ᴍᴜʀᴅᴏᴄ ɴɪᴄᴄᴀʟs

       Riccardo shook his head in denial about ever thinking of hurting Murdoc. After-all, he wasn’t just some PSYCHO murderer. Maybe the first could be debatable, given he’d already sought to find those answers a long time ago. But he didn’t just kill for the SAKE of it. It was always for a reason, otherwise, he was only as good as a dumb animal playing with its food. He didn’t think of himself that way at all. He even tried his best NOT to harm regular people, if he could. There was no pleasure in hurting those who didn’t do anything to him enough to deserve it. Nah - in the end… that would be a waste of his time and resources.        “I’m no innocent man, but I have no plans to HURT you… actually - it’s really the opposite.” He grinned, glad to see that the other man was as willing to have a bit of FUN as he was. After-all, it’d been longer then he would have liked since he’s touched another human being (or other species of sentient creature) in a more relaxed setting. And just because he WANTED to, at that. Using his body to get what he wanted didn’t count—

       THAT look though - that was exactly what he’d wanted to see. Surprise mixed with heated desire - it was a damn good look on Murdoc. Riccardo’s smirk could cut steel at that point, keeping their lips just as close. The others PLEA had his own body heating up with arousal, his voice dipping with a throaty hum, moving his free arm so that he could grip the back of the other mans neck in order to pull him into another kiss.        His lips moved against the other mans after a moment, teeth pulling at his lip teasingly. He kept the pace slow, enjoying the moment. He didn’t mind dragging it out. As fierce of a lover he COULD be, he often enjoyed taunting his partners until they broke down. Kissing was just good enough for him right now. They had all of eternity as far as he was concerned for the main event. Slowly he pushed the other man back against the couch, holding his throat gently but with persistence as he slid his tongue across the others lips with a deep sigh.

     For the moment, Murdoc believed Ricky. He wasn’t a stranger to manic moods or whims. If Ricky turned on a dime and decided to strike him down, he’d be ready for it, too. But he didn’t want to die now. Not really, despite the type of lifestyle he led. It was probably less rockstar and more beach bum now, but he told himself he could change that at any time. He could bring Gorillaz back into the studio whenever he wanted. He would bide his time. There was still plenty of revenue to live off of from The Now Now and royalties from the previous albums.

     In any case, he certainly was in for a treat now. That smirk on Ricky’s lips did things to Murdoc’s heart and loins. On instinct, Mudoc’s trademark long tongue slipped out. He licked his own lips instinctually while his heart rate elevated. The sexual tension between them grew thicker with each passing moment. He almost regretted how he relinquished control, as he wanted another kiss badly, but he knew he made the right choice once Ricky puled him into another kiss.

???,  not  dead.

his  expression  doesn’t  change  in  the  slightest  while  he  stranger  taunts  him  —  he  just  stands  there,  blinking  slowly  as  he  leans  against  his  stick.  it’s  pretty  laughable  that  the  guy  would  spend  so  much  time  being  a  dick,  &  then  make  an  obvious  point  himself,  but  max  resists  the  urge  to  argue  …  for  now.  ❝  fuck,  you’re  even  more  lost  than  i  thought  you  were.  you  don’t  really  sound  like  you  want  my  help,  though.  ❞  is  that  a  threat?  a  little.  he  watches  at  the  guy  pats  himself  down,  quirking  an  eyebrow  as  he  tries  to  figure  out  what  he’s  looking  for  &  taking  a  tiny  step  back  when  he  receives  that  totally  unwarranted  glare.

once  he  realizes  he’s  being  accused  of  theft,  max  instantly  calms  back  down,  rolling  his  eyes  in  a  pointedly  exaggerated  matter.  ❝  nah,  it  didn’t  come  to  mind  —  &  i  wouldn’t  put  my  hands  in  your  gross  pockets.  i’ll  do  that  next  time  i  find  a  body,  though.  ❞  he  sounds  pretty  sure  there  will  be  a  next  time,  but  he’s  neither  depressed  nor  elated  about  it.  overall,  he’s  just  a  pretty  …  apathetic  kid.  ❝  there’s  a  phone  back  at  my  camp,  if  you  wanna  use  one.  ❞  well,  he  means  david’s  cell  phone,  but  the  guy  doesn’t  give  a  shit  about  it  —  max  basically  steals  it  on  the  regular.

     Murdoc watched as the little bugger just stared at him, who maintained a pokerface on the whole, even though the attitude gave Murdoc the vibe that the kid was already tired of him. What was the point in bullying if he couldn’t even get a proper reaction? He wouldn’t even call it bullying... Just dishing it back out. An eye for an eye. Tit for tat. He had no intentions of becoming cordial with the kid. He may have been attempting to change his ways, but he’d never become a doormat either. A hangover of this level hardly inspired him to be kind.

     “That’s the problem with this generation. They don’t even know who I am,” Murdoc said, more to himself than the child. “You probably weren’t even born yet in 2005, were you?” Gorillaz still sold well, but that year was the peak of their popularity. He made a face at the kid’s remark about his pockets being gross but decided not to argue a moot point. “Well, at least you’re learning,” he said in regard to the kid mentioning he’d check the pockets of a corpse next time.

     The offer of using a phone to call home grabbed Murdoc’s attention. “Oh, that’d be greaaat.” He pushed himself to his feet, groaning as his old bones creaked. His body was probably sporting several bruises, but now wasn’t the time to strip off his shirt. As disgusting as the moist fabric felt, he’d get burnt to a crisp. “Lead the way, boy.”

       It wasn’t impossible that Ricky WASN’T making fun of him, in some harmless way. But if he was, it would be just the nature of things; for someone like him. It’s sometimes hard NOT to see some things as being simple, after so long experiencing the extraordinary, everything becomes ordinary. But - it wasn’t a thing to be impressed by. Not to him at least. Maybe it was just his own warped self-esteem issues, but he often thought of knowledge as being more of a curse then anything. In the end though - it didn’t even really matter. Murdoc, to him, was a lot more interesting then most of the people he met.        Especially any of his alternates. Who often thought of themselves as being better then everyone else, while pretty much simultaneously hating themselves in a vicious cycle of emotional depravity. In the end, it was THAT which he found to be truly boring…        His point was proven, the moment Murdoc explained himself for being so blunt about wanting to have sex. It honestly… surprised him. Not so much because Murdoc struck him as the sort to not give a shit - but because really, Riccardo didn’t often get ASKED if he wanted something or not. Even sex - something he himself always thought about in a very casual sense. It still meant something that Murdoc bothered. His brows furrowed, and he LOOKED as surprised as he felt, despite himself… “O-Oh - okay. Well - then… yeah.” He smiled, a genuine one he rarely showed nowadays.

       His eyes dragged down lazily towards the other mans inverted cross necklace, having only really JUST noticed it, he let out a sort of GIGGLE at the notion that SATAN would want him as a sacrifice. If such a being existed, then it’d certainly already KNOW that he’d be meeting it in the after-life anyways. But as it were, Riccardo wasn’t really concerned either way. “N-Nah. Not that. Someone’s religion d-doesn’t really make ‘em a killer. Hell. I’m not even religious… you never know what someone’s capable of.” He smirked, amused ever-more by the thought. Anyone had potential to be a murderer. Nobody was worth trusting enough to think that they couldn’t do it, if the time arose…        He’d almost FORGOTTEN about putting his hand on Murdoc’s thigh. While his tolerance for liquor was obscenely high, and he was perfectly capable of cognizant thought right now, his fingers still twitched when he felt a hand ontop of his own. He looked back up at the other mans face, his breath catching when he felt those words against his ear and could feel the heat from Murdoc’s face - so close. If the words themselves weren’t enough, Murdoc HAD to know what his voice alone could do to a person… Tingles drifted through his nervous system, making him feel warm from his chest to his ears.        Riccardo pulled away some from the other man, looking into his eyes, specifically on his ruby red orb, making him feel transfixed, especially in his loosened and buzzed state. He cracked another sharp, crooked smile before leaning in and giving the other a short and sudden kiss, sighing against his lips before pressing on a little, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze as he just enjoyed it for a moment. He needed this. He didn’t know he did, but he knew now. It was almost pathetic in a way, but Riccardo wanted to be close to someone. If only for a little while.

     Harmless teasing wasn’t something Mudoc was used to. When each day of his childhood used to be a war, his body became hard wired to fight. He expected the worst and had been the worst for years, even to the extent of calling people, namely 2D, the same names bullies used to call him. Violence repeated itself in a similar way, too. However, his defenses were crumbling some with age, most likely out of a fear of being left with nobody, or maybe he just wanted to live in some new, exciting, and gentler ways. Spending 53 years on this planet shouldn’t limit him. He wanted to be more than just an alcoholic tosser who hurt people.

He was Murdoc 2.0!

     At any rate, Ricky consenting to sex made Murdoc chuffed as chips. “Brilliant. And if you’re ever not feeling it, don’t be shy either.” Even if Ricky didn’t say anything, Murdoc would be watching for any signs of discomfort or rejection. But as things stood now, they both gave the green light. He mirrored Ricky’s smile, truly excited about what the rest of the late night (or was it early morning?) had in store for them.

     He listened as Ricky giggled and explained his perspective on not associating religion––or lack thereof––with a person’s deeds. “Mmh... Some sound and refreshing rational you’ve got there. So what does that make you capable of? Did the thought ever cross your mind of butchering me and throwing my body into the ocean before the sun came up?” The question wasn’t one most would ask, but Murdoc was genuinely curious. Never mind the mental imagery of his bloody corpse. He didn’t necessarily expect a real answer from Ricky, though. The majority of people wouldn’t want to admit to fucked up thoughts, especially ones which could prove incriminating. But thoughts were thoughts. Best to let them out somehow, whether in the form of conversation or in lyrics that came out in a drug fueled, alcohol driven frenzy.

     Ricky surprised Murdoc in the most wonderful way by being so affected by his flirting. He could actually see the other man blushing. The fact gave Murdoc confidence and reminded him of his glory days where he had sex with multiple groupies every night. But this seemed more special considering the lack of speed and what seemed like a modest amount of alcohol in his system.

     Worry started to creep in the moment Ricky pulled back. Just as Murdoc had been about to ask if something was wrong, he noticed the way Ricky was serving him looks. The smile charmed him, but somehow Murdoc still wasn’t expecting that short kiss, which left him gasping. The subsequent, gentle squeeze on his thigh sent pleasure shooting down his spine. His hand found Ricky’s again, only this time he interlaced their fingers rather than simply resting on top of it. “Do it again,” Murdoc half-implored, half-begged, leaning in close. His lips were only a few fractions of an inch away from Ricky’s. He could have kissed the man himself, but he found another person taking control intoxicating.

???,  not  dead.

when  the  body,  which  he’d  presumed  to  be  dead,  begins  to  move,  max  is  shocked  —  but  as  luck  would  have  it,  this  guy  is  too  groggy  to  notice  that,  &  by  the  time  he  is  looking  max’s  way,  the  boy  has  reverted  back  to  his  resting  bitch  face.  he  may  not  know  who  2D  is,  but  he’ll  be  damned  if  this  fact  can  stop  him  from  being  snarky.  ❝  no  shit,  sherlock,  ❞  he  shoots  without  missing  a  beat,  adjusting  the  stick  so  the  sharp  end  is  buried  securely  into  the  ground  &  he  can  lean  against  it.  (  an  unimpressive  feat  for  the  stick  in  question,  since  max  is  so  tiny  &  light.  )

❝  are  you  a  drug  addict  or  something?  you’re  pretty  far  out  in  the  woods.  ❞  in  fact,  max  is  almost  impressed  …  not  really,  though.  it’s  kind  of  pathetic,  actually,  even  if  he  can’t  find  it  in  himself  to  give  a  damn.  maybe  someone  else  thought  the  guy  was  dead  &  tried  to  dump  his  body  out  here?  either  way,  he’s  obviously  hungover  …  max  might  be  ten,  but  he’s  not  clueless  or  a  dumbass,  &  he  continues  to  sneer  as  he  continues:  ❝  do  you  know  where  you  are,  or  do  i  have  to  lead  you  to  civilization  like  a  fucking  saint  bernard?  ❞

     Many kids may have been brats with attitudes, but this lad possessed unprecedented levels of ennui and cynicism that seemed more in line with a moody teenager or jaded old man. Honestly, it gave Murdoc the inkling that the brat already seen plenty of shit from the look in his eyes. Not that it excused him from being a royal pain in the ass. At the very least, the brat didn’t appear murderous. Murdoc experienced some relief from the pointed end of the stick staying far away from his eyes.

     “Oh, what an astute little wanker you are. A regular junior detective. Oh, well done.” He sat up with great effort and did a mocking slow clap. “Wait, wait. Let me alert Sherlock Holmes. Watson’s fired. A trip to Baker’s Street is in order.” He cut the slow clap short. Even that was enough to irritate his headache. “Honestly, no idea. But judging from your accent, I seem to have made it to Hamburgerland––the US of A.”

     He felt the pockets of his trousers for his iPhone, only to discover it was gone. And so was his wallet. No passport either. He glared at the kid. “Did you loot me like a corpse?”

       ‘Laying it on thick’?           Was he…?         Probably. But he also didn’t really care if it came off that way. When he knew what HE wanted, he tended to just go for it without giving it much thought. Either it was received well or not, but he’d been around too long to go beating around the bush anymore. It became tedious after so many years of living as a bachelor. Even though his true nature was to be closed off and non-receptive to most things, he still liked to ‘live among the people’, so to speak, and have as much FUN as he could manage.        Truthfully, he hadn’t been having much fun before Murdoc found him. He wasn’t grateful for the distraction as much as he’d just been distracted unwittingly. Now, he was more focused on this guy who he barely knew. But who was supplying him with just enough amusement for him to want to stick around, and see how it went.        The question about him ‘being up to shag’, DID make him snicker. Well, at least he wasn’t the ONLY one getting to the point. That was different, at the very least. “Well - don’t make me sound so desperate. I just ASSUMED since you brought me here. It’d either be sex or you’d try to kill me. Either way, what fun, right?” 

       The talk of tv shows and cross-stitching evoked a bemused hum out of him, actually surprised that this guy was into such normal things. Of course, he was MORE surprised by what tidbit he heard NEXT, sitting up some with a big smile on his face. “You do robotics? Can you show me?” He wasn’t at all shy about his utter geekatude when it came to robots. He fucking LOVED them, and engineering in general kind of excited him in ways not many things did. “Or - I guess… later? Heh. Well, you sure are one interesting piece of work, Niccals. Surprising me at every turn. I like that.”        He was already pretty sure what had this guy ticking. To be honest, he felt kind of comfortable in his presence. He was almost eerily reminded of someone else - someone he didn’t really want to think about right now. So he stopped that idea right in it’s tracks by invading the other mans space, putting a chummy hand on his thigh with the same near goofy grin on his lips. “Handsome, smart, AND talented. Is there something you can’t do?” Given how receptive he’s been to compliments so far, Riccardo figured that zhuzhing it up a bit wouldn’t hurt. Even though he was painfully aware of how cheesy it was. That almost made it funner.

     The snicker made Murdoc’s face heat up. Had it been years ago, and he’d been high on methamphetamines, that would have been enough for him to snap. As it stood now, he wasn’t as drunk as usual, which meant experiencing the emotions in a much more raw way. He didn’t mind laughter if it came from his own antics, such as pranking 2D, but when he wasn’t trying to be funny, he just questioned himself. He wondered if he sounded simple to this worldly man, which was a bizarre blow to his ego. He typically considered himself the smartest person in the room. Noodle and Russel sometimes challenged that notion, though it came across a little differently since he knew them and they were all a band.

     “Not at all desperate. I just... I need affirmative consent. You can’t be too careful these days, mate, what with the Me Too movement,” he answered, shrugging in an attempt to make seeking permission more casual. Murdoc never brought up how he was a survivor. Between the dinner lady, the strange men his father used to pawn him off on in pubs, and the stints in prison, he experienced many scenarios where he never offered consent. He kept it all buried under plenty of other unwanted memories, all of which he attempted to forget with alcohol. But no matter how much he drank, those repressed thoughts manifested in some way or another, most commonly in the form of nightmares.

     Murdoc forced a smirk. “You truly take me for a killer? What gave you that idea? The fact that I picked up up at some god forsaken hour? Or is it this?” He casually fingered the inverted cross pendant around his neck and held it up. “You fancy yourself a worthy sacrifice to good ol’ Beelzebub?” he asked, chuckling some before dropping the pendant. Oh, it’d been years since he’d sacrificed something to the Devil, and he typically preyed on animals of the four-legged variety.

     The genuine smile from the bloke made Murdoc’s smirk soften into a proper smile. Ricky certainly got his jollies from cyborgs and robotics. “Well, I don’t have much anymore. The cyborg saw some hard times. All that’s left now is her head, which my guitarist uses as a vase for her bonsai plant. But the blueprints are lying around here somewhere.” For once, he could feel proud of his scientific achievement. The darkness that surrounded the era in which the cyborg was made, combined with the grief he received from his bandmates, typically prevented such.

     Ricky’s affectionate hand on his thigh made warmth radiate throughout Murdoc’s entire body. Gathering himself and remembering his bad boy image, he put a hand on top of Ricky’s and leaned in close. “As a matter of fact, there is one little thing,” he replied, his voice low and breath warm against Ricky’s ear. “I can’t resist you.”

€ for a bad memory that still haunts them 

     “…It wasn’t all roses at the Niccals house,” Murdoc mumbled, taking a drag from his cigarette. He tossed the straw out of his rum and coke and downed the entire glass, setting it down with an audible thud.

     “Furthest thing from it, really. I may have been a monster growing up, but sometimes I still question the way my dad treated me.”

     He took another puff, grateful to have the slight distraction as he shed light on the repressed memory. He wished he had another drink. “I learnt the hard way not to ask questions about my mum.”

     Ash from his cigarette fell into the nearby ashtray. “One night, when my dad was out at some boozer, I decided to look for any trace of her. I figured there had to be at least one Polaroid around somewhere. So I went into the old bastard’s bedroom. Started riffling through his dresser and the like.” He wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t find much besides a few crusty skin mags.”

     He continued to smoke his cigarette. “Anyway, my dad came home and somehow got the jump on me. Don’t ask me how, seeing as he was legless at that point with all he’d drank, but he still caught up with me. Slammed my little eight-year-old body right against the wall. Told me if I ever snooped around again that it’d be the last thing I did.”

     A humorless, sad smile came to his lips. “When I brought up Mum, he took the strap out and beat me black and blue. Said some rubbish about how I was ‘the incarnation of that ruddy slag’s mistakes.’” He glanced down at the mostly spent cigarette in resting between his fingers, frowning. “He used my arm as an ashtray by the end. He was going for the face, but… Well, that was the only victory I had that night.”

✢ for a good memory that makes them smile

     “As ghoulish as it may make me seem, I cannot help but smile whenever I think of the second time 2D flew through the windscreen of my Vauxhall Astra.

     Yes, there may have been a good bit of blood, but you know what? That second accident was what finally brought him around. If it weren’t for me, the poor sod would’ve remained as useless as an unopened bag of fertilizer. You may argue if it weren’t for me, he would’ve never encountered any sort of accident at all. You couldn’t possibly know that, though. And let me tell you: what happened was no accident.

     I’ll never forget the image of when he stood up. Tall, pretty, spiky blue hair, no eyeballs… This new and improved Stu Pot––which I then dubbed 2D––gave me the green light to truly have a go at Gorillaz. God bless the two dents in his head. The band just wouldn’t be the same otherwise.”

       “Re-Really trippy, isn’t it? You get used to it.” He didn’t mind the lack of bottle in his hand, but relaxed with his arm draped over the back of the couch. “Impressive you’ve seen aliens before, but still didn’t believe me. That’s smart.” You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, let alone from a random drunken stranger you picked up off of the beach.        “See - couldn’t POSSIBLY miss a face as handsome as yours. ‘Murdoc’ you said your name was?” He smirked, leaning over to take that bottle from the other mans fingers, taking a swig of it with his eyes barely drifting away from the other mans visage. “Mm - Well, I’m Riccardo. Not that you ASKED. My friends call me ‘Ricky’.” Or well - people who knew of his existence called him that. Anyone else he didn’t know just called him ‘Rick’, because it was much more impersonal that way. But right now, he was too drunk to get that deep about it.        He actually set the bottle down now, shifting so that he could face the other man more, giving him a soft smirk that pulled more at his unscarreed part of his lips. Now that the other wasn’t being such a capricious SNOT, maybe they could actually have some fun. “You know - other then liking to invite strangers into your ‘Love shack on wheels’, and showing me how good you look when you’re mad, what ELSE can I get to know about THE ‘Murdoc Faust Niccals’.” He wasn’t going to stick around just to have an petty squabble and leave. If he wanted to do that, he had plenty of better places to be. 

     Interdimensional travel at your fingertips was pure power. The man definitely won a few respect points from Murdoc after that. The genuine compliment about his intelligence made him relax a little, too. Maybe this man had better taste than he originally gave him credit for.

     He was about to take his drink, but the handsome compliment gave Murdoc pause, which let the man take the bottle back with ease. He listened as the man finally introduced himself. Neither would probably remember each other’s names in the morning at the rate they were going, but it was polite all the same. As much as Murdoc bragged about his looks, deep down he felt more like a cheap whore rather than the sex icon he claimed to be.

     “You’re laying it on thick, aren’t you?” Murdoc asked rhetorically, feeling the intensity of Ricky’s gaze. Whether the man meant it or not, it did make him feel better about himself. Plenty of the birds he’d hooked up with over the years usually talked about his money or how he played bass rather than his looks. Out of physical traits, his tongue got the most compliments, though they came during or after intimacy.

     “You’re up for a shag then?” he asked, voice growing a touch softer as he averted his gaze to his Cubans and took a drag on his cigarette. Context clues told him the answer was yes, but Murdoc wanted to make sure everything was totally consensual. In his younger days, he used to take what he wanted, though he stopped whenever anyone had any objections. As cruel as he used to be, he always did his best to make his partners comfortable in the bedroom. “Well, outside of music, I unwind by watching shows like Love Island and Midsomer Murders. Maybe work on my cross-stitch. I’m assuming you devote most of your time to science with that gizmo you’ve got there.”

     He paused for a moment, taking one last puff before putting his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. “You know, I created a cyborg clone of my guitarist once.” He wasn’t sure why this came as an afterthought. Why talk about TV and cross-stitching first? It seemed like this topic should’ve been the first thing to brag about around a scientific genius. He never got shy. He was simply caught off guard by the change in tone.

@muds666.

there’s  totally  a  body  in  the  woods.  it’s  nowhere  near  the  most  traumatizing  thing  max  has  seen  in  his  life  —  or  at  this  camp,  for  that  matter  —  so  he’s  rather  …  apathetic  about  it.  sure,  he’ll  mention  it  next  time  he  sees  david  or  gwen,  but  he’s  not  freaking  out,  or  running  to  find  some  help,  or  anything  like  that.  in  fact,  being  the  ten  year  old  boy  he  is,  even  the  mature  for  his  age  max  cannot  resist  the  urge  to  poke  this  alleged  corpse  with  a  stick  he  found  nearby.  the  piece  of  nature  becomes  a  tool,  &  with  a  serious,  somewhat  quizzical  expression  (  as  if  he’s  going  to  perform  an  autopsy,  )  max  pokes  the  man’s  side  with  the  pointy  end  of  it.  he  doesn’t  believe  in  an  afterlife,  just  …  nothingness.  not  many  people  are  willing  to  accept  that   they’ll  stop  existing  entirely,  but  max  is  looking  forwards  to  it:  it’s  gonna  be  great.

❝  …  huh.  lucky  guy.  ❞

     The prodding eventually elicited a groan from what no doubt resembled a corpse. Between the lifelessness and green skin, nobody could blame any passersby for coming to that conclusion. But Murdoc Niccals, somehow, miraculously survived another booze coma. As he became more aware, he felt the sharp end of a stick prick him through the damp, sweaty fabric of his shirt. His head could split open from all the throbbing. The sun seemed to beat down on him, even with the canopy of the oak trees.

     “Sweet Satan... My head...” the old bassist croaked, shielding his shut eyes with his forearm in an effort to block out the sun’s rays. With his other hand, he swatted at the stick, pathetically missing. “Sod off with that, faceache. I told you time and time again to use the bloody defibrillator whenever I'm like this. I don’t care if we’re outside. Find an outlet. Find a way.”

     He peered out from behind his arm to see it wasn’t 2D but a child with wild, fluffy, dark locks and a tan complexion. “...You’re not 2D.”