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“Skwisgaar, I know you wanted that kid in the band, but…”
Already annoyed even though Pickles wasn’t even a full sentence in, Skwisgaar turned toward the drummer and narrowed his eyes. “Ja, and?”
Pickles draped over the back of the threadbare couch, a plastic bottle of McCormick’s clutched in his hand. He seemed to be trying hard to focus his eyes on Skwisgaar but the cheap spirits had dulled him even more than he usually was by 4PM.
“It’s just… He’s kind of acting like a…”
Nathan grumbled, tired of Pickles’s politeness. “He’s acting like a weird little dildo.”
Skwisgaar resumed what he was doing, quietly and quickly playing his guitar. With an indifferent shrug, he said, “Ands? What’s that gots to do with mes?”
Pickles sipped the plastic vodka and cringed; it was exceptionally disgusting. “Like I said, you picked ‘im. You gotta get him acting like part of the band.”
“Whats you mean? He ams, he was playings earlier at practice, wasn’t hes?”
Nathan tossed an empty bottle at the trash can and missed. “Sounded like shit though, and you know it.”
Pickles nodded in agreement as he nursed at the bottle of vodka, cringing every time as if he didn’t know what to expect. “We figured since you’re from the same country and all, you could talk to him and get him to stop being a mopey little dildo. I mean, look at him!” Pickles gestured out the window, covered mostly in newspaper, with only a sliver ripped away so Toki was visible standing on the balcony through it. “He looks like a puppy someone abandoned on the side of the road.”
“Norway and Sweden amnt’s the same country, Pickle.”
Murderface paused his stabbing off the couch. “I thought you were both Dutch.”
“Oh fucks off, Moidaface.”
“Aaaaaaanyway,” Pickles was always prepared to defuse the inevitable fights between the lead guitarist and the bassist. “Basically we’re sayin’ this is your problem, you fix it. Figure out why he’s playing like shit.”
“Damnits- Fine.” Skwisgaar gently placed his Explorer on its stand and stood up with a huff. “I amnt’s being nice to hims though.”
Pickles swigged the vodka with a visible full body shudder. “Didn’t ask you to.”
Skwisgaar stomped across the room, ignoring the amused looks from his band mates that deeply enjoyed pushing his buttons, and flung the door to the small apartment open.
On the balcony outside Toki jumped at the sudden sound and appearance of Skwisgaar whose face was already creased with annoyance and he took a small step away when Skwisgaar dramatically folded his arms across the rusting balcony railing. Skwisgaar momentarily felt guilty; he had noticed how jumpy the younger guitarist was at sudden sound and movement but he often forgot and let his temper get the best of him, only remembering the boy’s skittish nature when he shrunk away if Skwisgaar yelled too loudly at his guitar playing.
Toki avoided eye contact as he stood by his senior, waiting for Skwisgaar to speak as something was clearly weighing on his mind.
“Look, Tokis, you beens out here moping all day.” The Swede dug in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one before he offered one to Toki who declined. “What’s your problem?”
Toki quickly held up his hands apologetically, waving them in front of him with a strained smile. “Ams nothing! Really, ams fine.”
Skwisgaar took a drag off the cigarette and narrowed his eyes at Toki, pivoting his body to face the younger man. “Don’ts lie. Your playing has been dildos for a couples of days now, and since you only beens here a few weeks, that ams too many days to plays like shit. So, agains. What ams your problem?”
Toki’s eyebrows knitted together, concern visible, written all over his face as clearly as the dick-shaped graffiti on the dumpster in the parking lot of their shitty apartment. “I’ms sorry, Skwisgaar, I-“
“Mmm.” Skwisgaar waved a hand. “No apologies. Tell me what your problems is, nows. I don’ts want to hear no apologies. Dids you get some goil pregnant and you’s worried about it?”
A furious blush broke over Toki’s face. “Whats?! Nos, that amnt’s it!”
“Then…?”
Toki’s blush faded and was replaced by a solemn expression, pale eyes threatening to overflow. “I ams… Ah, how you says… Lengter hjem… Jeg savner Norge.”
Skwisgaar didn’t speak Norwegian and could only piece a few words together when the sister languages collided but he did at least understand the last sentence: “I miss Norway.”
Skwisgaar dragged on his cigarette thoughtfully. “You misses home?”
Toki nodded curtly and looked away, embarrassed.
“You doesn’t say much about home - well, we never asks either - but I thought you saids that you was glad to go.”
Toki sniffled piteously and Skwisgaar’s stomach lurched; dealing with a crying teenager was his nightmare. “Ja, but… Still… It was homes.” He continued to sniffle and Skwisgaar ground out his cigarette on the ground.
“Comes on, Toki. Comes with.”
Toki stared wide eyed and nervously twiddled his thumbs. “Where ams we going…?”
Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. “Why alls the questions? Just…comes on. I’m nots going to leaves you in an alley or somethin’.”
That was enough reassurance for Toki and the two Scandinavians jogged down the narrow concrete steps onto the street. Toki dodged a discarded pile of insulin needles as the two strolled in silence.
A few blocks later they arrived at a brightly colored cart being guarded by a man wearing an equally brightly colored striped vest.
“Two,” Skwisgaar said simply as he held up two fingers.
“Flavor?” The man grumbled as he flipped a switch on a machine inside the cart and reached in after it.
“Nej, none.”
The man nodded; the request seemed familiar.
A few moments later Skwisgaar handed over two creased dollar bills and in exchange was handed two paper cones filled with shaved ice.
Skwisgaar extended one to Toki who took it carefully, fingertips barely touching the tiny paper cone, and began walking slowly back toward the apartment with Toki trailing close behind.
I hopes this doesn’t count as being nice… He thought.
“Listens, I comes from Sweden. I ams a long way from homes too.” He glanced over at Toki who was staring at him with rapt attention. “I… ates a lot of snow as a kids. It wasn’t greats. But… I still misses home sometimes too, even though I shouldn’ts.”
“Whenever I do gets homesick, I gets some snow from there.” Skwisgaar took a small bite from the snow cone and Toki imitated, his eyes fluttering half shut as the cold hit his tongue.
“This-“ Skwisgaar held up the snow cone for emphasis. “-was the thing I missed. The cold. Amnt’s anything else there worth missing, you gots it?”
Toki nodded, all trace of sadness fully wiped from his face, replaced with admiration that made Skwisgaar uneasy.
“Just… Don’ts look back. Dethklok gots to be successful and for that, you gots to get your shit together. You understands?”
Toki nodded and took another bite of his snow cone, fighting to keep a neutral expression to hide his brain freeze.
“Goods. You do better tomorrow.”
“I will, Skwisgaar, I promise.”
Skwisgaar took a bite of his snow cone. “Goods. Oh, by the ways, you owes me a dollar for that. That amnt’s a gift, after alls.”
Toki almost dropped the snow cone. “W-whats?! I amnt’s got any money!”
Skwisgaar shrugged, unaffected. “Amnt’s my problems. Play better so we cans get an album out and you cans pay me back.” Skwisgaar pointed the cone at Toki with a vaguely threatening expression. “I don’ts forget when someone owes me. Gots it?”
Toki bit into his snow cone, almost finishing the entire thing in one bite. “I won’ts forget. Promise.”
Skwisgaar delicately nibbled his own snow and looked up at the hazy sky. “Good.”
Beautiful illustration by god-impeaching-dj!