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Russel felt he was doomed when it came to taking trips with his bandmates. After the fiasco at Wimbledown Penitentiary with Murdoc's brother the chances of having another potentially traumatizing yet enlightening road trip with a bandmate should have been pretty low, but Russel had always had piss-poor luck.
It was nearing Christmas at Kong Studios. After five years living with the band, he'd learned that if you didn't have a calendar, you could figure out how close you were to Christmas just by checking the litter Murdoc left strewn throughout the house. The more eggnog cartons and peppermint schnapps bottles you stepped on, the closer to Christmas it was.
None of them really celebrated it outside of gift exchanges. Decorating was out, and with the shoddy wiring and Murdoc's penchant for forgetting to pay the electric bill, it felt pointless and slightly dangerous to hang lights.
Cooking was something Russel knew how to do, but he did that at least twice a week anyway, and making it into a big production around a man who frequently forgot he was making toast and a chronically high alcoholic felt like asking for trouble.
Noodle, at 13 years old, was too young to be much help in the kitchen and culturally had little interest in Christmas outside of the aforementioned gift exchanges.
Murdoc was a Satanist, too. There was always that to contend with.
Stuart technically got into the spirit the most. He received a set of Christmas cards from his parents every year, like clockwork, and always mailed them gifts and cards with a bit of help from Russel or a begrudging Murdoc.
Russel was always a little curious as to what 2Ds parents were like. He'd tried picturing them in his mind but always seemed to envision them as 6-foot-tall, blue-haired older versions of Stuart, and that couldn't be right. So when he encountered 2D sitting in the kitchen peering into a box of expensive-looking crystal dinnerware, clearly this year's chosen gift for his mother, as nothing like that would survive a week in Kong Studios, he had to know what's up.
"Russ, do you fink these will survive the post?" Stuart asked, turning to look at him as he went over to the coffee machine.
"The box of expensive biscuits I sent last year got all broken up, but they ate em anyway. Don't fink they can eat this if it gets broken..."
Russel peered over his shoulder into the box and shook his head. "Naw man, royal post will make that into glitter; better choose something else."
Stuart propped his head up on his fist and blew air out through the gap where he'd once had front teeth. "But I already bought this dinnit I? And I don't have the receipt, or maybe I do, but I put it somewhere I can't remember. I dunno what I'm going to do."
Russel sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Stu, don't your parents live close by? Like a couple of hours out of London? Maybe you could hand deliver it; I'd be happy to drive you if you can put the address in the geeps gps."
"Would you, Russ, really?" 2D said, "I've got the address taped to the wall in my room right over the headboard. Lemme go get it!" And he was up and stumbling across the kitchen and towards the stairs before Russel could blink.
There was a sharp "Watch it, you dullard!" and a mumbled "sorry Murdoc" from the stairwell, and Russel knew Murdoc must have run out of alcohol and so been summoned from the depths of his Winnebago to the kitchen to find more. He was proven right when he slunk into the kitchen, sans a shirt, and went straight to the pantry.
"What's got ole dents stumbling around at full tilt, eh?" Murdoc asked. He was rapidly shuffling things around in the pantry, looking for anything in a bottle.
"He's got his mom a Christmas present, and he'd like to give it to her in person. I'm gonna to drive him out to his folks place."
"Bleh, you're a braver soul than I," Murdoc said, pausing in his search for a drink to spin around and regard Russel with a look of disgust. "I won't go near those fools, proper sickos they are. Certifiable." He went back to blindly groping around the back of the pantry with various mumbled insults and curses under his breath.
"Couldn't get me back in that house with a shotgun; I had enough of em when Stu was in his sleeping beauty phase. Aha! There she is! My favorite gal!" Murdoc exclaimed, and Russel watched him crack the top off his brand new bottle of cooking sherry and down a quarter of it in a single pull.
This was a red flag for russel for multiple reasons. On the one hand, Murdoc could never be trusted. If he talked badly about anyone, it usually meant they were pretty decent people. Putting people down was just another method of control for him, a way to always make himself seem like the better option. If Russ really wanted to get deep about it, he'd say it was driven by Murdoc's fear that if anyone he knew ever hung around normal people, they'd see him in an even worse light. It was classic self-defense.
But on the other hand, Murdoc clearly didn't want to go see Stu's parents, and figuring that out was a bit harder. Murdoc rarely allowed 2D out of the house unsupervised. He claimed it was "because the dullard will embarrass us; we have a reputation to uphold as the world's greatest band, and if anyone interviews him without my supervision, it'll all go to hell in a handbasket!" but Russel recognized that as another attempt at constant control. For Murdoc to actually not want to go and to outright refuse to follow Stu around meant either there really was something up with his parents or Murdoc was afraid of them.
Russel had settled on the latter, Stu was really tall after all. Maybe his dad was a giant. By the time he'd finished, this inner museing murdoc had already lurched to the stairwell, and the high-pitched squeak that sounded from that direction meant he'd elbowed past a returning 2D who was triumphantly holding a piece of dog-eared looseleaf paper with his parents address.
"Lemme pour this coffee into a thermos, and we'll go. Grab the package."
The address was simple enough to type in, and they were soon on their way. Traffic wasn't bad, and the weather, while seasonally chilly, was clear and nice. Stuart had put on his nicest jacket and some slip-on Converse and seemed in decent spirits.
"So what are your folks like?" he asked as they sat at a red light that seemed permanently stuck that way for how long it was taking.
"Oh, you'll like them. Russ, they're good people. Mums'a practicing nurse, and my dad runs a funfair. Or, thats not quite right, hes a mechanic, so he keeps the fun fair running, you know, repairing all the rides 'n such," Stuart twiddled his fingers in his lap. "Be prepared to stay for dinner, Russ; my mum loves ta cook."
"Sounds fine to me." Russel said, and he heard Del echo a quiet "hell yeah, free grub!" in the back of his mind.
The light finally turned, and they were on their way once more. "You don't visit them as much as I'd expect, since they're only a few hours out"
Stuart hesitated for a moment before answering that. "Well..i mean..you know how murdoc is..." And yeah, russel did, and he understood.
The rest of the ride was relaxed and pleasant. Stu talked a bit about what he thought their next single should be and what kind of beat he was looking at to give it a certain feel, and it was just good music talk all around. Eventually they reached a slightly more rural setting and were met with a sign that said "Welcome to Stoke-on-Trent" in faded letters off the roadway.
"Look over there, Russ. That's my dad's ferris wheel! Tallest one in Stoke it is!"
"Only one in Stoke," Del snickered, but russel put on his best-impressed face. Unlike Del, he had manners.
The GPS let them know they were close to the turn-off for their destination, and Stuart settled in his seat and grew quiet. "Well, here it is," he said, "home, sweet home.".
It was, for all intents and purposes, a completely unassuming English abode. Brick outside, shingle roof, single chimney. Stuart got out and carefully unbuckled the package from the backseat. Russel approached the door and rang the bell.
"Coming deary!" A woman's voice rang from inside, and a few moments later, the door swung open to reveal a slender older woman with her hair done up in a bun and an oven mit still on one hand. "Well, whos this now? Stuart, is that you? My little Stu-pot! What a surprise! and you've brought someone with you!"
"'ello, mum. 'appy 'olidays. This is my bandmate mate Russel 'obbs you remember him from my postcard, our drummer?"
"I never get your postcards, dear; you don't label them right, but it's a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hobbs."
Russel nodded to her. "Likewise, Mrs. Pot, the pleasures all mine."
Pleasantries over Mrs. Pot was quick to usher them inside and hang their coats for them. They both ended up sitting at the kitchen table with 2Ds present plonked down in the center. Mrs. Pot had indeed been making dinner, and she checked on a roast of some kind before sitting down at the table with them and offering them tea.
"I brought you a present, mum. I already mailed dads, but I was afraid yours wouldn't survive the post, so I drove out here to give it to you in the flesh as it were."
"You mean you asked your coworker to drive you out here, sweetie? You know you aren't safe behind the wheel." She turned to Russel now and took one of his hands in her hand. "Thank you so much for carting Stu out here for this. I know you live in London, and it's not the shortest drive. He can be a real handful sometimes, but he always means well."
"Uh, its no problem, ma'am, honest; stu's a good friend." Russel was a little taken back by the intensity of her focus on him. Stuart was right there.
"I'm afraid I'm at the tail end of baking a pork roast, or I'd give you a tour of the house. Feel free to explore while I finish up dinner; we'll open Stuart's gift when his father gets home. I wouldn't want him to miss out."
Stuart seemed to take that as the dismissal it clearly was, and he stood up and took Russel by the arm. "Cmon, Russ, I'll show you my dad's garden if you like. He grows great pumkins!" Stuart led him through the kitchen hallway, but when they hit what was clearly the living room, he slowed and stopped. Russel could immediately see why. The living room featured a couch, a chair, and a fireplace, but it was what was on the mantle that Stuart had paused to look at. Russell felt compelled to get a closer look himself.
There were so many pictures of Stuart Pot. Every square inch of the mantle and surrounding wall was covered. School pictures, pictures of him with friends, pictures of him before his hair turned blue, and pictures of him after. report cards, childhood drawings. Russell walked over to it and looked at one where 2D was standing in front of a car with a for sale sign on its dash board and a book bag on his back. He was smiling at the camera, and it was so wild to see him with all his teeth and blue eyes, complete with visible iris and pupils, that Russell was holding the picture before he even knew what he was doing.
Stu walked up beside him and reached over to the mantle to pick up something too. "Huh," he huffed quietly. "This is my old driving permit; see, Stuart H. Tusspot." He flipped the card over a few times in his hands before lying down flat. "Never did get that car or my license," he said solemnly. Russel was suddenly reminded of an incident that had taken place during the shoot for their music video 19-2000.
Stuart had wanted to drive the Jeep in the video so badly that he'd gone behind Murdoc's back and asked the director to swap their parts, putting him behind the wheel for the moving shots and Murdoc in the passenger seat. Of course, when Murdoc had seen him climb into the driver's side, the results had been predictable. It had been a rare moment where Murdoc went for him in front of other people, and the set security had to intervene when he'd pulled Stu out of the seat by his hair.
Stuart had to have known Murdoc would react that way, and at the time, Russell thought it weird that he'd risked it. Now, seeing him talk about his permit so wistfully, the incident made more sense.
Russel looked over at another picture that caught his eye. Stu stood front and center in it, with a group of three other boys on either side of him. He was smirking like a complete cad, and it was such a foreign expression to be on 2ds face that it was startling.
"Who are these jokers with you?" russel said curiosity eating him alive. 2d reached and took the photo off the mantel and squinted at it a few inches from his nose. "Dunno," he said finally, "guess I knew em before, but theyre strangers now. Couldn't tell you their names for noffin." he plopped the picture back on the mantle, crooked. He was fidgiting now, twisting his hands like he did when practice wasn't going so well, and he was getting upset and frustrated. "Cmon, Russ, please, let's just look at the garden."
So that's what they did. Stus dad really could grow some big pumpkins, and he had a little greenhouse set up where he grew flowers over winter. In the end, nature called, and that thermos of coffee Russ had finished on the ride over needed to find an exit, so he asked Stu for directions to the bathroom. When he came back out, Stu was no longer in the garden, but an older man with a flat cap on and a graying mustache was. "You must be russel. I'm Stuart's father; it's a pleasure to meet you, young man." "Likewise," Russell said, shaking his hand. The older man had a firm grip, and his hands were rough and calloused. Definitely a mechanic.
"Mum says dinners ready if you would like any. She makes an excellent roast, first class." The older man said, turning to walk back up into the house. "id love to try it." Russel said, walking alongside him, "I'm not sure where Stu's gone off to; he was out here a minute ago."
"There's no telling with that boy," Mr. Pot said, and russel thought the way he said it wasn't exactly fondly. "Hopefully he's up in his old room and not at the bottom of the cellar stairs or halfway down the road; his navigation's as shot as his eyes."
"Damn, that's harsh," Del said in his mind, and russel agreed. Stu might get lost in the middle of a big city or some place hed never been, but in his own home? He never got lost in Kong Studios. Harsh indeed.
"His room is right upstairs and to the left if you'd like to go fetch him and meet in the kitchen. make sure he washes up before dinner."
"Uh yeah, I'll do that," Russell said, and he was glad to be headed away from Mr. Pot and up those stairs. The conversation had gotten him twisted.
The door to Stuart's childhood room was ajar, and swinging it further open revealed the singer himself sitting on the end of his bed, twisting some cloth nervously in his hands. Russels first thought when he entered the room was "mantle 2.0," because this room too was sprinkled with pictures of Stuart on every surface.
It was also sprinkled with dust. Clearly, this room has not been touched much since Stuart moved out. It might not have been touched much when he lived in it.
"Umm, your mom says dinner is ready if you want to go downstairs and eat." 2D seemed almost startled when he spoke, as if he somehow hadn't noticed someone as big as Russell come into the room. "Yeah, I'll be down in a second. I just wanted to look in here for a minute, then I got distracted." He was still twisting that red cloth in his hands, and it was making Russ a little nervous himself. 2D was clearly very upset, but russel had never been good at handling his moods or judging what had set him off, so he wasn't sure how to approach him just now. The contrast between Murdoc and 2D was never more stark than when something had upset them. Murdoc took it out on everyone else. 2D took it out on himself. Eventually, he settled on sitting down next to him on the bed.
"What you got there? A t-shirt? maybe something you wanna wear for our next video?" He tried to lighten the mood, but 2D just shook his head.
"No Russ, it's my old apron from when I used to work at the keyboard shop, see?" He untwisted the thing in his hand and held it up unfurled so Russ could see. It was a red apron that said "Keyboard Emporium" in white text across the bottom.
The top around the neck was a much darker, irregular red. Russel heard Del mutter, "Oh shit"
"I guess they couldn't get the blood off. I'm sure my shirt was destroyed. You know they cut it off of ya when they put you on a stretcher? I dunno why they didn't cut this off of me; dunno why they keep this and just...just leave it out on the bed....."
He was wadding it up and twisting it again. It occurred to russel that all the pictures over the mantle, even the one on a table in the foyer, had all been of Stu before the accident. And looking around the room now confirmed the thing he'd subconsciously noticed. Russel suddenly found this room claustrophobic; the walls and tables of young, happy, healthy Stuart pots all seemed to stare at them. He gently took the stained apron out of his bandmate's hands.
"We should go down and eat," Russel said slowly, carefully pushing the apron and everything it stood for behind his back on the bed. "Cmon 2D"
He got up at russels urgeing and went ahead of him out the door. Russel turned the light off and shut the door behind him. He wished very badly that he could lock it.
2d's parents were already seated at the table, and his mother had the present in front of her. She smiled when she saw them taking a seat.
"Well, now let's see what you brought us, sweet boy!" She said and opened the box from the top easily. Stu had not bothered to wrap it. The shiny crystal plate was the first thing she took out. "Oh, stu-pot, these are wonderful! Look at these honey, real crystal!"
"And not one broken, I assume? A rare feat for Stuart. Good show." Mr. Pot added.
"I'm glad you like them, mum" Stuart said. Russ could see he was still slightly off from earlier. He looked checked out.
She stood and set the box off to the side on the counter, then brought over the roast. It did look really good, Russel had to admit. Perfectly browned. Mr. Pot set to carve it and served out equal proportions to them all. There were green beans and mashed potatoes as sides. Russel dug in. No matter how off-putting this visit has been so far, Russ wouldn't turn down a free meal.
2D seemed to have little appetite; he looked down at his plate, lost, and Russel tried not to stare as his mother leaned across the table and started cutting his meat into little squares.
Ok, that was..something.
"So you drum in the band, huh?" Mr. Pot said, conversationally. "That must be a fun side venture. I had high hopes for Stuart joining me in the family funfair business, but of course you can't work on heavy machinery with mental disabilities. It's a real shame because it would have done him good to get into a really reliable career. They'll always be fair rides, you know, but music's fickle."
Russel was going to say something about that, but Mrs. Pot was talking before he could even get it out.
"Oh, I know dear Stuart had so much potential! And the girls loved him, you know, even after the first accident, when his hair went blue. Girls used to say it matched his eyes. He was a proper looker." She paused to take a bite of her roast and sip on her tea. Stu was just pushing his around on the plate.
"That's one of the reasons I was so lucky to be a registered nurse. After he fell out of the tree when he was 14 (horribly dangerous thing it was; thank goodness theyve had it chopped) he got terrible migraines; luckily, I had my job and I could get him his medicine easily."
"That ain't a worrying thing to say at all, right? Totally normal to sneak your son pills off the clock," Del said in his mind. And Russel agreed wholeheartedly with that. What the hell?
"It's so nice," Mrs. Pots continued; after all, Del's commentary couldn't be heard by anyone but Russel, "that our little stu-pot has coworkers who like him enough to look after him."
"Co-workers other than that dreadfull Murdoc fellow," Mr. Pots added, "disgusting lout he is; I still can't believe the judge let him off so easily for completely destroying a young man's future."
Russel looked over at 2D; he'd been totally silent and seemed content to remain so. He hadn't eaten more than a few bites, and his shoulders were moving subtly. He was no doubt shredding his napkin under the table.
"This place is wack, foods' killer, but the vibes are screwed six ways to Sunday. Shovel that down, brother; we need to bounce," Del said in his head. "You're right." Russel accidentally said out loud, and Mr. Pot seemed to take it as agreeing with him about Murdoc's sentencing.
Russel knew he would get heartburn later, but he finished his food in record time and made a show of looking at his phone. "Oh man, we got an emergency band meeting happenin back at the studio. I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Pot, but we probably have to go. isn't that right, Stu?" He knudged stu, who rubbed his arm before mumbling, "Yeah, mum I guess we gotta leave."
Mrs. Pots walked them to the door and helped Stuart put his coat back on. Even the way she did that was strangely clinical, not holding it for Stu to put his arms in but rather manipulating him into it as if he were a mannequin. She squatted down and made a fuss over his slip-on shoes and how "right smart" they were. She hugged Stu goodbye, thanking him again for the gift. She thanked Russ again for "taking time to care for him.".
The first 15 minutes of the ride back in the dark were dead silent. Russ felt like the tension in the car was suffocating him. Stuart had smoked two cigarettes in that amount of time and was working on a third. He kept pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he spoke, it was with more anger than Russ had heard out of him in months.
"I hate him! I bloody hate him! Stupid useless bugger!" And for a moment, Russel was taken aback by the language and the volume level 2D was using. It was so rare for Stu to ever get mad, and on the maybe 2 or 3 occasions he'd seen it happen, it had always been in defense of someone else. Usually noodle when their producers ignored her or tried to make her do something she wasn't comfortable with.
"I looked at his juvenile record, you know! He was a real delinquent, a little troublemaker! Used to ride around town and smash mail boxes and tie firecrackers to cats tails! He wasn't some perfect angel like they want you to fink!"
Now Russel was confused. He'd thought 2D was talking about his father, but none of what he's just said makes sense in that context. He was half afraid to interrupt Stu's rant. Lord knows he needed to get this out of his system, but he kinda needed to make sure he hadn't lost the plot.
"Who's record?" He asked, glancing at Stu while trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead. Stu was on cigarette 4 now.
"That little shite Stuart pot!" He said, "They think he was everyfing, and I'm just nofing."They..they.. the only time they're ever happy is if I do something he used to do. If I say something he used to say. They want me to be him again, but I can't be him...l...not exactly. I'm missing too many pieces up here!" And Russ can see the glowing end of the cigarette in the dark interior of the car, gesticulating wildly around 2D's head.
"They were so happy when I woke up. The doctors said I wouldn't; they said the damage was "catatonic" or "catamite or..or.."
"Catastrophic." Russel said.
"Yes, fankyou! Catastrophic! So when Murdoc knocked me back awake, they were so 'appy, and I was learnin to walk again, talk, and use the toilet and everyfing and they was proper frilled but then I stopped learning..." 2D was deflating, and now he drew his knees up in the seat. He put his cigarette out in the ashtray and hugged them to his chest.
"I stopped getting better, Russ. The doctor said this was it, probably the best I'd ever get—and they was happy, but my folks weren't cause I wasn't their Stu-Pot no more. None of the memories ever came back, and I wasn't him any more, no matter how much I tried, and it would just make them sad. It was always 'that ain't how you used to do it' or 'Stu never liked it that way'" Stuart was pressing his hands against his head again. "It'd be different if he was a proper A student. If he was a child prodigal or a genius, but they done up my bedroom walls wif his Cs and Ds..." He turned to Russel and leaned towards him in his seat, as far as his seatbelt would allow.
"I'm Stuart; aren't I Russel? I'm him, so how can I not be him good enough? How can I do being Stuart wrong when I am him? How!?" Russel could not tell if he was crying. The car was too dark inside, and Stuart's eyes were invisible in the dark. Just two black holes in a pale face. The fear in his voice made Russels hands grip the wheel till his knuckles turned white.
"You're Stuart. Your Stuart '2-D' Pot and your parents are messed up for acting like that. They're wrong, and you're right. You're Stuart, even if you aren't like you used to be, and they need to wake up and deal with it like grown ass adults." Russel was mad now too. He wasn't going back to that house, and he didn't think Stuart should either. It wasn't good for him. It was rotten.
Stuart seemed to relax a little at that. He fumbled with something, and Russel heard the telltale sound of medication rattling in a bottle.
"Regular dose, man; don't take more than you need."
He heard the sound of pills being put back in the bottle. At least Stu listened to him when it mattered most.
"My dad kept pushing me to hang out with my old friends, but I didn't know none of em, they was total strangers to me and they didn't like me anymore. They said things and did things to me and they were cruel, and I couldn't keep up. I didn't know Paula neither but my folks thought I should stay wif her too. That's why I went with him—Murdoc, I mean. When he came and told my parents I was joining a band, I went wif him. I went wif him, Russ!" and Russel could hear what Stu was trying to say even if he couldn't come out and say it. It was crystal clear in the tone of slight disbelief in his voice. 'Can you believe I chose him? Can you believe he was the better option somehow?' Russel both could and could not believe that.
Now Stu was slumping against the window, knees still to his chest. The migraine pills knocked him out on a good day, and his outburst had probably taken more out of him than he really had to spare. Russel wished he'd eaten a bit more at dinner; he was always so thin, and constantly taking pills on an empty stomach couldn't be good for him.
The rest of the ride back was dark and silent. Stu didn't snore, and he slept like the dead when he was out. Even Noodle noticed how hard it was to wake up at times, and he knew sometimes it scared her a little. He didn't know if it was the pills or if, even without them, he'd always been like that.
When they pulled into Kong Studio, the lights in the kitchen and Noodle's room were on. He shook Stu awake as gently as he could and watched him struggle to get his bearings.
"We home now?" He said looking at Russel with bleary eyes. Now, in the light of Kong's driveway, he looked a tad green. He'd smoked too many cigarettes too quickly, and Russ thought they'd be lucky if he kept down those few bites of pork roast.
'"Yeah, we're home." And Russ was so glad to be.
2D stumbled out of the car and threw his jacket over his shoulder. Noodle must have heard them pull up because she startled him by swinging open the door in his face.
"Aoi Tori, where you been? I wait up for you! I fixed your Yamaha keyboard!"
That brought a smile right to 2D's face. "Did ya really? I fought it was on deafs door!"
"Oh yeah, it is living!" Noodle declared, and she jumped up to grab Stu's hand and drag him up the stairs to her room. "You gotta see! I got the keys lined up so right! You can't believe!"
2D stumbled along through the kitchen behind her and dropped his coat on the table. Russel followed along behind and hung his own up in the doorway. He passed the 2D coat and fished the pill bottle out of its pocket. He'd hold onto them until stu asked for them back. He'd had enough for tonight.
He went to pass through the darkened living room, and it was only through sheer repetition of circumstance that Murdoc's voice coming out of the dark didn't give him a heart attack.
"Ya have fun playing shaperone at Dents folks home, hmmm? Was it everything you dreamed of and more?" Russel reached over and tried to turn on the corner lamp, but nothing happened. No doubt Murdoc cut the cord one morning during a bad hangover, like he had so many of their other lamps. In the gloom of the room, he could make out Murdoc laying on the couch, an empty Sherry bottle clutched to his chest, catching the light.
"Bet it wasn't what you thought it'd be, eh Russ? Get a good eyeful of his room, or better yet, the space over the fireplace? Does it still look like a shrine to a kid who died in a car wreck on his way to prom? Is his room still a tomb, just waiting for a dead kid to come back to it?" Murdoc was smiling, his sharp teeth visible in the dim light of the room, but he didn't sound particularly happy about what he was saying.
"Yeah," Russ said, "it's something." Because he was tired, and he still needed to think this day over before he could put it to rest in his mind's vault.
Murdoc staggered up to his feet. Sherry had done what he wanted because, standing, he was clearly still a bit tipsy off it. He rotated the empty bottle in his hands. "His folks really blew it with him, you know, sent the situation tits up right from the get. There I went, giving them a son who's a completely blank slate—a chance for them to make up for every skinned knee and missed birthday! Coulda had him thinking he was the prince of bloody old England living an enchanted life who wanted for nothing! But instead, they bolloxed it up, trying to make him into a mediocre son. Parents the world over would kill for a redo like the one I gave em!" Murdoc's voice grew quieter and sweeter as he talked. This was the tone that got them record deals and that impressed executives, despite every instinct in your body wanting you to step back from this man.
"You see, Russ, that's why I had to take him; he'd have gone mad trying to fix himself for them; tryna be somebody who's dead. Old Stu-Pot's dead as dust, mangled under my car, but what's left of him is still walkin around, and it needs tending. I treat him better than those two fools who made him."
"You treat him like trash, Murdoc," Russel said, because it was true and Murdoc needed to know it.
"I treat you like trash too; I treat everyone like trash, even myself!" He swayed but stayed standing, even straightening up like he was proud. "That's what makes me better than them. Stu ain't special with me. He'll never have to worry about me babying him or treating him like an invalid. He'll never wonder if I'm whispering about how disappointed I am with who he is behind his back. I'll be sure to let him know right to his pretty face! This is me!" And he flourished his hands above his head like some odd green scarecrow. "Murdoc freaking Niccals! And what you see is always exactly what you get."
He stumbled up to Russ and had a little trouble navigating around him to the kitchen. Russel knew he'd eventually find the vanilla extract he used for making pancakes and drink that too.
"There's a comfort in that kind of solid reliability." Murdoc mumbled, "Better the devil, you know they say. Haw haw..." And then, like some extra in a horror film, he was gone.
Russel stood for a bit and listened for any crashes or glass breaking, but there were none, and so he went to his room. If he was lucky, Stu and Noodle would stay up late and fall asleep together sprawled across the floor, and Stu would avoid Murdoc until at least the morning, when there was a slim but real chance he'd be sober.
But then again....
Russel's luck had always been piss poor.