#pbbbttt make of it what you will i'm done

[fundeadasylum]

He is Beauty, He is Grace, He’s Got Two Holes in His Face

Here, take this. Just take it. I barely tried. Now please stop bothering me about it. I’m not writing any more of this.

Based on @lone-sock‘s demon AU.

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Murdoc Niccals kicks the door closed, hesitates, and shifts his armful of essentials so he can flip the locks closed. Then he dumps everything onto the floor and stretches, arching his back until it pops. His gnarled teeth gnaw on his lower lip as he frowns at his work space, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed and squinting.

Windows blocked out with rubbish bags? Check. Particle board laid down? Check. Candles? Check. Chalk? Check. Book? Check. Confidence? Eh…half check. Though if anyone were to ask, he’d tell them to fuck off because he knows exactly what he’s doing, thank you very much.

Murdoc spreads out his materials and gets to work. He takes the chalk (blue, one of Noodle’s that she’d been using to draw on the paved floor of the car park) and the ruler and proceeds to carefully construct a circle in the center of the particle boards. The setup is long and arduous and Murdoc checks, double checks, and triple checks his work. One screw up will cost him dearly. Two would kill him. He’s done this once before. He’s no idiot. He’s got one shot.

The circle and its symbols are completed. The candles are set up. His protective barrier is established with his own circle and carefully laid incense. The bassist takes up his place in his own, smaller circle, squares himself up, takes a deep breath, and lifts an old, weathered book up to begin reading. He’s been practicing these words carefully in private and he can say them in his sleep. And now, in the moment, he’s certainly not feeling them catch in his throat as he speaks them into the dimly lit room.

Murdoc Niccals is summoning a demon.

The air thickens, power building with each word, a cresting wave ready to crash and consume. Murdoc’s pulse rate picks up, an unseen wind lifting his bangs, his eyes dancing with excitement. Here it comes…

The candles erupt, shooting pillars of bright flue flames to the ceiling it a roiling cloud of fire. Pale smoke swells in the center of the circle, twisting and throbbing and pushing at the edges as if it is alive, as if it is seeking an escape. Murdoc snaps the book closed and lets it fall to the floor, unable to tear his gaze away from the scene before him. The thud of the falling book is lost in the roaring, the rushing, the howling of something not of this world.

The fire and the smoke condense, tangling, molding, sharpening into something in the middle of the summoning circle. There’s a heavy whoomph of displaced air and power and then the room is quiet.

Murdoc can hear his heart pounding in his ears, his rasping breaths loud in the sudden silence. As the smoke clears, he grins, rocking on the balls of his feet, eager to get a look at the being he’s summoned to do his bidding.

The eagerness drains out of him faster than he can down a can of beer and his smile trickles away with it.

Perched awkwardly in the confines of the circle is a very tall, lanky, pale creature. It has the top half of a man with goat ears and curling horns parting through blue hair. The lower half is covered in thick, brown fur with sharp, cloven hooves scraping at the chalk lines in the circle. The eyes of the beast are black, void of all light, and the top of its head almost brushes the ceiling from where it sits hunched, watching him. It would have been an impressive creature…if not for the dumbfounded look on its face,

“Where’s this then? ’S not home…’s cold ‘in ‘ere…hey, oi, wot’s goin’ on?”

If he were a lesser man, Murdoc might have cried at the butchered voice coming from the demon. As it is, he’s Murdoc fucking Niccals and he will not put up with this shit.

“What the ever-loving fuck are you supposed ta’ be?” The bassist spits out all his displeasure, his frustration, and his disgust with those words. The demon flinches away from him.

“W-well, I’m a demon, aren’t I?” It insists. It—maybe he?—takes a look around, the void of its eyes sweeping over the room in a way that Murdoc can feel more than see, “Ah. You summoned me? Y-you did summon me, right? Only, see, I haven’ been up ‘ere in…ages. Ages! ’S a lot colder than I remember…”

Murdoc stares, processes, shakes himself, and says the demon’s Name. The demon jerks, black eyes widening, and a strangled yelp squeezing from its throat. He says the Name again and is rewarded with another flinch, blue hair bristling down its back as it draws in on itself. Murdoc’s lip curls in a sneer,

“Sing.” He commands.

“W-wot…?”

“I said, sing.” And he throws the Name out for emphasis.

The demon stutters, sucks in a breath, opens its mouth (oh Satan, its missing its two front teeth, what the actual fuck), and sings.

Murdoc expects fingernails on chalkboards. He expects tin cans in a garbage disposal. He expects grinding gears. He expects something as awkward and tangled as the demon’s speaking voice.

He does not expect beauty. He does not expect the silk and liquid silver that soars from the demon’s throat in an arc of pure, cold marble. It’s haunting, in a way, almost hollow at times, but there is no denying it’s gorgeous. The demon is singing some old love song and it’s enchanting. The damn thing must be some sort of siren because Murdoc is unhelpfully flooded with a raw feeling of nostalgia for something he’s not sure he ever had.

The demon is the first stars at twilight. It is something familiar and yet something so very new and awe inspiring that it touches the heart.

“Enough.” Murdoc whispers and struggles to claim his voice again, “I said, enough! Stop!” The demon snaps its mouth shut, looking a bit putout that it didn’t get to finish singing. Murdoc works his lower lip in his teeth again, squinting, thinking, assessing. He’s already made up his mind but acting like he’s debating is a good way of keeping everyone on edge,

“Eh, you’ll do.” He says eventually, “Welcome to the band, Face Ache.”

The demon frowns, blinking in confusion, “Band…? Face Ache…?”

“Ay, a band, nimrod,” Murdoc plants his hands on his hips, tilting his chin up and putting on a leering grin, “Got me a bassist—that’s me, ‘case you were wonderin’—and  a guitarist and a drummer. Jus’ needed us a singer with the voice of an—well, a good voice.”

“…me?” The demon says hesitantly, pointing at himself in astonishment. There’s a light pink dusting his cheeks.

“Oi, ‘course it’s you! Yer gonna be our pretty poster boy! Well, not lookin’ like that you’re not. ‘Ere now, what’s your best take on a human form then? Go on, luv, show us whatcha got.” Murdoc gestures impatiently and the demon in the circle shifts around, ears flicking nervously before it takes a deep breath and closes its eyes. There’s a soft puff of blue smoke and in the place of the towering demon, is a man.

He’s rail thin and taller than Murdoc by a good head and a half or so. His hair is the same blue as the demon’s, his skin porcelain pale and almost delicate looking. His long fingers twitch and fidget, dancing across his shape, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt and hiking up his pants that are too short on him anyway. He looks like an imbecile. A tall, beautiful, black-eyed god of an imbecile. Twin voids glance up at Murdoc, almost shy in the way they peek at him from under blue bangs.

“That’ll do.” Murdoc says happily, “Now, how’s abouts you meet the rest of the crew, eh, uh…hm.” Jagged fingernails scrape at the stubble on his jawline, “Shit, can’t be callin’ you by your Name in public, hm. Aw, I’ll just call ya’ Two Dents. 2D. That’s a good one, eh? Two Dents ‘cause of those bleedin’ black ‘oles in yer damn thick skull. Nice stage name too, iffin I do say so myself. Aight, 2D, this is my contract…”

Murdoc lays out his plans, his rules, the contract he’d written and rewritten a dozen times to make sure there were no exploitable loopholes. The demon—2D—listens intently, head cocked to the side, restless fingers still roaming the air. He has no additions to make. The contract is sealed. They shake on it. 2D shudders as the power seeps into his blood and then let’s out a sigh as he’s free to step out of the circle and stretch. Murdoc purposefully kicks over a couple of incense sticks and grinds them out under his boots before slinging an arm around 2D’s shoulders.

“C’mon, kiddo, yer gonna love it here! Everyone’s a star, a right family, we are! ‘Course, Russ might decide to make a tosser of ‘imself and try ‘in ditch you straight out the door. But don’t worry, once he hears you sing, he’ll be captivated.”

He leads the demon turned lead singer out of the room, leaving his mess behind to clean up later, regaling the creature with wondrous tales of fame and fortune. They’re going to make it big and there’s nothing that can stop them.

(Russel, as predicted, is none too pleased with Murdoc’s addition to the band. There are a few hours of venomous bickering and swearing but in the end it makes no difference because the two men come back to find Noodle has thoroughly adopted 2D already and there’s no going back now.

Russel definitely doesn’t find them drawing pictures together later and he definitely doesn’t think it’s one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen.)

#i finished this out of pure spite so it's probably garbage and definitely half assed #pbbbttt make of it what you will i'm done #gorillaz #demon!2D