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Charles had long since learned to detach himself from personal responsibility when it came to the band's casualties, and typically that was no trouble at all. He didn't feel guilty for the state Dick Knubbler had ended up in, per se. But he did feel something, and that something compelled him to pay regular personal visits to the producer to check on him during his healing process.
There were Klokateers that could do it, of course - just like there were Klokateers that could have held Knubbler steady as he clung to their waist and limped, bloody and blind and dizzy, to the ambulance. Klokateers that could've gotten eyesocket blood all over their expensive blazers. But Charles just wouldn't have been satisfied with their reports. Some situations, he figures, ought to be taken care of firsthand.
Knubbler was currently recuperating from the first of two planned operations. This one had removed the remaining tissue from his sockets and fitted them with a set of silicone canals, into which a new pair of state-of-the-art prosthetics would cleanly slot. Knubbler seemed considerably excited by the prospect of having robotic eyes - music was forever changing, he'd said (in his painkiller-induced haze), so why shouldn't a producer roll with the changes too? In general, he seemed to be taking the loss particularly well, if the banter he offered whenever someone came in to check on him was any indicator.
The door of Knubbler's makeshift hospital room is open, but Charles still has the courtesy to knock on the wall before entering. "Dick? I've got some things for you. Your medicine, and, ah, some of that tea you like."
The producer stirs (or maybe he doesn't - with the bandages on each eye it's difficult to tell if he'd really been sleeping or not). He smiles at the sound of Charles's voice. "Hey, sounds great," he says with a stretch. "I was just havin' the craziest dream. I know you don't wanna hear about it, but it was a whole thing, really."
Charles chuckles politely as he sets the tray on the bed. He passes Knubbler his prescription, allowing him the agency of shaking his own pills out of the tube, and watches him swallow it.
"How are you feeling?" He asks.
"Good, good, I'm good. The meds keep knockin' me out but it doesn't hurt too bad, really. I think the sockets are healing up nice - just got the bandages around 'em changed this morning. Of course, I can't tell, but they don't feel infected. So yeah, we're good!" He pauses a moment, as if for effect.
"Unless you meant my emotional state."
"...And how's that?"
Knubbler sighs softly. "Well, kinda shitty, y'know. I can't see, and I don't like it. I don't like not being in control of my own... everything." He makes a vague hand gesture. "It makes me feel like I'm missing out. So I'm just ready to get these robot things in my head A-S-A-P."
"Well, I'm glad you're happy going forward with it. I know it's a little unorthodox. But we wouldn't apply any treatment that we didn't have full confidence in, and that you didn't, ah, knowingly sign a legal document consenting to."
Knubbler raises an eyebrow. "I like being able to seeeee, Charlie." He sighs again. "You know, I'm hoping when I get them put in I can finally take a look at the mysterious handsome stranger who saved me from certain death out at sea."
"Oh." Charles says flatly. He looks down, fidgeting a bit with his tie. "Well, ah, I certainly hope so. How do you know he's... handsome?"
Knubbler finishes a long sip of his tea, and sets it on the nightstand before nuzzling back beneath the covers. "Just a feeling."
Charles smoothly moves on. "The band sends their condolences, too. Dethklok would like to meet with you when you're ready. I'm sure they'd be interested in working with you, full-time."
"Are they? Hey, that's fantastic! Tell 'em fuck yeah!"
"...I'll tell them 'fuck yeah'."
"That's crazy, babe. You know, I was only there for one afternoon." He grins and slips his arms behind his head. "They must really like my stuff. You do a good job directing 'em - they've got a killer sound. And they definitely look like the kind of guys who would know who I am, like, by their own volition, and not because anybody told them to."
Charles glances sideways. He doesn't need to avoid eye contact with someone without eyes, of course. Force of habit.
He clears his throat. "I'd better get going, then, and let them know. We'll be pleased to have you on our, ah, team. Our side." He makes a move toward the door.
"Hey, wait! I wanna talk s'more. How've you been?" Knubbler sits up a bit and gently pats the space beside him. "Sit down and talk to me, babe. It's been so long."
Charles lingers a moment.
Well, he really doesn't have any urgent appointments. Not urgent-urgent.
Through the collection of neatly catalogued furniture receipts in his desk, Charles knows that Mordhaus has a truly absurd amount of chairs, and somehow none of them are in this room. Cautiously, he sits on the edge of the bed, and speaks.
"What's on your mind, Dick?"
"It's just crazy to me that we met again like... this!" Knubbler makes some odd circular hand gestures to emphasize his point. Charles is tempted to tell him to take it easy. "I mean, a couple years ago - what was it, like, '95? Or '94? You were defending me for that little, uh, parking lot debacle. You know, where I -"
"I remember. I remember the case."
"Charles Offdensen, criminal defense. Oh, Charlie, my hero. Where were you this last time? I know you could've gotten me off."
The manager shifts uncomfortably. "Ah, well-"
"You know what I meeean." He smirks playfully and nudges an arm in Charles' general direction. "And I'm just fucking with you. Lives change, people get busy, everything's different all the time. I get it." He pauses. "So how'd you end up here? I never took you for a music biz guy."
Charles allows his posture to relax a bit. "Well, I'm a financial manager, primarily. I don't do a lot of the, ah, schmoozing-"
"Schmoozing!" Knubbler cries out, delighted by his use of the word.
"-schmoozing that the, ah, music biz might typically require. I hire good people who do good work. I keep things running from -" he twirls a finger, considering the best turn of phrase - "behind the curtain."
Knubbler nods sagely, brows raised. "Very vague, babe. Very mysterious. Even if Dethklok sucked, I might have to stick around just to see what you're talking about."
Charles smiles, despite himself. "As for how I got here, let's just say I wanted a change of pace. And it is. Except for when we're in court. That's just, ah, pretty much like how it used to be."
"It used to be pretty fun." Knubbler's propped up his chin on his hand, and his expression suggests that he'd be gazing fondly at Charles if he could. "It was nice to have you sticking up for me. I never thought a court date could be anything less than a fuckin' abysmal meltdown, but there was something about the way you said the things you said! You had so much... conviction. And thanks to you, I didn't." He laughs at his own joke. "Even though you probably thought I was a real sleazebag."
Knubbler pauses for comment, but Charles has none.
"But then I guess that's something they have in common," he continues. "The legal biz and the music biz and... hell, I guess anything with people. Knowing all the rules, and saying things you don't mean, with enough confidence to get where you need to go."
Charles nods, then remembers who's talking to and says "Yes" aloud. He looks down. Knubbler's expression is blank now, and his hands are folded thoughtfully over his heart.
"Charlie? Would you believe me if I said I'm getting better?"
"Better, how?"
"Well, it's just... I was reeeeeallly screwed up back then. And I'm screwed up now, but like, in a fun and hip way. I want to keep the fun part, and stop doing the part that hurts people as much, y'know? Maybe I need a change of pace too." He sighs heavily.
"Maybe you do." Charles doesn't let himself think too deeply about what Knubbler's future plans might be. It's up to the band, he tells himself. Then he tells himself again.
"Are your pills kicking in, Dick?"
"Mm-hmmmm." Knubbler rolls over to face the wall, as if his own moment of philosophizing has lulled him to sleep. Charles leans over to carefully correct the folded-over comforter that's slipped off Knubbler's shoulder, and looks away.
A minute or two passes. Charles figures it's time to leave, and is headed towards the door when he hears his name.
"Hey, Offdensen. Thanks for saving me, again." Knubbler's turned away from him, but there's a sly little smile in his voice. "You really didn't have to, this time, but you did. So thank you."
"Of course," Charles replies, with a sort of cautionary stiffness. "I want to assure you that Dethklok are, ah, committed to ensuring the safety of-"
Knubbler interrupts with an amused scoff. "Oh, c'mon, Charlie, really? I may've been locked up for the past couple years, but I didn't lose touch with the scene. I know the kinda numbers Dethklok does - the sales, the charts, the death toll..."
He enunciates the last bit with a little theatrical shiver. "I knew stepping into that Bermuda Triangle of an act meant I might never come back out. They could've left me to be fish food, real easy. And I'm guessing they would have. That's why I'm thanking you."
Charles is glad Knubbler can't see the face he's making. He makes the mental note that Knubbler seems to know a little too much when he's sober. (Is he, even? Another little mystery.)
"Anyway, now that I've heard what they've got going - what you've got going here, of course I want to be a part of it. But I'm not saying you need me, y'know? I'm not gonna bullshit you and pretend you have to keep me around. I don't think you'd pretend, either." He rolls over, again, to face Charles. "But, if you want me-"
Charles' eyes widen. "I'll consult with the band," he says, quickly, professionally, taking a step back. "I'll get back to you as soon as possible, Dick. We'll... we'll be in touch, alright?"
Knubbler's grinning. He's still a natural button-pusher. "Alright."
With his hand on the doorframe, Charles gives him a parting sentiment and a final, lingering look. "Get well soon, Dick. I hope you feel better."
A few steps down the hall, Charles hears the soft reply.
"You too."