. "Don't be frustrated, Skwisgaar. You'll be showing them soon enough."

Skwisgaar said something in Swedish that probably wasn't complimentary, flinging his head as he tried to determine where Damien had gone.

"I plays betters dead dan dat dildo."

Hazel tried to distract Skwisgaar, turning huge dark eyes to Charles. "I thought it might be a good idea to show Mama Cat his mark before we have to go on."

"Yes. Yes, that is a good idea."

Hazel nervously darted around Charles, then waited for Skwisgaar to follow after him. As the two made their way to the stage, Nathan walked over to Charles and gently drew him close.

"So what did the douche want?"

"To attempt to be clever. It annoys me that he's unaware of his failure."

"He'll figure it out in a couple more hours." Nathan touched his nose to Charles'. "Hazel is terrified of you."

Charles did his best not to go cross-eyed. "Well, I do inspire fear in the hearts of mankind."

"He's not a man. He's a baby. And it would mean a lot to Toki and Skwisgaar if you could arrange it so they could keep him."

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I knew... Dammit, I knew one of you would make me keep this kid."

"Charles he's got nowhere to go," said Nathan softly. "He's barely fifteen. They'll plunk him in foster care and then what happens to all that talent? Hazel loves Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar loves Hazel. Why break both their hearts?"

"You realize if we take Hazel, his band is likely to follow?"

"The other boys all have stable homes. They'll be over, sure, but not to live. Hazel has a dead mother and a dad who sent him a card for his fifteenth birthday saying now that his girlfriend was pregnant he was sure Hazel understood that he didn't have any more time for him. He couldn't even be bothered to find out where the fuck the boy was after his mother died."

Charles sighed again, heavily. "...Fine."

Nathan kissed him. "You like the boy too. Don't pretend you don't."

"It has nothing to do with like or dislike. It's the principle of the thing." He gently bit Nathan's lower lip. "Just promise not to fall in love with him when he grows up. Or any of his friends."

"Charles he's a kid. There's nothing wrong with helping out a kid. And there won't be anyone else for me. Ever. Not if you died tomorrow. Like Led Zeppelin said; if the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you."

Charles smiled. “You always know just what to say, don't you?"

"Well I could have burped the alphabet but poetry seemed like a faster way to get into your shorts."

Charles very lightly shoved at his arm. "If you aren't up to your eyeballs in groupies after the show, come and find me."

"You're the only groupie I want." Nathan nuzzled him, and kissed him. "And Pickles says if you're good and let your shoulder heal then he and Hazel will let you do a couple sets."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Hey... we have a few hours before the show. Wanna find an inconvenient spot to fool around?"

"Well, Nathan, that would be very unprofessional and ill-advised. ...Yes, I would like that."

Nathan gently picked him up. "I know just the spot."

***---***

Hazel was lying on his back on the dressing room floor, eyes closed, one hand over his stomach. He was aware of a tall form standing over him.

“Hey, Baby Cat. Is times, ja?”

Hazel groaned. “Oh god I have no idea how you guys do this…”

“Is hards at first, den da fans is convince you dat you is god an’ gets easier,” said Toki.

Nathan picked Hazel off the floor and stood him on his feet. “C’mon, short-shit. The fans await. You’re not gonna puke again are you?”

“No I think three is my limit.”

“Good boy. Hey if you have to puke make sure you miss the electronics, okay? Skwisgaar would be upset if you like…. fried in your own vomit. No one needs you to go out there and pull a Spinal Tapp.”

“I’m fine,” mumbled Hazel. “Okay. Which way’s the stage?”

Toki sniffed. “Aw… he alreadys soundings likes real rock star.” He put an arm around Skwisgaar. “Our Baby Cat growings up.”

“Just take the kid on stage already,” said Pickles. “I’m nervous enough. Gahd it’s been too long since we’ve done this.”

“Ah we be fine,” said Skwisgaar. “Just likes fallings off a bike. Someone helps me gets dese contacts in.”

“I’ll do it,” said Charles. “Everyone else is covered in make up.” Charles fitted the red mirrored contacts into Skwisgaar’s eyes, then stood back. “Okay boys, it’s show time. Knock ‘em dead.”

Charles went up to the VIP box, ignoring Damien and Jakob, fighting back an urge to order they be thrown out. Instead Charles walked over to a table set with delicacies and champagne and poured himself a glass. God he hoped this concert wasn’t a disaster. So much could go wrong with a Dethklok concert, and this one needed to be flawless. He couldn’t let his boys down. He couldn’t let them limp into obscurity with their final show nothing but a joke.

He looked out over the crowd. It was huge. Even for a Dethklok concert it was enormous, people jammed into the vast open-air stadium like ants in a jar, probably half the crowd having managed to simply rush in regardless of having tickets. After all it was the first show of the final tour, and the die-hards were simply not going to miss it, regardless of what the fire marshal said. They were there to see Dethklok, and their possible horrible demise.

Please don’t let this show be a failure.

There was a delicate clinking noise, then pain. Charles looked down, and realized he had crushed his champagne glass. Swearing softly, he walked over to a small waste paper basket and dropped in the rest of the glass, picking shards out of his hand. He had only just finished when he heard a drumroll, and he ran to the window, ignoring his bleeding hand, paying no heed to the female Gear who chased after him to bandage it.

The stage was shrouded by a gigantic black screen, painted and stained to look filthy and torn, like the curtain on a vaudeville stage long past its time, shrouding the wrinkled and toothless burlesque queens beyond. Slowly it rose to reveal one lone form, while discordant calliope music played. Pickles was in his usual corpse paint, but the costuming was different this time. He was dressed in a worn and weary ringmaster’s outfit, complete with a tattered top hat that had in fact years ago belonged to Tony. His hair was a bizarre lion’s mane of flaming red tresses and dangling dreads spilling down his back, and his back brace was visible under his waistcoat like a strange vest.

Beside him stood Skwisgaar, dressed in the ragged remains of a lion tamer’s outfit, looking as if his last lion had not been of a mind to comply. His eyes blazed red from the contacts, and it seemed obvious from the way he stared that he saw nothing.

Dethklok were making no apologies for their physical difficulties. They were shoving them down the audience’s throat. The notes of the old Three Dog Night song were strained and sickly, giving the melody a haunted, lifeless feel that matched the setting of undead clowns and used-up trapeze artists in the background as Pickles began to sing.

"Baby, although I chose this lonely life
it seems it’s stranglin' me now.
All the wild men, big cigars, gigantic car,
they’re all laughin' at the lie.

Oh, I've been used, Ooo-oo-oo-oo
I've been a fool, oh, what a fool.
I broke all the rules, oh, yeah.
But I must let the show go on.

Baby, there's an enormous crowd of people,
they’re all after my blood.
I wish maybe they'd tear down the walls of this theatre,
let me out, let me out.

Oh, I'm so blind, oh, I'm blind.
I wasted time, wasted, wasted, wasted time
walkin’ on the wire, high wire.
But I must let the show go on.

Baby, I wish you'd help me escape,
help me get away.
Leave me outside my address
far away from this masquerade.

'Cause I've been blind, oh, so blind.
I wasted time, wasted, wasted, all too much time,
walkin' on the wire, high wire.
But I must let the show go,
I must let the show go,
I must let the show go on…"

The audience went mad. It was not quite the same Dethklok they knew and loved, but it was definitely not the defeated broken-down Dethklok they had feared they were getting. Pickles slipped over to the drum set, while Hazel headed back stage and Nathan prowled to his usual position as front man. This was not the fat and weary Nathan they had seen on the news; this was a lean, hard Nathan, his hair gleaming blue-black in the light, dressed up like a zombified fire-breather. Toki drifted out of the shadows after him, clad in the tattered remains of a strong-man outfit, the skin he was wearing looking as if it had been torn from a resurrected lion. Murderface was arguably the most gruesome of all; an undead clown. Crash and Burn Out was the first and only album by Dethklok with a theme, and they were playing it up for all it was worth.

The old Three Dog Night song turned into the opening riff of the title track, ‘Crash and Burn Out.’ Charles smiled coldly as Damien and Jakob walked over to see who was playing, searching for Hazel but not seeing him. Hazel would be in the dressing room waiting for his next cue. This was all Skwisgaar, grinding his own title of world’s fastest guitar player under his heel as he reached speeds that would rarely if ever be matched, using techniques mastered by Robert Johnson to sound like two guitars playing at once.

Up in Blues Heaven, Mashed Potatoes Johnson sat and grinned. “I guess that skinny white boy was paying attention after all. Needs to slow down, though.”

Howlin’ Wolf just rolled his eyes and turned his chair away.

Charles watched Skwisgaar with utter fascination as the delicately rigged pyrotechnics on his guitar caused it to spark white and briefly flame. Frankly Charles was surprised Skwisgaar would let a pyrotechnic get anywhere near him considering how the last time had gone, but the effect was riveting as the guitar slobbered fire and Skwisgaar whipped his hair around, the white tresses flinging sparks. Then Charles heard himself utter a short, sharp shriek as Nathan suddenly flung his head back and blew forth a stream of flame.

“Who told him he could breathe fire?! I never gave him permission to breathe fire!”

Gear 666, aka Birget, just sighed and began picking glass out of Charles’ left hand this time.

“Relax, boss-man, he’s been taking lessons for months.”

“I’ll strangle him!” Charles watched as Nathan once more threw his head back and spewed fire like a dragon. “After I rape him.”

“TMI, Boss.”

“If he sets himself on fire I will never speak to him again.”

Charles kept his eyes on the spectacle, Nathan snarling the songs out in his low gravelly voice, pacing himself through the first set, and finally giving the stage back to Pickles. Murderface stepped forward to play the first low, dirge-like notes of the song while Hazel reclaimed the drums and Toki played guitar, freeing Skwisgaar to suddenly pick up his Gibson like a violin and begin dragging the bow over the strings, causing it to wail like a tortured animal. Charles felt tears sting his eyes as the audience went insane, and Pickles seemed to slip into some kind of trance, his long mane of hair hanging loose in his face, moaning and panting. He began playing up to Skwisgaar, who couldn’t see him, and reacted only slightly when Pickles began climbing up his leg like a cat in heat. Ignoring him, Skwisgaar kept playing, while Charles dragged a hand over his face. Birget patted him on the back.

“It’s okay Boss-Man, simulated fellatio during a rock concert ain’t nothing new.”

“Thank you, Birget, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No problem,” she said happily, as several pairs of panties landed on stage…. along with a couple of men’s thongs.

Charles waited for Pickles’ back to choose this moment to die, but it held, though Charles held little doubt that Pickles was going to hurt in the morning. Pickles just kept singing, wrapped around Skwisgaar’s leg.

"Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true,
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Take it easy baby, let them say what they will.
Will your tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?"

“Okay,” said Birget happily as Pickles writhed against Skwisgaar’s thigh. “Half the chicks in the audience wanna be Pickles, the other half wanna be Skwisgaar’s leg.”

“Erick’s going to make him sleep on the floor,” said Charles.

“Maybe. But I haven’t seen the boys this hot in years.”

Charles smiled faintly, then cast a look over his shoulder. “Enjoying the show, Damien?”

“All I see is a group of washed-up queers.”

“Mm-hm. Are you familiar at all with the fable of the fox and the grapes?”

“I don’t read children’s stories.”

Charles didn’t bother mentioning that the parables of Aesop were hardly children’s stories. He really had no interest in speaking to Damien at all. The only thing he really cared about was watching Dethklok pull off a four hour rock concert that ended with a performance piece. Much as Charles had always loved the way his boys were willing to dive in and try something new…. why the hell did it have to be a one hundred and forty-four line poem from the late sixties? What made it all the more stressful was Nathan had refused to let Charles see any of the rehearsals. In fact for a long time he would not even let his band mates see the rehearsals. Not until he was dead certain that he was ready. Perhaps Nathan understood the difference between a song and a performance piece after all. Then again maybe he had no idea what he was doing and the thing would be such a colossal disaster that Jim Morrison would rise from the dead to kick Nathan’s ass. Oh dear Lord did they even know how to play a Hammond organ? Did they even own a Hammond organ?

What was that clinking noise?

“Boss if you kill one more champagne glass I’m cutting you off!”

“Sorry,” said Charles.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Boss-Man, but they’re doing great.”

“I’m just so damned worried about this Celebration of the Lizard.”

“They’re doing what with a lizard now?”

“It’s a performance piece.”

“Ooooh…” said Birget. “I think bestiality is a crime in this state.”

Charles sighed quietly, but said nothing further, watching the show as the entire circus of the damned was enacted on stage, and Dethklok hurled their years of pain out like buckets of blood up a wall. The only song Charles truly could not listen to was ‘Bone Rot’. ‘Blind Sided’ was a bit hard as well, and so was ‘Heart Rendered’, but ‘Bone Rot’ just achieved a special level of description that made Charles’ tendons shorten and his toes curl.

“They’re doing fantastic,” said a soft voice.

Charles turned his head to see Erick standing beside him. “How on earth can you listen to this song?”

Erick shrugged. “I dunno. I just think about popcorn shrimp and it goes away.”

The combination of popcorn shrimp and certain lyrics in ‘Bone Rot’ was enough to have Charles flapping like an epileptic chicken. Birget elbowed Erick.

“Dude, that was uncalled for. Funny, but uncalled for.”

“What? It helps me.”

“Yeah but you’re sick.”

Erick helped himself to a glass of champagne while Charles got himself under control. Together they watched the show, Charles wishing he had taken something to settle his stomach. Damien was not oblivious to Charles’ case of nerves. Sensing Dethklok may still go down in flames, he and Jakob lurked like vultures.

The concert went on, song after song being met with wild acclaim. The fans were loving this dark carnival. Charles willed his stomach to settle, telling himself it would be all right, the boys knew what they were doing. Still, when the lights began to dim and the only sound was a listless female clown sitting in a pool of dull light, shaking a battered tambourine, it was all he could do to keep his stomach from emptying.

“Charles it’s going to be okay,” said Erick softly, rubbing his shoulder.

“Why did it have to be a performance piece? It’s such a huge chance….”

“It’ll be great.”

From the back of the stage came a faint blue glow, and a solitary lion with tattered bits of ribbon in its mane prowled across the ruins of the circus ring, its hide painted to make it look ghost-like and decayed. Charles almost had a fit.

“WAS THAT A REAL LION?!”

“Looked real to me,” said Erick. “Look there’s Nathan.”

Nathan followed out after the lion. The great cat paused and allowed him to give it a brief scratching. Charles felt his heart do something strange in his chest.

“Nathan just patted a lion.”

“You know it helps if you put your head between your knees,” said Birget.

“Why was I not told there would be lions involved?!”

“Dude, there’s already gonna be a weird lizard sex thing,” said Birget. “Why do you care about a lion?”

Nathan walked up to the microphone, while in the background a beautiful petite woman dressed in the ragged remains of an eighteenth century acrobat’s lace dress walked out to claim the lion. She guided it off stage with a light touch of her hand, the mighty animal following compliantly. The audience was eerily silent, waiting. Charles closed his eyes and hoped as Nathan waded into strange water.

“Lions in the street, and roaming,
dogs in heat, rabid, foaming.
A beast caged in the heart of the city.
The body of his mother rotting in the summer ground,
he fled the town.
Went down south and crossed the border,
left the chaos and disorder
back there over his shoulder.

One morning he awoke in a green hotel
with a strange creature groaning beside him.
Sweat oozed from its shining skin.
Is everybody in?
The ceremony is about to begin….”

There was not a word. Not a sound. Not a movement. Nathan had somehow channelled the Lizard King and mesmerized the crowd into utter stillness. Charles watched in absolute amazement as Nathan did something he would have sworn simply could not be done with a death metal crowd.

“So far so good…” Charles whispered.

“WAKE UP!”

Charles jumped at the sudden scream, reaching instinctively for the puppy in his pocket as the small animal squeaked, startled by the yell.

“It’s all right Rommel, it’s just daddy being loud.”

The puppy was not impressed. Charles however was riveted, watching as the light changed to an eerie green, and a truly enormous animatronic creature, half serpent, half woman, rose up to writhe like a worm on a hook, flopping grotesquely before finally dying. The music that Jim Morrison had intended as discordant and jarring had been altered, only slightly, so the discordance became dark and hellish. Nathan’s voice added to the evil, growling and snarling, inviting the innocent into madness and despair. Charles wondered if Nathan was aware of all the imagery and mythology woven into this song, this… poem? Piece? It was strange to hear the Byron-esque lyrics growled in such a matter. Strange, and… frightening.

“A beast car locked in against morning.
All now sleeping. Rugs silent. Mirrors vacant.
Dust lying under the beds of lawful couples wound in sheets,
And daughters smug with semen, eyes in their nipples…”

Charles scanned the audience to see how they were reacting to this wild divergence from the usual Dethklok music, and found they were silent and spellbound. The moshpit had stilled, and thousands of pairs of eyes stared in astonishment. Charles hoped it wasn’t just the “what the ding-dong buggery-fuck is THIS shit?!” moment before they began setting fire to the place and demanding their money back. But it didn’t seem to be. No. They may not be certain what this was, but they weren’t hating it.

The piece began winding softly down to its conclusion, becoming quieter and quieter, and the audience was mesmerized, stock-still and spellbound. Then the music stopped altogether, and Nathan stepped to the edge of the stage to deliver the last verse.

“For seven years I dwelt in the loose palace of exile,
Playing strange games with the girls of the island.
Now I have come again to the land of the fair and the strong and the wise.
Brothers and sisters of the pale forest, children of night,
Who among you will run with the hunt?
Now night arrives with her purple legions.
Retire now to your tents and to your dreams.
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth.
I want to be ready.”

The curtain silently fell. No one moved. Charles waited in unspoken dread, and was unprepared for the audience’s reaction when it came, but grinned as the booming roar went up, accompanied by the stomping and pounding and chanting. They’d loved it. They’d been served something radically different and they had loved it. He pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears of relief as Birget rubbed his back.

“Come on boss, let’s go back…. Oh hey, they’re doing an encore after all.”

The curtain drew back, and Charles felt a new sort of fear engulf him as he recognized the song. He pounded his fist against the glass, and yelled, not that it would do any good.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU BOYS ABOUT PLAYING ‘AWAKEN’ IN PUBLIC?!”

***---***

Charles walked into the dressing room and hurried over to Nathan, throwing his arms around him, breathing in that familiar smell of hot, sweaty rock star.

“You stink,” Charles said fondly.

Nathan managed a brief, tired laugh. “Man I can’t believe we pulled that off. I was scared out of my fucking tree.”

“You were brilliant,” said Charles softly. “Absolutely brilliant. Now about the lion and the fire-breathing….”

Nathan kissed him. “I’ve been taking lessons for months. And the lion belongs to Lyall. It’s about five million years old and has no teeth.”

“When did Pickles buy Lyall a lion?”

“About the same time he bought Erick that stupid horse. Speaking of stupid animals, hello stupid wiener-dog. You wanna say hi to daddy?”

Rommel huddled in Charles’ pocket and growled at the strange sweaty man that stunk of make-up. Nathan rolled his eyes.

“Terrific.”

Charles kissed Nathan again. “You were fantastic. I can’t say that often enough. That had to have been the best show of your professional career.”

“As good as Dark Side of the Moon?”

“Better. Far better. That was a truly great performance. No one will be topping that for a very long time, Nathan. After this tour Dethklok can rest in peace.”

Nathan breathed out a long sigh of relief. “Metal.”

***---***

Charles waited for the band to shower, clean up, and change. They were sore, and tired to the bone, but he could tell they were happy. The fan sites were already screaming about how Dethklok had rocked like never before, how fantastic the show had been, and yeah okay that last thing was really weird but it had rocked too.

They could retire undefeated.

“Pickles you need some help?” Nathan asked quietly, weary but content.

Pickles nodded. “Yeah. My back’s killing me.”

“Come on. Take my arm.”

“I’ve got him,” said Erick softly. “Skwisgaar, you okay?”

“Ja, I’s fines, where’s my Baby Cat?”

“Right here,” said Hazel sleepily. “I’m hungry.”

“We makes pizza on da bus,” said Toki. “I hungries too.”

“Where’s Knubbler?” asked Charles.

“Already on the bus,” said Murderface.

“That’s where we should be,” said Pickles, yawning. “I’m gonna sleep right through to New York.”

Nathan stretched, joints popping explosively. “Getting too old for this shit.”

They walked out of the dressing room, and saw the last person any of them expected to see; none other than Damien Cornickelson.

“So what exactly was that freakish conglomeration of noise at the end of your act called?” he asked snidely.

Nathan didn’t even hesitate. “ART METAL!”

Charles watched as Damien Cornickelson flew back to hit the wall, bouncing off of it and then dropping to the floor, where he lay stunned from the force of Nathan’s punch. Charles sighed quietly.

“Nathan what have I told you about punching people in the face?”

“Don’t punch people in the face?”

“That’s right. Don’t punch people in the face.”

“Let’s just go,” said Pickles, yawning.

Together, Dethklok quietly left the silent stadium, just as the lights above the stage began to shut off one by one.