Stubborn vs. Stupid (m)

[murphy dee]

This is dedicated to and inspired by Anonymouse, who is a fan of Metalocalypse just like me - yay! This is also the first time I have put this fetish and fandom together...so I hope it turned out well, and I hope you like it, Anonymouse.

Title: Stubborn vs. Stupid

Author: Murphy D

Fandom: Metalocalypse

Fandom overview: Basically, this fictional band called Dethklok is the most popular metal band in the world. But the guys in the band are IDIOTS with a capital everything. The only voice of reason is their manager, Charles Offdensen. They're always making crazy problems that he has to smooth over with the public. (Also, ages are never given, but I've always thought of Pickles as late 30's and Charles as early-to-mid-40's, just fyi for this story.)

Disclaimer: It's all Brendon Small's fault. And Tommy Blacha, too, I guess.

Now...on with the sneezing! I mean, story!

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PART 1

A single lamp, the only lamp not previously broken in a fit of anger by someone or another, illuminated the dreary office of Charles Foster Offdensen and reflected off the surface of his wire-frame spectacles. The suited man sat at his desk and pinched at the bridge of his long, straight nose. He heaved a sigh, tapped a pen against a thick stack of papers that would require his attention later, and spoke.

“Do you know,” he said evenly to keep his temper in check, “how many times I’ve told you boys to come to me with your ideas regarding the band merchandise before you actually go through with them?”

“Well—”

“Enough times for you to know better, Pickles.”

Pickles, the drummer, twisted a ratty, ginger dreadlock around his index finger and tried to look apologetic as his manager lectured. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “Murderface told me that—”

“I’ve spoken with Murderface,” said Charles. “He said that it was your idea to tamper with the stamps before they were packaged and shipped to post offices. Pickles, do you realize the lawsuits I’m going to have to oversee because of this? Those were official Dethklok stamps, hundreds and hundreds of millions of people purchased them. And now we have to recall every last set, or at least the ones that haven’t been licked already.”

“I’m sorry,” Pickles offered sheepishly. “I thought maybe a global acid trip would lead to, like, I dunno, world peace or—”

Charles held up his hand in one sharp, precise movement. “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t have the stamina to listen to another one of your drug-addled excuses, Pickles. I’ve been kept awake at all hours for the last two days getting on and off the phone with god knows how many people trying to make this whole thing just go away, and I, I caahh, hah, HEH’shhht!” Charles turned his head just in time and sneezed into the crook of his elbow. He remained frozen in that position for another few seconds, waiting for perhaps another sneeze, and then he relaxed again. His shoulders sagged a little and a weariness had suddenly taken over his face.

Pickles had never seen his manager like that before, and he had certainly never seen him sneeze. It had been curiously strong for a man of his slender stature. “Uh, bless you,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“Thank you,” Charles said automatically, and then appeared annoyed with himself. He sniffed once, twice, and then produced a white handkerchief from inside his suit jacket. With a gentle touch, he stroked the underside of his nose and sniffed a few more times.

Pickles watched wordlessly as the other man’s eyes fluttered closed and then squeezed shut as his entire upper body snapped forward with two more powerful sneezes.

“EH’schhh! Ha…ahh…HAH’SCHHT!” Charles kept the handkerchief held just under his nose. He moaned ever-so lightly and didn’t open his eyes. “We can have the remainder of this talk at a later date,” he said, his voice now exhausted and shaky.

“Charlie, I think you’re getting sick,” said Pickles, cocking his head. He rose up from the chair and circled around the desk. Charles tried to shoo him away but no longer had the energy. Pickles tested the pale skin of his manager’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You are, dude! You are getting sick!”

“Nonsense, I don’t get sick,” said Charles.

“Well you feel pretty hot. I think you got a fever.”

“I don’t have a fever. Now please, if you’ll just see yourself ouu…aah…see yourseeh…ehhh, ahh’SCHHXT!” Charles sneezed hard and buckled over at the waist. He gripped the edge of the desk in one hand and the handkerchief in the other and stared miserably down at his expensive Italian loafers. The breath hitched in his chest as he fought another incoming sneeze. “Ah…hahh…” He sniffed desperately, attempting to keep further sneezes at bay, but, “Eh’CHHT! Ehh’SCHH! Ahh…AH’SCHHXT!” He stayed bent over, curled in his office chair, panting deeply from the strain.

Pickles touched the man’s back and said, “Charlie, you okay?”

Charles could only groan.

“C’mon dude, you need some sleep.” Pickles hefted his manager from the chair, a little surprised at how light he felt, and helped him across the room to a cushy-looking fainting couch that looked as if it had never even been sat upon. Charles eased down onto it and rested his head on the cushion with a long, contented sigh.

The same second, he bolted upright with panic flashing in his eyes. “No, Pickles, I have work to do!” he cried. “I can’t be lying down, there are calls to make and forms to write up, and—”

But Pickles held him fast and shoved him back onto the couch. “I know I’m the last guy you wanna hear this from,” he said, “but don’t be stupid. You can’t work good when you’re all tired and sick and stuff, c’mon.”

Charles opened his mouth to argue, but turned his head to the side and sneezed. “Eh’schhoo!”

The drummer just looked at him smugly, knowing he was right for once.

“Fine,” Charles said at last, sniffling again and rubbing at his pink, irritated nose. “But I can only afford a light nap.”

“But you—”

“Pickles,” Charles said as sternly as he could muster, glaring at him from over the tops of his glasses. “Let us not forget whose fault it is that I have so much work to be doing in the first place.”

Pickles scratched at his unruly dreads and nodded like a scolded child.

Charles slithered out of his suit jacket and wore it as a makeshift blanket instead. “Now, I don’t know why I’m about to say this, but can I trust you to come wake me up in two hours?”

“Two hours, you got it, chief.”

Against his better judgment, Charles grinned and really sunk down into the couch. He would never admit it to himself, of course, but he half hoped that Pickles would forget all about him and let him sleep for hours and hours. The promise of sleep quieted his mind, and after a few more wet sniffles he was softly snoring.

Pickles removed the fragile glasses from his manager’s face and placed them on a small glass table beside the couch. “Sleep good, you stubborn jerk,” he said, but there was a strange sort of affection in his tone and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

[murphy dee]

PART 2

Charles woke with a jolt to Pickles’ cheerful face hovering above him. “Pickles,” he mumbled, scrambling into a more upright position. His suit jacket tumbled off his lap but he made no move to retrieve it from the floor. His usually slicked-back brown hair stuck up at odd angles from where he’d been lying on the cushion. He put fingers up to his temple. “My glasses, where did—”

“On the table,” said Pickles, motioning to them.

“Oh. Thank you.” Charles slid them on and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “Has it been two hours already?”

“Two and a half,” Pickles said with a shrug. “Figured an extra half hour couldn’t kill you, and I almost didn’t have the heart to wake you up. Oh, but here.” He pushed a teacup and saucer into Charles’ hands. “It’s tea.”

Charles stared down into the murky depths of the china cup. “This isn’t your Malcolm X tea, is it?”

“What? No. Jean-Pierre made this. It’s got honey and stuff. And that’s all.” And then, after a pause, “You’re paranoid, chief.”

“No, I just know you too well.” Charles took a sip and made a low, pleasured sound from deep in his chest as the warm liquid traveled down his throat. “This is nice,” he said, and sniffled from the feather-light curls of steam tickling his still-sensitive nose.

Pickles shifted forwards and back on his heels as Charles enjoyed the tea. “Hey, Charlie?”

“Mm?”

“Look, I’m real sorry you gotta clean up my mess again. If I can help you, like, call people or file crap or whatever, I’ll do it.”

Charles actually started to laugh, which was yet another thing Pickles had never seen him do. “Ohh, Pickles,” he said. “It’s all right. This is hardly the worst thing you boys have ever put me through. I’ll manage, just like I always do.”

Pickles almost seemed a little sad.

“But,” said Charles, “thank you for offering.”

The drummer beamed.

Charles sniffled again, and once more, and the teacup rattled briefly on its saucer. He could sense the sneeze lingering there, and he chose to ignore it in the hopes that it might vanish all on its own. But when his breath began to come in hitching gasps, he knew he was done for. His head drew back and his nose twitched. “Ha…haa…HEH’SCHHXT!”

Charles sneezed with such force that the teacup tipped off its saucer and landed square on his discarded suit jacket. A splash of dark tea spilt across the cloth.

“I apologize,” he said thickly, sniffling even harder now, eyes glistening. “I hadn’t even drunk half of that yet. It was good.”

“You want me to get some more?” Pickles asked.

“No, that’s all right,” said Charles, rubbing under his nose with a trembling hand. “I need to get on the phone now anyw—anyy, aahhn…ahh…ha, HA’CHHOO! HA’CHHT! Ehh…eh, EH’SCHXT! Ohh…” What little strength he had gained from the nap had been sneezed out, leaving behind a limp, drained body with no will left to fight off what ailed it.

Charles groaned, resigned himself to his fate, and thudded back down on the couch.

“Hey, chief?” asked Pickles, concern lacing his tone.

No answer.

“Charlie?”

In lieu of a reply, he was rewarded instead with a snore. Charles was out like a light. Pickles happily watched him sleep for a couple minutes just to make sure. When he was satisfied Charles wouldn’t be waking any time soon, he slunk over to the desk and gathered up the tall stack of important papers and clutched them to his chest. He turned off the lamp that still shone in the corner of the room, listened for Charles’ snore one more time, and left the office on tip-toe.

He had some phone calls to make.

END.

[blackrose]

lol, that was good! i really enjoyed that!

[Anonymouse]

*hops up and down excitedly*

You have no idea how much this delighted me. DEAR LORD where do I even begin? I think I smiled after every single sentence (especially the acid stamps, typical Pickles shennanigans). Charles would totally have a handkerchief.

I nearly ruptured my spleen laughing (it's enlarged from mono, bleh) at the 'This isn't your Malcolm X tea, is it?' comment too.

The sneezes were superb! Love the spellings! The 'sneezing while holding a hot beverage' scenario also happens to be one of my absolute favorites.

And I love how Pickles kept calling him chief.

I think that's it. AWESOME JOB I SERIOUSLY LOVED IT.

[murphy dee]

blackrose - Thank you! I'm glad you liked reading it!

Anonymouse - Ohh, hooray! I'm jazzed that you dig it! It was soooooo much fun. Do you have an OTP for this show? Next time, I'll write about them!

Heee, and I'm relieved the spellings were okay, I was definitely pondering over them for a while.

And I love how Pickles kept calling him chief.

Y'know, I'm not sure if Pickles ever even used that word, but I've always had him call Charles that.

Thanks again!!

[Anonymouse]

It seems like a word he'd use which is why it seemed perfect to me. I've never been a big fan of slash but I love exploring Toki and Skwisgaar's relationship, sometimes just as friends (or frenemies lol) but with them I just can't help but venture into slashy territory (I'm writing a story now on the adult boards and it's getting to that point). I think I might be a fan of Toki/Charles too. Toki's my favorite for sneezing.

[murphy dee]

Thank you for the kind words, Spoider!

Yeah, poor Charles. Pickles only wants to help! Only thing is, Pickles sucks at helping. Charles is gonna have ooooone hell of a mess to fix when he finally wakes up. I can see him trying to juggle three or four calls at a time, trying to apologize for whatever it is Pickles said to them when he called them...all the while sneezing and just being generally run down and miserable. I have such a soft spot for CFO, but man do I loves to torture him!

[LovelyLinda]

Ahhh I love it

Your writing is really nice <3

I loved that line

"What little strength he had gained from the nap had been sneezed out, leaving behind a limp, drained body with no will left to fight off what ailed it. "

I hope you continue

[murphy dee]

I might revisit it at a later date, yeah! I've got two other stories I'm currently working on right now.

And thank you so much for the sweet compliments!

[Natto]

Aww! I'm not really familiar with the fandom, but I really enjoyed this story. I love it when people who are so frazzled and busy get ill, watching how they deal with it is always quite interesting. And the poor thing sneezed so much! There's no way he could've done those phone calls, he could barely get a sentence out. Oh, and the LSD stamps thing was very inventive. Funny, too. Anyway, nice work. <3

[murphy dee]

Thanks a bunch, Natto! I'm really glad you liked it even though you're not familiar with the show!

Hehehe...it sure would be fun to watch him attempt to make those phonecalls.

[kilala]

I've never met anyone else who is a metalacolypse fan! I love them and the show it's great. This story is adorable. I love pickles, but Toki has to be my favorite, he's so cute. So if you ever get the urge to write another fic, I don't think it would be a problem if you maybe possibly wanted to include him