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Noodle stares blankly at the document in her hand. The smooth copier paper folding with her fingers. It's right there, at the bottom, in the little rectangle just above the dotted line. Sign here. Noodle Niccals.
She turns her head, slowly, to look at Murdoc, who is upside-down in one of the armchairs, paying unusually close attention to his DIY-nail job and absolutely not looking in her direction at all, whatsoever. She continues staring incredulously until she's sure she can hear him holding his breath, and then pointedly rustles the paper at him.
"Oh," he says, sheepishly. "Yeah, I was wondering when you'd ask about that."
She stares for another second, then puts the paper down on the crowded coffee table, over a stack of magazines and an empty bowl. She sighs.
"I've got to get that fixed," she breathes. "I can't be Noodle Niccals forever."
"Wait, really?" Russel snatches the paper up, staining the edge. His fingers are still wet, having just come out of a shower. He leans forward to read, the hood of his fluffy grey bathrobe falling over his head. "Really," he repeats, in a lower tone. "Huh."
"For the record," Murdoc says, without looking up, "you didn't actually have a surname, as it were. So I improvised."
"Well I don't like it." Noodle crosses her arms. Behind her, 2-D quietly asks to see the paper too.
"Why not?" Murdoc says, suddenly very animated. He puts the bottle of black nail polish down. "Why not? It's 'Niccals,' for Satan's sake. Name of the greatest bass player in the world! Only makes sense, seein' as none of you have any better ones."
"I'm fine being just Noodle," Noodle retorts.
"You can't actually walk around not having a surname, legally speakin-" 2-D begins.
"And Noodle Niccals sounds stupid," she interrupts, "and I'm not your kid!"
"Okay, hey-!" Murdoc leans over, pointing one still-drying finger at her. "You're as good as, alright? I practically raised you."
"No you didn't," Russel mutters.
"No you didn't!" Noodle snaps, much louder. "Thank you, Russel."
"Mhm."
"Wha- what didn't I do that would've counted as raising you? I mean what other word would you have for it, I, quite literally, I picked you lot up, from the dirt, turned you all into superstars, raised you into fame. Eh? Right?"
"No." Noodle leans back in the sofa. "I'm having it changed."
"Oh come on!" Murdoc gets to his feet, rounding the coffee table to stand in front of them like he's holding a speech. "I mean that- that's practically a historical document now, isn't it? Imagine it. Two billion years from now, this paper'll be the only proof of our existence, firmly linking us together as members of the same glorious band! In fact," he says, spreading his arms, "as a matter of fact actually, we should all get our names change- well, you two should, should all get your names changed to Niccals. As a team-building exercise."
"I happen to like, Hobbs, actually," Russel says, getting to his feet. The threatening air is dampened slightly by his bright pink slippers and, again, the bathrobe. "It's a nice name. Got it from my parents, cos that's usually how it works."
"So what?" So did I!" Murdoc meets him in the middle. "You're not special! What's so special about your dad that I-"
"Not bein' a violent drunk is a pretty good start."
"Oh!" Murdoc points a finger at him accusingly. "Oh, that's low even for you."
As the argument rolls on, 2-D leans into Noodle and mutters,
"He's been at this since we met, you know," he whispers. "Every time he feels like one of us is getting a bit too cocky he starts making jokes about bein' our dad."
"I don't like it," Noodle whispers back.
"Me neither. I mean after the third time he's mistaken you for a lady he doesn't know at the bar while blackout drunk and tried to get you into the back of the winnie with 'im it gets a bit... Icky, you know? I don't think he means it at all."
"No," Noodle says, "I meant that-" she stops, and glances at her friend. "The third time he's what?"
"Used to happen more back in the day," 2-D says, thumbing the paper. "Dunno what changed." He doesn't look particularly bashful, or even aware that she's staring. She groans, and leans her head against the top of the backrest.
"I hate it because I think he's right," she mutters, as if wanting to get the gasoline-tasting words out of her mouth as quickly as possible. "Not in a good way. Usually, saying someone's like a father to you is a complement. With him it's like... Your awful, deadbeat father who taught you nothing and drank all the time."
"Well, he taught you how to drive."
"Sort of."
She glances back at him. "You raised me better," she mutters.
He smiles at her, genuinely. "An' that's saying something."
"Okay, okay!" Murdoc backs away, throwing his hands up and stopping their conversation in its tracks. "Alright. Noodle, look, look, if you don't like legally being my child you could technically be, legally, just legally, my spouse."
Noodle throws her hands up at him. "No!"
"I don't like it either!" Murdoc says, "but nobody would have to know, right? It'd just be legal. WE would know-"
"No!"
"You still get tax benefits from marriage right-?"
"I don't want your name!"
"Uniquely bad idea," Russ mutters, "even for you."
"Okay, fine, fine, then I guess that'll have to be you." Murdoc motions at Russel, crossing his arms. "You can't all be my legal offspring, how would that look?"
Russel sighs, deeply. "No."
"It's a free country," Murdoc says, with that slight tone in his voice that suggests he isn't actually trying to convince anybody nor really drive any kind of a solid argument anymore. He's fighting now, purely because of momentum, and he might even be finding it a bit fun. "Well, sort of. It's legal now anyway. Right?"
"Honest, I'd rather be your kid."
"Really? Oh, wow, I'm almost insulted."
"Pass," Russel insists. "Make 2-D do it."
"Wha- no!"
Russel can't help but grin. "Why not?"
"Because look at him! This twat can't even tie his shoelaces properly!"
"But it'd just be legal," Russel insists. "So that's fine right? You don't have to tell anybody."
"No, absolutely not. Hey, I'm the one with the surname, so-"
Noodle glances back to find 2-D giving her a very meaningful look over the piece of paper he's now using as a fan. It's bordering on smug.
"I hate this place," she whispers to him, as the argument, now in Russel's favour, keeps on going. He chuckles, pulling his knees up to his chest to continue watching the row, as if it's a TV-program.
"Eh. It's okay," he mutters, in a lower tone than usual. "Sorta funny actually." He glances at her, notes her expression, and leans in even further to whisper,
"He only says those kinds of things cos he's afraid we'll leave him, you know."
"He says them because he wants to control us."
"Well... Same thing, in his case."
"It shouldn't be."
"Eah..." 2-D straightens up again, leaning his head on his arms. "Prob'ly not. But it is."