Dethklok: Growing Dethpains

"I'll show you to your room," said Ofdensen with little enthusiasm.

"Awesome!," the teen says, throwing her arms around the businessman's neck. For the first time it melts Ofdensen's icy demeanor, leaving him mumbling and blushing.

Judy clapped her hands and giggled in excitement when she was let inside her vast bedroom at Mordhaus. A 50 foot entertainment center sat against one wall, a closet an office could comfortably fit inside filled with clothes occupied one end and a computer desk the other. "Woo hoo!," she went, hugging bother her father and the manager again. She immediately began jumping on the enormous bed.

"Well, I suppose we won't have to worry about all that charity tax-evasion work at the end of the year," Ofdensen remarked.

Toki heard the girl's squeals of merriment and rushed in to see what was going on. In exactly 2.5 seconds he joined her in jumping on the bed, which creaked under the abuse. Soon both were squealing in childlike delight.

"Um, Judy? I was gonna give you a, like, tour of the place or something," Nathan calls to her.

"Ok!," she responds, bounching off the bed and landing nimbly on her feet. Toki followed suit and took a step backwards after Nathan growled at him when he tried following them.

After a winding corridor they came to a room with a big sign which read "Keep Out"; Nathan informed the adolescent that this was William Murderface's room. Judy gasped when the door was opened--it looked as if a hurricane and a tornado had had some drunken sex and given birth to a volcano inside. The occupant was sprawled on his bed, stabbing idly at the heavily scarred and pitted bedposts and scratching his crotch. "Ewww," the girl groaned in disgust.

"What the hell d'you want, Miss Fancypants?," slurred Murderface in his pronounced lisp.

"I'm showing her around," intoned Nathan, raising a heavy black eyebrow.

"Nothin' from you!," the girl declared n her Southern accent.

"Time to move along," suggested the CFO, herding them away.

"Want me to turn her over my knee, Nathan? I'll do it!," the bassist hollered after them.

"That's my room," Nathan pointed out. "That's Toki's room." She peered into an unkempt room (though noth nearly as bad as Murderface's) with posters and toys and airplane models on every availabe shelf space His Deth-bear was slumped on his bed, waiting for his owner's hugs. Guitar and amp sat in the corner, worn with practice. This was someone she could like, Judy smiled.

Then they reached a room with an imposing oak door outlined with etched Norse runes. Once inside they found Skwisgaar laying sideways across his bed, thankfully dressed for once. "This is Skwisgaar's lair," Nathan tells her.

"This is where the magics happens," the tall, lanky guitarist chuckles.

"Your room is neater than the others," Judy observes.

"You has a funny accents," opined Skwisgaar.

"So do you," she replies back.

"Soh do yewww," Skwisgaar singsongs, mocking her.

"Well at least I ain't some...Swedish meatball who can't talk right!," the teen shoots back.

"Did you just calls me a foods?," demands the blond man. "Anyways, calls me when your 18, babes."

"In your dreams, Slim Jim," she huffs.

"Oho! Yous has the spunks. I likes that."

"I'd like to put my foot up your narrow ass."

"Nathans, she doesn't seems to like me. All womens everwhere dying to sleep with me, all over the worlds. What up with thats?"

Nathan crosses his arms and rumbles, "My daughter has taste."

"Bah, fucks you."

Judy was aghast at his use of language. "Skwisgaar I swear to Satan you touch her I'll rip your balls off and make you eat 'em."

"Hah, now you is doting fathers. How sweet! Fuck yourself and your pretty young thing." With that he grabs a guitar laying at hand and begins playing it.

"Do you always talk to each other that way?," Judy asks as they continue through the building.

Nathan shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And that's brutal?"

"Mmmm, yep."

"So teach me to be brutal, My Mom said I was a lot like you and none of the cheerleaders liked me. So I wanna be brutal like you!"

"It sounds to me like you're already on your way," says Ofdensen, rather impressed with the way the young woman had handled Skwisgaar.

"This is Pickles' room," announces Nathan, looking at the seed of his loins with a new appreciation. The drummer's room was full of mostly empty liquor bottles, wadded-up kleenex, and sneakers. He apparently had dozens of them, scattered all over the floor. He was watching tv. And drinking, surprise surprise. "Hi there," he hiccupped. "C'mere and I'll have you drinkin' like a pro."

"You will not!," barks the frontman.

"Shit we all started drinkin' at her age," poohs Pickles. "It's good for ya."

"I don't want her gettin' smashed so young. I want better for my children."

"We been drinkin' all these years and look at us! We're freakin' billionaires!"

"Oh, yeah. Well, you gotta point..."

"Ok let's show her the recreation area," Ofdensen declaires, moving them out of the room.