If the Shoe fits

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Pickles/OC
Warnings: Some violence, language
Summary: Nasty things come in hot packages.
Notes:

Gear 44,890, aka Misty, sat in the bar with a collection of other Dethklok gears, including one member of Dethklok. Pickles was off in the corner sobbing his heart out on Badger. Misty gazed into the depths of her bottle, swirling the remaining fluid.

“Tarbender! Another beer an’ shot of Amaretto.”

The bartender gave her both. Misty drank down some of the beer, then poured in the Amaretto.

“That’s disgusting,” noted Gear 44,837, aka Bobbi.

“It’s Breakfast,” said Misty, watching the Amaretto slowly settle into the beer.

“It’s not even Midnight.”

“No it’s called Breakfast, that’s the name of the drink.”

“Looks disgusting.”

“Y’want one?”

“Sure.”

Misty ordered her friend the same, and the two sat and gazed morosely at a large photo in a black frame, bedecked with black ribbon. It was of a very large and powerful man, fair skinned, silver-white hair, and pale blue-grey eyes. He was wearing a Gear uniform, holding a puzzled-looking female grey wolf. Misty raised her bottle to him.

“Bye Daniel. We’ll never forget you.”

Bobbi turned her head to look at Pickles. “The little drummer boy is sure taking it hard.”

Misty had a long drink, then set her beer down. “Yeah I’d take it hard too if I found my fiancé dead in a hall.”

Bobbi’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know they were that serious!”

Misty nodded. “Oh yeah. They were talking the whole nine yards, civil union and adopting kids. They were gonna make a family.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Oh cripes I’m gonna be sick. Poor Pickles. I didn’t know. Is that why they transferred Danny to hospital duty? So he could be with Pickles and out of danger, allegedly?”

“Yup,” said Misty. She sighed heavily. “Let’s get loaded.”

The two women sat and drank. Most of the bar was filled with Gears, with a sprinkling of regulars who were not entirely certain what was going on, though they clearly realized it was not a happy occasion. The regulars sat and drank and watched the imposing Gears. One man got up and walked over to Pickles, speaking with him briefly. Judging from Pickles’ reaction he had met the man before, and they hugged quickly before the man returned to his friends.

“I gotta take a piss,” said Misty.

“Well don’t take one of mine,” said Bobbi.

Misty reached down and pulled off her shoes, setting them on the bar. “Guard these.”

Bobbi picked one up, jaw dropping. “What the hell are these?”

"Those are custom made six inch platform stilettos, with a solid polished aluminum heel and a bramble thorn motif.”

“These can’t possibly be approved by Offdensen for uniform wear,” said Bobbi, turning over the gleaming black and silver shoe, examining the sharp thorns.

“One, Charlie-boy ain’t here, two, I’m off-duty, and three… I gotta pee. Heh. I’m a poet and didn’t know it.”

“And your big feet show it,” said Bobbi, holding up the shoe. “They’re Longfellows and they smell like the Dickens.”

“Clever.”

“I’ll be here all week. And if you have trouble ‘going’ just make like a mathematician and work it out with a pencil.”

Misty tottered off to the bathroom, ignoring the looks she got from the drunks. She knew she was beautiful; at least she was told often enough. She had long pale gold hair, big green eyes, and huge tits. She was also very small, with a tiny waist, full curving hips, and stood a whopping five feet even in her bare feet. Men loved her. She was forever getting bad come-ons from men. She had learned from a very young age to hit first and ask questions later because there were a lot of guys who saw big boobs as an excuse to start feeling her up and dry-humping her. Misty had become a Gear to make sure no one messed with her again.

She’d had her doubts about the validity of her plan when on day five of her new job Skwisgaar Skwigelf came around the corner, and stopped dead, staring at her. Oh great, the biggest man-whore on the planet. Well she wasn’t taking shit from the God of Rock either. She held her post as he came over… and learned how it was he managed to lay every woman on the planet. He was sweet, he was gentle, and best of all he understood female body language implicitly. When Misty became uncomfortable he pulled back. When she became more at ease he moved closer. He was a slut but she couldn’t fault his sense of what women liked. She now had an easy and peaceful friendship with the big boob, and was terribly fond of him. It was nice to have a guy-friend with benefits.

The fact that he could go all night like a jackhammer didn’t hurt either.

Misty returned a few minutes later to find the last thing she wanted to see; some drunk piece of shit sitting next to her friend. Bobbi looked annoyed, but if things got out of hand she could always call one of the guys. Or on the other hand she could just smash a glass in his face. Misty seated herself in her place, feeling her body tensing as she awaited the first stupid thing he did.

“Hi!” he slurred, smiling.

“Fuck off,” said Misty. She took her shoes off the bar and put them on, in no mood to be polite. She was drunk, she wasn’t crazy about men at the best of times, and this was a wake not a damned pick-up party.

“Heyyyy… c’mon there’s no need to be like that! I’m just being friendly! Y’got really… pretty hair.”

He raised his hand to touch her hair. Misty reacted with the speed of a snake, stabbing her heel down onto the drunk’s work boot. The thorns punched through the leather upper, wool sock, and human foot, gouging bone and tearing flesh. The drunk screamed in agony, and Misty yanked her heel out. She then looked at Bobbi, eyes red rimmed and bleary.

“I warned him.”

“You did,” agreed Bobbi.

“You fucking slut-bag whore!” the drunk screamed. “I ought fuck you up the ass just to teach you a lesson! Stupid bitch!”

Misty had a degree in child psychology. Her main job at Mordhaus was to help Charles sort through the myriad of emotional disorders plaguing Dethklok so he could better understand how to handle them. However being a Gear meant she also had Marine-style combat training, and when the drunk lunged, Misty dispatched him with a few swift blows. As he landed on the floor, nose broken, foot bleeding, she stood over him, boobs threatening to spill from her shirt at any second.

“The only thing you’re ever gonna fuck again is in your dreams.”

She raised the lethal heel over his genitals and drove it down with a vengeance. The drunk shrieked. Every male in the place winced and grimaced. Misty stumbled back to her chair, secure in her actions the way only a Dethklok Gear can be. She took off her shoe and made a futile attempt to remove the gore with a cocktail napkin.

"Why do they neeeever listen when I tell them t’ fuck off?" she asked the world in general.

"You're too cute to be brutal,” said Bobbi.

"Fuck you.”

“Okay,” said Bobbi. “My place or yours?”

“Mine. I got an appointment with seven feet of guitar hero for a little comfort sex. I don’t think he’ll mind if I bring a friend.”

“We’re not supposed to be fucking the talent.”

“Well it’s not my fault he’s fucking talented.”

Misty paid for the drinks, then semi-fell from her barstool. Slipping an arm around Bobbi, they stepped out of the bar and into the rainy city night. In the distance could be heard a siren, either police or ambulance. Misty hailed a cab, and together the two went back to Mordland to continue their grieving in peace.