onehundredbeers | (no subject)

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voice mail

(no subject)

[The call transfers to voicemail.]

Hi, this is Nathan Explosion of Dethklok. I can't come to the phone now, I'm probably in a concert... playing golf... you know, something where I wouldn't have a fucking phone with me. Leave a message and I'll call you back, jackoff.

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No, it's not that! I just...uh... Well. I wasn't really planning to get, like, dismembered. Or killed. This week.

[He's quiet for a few moments, before replying in a calm, and even tone which doesn't really last.]

What you're saying is that you won't be going to any concert, because you're too concerned about what might happen. No, I get it, it's fine, yeah, totally cool.

[Terrible lies. He is actually disappointed.]

Doesn't fucking matter to me.

No, I... [sighs. this was exactly what he didn't want to do] Look, I'll go. [and hope the Doctor can come up with something that will reduce his chances of not making it back]

Hey, hey, no, it's cool. If you don't want to go, that's- that's fine. No skin off my nose.

[He sniffs.]

Besides, uh, I'd hate to feel bad about your sorry ass being dead. [He laughs, and it sounds a bit forced, but whatever he is trying to move on from things here.] I have better things to do than worry, you know? Like... get a burger. Tacos. Something.

It's not... [frowns, frustrated. he wishes he could do something to make this up to Nathan, but what?]

[tentatively] Well, maybe we could meet up anyway and do something like that? The Doctor probably knows the best place to get burgers in all of time and space! Or tacos, if you want.

[Nathan laughs.]

I don't think the Doctor could even begin to fucking afford my tastes, Oliver. Let's just- let's just say when I get burgers? One of them costs around 500 bucks. Kobe beef, foie gras, and then just the fucking size. I have, uh, expensive tastes.

[Expensive as in his other favourite food is cool ranch doritos. Don't judge him.]

[is silent for a moment] ...oh.

But I'm sure he could come up with something you'd want to see or--or eat, or something!

[Nathan is very spoiled. What with his 100k a week allowance.]

I guess.

[He doesn't sound too convinced.]

Anyway, it doesn't matter, don't worry about it, alright? It was pretty fucking dumb of me to extend the offer anyway, I know what goes on at my fucking shows. Kinda.

[now Oliver's the one who's disappointed. and he still feels bad]

No, it's not like that! I mean...I'd still like to hear your band. Have you got CDs or something?

Yeah. They sound a bit different from live shows, though. On older albums, I edited Murderface out. Newer ones, Knubbler did it at my order. And all the guitars are Skwisgaar. Usually.

Well, hey, at least I'd still hear you!

Yeah. I'll, uh, send them through the mail. Should get there, you know, eventually. I don't quite fucking get how mail goes through universes. I guess somebody at the shop delivers mail or some shit.

I'll be looking forward to it! Cheers, Nathan. I owe you. [and not just for the music]

No, you don't. Seriously, I have got so many albums fucking laying around the house. I get a bunch of copies for free to give to friends or family and, uh. They just rot. I usually melt them or throw them out the window like Frisbees. Like what you'd do with fucking, you know, free AOL internet CDs.

Yeah, well, I still owe you. [pauses] So uh...see you later, then?

Yeah. [And then sudden awkward quick reply.] Uh, bye.

[And he immediately hangs up to go deal with Murderface.]

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