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Screw the Bassist	By : LadyAriaa Category: +1 through F > Darkwing Duck Views: 1562 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck or any of its characters. All rights belong to disney. No money was made from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Note: Ok so this was supposed to be a short smut story involving redesigns I did for Bushroot and Liquidator but there were other ideas that decided to force themselves into my writing so I have decided to split it up into multiple chapters. So enjoy my crazy look into the metalverse of Darkwing Duck. The characters used in this story were inspired by a band poster I did for the fearsome five: http://ladyariaa.deviantart.com/art/Obey-the-Metal-215962593the actual story was inspired by a slash pic I did of metal Reggie and Bud.
These counterparts are of my own design and do not necessarily entirely reflect the personalities of the canon characters… reader discretion is advised.

Within a St. Canard of some distortion, metal rules. The many inhabitants held captive by the dark and twisted world of a single band. From the center of the many buildings rises a tribute to the might of the music gods, a home where only the warped dwell and only the deranged would venture.
But today, the vast manor breathed with the presence of hundreds bodies, hopeful followers of their metal idols. The silent walls in the majority of the large home betrayed the normally heavy atmosphere of the grounds. Nothing but the muted screams from the mysterious lower levels were resident echoes, and only the potential members packed within the massive front hall lent the manor any life.
Just outside the long, crowded hall, massive doors concealed the metal messiahs. A red glow was the only light to filter out the shadows of the room’s many dark fissures. The shaded walls were covered in carvings characteristic of the rest of the home. Dark designs, incredibly intricate in their twisted nature giving bold witness to the currency that went into them.
Even the large, long table in the center of the room was riddled with crimson patterns of dark scenes, lending its aesthetic to the four figures at its back. It was the only well-lit area of the room, casting menacing shadows upon the resident musicians. After over one hundred applicants, the band members could hardly claim enthusiasm at the thought of seeing anymore under qualified bassists to replace their recent mishap.
Bassists had never lasted long.
Each member of the band was quickly losing patience. They never liked doing work outside their music, and they had never wasted so much time looking for a qualified bassist among the drooling droves as they had that day.
Beneath the pale spotlight one of the many hopeful bassists dug his own grave in blissful oblivion. He had long since lost the attention of most of the band. The only reason he had not been stopped already was the currently unconscious state of a certain lead singer. They had only been a few moments into the latest audition before the mallard’s head had hit the table. His arms now hung lifelessly at his side, back bent uncomfortably to allow his masked face to rest gently on the surface in front of him. Even in his sleep his scowl attested to his foul mood.
The concoction of dog and water to his left was more interested in the amber bottle in his hand than the trial going on in front of him. The watery dreadlocks that were signature of the drummer slid back fluidly as he tipped the bottle up to look inside. A soft frown was the only response to the lack of alcohol. When the brief search proved futile, the disapproving canine lowered the bottle to stare at the duck still playing before them. A glance down the table told him that he was definitely less out of it than his fellow performers.
The red and black clad jester beside the sleeping Negaduck was obviously having a far harder time than the others. His leg shook furiously from the effort of being so uncharacteristically inert. How could they expect him to sit still so long just to look at a bunch of losers? He leaned forward over the table, resting his chin on its sleek surface as he frowned at the current dupe. “Boooo,” he spat at the increasingly boring guitarist.
“Ugh, I agree. I can barely hear and I’m less tone deaf than this asshole. Can we just end this, or… whatever it is we do again?”
The bored jester shifted his gaze lazily over to look at the source of the comment. The slim rat was leaning back in his hard metal chair, feet propped on the table’s surface. Even though Jack couldn’t see through his friend’s dark glasses, years of familiarity with the voltage junkie told him that his gaze was unfocused: a sure signal that his attention was waning.
“We end them Sparky. End them good!” Jack replied, never lifting his chin from the cool metal surface.
The watery drummer at the other end of the table stared down his now empty bottle with distain. Now he would have to track down someone to get him more booze. He grumbled slightly glancing over to the apparently oblivious bassist in front of them. “Hmm,” he mumbled tossing the drained whiskey bottle over his wet shoulder where it broke with a soft shatter. “Since Negs is apparently too out of it to offer an opinion at the moment. I think we can all agree to ditch this bitch.”
After a quick glance at the currently passed out lead singer next to him Jack quickly straightened, bouncing slightly in his seat. “Oh, oh! I get ta press the button,” he didn’t wait for agreement from his band mates before slamming his palm roughly onto the large red button in just in front of the resting singer.
The action not only sent the pitiful hopeful screaming down a deep crevice to the fearsome bowels of the house, but woke the sleeping mallard with the aggravation of the resulting noise. As the growling Negaduck lifted his head irately, Jack slipped his hand behind his back as if the action would be sufficient to mask his guilt.
The now fuming duck glanced around him, the furious red of his eyes scanning for the annoyance that would dare wake him. An innocent smile lit up Jack’s face as the burning eyes of the other fixed upon him.
“Did you press my button fuck face?” the question was cold and harsh with a knowing tone beneath it. The mallard knew damn well who touched his button.
“Uhh… no?”
Negaduck narrowed his gaze, reaching calmly forward to grip the back collar around the clown’s neck. He yanked the other duck forward harshly pulling his neck so that their beaks were mere centimeters apart. His stare bore into the cringing guitarist, practically making his large teeth chatter.
“Don’t ever touch my button asswhipe,” Negaduck hissed in response.
“Got it boss,” Jack choked, his voice slightly harsh from the tightness around his neck. “I don’t get to play with the button.”
Negaduck gave him one last snarl before releasing his grip. “And don’t you forget it chuckles.”
As the perturbed rhythmist caught his breath and rubbed his fingers gently along his tender neck, the singer turned his attention to the massive list of names in front of him. He pulled a small knife from his boot, slashing off the latest failure. “Well at least that’s one more knob down.”
Elmo cocked his head to the side at this statement: struck by a rare moment of contemplation. He let himself fall forward so that the chair was no longer tipped, the resulting clank of the chair legs hitting the marble floor earning him the attention of the others.
“Do ya ever feel bad for em’?” he questioned randomly.
“Hell no! They knew what they were in for,” Jack replied, pausing to pull out one of the wavers he had conveniently stored in his pants. “It states clearly in this release form that shitty performance may, and probably will, result in disembowelment.”
“Yeah well still sucks for any asshole who tries to be our bassist,” Bud decided to chime in now that he had received another bottle of whiskey from a nameless underling.
“Pfft, who gives a shit about the bassist anyway? How many have we gone through in the past month? Ten or some shit like that?” Jack said, scratching absently at the thick plumage above his shirt.
“Hehhe, gotta admit though, some of em’ were pretty damn fun to get rid of,” The rat snickered from beside him.
“Heehehee, like Trent?”
It only took a knowing glance from the grinning clown to set the two off in a fit of laughter. The mallard in the center rubbed at his temples as he fumed. He was really starting to regret drinking as much as he had the night before.
As the two continued to laugh, he calmly reached behind the cackling jester’s head before slamming it furiously onto the table in front of them. Elmo bit his lip to stifle his laughs as Jack rubbed at his sore head.
“Oooh, man,” He groaned “that was way worse than usual.”
A gurgling snort sounded from the opposite end of the table as the scene unfolded. Jack flipped his head abruptly to glare at the smirking puddle.
“Go fuck yourself Bud,” he grumbled.
The still smiling drummer smooched his watery lips at his perturbed band mate. A certain finger was his only response.
Negaduck shot a burning scowl at Bud just to warn him to choose his actions carefully. The watery canine simply leaned his head on his hand and sat back to watch the show. Convinced the other wouldn’t be an issue, Negaduck returned his attention to the two guitarists to his right.
“You wanna know who fuckin’ cares about the bassist faggot? I DO! I’m fucking sick of being here and if we don’t FINISH this soon I swear to all that is evil that I will tear your balls out through your throat. SO SHUT YOUR OVERSIZED FACE!”
Jack slouched down in his chair as the other mallard finished his rant. He let his arms fall to his sides, his fingertips grazing the ground as a pouting expression settled on his face. The furious lead singer turned back to the list in front of him, satisfied for the moment that the crazed duck would shut his hole for a while. He made a mental note to make him suffer later.
Red eyes attempted to focus through the hangover induced haze that had invaded his vision. He growled at the paper, tossing the clipboard to the side.
“Just send the next asshole in!” he spat at the nearest lackey as he leaned his elbows on the table so he could rub at his burning eyes.
The band servant’s mumbled obedience went ignored by the duck as the employee rushed to produce the next applicant. The large doors of the great hall groaned in protest as they were forced open to admit the newest victim. Negaduck slid his hands off his eyes forcing them to make out the newcomer. He’d better be fucking good, he thought to himself.
Each member of the band took in the new arrival, all sizing him up in their own way. Only Elmo seemed not to care much. The messy black mop of hair and dim light in the room shielded much of the slim duck’s face as he approached the table. Bud tipped his head as he watched the figure approach. The primarily black trench coat against his white plumage made him look as though he was taken from an old movie. There was nothing but the orange shine of his beak to lend him any color. Bud chuckled internally at the thought. Negs would probably blow the poor sap’s head in if he was anything like a classic movie actor.
The long coat trailed behind him as he walked towards the group, held down only by the guitar that was slung over his back. He came to a stop some five feet in front of the scrutinizing band, finally lifting his head to observe the others. His long, shaggy bangs cast shadows along his static face in a slightly eerie display. As brilliant blue eyes shifted along the table Bud couldn’t help but stare. So there was some color after all.
After his cursory inspection of the figures in front of him, the blank-faced duck dropped his gaze once again as he fished in his coat. Slim fingers produced a red pack of cigarettes from which he shook one of the sticks loose, pulling it out with his beak and lighting it quickly. The entire action was fluid with familiarity. Probably a chain smoker, Bud noted to himself.
“So,” Negaduck’s gravelly voice suddenly growled, tearing the drummer from his thoughts “I’m fuckin’ pissed and I’m hung over as hell. So tell us whatever lame name your filthy parents saddled you with and play something before I kill a bitch.”
The potential bassist was silent for a moment as though thinking over his answer. “Reginald Bushroot,” he stated simply.
“Pfft, what a gay name,” Jack mumbled softly.
The quite statement received a strong punch to the jaw. “Oow!” He griped, rubbing at the place where he had been hit. Negaduck didn’t even bother to acknowledge him this time.
Reggie cocked an eyebrow at the display. It seemed the lead singer wanted to get this over with as quickly as he did. “So can I play now or what?” the tall duck questioned, replacing his already dying cigarette with a fresh one.
“You’d better before I maim you.”
Reggie didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled the bass from his back, flipping it around and connecting the jack absently to the sleek blue guitar. He blew at his bangs to remove some from his face as his fingers began to move along the strings. The tune was oddly heavy, as though the cords were resisting their treatment, but it was hardly an unpleasant one.
Negaduck had to admit that as he watched the other play that he was better than he had expected. Just a glance at the slender duck told the mallard that he would be easy to keep in line. He wasn’t nearly interesting enough, but that could be fixed. A glance to the discarded clipboard that held the hundreds of names that they had already interviewed combined with another throb of his migraine convinced him to take what he could get.
“Alright bush-brain I’m gonna stop you right there,” he waited until the bassist’s blue eyes were focused on him again. Bushroot lifted the smoking cancer in his hand back to his bill as the mallard stared him down. Negaduck sat back in his chair pondering his course of action.
“Why do you want this job?” He finally asked.
“Money,” was the simple reply.
“That’s it?” Elmo decided to interject “None of that ‘I want my name in lights’ bullshit?”
“No.”
“Mmm…” Negaduck muttered “Well here’s the deal Reginald, I have seen literally hundreds of talentless assholes, and since you are the only loser so far that has not made me want to devour my own soul I’m gonna give you the job.”
“Heeey, don’t we get an opinion on this?” Jack complained, forgetting all previous warnings. In his defense he only flinched slightly when the evil mallard turned back towards him.
“He does kinda have a point,” Elmo interposed on the jester’s behalf leaning over the table to stare through his heavily tinted glasses at the singer.
Negaduck narrowed his eyes at the rat before turning over his shoulder to question the dripping dog beside him. “I suppose you have an opinion too, eh drippy?”
Bud shrugged in response. “Don’t bring me into this. He’s good enough for me.”
“Well I think he’s a douche,” Jack huffed, not hesitating to put in his opinion.
Reggie’s eyes narrowed slightly at the comment, but he remained silent watching the band in front of him.
“I’ve got something that will fix him. Besides I don’t really give a fuck what you think,” Negaduck retorted.
“Well what about Mo?” The fuming jester said crossing his arms over his chest and looking to the rodent at his right. The rat was plucking at his guitar, playing out one of their newest songs. The metal strings rattled without the amp but the tune was still recognizable.
“Wha?” he questioned when he finally noticed he was suddenly the attention of the entire room.
“You have no idea what we’re talking about anymore do you?” the jester asked dolefully.
“We were talking about something?” he questioned, laughing slightly as he returned to his string plucking.
Negaduck blinked irately at the pair. Why am I CONSTANTLY surrounded by idiots?
“Looks like you’re hired douchebag,” he said finally returning his attention to the duck in front of them. “But only under one condition.”
Reggie shifted his head to the side narrowing his eyes at the group. “Like what?” he questioned suspiciously.
The menacing mallard grinned for the first time since the interviews had started, “We gotta metal you up some boy.”

Oh gee, I wonder what they will do to him.
Well there you have it, chapter 1! Just to reiterate, these are not supposed to be the canon characters. They are counterparts of my own design so if they seem out of character at all I don’t give a crap :P they’re supposed to be. Also this will be slash eventually, so if you don’t like get out now.
Now honk if you liked my story.
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Screw the Bassist