009 [video] Forward-dated to midnight, 3/17

[drinkthebleach]

[It's Pickles the Drummer from Dethklok, and he's being fucking festive right now, wearing a green T-shirt and his dreads pulled back underneath a darker green beanie. The bruises from the fight with AGI have even faded, by now (much to his appreciation)—they’re more of a pallid corpse yellow as opposed to that obnoxious purplish-black. He lights a cigarette with one hand and leans back.]

Okay. Everybody knows holidays suck an’ there's no point to any of them. There's only like, two that even matter: [Counting them off on his fingers.] New Year's Eve, an' this one right here. An' I know there's gonna be at least five or six culture-shocked dildos makin' videos askin' 'bout the green an' what's goin' on an' all that crap, which gets really annoying, after a while. I'm just gonna lay it all out for you right now. Saint Patrick was this dude a really long time ago that cleared all the snakes outta Ireland—that was important for some reason, I dunno. So now we all celebrate him by listenin' to depressin' folk music in bars an' drinkin' a crap ton of booze in one night. Everyone gets involved: even non-Irish dudes wear green an' get drunk. S' all about gettin' totally hammered, 'cause throwin' up is supposed to be symbolic of spiritual renewal, or whatever.

Big surprise, yer gonna see me passed out before eleven, tonight. An' then I'm doin' a total overhaul of my fuckin' life over here. So all this shit you see? [He tilts forward to take control of the NV again and swivel it around the room.] S' for sale. I’m leavin' this dump in the dust, an' I don’t wanna take anythin' bigger than a duffel bag with me. S' just the way I move.

[A long, almost contemplative drag, which he traps in his lungs for a couple seconds and then exhales through his nostrils.] Anyone need a TV? A chair, or whatever? I got a side table that has this little mirror-thing that comes out—I'll sell it to anyone that wants to do some coke.

If none of that interests you, I'm also givin' this up:

[Pickles sets his cigarette down somewhere off-screen (presumably in an ash tray) and reaches for an electric guitar. He brandishes it by the neck for everyone to see (and looks like Christmas in the process, with the cherry red instrument standing against his shirt).] This is a JS22R Dinky. S' not a Gibson, but s' not that shitty, neither. Chrome bridge. Heavy tone. Humbucking pick-ups, y'know. Round near the nut so you can finger the thing pretty good.

'S all yers—y'know. If you don't mind the fact that the dude that had it before died in a fire. I even thought 'bout burnin' his guitar too, I dunno. That's what I'm gonna do with whatever doesn't sell--I'm just gonna light it all on fuckin' fire, probably. Give it a viking funeral. I just figured waste not, want not, y'know? An' I could use the extra cash.

So yeah. [He lifts his eyebrows at the NV.] You gonna help me out, friends?

Comments

[ninthserenade]

Bummer that I was born in the 80s by this world's standards.

[drinkthebleach]

[Lifting the beer to his lips again, he comments before drinking:] That was a good year for music.

[ninthserenade]

Every year was a good year for music. Some of the big names might've had their flops but there's always a few gems if you look hard enough. _{[He pauses and starts picking at the label on the bottle]} I just kinda wish I could've gotten around to see 'em. I've seen some really, really old musicians 'n stuff in Paris--late 1400s, I think, but it wasn't like I ever met anyone famous. For awhile I felt like the famous dude cuz they never seen anythin' like the instrument I have so it was pretty fun.

[drinkthebleach]

[Pickles arches an eyebrow.]

That beer treatin' you good? [Said in a similar tone of voice that someone would use to ask, 'Are you high?' Because essentially, that's what Pickles thinks about all that tl;dr about going back to the 1400's.]

[ninthserenade]

Treating me good?

_{[He looks from Pickles to the bottle, then takes another drink before he just stares at it.]}

Uh... My fingertips feel kinda tingley if that's what you mean?

[drinkthebleach]

[He sizes up the beer in Demyx's hand.] You've barely gotten through half of that thing an' you sound pretty fucked up.

[ninthserenade]

I do not! M'tellin' the truth!

[drinkthebleach]

You went back in time?

[ninthserenade]

Sorta, yeah! We could go to other worlds back where I came from.

[drinkthebleach]

An' you went back to the 1400's?

...Man, that's the last place I'd fuckin' go. [Not that he had anything against the 1400's, specifically--all that shit before the 1960's just sounds depressing and stupid.]

[ninthserenade]

That's just the time period that one world was in. I've been to the whole... Yanno. Greek thing too with the arena and the Hades-death guy too.

[drinkthebleach]

You didn't wanna go back to the seventies or anything? Or even the sixties: that might've been kinda cool. [LSD and slutty hippie chicks and all that.]

[ninthserenade]

Dude, I'd love to go back to one of those two. Y'can't really pick what era you go to though. Heck, some places are like... Ancient or just completely outta this world.

[drinkthebleach]

Why don't you just go wherever the fuck you want to?

[ninthserenade]

Cuz things didn't work like that back home.

[drinkthebleach]

Yeah. I kinda remember when you talked 'bout yer boss an' how much of a douche bag he is.

...Dude, just do whatever you want. Seriously. You can make those crazy puddles whenever you want, so fuck 'em.

[ninthserenade]

He's changed a little bit--well, the Superior has anyways. He's actually started to show a little bit of an interest in my music gigs.

_{[He looks down, then flashes Pickles a grin.]}

Corridors aside, I can make regular puddles. S'another perk of being what I am--control over water 'n all that junk.