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| Father of the Year; Kirk is going to get even with Lars. Het. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: July 3, 2007, 9:40 pm (14,640 Views) | |
| Verity | July 15, 2007, 3:06 pm Post #46 |
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The Story Girl
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Sorry that this chapter is a little dark. I'm kind of homesick and in a dark mood. I miss my dog. Whitney the gal in this chapter, she's real. She asked if she could be in the story. She started reading it on my computer and now wants email updates. She said she wanted to get with Lars, so anyway, here we go. It might not be until late tomorrow or the next day before I can update. I'm finally leaving this island I've been working on for the past 10 days, and will be traveling a few hours to visit with my inlaws, so until I'm settled there, I might not get time to write. Hopefully I will, because I am actually digging writing this, as strange as it sounds. Chapter 14- Cliff on the Wrong Side of the Bed “I think Lars, that we should let Cecily choose which parent she would rather live with,” Claudia replied. “Fine,” Lars shrugged. “Claudia is no match for me,” thought Lars. “ She focking lives in a dingy hotel room. I have a house, I have a car, and I have Cliff. Cliff Burton is going to become my new best friend.” *** Apparently, Claudia wasn’t too worried about having to go on a crusade against Lars for Cecily’s affections. She was still planning on leaving for her ski trip with James. “Must you go Mummy?” Cecily asked. They were standing in the hotel lobby, and the taxi that James had called had just pulled up in front of the hotel. “I promise to bring you back something,” said Claudia. “And I’ll call you every evening.” She knelt down, and hugged her daughter. Cecily started crying, and even Claudia had tears in her eyes too. She knew that Lars would be looking after Cecily over the weekend, and she couldn’t help but worry that perhaps Lars would win her over. “Cecily darling,” she said as she wiped away her daughter’s tears, and smoothed her hair. “You love Mummy, don’t you?” “Yes,” Cecily replied nodding. “You like living here in Denmark with Mummy right?” Claudia asked. “Of course,” said Cecily. Claudia just hugged her daughter tighter. Cecily was confused over all the affection. “Come on Claudia!” James bellowed. He glanced at the new watch he had bought. “Taxi is here! We need to haul some ass!” “Don’t go Mummy!” Cecily cried. “I must baby,” said Claudia. “I promise to call you when I get there.” She gave her daughter one last squeeze, and then ran off to meet James. Cecily broke out into tears in the lobby. She cried and cried as she watched James load their luggage, and then help her mother into the taxi cab, and soon drove off. “Hey Cess,” Cliff said, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes I feel like my Mummy doesn’t want me around anymore!” Cecily cried, and she buried her face into Cliff, who held her until she had no more tears left to cry. “There you go sweetie,” he finally said. “Have you cried all of your tears?” Cecily nodded. “I’m going to go write an essay,” she said. “An essay?” Cliff asked. “An essay for the Father of the Year Contest!” replied Cecily. She gave Cliff a quick kiss on the cheek, and then ran off to the elevators. Cliff couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, and also a touch offended. He had been the one who had spent the most time with Cecily. Lars had taken five minutes, and had bought Cecily a coat, a hat, and a doll. And even though Cecily needed those things, Cliff hardly thought that warranted Lars being entered into The Father of the Year Contest. In Cliff’s opinion, Lars didn’t deserve a little daughter as sweet and loving as Cecily. Plus, there was always the possibility that Lars wasn’t Cecily’s father, and he didn’t want to have to see the hurt and disappointed look on her face when she found that out. Cliff dragged himself up to his room. He was ornery because he was trying to kick smoking. It made him feel shaky, so to ward off the shakes he had polished off a six pack of diet coke, and diet coke always made him feel bloated and crappy. Things were just about to get even worse when he reached his hotel room. Cliff slid the key in the door, and went on inside the room, where he flicked on the light. “No Cliff! Go away!” Kirk shouted. Kirk and Missy (Cliff’s random chick) were on Kirk’s bed engaged in well, you gals know. Obviously, Missy didn’t mind being pawned off on Kirk, and neither did Kirk. “Ah shit! I’m sorry Kirk,” Cliff stammered. “You could have fucking knocked!” Kirk shouted. “You guys do have a habit of walking in on each other,” Missy declared, as she dove under the covers. “It’s my fucking room!” Cliff snapped. “I had the do not disturb thingy on the door,” said Kirk. “Oh,” Cliff looked at the doorknob. For the past few months that had been their code letting the other know that an encounter was going on in the room, and that privacy was needed. Cliff couldn’t believe he had missed it. Usually, the system worked wonderfully. “I’m sorry Kirk,” Cliff replied, redness creeping into his cheeks. “No worries,” said Kirk as his long, black, springy, curls fell over his face. “Missy and I were going to order some room service soon anyway. We can do it right now.” “Are you sure?” Cliff asked, turning to leave. “Yeah man,” Kirk replied. “I need to thank you anyway.” “Thank me?” “Yeah, for leaving me Missy.” And with that, Kirk gave Missy a tight squeeze, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Oh Kirky,” Missy giggled. “You are just the sweetest thing. Just like a puppy.” Since he was banished from his own room, Cliff decided to mosey on down to Lars’s room. It would be about Cecily’s bedtime. Maybe he needed some help tucking her into bed. Cliff rapped on the door. “What’s up?” Lars asked, as he opened the door. “I’m putting Cecily to bed.” “Does Cecily need a bedtime story?” Cliff asked. “I got it all covered,” Lars said smiling. He held up a beautiful book of fairy tales. “I’m right in the middle of reading her Sleeping Beauty, and she’s actually digging it.” “Oh,” Cliff replied, trying to hide his disappointment. Past Lars, he could see Cecily sitting in one of the beds propped up in a nest of pillows. She had on her nightgown, and her hair was most properly brushed. She looked just as content as could be. Even Cecily didn’t need him anymore. Did anybody need him? James had Claudia, Kirk had Missy, and Lars had Cecily. The only place left for Cliff to go was the hotel bar. Cliff plopped himself down on a bar stool and greedily in the course of just fifteen minutes, downed three beers. He had just gotten his fourth, when he noticed a beautiful chick sitting just down from him. She was short, with shoulder length blonde hair, and was dressed in jeans and a sweater. She had just lit up a cigarette, and man did that cigarette look good. “Can I have a cigarette?” he asked. “Sure,” the girl replied, and she slid her pack of cigarettes down the bar towards Cliff. “Do you need a light?” Cliff nodded. “I threw mine away,” he said. “I’m trying to quit, but I guess that’s not going to happen tonight.” “You sound American,” said the girl as he lit Cliff’s cigarette. “I’m from Georgia.” “Really?” Cliff asked. “California here.” The girl smiled, and laughed a little, and then went back to her cigarette. She was awfully pretty. She had light blue eyes. She’d be a beautiful mother, Cliff thought. And, at least she’s in the right country for me. “Hey,” Cliff asked as he took a drag on his cigarette. “You want to get together?” “Okay,” the girl said with a shrug. “Who’s room?” “Yours,” said Cliff. “Kirk, my roommate is uh, entertaining in mine.” “I’m going to run to the bathroom for a minute, and then we can have one more drink, and then we’ll go up,” the girl said. “Sounds like a plan,” Cliff nodded, and waved as she flounced off to go freshen up. Just then, there was a familiar slap on his back. “Hey Cliffy! How goes it?” Cliff whirled around on the bar stool, to see Lars standing behind him. Lars sat down on the stool next to him, and ordered himself a beer. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Cecily?” Cliff asked. “She’s sleeping like a baby,” Lars shrugged. “She’ll never even notice that I’m gone.” “I don’t know Lars,” said Cliff. “It would be one thing if she were older, but she’s only five years old.” “I know how old my daughter is!” Lars snapped. “And it’s not like I’m across town. She’s right upstairs in the hotel room. It’s not like she’s going to burn the place down if I’m here having a drink or two. Now come on, I owe you a drink. What would you like?” “You don’t owe me a drink Lars,” Cliff said. “Yeah I do,” Lars nodded. “Cliff,” he said as he took Cliff’s hand. “I want to thank you for being good to my daughter. You’ve done a lot of really nice things for her, and she really looks up to you a lot. In the short time that I’ve known her, she’s already done so much for me. I’m a completely changed man, and I owe it all to her and you. I am so glad that I’ve found her. If she had never had Mr. Gurken contact me, I wouldn’t have even known that she existed. I already love her so much.” “Yeah,” Cliff nodded blankly. “But she might not even be your daughter,” he thought. “I’ve always thought that James would be the one that I would ask to do this someday, but you are the right person. Cliff, I want you to be Cecily’s godfather,” said Lars as he ordered Cliff a beer. “Me?” Cliff asked. “I would be honored to have you say yes,” said Lars. “Claudia is a whore and a slut. I could easily get full custody, and I’m planning on taking Cecily back to the states to live with me. If anything should happen to me, then you’d be the one that I’d appoint to take care of her.” Cliff was stunned. Cecily was going back to the United States? This whole Operation Cecily Ulrich thing had gone way too fucking far, and it was time to put it to bed. “Lars,” he said. “I need to tell you something. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this.” “Whatever is it Cliff?” Lars asked as he lit up a cigarette, and offered one to Cliff, who gladly accepted it. Just then, the girl came back from the bathroom, and tapped Cliff on the shoulder. “Are we still on?” she asked, but she was looking directly at Lars. Lars looked at the girl, and his eyes went wide. She was a cutie. He practically started salivating. “My, my, my,” he gasped. “Just who do we have here?” “I’m Whitney,” the girl replied, and extended her hand. “I’m Lars,” Lars said as he kissed Whitney’s hand. “What is a pretty, little, thing such as yourself, doing here alone in Denmark?” As Whitney and Lars chatted, Cliff grew impatient. He had seen Whitney first, hadn’t he? Granted, he had once again forgotten to get her name, but still, she was his catch. He tugged on the sleeve of Whitney’s T-shirt. “Ready to go?” he asked. “Not now,” shot Whitney. She gave Lars her best smile. “I’m listening to Lars’s story. What’s your name anyway?” Cliff was about to answer, when all of a sudden “Daddy! Daddy!” a little voice shouted. Cliff, Lars, and Whitney, whirled around. Little Cecily, barefoot, but dressed in her long, pink, nightgown, and carrying her new doll, came running into the bar. She was crying. “Cecily!” Lars and Cliff both gasped. “You can’t go into a bar.” “Cecily, what are you doing out of bed?” Lars demanded. “I had a bad dream,” Cecily cried. Whitney looked straight at Lars. A look of absolute disgust and disappointment crossed her face. “You have a kid?” she asked. She glanced at Cecily as if she were infested with maggots. “Hey! Someone get this kid out of the bar!” the bartender yelled. “Cecily,” Lars said as he pointed over to the doorway of the bar. “Could you stand over there for a few minutes?” “But I’m scared!” Cecily moaned. “Someone will be right with you,” Lars promised. Cecily nodded, and made her way over to the door. “You’re here with your daughter?” Whitney asked. “How come you didn’t tell me? Do you have a wife stashed away too?” “No Whitney,” Lars stammered. He turned completely red. “Cecily isn’t my daughter, she’s Cliff’s daughter.” He gestured over to Cliff. Whitney’s mouth dropped open. “So that’s why you didn’t want to go back to your room!” Whitney exclaimed at Cliff, anger creeping into her voice. “You didn’t want me to find your wife and kid.” “No!” Cliff gasped. “How come you aren’t wearing a wedding ring?” Whitney demanded. “Cliff here isn’t married, but he does have a daughter,” said Lars. “Knocked up his ex girlfriend.” “Lars!” Cliff shrieked. Lars shot Cliff a pleading look, and mouthed “Please help me.” “I can’t believe this,” Whitney said with disgust. “You have a little girl who needs you, and you’re too busy trying to find other chicks to go knock up! Don’t you know what causes that?” “But, but, but-” Cliff stammered. Lars interrupted. “Cecily needs you Cliff,” he said. “Look at her, she’s crying. You aren’t going to let her sit there crying for hours. Can’t you see that the poor girl is scared?” Cecily was crying. She was standing in the hotel lobby, next to the bar’s entrance, howling. “You better go put her back to bed Cliff,” said Lars. “I’ll take care of your tab.” He smoothly slid his hotel room key in Cliff’s hand. He then turned to Whitney. “Can I buy you a drink darlin?” Cliff stood there dumbfounded for a few minutes, as he watched Lars turn his back to him, and put his arm around Whitney. Fuck Lars Ulrich! Fuck the prick! And he was actually starting to feel sorry for Lars. He had almost confessed to him. For once, Kirk Hammett was right. Lars deserved every bit of torture and deception that came his way! “Get your fucking kid out of here!” The bartender snarled at Cliff. “Down here getting drunk, and pounding beers, while you leave your poor, little, daughter alone! You’re a lousy parent!” Cliff made his way out of the bar. “Mr. Cliff! I had the most horrible dream!” said Cecily. “There was this monster and-” “Fuck off Cecily!” Cliff snapped at her. “I’m not your fucking father, and I’m fucking sick of you always hanging around me!” Cecily’s mouth dropped open. “I thought that you loved me!” she cried. She burst into tears, and took off running towards the elevators. “Cecily come back here!” Cliff demanded. “Cecily, I didn’t mean it!” He started running towards the elevators, but it was just too late. He got there just as the brass doors came to a close, taking a very sad little girl up with them. |
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| Raedoll | July 15, 2007, 5:49 pm Post #47 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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ETHAOETHEOIHEH!!!!!!!!!11 Lars! You DICK. Claudia's a bitch for leaving, and she should be worried about Cecily going back to California with Lars. Cliff being Cecily's Godfather is AWESOME, because Lars could be deemed an unfit father with his drinking habits and shite. Poor Cliff is just getting so much of the short stick and Lars is a...*Scrolls through her mental vocabulary of vulgar and rude names to call people* Is something so bad I can't even write it up here! BRARGH!. Cliff <3I this story. Poor Cliff...and poor little Cecily.
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| MissMetallica;; | July 15, 2007, 10:04 pm Post #48 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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oh lars! you put a pretty girl before your own daughter AND your friend! SHAME ON YOU! i agree with edgirl too with cliff being cecily's godfather. that would be awesome! still digging this story and its great that your having fun writing it!
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| Shayi | July 16, 2007, 5:36 am Post #49 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Well Lars is showing his true colours here again then! Just when I thought he was turning into such a sweetie as well! And Cliff would be the perfect godfather - excellent plan. Although I am wondering what on earth is going to happen when Lars finds out that the whole thing has been a complete wind up! And as for James and Claudia, well, they both need a rather large and feisty slap! Pair of sex mad fools. And James taking that money? Well.... he should have known better! I'm glad that Kirk's gettin' some though - he deserves it! As you can probably guess, I'm really enjoying this story so much and am definately lookin' forward to the next update
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| Verity | July 16, 2007, 8:57 pm Post #50 |
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The Story Girl
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The reviews are soooooo appreciated. I'll keep on working on this one. Sorry if I torture Cecily a bit. My 10 year old niece (who is taller than me baaaa!) told me that my friend is prettier than me, so I felt like torturing a kid. Chapter 15- Cecily on the Wrong Side of the Bed Cliff Burton dashed up to Lars’s room via the stairway. It was faster than the dippy, old, elevator anyway. He found Cecily lying in a heap on the floor in front of Lars’s room, crying. She had locked herself out of the room. “Cecily,” he said, and squatted down to touch her. Cecily whacked his hand away. “Get away from me!” she cried. “I know you hate me! Don’t pretend that you like me! I’m just a bother and a worry! Mummy says that I was an accident!” “I don’t hate you,” Cliff said. “Well I hate you!” Cecily screamed, as she stood up. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” “Cecily Rose Ulrich! I do not want to hear such language coming out of your mouth ever again!” Cliff shouted back, shaking her. “That’s not my middle name!” Cecily shouted. “And you say fuck all of the time!” “I’m over eighteen. Remember?” shot Cliff. A bunch of hotel guests had come to peer out at the scene that was taking place in the hallway. With Lars’s key, Cliff unlocked the door, and picked up a kicking and screaming Cecily. He slung her over his shoulder, as if she were a sack of potatoes. He shut the door behind them, to give them some privacy. “Fuck you!” shot Cecily, as Cliff dropped her onto the bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck fuck fuck! she shouted. “I learned that word from you!” “You’re also going to learn how to shut your mouth and behave!” Cliff spat. “I’m going to wash out your fucking mouth with soap!” He hunted around the room for a bar of soap. “You can’t do that!” Cecily snapped. “You’re not my Daddy! You’re not my Dad, so you can’t do anything! Mr. Lars is my Dad!” “Tell that to Whitney!” Cliff snapped. He had located a bar of hotel soap. “Now get the fuck over here!” he bellowed, clutching the soap. “Never!” Cecily yelled. She tried to jump off the bed, but Cliff caught her, and dragged the kicking, and screaming child over to the bathroom, where he plopped her down on the toilet seat. In the process, Cecily had even wound up scratching Cliff, but still, the little five-year-old was no match for an adult. “You can’t make me! You can’t make me!” Cecily howled. “Shut up!” Cliff spat, as he pried open Cecily’s mouth, and shoved the soap deep inside. Cecily’s face turned Scott red as it crinkled into tears. “Now,” he commanded, as she quieted down, soap in her mouth. “You’re going to sit here for ten minutes.” Tears cascaded down Cecily’s cheeks, causing her long, unruly, hair to plaster to her face. She was the most pathetic, and forlorn looking thing. Cliff almost felt sorry for her. He had had his mouth washed out with soap one time, when he was seven, and he would never ever forget it. Usually, his parents were pretty lenient with profanity. As long as their children weren’t setting bombs off in buildings, or skinning cats alive, they weren’t bothered by a little profanity here and there, but Cliff had called his sister a “cunt face” at the Thanksgiving dinner table, and that had crossed the line. Cecily let out a whimper. It had only been five minutes, but five minutes was an awfully, long, fucking time. Especially to sit there with a bar of soap in your mouth, and your thumb up your ass. “Oh alright,” Cliff quipped. “It can come out.” Cecily spat out the bar of soap, choking and spitting up in the process. “Are you sorry now?” he asked. “No!” Cecily shouted. “I’m going to tell my Daddy what you did to me! I’m going to tell him everything, and then you’ll be sorry. He’ll be so mad that he’ll fire you from Metallica!” “Well if he did that, I just wonder who would write most of our finest riffs then,” Cliff scoffed. “Your Daddy isn’t going to do anything. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, and neither does your Mom! You want to know why? Because you’re a fucking, spoiled, brat!” “I am not!” Cecily shouted. “I fucking hate you so much!” she yelled again. This time, Cliff had had quite enough. He smacked her. He smacked right across the face. The sound of the smack hung in the air like a sick icicle. Both of them were stunned speechless. Cecily just stared up at him, with a shocked expression on her face. A small red mark started to form on her cheek. Cliff couldn’t even believe he had done it. He was drunk, he shouldn’t have. He had really fucking smacked the kid! Cecily burst into tears. Again. “No one’s ever smacked me before!” she cried. “Not even Mummy.” “Cecily, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed Cliff. “I really didn’t mean to do that!” He took the limp, little, girl into his arms and held her once again until she stopped crying. “You’re right,” she sobbed. “Nobody loves me.” “I didn’t mean it Cecily,” Cliff replied as he kissed the top of her head. “I was angry, and I said some shit that I didn’t mean. I love you. I love you lots, and I love spending time with you.” “You’re the only one then,” moaned Cecily. “Mummy and Daddy both don’t care about me. Mummy cares more about Mr. James. She promised that she was going to call when she got to the ski lodge today, and she never did. And Daddy said that he wanted to take me back to the United States with him, but then he said he was going to send me away.” “What do you mean send you away?” Cliff demanded. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “He wants to send me off to a boarding school in Connet, Connet,” Cecily couldn’t remember the rest of it. “Connecticut?” Cliff finished for her. Cecily nodded. Had Lars Ulrich fucking lost his mind? He was going to drag Cecily all the way back to California, just to ship her off to some high and mighty school across the country? “Why on earth would Lars send you off to a boarding school?” Cliff wondered aloud. “He said that he went to one when he was a boy,” Cecily said. “He said that all proper Danish children of privilege go to boarding schools, and that I’m just the age to start kindergarten there. He said that I can come home for a week at Christmas, and for two weeks in the summer. That way, he won’t have to worry about me when he’s off touring.” She reached over to the night table, and picked up a pamphlet which she handed to Cliff. “Welsleydale?” Cliff snorted as he read the front cover and snorted. “Helping girls grow into young ladies.” The front cover had two little girls dressed in God-awful brown and yellow plaid skirts with white blouses, and brown sweater vests. They both looked absolutely miserable. “He wants to send me away because he doesn’t love me anymore,” Cecily moaned. “I don’t want to go to Wesleydale.” “You mean Welsleydale,” corrected Cliff as he read through the pamphlet. Welsleydale looked absolutely awful. The girls in the photos looked broken. They looked like little puppets. No fucking five-year-old kid actually enjoyed a forensics tournament, and they had a daily exercise regime of squats, knee bends, and swimming, put they didn’t have any water. Cliff looked at the picture of a girl practicing her breast stroke by hanging in midair by a rope. Cliff wouldn’t even send his dog to a place like Welsleydale, let alone his own daughter. “You won’t let Daddy send me away will you?” Cecily asked. “Absolutely not,” replied Cliff, as he dropped the Welsleydale pamphlet in the trash. “You belong in a nice, normal, public, school.” “I just wish me, Daddy, and Mummy, could all move to the United States together, and live like one, big, happy, and normal family,” Cecily sighed. She wiped away the last of her tears. “Do you think that will ever happen?” “I, I, don’t know,” Cliff stammered. He couldn’t bear to look at Cecily. First he had smacked her, now he had downright lied to her. “Maybe I could come live with you,” Cecily pressed. “I’d love to live with you.” “Cecily,” Cliff said sternly. “You can’t come live with me.” Just then, he saw something that looked like a neatly typed essay sitting on the desk. Was Lars working on Cecily’s submissions essay for Welselydale? He grabbed at it, but Cecily grabbed his hand. “You can’t see that!” she cried. “Why not?” Cliff asked. “It’s my Father of the Year essay,” retorted Cecily. “I’ve been working very hard on it.” “Oh yeah?” Cliff asked. The essay looked very professional. She obviously had had an adult help her. “Daddy said that he’s going to take me to the Father of the Year gala where they announce the winner,” Cecily piped up. “Are you going to be there?” Of course he would be. It was at the gala that they were planning on coming clean about Operation Cecily Ulrich. Kirk had thought it would be perfect because it would be right in front of Torben Ulrich, and all of his old Danish men’s club cronies. “Yep. I’ll be there,” he replied, giving Cecily’s hair a rustle. “I wish I could ask Daddy for a new dress to wear to the gala,” Cecily sighed. “I’ve never been to a gala before. Mummy goes to many parties all of the time. I watch her get ready for them, but I’ve never been to one. I’ll surely be nervous, but maybe if I had a new dress I wouldn’t be as nervous.” “Why don’t you ask your Dad for one?” Cliff asked. “I just don’t feel comfortable,” admitted Cecily. “He’s already bought me a new coat, and a hat, and a doll. I surely couldn’t ask for a dress. He’d think it was a horrible extrav, extrav-” “Extravagance,” Cliff finished for her. Cecily nodded. “But if I did get a new dress, it would be a dress fit for a princess. It would be dark purple, with short puffed sleeves, and a sash, and it has to have a swishy skirt. Do you know what a swishy skirt is Mr. Cliff?” “I can’t reckon that I do,” replied Cliff as he lit a cigarette, his quit smoking crusade pretty much demolished. “Mr. Kirk knows what one is,” replied Cecily. “It’s a skirt that swirls and twirls when you dance and spin around. Do you think that my Daddy will dance with me at the gala?” “I guess it all depends on whether or not your Dad brings a date to the gala along with him,” Cliff answered thoughtfully. “He’ll probably bring Whitney,” thought Cliff. “My fucking girl! He’ll pawn Cecily off as my daughter again, and more than likely, her essay isn’t going to win the contest, so no worries there. Kirk will probably bring Missy, another one of my catches.” Cecily made a face. “If he gets like Mummy does when she’s around a boy, when he’s around a girl, I guess that means that he won’t be dancing with me.” “I’ll tell you what,” said Cliff. “If your Dad doesn’t dance with you, I will. I most certainly won’t be taking a date to the Father of the Year Gala. Speaking of which, could I read your essay?” Cliff asked, interested to see what Cecily had to say about Lars. “I could help you with your grammar and punctuation.” “I had Mr. Kirk proofread it for me,” Cecily replied. “It’s private. Only Mr. Kirk can see it.” Now, Cliff really was offended. He had been the one person who had practically done everything for Cecily except wipe her ass, and she couldn’t even show him the essay that she had written for Lars. “Fine,” Cliff quipped, and stood up. “Where are you going?” Cecily asked. “Out,” Cliff replied. He headed towards the door. “Now hush and go to sleep.” “But who will tell me a Misfits story?” Cecily pleaded, her eyes growing wide as she tried to take Cliff’s hand. Cliff shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. “Maybe Mr. Kirk will.” He had had quite enough of the Ulrichs, Lars and Cecily for one day… |
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| MissMetallica;; | July 16, 2007, 9:26 pm Post #51 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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“Fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck fuck fuck! she shouted. that just reminded me of cartman on south park ![]() and i have a feeling that little cecily's essay isn't about mr. lars, i think she's written it about cliff! but then again. i could be wrong. i love it verity! great update once again |
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| Raedoll | July 17, 2007, 12:01 am Post #52 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I've got a theory, th- "I've got a theory, it could be bunnies!" SHUT THE FUCK UP ANYA! *bitchslaps the vengance demon from Buffy into remision* Anyway. *tears cloud up her eyes* she wrote that essay about Cliff! (that's my theory.) That's why he can't see it. Lars is a douche. Cliff is a lovable Jackass. Cecily needed that smack, but it shouldda been on her Rear. I love the idea of a little Cliff sitting on a tub with a big green bar of soap stuck in his mouth. I had my mouth washed out when I was a kid once, my Grandmother *nailed* me with Lever 2000 soap. My god it was *horrible* at first but after the first five minutes it tasted like mint. I didn't mind it much after that. X3 I'm stealing that idea. Thanks, and Mad love for this story. Lars is....URGHT. I couldn't imagine the idea of sending a little girl like Cecily to boarding school. She'd have that place burnt down in flames. |
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| Shayi | July 17, 2007, 3:25 am Post #53 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Dear lord! Poor Cecily - it must be hard to be her. But at least, even if he gets pissed off she can depend on Cliff (And I hope the essay is about him, that'll be one in the whatsit for Lars!) I still don't know how to take Lars. On the one hand, what an asshole for wanting her to be sent away to boarding school. On the other hand, I can see that in part it's because he wants the best for her and it's what he believes is the right thing to do. And that's so sweet of Kirk to help her out - yeah he's a cutie alright I love the daily installments of this little soap opera It's absolutely fantastic!
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| Verity | July 17, 2007, 3:57 pm Post #54 |
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The Story Girl
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Hey Miss Metallica: Yep. Eric Cartmen we can certainly thank for Cecily's wonderful use of the F-word. Edgirl- I had my mouth washed out with Lever 2000 too once. I don't remember it very well. It wasn't for swearing though. I had called my dad a jerk. I was like 7 or 8. Like Cecily I deserved a smack on the ass. Shayi- I think you'll think that poor Kirk is very very cute in this chapter. I must say that I totally pussify Kirk in this one, but damn it was so much fun. He has a lot of money now though, so I guess it's alright. Chapter 16- Cliff Insists on a Swishy Skirt “Daddy!” Cecily cried the very next afternoon. The little girl had been alone in the hotel room for most of the day, and Lars had finally returned from his escapade with Whitney. “How’s my princess?” Lars cried. He picked Cecily up and twirled her around in midair, then gave her a quick squeeze, before setting her down to the ground. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of licorice. He had stopped at the hotel candy counter before returning to his room. “This is for you,” he said as he handed it to her. “But you can only eat one stick a day. I don’t need you rotting out your teeth.” “Mr. Cliff says that I still have my baby teeth, so I can eat as many sweets as I want because they’re going to fall out anyway,” Cecily retorted as she bit a stick of licorice. “And we know that Mr. Cliff is the master of parents,” Lars snarled sarcastically. “You can have two sticks a day, but no more.” In truth, Lars had felt really guilty about leaving Cecily alone last night. He was sure that Cliff was with her some of the time. He must have at least put her to bed. But still, even as wonderful as plucking a Georgia peach had been, he still had little Cecily in the back of his mind the entire time. Was she scared? Was she comfortable? Was she cold? They certainly weren’t kidding when they said that having a kid changes everything. He also knew that he had quite a bit of explaining to do to Cliff. Perhaps a pay advance on album sells would smooth his feathers a bit. Lars went to the bathroom, and started to prepare himself a bath. There was nothing better after a Danish winter fuck than having a nice, warm, bath. “Daddy,” Cecily said as she stood in the bathroom doorway and watched Lars pour bubble bath into the tub. “Yes Sweetheart,” Lars called, without paying much attention to her. “Will you dance with me at the Father of the Year Gala?” she asked. Lars turned around to face his daughter. Whitney would be going as Lars’s date. He was hoping that Cliff would entertain Cecily for the night. “Maybe,” he replied. “We’ll see.” “I bet you’d dance with me if I had a pretty, new, dress,” Cecily tried. She smiled her sweetest smile. “Cecily, a dress has nothing to do with it,” snapped Lars. “Now please, let me be.” He just wanted to get into the fucking bath tub, not chit-chat with the peanut gallery. “What about if it was a royal purple dress with a lavender sash, and a swishy skirt?” asked Cecily. Lars stripped down naked right in front of his daughter, and climbed into the bathtub. Ah. That felt much, much, better. “Cecily, even if you wore a dress made from a trash bag and a spaghetti strainer on your head, it wouldn’t make a difference.” “But maybe I’d look pretty,” Cecily tried. “Don’t you want me to look pretty?” “You’re focking five-years-old!” returned Lars. “You’re much too young to be worrying about how pretty you look. You are a very vain little girl, and I intend to remedy that. Part of it is Cliff’s fault for filling your head with such nonsense. You don’t need to be strutting about like a peacock, and that is what Welsleydale is for.” “Mr. Cliff said that I don’t have to go there,” said Cecily. “Mr. Cliff doesn’t pay your child support,” snapped Lars. Cecily’s face fell. “It’s just that it will be the first dance that I’ve ever had with my Dad, and I wanted to look pretty enough for you,” she sighed. “You’re plenty pretty enough just as you are,” Lars scoffed. “I don’t mind buying you a new dress for the gala, but you’re not wearing no fancy, frills, swashy foolery.” “It’s swishy,” said Cecily. “Whatever,” snapped Lars. “A nice, sensible, modest, and plain, little girl’s dress is all that you need. This is not the Barbie parade.” “Yes sir,” replied a disappointed Cecily. She was hesitant to argue. She didn’t want to get smacked again, or have her mouth washed out with soap. She stood there, watching her Dad. “What?” Lars demanded. “Go run along and play with your doll! Can’t a man ever take a bath in peace?” *** “Hey Cliff, have you found a puss to take to the Father of the Year Gala?” Kirk asked. Missy had to go to the art museum with her parents, so Kirk was actually around. The two were working on another edition of The Metallinews just like old times. “You took one of them,” muttered Cliff as he typed out his review on the hotel restaurant’s new soup. “It tastes like crusted shit,” He eloquently typed. “You said I could have her!” defended Kirk. “Look man, I do owe it to you. Thank you for helping me find Missy. Maybe I could find a date for you?” “Don’t waste your time on it,” Cliff replied. “I’m not even planning on going.” “But you must go!” exclaimed Kirk in alarm. “We’re going to dethrone Lars at the gala! This whole thing was your idea! Don’t you want to see the look on his face? The look on his Dad’s face?” “The look on Cecily’s face,” Cliff added. “When she finds out that she really doesn’t have a Dad.” “She’ll get over it,” Kirk shrugged. “Kids are fickle. Within a week, she’ll forget that any of us even exist. Now, it’s my turn to use the typewriter. I have a wonderful article on the hotel’s new artwork.” The two worked in silence, the only sound being the clanking of the typewriter, and the soft sound of Motorhead on the radio, with the volume turned down low. “Kirk,” Cliff said finally. “Do you know what a swishy skirt is?” “Sure do,” Kirk replied. “It’s a skirt that swirls and twirls when you dance and spin around. Why?” “Just asking,” Cliff answered. “I know you aren’t asking about swishy skirts just for the hell of it, and you just told me that you don’t have any chicks at the moment. It must have to do with Cecily,” Kirk mused. “I had her here yesterday working on her Father of the Year essay, and all she would talk about is a purple dress with a swishy skirt.” “And lavender sash,” put in Cliff. “Do you think that it would be out of line if I bought her a dress that looked like her dream dress? Do you think that it would piss off Lars?” “He might say that you’re spoiling her,” said Kirk. Cliff thought about how he had snapped at her, smacked her, and then had washed her mouth out with soap. He had kind of put her through a lot. “The poor kid has no Dad, and she barely has a Mom,” said Cliff. “She really doesn’t have any nice dresses either. Would buying her one really nice dress be spoiling her?” “I know!” exclaimed Kirk. He clapped his hands, his eyes started to sparkle. “Let’s go down to the milliner’s shop, and see what she has. Maybe she has a purple dress with a swishy skirt.” “Kirk, I know absolutely nothing about dresses,” Cliff confessed. “I’ve never bought a dress before.” “I have. Many a time! You just leave it up to me,” Kirk said as he pulled on his tennis shoes. “I just love to go shopping!” So the two pulled on their jackets, scarves, and mittens, and braved the cold, Copenhagen, streets. The sleet pelted their cheeks, the cold nearly ripping the skin off of their faces. Both were very grateful as they breezed into the milliner’s warm, cozy, shop. The milliner’s shop was stuffed with all kinds of dresses, ribbons, and fabrics. There were silks from Italy, satin from China, plaids from Scotland, and taffeta from France. “Oh look Cliff!” Kirk exclaimed, his face lighting up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “Look at this lace! Fine, Belgian, lace!” “I’ve heard of Belgian waffles, but I’ve never heard of Belgian lace,” Cliff replied. He looked around the shop. He felt like a fish out of water amongst all of the frills, ribbons, and lace. Kirk meanwhile, had died and gone to heaven. “They have Dupioni silk!” Kirk squeaked, his voice raising an octave. “I just have to get a yard of this! I could make a dress for my doll.” “Do you two need any help?” The milliner asked. She was a young, pretty, girl with long, curly, ginger colored hair. “I’d like two yards of the ivory Dupioni silk,” Kirk ordered. “And we’re also looking for a party dress for a little girl.” “Uh, okay,” stammered the milliner, as she went to cut Kirk’s silk. She wasn’t used to longhaired, denim-clad, metal dudes in her shop, and she certainly wasn’t used to longhaired metal dudes purchasing silk and little girls dresses. “Who’s the dress for?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Is it for your daughter?” “Sort of,” Cliff stammered, looking at the ground. “Actually she is, but not really.” “Well she’s either your daughter or she’s not,” replied the milliner. “She’s kind of an adopted daughter,” Kirk explained. “Oh, I see,” the milliner replied, frowning. “Probably the love child of some groupie, and they don’t know which member of the band she actually belongs too,” she thought. She scowled at the two, hoping that they wouldn’t scare off any of her normal customers, and disappeared into the backroom. She returned with Kirk’s silk, and a beautiful, frilly, light-blue party dress with a big puffy skirt. “Oh look Cliff!” gasped Kirk. “That dress is lovely! Cecily would look so pretty.” Cliff frowned at the dress and lit a cigarette. “Does it have a swishy skirt?” he asked. “No,” admitted the milliner. “But it’s our latest style, and it’s from Paris.” “Hear that Cliff?” Kirk asked, practically hyperventilating. “It’s from Paris!” “I don’t give a shit if it’s from east bum fuck,” Cliff replied. “It doesn’t have a swishy skirt.” “I see,” sighed the milliner as she took Cliff’s cigarette away from him. “No smoking in the store,” she scolded. She held up another dress. It was stark white, and all made from lace “We have a fine white lace dress with a swishy skirt.” “Wow,” Kirk breathed. “Look at the workmanship on the lace Cliff. Cecily would look like an angel.” “She’d spill shit down the front of it within five minutes,” retorted Cliff. “That dress is too fussy. It looks really uncomfortable too.” The milliner couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Just what did some scraggly looking metal dude dressed in a skull shirt know about party dresses? “And just what kind of dress do you want her to wear?” she snapped. “I don’t have denim dresses with skulls on them!” “Hey! That would be pretty bad ass!” Cliff replied. He lit another cigarette. “Do you by any chance, happen to have any dark purple dresses? Purple with puffed sleeves, a lavender sash, and a swishy skirt?” The milliner just stared at Cliff as if he had suggested that they all cut their hair, jump in the river, and have a blood orgy. “It’s for a very special little girl,” Kirk put in. “Her Father is our drummer, but Cliffy here, is the one person who spends a lot of time with her, and acts like a father towards her. She adores him. He wants to buy her dream dress for her.” The milliner couldn’t help but smile. “That’s so sweet,” she said. “Let me go in the back and see what I can find. We did get a new shipment from England in today, but I haven’t unpacked it yet. It may take a while.” “That’s alright!” Kirk replied. “Come Cliff, let’s go look at the buttons. Maybe we can find something to spruce up your denim jacket for the gala.” “I’m not going,” Cliff declared. Kirk whirled around and glared at Cliff. “But you must go,” he whined. “Why?” Cliff asked. “I really don’t want to go. It sounds lame, and I don’t have a date.” “Take that floozy who works at the hotel front desk,” suggested Kirk. “She’s gnarly,” Cliff moped. Cliff watched completely bored, as Kirk spent the next twenty minutes looking for ribbons, buttons, and shoes. “Look at this cape!” Kirk exclaimed as he pulled out a black velvet men’s cape. “Isn’t it chic!” “Very chic,” Cliff glumly replied, without giving Kirk as much as a cursory glance. “I’m going to buy it, and wear it to the gala,” Kirk chattered. “I need a top hat to go with it, and a handbag, and perhaps some white gloves. Help me pick out some white gloves Cliff.” Cliff was saved from shopping with Kirk by the milliner, who returned carrying a dress made from purple taffeta that shimmered and changed color in different light. It had a silk lavender sash that tied in a big puffy bow in the back. It had short puffed sleeves, and a full, puffy, skirt. “Now that is a dress fit for a princess,” Kirk observed. “My sister would have just loved to have had a dress like that when she was Cecily’s age, but my parents could never have afforded it.” “It’s from London,” the milliner replied. “It’s a beauty.” “It doesn’t have a swishy skirt,” Cliff whined. “So fucking what!” declared Kirk. “Cecily has never owned such a dress. She’d love it! It has everything else that she wanted.” “But she wanted a swishy skirt,” Cliff argued. “A fine seamstress could easily give this dress a swishy skirt,” the milliner suggested. “I have some extra purple taffeta in the back. You could detach the puffy skirt, and make a swishy skirt for it instead. It would like fine with the style of the dress.” “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fine seamstress,” Cliff quipped bitterly, but then he brightened. “But Kirk is!” “I used to be,” said Kirk. “But I haven’t sewed anything as detailed as this in ages. Taffeta is very expensive Cliff. I would feel terrible if I ruined Cecily’s dress, plus I only have a couple of days. A project like this would probably take me a month. I’m sorry Cliff. I think Cecily would still like the dress, even if it has a puffy skirt.” “I know of some fine seamstresses,” volunteered the milliner. “But to change the skirt on a dress this intricate, and with so little time, they would all charge a small fortune. It would be at least three hundred dollars, plus the cost of the dress.” “I can’t afford that,” Cliff replied sadly. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had let Cecily down. “I just don’t have the money right now.” Kirk paid for his cape, gloves, handbag, top hat, and silk. As the milliner wrapped up Kirk’s packages, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Cliff. He was standing in the corner, with his cigarette, still looking at the purple taffeta dress. There must be some good in his heart if he wanted to buy a practically fatherless little girl a beautiful dress. Her Father had bought her a beautiful, expensive, dress many times. Didn’t every girl deserve that? “Alright,” she sighed. “I can do it. I can change the skirt on the dress.” “I told you, I barely have the money for the dress, let alone alterations on it,” Cliff said. “I won’t charge you for the alterations,” said the milliner. “Really?” Kirk and Cliff both asked in disbelief. “You’ve been a good customer today, and I want to help the little girl,” replied the milliner. “I know the gala is Tuesday night. Could you give me until Tuesday late afternoon, to finish it?” She knew that in order to finish the dress by Tuesday night she would probably have to work late into the night. “Of course,” Kirk answered. “Take whatever you need. You’ve already been so kind.” “You can pick it up at five,” said the milliner. “Thank you so much,” said Kirk. “Little Cecily is just going to love it!” he extended his hand. “I’m Kirk,” he introduced. “And this is my friend Cliff.” “I’m Emily,” the milliner replied as she shook their hands. “Are you sure that it isn’t too much?” Cliff asked. “You’re being awfully kind. I promise, we’ll do something to somewhat pay you for your time.” “Don’t worry about it,” replied Emily. “I just want to help Cecily out.” “Cecily is awfully lucky to have a seamstress as wonderful as you,” Cliff stated as he paid for the dress. “Nah,” replied Emily as she gave him his change. “She’s awfully lucky because she has an adopted father as wonderful as you…” |
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| Raedoll | July 17, 2007, 4:26 pm Post #55 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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CLIFF'S GONNA GET A GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!! AHHH! Cliff could take Emily to the galla!!!
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| MissMetallica;; | July 18, 2007, 1:47 am Post #56 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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awwww!! kirk was just soooo cute in this chapter! i could just picture him hyperventilating and nearly dying over some fabric ![]() cliff and emily sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G can't wait to see what little cecily will think of the dress! great updates verity. can't wait for more |
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| Shayi | July 18, 2007, 2:58 am Post #57 |
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Bring me that horizon
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“Hear that Cliff?” Kirk asked, practically hyperventilating. “It’s from Paris!” “I don’t give a shit if it’s from east bum fuck,” Cliff replied. “It doesn’t have a swishy skirt.” Bwahahaha! Wonderful, wonderful, genius I could just picture it - and then Cliff getting out a cigarette in the shop? Fantastic! You were right, I absolutely loved adorable Kirk in this one, what a sweetie (See, normally I really don't like girly Kirk etc, but fuck, you write so so so damn well I've fallen in love with this character! I just want to take him home ) And Cliff gets a girl? Goodo! He deserves it with how nice he's trying to be. Lars still needs a slap and someone to tell him not to be so miguided! This was another wonderful chapter and I can't wait for the next one! |
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| Verity | July 18, 2007, 11:17 am Post #58 |
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The Story Girl
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the reviews. Thank you so much. Tomorrow I must brutally awake at 3 AM to drive 17 hours back home, so I may not get to update for a couple days. I'm glad to be going home though. I miss home, it's just a long-ass drive to get there. Wish us a safe trip, and I might get to write a little in the car, until my laptop battery dies. Oh yeah, and more fun with Kirk in this chapter. I'm sorry I make him out to be such a pansy, I think it's the black curls, I don't know. Chapter 17- Lars insists on Brown Muslin Kirk Hammett was in a fantastic mood. He was wearing his fabulous new black velvet cape and top hat as he danced through the door of Mr. Chelton’s guitar shop. The little bell over the door tinkled as he stumbled on inside, out of the cold, November, wind. “Why hello there Kirk,” greeted Mr. Chelton as he looked up from the guitar body that he was sanding. “What a pleasant surprise.” “Hey Mr. Chelton!” replied the happy Kirk. “What brings you in today?” Mr. Chelton asked as he took off his safety goggles. “Did young Master James break another guitar string today?” “No, not today,” answered Kirk. “He’s on a ski trip with his new girlfriend. He’s hardly even touched his guitar all week. At the rate that we’re going, we’ll never finish this album.” “Don’t fret my boy,” said Mr. Chelton. “I’m sure that you’ll get your album finished. Good things take time. My mother always said that haste makes waste.” He handed Kirk a plate of freshly baked gingersnap cookies. Kirk smiled as he reached for a couple of cookies. Mr. Chelton was always filled with such knowledge and wisdom. “Actually, I think that somebody has a birthday coming up very soon,” said Mr. Chelton. “I do,” Kirk replied as he bit into a cookie. “November eighteenth isn’t it?” asked Mr. Chelton. “You remembered!” exclaimed Kirk. “Of course I did,” said Mr. Chelton. “How could I ever forget a young, budding, guitarist’s birthday? I have a present in the back room for you.” “You got me a present?” Kirk exclaimed. “That’s so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that. Not even my own Father remembers my birthday.” That comment made him think about the Father of the Year essay that he had written about Mr. Chelton, the essay that Lars had stolen, and wouldn’t let him submit to the contest. “I know I didn’t have to get you a present,” replied Mr. Chelton as he headed towards the backroom. “But I wanted to get you one. Just wait right here.” “Mr. Chelton is absolutely wonderful,” Kirk said to himself. “ He is to me like Cliff is to Cecily.” Mr. Chelton returned. He was holding something behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructed to Kirk. Kirk shut his eyes, excited about just what his present could be. He felt something slender, with a long, wooden, handle in his hands. “You can open them,” said Mr. Chelton. Kirk opened his eyes at once. “Mr. Chelton!” Kirk gasped. “Wherever did you find this?” Mr. Chelton had given Kirk a beautiful antique rosewood walking stick. It was the kind of walking stick that a fine gentleman would use. The cool thing about it was the handle. The handle was in the shape of a lute. It even had little wooden strings, and tuning pegs on it. “An old friend of mine brought here to me quite some time ago,” Mr. Chelton explained. “I had a couple of guys offer to buy it, but they just didn’t seem quite special enough to sell it to. I wanted it to end up with just the right person, and that person is you Kirk. Treasure it. It may not be a new guitar, but it still is a fine piece of workmanship.” “I’ll treasure it forever!” Kirk exclaimed, as he hugged the walking stick close. “I love it! I can’t wait to show it to the others. They’ll be envious, especially James.” “I thought you’d like it,” Mr. Chelton replied, his eyes were shining. It did his heart good to see Kirk so happy. “I’m going to take it with me to the Father of the Year Gala tomorrow night,” said Kirk. “You’re going to that?” Mr. Chelton asked, surprised. “Lars entered his father,” replied Kirk. “Actually, I was going to enter you Mr. Chelton.” “Me?” Mr. Chelton repeated. “I wanted to do something nice for you since you’ve been so nice to me,” said Kirk. “You see, I never had a loving father growing up. You’re actually the closest thing that I’ve ever had, and I wrote an essay all about how I felt about you. I had it all ready to submit to the contest, but then Lars took it. He said that the Danish Men’s League would laugh at it, and disqualify it.” Mr. Chelton was stunned. Small tears began to appear in the old man’s eyes. “Kirk Lee Hammett,” he gasped. “That has got to be the nicest thing that anyone has ever said or done for me.” “I’m sorry that I couldn’t enter you,” said Kirk. “I really wanted you to win the ten thousand dollars and the concert tickets. We could have gone to see Yngwie Malmsteen together.” Kirk Hammett burst into tears. “Don’t cry Kirk,” said Mr. Chelton as he ran to hug the weeping guitarist. “It’s the thought that counts. I never dreamed that you felt that way about me. I feel the same way about you. You see, my wife and I never could have any children. You’re like a son to me Kirk.” He smoothed Kirk’s mop of wild, springy, curls. “Thank you Mr. Chelton,” Kirk said as he sniffled. “I wish that the Danish Men’s League could have known I felt.” “We know, and that’s all that matters,” Mr. Chelton replied, as he gave Kirk a slap on the back. “Happy Birthday Kirk!” *** Later that evening, Kirk was breezing through the hotel lobby feeling much better after his talk with Mr. Chelton. He was carrying his new walking stick. He ran smack into Lars, who was carrying a large wrapped parcel. “Kirk!” Lars called. “You’re just the person that I wanted to see!” “I am?” Kirk asked. “But Lars, I already did your laundry. I did it this morning.” “Not about that,” said Lars. He set his parcel down on one of the cushy chairs. “I want your opinion on the dress that I bought for Cecily to wear to the gala tomorrow night. You know about dresses and shit.” “Uh oh,” Kirk thought. “Poor Cliff. He’s going to be so disappointed when he sees Cecily wearing a different dress than the one that he had bought her for tomorrow night. Lars has way more money than Cliff, and he’s fighting with Claudia for Cecily’s affections. He probably spent all of our album production money on a sensational new dress with a swishy skirt just for her.” “You bought a dress for Cecily?” Kirk stammered. “Why?” “Because she’s my daughter of course!” Lars replied. “I want everyone in the Danish Men’s League to know that I’m very proud of her.” He began to unwrap the parcel. “Okay,” Kirk murmured. “Emily has probably already started working on Cecily’s dress. There’s no way that we can cancel it,” he thought. “Do you think she’ll love it?” Lars asked. With a flourish, a dress emerged from out of the tissue papers. Kirk looked at the dress and frowned. It was a very nice dress, probably expensive, but very, very, plain. It was made out of brown muslin, and had small yellow flowers printed on it. Even Kirk knew that brown was Cecily’s least favorite color. It had long sleeves, a high neck, and a plain, straight, skirt. No puffs, lace, sash, and certainly no swishy skirt. The dress looked staid and uncomfortable. Kirk wouldn’t even put a dress like that on one of his dolls, let alone his daughter. It didn’t even come close to the frilly, fancy, and flashy number that Cliff had bought for Cecily. “Well, what do you think?” Lars demanded. He didn’t like it that Kirk wasn’t responding. “What’d you do Hamster? Shit your pants?” “No,” Kirk stammered. “It’s just that, that, uh,” he mumbled around. “It’s a well made, practical, dress!” Lars shouted. “What’s the big deal?” “Nothing’s the big deal,” said Kirk. “Then why won’t you tell me what you think about it?” Lars demanded. “Don’t you think that Cecily will love it? Claudia has never bought her any focking dress as nice. All that Claudia ever buys her is tacky, cheap, dresses.” “ And that happens to be a tacky, expensive, dress,” Kirk thought. “Come on Kirk!” Lars barked. “It’s just not right for the gala,” Kirk blurted out. “What the fock do you mean?” Lars spat. “She ain’t going to focking wear an evening gown! This is not the Miss Denmark pageant.” “Lars, with all due respect, that is not a party dress,” said Kirk. “It’s a nice dress for Cecily to go to church in, but no little girl is going to want to wear that thing to a party.” “And just what do you presume that she wear?” Lars shot, sounding very annoyed, and even hurt. He had spent quite a bit of money on the dress, as well as most of his day trying to find it. “You can’t tell Cecily because we’re actually going to surprise her tomorrow with it,” Kirk started. “Cliff bought her a party dress.” “Cliff bought her what!” Lars exclaimed. “He bought her a dress for the gala,” said Kirk. “It’s in having some alterations done, but it’s a beautiful dress. It’s purple, Cecily’s favorite color. It’s made from taffeta, and has a sash, and a swishy skirt-” “I don’t give a fock what it looks like!” Lars yelled, cutting Kirk off. “Cliff had no business buying my daughter a dress!” “He meant no harm,” Kirk defended. “She kept going on and on about this dress that she wanted. He was just trying to be kind to your daughter.” “He should have asked my permission before going off and buying her a dress,” scoffed Lars. “Have him get his own daughter to buy dresses for! I love my Cecily, but she has the Ulrich name. We Ulrichs are pillars of the Copenhagen community, and we must always look crisp, clean, and professional.” Kirk looked at Lars’s ripped jeans, stained Zildjian Cymbals sweatshirt, and unwashed and matted, stringy hair. Torben Ulrich didn’t go around looking to good either, and Lars’s mother wore too much makeup, and she wore evening jewelry during the day, even when just going to the grocery store. “Lars forgive me, but you don’t exactly look all that tidy,” squeaked Kirk. “Cecily is a little girl,” replied Lars. “Never mind my appearance, her's is more important. She’s my little girl, and my little girl is going to look tidy, professional, and dignified. If Cliff wants his daughter to strut around and look like a Barbie doll teenybopper at the ripe, old, age of five, have him do that to her, but not to my daughter!” “Buying a little girl’s party dress isn’t going to make her look like a teenager,” said Kirk. “It’s a frilly girly-girl’s dress for heavens sake! All of the other little girls at the gala will have dresses just like it. All he’s doing is just indulging her fantasies and dreams a little bit, and I think that the poor girl deserves it!” “It’s indulging her vanity!” yelled Lars. “Cliff is turning her into a spoiled brat! A dress with a swishy skirt is ridiculous!” “She wants a swishy skirt for dancing,” argued Kirk. “She’s a little girl! She’s not going to be doing any dancing!” Lars cried. “She wants to dance with you Lars!” Kirk shot. “She’d love to have a father daughter dance. The sad thing is that you probably will be too busy getting your dick coddled by other women to even notice her, and she’ll wind up dancing with Cliff instead.” “It’s not my fault that Burton isn’t getting any action!” Lars replied hotly. “I think that we should let Cecily choose which dress she would like to wear,” Kirk said. He knew very well which dress Cecily would choose, and so did Lars. “Absolutely not!” declared Lars. “I will be telling Cecily which dress she will be wearing, and it’s not some purple concoction that Cliff bought her. You can tell him to take the dress back.” “The store doesn’t take returns, or give refunds,” Kirk pointed out. “Plus, we’re having the dress specially altered for Cecily. They’ll never be able to resell it, and he’s already paid for it.” “Then Cliff can take the loss and quit being so liberal with his money,” Lars said with a shrug. “Kirk, tomorrow you are to go down to wherever Cliff bought the dress and tell them that he no longer wants it.” “I can’t do that to Cliff!” Kirk cried. “Why?” asked Lars. “I’m not going to allow Cecily to wear the dress tomorrow night anyway.” “Maybe she could wear it to a different event,” Kirk suggested. “She could wear it to the release party for Master of Puppets.” “She won’t be needing it,” said Lars. “I don’t want to spoil the girl, and one nice dress will be plenty sufficient. Plus, when we get back to the States, I’m planning on sending her to Welsleydale, a prestigious boarding school. She’ll be wearing her school uniform most of the time.” Kirk couldn’t believe his ears. It was sure a good thing that everything was going to come clean tomorrow evening, the last thing they needed was Lars placing some random girl who wasn’t his daughter in some fancy school. Kirk had never heard of Welsleydale, but it sounded like a dreadful place. He couldn’t even imagine sending his child away to some school, and only seeing them at Christmas. “I can’t have the dress cancelled Lars,” Kirk said. “The milliner is this really sweet girl named Emily. She’s going out of her way to do some major alterations on the dress to customize it for Cecily, and to get it finished by tomorrow evening. She’s not charging us for the extra work either.” “What’d Cliff do? Sleep with her?” Lars scoffed as he lit a cigarette. “No!” Kirk exclaimed. “Some people are just good, caring, people Lars. Some people want to make others happy just for the hell of it. Cliff and Emily want to make your daughter happy just for the hell of it. That’s called love.” Lars was quiet. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and glanced down at the brown muslin that was lying in a heap in the box. Since he was actually not flapping his mouth, Kirk went on “Don’t you want to see Cecily’s face light up when she sees her purple dream dress?” he asked Lars. “She’s never owned such a dress. It would be an absolute dream for her to even touch such a dress, let alone wear one. Don’t you want your daughter to feel that happy?” “I still think that it’s very silly,” Lars returned. “Seriously, a five-year-old doesn’t need such a fine dress. I want Cecily to be a pragmatist, not a dreamer. Like I said, Cliff is only indulging her vanity, BUT I will let her wear the purple dress tomorrow night on one condition.” “What’s that?” Kirk asked, sheepishly looking up at Lars. Lars took another long puff on his cigarette, and then grounded it out in a potted plant that was in the hotel lobby. “Cecily can only wear Cliff’s purple dress,” he began with a sly smirk. “If you tell her that I’m the one who bought her the dress…” |
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| Shayi | July 18, 2007, 11:58 am Post #59 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Man Lars needs a damn good smacking. A hard one. Or a good ol' fashioned bitchslap from Kirk (who by the way was wonderful in this bit!). What an ass! I loved the bit with Kirk's birthday present That was fabulously written and sweet and well just lovely really. Lars is bit by bit making me rather angry with the fellow. In fact he's entirely undone all the good work that made me have any sympathy with him whatsoever! And what on earth is poor Cliff going to say?! Fantastic chapter as always.... and.... SAFE TRIP
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| Verity | July 18, 2007, 4:02 pm Post #60 |
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The Story Girl
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Okay, since my inlaws do nothing except sit around watching Little House on the Prairie reruns I was able to finish another chapter, so y'all have two chapters today. It's a good thing though since there won't be a chapter tomorrow. I'll be very happy to be done with vacation and be home with my normal life. Shayi- thanks for wishing me a safe trip. and sorry for all the crying that goes on in this story. Metallica is sure a moody bunch. Chapter 18- The Haunted Ballroom Kirk had no idea what to do. This Father of the Year thing had gotten way too fucked up. How had their innocent plan go so askew? Of course, they had never planned for it to go this far. They didn’t know that Claudia was such a slut that she didn’t know who Cecily’s father really was, and Kirk had never dreamed that Cliff and Cecily were going to get so attached to each other. They were the most unlikely pair. How could he possibly tell Cliff that Cecily wouldn’t be wearing his fantastic purple dress? Kirk sadly made his way back to his hotel room. He ran into Cliff and Cecily in the hallway. “Mr. Kirk! Mr. Kirk!” Cecily cried as she waved, and ran down the hall towards him. “Guess where Mr. Cliff is taking me!” “I don’t know Cecily,” Kirk replied, not in the mood to play any guessing games. “He’s taking me to the Haunted Ballroom,” said Cecily. “Haunted Ballroom?” Kirk repeated. “Mr. Cliff says that the hotel ballroom up on the fourteenth but actually thirteenth floor, is haunted by the ghost of the most beautiful lady,” Cecily reported. “She’s dressed all in white, and tragically died when she hung herself from the chandelier in the ballroom after she caught her truelove in bed with another woman.” “What!” Kirk squawked. “I never heard anything about that. Who told you that story?” “Mr. Cliff,” said Cecily. “We’re going to go look for her.” “ Cliff Burton has been smoking too much weed again,” Kirk thought in dismay as he shook his head. He gave Cecily a little squeeze. “And just why are you looking for this ghost?” he asked. “Because Mr. Cliff says that he needs to get laid badly,” Cecily answered. “Cecily!” Cliff scolded as he came up to them. An Ouija board was stuffed under his arm. “Cliff, how much weed have you smoked today?” Kirk asked. “I don’t know,” Cliff replied. “A fair amount I guess. Why?” “That explains a lot,” Kirk shot shortly. “Look Cliff, I need to talk to you.” “Why don’t you come ghost hunting with us?” Cliff asked. “We can talk on our way up there. I’m going to teach Cecily how to play with an Ouija board.” “ Another thing that Lars isn’t going to like,” Kirk thought. “It’s private Cliff,” Kirk replied. “I can’t say it around Cecily.” “If it’s about that Missy chick being lousy in the sack you can say it around Cecily,” retorted Cliff. “I’ve been telling her about what not to do in the sack. She knows all about being lousy in the sack. Don’t you Cess?” “Yes sir,” nodded Cecily, as she smiled up at Cliff. “It’s important Cliff,” Kirk said, and he tugged on the sleeve of Cliff’s shirt. He hoped that Cliff would listen. Kirk really didn’t want to go up to the Haunted Ballroom anyway. The whole idea of a woman hanging herself in there scared the bejeebers out of him. The last fucking thing that Cliff Burton wanted to do was get engaged in some private, high-tech, conversation with Kirk. He was drunk, stoned, and ready to go searching for ghosts with his little sidekick. But there was something in Kirk’s voice and eyes that told Cliff that it was urgent, and needed to be attended to. “Cecily baby,” Cliff said as he turned to the little girl. “Could you go back to the room for a few minutes? Mr. Kirk has some adult stuff that he wants to talk about with me. It will only be for a little while, I promise.” Cecily pouted, but she nodded her head, and obeyed him. “How ever did you get her to mind you so well?” Kirk asked as they both watched Cecily walk down the hall to the room, and let herself in through the door. “She likes me,” Cliff shrugged, neglecting to tell Kirk about how he had smacked her, and washed her mouth out with soap. “Lars isn’t down with you buying a dress for Cecily,” Kirk reported. “I don’t really give a shit,” Cliff replied. “Lars isn’t her father.” “But he thinks that he’s her father, and it’s always possible that he could be. Even Claudia said so,” said Kirk. “Fuck Lars,” spat Cliff. “He thinks you spoil her,” Kirk said. Cliff was quiet. He fumbled around for his pack of cigarettes. He pulled them out of his pocket and frowned. They were empty. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, and threw them down. “Cliff,” Kirk demanded. “I’m not spoiling her,” Cliff replied. “Indulging her yes, but she deserves it. She’s been through a lot, and despite the fact that her home life sucks ass, she’s still a good kid. I love her Kirk. I love her just as much as if she were really my own daughter instead.” “I know you do Cliff,” Kirk replied. “You’ve done so much for her, more than you could ever even imagine.” “Nah,” said Cliff. “I’ll go back to the United States and she’ll forget about me in no time. At least she can have that silly purple swishy dress to remember me by.” “Well, not really,” Kirk said, holding his breath. “What do you mean?” Cliff asked. “Is that Emily girl not going to finish it in time? She damn well better, I paid for the dress, and I even scraped together a hundred bucks for her tip.” “It’s not Emily,” replied Kirk. “It’s Lars. He bought Cecily another dress to wear to the gala.” “Oh,” Cliff said. He hadn’t even thought that Lars might go out and buy Cecily a dress to wear. “Shit.” “It’s hideous though,” Kirk went on. “It looks like something a nun would wear.” “Well then she can wear my dress instead,” Cliff said brightening. “Lars has taste like a horse’s ass anyway.” “That may be true, but he is her father,” said Kirk. “At least until tomorrow evening he is, and he’s not going to let her wear the dress that you bought for her.” “Fuck that shit!” Cliff retorted. “Cecily should wear the dress that she wants to wear.” “I know,” said Kirk. “And I know that she would choose your dress any day over Lars’s, it’s her dream dress. Lars won’t let her wear it unless…” “Unless what?” Cliff snapped angrily. “Unless we tell her that he bought the dress instead of you,” Kirk finished. “I don’t fucking believe it!” Cliff gasped. “I know that Lars can be a dick at times, but this takes the cake.” “I’m sorry Cliff,” Kirk said. “I tried to talk him out of it.” Cliff felt as if he had been punched upside the head. If anyone owed him a favor, it would have been Lars Ulrich, especially after the stunt that he pulled with Whitney in the bar the other night. “What’d I ever do to him?” Cliff wondered aloud. “All I’ve ever done is try and be nice to his daughter.” “He’s jealous Cliff,” Kirk replied. “He’s jealous because Cecily adores you so.” “He doesn’t spend the time with her that I do,” Cliff pointed out. “He, along with her mother, are off getting laid all of the time! I haven’t been laid since we started this whole Operation Cecily Ulrich shit!” “I know Cliff. I’m your roommate,” Kirk sighed. “I’m not letting that little Danish rat turd take credit for a dress that I bought and worked hard to find!” Cliff yelled. “I’d rather cancel the dress.” “You can’t cancel it,” Kirk reminded him. “We’re having the skirt custom made. Surely, Emily has already started on it.” “Fuck!” Cliff shouted as he slammed his fist against the wall. “It’s not fucking fair!” Cliff collapsed into a heap on the floor, and starting sobbing. “Don’t cry Cliff,” Kirk coaxed. “Maybe you could save the dress for when you have a daughter of your very own someday.” “But it’s not for her! She can have her own fucking dresses!” Cliff snapped. “That dress was supposed to be for Cecily, and for Cecily only! I felt so fucking good after buying her that dress!” “Don’t yell at me Cliff!” Kirk screeched. He couldn’t take his newfound friend angry with him. “I didn’t do anything!” Just then, the door to Cliff and Kirk’s hotel room opened, and little Cecily peered out. “I heard crying,” she said softly. “Is everything okay?” She looked at Cliff, and her eyes went wide. “Mr. Cliff!” she gasped. “You’re crying!” She ran over to him, and knelt down on the floor. She threw her arms around him. “What’s wrong? Why are you so sad?” “I’m not sad, I’m just pissy!” Cliff retorted as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He was embarrassed that Cecily had caught him crying. “Are we still going to the Haunted Ballroom?” Cecily asked. “In a few minutes,” Cliff said nodding, and trying to dry his eyes. “Look,” Kirk said as he gave Cliff a hug. “Let me go talk to Emily, and see what I can do. Maybe she can help.” “Who’s Emily?” Cecily asked. “Just a nice lady,” Kirk told her. “She ain’t going to be able to do anything,” Cliff moped. “I’ll be right back Mr. Cliff,” said Cecily, and she sprang up and ran off to his room. “Let me talk to Lars and talk to Emily,” Kirk said once Cecily was gone. “I bet that we could tell Lars that we’re cool with him giving Cecily the dress if he picks it up. Then if we can get Emily somehow involved, maybe we can cook up some scheme.” “There is no scheme,” Cliff sighed. “We’re horrible at scheming.” “No we aren’t,” said Kirk. “Just look at the scheme that we cooked up, this whole Cecily Ulrich thing.” “My point exactly,” Cliff huffily sighed. “I think we should try it,” said Kirk. “Fine, but it ain’t going to help,” returned Cliff. “Nothing will.” “There’s no harm in trying,” Kirk said. “I’ll talk to Lars tonight, and we can go back over to the milliner’s tomorrow morning, and talk to Emily.” For an answer, Cliff just muttered something inaudible. Cecily came out of the room. She was holding a can of Heineken in one hand, and a pack of cigarettes in the other. “Cecily, what are you doing with that?” Kirk asked. “Those are not little girl things!” “I know,” Cecily replied sweetly. She sat down next to Cliff, and handed him the beer and cigarettes. “But they are the things that make Mr. Cliff happy. I couldn’t find him a stripper though.” Cliff finally smiled as he ruffled Cecily’s hair. “You crazy girl,” he sighed. “You’re right Cecily. Good beer and cigarettes does make me happy, and it was awfully thoughtful of you, but do you know what the one thing that makes me truly happy is?” “Getting laid?” Cecily asked. “Besides that,” Cliff replied with a wink. “Pot?” Cecily tried. Now even Kirk was trying to keep from laughing. “It makes me even happier than that,” said Cliff. “I don’t know,” said Cecily. “It’s you of course!” Cliff answered, and he pulled Cecily close to try and tickle her. Kirk just had to find a way to help them both out. They deserved it. They both deserved to be happy. There had to be someway, just someway that he could help… |
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<3
this story. Poor Cliff...and poor little Cecily.
Cliff could take Emily to the galla!!!

8:42 PM Jul 10