The Dreamer 3.

“I know what you did! What you do to me every night! You nasty old troll,” Stuart shouts at the bassist, pointing an accusatory finger at him sitting there at the far end of the kitchen table. The other two band members snap their heads up from their breakfast and stare at the angry singer in astonishment. Then quickly look in the bassist's direction to see what his reaction will be. Staring silently at the singer Murdoc huffs a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. For the moment it's difficult to tell what his feelings are or if he even understood what Stuart has just accused him of. He slowly drops his chair down onto all four feet while reaching out towards the ashtray. Then butting out his cigarette he lifts his eyes to the singer and slowly his facial features begin to change. The blank emotionless expression twisting into a cold grimace. Which shows clearly that he did understand and isn't too thrilled by his suggestion. Like an old mob boss regarding a minor player that has been caught with his hand upon something that it shouldn't be. The older man then clasps his hands neatly in front of him on the table and licks his lips. Suddenly looking so calm and collected that it's almost frightening.

With the two band members staring each other down, one full of rage the other as calm and as featureless as the surface of a mirror. The silence in the room feels almost solid enough to hold in your open hands. With tension mounting with every second and Stuart looking almost as though he's about to burst a blood vessel. Russel and Noodle look rapidly from one man to another, waiting for one of them to make the next move. When suddenly a soft rumble bubbles through the air from the drummer, smashing the silence and echoing around the room. The other three band members slowly look over in his direction, watching the African American's face darken with embarrassment. He sits back in his chair slowly and looks down at his stomach then up at them again. Becoming annoyed with the look of disgust that is being fired at him and wishing that they would look somewhere else.

“It was my stomach,” he growls defensively, folding his arms over his huge chest and gruffly huffing out at them. Seeing them turn their attention back to each other he feels much better and returns to waiting for either Murdoc or Stuart to say something about the accusation.

“Now that fatso's arse has had it's say. It's my turn,” Murdoc growls softly. Rolling his eyes and his shoulders in their sockets, Russel thumps a fist down on the table.

“I said it was my stomach man,” he snarls icily at the bassist. Turning his slit eyes back to Russel, the older man lets an evil grin curl up one side of his mouth.

“Stomach, arse, what's the difference,” he purrs at him, then looks back over at Stuart. “I don't know what sort of depraved ideas you've got bouncing around in your head...”

“Really. It was my stomach Noo,” Russel appeals to the young girl next to him. She smiles at him and nods, patting his hand. Then looks back over at the bassist.

“... But I'm telling you now faggot. I haven't done a bloody thing to you,” the older man continues.

“It was some bad Indian that I ate last night. That's all,” the drummer huffs. Rolling his eyes in frustration, Murdoc snaps a look back over at the large man.

“Christ, who gives a toss about your irritable bowel! So you farted. Big whoop. If you want to go launching chemical weapons in future. Just be nice enough to at least give the rest of us a chance to don our gas masks or something. That's all I'm saying,” he growls softly, then turns back to the singer, who is looking even more annoyed that he's not getting the audience for his complaint that he had thought he might.

“That's a lie. You know it's a lie,” he snaps at Murdoc. Russel grins and nods firmly at the bassist.

“Yeah, see cracker. He believes me,” he purrs confidently. Stuart shakes his head and looks at Russel in confusion.

“No, I mean what he said about not doing anything to me,” he explains, making Russel huff out in shock.

“Oh man,” the drummer groans and bows his head in defeat.

“You tied me up on a table and stuck things in me. That's just wrong bruv. Don't matter which way you look at it,” the singer adds, looking angrily back at the bassist. This makes Noodle and Russel sharply look at each other in shock, then over at Murdoc.

“I warned you about sniffing toilet cakes before you go to bed. Now do you see why?” he groans in exasperation at the singer.

“You can joke about this all you like Muds. I've been down to that room and I know it weren't a dream...” Murdoc widens his eyes slightly. “... So why don't you just admit what you did and get it over with!?” Stuart roars at him jabbing a finger in Russel and Noodle's direction. Dropping his head forwards with a soft chuckle, Murdoc sighs in amusement and sits back in his chair.

“You mean down there right?” he rumbles throatily, bouncing his finger down in the direction of the maintenance rooms. Stuart nervously folds his arms protectively over his chest and nods rapidly. Murdoc then turns to the other two band members with a huge grin and growls softly. “He's talking about the maze of corridors and rooms. There's tonnes of them and I use them for storing stuff. When this place was a functioning crematorium, the former owners used them. I found the room where they used to prepare bodies for whatever when the dullard and I were moving boxes down there. So I showed it to the idiot and he's been having nightmares about it ever since.”

“Oh,” Noodle and Russel drawl softly. Nodding because now they understand what has happened and why the singer is behaving like this. Stuart gasps and unfolds his arms, surprised that they are accepting this without question.

“No no, that's not true. He's lying,” he mumbles, then steps towards Russel with his hand out in appeal. “Why are you letting him lie like that Russ?” Seeing that the drummer isn't accepting that what he's been through wasn't simply a vivid dream caused by seeing something that he couldn't handle. He instead turns to Noodle and appeals to her.

“Seeing a place like that would be a shock. So I do understand Stuart,” she says to him sympathetically. Stepping back with growing disbelief and frustration, the singer grips the hair at his temples tightly and shakes his head at them all.

“I'm not imagining it, I'm not imagining it,” he mutters, then turns and looks over at the bassist sitting back in his chair like a king with a huge evil smile on his face. “I'm not imagining it!” he roars at him, pulling out clumps of hair as he drags his hands back down again.

“Oh for Christ's sake dullard,” Murdoc growls impatiently, now weary of the sight of the flustered and fear stricken younger man before him. “No one is saying that you are. Yes that room is down there. Yes I took you there, I said that already. And okay, maybe telling you that I was going to snatch you in your sleep one night and remove your spleen for scientific research was going a touch too far. But Hell's bells kid. I was joking,” he explains, then slumps back as though suddenly exhausted in the chair. Russel stares at the bassist incredulously, sitting up straighter in his chair and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Damn it cracker. Well no wonder he's having nightmares man,” he snarls at the bassist. “You is one nasty piece of work, you know that.” he adds with a grunt of disgust. Murdoc rolls his head on his shoulders in disdain then suddenly snaps himself forward in the chair, slamming his fist down hard on the table, shocking all three of them into flinching.

“Fuck you fatso! I've never apologised for being myself before and I'm not about to do it now. If I'd known that he was that much of a prissy little pansy, then I wouldn't have gone so far. Maybe! Seeing the result, yeah. Maybe that would have been a good idea. Now I have to sit here and listen to his far fetched, idiotic accusations and weird dreams. So I don't need any more input from you thank you very much.”

“They ain't so far fetched man. You said you was gonna operate on his ass and that's what the cracker has been saying this whole time,” Russel snarls back.

“I haven't operated on the little shit!” Murdoc screeches.

“In his dream you damn fool!” Russel snaps, leaping to his feet and lurching forwards towards him. Murdoc blinks at him then calmly sits back in his chair.

“Just making sure that we're all clear on what did or didn't happen,” he remarks quietly and picks up his rum bottle.  

Seeing that he has lost control of the situation and has been completely outflanked and checkmated by the older man. Stuart twitches and turns around, quickly making his way from the room with a groan and stepping into the corridor. The second that he steps away from the kitchen he can feel how hot he has become. So coming to a stop on shaky legs he wipes his hand across his forehead and looks down at it, surprised at how wet it is with sweat. The throb in his temples and the swimming air around his head is warning him that he's about to go down for the count, because he'd been far more interested in proving himself right and had opted not to take his medication that morning. However, he's not willing to let the bassist have yet another thing over him this morning. So he grits his teeth hard, slaps a steadying hand against the wall and takes a very firm and deliberate step forwards.

This doesn't seem to have the kind of effect that he was hoping for and a powerful wave of pain sweeps up through him and punches it's way into his forehead. Crippling the step and nearly dropping him to the floor, as another wave comes at him from the other side, congregating in the same spot and pounding backwards into the core of his brain. With a low groan he slumps forwards and slides down onto his knee. Breathing hard and wincing at the tightening band that has circled his whole head and is squeezing it like a pimple. With another wave sweeping up the back of his skull, bringing with it that cold clammy feeling that makes him feel nauseous. He continues on down until he's curled up in a foetal position, holding his skull as though he fears that it's about to be split in two.

“Muds,” he calls weakly. “Muds help.” Hearing the soft call Murdoc drops the rum bottle from his lips and looks towards the open doorway. Huffing gruffly and putting his beverage down he follows the sound and stops to look around the wall and into the corridor. Seeing the younger man shivering in pain on the floor, he grunts and steps forwards.

“Aaaoooww,” he groans when he realises what has happened. “Why the Hell do you keep doing this?” he growls and leaning down over him, he reaches down and taps the singer on the shoulder.

“Can't...” Stuart whimpers and curls tighter. Murdoc spits an angry word and calls to Russel. Ordering the large man to pick up the pain addled singer. They take Stuart back to his room and deposit him on his bed. The bassist then shoos Russel out and closes the door, walking back to the side table and opening his pill bottle. Taking a seat on the bed next to him, Murdoc pours a few pills into his hand and picks up the bottle of water. Nudging Stuart and telling him to straighten out, he drops a few pills into his mouth then helps him sit up and sip some water.

Nasty the bassist may be. But Stuart knows that by being one of his an assets, the older man will always come to his rescue, so long as it serves him to do so. It's one of the few times when he feels close to the bassist and can almost believe that they are friends. He'd like to be one and has always felt that way. However Murdoc doesn't seem remotely interested in the idea and has often done things to prove that to him. Filling Stuart with a distinct air of disappointment and confusion as to why it's such a hard thing to believe in. Their friendship. In times like this though, there is the soft and very faint suggestion of parental responsibility. Fleeting and rare as it is for him, it's just a bit more apparent when it comes to Noodle. She's a little girl though, so it's in a way to be expected. Not that Murdoc has given any hint that he's ready to be a dad to anyone. Even though it's very likely that he's fathered many over the years.

“I'm sorry Muds,” Stuart whimpers softly when he's done. Watching the soft sheen move over the surface of the older man's eyes as he gazes down at him.

“Shut up,” Murdoc replies softly and puts the glass down, then stands and walks to the door stopping to look back at him. “Light on or off?” he asks, resting his hand on the switch as he opens the door to leave.

“Off please,” Stuart sighs and rolls onto his side away from him, the sad sigh of the younger man filling the bassist's ears and sending small ripples across the muscles of his mouth. The flicker of a frown that is trying to become a smile without success.

Lying there watching the light of the Giant Pong screens dancing across the floor in the darkened room. Reflect off the surface of Stuart's black hole eyes, as he lays there quietly feeling the pain fading from his head into the dull throb that he's better able to handle. Now that he's more able to piece it together without the tension and pain racking his whole body and twisting it into something ugly. The older man's reasoning is becoming more and more plausible and he's beginning to feel quite stupid for thinking otherwise. He closes his eyes and lets his body sink down into the comfortable warmth of sleep, half chuckling at his silliness and grateful that Murdoc hadn't seen fit to beat him for making such wild accusations. Just as his body sinks even lower down a thought suddenly hits him.

“But Muds has always been good at convincing people that he's not doing something, when he is?” he mumbles, but is too tired to think any more about it at the moment. So he lets himself fall with a low comfortable sigh of relief.