Murphy's Grab-Bag! [updated 4/19]

[murphy dee]

So the original Drabble Challenge post states that a drabble can be anything from 100 to 500 words, and boy did I take that to heart. I think I have a real problem with brevity.

Anyway, so yeah - drabbles will be long, from lots of different fandoms, and probably 100% male.

So here are two for the time being, with more to come whenever I get blocked on the other stuff I'm writing.

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23 – Alcohol

Fandom: Peter Pan

Character: Captain Hook

The goblet had long since been abandoned, knocked carelessly from the desk, and now lay forgotten and spilled upon the fine Persian rug. Captain Hook dozed in the chair with his chin to his chest, his good hand still miraculously clinging to the neck of a wine bottle. Lengthy black curls curtained his face and fluttered softly as he breathed.

Crack-slam! The door to the captain's quarters burst open, and instantly the riotous noises of the crew jolted Hook from his sleep. He dropped the wine but failed to notice. "Smee, god help me, close that blasted door or I'll show you your innards!"

The rosy-cheeked old man crossed the threshold into the room and kicked the door shut before anyone else could enter. "Sorry sir," he said. "Y'know, you should really come and join us. It would do the men some good, I think, to share a drink with their captain."

"And it would do me some good to have one damned night to myself without you pestering me," Hook barked, which would have sounded intimidating had he not hiccupped immediately afterwards.

"My word, you're a mess," said Smee. He shook a disapproving finger at the man. "What if Starkey or Bill Jukes had seen you like this, hm? There'd be gossip amongst the crew behind your back, that's for true."

Hook sighed and attempted to push his unruly curls away from his face. His eyes were dull and drunk and red. A sneeze overtook him without warning. "AH'KXCHEWW!" The sudden strength of it bent him over the desk, and he sprayed the polished wood with a fine mist of saliva. He stood posed there for a moment, catching his breath and sniffling. "Smee?"

Smee almost hesitated to answer. "Yes, captain?"

"Be a lamb and fetch me a handkerchief from the dresser?"

"Will you sober up and come see the boys outside? It will certainly boost morale."

Hook nodded as he felt another sneeze coming on, and he motioned for Smee to be quick. "Eih…hh…h-hurry, I…I…" He pulled his head back and then snapped forward just as Smee managed to cup the white handkerchief over his nose and mouth. "EH'KTCHHEW! Ow…"

The two men looked awkwardly at one another. Then the door swung open.

There stood Starkey the first mate, ale in hand. He had meant to say something, surely, but the sight of Smee standing on tip-toes with a handkerchief pressed to his captain's nose rendered him temporarily mute. Instead, he backed up slowly and closed the door without a single word.

Hook groaned, muffed by the cloth. "I'm ruined, aren't I."

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81 – Solitude

Fandom: Dragonball Z

Character: Piccolo

A speckled patterning of shadows played on Piccolo's leaf-green skin as he sat at the base of an old tree. His meditation exercises were not going as planned, as he currently found it rather difficult to find peace of mind. He rubbed his knuckles against the underside of his nose for what felt like the hundredth time and sniffled.

He was not accustomed to falling ill. Earth diseases never seemed to affect him correctly. Then again, considering who had suffered this bug last, perhaps it was no surprise that he caught it. After all, any cold with the power to knock Goku on his back could take out anyone.

Piccolo's nose twitched and the breath leapt in his throat. He grabbed handfuls of the white cape lying beside him and let loose a fit of rough, gasping sneezes into the thick fabric. "HH'TCHOO! Ha…ha-HAH'TTSHOO! H'GXHSHOO! Heh…eihh…EH'GTXCHOO!" His chest was starting to ache; he'd been sneezing like this all morning.

At least he was alone. The thought of anyone seeing him in this state put an uncomfortable lump in the pit of his stomach.

Still, he couldn't help but think of Goku's wife, Chi-chi, as she had nursed her husband back to health. She had fussed over him for days; administering medicine, chopping fresh vegetables for soup, making sure he always had enough blankets.

Piccolo sniffed and tried to clear his head. The sun beat down on his face and shoulders, but a chill crept up his spine and spread over his skin. He leaned back against the tree trunk, his meditation forgotten. It was official: this cold was kicking his ass.

"H-HGH'CHTOO!" The sneeze tore out of him, droplets shimmering in the sunlight. He pressed a hand to his sternum and groaned as he realized the tickle in his nose wasn't going away that easily. His breath hitched with a couple false alarms, then his eyes clenched shut and his entire body tensed. "Ahh…agh…HAH'GKCHOO! HI'KTCHHOO—'XCHOO! Hg…haa…HK'CHXOO! Damn…"

His stature sagged. He was exhausted. Maybe he just needed to rest for a while…

Piccolo didn't even realize that he had nodded off until he woke up to the sound of someone speaking his name and tapping him gently on the cheek.

"Rise and shine," said a woman's voice. "See Goku? I told you he'd be here."

Piccolo blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Chi-chi...?"

She looked down at him, her hands on her hips, and Goku stood beside her. "What do you think you're doing out here all by yourself in this condition?" she asked. "Were you just going to sleep outside? It's going to get chilly tonight, you know. How were you going to keep warm? And have you even eaten anything today?"

Goku put a hand on his wife's shoulder and offered the other to Piccolo. "C'mon, pal, you're staying with us until you get well again."

Piccolo didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, and accepted Goku's hand.

Edited April 19, 2013 by Murphy D.

[Anonymouse]

Sneezing while meditating... that's a new and interesting scenario. Not too familiar with Dragonball Z but I loved it anyway. Poor guy, I'm glad Goku and Chi-Chi found him. As much as he claimed he didn't want company I can tell he was glad he got some.

As for the first one... Captain Hook is always

Good job! Looking forward to more.

[murphy dee]

Yaaay, thanks Anonymouse!

Haha, Dragonball Z (especially Piccolo ) was my entire 1996-2002. I don't think "obsessed" is even a strong enough word. I'm glad you liked the story, though! Piccolo's rough around the edges, but he's a sweetie when it counts.

[bangbang]

You already know how much I love Hook and your sneezy renderings of him. He's perfect.

I'm not familiar with the second fandom at all, but I still enjoyed it without knowing anything about it.

[Scion]

Hmm I really like the way you write sneezes.

[Zane]

haha I can't believe you did Piccolo! Dragonball Z....... wow that's a blast from the past. lol. thanks for writing these they're really good. hope you continue.

[murphy dee]

First some thank-yous:

bangbang - It seriously makes me so happy that there are others diggin' the Hook. Thank you very much.

Scion - Really?? I keep thinking they're too bland...so thank you!

Zane - I know, right? Blast from the past indeed. I'm all about them childhood fandoms. Thanks!

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6 – Squint

Fandom: Original, pre-existing

Basic background: American southwest, 1880s - Jesse Curtis is a 26-year-old cowgirl hired by a priest (Thomas Fletcher, 33) to take him across the desert to the town of his new parish.

Noonday sun beat down on the travelers as they made their way across the cracked expanse of desert. The young woman in the knitted poncho led her horse by the reins, and the priest slouched in the saddle.

“Eig’schh! Nn’txchh!”

“Again?”

Fletcher attacked his sunburnt nose with a handkerchief, wiping and sniffling. “I can’t help it,” he said. “It’s dry out here, and the sun just makes it worse. I can hardly stand to keep—hiih—k-keep my eyes open—hieeh’tchhk!” When he was done, he pushed his thin spectacles back up the bridge of his nose.

Jesse heaved a sigh. “You city yankees, I swear,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re the one on the horse, and you still find reason to complain.”

“I apologize,” said Fletcher. He paused a moment as if anticipating another sneeze, then, satisfied that he might be finished for good, tucked the handkerchief away in his cassock. “This environment isn’t exactly something I’m accustomed to.”

“Trust me, Father, that’s become painfully clear.” Jesse tugged the reins and quickened her steps, but the horse refused to match her pace. It dug its hooves into the ground and jerked its head back with such startling strength that it pulled Jesse off her feet. She fell square on her tailbone, legs splayed. “God damnit!”

Fletcher leaned forward in the saddle to peer down at her. “Are you all right, Miss Curtis?”

She was already standing and brushing the dirt off her legs and hands. Puffs of pale brown floated into the afternoon air. “Nothing I ain’t used to,” she said.

“Good, I thought perhaps you were huhh…hh—h-hurt—hhei’kxtchh! Haa’ttkschh! Heh’ktkchhh! Ughh…” He brought out his handkerchief again and rubbed under his nose.

“You’re still not done? You’ve been doing nothing but sneeze since we broke camp.”

Fletcher sniffled hard, avoiding Jesse’s stare. “I’m sorry,” he said breathily. “I-it’s a reflex. This s-sun, it’s making it…hha…worse…aeh…eiih’kttchh! Ihh’xtxchh! Hahh…haat’cxkhhk!”

“Oh for the love of—here.” Jesse lifted the raggedy old slouch hat from her head and handed it up to him. “If that brim can’t keep the sun out your eyes, I’m ditching you quick as jackrabbits, y’hear?”

The hat fit comfortably enough, and the shade on his cheeks was a welcome feeling. “Thank you, Miss Curtis, I’m very appreciatiihh…hh…eihh…” Jesse glared at him as she took the reins, her threat practically written across her features. Fletcher pressed the handkerchief against his oversensitive nostrils and prayed for the sneeze to pass. He shut his eyes tight and held his breath, but it was no use. His entire body constricted as the sneezes fought their way out. “H-hhg’tschhh! Eigt’schrxhh! Aah…hhaa…aaAHT’KTXGCHH!”

Fletcher gingerly blew his reddened nose with a pained moan and removed his glasses to dab at the fat tears welled up in his eyes. Jesse opened her mouth to berate him, but the words died on her tongue as she watched his face. So instead, she tugged the reins with a soft “c’mon” and started to walk.

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15 – The End

Fandom: Original, pre-existing

Basic Background: Post-post-apocalyptic earth. Humans have lived on the sea for generations now. Threatening forces live upon dry land and hunt whatever human is foolish enough to leave the ocean. Holly and Charlie are childhood friends who operate a small boat together, but it was recently damaged in a way that they don't know how to fix, so they come on land hoping to find something to help them. Guybot is a robot they met ashore; he's a little off and a little damaged, but sweet and harmless.

“Ah-choo!”

Holly started to laugh. “Did you just sneeze?” she asked. Guybot closed the yellowed book he had been flipping through and looked at her quizzically.

“Is that not the typical reaction to this situation? I have many data files of old-world films that suggest so.”

“Well yeah, it is kind of a cliché to sneeze when you’re looking through dusty things, but I don’t think—”

“You do not think robots should do this?”

Holly put up her hands defensively even though she knew Guybot was incapable of being offended. “I wasn’t going to say that,” she said. “I was going to say that you don’t really have any need to, it wouldn’t make sense. Dust can’t bother you like it bothers humans.”

Guybot fell silent, so Holly returned to exploring. The library was much larger than they anticipated, even though parts of the building had deteriorated and crumbled away long ago. Staircases were completely inaccessible, and Holly could only guess at the stability of the upper floors.

“Found anything yet, Hol?” Charlie called from the other side of the room.

“No, you?”

“No, all the books have these weird numbers and letters on the spines. I think it’s some kind of code to keep them in order, but I can’t figure it out.” Holly bit her lip. They only had an hour or two at most until nightfall, and they would need to be back on the boat by then. “Hey tin can,” Charlie barked, “you know anything about these numbers on the books?”

Guybot examined the shelves, running his bright eyes over the bindings. A barely-audible whirring hummed from somewhere along the back of his neck as he searched his memory. “Ah, I see,” he said. “It is the archaic Dewey Decimal Classification System, developed in 1876 by American librarian Melvil Dewey. The numbers in this system—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Charlie interrupted, walking up to them with a book. He brushed the dust off it, which he realized instantly was a bad idea. His eyes glazed over and his head tipped back, mouth ajar. “Eii…EIRH’CHIEU! Ha-haah…H-HEII’TCHIEU!” He snapped forward in a blur of dyed turquoise hair and covered his sneeze with the book.

Holly snatched it from him. “Don’t ruin it!” She pulled a rag from the back pocket of her boilersuit and wiped the cover clean. “What even is this? What’s Mother Goose?”

Charlie sniffed a few times before answering. “My mum used to tell me those stories when I was a kid,” he said. “I saw it over there, so I just grabbed it.”

“You’re such a child,” said Holly, but she was smiling. She gave him back his book, but then her attention shifted. Her eyes flew from shelf to shelf, worry quickly overtaking her. “Guy? Guybot, where’d you go?”

The robot’s slender frame appeared from around the corner carrying a tall stack of books. “I am here. I was able to locate plenty of reference material relating to maritime repair and upkeep.” He blew a layer of dust from the top book. “Ah-choo!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but Holly only laughed. “Good work, Guy,” she said. “Now let’s get some fresh air.”

[Anonymouse]

Cute! This is definitely an interesting assortment! Robots "sneezing", green dudes from animes sneezing, a pirate, and a photic priest...

I'm so glad I still have... *counts* ninety-six more to look forward to!

[murphy dee]

96, woah..... I wonder how long that's gonna take me (not to mention I wonder what 96 things I'm going to write about! - and how many of them will contain priests, haha).

Thanks, Anonymouse!

[Anonymouse]

I actually just counted mine and I'm nearly halfway done. I started a few months ago but it still feels like it's gone by quickly.

[bangbang]

As a former Catholic schoolgirl, I should not have enjoyed that priest's sneeziness so much... I feel all deliciously tingly and wrong now.

Also, unnatural hair colours and unintentionally hilarious robots ftw. Brilliant.

[murphy dee]

Wheeeee! Taking a break from the two other fetish-related stories I'm working on.

A quick note about this one: I originally had wanted to write Jafar/Jasmine, but then I realized that in the movie she's only 15. Then I felt kinda creepy about that idea. So instead, I set the story in the past when she's just a little kid and gave her a nursemaid, Shalah. I know, I know, my Mary Sue alarm is buzzing as well, but I really wanted to write someone with Jafar and I didn't have any good canon options, so...

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75 – Heartless

Fandom: Disney's Aladdin

Character: Jafar

Princess Jasmine lay curled under the sheets, just as she had the day before and the day before that. Her nursemaid, Shalah, sat on the bed and gently brushed the girl’s abundance of black hair. “You can’t stay in your room forever, princess,” she said.

Jasmine rolled over, affixing Shalah with a serious nine-year-old glare. “Why does Father listen to what Jafar says?” she asked, eyes misting over. “Jafar’s just so…he’s so heartless!”

Shalah smiled. “That’s his job,” she said. “He helps your father make difficult decisions, and sometimes there’s no answer that makes everybody happy. Do you understand?”

“No.” Jasmine buried her face in pillows. “Go away.”

Shalah knew when to give the young princess her space, so she left the brush by the bed and walked out into the hallway. The late afternoon sun left shadows on the walls that she ran her fingers across as she passed, daydreaming of the royal palace gardens and whether or not she could talk Jasmine into visiting them tomorrow morning.

But the visions of desert roses and lotus blooms came to an abrupt end when she bumped something that went, “Oof!”

Jafar whirled around to see what hit him. He easily towered over the nursemaid; an effect made all the more imposing with the addition of his feathered turban. His long, lean face twisted into a grin, though there was something decidedly off about his appearance. Was he paler?

“Head in the clouds again?”

“Sorry,” Shalah said. “I’ve just been spending the last three days explaining to the princess why you advised her father to scrap the royal circus.”

“It ate into the treasury, and right now we’re not getting enough of that money back in taxes, so—“

“You don’t need to convince me. Jasmine’s the one who thinks you’re heartless.”

“Heartless?”

“That’s the word she used.”

Jafar sniffed and curled his goatee around a slender finger. “Did I come across that way? I only—” He stopped in mid sentence, his eyes unfocused and half-lidded.

“Jafar?”

“E-excuse me, I think…I…iih…” He turned from her suddenly and covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his dark robes. “Iiih’gtxsh! Hhh…iiiih’txxsh! Iihh…hh…iiiih’xntssh!” He immediately straightened back up, sniffed, and let out a deep breath to clear his head.

Through all her years working in the palace, Shalah had never seen Jafar lose control of himself like that. She couldn’t help but stare, awestruck. “Are you ill?” she asked.

“No, of…of…ihh…iihhh—iiiiih’ntxsh! Hahh…ii-iiiih’xtssh! Ahh…of course not.” Jafar cursed under his breath and sniffed again. His shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of his heavy garments, and he grew increasingly frail-looking as each sneeze wrenched out of him. “Hihh…iih…iiiiihh’txtsshh! HIIIIH’GXKSSHHH!”

Shalah’s lips widened into a delightfully sympathetic smile. “You poor man,” she cooed, and took Jafar’s arm. “Come with me, I’ll make you some hot herbal tea.”

“You’re a goddess,” he sighed. “My thanks.”

So he does have a heart after all, Shalah mused. Good to know.

[Anonymouse]

Somehow you succeed in making the Disney villains that scared the crap out of me as a child sexy. He had very nice sneezes.

I actually liked Shalah. And poor Jasmine was upset about the royal circus, too cute.

[Butch]

Murphy D. - GREAT! I love all of them.. and I wasn't expecting some of them.. (Heartless, for example). But way good. Write more soon.

[VoOs]

So much loveliness in this thread. <3

I love "Squint", with all its photic desperation. We need more priests in fetish fiction... *happy sigh*

Also, I see you made Jafar ill. For that, I must love you a little. X3

[Nova]

Jafaaaaar... ;___;

[murphy dee]

Anonymouse - Thank youuu! The more evil they are, the more satisfying it is to write them all sick 'n stuff. I'm sensing a pattern, though - big-nosed, black-haired villains seem to be one of my "types"...haha, I'm sure Professor Snape will end up in these drabbles before too long.

Mims - Thank you so much! I hope the rest of the ones I write are just as unexpected.

VoOs - Thank you, m'dear! We DO need more priests. And I plan to deliver some. Also Jafar was so super fun to make sick...methinks I'll have to revisit him at some point.

Nova - Precious, right?? I just wanna cuddle on him.

[bangbang]

Jafar made me squee. Which is a rather unexpected reaction, but not an unwelcome one. I might rewatch Aladdin again now... Great writing, and his sickness and sneezes make me all fuzzy and gooey. Like a brownie that's been dropped on the floor. Love this drabble, and delighted to hear that Snape/priests may be making an appearance. Thanks!

[murphy dee]

Thanks, bangbang! I really want to rewatch Aladdin now, too. I don't think I've ever fully indulged in my Jafar-love before...and I don't think I got my fill with only 500 words. So he'll be coming back, for sure.

"Like a brownie that's been dropped on the floor." - HAHA! I adore this line.

[Scion]

Ahhhhhhh these are so good! I especially adore Guybot! Awwww, with his fake robot sneezes, so cute.

[murphy dee]

Sorry for the late reply, Scion. Thank you!! Hehe, poor Guybot...he just wants to do what all the cool humans are doing!

I'll do a proper update in the next week or so, but for now I literally just finished this and want to post it. In the General Discussion forum, there's a topic about books and movies you'd like to add sneezing to. I thought of The Great Gatsby...one of my favorite books. So here's a chunk of story that takes place before the book happens.

I'm usually not one who's real keen on contagion, but this ended up being just that. I write, and things happen.

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24 – Mask

Fandom: The Great Gatsby

Character: Jay Gatsby

Background: New York, 1922. Gatsby is throwing yet another party in the hopes that Daisy, the married woman he's obsessed with, will finally attend.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Vera Fisher pirouetted for her friends to show off the glittering green and blue sequins of her dress. “I’m a peacock,” she said, and pulled the feathered mask on over her eyes. “Now let’s wiggle, my legs are freezing.”

Crowds of masquerade guests littered the lawn and courtyard of the Gatsby mansion. Most of them had been there since the early afternoon, and many danced and gabbed drunkenly even though the sun had yet to set. When Vera got inside, it was no better. Music and laughter echoed through the numerous rooms. She had never been to such a loud party.

“Are you going to be an owl with us tonight?” asked Ruthie.

“Not sure,” said Vera. “I have to work in the morning. I keep trying to think of some way to get out of it, but I’m crummy at coming up with excuses.”

“You’ll think of something,” Ruthie said.

Suddenly, the bands stopped playing. “What’s happening?” Vera asked. Otto ran over and grabbed her arm.

“Gatsby’s outside and he’s going to talk!” he cried, and Ruthie squealed with delight. The three friends wove through the throng and out onto the front landing. Standing on the ledge of the courtyard fountain in a pinstripe suit and black mask was the man who must have been Jay Gatsby.

Gatsby surveyed the gathering before him and raised a hand for silence. He opened his mouth to speak, but it kept opening until finally, “Ah…ahh…aktchh’ew!” He sneezed down at his shoes and then looked back up, bleary-eyed and a little pink. “You’ll have to pardon me,” he said, “I’m fighting a bug.”

His audience laughed and blessed him with a collective raising of glasses.

“You’re too kind,” he said. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you all for coming. I won’t give a speech or anything, but this is the fiftieth party I’ve thrown since moving to West Egg. You’ve all made this year very special for me. Now let’s get back to the music.”

Everyone applauded as the bands kicked back into swing, and Gatsby hopped off the fountain and vanished into the crowd. Vera looked around for him, but he was long gone.

“I’m going to fix my lipstick,” she said to Ruthie.

"Don't get lost, doll."

An older gentleman pointed towards the flight of stairs in the entryway when she asked him how to find the restroom. She removed her heels and padded up the steps, and when she reached the top, there came a sound.

“Aktchh’ew!”

Vera recognized it. Lipstick forgotten, she poked her head into the room where the sneeze had come from. “I thought that was you,” she said.

Gatsby turned to her. The red of his nose stood out brilliantly against the black velvet mask covering his eyes. “And what you do wahhn…ahh…ahhh…akktch’ew!” He sneezed at his feet again and sniffed.

“Just wanted to say hello,” she said, drinking him in. “This is my first time here.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.” Gatsby’s nostrils flared and his top lip quivered. He tried to hold back for as long as he could, but it was no use. “Excuse me, ah, I…ahh…akttchh’eww! Ah…ahh…ahhh…atkkchh’eww!”

Vera smirked. Maybe this was her ticket out of work tomorrow. She closed the door with her foot, clicking it into place. “You sound like you could use some company, Mr. Gatsby.”

[bangbang]

I love you. Like, seriously. Gatsby is probably my favourite ever fictional character, and I can't believe I've never thought of him from a fetishistic angle before. You have such good taste in characters. <3

The story itself was lovely - poor Gatsby, fighting his disappointment and a cold at the same time. You've got the crazed, hectic sort of party atmosphere just right, with him in the middle but also on the outside, watching on as everyone else disgraces themselves on his lawn. And your Gatsby is perfectly miserable and polite. This was just beautiful.

[murphy dee]

Hehehe, you're makin' me blush over here! Writing Gatsby was a lot of fun...and I've got a lot of these drabbles left to go, so I'll have to add him to the list of "dudes I'll be revisiting." Thank you so much, bangbang!

[Anonymouse]

Finally got a chance to read this. I love how he starts his speech off with a sneeze. I haven't read Gatsby in years but now I'm thinking of going back to it once school wraps up for the summer. I'm glad you'll be writing more with him!

[murphy dee]

Thanks, Anonymouse! I hope you like this set of drabbles...(especially the third one!)

...cuz it's my very special METALOCALYPSE EDITION! Nothing insanely slashy, though, just some good ol' fashioned bromance. And these all ended up being about 100 words longer than my typical fare...couldn't help it, the Dethklok muse bit me!

And I should probably give a language warning. What can I say, these guys have mouths on 'em.

----------------------------

80 – Grudge

Fandom: Metalocalypse

Character: Pickles

Charles Ofdensen sighed and fiddled with a ring of spare keys. “William, you are I are going to have a talk about your recent rash of practical jokes after I help Pickles,” he said. “And throw that bottle out.”

Murderface looked insulted. “No way! Do you know how old this sneezing powder is? It’s from the first world war,” he said, eyeing Charles as if he were stupid. “It’s part of history.”

“Throw it out,” Charles barked. He had run out of patience today. Thankfully, though, the next key he tried was the right one. He slipped inside and shut the door on Murderface, locking it again so he and Pickles wouldn’t be bothered.

The bedroom appeared empty at first, but a slight sniffling coming from the bed drew Charles’ attention. Sure enough, he found Pickles sitting crammed in the two feet of space between the mattress and the wall, hiding his face.

The drummer lifted his head and Charles realized instantly why he had locked himself in his room. His eyes were rimmed in brilliant pink, and they glistened with overflowing tears. He continued to sniffle, though he winced each time, and his nose was painfully red and irritated.

“Charlie,” he sobbed, “it-it’s burnin’ real bad.”

Charles shimmied into Pickles’ hiding place and helped the poor guy onto his feet. “Come on, let’s clean you up.” He walked Pickles into the adjoining bathroom and wet a washcloth with cool water.

“Th-thanks,” Pickles said as Charles began to wipe the tears from his cheeks. The cold water on his flushed skin felt like heaven, and he moaned under his breath. “That already f-feels a lot better.” He sniffed hesitantly and hissed as the burn lit his sinuses on fire again.

“Try this.” Charles fished a fresh, burgundy handkerchief from inside his suit jacket.

Pickles took it, eyeballed it, then gently draped it over his aching nose and blew and blew. He wiped his nostrils until they were raw and tried to give the handkerchief back.

“Keep it,” said Charles, amusement in his voice.

Pickles folded it up and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Y’know, I thought s-sneezing powder was supposed to m-make you sneeze,” he said. “But I guess it didn’t w—” He came to an abrupt stop and gripped the countertop. His chest spasmed, and his breath came in quick, irregular gulps. A dazed, helpless look passed over his face, and his pierced eyebrows knit together. “O-oh crap, what…wha…ahh…ahhh…”

“Pickles?”

The drummer’s expression scrunched up into something almost unrecognizable as a harsh, irrepressible sneeze tore from him. “AHH’KCHOO!” Ginger dreadlocks whipped in time with the sneeze, and Pickles’ arm shook with the effort to keep himself upright. “AHH’KCHHOO! Hh…ihh…ahhh…AHH’KCHHOOO!” He ended up sinking down to the floor, and he stayed there on his hands and knees, desperately trying to fight off the effects of the powder.

Charles knelt in front of him and held his arms. “You’re all right,” he said, seeing that Pickles was beginning to look panicked. “It won’t last forever, you just have to sneeze it out.”

“I…I…ahh…ahhh…AHH’KCHHOO!” Pickles brought his head down on Charles’ shoulder, already wiped out from the force of his sneezes. But there were still more on the way. “Ah…ahh…AHH’KCHHOO! AHH’KCHHOO—‘KCHH! ‘KCHHH! G’godamniiiih…ahh…ahhh…AHH’KCHHOO! Ah…ahh…ahh…ahhh…ahhh…AHH’KCHHHOOO!”

His fit finished, Pickles groaned and crumpled against his manager’s chest, just wanting to sleep.

Charles let him rest there for a while and rubbed his back, feeling even more protective of the man than he usually did. “There, there,” he said. “Do you want me to help you come up with a way to get William back for this?”

Pickles sniffled childishly and muttered a quiet, “Yeah.”

----------------------------

66 – Raincoat

Fandom: Metalocalypse

Character: Charles Ofdensen

Pickles and Nathan stood together inside, noses and mouths pressed against the fogging glass. The rain beat down in droves, and they could hear the wind howling and whipping through the skeletal trees. Off in the distance, just before the mist swallowed up the view, their manager could be seen standing out on the lawn and hitting golfball after golfball into the haze.

“Why’s he doin’ that?” Pickles asked.

Nathan grunted. “Maybe he finally snapped and went crazy or something,” he said, though he didn’t sound overly concerned. “Maybe when he runs out of balls, he’ll come in here and beat us to death with the club.” He pulled a notepad from his jean pocket and scribbled that idea down to use in a song later. He penned the working title as Par 6…66.

Pickles hadn’t heard him; he dug around in the closet by the door and found a couple black plastic rain ponchos that the klokateer groundskeepers used on days like this. He pulled one over his head and flipped up the hood.

“Are you going out there?” Nathan asked.

“I’m gonna bring him this raincoat thing.”

Nathan huffed. “I gotta tell you, Pickles, I think that’s a bad idea.” But Pickles was already headed out the door. Nathan screamed after him, “Stay out of clubbin’ range! I’m not replacing you with a fuckin’ drum machine again!”

Pickles clutched Charles’ poncho close with one hand and kept his hood on with the other. He jogged through the biting cold water, sneakers already soaked through and squishy.

When he finally reached his manager, he was met with a long, hard stare through rain-speckled lenses.

“What are you doin’ out—”

“Why are you bothering me?” Charles spat.

Pickles bit his lip, trying not to look too hurt, and presented the poncho. “Here.”

Charles took it from him and ran his thumb over the Dethklok logo emblazoned on the front. His shoulders slumped and he sighed, venom gone from his voice. “Thank you, Pickles. Today has…well, it’s not been a good day.” He yanked the poncho over his head.

“Is it something we did?” Pickles asked, because his foul moods usually were their fault. But Charles folded his arms over his chest, golf club tapping against the toe of his shoe.

“No,” he said slowly, adding, “It’s a business matter, I won’t bore you with it.”

Pickles leaned in, rain dripping from the tip of his nose and goateed chin. “Try me.”

“Talk and walk,” Charles said, taking off towards the house. The drummer followed beside him like an eager puppy. “I’ve been working on a merchandise deal for the last six months. I’ve put off other potentially profitable ventures in lieu of this one because I thought it was going to go through. But now the other company is pulling out, and I’m left looking like an idiot who’s wasted his time on nothing.” He shook his head, water droplets going everywhere.

Pickles only laughed stupidly and said, “Heh, you said pulling out.”

Instead of berating him, Charles chuckled and gave the drummer a wet clap on the back. “You know, it’s a good thing you came to get me before I caught a c—‘ktchew! Eh’ktchhew!”

“Too late,” Pickles sung.

“Don’t jinx m-me…eih…hh…eh’ktchew! Ehh’ktchew! ‘Ktchheww!”

With each sneeze, he had to stop walking and lean on his club. But they finally made it back into Mordhaus. Nathan eyed his manager’s muddied driver warily. “You’re not just coming inside to kill us, right?”

Charles actually laughed. It sounded well-needed. “What? No, don’t be absurd.” He rubbed the rain from his glasses and sniffed, grinning. “Why don’t we have Jean-Pierre make us some tea, boys. It’s been one of those days.”

----------------------------

49 – Sweat

Fandom: Metalocalypse

Characters: Toki and Skwisgaar

“Comes on, slowpokes!” Toki called over his shoulder as he ran. His long, brown hair bounced and swayed and shone in the warm afternoon sun. Skwisgaar brought up the rear, holding the stitch in his side and gasping for air. He should’ve known better than to go for a jog with Toki, the only guy he knew with the rock-hard physique of a Greek statue. Skinny and out-of-shape Skwisgaar simply couldn’t keep up.

At the top of the hill, Toki ran in place and waited for his bandmate. He wiped sweat from his brow and neck with the back of his hand, then took his pulse and did a few quick stretches. Skwisgaar finally made it up, panting and dripping. “Fucks dis,” he said. “I’ms waiting here for somes guy to carries me back.”

“But Skwisgaar,” Toki said, currently doing jumping-jacks, “we haves to get a shape fors playings in our concert tour.”

“Ya, well…I’m not doings dat.”

“You can’ts gives up!”

Skwisgaar sat down on a rock and pulled his blonde hair out of its ponytail. “Oh looks, I sits down on dis thing here. I guess I cans gives up. Was pretty easy, toos.”

Toki made fists at his side. He would never admit it, but a selfish part of him wanted Skwisgaar to keep going, to keep struggling. It was so rare for Toki to best his friend at anything, and he wanted to make this last for as long as it could. He stood over Skwisgaar, the both of them still flushed from the jog, and said, “You’s just a big fats babies what’s crying.”

Skwisgaar twitched. “Oh ya? You calls me a criesbabies?” He reached for the nearest thing to throw, which happened to be a handful of wildflowers growing by the side of the rock. He pitched them into Toki’s face and laughed, “Maybe now you cries and gets fat like a ladies! Go on, gets upsets and write abouts it unside of your diaries.”

Toki brushed his face off as best he could, spitting out bits of stem and petal. Powder-fine remnants of pollen still stuck to his neck and brow where he’d been sweating the most, and a fair yellow mist of the stuff peppered his damp bangs. “Stupid dildo ass crap jerk tits!” he sputtered, not caring that his curses made little sense when put together. He continued to mutter obscenities to himself while trying to rub his face clean, but the pollen made quick work of him. His nose itched horribly, like tiny little ant bites in his sinuses. Nostrils flaring uncontrollably in reaction to the unpleasant sensation, he turned away from Skwisgaar and sneezed out into the open air. “Heii’schhiiew! H…hhe…heig’tsschiew!”

A smug smile tugged at Skwisgaar’s shapely lips. “Oh, dis ams beings too good.”

“Sh-shuts up,” Toki managed through hitching breaths, but his eyebrows rose and trembled, and his nose tingled all over. “Hh…heh…heht’sschhiew! Ha…haa…hagh’scchhiew! Heih’tsshhieww!”

Skwisgaar laughed and laughed at his friend’s powerless, frantic sneezes, relishing his victory. In fact, he laughed so hard that he fell backwards off the rock and straight into another patch of wildflowers. A faint cloud of pollen kicked up as he landed, settling on his slender, delicate nose. “Eh…egh…eghht’xtichhh!” He attempted to stifle, but the urge to sneeze was much too strong.

“Haha, takes dat, dildos!” Toki cried. He would’ve said more, but that terrible itch built up in him again. “Heih…hh…heig’tsschhhiew! Heh…hieh’sschhieww!”

Skwisgaar smirked. “Takes dat, fats babies! Eihh…eghtt’sxtschhh!”

“Takes dat, ass jerk! Hihh…hih…h-hiegt’htsschhieww!”

“Well, takes dat, little girls! Egh…eh…ehgg’tkxschhhh!”

When they were finally all sneezed out, with noses pink and chests heaving, they walked down the hill together. But as they reached the bottom, Toki took off like a rabbit. “Last ones into the moats is havings a period!”

Skwisgaar hurried after him. “I’ll kills you, Toki!”