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Pop Rocks and Coke	By : sillyneko345 Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2192 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon this fic is based on (Metalocalypse) and do not make any money for writing it.

Chapter List
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- 4
- 5
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Resplendentphobia: Pickles on rollerblades was just too good to pass up. Sorry it took so long to supply you with MOAR!
Anonanon: Thanks for reading! Hopefully I’ll be posting more frequently now…
Shiho: Thanks for giving the “tickles” pairing a chance, haha.
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Characters: Belong to Small & Blacha.
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The first day Toki’s new rollerblades came in the mail he dragged Pickles outside to skate along the extensive sidewalks that crisscrossed the grounds of Mordhaus. That was also the day that Pickles broke his wrist.
“Gahd dammit,” the drummer muttered as he and Toki limped out of the hospital wing after the fact. “Nate’n’s gonna kill me. I can’t drum like this!”
“I ams so sorries, Pickle,” Toki whimpered. He had squeaked by with nothing more than a split lip and some scrapes when they fell over each other and crashed to the concrete in a tangle of limbs and wheels.
“It’s not yer damn fault, Toki, unless you went an’ told Murderface ta start whackin’ golf balls at us when we went by. Thinks he’s so funny—asshole. I should’a stuck that nine iron down his fat throat.”
“You just hurts your wrist worse.”
“It’d be worth it, though, right?”
In an effort to avoid the singer, at least for the time being, the two cut through the haus toward Pickles’ room. They had been hanging out there a lot lately when not immersed in activities that included the entire band. Toki never tired of riffling through Pickles’ belongings, and he had gotten adept at reading the drummer’s mood. When it looked like the EKG of Pickles’ patience was about to flatline the guitarist would quickly take his leave. He always came back, though, and Pickles had begun to expect it. Hell, to look forward to it.
“I guess we’s not gonna be dancing arounds today, huh?” Toki asked sadly. He seemed to be cultivating a love for dance music from Pickles’ stacks of material, and had already taught himself to walk like an Egyptian and perform the entire Thriller routine by watching youtube clips. It usually made Pickles laugh to see the kid in action, but today he was in no mood.
“If you feel like it, go right on ahead. I’m out.” Pickles dropped his rollerblades by the door and walked painfully to the bed. “Dammit, I’m gettin’ old. Gonna be sore as hell tomorrow.”
Toki watched worriedly as the redhead sprawled out on the bed, bandaged wrist propped carefully on his stomach. “What else ams hurting you besides yous wrist?”
“My ass, my back, my neck, and my legs. Everything! So I’m gonna sit on my sore ass an’ watch TV an’ have a drink, like I should’a done when I got up this morning.”
Toki was silent for a long moment, then perked up. “I haves an idea! Stays right here, Pickle. I will bes right back.”
“Hey, wait a second, where’re you—” But the Norwegian was already gone, disappearing out the door with a flash of brown hair. Pickles frowned. “Whatever. My ass ain’t movin’.” He reached for the bottle on the bedside table and turned on the TV.
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Toki had every intention of proceeding directly to the kitchen. But, as it often did in Mordhaus, something popped up to divert his attention. As he passed the main board room where the band held most of their daily meetings, he heard voices raised in discussion. Figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek in the interest of keeping up on band business, so the others couldn’t accuse him of being clueless, he popped his head in.
“While I’m impressed that you boys took the initiative to worry about the next round of merchandise, current tour merch is still doing quite well sales wise.” Charles straightened his glasses as he looked at the loot spread before him on the table. “So maybe we’ll just shelve this for a few months and—”
“Now!” Nathan yelled, pounding a fist on the tabletop. “This is not about merch sales. This is about our mission in life! Make. Everything. Metal!”
“Hey, guys, whats yous doings?” Toki chirped. “Yous gots new stuff to—oh, wowee! Toys!”
Murderface grinned slyly as the Norwegian bounded in to inspect the spread of Dethklok-themed toys strewn across the table. “Ah, Toki. Jusht the guy we wanted to shee.”
“I ams?”
“Shure. Toki, I want you to take a good look at theshe toysh. Touch them. Feel them. Tell ush what you think.”
He grabbed for the closest unquestioningly. “Wowee, yous guys, these ams so cool! Looks at liddle Nat’ans doll ride Thunderhorse!” He galloped the plastic horse around Charles’s coffee mug and brought it to a stop next to the Skwisgaar figure, which happened to be clothed in Viking armor and seated astride a white dragon.
“Those are the action figures, Toki. Not dolls. That’s the Dark Magic Battle Fantasy series. Your action figure rides a troll. Look.” Nathan hefted a cardboard box from beneath the table and pulled a foot tall plastic troll from within, then positioned a small Toki toy on its shoulders.
“Reallys?!” Toki squealed, moved almost to tears. “Dis ams so awesome! How did yous guys comes up with a super amazings idea likes dis?”
“Shimple.” Murderface smiled smugly and put his booted feet on the table. “Metal toysh make metal kidsh. Metal kidsh grow up to be metal adultsh who buy our albumsh and come to our showsh. Shimple.”
“We have normal Sold-Out Concert action figures, too.” Nathan pointed out the group of surprisingly accurate toy band mates and their respective instruments. “Sell those for like, twenty bucks each. Then you got the Concert Stage play set. Working lights, authentic Dethklok sounds, the whole deal. Sell that for fifty bucks. It’ll work.”
“And a Murdercycle vehicle for the figures to ride in.” Charles suddenly looked much more interested. “And a Hatredcopter vehicle. And a Mordhause deluxe play set. I think you boys might be on to something, here.”
“But whats abouts de liddle girls, Charlie?” Toki asked, suddenly frowning. “Dey don’ts wants no Murders-cycles and Hatreds-copters. Yous gots to makes cool toys for dem, toos!”
“Already got it covered. For the little girlsh, shtuffed dollsh!” Murderface reached into yet another box and pulled up two lanky plush dolls, with sewn on eyes and smiles. Two plush dolls that were unquestionably Skwisgaar and Toki. “Shee? You can brush their hair. And they come with a full line of Metal Fashion Wear—each outfit shold sheperately, of courshe.”
“Aaaahh! Theys soooo cutes!” Toki dove for the box, pulling out the other three dolls that completed the band. He scooped the entire set into his arms and hugged them tightly. “Dey ams de cutest, coolest, most brutalest dolls in de whole worlds!”
Nathan grinned at their manager, showing a hint of fang. “So? What do you think? Toki acts like a kid. He’s, like. Our target audience. If he likes them, kids will too.”
“Done.” Charles stood up decisively, the glint of profit margins in his eye. “Tell me which toymaker you contacted to make these prototypes and I’ll draft up a contract this afternoon.”
“Yeah!” Nathan bellowed, giving Murderface a double high five. “We did something right! We will make childhood METAL!!”
Toki was still engrossed in the stuffed dolls. Each one had a tiny square of Velcro sewn to its hand. Sure enough, down inside the box were small accessories made of plush fabric—guitars, a microphone, two tiny drumsticks. These last Toki picked up with a smile. “Can I go shows dis to Pickle, Nathans? I bet he’ll think it’s real cool, toos!”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Just don’t lose those dolls, alright? Not until we get the designs finalized with the… the guys. The toy maker jerk-offs.”
“I won’ts, I keeps dem real safe. Sees yous guys later!”
Nathan gave Toki a sideways glance as the younger Norwegian skipped through the door and out of sight, clinging to the merch samples. “You know, he’s really been bugging Pickles a lot lately.”
Murderface nodded sagely. “Yep. Musht be hish turn. Pity the poor bashtard.”
“Guess so. Pickles just better not overdose Toki when he gets tired of being followed around. If we have to waste time training up another rhythm, I’m gonna be pissed.”
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In the excitement of the toys, Toki very nearly forgot his original errand. Half way back to Pickles’ room he remembered, though, and made an about-face in the direction of the kitchens. Many of his ideas somehow managed to tank. He knew this and accepted it. But this time he had an idea that was totally and completely infallible. All he had to do was get Jean Pierre to tell him where the oil was kept.
Jean Pierre, like all the staff at Mordhaus, was more than happy to bend to one of his lords’ whims. Less than two minutes after finding their sewn-together chef Toki was on his way back to Pickles’ room to put his grand plan into action, a small vial of rosemary olive oil in hand.
It was with his motley collection of cooking accessories and plush dolls that the guitarist burst in on his favorite drummer a while later, startling Pickles out of a really fascinating infomercial about some kind of tiny, invaluable blender that could also mix drinks.
“Toki, dood. I totally need, like… a thousand of those. An’ some strawberries. And vodka.” Pickles nodded firmly and gestured at the TV, dreads bouncing. “Lot’a vodka.”
Toki smiled. It was obvious from the redhead’s equally red cheeks and cheerful, wondering attitude that he was very drunk, at the least. Drunk and high at the most. As it would take nothing short of bio-chemical warfare to knock Pickles down, though, Toki wasn’t too worried. That would just make the other man more likely to go along with his awesome plan. “That’s is great. Maybe you buys one?”
“I already did.” Pickles smiled widely, then pouted a moment later. “Won’t get here fer a week, though. Shippin’ and handlin’ time. That ain’t fair. I’m famous! They should gimme my blender quicker!”
Sensing an opening, Toki pounced like a slightly clumsy Scandinavian lion on a doped up gazelle. “Oh, yeah, they shoulds be real nice to yous. You ams a real famous guy. And you’s so cool, too. People shoulds treat you betters.”
Pickles cocked his head, intrigued. “Yeah?”
“You bets! You does nice things for everybodies, and they don’ts does no nice things back for yous. You helps Nat’ans wit de musics all de times. You ams nice to Charles a lots. You listens to Murdersface when he haves mouths diarrhea all abouts his Planet Pissings. Nobodies ever gives you nice favors backs, does they?”
“Well, uh… no?”
“That ams right!” Toki said triumphantly, holding out the bottle of oil. “So todays, I’s gonna do somethings real nice for yous!”
“What’s dat?” Pickles asked cluelessly.
“It ams oils. Cookings oils. I don’ts think it ams exactly rights, but—”
“Dood, yer gonna cook me somethin’? Dat’s so nice!”
“No, Pickle, I’s not cookings anything. I’s going to—”
“Yer naht?” Pickles’ eyes narrowed in confusion. “Then whatcha want wit’ cookin’ oil?” Suddenly the narrowed green eyes widened hugely in something akin to horror. “Oh, shit, yer naht gonna bake me, are ya?!”
“No, Pickle,” Toki sighed. Patience. Patience was the key here. He put the stuffed dolls he still carried under his arm onto the drummer’s side table. “I’s gonna—”
Sadly for Toki and his patience, Pickles’ wandering attention was firmly caught by said dolls. “Are those voodoo dolls? Brutal! I wanna see.” He crawled to the side of the bed and picked up the Skwisgaar doll, a bit more gingerly that usual for his broken wrist. “Where’s the pins for ‘em?”
“They ams not—”
“Dood, fuckin’ wait a second. Is this one supposed ta be me?!” He held up the drummer doll in another bout of abrupt terror. “No fuckin’ way! What’d I do that’d make ya wanna voodoo me?! I thought ya were crushin’ on me, no tryin’ ta curse me!”
“Pickle!” Toki yelled in exasperation. “They ams not voos-doos dolls!”
The redhead blinked. “Wha?”
“Nat’ans and Murdersface mades dose dolls to sells to liddle girls to makes dem more brutal and metals. It ams just a toy. No cursings.”
“… oh. So yer naht gonna dump the oil on the doll an’ bake it an’ burn me alive wit’ voodoo?”
“No. Whats kinds of drugs ams you on todays, Pickle?” Toki rolled his eyes.
“Well, what’s the oil for, then?”
“I’s gonna gives you a backs rub!” the guitarist exclaimed, getting back into the spirit of his original idea. “Yous always givings us real nice backs rubs and nobodies ams ever givings you one back. So I’s goings to does it. Because you ams so nice to me lately and ams such a great pal.”
“Yer doin’ it ‘cuz you got a crush on me,” Pickles accused smugly.
“Huh? No I don’ts!” Toki blushed brightly.
“Yeah, suuuure yer naht.”
“Do you ams wants dis backs rub or nots?”
“Uh… yes?” After a moment of further deliberation Pickles nodded and reiterated more firmly. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m still sore as hell from yer goofy ass fallin’ all over me earlier.”
Toki grinned happily. “Greats! Den takes your shirts off and lays down. Dis will be real nice, you sees.”
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To be continued.
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(2^nd)AN: I really am appalled that it took so long for this to get finished. There will be sexy-times next chapter to atone for this.
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- 5
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Pop Rocks and Coke