Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Do it yourself!	By : varenoea Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2070 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metaocalypse or its characters, and this is a non-profitable work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
“So. You knows how to handles dat thing.” Skwisgaar eyes the little flat box curiously.
“Yes. I seens it on TV.” Toki pushes the on button expertly.
“And it’s calleds an excalators.”
“No, it’s a calskulators. We just puts in de numbers and it tells us what’s left in de end.”
“Good. Shows me.”
“See, three plus fours. Is seven.”
“Good! Strange things, still. It looks likes a tuners, but it’s got no hole to put yours cables intoside.”
“Now just tells me numbers and I calskulates.”
Skwisgaar picks up the first stack of bills. “Two-thousandsfourhundred and fifteensthousandandsixhundredandeigthies…one. And ninehundredandthree. And eleventhousandsandeightshundredandninetytwos.”
“Wait, wait…” Toki’s voice shows a hint of panic. “I typeds it wrong!”
“We can’t do it wrong! It’s must be right!” Skwisgaar gets infected by Toki’s panic and snatches the calculator out of Toki’s hands. “Let me tries it!”
Toki dictates. “Two-thousandsfourhundred and fifteensthousandandsixhundredandeigthies…one. And ninehundredandthree. And…”
Skwisgaar has lost track of his own fingers. If there are no sounds to tell him what’s right or wrong, he doesn’t even know on what button his finger was last.
“Waits. Waits. Charles calskulates it all in de computers. In Ex-sell.”
“Oh, Ex-sell! Dat sounds easies!” Toki says, visibly relieved.

The next day, Charles can manage to speak, but not much and not loud. He needs long breaks. Also, now that he is slightly more conscious, Pickles’ presence begins to be an incredible nuisance. He is glad that someone is here; he just wishes it was Nathan. Pickles won’t shut up.
“I can’t be sick”, Charles whispers into a general summary of Pickles’ funny adventures in the 80s. “I need to – to do my job!”
“You can’t”, says Pickles. “We’ll be fine without you for a while.”
Charles won’t waste his breath on telling Pickles that they couldn’t run a business if their life depended on it. Which is pretty much the case anyway. But right now, he couldn’t protect them even if his injuries were less bad. He doesn’t feel like the man he was a week ago. It’s like his nerves have finally realized what he has been doing all along, and the mere idea of it is making his stomach flutter now.
“I’m scared”, he whispers.
“What?” Pickles leans closer.
“I’m scared. Now I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of what happened… two days ago.”
Pickles bites his lower lip and scratches his neck. “Did the doctor tell you that you’ll never be able to walk again?”
Charles’ body bucks off the mattress. Pain shoots through his chest, so hard he can’t breathe. His insides feel icy cold. “What?” he mouths, but it’s inaudible.
Then he sees Pickles’ lopsided grin. “Aaaah, gotcha! Just kidding, dude!”
He lies very still, with tears in his eyes, and then he says: “I’ll kill you, Pickles. When I’m out of this bed, I’ll kill you. This is not a joke.”
“But you’re not scared any more!” says Pickles triumphantly.
The upward movement wasn’t good for the arrow wound. In Charles’ chest, new pain begins to unfold like a flower, and gnashing his teeth is the only thing that keeps him from screaming.
“Charlie? Charlie, what’s wrong? Oh no, you don’t fool me! Haha. I’m not falling for that, right after I fooled you… Charlie?”
He can’t even tell Pickles to fetch a nurse, much less break his nose, like he wants to. He just wants this to be over, please, just let the pain be gone.
“Charlie!” Pickles’ voice comes from far away.
“Need… painkillers”, hisses Charles, and hopes that the words were intelligible.
He hears Pickles shout words into the telephone by the bed and feels Pickles’ hand rub his forehead. “They’re here in a second. Just breathe. You’ll be okay, Charlie. I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry!”
Pickles’ words are a string of pearls by which he can make his way along and stay conscious. He doesn’t let go until the cold liquid is in his vein and the pain begins to cease. Pickles’ hand is still on his forehead. Somehow, it’s a bit of comfort after all.

“Oooh! Dat’s neats!”
“Looks at all dese little… squares! Now we just puts de numbers in de squares?”
“Yah”, explains Toki. “And it tells us how muchs it is.”
“Okay. Two-thousandsfourhundred, fifteensthousandandsixhundredandeigthiesone, ninehundredandthree, and eleventhousandsandeightshundredandninetytwos.”
Toki has typed them all in and looks at his work proudly until it dawns on him that something is wrong. “Where’s de sums now?”
“I don’t knows.”
Toki goes through the buttons and presses them randomly. A lot of things happen, but not one he would want to happen. “Damns it, we can’t s does it like dis! Hey, computer!”
“Comes on, computers, spits it out, we needs to know!” Skwisgaar walks around the box and then does what people all across the universe do when things don’t work: he gives it a good hard kick. The monitor trembles, but no numbers appear on the screen.
“We gots to tell it how to sums”, mumbles Toki, who has sunken hopelessly into his chair. “But how do we does dat?”
Skwisgaar sits back down, gnashing his teeth. “Fuck. We can does de claskulations on papers.”
“But it’s so much, dat would takes a week!”
“I knows.” Skwisgaar exhales and buried his forehead in his hands. “We’s not dumbs, Toki, are wes? We can does it, I just don’t knows… how. We can does it, fuck it!”
Toki doesn’t answer. His eyes look empty, like he doesn’t even have the energy to cry. “We’re fuckeds, Skwisgaar. Fuckeds.”

Nathan, glasses on his nose, is sitting hunched over the table, looking at a paper. Knubbler is there to help him and Murderface go through the papers, but the task appears hopeless.
“Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm… fuck.”
“How is it going, Nathan?”
“This is the tenth paper. And I understand the first paragraph. For the first time. After I read it four times.”
“And you, William?”
Murderface is still going through his first paper. He appears to be reading it, rather than to stop after the first unintelligible paragraph.
“If you don’t understand it, it’s no use reading the whole text”, offers Knubbler. “Just try something else.”
“Who says I don’t understand it?” growls Murderface and hides behind the paper again.
Knubbler sighs and turns back to Nathan. “You would need a lawyer to go through that.”
“Yeah, I know. But our lawyer is sick.”
“You could use the yellow pages and hire someone to help you.”
“Hiring! That’s the problem! We can’t hire anyone, because we don’t understand the words to it!” Nathan shouts, curling his fist on the table. “Here, look at that! What’s executive compensation, huh?”
“Ahem!”
“I don’t know.” Knubbler’s eyes roll around in his head and scan the walls for helpful literature.
“Ahem!”
“Maybe we could kidnap a lawyer and force him to help us”, ponders Nathan.
“Threaten to beat him up, huh?” Knubbler scratches his chin. “That might actually work.”
“A-he-che-che-chem!”
“Are you dying or are you trying to tell us something?” Knubbler’s eyes roll around to Murderface. His head doesn’t move the slightest bit.
“I know what executive compensation is, but it’s a long thing to explain.” Murderface sighs at his own brilliance.
“How do you know?” Nathan growls.
Murderface gives him a very reproachful look. “I’m a notary. I thought you knew that.”
Nathan, who is still trying to fit the word “notary” and the concept that is Murderface into the same brain region, remembers dimly. “Oh yeah. You said that once. – Well then, you’re much better at this than me, so I can go get some beer!”
“Nathan!” Knubbler calls after him.
“Yeah?”
“You can’t get beer now. We have hundreds of willing workers around to rebuild the house! We need the blueprints from Charles’ office. And then you have to bring the Klokateers together, and get them to make an outline of the damage and the materials needed. Oh, and then we need someone to order all the materials!”
Nathan begins to understand that he made a mistake in wanting to get beer. “Shit. That’s a lot of work.”
“You have got the most manly and rugged job around here”, Knubbler tells him. “Have you never built a tree house or something?”
“Well… I built a dog house once… in the garden.”
“There you are, you’re perfectly qualified!” Knubbler grins. “And besides, nobody can elate the Klokateers like you can.”
Nathan sighs. “Yeah. Probably. Shit.”

It’s only nearly midnight, but the hard work has made the guys tired. The tour bus is silent and dark. Skwisgaar has gone back into the house once more, to have a look at his room and go in search of any undamaged guitars. He has returned with an a load of them, and he will have to store them on his bed, but that’s okay. He can share his bed with guitars. That’s fine.
Now he just needs to take a leak and then drop into bed.
Everybody else seems to be asleep, but there’s light in the bathroom. He opens the door quietly.
Under the shower, which is next to the door, there’s a big lump in a corner. When he looks twice, he sees that it’s Toki.
“Oh noes”, Skwisgaar mumbles in a low voice. “I knows you’re feelingks bad, Toki, but dis is a cliché.”
Toki doesn’t even lift his head. He just sniffles, arms wrapped around his knees.
“How long are yous here?”
Toki swallows noisily.
“Gets out of dat showers.”
Suddenly, Toki starts to talk. His voice is low and he talks mostly into his knees. “I wishs I was hurts like Charles.”
Skwisgaar can’t help coming closer in what he tells himself is morbid fascination.
“’cause den I coulds get bandaged.” Toki’s voice breaks. “Den it would heals.”
Skwisgaar, moved by something he doesn’t feel often, grabs a thick towel the size of a small country and unfolds it. He walks into the shower and puts the towel around Toki’s shoulders. Then he sits beside Toki on the tiles. Wetness is creeping through the bottom of his jeans.
For a long time, nobody says a word.
“It is healingks”, Skwisgaar says finally. “In somes time, it don’t hurts so much any mores.”
Toki presses his head harder on his knees. He’s shaken by sobs, but no sound can be heard.
Skwisgaar puts a hesitant hand on Toki’s shoulder. Maybe Toki needs a break before getting his shit together. “Yeah. Cries it out. It’s good for yous.”
“Why’s it haves to be likes dat?” Toki asks in a very low voice.
Skwisgaar does not feel at home on the comforting sector. “You dad was olds. Old peoples die. Dat’s how it is.”
“I didn’ts fulfil his last wish. I didn’ts makes it.”
Skwisgaar remembers the long, thin white scars you can see on Toki’s back only in a certain light. “He was an assholes anysways. But you needs to bes sad. Dat’s normal. It’ll gets better.” He swallows and shoves and arm around Toki, ready to try and pull him up from the ground. The water on the floor is cold. Toki is in danger of catching a flu.
“And Charles… what… what if Charles… we’s fuckeds without hims!” Toki lifts his head. Long strands are hanging into his bloodshot eyes.
“No we’s not. We can does it. Wait until tomorrows. Now we’re tireds, but tomorrow we’ll does it again.” Skwisgaar means this. He knows it. He knows they have the tool to solve their task. He just hasn’t found the place where to use it.
Toki trembles, and Skwisgaar pulls the towel around him.
“Everbody’s dyingks”, Toki sniffs in a broken voice.
“Not Charles.”
“I want it shoulds stops hurtingk”, Toki whispers. “I wants dis shoulds all be a bad dreams.”
It’s not, of course. Skwisgaar feels his throat constrict, and tears come up behind his eyelids. He cries too damn easily. But right here, there’s no blame in doing it. He puts his other arm around Toki’s shoulders too, leans his head on Toki’s wet hair and cries without a sound. Toki holds on to his arm so hard it hurts, but Skwisgaar doesn’t feel like he has to stop it. It’s necessary. It’s good for them.

At five in the morning, Toki jumps up from his bed, groaning: “It’s alls easy!” He sits up in the darkness, listening to his own heartbeat, and rakes his brain to find out if what he thought in his sleep makes sense in the real world too.
“It’s all easy!” he repeats incredulously.
“Hmwat?” Skwisgaar, on the bunk bed on the other side, looks at him with bleary eyes.
“Skwisgaar, come on!” Toki climbs out of his bed, careful not to step on Nathan, and waves Skwisgaar to follow him. They sit down on one of the couches, with a little table lamp.
“What’s easies?” mumbles Skwisgaar, not quite aware where he is, or who he is.
“De casklusations! We does it all de times! What’s a quarters note and a eights note?”
“Three eights.”
“And an eights and a twohundredsfiftysixths?”
“Thirty-three twohundredsfitysixths.”
“How much is left of de bar?”
“Twohundredstwentytthrees twohundredsandfiftysixths.”
“And if you haves two-thousandsfourhundred ones and fifteensthousandandsixhundredandeigthiesone ones and ninehundredandthree ones and eleventhousandsandeightshundredandninetytwo?”
“Thirtythousandseighthundredsandseventyfour ones, but dat’s a stupid longs song. Nobody wants to hears dat. Dat’s almosts prog rocks!”
"See, we haves to think it likes music!"
Skwisgaar frowns and scratches his head. Then it finally dawns on him what’s the purpose of all this. “Toki?”
“Yeah?”
“Dat was a good ideas. Reals good.” Toki’s face lights up, and Skwisgaar hits his two fists together. “Now where’s de bills, we can finishs dems before breakfasts!”
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Do it yourself!