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Of course, Murdoc's new bandmate is a child. Yes, yes, he supposes she's bloody good at the guitar, properly tearing it up, but it would be nice if she was a little more age-appropriate. What if the people think Gorillaz is some Jackson 5 type? That wouldn't do.
Good old Russ said it's for the best she's young. He couldn't keep his hands off their last guitarist, after all. It's not Murdoc's fault she threw herself at him, with his charm and rugged good looks. He didn't even want the bird but a quick shag is a quick shag. 2D should've kept her on a tighter leash if he loved her that much. If anything, he was doing him a favour - he's no longer shacked up with a cheating whore.
Anyway. Enough about Pamela (...Patricia? Hm.) she's far gone and replaced by the girl that calls herself Noodle.
Straight off the bat, Murdoc notices that she doesn't speak much at all. Certainly not in English. He’s not sure why, since she can obviously understand it. Fine by him - as his father used to say, children should be seen and not heard. Unless they're singing a jolly little tune onstage to earn that month's drinking money at the local bar's talent contest. (Sometimes, in the dead of the night, Murdoc will jerk awake in a sweat, the remnants of I've got no strings fading quickly from memory.)
Good thing the tyke's not their frontman, then.
Despite her not making any intelligible noise, he can still feel her presence. It's deeply unsettling, knowing you're being watched for no good reason. And frankly, it's getting on his nerves.
One such incident occurs when Murdoc's rummaging through the fridge in the early hours of the morning for a can or two of Stella (absolute piss but it's enough to take the edge off) when he feels his hair stand on end. Slowly, he turns his head to the left, startling when he spots a pair of beady eyes watching him from the shadows.
"What do you want, eh?" He asks, not in the mood to babysit. Russel plays nice just fine, so why's the kid trailing him?
Not that it matters, since she doesn't answer.
He grunts, resuming his search. Finally, he triumphantly pulls out an eight-pack and holds it in the air for a few seconds like a hunter holding a beast's head. Wasting no time he rips open the cardboard, snaps open a can with a soft pop and downs it like water.
Mmm. Hits the spot in the most grotty, disgusting way.
She's still watching him. Bloody hell. What's she after? Grunting, he extends his half-empty can to her. A peace offering.
Noodle approaches, taking a cautious sniff - and wrinkles her nose.
Sod her, then. He snatches the can back, and after some brief consideration, the rest of the box too, storming back upstairs. Dear old pa used to hand him a bottle of whatever he was drinking as an apology for beating him within an inch of his life - if that's not going to work on her, he's not sure what will. That's a reason Murdoc doesn't do children - Russel would've given him a ninth break in his nose if he knew that he'd offered her a swig. There's no harm in it, in his grand opinion - having his first of many hangovers at a young age really toughened him up, and prepared him for the rest of what was about to hit him in later years, figuratively and literally. So if Noodle’s not ready for that experience… fine. She isn’t his responsibility.
"Stop!"
Their instruments die abruptly at Murdoc's request.
Russel sighs, putting down his drumsticks. "C'mon, man, you can't keep doing this."
"Well it's not my fault it sounds off, yeah! I'm doing everything right, it's got to be one of you three." Pacing back and forth, Murdoc scrutinises every member as if that'll make the problem expose itself - Russel, who watches him with a careful eye, Noodle, who effortlessly plays a few quiet cords, and 2D, who scratches the top of his head, not looking entirely there.
"Oi!"
2D jumps about three feet in the air, cowering as Murdoc gets closer. They’re almost nose-to-nose when he stops. “Pay attention! This isn’t a bloody maths class, you don’t get to stare out the window and watch the pigeons while the teacher - me - does all the good work!”
2D might be trying to form a sentence, but all that bubbles from his throat are half-formed words. Murdoc rolls his eyes. Raising a fist, he knocks on his temple.
“Hello?” He calls. “Anybody home?”
Almost as if it were waiting for the opportunity, the doorbell rings. Growling, Murdoc throws his hands in the air.
“Of course, of course. Why not…” He grumbles before shooting 2D a venomous look. “Well? Go answer it, since all you wanna do is sit around and look pretty!”
It’s probably a nosy journalist, anyway, so Murdoc’s happy to let him deal with the pain of that. 2D’s all too keen to disappear downstairs, leaving him with Russel and Noodle. Quickly deciding the other man is about to bear the brunt of his anger, Murdoc whips round to face him.
“And where the bloody hell are you today? Thought I bagged a drummer, not a peeved-off teenage boy who’s trying to take his anger out!”
Russel proves his point by chucking his drumsticks down with a glare. “Since you wanna know so bad, my friends died today, years ago. So forgive me for being a little distracted, man, but I ain’t drowning my feelings in alcohol like you.” And with that, he storms from the room, too.
Fantastic. Murdoc scrapes his nails down the side of his face, groaning. Now it’s just him with any commitment left to this shitting band.
Him - and Noodle. She hasn’t said a word, of course, but she hasn’t left either, still quietly playing at incredible speeds that leave Murdoc reeling a little, if he’s honest. Not a note out of place.
“Noodle.” She stops, blinking up at him. “You leaving like the rest of those buggers?”
Saying something in Japanese, she shakes her head. With a wolfish grin, Murdoc picks up his bass - at least someone is headstrong, a hard worker like him. Even if the others are sulking, he and the little creep will be able to get some of the instrumental completed.
“Atta girl.”
God almighty…
Murdoc’s not too sure how much he had to drink. Has to drink. There’s a plastic cup still in his hand. He gulps it. It’s tasteless. He frowns. Some chump gave him water before sending him on his way. No fair. Who were they, to father Murdoc - proud Satanist and chick magnet?
No, no. He didn’t need anyone. Absolutely no one. He’s been saying that since he got sent to school. Getting picked on, all that shit, taught him from a young age that no one is on his side. That just means he has to be his own best mate. No one else will be.
Normally he would’ve crashed at the party. Police were called, though, so into the taxis everyone goes. The chaos meant he didn’t have to pay. Fantastic. His vision lurches dangerously as he climbs the stairs.
Don’t trip. Come on, one foot. Two foot. Don’t trip. Don’t-
Fffffuck.
Music’s foot catches on some rubbish someone left on the stairs, toppling backwards headfirst. Don’t cause another nose break. Just as he’s about to eat shit, a small hand grabs him. He’s pulled up with surprising strength and lands sat on a stair with an ungraceful oof.
And what’s there in the dark but two beady eyes? He groans. What a mess. Drunk in front of the kid. Like father, like son. Bloody amazing.
Murdoc supposes that it wasn’t some rubbish, it was Noodle, and with surprising strength saved him from future plastic surgery. He should thank her.
“Alright, Noodle?” She nods, barely visible in the dark. “Right, right. Whaddya doing up, anyways?” Before she can answer, he dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “Actually, don’t bother. Can’t understand the shit you say.”
Murdoc goes limp. His head rests on the step behind him. The world spins, so he closes his eyes. Many a time did he sit on the stairs as a child… hiding from his father who was ready to beat him within an inch of his life for sneaking some WKD. As if the bugger didn’t make him drink-dependent in the first place.
Stop, Murdoc. No thinking about that. Wouldn’t want to sour the night, would we?
Despite his self-chastisement, his big fat mouth betrays him. “You gotta ma, Noodle? A dear old pa?”
Poor thing seems caught between and shrug and a headshake. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Lucky thing, eh? Wish my dad cleared off. My mum did. Took one look at me and ran. Ha!” It’s not funny, but he barks a hollow laugh anyway. “‘Stead I was stuck w’my twat of a brother and dad. Daddio dearest. Sparked my passion for music in the most… humiliating way possible. I said to myself I’d never do such a thing under someone else’s order ever again. And look at me! At us! Gorillaz, together at last, under my rule…”
He frowns, taking a moment to inspect Noodle. She’s watching him passively as she says something in Japanese. Murdoc doesn’t understand but he understands. Yes. He knows. Feeling transcends all barriers. Truly fantastic.
“Yes… although sometimes I feel like he’s always there. Looking over my shoulder. I haven’t seen the bastard in years, but he’s always whispering into my ear… useless piece of shit… never gonna get anywhere with that ugly mug… should’ve traded you for a lager the day you showed up on my doorstep… all the time! Some call it tough love, but he never loved me. S’fine. Didn’t need none of it. I’m quite the character because of him.”
Murdoc Faust Niccals, demon bassist for world-famous band Gorillaz. Wouldn't have gotten anywhere close if it weren't for the rough start. Toughened him up for the cutthroat competition that is the music industry. Definitely no consideration for your feelings. Fine, fine by him, he knows how to forget about the soft, sissy, mushy parts of his brain. Except on nights like tonight, which end up with him spilling his past to a child, he supposes. The memories will fade by morning. He has nothing to worry about.
"Y'know, the old man used to find any excuse to lay his… grotty hands on me. No clue why Faceache whines about a slap or two round the head - it's not like it'll give him a mark. Bugger deserves it… I'm not leaving him bruised or bleeding like my dad, so what's the big deal? Eh?"
Noodle answers in Japanese, and he senses notes of disapproval in her tone. Wrinkling his nose, Murdoc faces the other direction.
Who is he, Murdoc Niccals, to be judged by a kid?
Who is he… Murdoc Niccals?
Who is he…?
Bile rushes into Murdoc's mouth the moment he regains consciousness, and he has about five seconds to reach his ensuite before spewing everywhere. He doesn't quite make it - most of the vomit lands somewhere in the bathtub, though. Not too shabby. He'll manage the rest later.
Time to crawl back to comfort and nurse his fast-approaching migraine. Just as Murdoc's about to close his eyes, he spots a glass of water on the floor. Strange.
And a pack of painkillers. Even stranger.
Drunk Murdoc cares about Hungover Murdoc as much as Sober Murdoc cares about just anyone - which is to say, not at all. So it's surprising to say the least, that all the remedies are laid out in convenient reach. Perhaps some big-tit bird came back with him, he had his way with her, and then she oh-so-kindly left him a little care package as thanks for one of the best nights of her life.
Murdoc's not sure - he doesn't remember anything.
Except for a pair of eyes watching him, like a cat in the dead of the night.
And, as if seeing through foggy lenses, he vaguely remembers laying on the stairs.
Chuckling to himself, he takes a sip of water. No way did Noodle manage to place him in bed. Although, he doesn't remember moving from the staircase, and he knows from experience the others would tiptoe around him like a dirty sock.
As he downs a few pills, a slight smirk crosses his face. Maybe the kid's not too bad.
After a long day of managing Gorillaz (it’s ever so tiring being as famous as he is), Murdoc sinks into his plush mattress with a groan, ready to unwind in the best way possible. Hastily unzipping his fly, his head tilts back, eyes closed, that’s it, really getting going-
The door creaks open, and there stands 2D, with the face of someone who’s walked into a meeting he wasn’t supposed to attend.
It was a meeting. Between his right hand and his cock. A private meeting, mind you.
2D yelps as a silk pillow hits him smack in the face. “If you’re not gonna help out then bloody get out!”
Murdoc’s never seen the man go anywhere with more certainty. A few seconds later, there’s a timid knock at the door. Sighing, he makes himself decent for attending to whatever the poor sod needs. Not one second alone. Ridiculous, if you ask him.
“Whaddya want?” He grumbles after almost giving his bandmate another knock on the head with his door.
2D blinks, unfazed. “Noodle’s sick. But we got that interview today. So me and Russ are going, and you gotta look after her.”
“Hold on. Hold the phone.” The contempt must be dripping from his face, at this point; Murdoc’s just been interrupted from his crucial self-care session in order to play nurse to the kid, while the other two men get to have a nice little chit-chat with a reporter? “Why am I staying? Numero uno - I'm Gorillaz’s founder. Numero dos - Russ gives me the stink eye whenever he sees me within three feet of Noodle.”
2D glances at the two accusatory fingers Murdoc has pressed flush against his chest. “Well, it’s like, when we do interviews and stuff, you’re always talking all the time, and we don’t get a word in edgeways, and plus Russel said that Noodle seems to like you quite a bit, so he’s gonna choose to trust you for now.”
“You can’t make me stay!” Since when did everyone else make the decisions?
“Russel’s already in the Geep, so… yeah. He says don’t burn down Kong Studios while we’re gone.” And with that, he punctuates his sentence with a door slam.
Fuming, Murdoc aims a kick at the door, although sorely regrets it seconds later when he's cradling his big toe with a whimper. He’s going to get that sod back, just he wait.
Suppose he should go see Noodle, then. Only fair, since she helped his ghastly hangover a few days ago. On the way to her room, he stops in his tracks - what does a sick person need? With Murdoc's way of fighting off an illness including being so off of his face that he can't tell whether the violent nausea and sweats are from the alcohol or the fever his body’s too puny to fight off. Even when he was younger, no one bothered to take care of him - young, snivelling Murdoc was sent to school regardless, which certainly didn’t help his pathetic reputation.
2D’s mother was a nurse (a busty one, at that… the way they used to bounce…) what did she give him, That week when 2D fell ill and couldn’t come to practice sessions? Painkillers, to begin with. How many, is another question. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. What else? Water? Water’s supposed to help with hangovers, what Noodle left him, though usually Murdoc would rather rot in bed and suffer than get up and do something about it. That’s far more effort. Anyway. Heading downstairs, he grabs the pills, fills up a glass of water, and goes to play nanny for the kid.
It’s a chore to crack open the door when both of his hands are full, but he manages, the genius he is, by using his teeth on the door handle. After a fair amount of grunting it swings open and he strolls in, chuffed with himself.
The room is dim, curtains drawn. Murdoc feels a chill run down his spine - Noodle’s room is strictly off limits usually (and if you choose to disobey that rule, then not even God can save you) but this time, it’s necessary. Noodle-sized clothes are strewn across the floor, and the girl herself is swathed in a pile of blankets, eyes closed and breathing heavily. Murdoc tuts, placing her remedies down on her nightstand. It’s comical, seeing such a little girl in a massive bed, but she’s clearly overheating, beads of sweat running down her furrowed brow. Carefully, he moves the blankets a little further down, and she immediately relaxes, breathing slowly. The damn kid was trying to incubate herself, clearly.
Murdoc perches on the side of the mattress, not quite wanting to wake her but really needing to if he wants to get these pills in her. So, carefully, he nudges her. No response. He considers poking her face but recoils at the sweat - no, thank you. Instead, he picks up a rogue sock, and with caution wipes it off. Noodle shifts, then, cracking her eyes open just a little.
Success!
“Alright?” Murdoc asks, despite the fact that she clearly isn’t. Noodle responds with a small puff. “Well, I’m gonna make you alright. So sit up, let’s get these pills in you, eh?”
It’s clear after a few beats that Noodle can’t sit up - she wiggles feebly in place, nose screwed up, then falls still.
“Bloody hell, who did you catch this from?” It’s a little disconcerting to see such a headstrong girl reduced to this. Something heavy sits uncomfortably in Murdoc’s stomach; he’s not sure what. “Fine. D’you want help?”
Noodle doesn’t answer, naturally. Hesitantly, he places his hands under her arms - look how small she is, compared to him - and hoists her up into a somewhat sitting position, fluffing a few pillows so she can support herself. “That’s it, there you go.”
The pillows almost swallow her whole as she snuggles into them. Murdoc shakes a pill from its packet (for him, Satan knows how many he can take, but he’s not going to risk more than one for Noodle.)
“Come on. Pill time.” From under the blanket, Noodle extends a shaky hand, placing the pill in her mouth. After taking the glass of water offered and spilling most of it onto her, she finally has it swallowed.
“Wasn’t too hard, now, was it?” Murdoc sighs, glad it’s over. He’s surprised he didn’t accidentally drug or drown the kid - perhaps he should give himself more credit with the whole nurse thing. “I can leave you alone, now.”
Just as he’s about to stand, he feels a small tug on his sleeve. Murdoc sits back down with an oof, a little startled. Noodle's still clinging onto him for dear life. What does she want? He's out of anything to give her...
“...D’you want me to stay?”
Slowly, she nods, much to his surprise - but he's not going to complain. Frankly, he's exhausted.
“Alright, then. Budge over.” As Murdoc lays his head on the pillows, he moves a little closer, just so she knows he’s still there. “If I get ill, that’s your fault, yeah?”
Noodle doesn’t say anything, and he doesn't expect her to - but she worms her way to where he’s laying, head gently pressed against his shoulder, breathing slow as she slips into sleep. This fever really has her delusional, if she's cuddling up to him of all people.
“Hah. You’ll be alright, love.” Against his will, a smile tugs at Murdoc’s lips, and he carefully flicks a strand of hair that’s stuck itself to her forehead. Fucking hell, he’s growing soft. This won’t do.
Although, he supposes he could make an exception for Noodle.