Pickles was most definitely not looking forward to meeting the new band. He wasn't even sure why they were doing this in the first place, and Charles was really vague when he came up with the proposal and offered them the contracts to sign for this new deal that none of them had even heard about until that point. They really had no need for it, but then again there was always a certain madness to Charles's ideas that more often than not would end up making sense later.
He would be lying if he said he was interested enough to actually look them all up or check out their music before actually getting to meet them. But he really didn't care, and neither did the rest of the band (or at least they cared in a negative way), though they all had their own personal reasons. For example, he was pretty sure Nathan wasn't excited because they all knew the band had gotten really popular and fast, and he was probably afraid of losing fans and income to them.
Whereas Skwisgaar, felt threatened by... who was it, Tobias? For his seemingly perfect guitar skills that 'almost' matched with Skwisgaar's- and Pickles himself just didn't care much about anything anymore, let alone people from another band.
Then there was Murderface who, of course, was very upset at the idea that the singer happened to be a woman. "We all know women ckan't be metal," he had commented loudly, which caused Pickles to turn away. They had never spoken of that 'issue' since a year ago, when it had happened, but Murderface was even more relentless than usual with his sexist comments and Pickles wasn't sure if it was an intentional jab at the red-head, or if he was just trying to majorly flex in front of the others. Maybe both.
Despite flushing his meds and skipping about three or four of his doctor appointments, Charles had forced him to go back and to keep taking his prescription, pointing out that giving up wasn't the answer.
So Pickles had no real choice in the matter, and it was beginning to feel like the more he was forced into this, the more uncomfortable he was about the situation. He wasn't being treated for his transition because he wanted to now, it was just that he was pretty much told to keep up a 'charade' of pretending to be cis, which involved getting treatment as a trans person.
It was a complex situation because of course Pickles wanted treatment but not this way. He also never really pretended to be cis up until that point, he just called himself a man and that was that, so it put extra weight on his shoulders. Pickles wished he could find some way out of it. What could he do, though?
It wasn't like there was really a good option, since the world's eyes were on him now, Charles included. It was just that the fear of being found out as trans, of the pressure to being a man, the fact that one of his band members most likely looked at him as a woman, it was all just too much.
Pickles pursed his lips as he laid in his bed with the blanket tangled around his torso. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself, he had people to meet and tolerate. He groaned inwardly. They better not be a bunch'a douchebags, he thought to himself.
He pulled the sheets off and slipped to the floor with a huff. He'd been drinking an excessive amount late into the night lately (worse than normal) and was now beginning to wake up with hangovers, for once. Oh how he didn't miss that part of the alcoholism before his tolerance had gotten impossibly higher. Pickles struggled to get up to head into his personal bathroom, grabbing his normal set of clothes on the way there.
Stepping into the bathroom without turning on the light, he calmly placed his clothes and towel on the counter, his eyes avoiding the mirror even though it had long ago been painted over in black and could no longer be seen through. He turned on the shower and brushed his teeth in pure darkness until he could feel the steam coming through the curtains.
Pickles climbed into scalding hot water and just stood there, letting the burning liquid run down his reddening back for as long as he could tolerate it. Then he scrubbed his body down with soap and gave a quick rinse before jumping back out. He didn't even use his towel this time, pulling his clothes on and causing them to get soaked before stumbling out of the bathroom, grumbling about his growing headache. He really needed a drink.
The door opened about an hour later, as Nathan popped his head into the room and looked around to find his best friend on the floor, face down, hand clutching three bottles of half-empty vodka and drool pooling around him.
"Uuuuuuuhhhhh, Pickles?"
Pickles gave a small mumble in response and he could practically hear the sigh of relief from the other man, causing him to look up with blurry vision. He couldn't really see much of anything, but he could tell that Nathan was painfully stiff, staring down at the drummer with his eyes furrowed together.
Deep in Pickles's drunk mind, he felt a little guilty about this. He was slowly walking down a path of self-destruction, and Nathan was probably the one to most notice this, yet they couldn't talk about it. At least not the reason why Pickles was falling apart right in front of the band. Then again, even if they could, Pickles wasn't sure if Nathan would.
Because of course, Nathan was absolutely terrible with showing emotion which didn't help, especially with something like concern; it would usually result in showing anger and frustration without any explanation that that anger was popping up due to lowkey fear and worry. However, that didn't mean he felt them any less or in a selfish way. In fact, him repressing his emotions only made things worse in terms of vulnerability when they DID come to the surface.
Either way, the sight of his friend on the floor like that was probably a frightening thing to see, Pickles imagined. No one talked about it, but everyone in the band seemed to think the same thing; that one day, they would walk in on Pickles's unconscious body laying in a heap next to his own puke, and find that he'd never wake up again. He had the highest tolerance of them all but proved to be pushing himself too much when he was trying to drown his sorrow and thoughts.
Toki as usual was the most vocal about the entire issue, insisting to PIckles that the drummer could talk to him about anything and he wouldn't tell a soul. Yet, despite how sincere Toki seemed, Pickles just couldn't do that.
Not only was the fear of getting caught hanging over his head all the time, especially with Charles straight up stalking him at some points, he also couldn't shake a lingering fear of possible betrayal. Which he knew was unreasonable, because it was Toki fucking Wartooth, the biggest sweetheart and pretty much child of the band. He had his mean-streak moments, but it was never to emotionally torment someone and traumatize them. If anything, it was Toki who was relentlessly bullied by his other bandmates, and he loved everyone else so much that he had long-ago accepted that role, still continuing to whole-heartedly support the ones who bullied him.
Therefore, Toki would be the one to most likely understand (or at least sympathize with) Pickles's predicament and offer some kinda (usually worthless but well-meaning) advice that would probably cheer Pickles up, at least in amusement. Yet, the memories of Murderface's seemingly genuine look of interest and care was a never-ending nightmare for him. It haunted not only his dreams, but when he was awake as well; always hidden behind his drunken eyelids every time he closed them.
Murderface was cruel and inhumane, but he never thought the bassist would turn on the other like a rabid wolf. Other people thought of Pickles as dramatic, he could see it on their face whenever he would stop anything to look at the other with loathing or actively avoided the man, but even if it had been nothing more than a 'rumor', the problem was that it had happened to begin with, after Pickles explicitly explained that the fans didn't need to know, and Murderface was just so insistent on letting it out in the open and telling them anyway. Just what was the bulldog's endgame? He didn't know; he didn't care.
So Pickles would remain quiet and reserved, assuring everyone in a slurred voice that he was fine and would be fine- and of course no one would believe him and only grew more concerned, and especially more frustrated, at the fact that not only could they not be allowed to speak on it, but that Pickles didn't seem to want to acknowledge the problem, anyway. Thus causing Pickles to feel even more guilty and drown his sorrows in a bit of whiskey mixed with sleeping pills, and the destructive cycle would repeat.
Pickles managed to scramble onto his feet, giving his friend a lazy smile as he leaned his body against the nearest wall. His clothes stuck to him and he wasn't sure if it was because they were still wet from the shower, if he was sweating profusely, or if he had puked on himself.
Realizing that neither person had said anything to each other in probably a good two or three minutes, Pickles cleared his throat and waved his hand dismissively at Nathan. "Heyyy, dood. 'M fineee."
Nathan crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked his friend up and down. "Hm. Charles said, uh. That Ex- Excommuninit... The band. They'll be here soon. They were just picked up at the uh, airport."
"Oh, alright. Kewl."
Nathan pressed his lips together, and a pinch of anger flashed through his eyes. "You really couldn't hold it together until after the meeting?"
Pickles flinched. He hadn't really expected that, though in all honesty he probably should've. "C'mon, 'm fine. It's meee we're talkin' aboot."
"No, you're not fine, and yeah, uh, I know we're talking about. About you. Duh." Through Pickles's hazy vision, he watched as Nathan took a step forward and Pickles leaned further against the wall in response, like he was afraid of a fight starting. Instead, Nathan continued speaking.
"Look, I'm not good at this whole, like, talking. Thing. We're not even supposed to be talking about like, why you're acting like such a dick. But uhh..." It was like Nathan forgot where he was going to take the conversation. "Dude, just get help, or somethin'. I don't fucking know. You were already barely funt-ctioning, before all this shit."
"I can't get help, don't yew get it?" Pickles spat, not meaning to sound so harsh but was too drunk to care about apologizing right away. "I can't talk ta anyorne, aboot anyt'ing. If I do, we might get 'n trouble."
"Well if you don't talk to someone, you're just gonna get worse!"
"Fuckin' cry me a river, okie, because I don' know what de fuck to do!" Pickles's face was red with growing hostility, and he ended up swiping his arm to the side, smashing the glass bottles on his nightstand against the ground or the wall. "I'm et the crossroads o' holdin' it all inside 'til I explode, or tellin' someone even a snippet 'n' causin' Dethklok's fall! Net really greaaat choices here!"
"Pickle? Ams you okays?" Pickles groaned inwardly, just what he needed. Toki poked his head inside, eyes wide from the loud crash and studying the drummer's flushed, drunk face with worry. "Oh, Pickle..."
Pickles was beginning to feel tired of all this concern over him. Forcing himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat, he turned his back to them and waved them away with a false cheery voice. "I'll be fine, jus' leave me alone right now."
He heard footsteps coming toward him and he tensed, until Nathan's voice, surprisingly gentle, said, "No, c'mon Toki. You can talk to him later." As he led the younger man away, Nathan called back to Pickles, "Come to the living-room. When you're ready."
Pickles grunted his response and concentrated at the floor until he heard the door close behind him. He was just about to sigh with relief when he heard whispering on the other side of the door. Curious and slightly suspicious, he stumbled as quietly as he could toward his door and pressed his head against it to listen.
"I- I sorries, Nat'ens."
A sigh from the bigger man. "It's fine. Just... you gotta remember not to push him. Especially if there's, like, already another person talking to him. I'm already pushing his buttons enough. 'Cuz he's a dildo."
There was a pause. "Does you thinks he woulds hurt mes?"
"No. Well... I don't know," Nathan admitted, and Pickles's heart felt like it had been squeezed with guilt. He didn't act that bad, did he? Most of the time when he felt cornered and pressured, he'd just yell or break things. That didn't mean he was violent against anyone... at least not more than usual. And definitely not towards Toki.
"I ams just tryinks to helps."
"I know, but you can't. He has to figure it out himself." Oh the irony of Nathan chastising the younger bandmate for something that he was trying to do himself just a few moments ago.
"But hows when Charles won'ts lets hims?"
"I'll talk to him."
"Wowee, reallys?" Toki squealed, for some reason excited about this. Nathan grunted in affirmation and there was another small bit of silence before Toki added softly, "Hey, Nat'ens..."
"Yeah?"
"Ifs I can'ts pushes him, why ams you push hims?"
"Because, not that I think, like, you're too weak to handle it. But if it gets bad enough, I'll take a fuckin' beating from him for, forever if it makes him realize I'm not there to actually start a fight." Nathan muttered. Nathan wasn't one to say no to punching people once or twice, so he must have figured that the best way to show his undying friendship would be to get his ass kicked if it made Pickles feel better, and to show that the singer wasn't there to harm Pickles. He just wanted the red-head to listen, even if it was uncomfortable to hear. Not really the best of ways to communicate support, but it was touching nonetheless, in its own little way.
It also weirdly made sense, because he would definitely be more likely to try and kick Nathan's ass than Toki's and it WOULD mean a lot more to Pickles if the bigger man chose not to strike back when he had every reason and availability to. Their friendship was strange, for sure.
"Ohs, speaks of Charles," Toki said in almost a squealing manner, and Pickles could suddenly hear a pair of light footsteps fading in.
"Hm? Were you two discussing me or something?" Charles questioned once he got close enough to make conversation without shouting down the hall.
"Sorta. I'll tell you later," Nathan grunted.
"Ah, alright... Well the other band is nearly here, so if you guys could head outside with the others."
"Yeah, we were just 'bout to, but..." Nathan's voice trailed off.
"Is ah, Pickles being difficult?"
"Not, not really. He's just kinda... drunk off his ass."
"Wasted likes a sluts on summer breaks!" Toki chimed in.
"Language," Charles chided Toki gently, now was not the time for those kinds of comments. "I'll check on him and bring him down. In the meantime, you two can go meet up with the others now."
"Okays," Toki said softly while Nathan grunted in acknowledgment, and two pairs of footsteps, one much heavier than the other, began walking away from the door. Once a loud knock rang in his ears, Pickles suddenly realized he'd been leaning on the door way too much for support and when he stepped back to not seem so suspicious about spying on them, he ended up falling all the way over and onto his ass.
Charles must have heard the loud flop because he cautiously opened the door, saying, "Pickles?" He looked down at the drummer who attempted to scramble onto his feet and only managed to fall back over in a different position.
"Are you, ah, alright, there?"
"'M fine, 'm fine. Why's everyone gotta be so nosey," Pickles grumbled as he crawled across his floor to grasp the mattress in front of him and pull himself upwards.
"Well, it's just ah... you. You were on the floor. From most likely falling down."
Pickles shook his head before realizing that sharp head movements were making him feel nauseous. "I jus' felt like bein' down dere."
"So, you fell down on purpose?"
"I was jus' givin' de floor a hug." Pickles rolled his eyes as he managed to stand on his own two feet. The second he was able to keep himself balanced, he felt a splash of ice cold water on his face, causing him to gasp loudly.
Pickles used his damp shirt to wipe most of it off, then looked up and glared at the culprit, who was not amused in the slightest. "Something to help sober you up," Charles spoke as he handed another shirt to the other to change into. "Hurry up and get to the entrance. I mean it." Then Pickles watched as his manager turned and left quickly without a word, with a raised eyebrow.
After changing his shirt and trying to slap himself to stay conscious enough, Pickles headed down the hallway with a soft grumble about how everyone was a bunch of douchebags. Deep inside though, he felt a little guilty for being such a mess of a person. It was obviously affecting everyone else very badly.
Pickles didn't realize that another one of his bandmates was heading out at the same time he was, and ended up knocking into the other as they both met at the corner. "Hey, wathch it-" The voice started, then paused. Pickles didn't have to look up from where his eyes were cast down, to know who it was. Before anything could be said further, Pickles turned and practically ran down the hallway as fast as his wobbly feet could go.
Ever since that incident, the two hadn't really talked to each other face to face, and Pickles preferred it that way so as not to be tempted into killing Murderface. The only thing he had to tolerate regularly was Murderface's snide comments about random unimportant things, and some side-eyed staring when he thought Pickles wasn't looking. There were also a few previous attempts at real small talk from Murderface that Pickles pointedly ignored and walked away from.
The fact that this time he had accidentally touched Murderface, grossed Pickles out. Why he had decided to do so much more with that man about a year ago, when he couldn't even stand to shoulder bump him now, was beyond him.
Pickles paused in his running, suddenly feeling nauseous and hunched over, holding back his vomit with his hand planted against the wall nearest to him. He gasped and swallowed at the air like a fish out of water, the world around him spinning much too fast for him to keep up. He ended up falling onto his ass again, feeling his eyes burn with tears as well. He knew exactly why he did what he did that day. Being disgusted at the idea now didn't change his need for it back then.
He clenched his jaw to keep from throwing up and his hand subconsciously gripped at his stomach from the pain, before Murderface's face flashed through his vision and he cringed. After all these months, and Pickles still couldn't function properly after one little run-in with the person he hated the most. His mind was being driven back to those dark times, pulling him in...
"Sir, do you need help?" A Klokateer who had been walking by offered, and without a word, Pickles lifted his limp hand, allowing himself to be pulled back onto his feet. He refused to say anything as he continued walking down the hall until he was out the door, but the Klokateer didn't mind this. He had been used to helping pick up most of the band off of the floor for years. What he was more concerned with, was the pained look on Pickles's face.
He turned to go back to his normal duties, when Murderface rounded the corner, face unreadable. Ah, that's why, the Klokateer thought to himself as he nodded respectfully to his other master.
Once Murderface had passed him, he began to walk to his destination again before freezing in his tracks like last time. "Shit, the plants!" He exclaimed out loud, turning and running down a different hall.
Pickles had managed to stumble into bright sunlight and take his position on the far right- or left, Pickles couldn't remember which direction was which anymore- of Nathan, beside Skwisgaar. Murderface came out just a moment later, taking it upon himself to stand next to Toki on the other side. Charles was discussing something with Abigail, the other band's manager, when they saw a limousine pulling up slowly until it was directly in front of them. Pickles swayed in his spot, trying to blink the light out of his face, and chose to stare off into the distance.
Everyone began to climb out of the car; the obvious leader, her name escaping Pickles's drunk mind, and she was a lot tinier than he had expected. She was covered in many tattoos, but otherwise she looked like a basic carbon-copy of Nathan, other than the fact that her scowl was much too try-hard and based on trying to look aloof and disinterested, whereas Nathan was actually very obviously disinterested.
Next from the other side, a short haired, bearded man stepped out, chin held high and green piercing eyes looking determined. Soft-faced version of Charles was an understatement. He didn't particularly have an aura of brutality, nor did he need it to catch the other's attention, but he did have an interesting vibe with him for sure. His face seemed slightly guarded, analytical, scrutinizing.
Then at the same time two more came out; this time a black woman with long purple dreads and wearing a loose fitted see-through fishnet shirt with a tank-top underneath, dark brown eyes shining brilliantly in the light; as well as a slightly shorter woman with her hair in two separate buns, and wearing a crop-top similar to the leader's. The two immediately went around the limo to meet up with each other.
Of course Pickles barely registered any of this in his mind, glancing over them once or twice before continuing to stare at nothingness.
That's when the final person fell out, literally on their face, and he blinked, choosing to finally focus his eyesight on the last person. The bearded man had helped them up onto their feet and was looking them over for any signs of damage, giving Pickles the opportunity to also study them.
Pickles wasn't actually sure what they were, but originally figured them to be male, since their untucked plaid shirt was unbuttoned almost all the way down to the navel, showing off their smooth, hard chest. However, there were obvious scars underneath their pecs, making it difficult for Pickles to come to a conclusion. Those scars looked so oddly familiar... Pickles swallowed heavily.
The tattoos though... The more he looked, the more he could find; all black and white. Except one. They were all too far away for him to see well, but it looked like a kid's handwriting on their chest, and he wondered why that would be there since it looked so out of place.
Pickles decided to study their face itself, watching as they pushed their short, spiky hair away from their face and grinned up at their friend. They began to stumble with their friends as they all started walking over, the leader obviously in the lead. Pickles couldn't stop studying the last one in fascination, realizing a bit too slowly that the other person was just as drunk as he was.
There was a long, disturbing silence once the two had met up, until the leader literally jumped on Nathan, forcing him to fall onto his back and screamed something at him in a fangirl manner, to which Nathan's reply was silence, but very obvious displeasure. Pickles had lost interest in everyone again, just concentrating on keeping himself up and walking properly once they all headed inside, into the living-room.
Pickles's eyes did rest on Toki at some point, who looked a little pissed off most likely because of the exchange that caused Nathan to be knocked down (the boy was very protective), then at Charles, who just looked somewhat amused, which was very unlike him since he was usually much too serious of a person to appreciate any comedy unfolding in front of him.
Once Nathan had come back from the bathroom and they all introduced themselves to each other, Pickles tried to keep note of everyone's names.
Nathalia, the band's singer and the one who fangirled on Nathan... She's a bit of a mess but I suppose she's cool, Pickles thought to himself as he barely managed to shake her hand. Let's see... Raven... Caw caw, heh... I don't think she'd be amused by that... Ivy... Threatening Skwisgaar... Well, he deserves it... Tobias... very polite... looks kinda like Toki if they were both turned around and had their hair up. Salem...
Pickles blinked as suddenly it was his turn to shake the other drunk's hand and he found that it was not going so well. After tangling himself in their arm and deciding that gnawing off his own appendage or fighting to the death were his only options, Nathalia had come up to them and easily unraveled their arms, her eyes glinting with amusement as she mocked them.
As they finally managed to shake hands, Pickles also decided to speak more than a single word, (that being his name). "Nice ta meet ya. 'M Pickles. Yer... Yer drunk."
"Nuh uh, you're drukn," Salem slurred with a grin before burping loudly, causing him to lightly snicker.
"Ladies, ladies, you're both drunk," Someone, Pickles figured Ivy, stated, causing Salem to retaliate, though their eyes never strayed from each other's.
Eventually Charles had a lot of boring shit to say that Pickles and Salem both didn't care to pay attention to, their knees weak and barely able to hold themselves up. They would keep looking at one another or sneaking glances, not even realizing it and even if they did, believing that no one would catch them.
Nathalia most assuredly did though at some point, after looking away from whatever the Hell Nathan was doing, because she smirked to herself, knowing she would make fun of Salem later. Meanwhile, Murderface had looked up from his wood stabbing to eye them both, jaw clenched as he seemed to be thinking really hard.
It was almost strange, this immediate magnetic pull that kept both Pickles and Salem preoccupied by the other's existence. Maybe it would make sense for Salem to be that way, since Pickles WAS arguably the best drummer in the world. But for Pickles to be like this? It threw him off a little, but then again he was too drunk to fully comprehend it at the moment.
Eventually the guests were all allowed to go find their rooms, but Salem would have none of that. Deciding that they were tired, they ended up falling to the ground, in a much more comedic way than the pathetic flopping of Pickles earlier, and sat there with a certain determined pout, chin jutted out. There was something oddly familiar about this. Perhaps Pickles used to act this way too, when he was an alcoholic to have fun and not to drown his sorrows. In fact, he was sure of it.
One poor Klokateer decided to handle it much like they usually handled Pickles, which caused a mini tantrum from the other who had not been expecting to be touched. They rolled over, ass in the air, and scooted along the ground like a caterpillar trying to avoid the Klokateer.
"Just grab them by the legs. But do NOT touch the face, they bite!" Nathalia yelled out to try and help. Pickles's ears perked up at the use of the 'they' pronouns and blinked in confusion at this, but chose rather to push it to the side until he was sober enough to make sense of the situation.
"Hold en, I got dis," Pickles interrupted whoever had been talking, choosing to dig through one of the couch cushions to pull out a bottle of vodka that he kept stashed around for easy grabbing if he was too lazy to go back to his room for more. Immediately, as soon as he broke the seal, Salem perked up at the noise, eyes wide. "C'mon, follow me 'n' you cen have dis," Pickles taunted the other, shaking the bottle in front of them.
"'Re youuu bribin' me? Fuck youuuu, I have standerds!" After a pause, they added meekly, "Help me up."
Pickles chuckled softly as he gripped the other's palms, pulling them onto their feet with great difficulty. His eyes scanned some of the scars on their chest and the colorful tattoo, but looked away once Salem opened their hands for the bottle. Thus began the long trek down the hallway, catching Murderface's grim face once before turning the corner backwards and nearly tripping over his feet, several times.
"Watch it, sir," the Klokateer leading them warned, but as usual was ignored.
Salem looked like an overgrown toddler, waddling down the hallway with their arms outstretched, practically drooling at the sight of the booze, which amused Pickles greatly. "Gimme," Salem begged as they reached further for it.
"Not yet," Pickles said with a smirk as he lightly shook the bottle, hoping he didn't fall and break it right in front of the other. Finally, they reached the door and after the Klokateer made his departure, he opened the door for Salem like the gentleman he was, and then followed them inside.
Pickles was astounded by how well they had decorated the room, knowing that Charles had put all this effort in to make the guests feel more comfortable. It seemed like Salem was a plant lover. He confirmed this by looking down at them (realizing also for the first time how short Salem was, even shorter than him), and seeing the dazed, far off look in their eyes as they went around the room, touching each plant they could reach.
Salem must not have realized this, but they found themselves whispering, and it didn't seem like English; Pickles could swear it sounded something ancient, even. Pickles was too drunk to listen to some magic sounding voodoo bullshit (then again, he was drunk and probably was too impaired to understand anything even in English), so he cleared his throat and waited for the attention to be turned on him before he held up the vodka bottle and offered it to them.
Their hands made grabby motions as they excitedly took it from the drummer, causing him to laugh quietly, and commented on the fact that he was happy to not be the only drunk there. Which was true; it made him feel calmer, knowing that the focus wasn't on just him having an alcoholic addiction.
Salem's eyes cast down as they mumbled something, temporarily worrying Pickles that maybe he had made the other uncomfortable. But then they looked back up with a shy grin before throwing their head back to guzzle down half of the bottle before stopping. "Shit, did you want some too?"
Pickles's mouth was agape.
"What?"
"I never seen... anyerne finish half a bottle almost as fast as me."
Salem looked bothered. "What ya mean, 'almost'?"
Pickles smirked. "Well obveooooously no one can beat me. But yer pretty close compared ta most others, I'll give ye dat." Truthfully, it was the closest anyone had ever gotten to finishing a bottle as fast as him, and he wasn't sure if he was afraid or impressed.
"Is that a chall'nge?"
"Maybe, what ya gonna doo aboot it?"
"What else but accept it?" The smug look on Salem's face unnerved him. "Let's have a drinkin' contest."
"Maybe one of dese days, but right now yew should probably settle in. Unpack 'n' settle fer a bit, bef're I totally destroy yew in drinkin'."
Salem gave a huff as they handed back the bottle and proceeded to lay on their bed, arms and legs stretched out comfortably. "My version of settlin' down is to sleep and not deal with my shit."
Pickles chuckled, knowing exactly how they felt. "Fair enough. I guess I'll see ya later den. Maybe when we start recordin' or when we do dat drinkin' contest." His eyes had been on the bags in the corner but when he looked back at Salem, he was surprised to see that their position had changed into a little ball and already seemed sound asleep. His vision trailed down to see a blanket under the bed, and used it to cover up the other one, but not before noticing more white scars on the back and sides of their neck. He wondered what had caused it, but was too drunk to focus on his thoughts, and instead simply left the room so they could sleep.
As he wandered the hallways, not really wanting to sleep too since it was still somewhat early, he spotted the rest of his band walking his way, laughing, and decided to join them.
"Heyy, guys," Pickles said slowly as he trotted up to them. Nathan looked mildly irritated as Toki clung to him as he usually did, talking his ear off about one thing or another, and Skwisgaar watched with a grimace. Once the drummer joined them, Toki was even more excited, much to Nathan's dismay.
"Pickleeeee!" Toki all but shouted, and Pickles found himself catching the younger man mid-air as he leaped for a hug. Unfortunately, because of Pickles's drunkenness, they both ended up falling to the floor.
"Ugh... Hey Toki."
"HI PICKLE!" Toki practically screeched.
"God, Toki, do you have to be so loud?" Nathan grumbled, rubbing his temples.
"Sorries Nat'ens," Toki said sincerely, jumping off of the red-head so he could go back to the bigger man's side.
As Pickles pulled himself off of the floor and brushed the dirt away from his shirt, he realized everyone around him was oddly quiet (except for Toki). As if they weren't sure on how to communicate with Pickles.
Pickles couldn't help but notice that it was definitely getting harder and harder for them to talk to him, when they knew Pickles was slowly falling apart and the one thing they needed to talk about, they couldn't. Either because of Charles's rules or because Pickles was too afraid to break those rules for one second.
Pickles chewed on the inside of his cheek, unsure on how to even start a conversation with them anymore. When was the last time they all just talked about literally bullshit nothingness? The last time they all had laughed together without keeping an eye on Pickles to see if one little word would trigger him into a fit of trauma? The last time that any socialization wasn't about Pickles's drinking habits or general depression? He suddenly felt very awful and selfish and self-centered.
"What, uh what ya guys talkin' aboot?"
"Just Nat'ans getting his ass kickeds by a gorls," Skwisgaar snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"She caught me off guard!" Nathan practically roared, which only caused the band to laugh at him. Pickles smiled and managed a genuine chuckle, but the good feeling in his chest that had been there while around Salem was fading and he was beginning to fall into that hole of self-pity.
He swallowed thickly, hoping no one would notice his downward spiral. "Heh, sure, Nate."
"Don't start with me!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Pickles.
"Why not? Don't wanna fight?" Pickles taunted with a light grin.
"I don't fight g-" Nathan started then paused, staring at the person he was talking to. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."
Pickles raised an eyebrow as the twist in his gut squeezed more painfully and red-hot shame washed over him like he was drowning in lava. "No, go on. What don't yew fight?" Nathan grunted and rather than reply at all, he turned to face away from Pickles to instead stare at the wall beside them, so Pickles pressed on. "Don' fight gay people? Or, or, better yet, girls? Ha, funny, Nate. I'mma... go now."
"But Pickle..." Toki looked really upset.
But Pickles had already rounded the corner, coincidentally walking away just as Murderface had shown up, leaving a really heavy and awkward silence between them all and Murderface having no clue what had just happened, staring nervously between a red-faced Nathan and a whining Toki.