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chordsykat · 2 years

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Kloktober 2022 Day 27 - Fave Trope or Guilty Pleasure

The trope: A plot-mandated friendship failure (on multiple fronts but largely in the form of a band breakup) The guilty pleasure: Reading old fanfiction The bonus guilty pleasure: Sparkleface A little of both for you guys, today -- from my old fanfic. :) Art above is equally old, but I feel, quite fitting.

Some spoilery things in here if you haven't gotten to read Dethkomic to its current update. Too, this one takes place towards the very end of my very, very, stupidly long series. The girls live in an off-Mordhaus mansion called Kirsche Hall and have a ridiculous manager by the name of Jenna Syde in this one. Those things, along with a lot of what I wrote 10 years ago aren't as canon as they once were, so... maybe this is more like an AU? Maybe an AU of an AU? Honestly I have written these characters in so many forms now, I have no idea which is the real U.

But who cares, eh?! It's MTL and the canon universe is practically bound to get reset anyway. Enjoy!

--- The next morning, Nita Nirvana’s eyes flitted open as her nose recognized a distinct scent she hadn’t been privy to in almost as long as the time she’d spent living in Kirsche Hall: the smell of burnt toast.

More than curious, she pushed the black comforter of her pillow-overloaded mattress aside and got to her feet. Her silk robe was a beautiful ocean of ebony waiting crumpled on the floor next to her bed, and she eased it over her bare shoulders while stepping into a nearby pair of sandals. The scent of burning bread, among other harshly toasted things for sure, was heavier in the air when she walked through her bedroom door and out into the upstairs walkway. Not only that, she could finally hear Sparkles screeching angrily about something, a couple pans clattering around, and the ironically far more calm tone of William Murderface. All of this racket seemed to be centered entirely within the room directly below her - the house’s kitchen. She headed downstairs and, after a brief jaunt through Kirsche Hall’s never-ending dining area, Nita pushed open one of the surgical steel doors to the cook’s quarters. Normally, it was a picture of pristine sterility, but that wasn't the case this morning. Whole bags of flour had been torn open, upended and emptied of their contents which powdered the floor in generous amounts. With them were about three dozen eggs and more than a few gallons of milk. “Gordon Ramsay’s worst kitchen nightmare come to life…” the vocalist said to herself as she tried to find sturdy footing among the far larger spaces of slick surface.

The engineers of said nightmare, Murderface and Sparkles, were easily spotted beyond a jumble of pots, pans, and utensils which, naturally, hung on meat hooks from the ceiling. The duo was stove-side and engaged in a display of fantastic culinary mediocrity. Murderface was putting out a small fire which had sprung up on the corner of the cookbook he was holding while simultaneously ignoring about a dozen more mini-conflagrations going off in the pan before him. Sparkles had apparently been cracking eggs on her forehead. Large portions of yolk and shell smeared across her hairline and trailed down her unkempt bangs as evidence to this. “Awh!” Murderface sputtered, his face falling as he noticed Nita. He put the scorched cookbook down (atop another fire) on the counter. The act, by itself seemed to admit defeat. “We were gonna schurprische you!” Sparkles smiled toothily at Nita before she became distracted by the small fires. She put her hand on one and let it burn her for several seconds before pulling her palm away and hissing at it, then beating the licks of flame into oblivion with her fists. Ever since their joint attempt at a concert in Finland, Dethklok’s bassist had been spending more time at the Baen-Shee homestead, which was to Nita, a bit odd at first. Regardless, his presence had lent itself well to curb the dull sting at the back of everyone’s minds which reminded them all that Eden Nightwish was still in Mordhaus’ hospital, and still not conscious. Murderface was sometimes an opinionated, uncouth lummox with no shortage of bad ideas, but he was always kind at heart and in the very least, entertaining. Nita shot the mustachio’d man a sweet smile, “That’s so thoughtful, you guys!” She paused to look around the room and assess the damage more closely, then - It appeared extensive but salvageable. “Since I’m up, if you wanted to still cook breakfast, I’ll be happy to help. Not like I have anything better to do.” Just as she said that, a Klokateer came through the door and singled Nita out of the crowd immediately, “My lady, your manager wishes to speak with you in her office.” The female bodyguard spoke quickly and nearly slid off her high-heel boots and onto the milk and egg coated ground. When she finally had it together, she added, “It appears to be an urgent matter, majesty.” “Yes, of course.” Nita arched an eyebrow back at her two friends before, very carefully, following the gear out the door, “I’ll be back soon, guys. Keep it hot.” As she was leaving, she caught a glimpse of Sparkles pouring oil onto one of the stove fires. “That schouldn’t be a problem!” Nita heard Murderface yell just before the kitchen doors swung closed behind her. The office of Jenna Syde, Baen-Shee’s manager, wasn’t very far from the kitchen and dining area, so Nita was privy to the sounds of crashing pans and more of Sparkles’ screaming even after she found herself just outside the room’s threshold. Nita knocked timidly, but apparently loud enough to be heard. Jenna threw open the door to her chambers a second later. “Well!” was the first thing said by the offbeat manager-producer as she led Nita inside with a silly grin plastered on her face, “We’re a complete failure! Can you believe that?” “What?” Nita said, stumbling at those words in her march alongside Jenna to her desk. “What do you mean by that..?”

Jenna circled around to her chair, propped her thick boots on the fine cherry wood of her desktop and knocked over three recently emptied bottles of what must have been her breakfast beer in the process, “I mean Baen-Shee isn’t selling… and this last concert fiasco, since it was all a big hoax anyway, only put us further under…” Nita shook her head in disbelief as she sat down in the big leather chair. “Wait - hold on. Nobody’s picking us up now?” Her lips remained half-parted after she asked the question, and she could feel a hitch forming in the back of her throat. “Afraid not, kiddo.” Jenna said, picking up a stack of papers, “When the band went on hiatus the first time after Cherry passed away, there was risk signing you. Now Eden’s in the hospital and people assume there’s going to be another long wait before we get this thing back on the road again. Venues don’t like doing business with bands that are only half-together, no matter how good that one half may be.”

“Well, we can find another guitarist if we have to… we did before…” Nita wanted to bite her tongue. The idea squeezed at her heart for so many reasons. The thought of Eden not playing with them was made all the more bitter by the realization that it would only happen should the unthinkable come to pass, and the girl died. Nita wasn’t sure she could handle losing two band mates in the short course of one years’ time. “It’s worse than that, honey.” Jenna ducked down momentarily to grab another beer from the mini-fridge under her desk, “Caj is gone again.” “WHAT?” This news nearly drove Nita to an immediate breakdown… and simultaneous rage. “The guard who was on perimeter duty last night told us he saw her leaving. Naturally, you’re all free to come and go as you please, so he didn’t stop her. He gave us this…” Jenna pushed a piece of paper - obviously crumpled and then unfolded again, toward Nita’s side of the desk. The girl picked it up and her eyes immediately set to work devouring each word. She didn’t expect the story told by the meager little parchment, though, and the closer she came to the end, the further her eyelids drooped and her expression turned more pained. “I… never knew… she never told me about…” “She didn’t tell anyone!” Jenna interrupted with what almost came off as an appreciative snicker, “I almost think it’s a stunt. That PR nightmare from last week of hers…” Nita was on the defensive, then, crumpling the letter anew, “You think she faked this note and made up a crazy story so she could go AWOL again, just because she got into a little hot water over a leaked video? Honestly, Jenna!” The manager took a hefty swig from her bottle of Budweiser before continuing, “What I’m sayin’, kiddo, is that I don’t know enough about The Great Dane, and her associated band of closet-skeletons to honestly tell concert promoters that we’ll be right back to square one in no time. That’s my good name going down, there. Not yours, not Caj’s, not Baen-Shee’s. Mine” To stamp some finality on her words, Jenna then let out a loud belch that likely would have impressed even Nathan Explosion had he been present.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this…” Nita said, rubbing two circles around either side of her head. “Well, it’s just the business, babe. I wouldn’t worry about it. You were a respectable household name before this whole thing started, anyway. Besides, you’ve already had one offer…” “What? Who?” “Hah! Rikki Kixx!” Nita’s throat clenched, “You’re joking.” And she hoped Jenna was, though her hands stopped moving around her temples, then.

#old stuff #fanfiction #yeah i know #how about that?#kloktober 2022 #my writing #and that's how Nita ended up on tour with all new all sober Snakes N Barrels #or is it?#(it isn't)

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