narrettwist (narrettwist) wrote in dethslash, @ 2009-04-01 16:58:00 |
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Current music: | One Four Five -- the Cat Empire |
Enjoy an april 1st
Title: I work for Deth
Author: narrettwist
Rating: g/pg
Warnings: nothing, unless random acts of accidental death
Summary: My very first Dethklok fan-fic, never before posted on a forum or something like that. Oh, it's about some random klokateer who wrote a book.
Disclaimer: It's lame but I don't own Metalocalypse.
“—a blearing tell all. Do you have a name we can call you tonight?” The voice drifted out of the speakers as the TV was turned on.
“I have no name, I am only known as the number Seven Fourteen. This is no tell all either, I have nothing to say against the gods of metal. This is merely an account of what it takes and what the best job in the world is really like.” A blunt answer came from a bulky person dressed head to toe in a black uniform, face covered in a black executioner style hood. A cheer went up from a room deep within the walls of Mordhaus.
“Mother Douchbaegs, can’t they keep it down, we’re trying to watch this too.” Pickles sat down on the edge a couch, cradling a glass of a sweet smelling fruity mixed drink, sitting next to him were the two Scandinavian, Toki was directly next to him and Skwisgaar was sitting on the edge playing his guitar which was always draped across his body. This was an interview he had wanted to watch and was just sober enough to have remembered it. One of their very own workers had written a book on how great it was to work for DethKlok, he had read some of it and had thought it wasn’t all that bad, but he had been drinking when he read it so who knew.
“So can you tell me what prompted this sudden outreach from someone so close to the heart of it all? This could be the very first insiders look into the world’s greatest musical genius.” The interview wasn’t going so well, at least not as the studio had planned it, but it was still going better than the last interview with the band had, no one was dead yet and no one had been urinated on, but three of the top lights had caught fire and crashed, delaying the interview for a few minutes.
“It’s like I said in the book, we Klok-a-teers get trashed by people who don’t think it’s a hard and brutal job working for the greatest band ever. Some people think its all fluff to work for something that has an economic standing of the twelfth richest country, richer than Belgium. It is in fact the most brutal and metal thing before DethKlok itself. We, the Klok-a-teers are the brutality behind the scenes.” 714 was sitting comfortably in a red chair, leaning back into one if its corners as the station’s lead journalist was seated across trying to not get killed or catch fire while conducting this once-in-a-lifetime interview.
Another cheer went up that reverberated through the bowls of the building, Pickles’ frowned, “Gad. You’d think they’d all know this guy or sommthing the way they’re carrying on.”
“Is wants to cheers him ons too. He sound brutals to mes.” Toki looked around innocently to the others, in his lap sat a large bowl of candies from his free endorsement deal, wrappers sat all around him as he gorged himself on the sugar.
“Uh, boys, 714 is one of our Klok-a-teers. He works for you, and they do know him, they work for you too.” Charles walked in to take a seat and watch this with the band. It wasn’t often that he had time to himself, and he hadn’t been with the guys lately because of this book. They had a band meeting about it and everything, but it didn’t matter, they were in their own world. Skwisgaar moved over just enough to let their manager sit, although his guitar neck was in the way. Toki moved onto the floor to get out of the way of the Swede’s constant playing.
“Shusch. It’sh getting to a good part.” Murderface had destroyed a corner of another couch, but was currently ignoring his knife which was sticking out of the side of the furniture.
“—it’s a normal hazard for us, like paper cuts or stapled fingers for you. Dismemberment, disemboweling, being attacked by the yard wolves, the hungry dungeon rats, the diseases from the bodies clogging the pipes, getting shot, scalping, overdose, poisoning, bloodrocution; but we don’t mind, it makes the job more metal. And we gladly put ourselves on the line for our lords, they come before all.” The words casually slipped through his lips, as if these truly were everyday activities in the work description.
“He’s right that is pretty brutal.” Nathan said in his gravelly voice. He pulled a recorder out and pressed a button talking into it “Song idea. Clogged with Bodies. Diseased Pipes. Bloodrocution, wait we already did that one. Good song.”
“So you mention that you’ve met the band, and that you’ve spent time around them as a Klok-a-teer, any interesting stories you’d like to share with us?” The newscaster’s voice quavered a bit, and his face had paled from the idea of disfiguration being as common as a paper cut.
“Sure I’ve spent some time with the band; all of us get to, it’s our job to be on site for whatever they need. Most of us spend time on guard duty, but some of us have work in Mordhaus, depends on the shifts and your area of specialty. I worked mostly inside carrying about heavy things, I’m good at what I do and what I can’t most the least is do a bad job. So yeah, you can say I spent some time around the masters.”
“Heys that’s the questions I askes the unzbozzlers thats day yous tells us abouts the unzbozzler, Charlies.” Skiwsgaar turned to the man next to him who was sipping at some coffee out of Pickle’s skull mug. “Was hes the guys who unzbozzles from us?”
“No Skwisgaar. It’s not the same guy.” He sighed sending steam up out of his mug into his glasses, causing them to fog up.
“Hey did we ever chatsch that guy?” Murderface was back to destroying the couch now that the part about bodily harm was over.
“No, Yes. Didn’t I tell you at the Viking funeral that you were embezzling your own money, so we just blamed it on the dead guy? It was your idea.” Charles found that no matter what happened here the guys would just forget about it in a few weeks.
“Ja, dats was a goods funeral. Nice fires and everytings.” Skwisgaar ran his hands up the scales of his guitar.
“Justs likes back homes, right Skwisgaars?” Toki said sleepily, the bowl was already empty and his skin color was pale enough to worry Charles. It looked like another diabetic coma was approaching their rhythm guitarist.
“Shush. Dudes he’s talkin’ about us. Listen up.”
“—ol of blood.”
“Pisch, I misched a good part.”
“—they had been drinking and had created a new game that involved Explosion Sauce and water balloons—”
“Is remembers dat, I tolds yous guys Is all-er-gik to des cilantros.”
“—and his face swelled up. They all seemed to find this amusing, except Master Nathan, he was angry. They had a show to do and now their lead guitarist was a puffed balloon. Despite this we still had to set up the Dethchopper for the road, so we continued to move the equipment trying to avoid the areas where the barbeque sauce balloons had popped. There aren’t too many stories in here about our masters; the anecdotes are mostly about us, the workers who have the best jobs in the world.” He leaned forward in the chair to get closer to the news caster and growled, “The best.” A cheer went up that was the loudest yet, it shook the rest of the house causing Toki’s candy bowl to fall off of his stomach onto the floor, it clanged loudly on the ground.
“I’m going to takes a fucking nap. I wants to sees this though, cans we gets it on D Vee D?” he started to drift into sleep leaning on Skwisgaar, then having been pushed over onto Pickles, passed out.
“Pfft. Is don’ts wants no crybabies sleepings ons me.”
“Whatever, hey chief, yous asleep.” He nudged the sleeping Norwegian, “Ugh, he’s gone. We getting this on TiVo or something?”
“Uhhh…. Chyeah, Picklesch you’ve been recordin thisch piesch of schit the whole time. Pisch!” Murderface dragged his knife through couch.
“Uh, actually … Nevermind.” Charles knew that everything was a lost cause with these guys, so he just sat there, trying to stay out of the way of Skwisgaar’s guitar, while drinking his coffee. He would just get a copy of this from the news production and give that to Toki instead of trying to explain why this wasn’t being recorded.
“—Amazing. That is really a truly amazing story of what you guys are doing. If you don’t mind I’d like to read a small excerpt from your book, explaining the process of how you got hired.” The telecaster cleared his throat and began to read from a tagged page in the book. The cover was hidden from the camera’s view.
“ ‘We all listened as Charles Ofdensen, the manager of it all, told us what we needed to do in order to be welcomed into Mordhaus. As he told us we were just worthless scum until we had proven ourselves, Facebones offered us that chance. Having been asked to fight to the death with those around ourselves we knew that this was just like the real world, the wild world, the world of the beasts. Only the strongest would survive, only the best would be accepted into the embrace of Dethklok. We fought brutally, fist and tooth, to be one of the best; we knew that if we survived this, we would be working for the most brutal and most metal of all musical gods.
As the fallen bodies began to build up, those of us who had survived crawled out from the destruction and mayhem knew that we were the best, the strongest, and fit to survive and work. That was the day we received our numbers and branding, that we all held in the highest regards, we now had the greatest jobs in the world. We worked for Dethklok now.’
“Wow I want to have that job too, sounds brutally awesome. Well thank you Number 714 for coming onto our show to discuss this year’s, as well as the all time top selling book, I Work For Deth.” The news man stood up to shake 714’s hand when another top light exploded into flames and came crashing down severing his arm and causing him to catch fire. Number 714 stood up, rang a small silver bell, and walked away as the journalist crisped.
“That was the most brutal interview I have ever seen. Fucking brutal. Idea for a song: man gets killed, burned to a crisp right on TV. And that happens forever.” Nathan grumbled into his recorder.