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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 (14,636 Views) | |
| Verity | July 29, 2007, 2:43 pm Post #106 |
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The Story Girl
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Edgirl- You'll see how Mr. Gurken is in this chapter I promise. Though it is kind of a pointless chapter, as Cliff will let us know at the end of it. Kristen- Thanks! I'm glad that you are liking the story, and having someone read it makes it more fun for me as well. Chapter 32- Legal Counseling with Mikhail W. Gurken “Mr. Gurken will see you now,” the Secretary said. Kirk, Cliff, James, and Missy trooped into Mr. Gurken’s office which was adorned with deer and moose antler heads. “Whoa no way! Duuuuude!” James squealed with glee over the big bear skin rug that was in front of the fireplace. James loved bearskins, antlers, and animal hides. Now all he needed was a stripper slithering around on that bearskin rug and James would have thought that he had died and gone to heaven. James plunked himself right down on the bearskin rug, and began to pull on the bear’s ears. “Look dudes!” he cried. “It’s a real fucking bear skin!” “James, that’s creepy,” said Kirk, weary of all the dead animals that were staring at him. “Gentlemen!” Mr. Gurken piped up from behind his desk. “My office is not a play land.” “Apparently James thinks that it is,” Missy quipped. Mikhail Gurken looked straight at Missy. As Cliff had predicted he looked her up and down, with eyes lingering on her tits, (but just for a moment) and smiled. “Hi there,” he said. He stood up and offered Missy his hand to shake. “Are you here for a paternity test?” he asked. “Kind of,” Missy replied. “Yeah, how’d you know?” Kirk asked. “I know everything,” Mr. Gurken replied. He strolled over to the small wet bar that was in the corner, and helped himself to some port. He turned to Missy. “A drink for the lady?” he asked. “It’s kind of early to be drinking,” said Missy. “Fuck that shit! It ain’t never too early to drink,” said James. “I’ll have a Tanqueray and tonic.” “I didn’t ask you,” Mr. Gurken snapped, rolling his eyes at James. He proceeded on with pouring himself his port, and then sat back down behind his huge-ass mahogany desk. “Seriously,” said Kirk. “How’d you know that we have an issue concerning a paternity test?” “Because,” Gurken replied. “We have a pretty lady here with three guys. Obviously, one of you boys is the father of her child, poor kid. Anyway, one of you will be held accountable for child support once a DNA test proves who the father is.” “Oh, it’s not for us,” Kirk said. “It’s for our friend. Our friend Lars Ulrich.” “Lars Ulrich?” Mr. Gurken’s eyes went wide. “That’s Torben Ulrich’s boy!” “Do you know Lars?” Kirk squeaked. “Oh yes,” Mr. Gurken replied. “Lars and my boy used to play tennis against each other all of the time in junior league. I’ve known that boy since he was in diapers. I didn’t know that he was involved in a paternity suit.” “Well,” said Kirk. “He is and he’s not.” Kirk started to explain the whole fucking deal to Mr. Gurken. He explained about the Father of the Year Contest, Claudia, Cecily, and Operation Cecily Ulrich. “So as you can see,” Kirk concluded at the end of his long explanation. “We never meant for Lars’s dad or for you to get involved. But since Torben is planning on speaking with you about it, we thought that we ought to give you a heads up.” “That’s real big of you Mr. Hammett,” Mr. Gurken said. “You’re a real sweetheart.” He was now frowning. He did not seem all too pleased with the whole ordeal. “For the record, the next time that you boys decide to write false and poorly written letters from my law office, please contact me first.” He was looking straight at Cliff. Cliff looked shamefully down into his lap. “Can I smoke in here?” he asked. Mr. Gurken sighed and handed Cliff an ashtray. “You know that I could book you for slander,” he said. “Slander and identity theft since you opened a false bank account in my name. You wouldn’t happen to have lots of money in that account do you?” “No,” Kirk quipped. “James spent it all. The last time I checked there was only like two dollars and forty cents left.” “Pity,” said Mr. Gurken. “All of that money would have been mine.” “When Lars and his father come in, couldn’t you just play along with our story?” Kirk asked. “Of course we’re planning on telling Lars the truth, but we’d rather that he hears it from us, rather than from you. He’s going to be pissed enough as it is.” “Torben Ulrich has an appointment with me today at eleven,” said Mr. Gurken. “I’m assuming it’s related to this whole Cecily Ulrich thing. I’m sorry, but I can’t lie to my friend. Plus, you guys didn’t follow any of the proper procedures that you go through to even request child support. I could lose my license if I don’t stand up for myself. I do run a professional and respected law practice here. I’m not some guy hacking away in my basement. The best thing for you guys to do is to come clean to Lars before he and his father get here.” “Great,” James muttered. “So now even the almighty Torben Ulrich will know that we concocted this whole entire plan. He’ll never loan us money for Metallica again. This Cecily Ulrich thing sure was a dumb idea Cliff.” “I can surely say that it wasn’t the brightest idea in the world,” Mr. Gurken put in. Cliff was still staring miserably into his lap. How come it was all his fault? Sure, it had been his idea, but Kirk and James had jumped on the bandwagon like ducks on June bugs. “We aren’t going to have the time to tell him before eleven o’clock today,” said Kirk glumly. “This could even break up the band. He’ll be furious, and so will Torben when they find out that you didn’t really write that letter.” “Mr. Burton, since you wrote it, do you remember if that letter mentioned anything regarding child support?” Gurken asked. Cliff nodded. “It didn’t,” he returned. “It just said that Cecily wished to meet her father is all. James told Lars that he should write child support checks to you or else he’d be thrown in jail.” “And Lars believed him?” Mr. Gurken asked in disbelief. “Apparently,” Cliff nodded and sucked on his cigarette. “He didn’t get that mink lined jacket by peddling his ass out on the street.” “How about I tell you this,” said Mr. Gurken. “If that letter truly didn’t mention anything regarding child support, then I’m in the clear as far as that. I can’t help what mindless twaddle Lars chooses to believe that comes from his friends. If Lars is not the father, then the child support issue is between him and James.” “Wonderful,” James scoffed, frowning. “I don’t know James,” said Kirk. “I’d say that you either should take that fancy jacket back, or else you’ll have a lot of dick sucking to do.” “Shut up Hamster!” James snapped at Kirk. “I won’t mention one word of this Cecily Ulrich nonsense to him,” Mr. Gurken went on. “More than likely, Torben is going to bring in the letter that you wrote saying that Lars is the father. I’ll make up the papers demanding that Claudia submits her daughter to a paternity test, and then he’ll probably just leave. I’ll have someone from my office get Lars’s sample, and then they’ll go down to the hotel to get a sample from Cecily. But, if that letter does mention me requesting checks for child support, or if Torben directly asks me if I wrote it, I will have to speak my peace. I run a respected law firm here, not a three ring circus. Is that understood?” “I guess so,” Kirk replied, still feeling glum. “Let’s just hope that Cecily does turn out to be Lars’s daughter.” “I hope not,” muttered James. “I’ve had enough of the brat.” “And I’ve had quite enough of you boys,” Mr. Gurken snapped. “Wasting my time! Get out of my office! The whole lot of you! Shoo! Get out of here!” Kirk, James, and Missy happily trudged out of the office, not sure if they should feel relieved or not. Only time would tell. Cliff hadn’t moved yet at all. He was still sitting on Mr. Gurken’s couch. He had been picking the living hell out of his cuticles, a nervous habit that he possessed. “I thought that I told you to get out of here boy!” Mr. Gurken snapped at him. Cliff looked up at Mr. Gurken. “Sir,” he spoke up. “When that dude comes to take a DNA sample from Cecily, it won’t hurt her will it? I mean, they aren’t going to have to stick her with a big needle or anything. Will they?” Mr. Gurken looked at Cliff with a surprised look on his face. “Why on earth would this fellow be so concerned about hurting the little girl? He was the ring leader in all of this.” “It’s just a swab test,” Mr. Gurken replied. “It won’t hurt her at all.” “That’s good,” Cliff nodded. “I can’t bear the thought of anything hurting her.” “And why is that?” Mr. Gurken asked as he fumbled through papers on his desk. “She’s not really your daughter is she? Making your friend believe that your own daughter is really his just to get him to pay the child support is a really shitty thing to do.” “I would never do such a terrible thing!” Cliff replied hotly as he fumbled for another cigarette. “Just what kind of person do you think I am?” “Well Mr. Burton,” Mr. Gurken said as he lit Cliff’s cigarette for him. “The only thing that I know about you is that you sent a false letter from my law firm, forged my signature, and earned the trust of a five-year-old only to turn around and dump her. So in that case, I don’t think that I would put screwing your friend for child support past you.” “Well, you’re wrong,” Cliff shot. “If anything, I’d of paid Lars’s child support for him myself. I love Cecily. She was my little buddy, my sidekick, and just like a daughter to me. Now, I’ll never get to see her anymore.” Cliff looked away, and began to bite on his cuticles again. He ripped one, causing a slow line of blood to trickle down onto Mr. Gurken’s sofa. “She was supposed to have a bass lesson with me today,” he added. “And I was going to take her to tea on Friday. I would rather go and watch a Doberman get his nut sack whacked off than go to afternoon tea. It sounds as boring as all-fuck, but she wanted to go. Nobody else would go with her. She was so looking forward to it.” Mr. Gurken was actually starting to feel sorry for the guy. At least someone was concerned for the welfare of the child. Kirk and that slinky chick of his, only seemed to be concerned about covering their own asses, and that James chap only seemed concerned about his ugly mink lined jacket. “Quit biting at yourself!” he scolded at Cliff. “Your fingers look like hell, and you’re making a mess.” He reached inside of his desk and pulled out a small rosewood caddy, like the ones that the Puritans had used back in the 1700’s to keep tea leaves in. He placed the caddy upon his desk and with a small brass key unlocked it. Cliff stopped biting at his fingers, and craned his neck, showing interest in what might ever be inside the caddy. To Cliff’s shock, surprise, and sheer delight, Mr. Gurken pulled out some prime grade weed, and some rolling papers. “Care to help me roll my joints for the week?” Gurken asked. Cliff’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t just sit there gawking at me boy!” Mr. Gurken yelled. “Do you want one or not? I know you do.” “How’d you know,” Cliff mumbled as he reached for the rolling papers. “Your eyes are red, and considering that you keep biting at yourself, you must have the munchies,” Mr. Gurken replied. He passed Cliff a lighter, and an open bag of potato chips. “Now, do you like stories?” he asked. “I like stories about the Misfits,” replied Cliff as he dove into the bag of potato chips like a starving orphaned kid from some Dickens novel. “Who?” Gurken asked as he lit himself a joint. “Never mind,” Cliff sighed as he finished rolling his joint, and started on another one. “I love stories actually. Are you going to tell me one?” Mr. Gurken nodded. “I’m going to tell you an ancient Chinese parable,” he said as he took another hit, and sat back in his leather desk chair. “Once upon a time there was a little boy who belonged to a wealthy king,” he began. “One day, their castle was raided by the iron shirts and during the raid the boy’s mother was too concerned with rescuing her jewels and silk gowns to worry about her son. The boy was saved by a kind peasant woman, who took the child under her wing and raised him for a few years.” “Kind of like me and Cecily in a fucked up way!” Cliff piped up, the pot helping him think. “Aye my boy,” Mr. Gurken nodded. “After a few years it came to be common knowledge that the boy would inherit a small fortune, and his mother came out of the woodwork, and wanted her son back.” “Bitch,” Cliff muttered. Mr. Gurken went on “The peasant lady didn’t want to submit the little boy that she had grown to love, so they took the issue to the courts. The judge decided to draw a circle out of chalk, and place the boy in the middle. Then he placed each woman on either side of it, and told them that on the count of three they were to pull on the boy. Whoever could pull him out of the circle would be deemed as the “real” mother, and have custody of the boy. Say that you and Lars were put in the situation but with Cecily in the middle. What would you do?” Cliff looked thoughtful as he watched the smoke from his joint dance into the air. “I couldn’t pull on Cecily,” he replied. “I’d be too afraid of hurting her. She’s a little thing, you know.” “You’re quite correct my boy!” Mr. Gurken exclaimed. “That’s just what the peasant lady did. She refused to pull on the little boy’s arm in fear of hurting him, and his mother yanked him out of the circle. The judge was so moved by the peasant woman being so concerned about not hurting the boy, that he awarded custody to her instead, and deemed her the “real” mother.” “Really?” Cliff asked. “Is that going to happen to me and Lars? Is that how they determine custody in Denmark?” “No,” Mr. Gurken replied. “I just thought that you would appreciate the story.” “So you just completely wasted my time then?” Cliff huffily asked. “Not really,” Mr. Gurken said. “I got my joints rolled. You do roll them fast Mr. Burton.” Cliff threw his joint down. “Fuck you!” he snapped. “We could do DNA tests until doomsday, to find out who this kid’s real father is, but in my eyes, you’re her real father. And if I could, I’d give you custody, but I can’t.” “Thanks for totally wasting my time,” Cliff grumbled. “Getting my hopes up like that! Why the fuck did you tell me that story?” “I don’t know,” Mr. Gurken shrugged. “For fun I guess. Tell it to the kid. Maybe she’ll like you again, and the next time that you need legal advice I hope that you’ll keep me in mind.” Cliff stood up from his chair. “You’re a dick!” he shouted as he stormed off out of the room. “A complete and absolute dick!” |
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| MissMetallica;; | July 29, 2007, 10:28 pm Post #107 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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i sound like a broken record. great update! and mr. gurken doesnt seem such a bad guy at all. him and his weed but i dont think that this chapter was pointless at all, and its good to know that mr. gurken will try and help out the boys.“Whoa no way! Duuuuude!” James squealed with glee over the big bear skin rug that was in front of the fireplace. James loved bearskins, antlers, and animal hides. Now all he needed was a stripper slithering around on that bearskin rug and James would have thought that he had died and gone to heaven. ^^ that made me laugh, i can just picture james squealing with glee over a rug ![]() now. i wonder what will happen next. |
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| Verity | July 30, 2007, 1:22 am Post #108 |
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The Story Girl
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and the next installment... Chapter 33- Poor Spirits and Bad Moods At approximately four o’clock that afternoon Cecily was sitting with her back to the revolving door in the hotel lobby on the cushy sofa. The bass sat safely in its case at her feet as she waited for Cliff to come by. She coughed for a bit and sniffled. It was so fucking cold outside. She felt absolutely chilled from head to toe. Cecily was positive that Cliff wouldn’t be coming in to give her a bass lesson. After all, he was no longer obligated to entertain and amuse her everyday. She was almost glad because she did feel rather tired and drained, perhaps from the emotional rollercoaster of the previous evening. She was still getting over the fact that Lars wasn’t her father, and that Cliff wasn’t her friend. “I’ll never find out what happens to the Misfits children,” she sighed sadly. She would greatly miss those stories. Even though Cliff wouldn’t want to give her a bass lesson, Cecily knew that Metallica always took a recording break around this very time each day, and that soon they would be parading through the lobby. She was right about them coming through the lobby, but she was wrong about Cliff. He was indeed coming to see if he still had a bass student or not. As soon as Cliff pushed his way through the revolving door of the hotel, he made his way over to the cushy couches. Sure enough he could just see the top of Cecily’s pig tailed head peeking over the back of the couch. “Hi Cess,” he greeted as he gently pulled on one of her pigtails. Cecily glowered at Cliff. She coughed a little. “You want to play me that bass line that I showed you?” Cliff asked as he sat down next to her. “No Mr. Burton,” Cecily said distantly. “You know that you can call me Cliff,” Cliff told her. “Here,” Cecily gestured to the bass. “Take it.” She coughed a couple of raspy coughs as she slid the bass over towards Cliff with her foot. “But don’t you want it?” Cliff asked. Having Cecily give him the bass back was almost too much. Didn’t she want anything to remember him by? “It belongs to Mr. Rasmussen,” Cecily shrugged. “I’m sure that he’ll want it back.” “No one’s claimed it since I’ve been here,” said Cliff. “I’m sure if I offered Flemming some money, he’d let me buy it for you. It’s a piece of shit. He’s not going to be able to sell it to anyone else.” “I don’t want it,” snapped Cecily between coughs. “Are you alright there?” Cliff asked. He went to pat her on the back to help her coughing, but Cecily pulled away from him. “I’m fine thank you,” she coldly replied. Cecily was one of those kids who always had a runny nose, probably because up until a few days ago she never owned a decent jacket. Today however, she was coughing, and her voice seemed kind of raspy. “Are we still on for tea on Friday?” Cliff asked, though he knew it was a moot point. “My mother is taking me to tea instead,” Cecily replied primly. “Is she going to be able to stop sucking James’s cock for that long?” Cliff shot sarcastically, happy to get his digs into Claudia whenever possible. “Don’t talk about my Mum that way!” Cecily yelled. The excitement sent her into a coughing fit. “Cecily, are feeling okay?” Cliff asked. “You sound like shit, and your face is kind of red.” “It’s red because you’re being mean to me!” cried Cecily as she wiped her runny nose off on her sleeve. Cliff put his hand up on Cecily’s forehead. “Cecily sweetie, you’re burning up!” “Don’t call me that!” Cecily yelled. “And I am not burning up! I feel fine!” The yelling caused her to fall into another bad fit of coughing. “Whenever I have a bad cough my Dad used to give me Grand Marnier,” said Cliff. “He’d even warm it up for me over the stove. It coats the throat and sooths it out real good. Then he would read to me. Come on, I’ll get some for you, and then I’ll tell you a Misfits story.” He tried to take Cecily’s hand but she whacked it away. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “Go away! My Mummy can take care of me!” “Well,” Cliff muttered rather huffily. “Your Mummy isn’t around right now. She’s probably off giving Mr. James a hand job somewhere!” Cliff stood up and somewhat forcefully yanked Cecily off of the couch, forgetting about what he had said to Mr. Gurken earlier about never wanting to ever pull on, or hurt Cecily in any way. “Mr. Cliff, don’t!” Cecily whimpered. “You’re hurting me!” “Well then quit being a brat!” he yelled as he shook her. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, and I’m not going to let some fucking five-year-old tell me off!” “I hate you!” Cecily yelled, though she didn’t really mean it. “I hate you for what you did to me! You took my Dad away!” “Cecily, you never had a father in the first place,” said Cliff. Cecily fell back down on the couch, having another terrible coughing spasm. The spasm shook the entire little girl’s delicate and petite frame. “Cecily!” Cliff gasped, as he took the girl into his arms. This time, Cecily was feeling too weak to really fight him. “That’s quite an evil sounding cough that girl has,” a passerby said to Cliff. “There’s a real lethal fever going around Copenhagen right now. If I were you, I’d get my daughter in to a doctor.” “He’s not my Dad!” Cecily shrieked, again sending her into even more coughs. Just then, a stuffy woman who looked like she had a corn cob shoved up her ass, made her way over to them. She squatted down so that she could be at eye level with Cecily. “You must be Cecily,” she said. Cecily just stared at the woman. By now, Cecily’s entire face was red, her eyes were getting watery, and she was beginning to feel a little feverish, but she would never let Mr. Cliff know that. “I’m from Mr. Gurken’s office,” the woman said. “Do you know a Mr. Lars Ulrich?” “I do, and I hate him!” Cecily snapped. “I hate him more than anyone, or anything!” “My, my,” sighed the woman. “Aren’t we a grouchy sort?” “Just who the fuck are you?” Cliff asked, intervening. “Mr. Ulrich has a written order for a paternity test,” the woman replied, holding up the order for Cliff to see. “I need to take Cecily to the police station down the street to get her DNA sample.” “Can’t you see that the kid is sick?” Cliff asked. “I am not!” yelled Cecily. She again fell into a series of coughs. “You’re fucking coughing and hacking all over the place,” Cliff snapped at her. He turned back to the woman. “Cecily’s not feeling well,” he said. “Can’t Lars wait a couple of days before he gets his test? I mean shit. He’s lived for five years without even knowing about the kid. Does he have to know this very instant?” “As a matter of fact I do,” Lars snapped, as he came over to them. “If Cecily isn’t my daughter than I need to know so that I can have my child support checks sent back to me, and return that doll, dress, and pink parka that I bought for her.” “You’re not my Dad!” screamed Cecily. “Mr. Cliff said so!” She coughed again. “And Mr. Cliff also claims that a hippogriff flew over his bed one night,” snapped Lars. “It fucking did!” yelped Cliff. Lars rolled his eyes. “Only the test will be able to tell us for sure,” he said. “You be a good girl and go with this nice lady down the street to get tested.” Cecily let out a couple more pathetic coughs. “She’s coming down with something Lars,” said Cliff as he lit a cigarette. “What she needs to do is go down to the doctor’s office.” “Claudia ain’t got no money for a doctor, and I’m not spending any more money on the kid until I know if she’s my daughter or not,” Lars retorted. “Now go get tested Cecily.” “I don’t have to do as you say,” Cecily argued. “You’re not my Dad.” “Maybe not,” said Lars. “But the court says that you have to get tested, and then we’ll see just who your father is.” Cecily helplessly looked from Lars, to Cliff, to the woman from Gurken’s office. All that she wanted to do was go upstairs to her room and pass out. The woman reached for her. “Come along Cecily,” she said. “I just want my Mum!” Cecily wailed as the woman lifted her up off of the couch, and carried her out of the lobby. “What the fock is wrong with you?” demanded Lars at Cliff once Cecily was gone. “More than likely, she is my daughter, and now you have her thinking that she isn’t. Now I have to wait a few days just to prove it.” “We’ll see,” Cliff shrugged and put out his cigarette. “I don’t know why you can’t find some other damn kid to fixate on!” Lars went on. “There’s a nice orphanage down the street. Leave my kid alone! You’re trying to take her away from me!” “I am not!” Cliff retorted. “Yes you are,” accused Lars. “You buy her things that are better than the shit that I buy for her, you tell her that I’m not her father, and you didn’t want her to get tested today. You’re as bad as Claudia when it comes to keeping me away from my daughter.” Cliff was tempted to tell Lars everything. He could tell him right there about writing the letter, and choosing Mr. Gurken at random, and about James cashing the child support checks. He decided to hold his tongue, mostly because he didn’t want to deal with any more bullshit from Lars. “Since you’re the expert Lars,” Cliff began. “When she gets back here, you need to take her to see the hotel doctor.” “Oh fock off Burton!” Lars laughed. “You and Hammett are both focking hypochondriacs. You guys don’t focking fart properly, and you go checking yourself into the intensive care unit at the hospital. Weren’t you the asshole who pulled a stomach muscle head banging, but you thought it was your appendix exploding, so you made an emergency room run on our last tour? All that Cecily needs to do is drink some prune juice or something. She’ll be fine. All of this Father of the Year spectacle and hoopla has made the girl a little bit tired and rundown is all.” Cliff stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. “Fuck,” he sighed unhappily. “It’s made her a hell of a lot more than that..” |
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| MissMetallica;; | July 30, 2007, 1:32 am Post #109 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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oh dear, i hope cecily hasn't gotten that bad lethal fever. if she has, lars probably wouldn't give a crap about her. even if he was her daughter. poor cecily.great chapter ashley, where oh where did you learn to write so well!! cant wait for more. |
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| Raedoll | July 30, 2007, 1:42 am Post #110 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Gurken seemed okay at first, that made me a little happy. Then he was just putting Cliff on and that made me really irritated. Bastard used Cliff just to roll his joints. I swear, if Cecily dies I'm going to cry. The poor girl has been through so much, Death isn't fair. I wish Cliff could just take care of her, and that Cecily would be able to love him again. I miss the Old Cecily and Cliff...they were so happy together and good for eachother. Eagerly waiting for more.
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| Shayi | July 30, 2007, 3:09 am Post #111 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Holy hell.... I don't know where to start with this. I don't know whether to like or hate Mr Gurkhan.... I mean, do you really need to get Cliff's hopes up like that? Although I suppose if he saw an expert joint roller he would have to make use of him... And I really hope that Cecily is going to be okay - Lars is a completely self-centred asshole once again (so nothing new there!), but seriously, nothing like giving a damn is there, Lars? Feeling sorry for Cliff again. What he did was really shitty, but at the same time - he at least is trying to make amends and at least he really does care! Awesome stuff as always! I love a good long story like this - especially one that's so funny, well written and with such absolutely fantastic characterization! |
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| Verity | July 30, 2007, 8:32 pm Post #112 |
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The Story Girl
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Thank you so much for the reviews. Y'all are too damn nice. Yeah, Mr. Gurken was kind of a chode. But I really didn't know what to do with the guy, so he became rather pointless... Unless you like Chinese parables that is. Anyways, Back to the front!!! (bad Disposable Heroes joke. I'm such a dork. And I've had way too much caffine today). Chapter 34- A Cold, Dark, Stormy, Night Little Cecily could not fall asleep. She just couldn’t get warm. Chills ran up and down her entire body, no matter how many blankets she had on top of her. Claudia had gone out for a night on the town with James, even though Cecily had pleaded to her to stay in. “I don’t feel very good Mummy,” she had moaned. “You’ve been through a lot of emotional trauma over the past few days hon,” Claudia had replied as she drenched herself in that God awful perfume of hers. “Not that,” whined Cecily. “I think I’m getting sick.” “Then how about you go to sleep then,” said Claudia. “Sleep is the best thing. Mummy will be out with Mr. James, but I won’t stay out very long. It will be nice and quiet in here, so you should be able to get plenty of rest.” And with that, she had grabbed her purse, kissed her daughter, and went off to meet James. “She hasn’t changed one bit,” sighed Cecily as she tried to make herself fall asleep, but it was no use. If she wasn’t shivering her ass off, she was coughing her innards out. What she needed was Grand Marnier. Mr. Cliff had said that it could soothe a cough. At this point, Cecily would do almost anything for a glass of it, along with someone to tell her a story. “I wish I that I could go find Mr. Cliff,” Cecily said to herself. “Even if he didn’t want to help me because he doesn’t really care about me, he might have at least felt sorry for me, and helped me out. But then again, I was so awful to him this afternoon. I could never ask him to help me. He might have some Grand Marnier though! Cecily slipped out of bed, shivering as her feet hit the cold floor. She grabbed her stuffed rabbit, threw on her robe, and wrapped herself up in a blanket to try and keep herself somewhat warm. *** Kirk Hammett sat on his bed waiting for his order of room service to arrive. He frowned at the TV. He wasn’t quite digging Danish television. After all, they didn’t have Miami Vice. Instead, he decided to concentrate on his room service order of fish and chips. Kirk’s mouth began to water as he imagined a basket lined with green checkered wax paper. Big, crispy, golden, chunks of fried cod drenched in the creamiest tarter sauce happily staring back at him chanting “eat me Kirk! Eat me! Please eat me!” Kirk was pulled out of his reverie, by a knock on the door. “Blimey!” Kirk declared. “That sure was quick.” Room service had never come that fast before. However, to Kirk’s disappointment, it wasn’t room service that was at his door. It was Cecily, and she looked downright awful. Her cheeks and the bridge of her nose were flushed, but the rest of her skin had a grayish tinge to it. Her eyes were glassy and bright. She was trembling like a leaf, and violently coughing. “Cecily!” Kirk exclaimed. “What are you doing here? If you are looking for Cliff, he’s not here right now. He’s down in the hotel bar trying to get himself, uh, uh, well you know.” “Trying to get laid?” Cecily finished for him. Kirk nodded. Cecily was a smart little shit. “I’m not looking for Mr. Cliff,” Cecily went on between violent wretches. “I was wondering if you guys have a bottle of Grand Marnier.” Grand Marnier was an odd request coming from a normal person, let alone from a five-year-old girl. “We don’t have any Cecily,” Kirk replied. “We tend to drink the harder stuff around here. I might be able to order a bottle from room service for you.” He looked at the shivering little girl. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.” “I’m fine,” Cecily snapped. “Is Mr. Cliff doing okay?” she asked nervously. “I think so,” Kirk answered awkwardly. “Why?” “Just wondering,” Cecily replied, and fell back into a fit of coughs. As she convulsed, she gave Kirk an envelope. “Can you give him this letter from me?” she finally asked between coughs. Her speech was labored, and getting very raspy. Kirk looked down at the envelope. In her best handwriting she had written: “Too: Mr. Clif” “Of course I will,” Kirk replied, as he stuck the envelope in the back pocket of his jeans. “Cecily, you really don’t look well. You should get back into bed. Your Mom must be getting worried about you.” “She’s out with James,” replied Cecily. Kirk was astounded. “You mean she went out and left you home alone even though you’re so sick?” he asked. “I’m just supposed to be sleeping anyway,” shrugged Cecily. She fell again into a series of coughs. “If I can even stop coughing long enough to fall asleep,” she whispered. “Good night Mr. Kirk. Don’t forget to give Mr. Cliff my letter.” Cecily turned to leave. Kirk watched as the little hunched over, shivering, little girl slowly made her way down the hall, and to the bank of elevators. Cecily had just pushed the button to call the elevator when another coughing spasm hit her. The coughs shook her little body so hard that she fell down onto the floor, coughing uncontrollably. “Cecily!” Kirk yelled. He took off running down the hall. As soon as he reached the little girl he noticed that something was drastically wrong. Cecily was now coughing up blood, and it was all over the front of her nightgown. Kirk ripped off his Misfits T-shirt displaying his glorious and naked chest that was peppered with just starting to sprout chest hairs, and began to mop up the blood with it. Cecily took one look at the blood that was all down the front of her and turned ghastly white. “Mr. Kirk!” Cecily cried in agony. “Find Miss Emily please! I need her.” There was nothing that Cecily could do to stop the coughing spasms. She hacked up even more blood. The sight of her own blood trickling out her mouth was just too much for the little girl to handle. “Kirk!” she wailed. “Find Cliff please!” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “Cecily!” squealed Kirk. “Cliff will help me,” Cecily barely groaned. Then she fell completely silent. “Cecily!” Kirk squeaked. “Stay with me Cecily!” Cecily immediately fell limp like a rag doll, right in Kirk Hammett’s arms. She had fainted. Kirk had no idea what to do. His idea of medical care was to go to the good hippie doctor in Berkley, and get a bag of tea leaves and a “wellness blessing.” “Oh my God! Oh my God in heaven!” Kirk exclaimed as he began to carry Cecily back to his room. “I need to find Emily or Cliff. Cliff will surely know what to do.” Heat radiated from Cecily’s feverish body, onto Kirk’s arms. “Dear God!” he cried. “She’s burning up!” Very gently, Kirk laid the unconscious Cecily down on his bed. Between the blood and the fever, she was totally incoherent and going delirious. Kirk ran to the bathroom and fetched a washcloth, which he dampened with cool water and lavender (because we all have bunches of lavender conveinently sitting around our hotel rooms). He placed it upon her forehead. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he had seen people do it in movies. “Is that you Mr. Cliff?” Cecily groaned. “No Cecily,” said Kirk. “It’s Mr. Kirk.” “I’m sorry that I was a brat Mr. Cliff,” Cecily murmured weakly. “I didn’t really mean it when I said that I hated you. I love you. You’re the closest thing that I’ve ever had to a dad.” “I’m Kirk! Not Cliff!” Kirk snapped at her. “And quit talking like that. You’re creeping me out!” “Cliff,” Cecily whispered in a raspy tone. “Do you still love me even though Lars isn’t my dad? I hope that you can still find it in your heart to love me! All I wanted was for you and Miss Emily to get married, and take me back to California, where you said that it was warm all of the time. Don’t be mad at me Mr. Cliff. Please don’t be mad.” With every word that she rambled, Cecily grew weaker and weaker, until all she could manage to get out were weak, labored, raspy, breaths. “Hang on Cecily,” Kirk said. “I’m going to go fetch you Mr. Cliff and Miss Emily, and your bottle of Grand Marnier, and most importantly a doctor.” Kirk didn’t even bother putting on a shirt as he raced out the door and down the hall. He also didn’t bother to fart around waiting for the elevator. Kirk took the stairs, taking them two at time. He got down to the hotel lobby, and made a beeline for the hotel bar. As soon as he entered the door, his heart sank. He didn’t see Cliff anywhere. Where the fuck was he? With Cecily’s poor luck this would just happen to be the one night that Cliff actually got laid, and wasn’t around. “Hey you there!” the bartender snarled at Kirk. “No shirt. No service.” “Sir,” Kirk said as he stumbled over to the bar. “It’s Kirk from Metallica.” The bartender perked up a little. Metallica had been basically keeping the bar in business through the dreary, winter, months. “Have you seen Cliff?” Kirk asked. “Who’s Cliff?” snarfed the bartender. “Our bassist,” Kirk replied. The bartender frowned “It’s not my day to keep an eye on your band members,” he growled. Kirk looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and turned to leave. A thought then occurred to him. “Hey Mister,” he piped up. “Do you guys have any Grand Marnier?” “Of course we do,” snapped the bartender. “I’ll take a bottle,” said Kirk as he threw his money down on the bar. The bartender wrapped Kirk’s bottle up in a small paper bag. “Are you sure that you haven’t seen Cliff anywhere?” Kirk asked one more time, hoping that the fact that he had actually bought something would warrant him better service. “I think he was in earlier,” the bartender shrugged. “But he left a while ago, and it’s not my job to keep tabs on him.” He frowned at Kirk. “The next time you come in here, wear a shirt.” Kirk sighed and took his bottle of Grand Marnier out into the hotel lobby. “Why did he have to score tonight,” Kirk mused. “The one night that Cliff is needed, and I can’t find seem to find him. Usually he’s sitting around under my nose making Metallinews papers, with nothing better to do. This just has to be the one fucking night that he’s not around!” Kirk gazed outside the hotel lobby windows. Snow was falling down from the sky at a good speed, and was starting to blow furiously in horizontal sheets. “I have to help Cecily,” Kirk said to himself. “I have to at least bring her Miss Emily.” Bringing Cecily Miss Emily meant going outside into the bitter cold. Not only did it mean going out into the bitter cold, but it also meant going out into the bitter cold without a shirt on. Kirk looked back towards the bank of elevators. By now, his order of fish and chips must surely be waiting there for him. He could also order up a pot of tea, and give Cecily her Grand Marnier. It was such an inviting picture. But then, Kirk thought of poor, little, Cecily, feverish and shivering upstairs in his bed. Even in her unconscious delirium, she had asked for two people: Cliff and Emily. He just had to find at least one of them. Kirk took a deep, deep, breath and pushed on the revolving door. The door spun the guitarist out of the warmth and brightness of the hotel, and into the bitter, bitter, cold, November, night… |
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| Raedoll | July 30, 2007, 10:28 pm Post #113 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Don't let Cecily die! She loves Cliff, Cliff needs her as much as she needs him!!! It's terrible if she doesn't get to say Goodbye to Mr. Cliff, and if Mr. Cliff doesn't know how sorry she is or how much she loves him. I hope Ms. Emily can help Cecily, and that Kirk can do something to get her there as quickly as possible. Claudia is a bitch and she's just a think-for-her-selfer. That's IRRITATING. But I love this story, please don't let Cecily die!!!! Cliff'll be heartbroken!!! |
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| Shayi | July 31, 2007, 3:11 am Post #114 |
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Bring me that horizon
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OH NO - not poor Cecily! I hope she's going to be okay! (and of course every hotel room comes supplied with a handy dose of lavender, naturally!) And go go little Kirk I hope that he's okay roaming through the streets in his shirtless state - this was one line that really got me giggling 'Kirk ripped off his Misfits T-shirt displaying his glorious and naked chest that was peppered with just starting to sprout chest hairs' Yeah I know the situation wasn't exactly amusing, but shirtless little Kirk and his chest hairs is hilarious in my view! I hope that he can find Miss Emily in time - and if he's lucky, Mr Cliff as well (possibly together?!) Fantastic and extremely dramatic update! Can't wait for more
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| MissMetallica;; | July 31, 2007, 4:02 am Post #115 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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MY GOD!! YOU'D BETTER NOT KILL OFF CECILY!! wow this chapter was awesome! and i hope kirk can find cliff and emily soon! god what is wrong with claudia. how could you leave your sick sick daughter in an empty hotel room while you went out with james. god. another clliffhanger! oh i hope cecily is ok. |
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| Verity | July 31, 2007, 7:35 pm Post #116 |
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The Story Girl
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I wasn't aware that Cecily was so popular. Mmmmmm. I'm still contemplating her fate. Which is why we have another pointless chapter to buy time as I think about what to do with her. Y'all don't think she's a brat???I can't take credit for the delicious meal that Lars is eating. I snagged a dinner menu from a nice hotel. I literally opened it up, and said "What should Lars eat for dinner tonight in my story..." and copied the menu. I'm evil . Yes I fucking am. Shit, I'll stop being stupid. My mind is gone today. oh yeah, and I'm sorry for any grammar errors. I didn't put in my contacts today. Chapter 35- Dinner at Ulrich Manor, and Cecily's Last Story Lars Ulrich took a sip of his wine and frowned. His mother always liked these sweet, saccharine, tasting wines. “My dearest Lars,” Mrs. Ulrich announced. “You seem out of sorts Sweetie. Whatever is wrong my dear?” Lars gave his father a pleading look. “Lars is just stressed out over the new album is all,” Torben replied smoothly as he took a sip from his own wine goblet. He winked at his son. Lars’s plight regarding his pending paternity test would be kept a secret from his mother until they knew for sure that Cecily was his daughter. There was no need to upset her applecart over nothing, especially since she thought that her darling and angelic Lars was still a virgin. Unlike Kirk, who was now staggering around outside on the cold streets of Copenhagen, Lars had opted to spend the evening having dinner at his family’s warm and cozy estate in the Danish countryside. Lars coming home for dinner was a rare occasion, especially when he came home by himself. Usually Lars had James in tow, and since James was Lars’s best friend, and business partner, he was always welcomed at Ulrich Manor. Kirk and Cliff on the other hand weren’t seen as Lars’s business equals. They were hired musicians, the hired help, and were not allowed to dine at Ulrich Manor. The Ulrich’s master Chef Dietrich, had cooked up a grand feast for Lars’s homecoming. There was smoked brook trout with celeriac salad, and horseradish cream. A collection of Artesian cheeses served with fresh walnut bread. Wild mushroom soup with roasted red beets and shaved onions. Pffefer steak with brandy-green peppercorn sauce. Schweinebrauten with caraway jus. Portobello and roasted eggplant strudel, and for dessert, rhubarb and pear strudel, with a sacker torte, and real whipped cream. “Where’s young Master James this evening?” asked Mrs. Ulrich. “He’s off with his girlfriend Claudia,” Lars replied, scowling at the thought of James with his ex lover. “That’s all he ever hangs around with anymore.” “Your Father tells me that you’ve finally met a nice girl Lars,” Mrs. Ulrich went on. “I thought that perhaps you would have brought her here with you tonight. Emily, wasn’t that her name?” Lars almost choked on his soup. Lars had had lots of girlfriends and fuck buddies, but he seldom ever brought them home. His father knew about them, but they kept them a secret as well from his mother. Lars was stunned that his father had even mentioned Emily to his mother. Lars had failed to mention to his father that for some reason, halfway through the Father of the Year Gala, Emily had started to act very cold and strange towards him, almost as if she were annoyed or disgusted with him for some reason. She had taken off early with Cecily, and Lars hadn’t seen her since. She was overrated anyway. “Yeah,” Torben chirped up. “Whatever happened to Emily? She seemed like a sweet girl.” “I haven’t spoken to her since the gala,” Lars mumbled as he played with a small cube of cheese. “I guess I should give her a call sometime.” “Don’t play with your food Lars dear,” scolded Mrs. Ulrich. “Yes Ma,’ Lars nodded. “I suggest that you don’t let this one slip away Lars,” said Torben sternly as he cut his steak. “You’ve finally found what looks to be a worthwhile lady. Don’t screw it up.” “Yes Papa,” Lars replied as he looked down at his soup. He didn’t know what the fuck was up with Emily, and he had been so preoccupied with whether or not Cecily was really his daughter, that he hadn’t even thought about Emily once today As his parents chitchatted about boring shit such as Aunt Mariella’s yeast infection, and Interest rates on Torben’s various money market accounts, Lars gazed out the dining room window. It was snowing like a motherfucker outside. You could hardly make out anything beyond the blowing winds. I guess I do wonder what Emily is up to right now, thought Lars. Is she thinking about me? Mother would surely adore her. Maybe I should bring her home to meet the parents one evening. “They say that people are dropping like flies from the fever,” Torben said. “The death toll is up to around four hundred. They say that it’s the worst fever since the one that hit back in 1959.” “What was that Pa?” Lars asked, being pulled from his thoughts. “Oh Lars dearie, it’s awful!” gasped Mrs. Ulrich. “I’m so worried about you and young master James hanging around in the city! The dirty, nasty, filthy, city!” “Lars is a strong and healthy lad,” Torben replied. “He’ll be fine. The fever only hits those who are weak and don’t get adequate medical attention. They’re comparing it to the Black Death of 1350.” Cecily’s coughing, and Cliff bumbling something about getting her to a doctor, flashed through Lars’s mind. He started to pick at his Pffefer steak, not having the appetite to eat another bite. Could Cecily have the fever? Could she be seriously focking sick? Could she be lying there violently ill while I'm off stuffing my face with cheeses and fine meat, and sauerbraten, and drinking the finest wine in all of Denmark? “Lars darling!” Mrs. Ulrich exclaimed. “Eat! Eat! You’re not eating my boy.” “I’m just not very hungry Ma,” replied Lars as he set down his sterling silver fork, and pushed his plate away. “Oh my God Torben!” Mrs. Ulrich cried. “What if our Lars has the fever?” “He doesn’t look sick to me,” quipped Torben. “Eat up your food Lars,” he ordered. “They’re starving people in China.” “Pa pa,” said Lars in a sheepish tone. “There’s a cure for this fever that’s going around. Right?” “If they get them to the doctor soon enough there is,” Torben replied. “We have antibiotics and things nowadays. But the fever is nothing to play around with. It’s fatal if not caught early on It can shut down vital organs such as the kidneys and liver. Why do you ask? Is somebody in Metallica showing the symptoms?” Lars shook his head. His entire mouth went dry, and his heart felt numb. It was possible that Cecily wasn’t his daughter. It was also possible that she was. Last night inside that convenience store with Cecily and Emily, he had felt so much like a Dad. He had really and truly for that moment felt as if Cecily was his daughter, and a part of him. He couldn’t let his daughter die due to his negligence. That would be betraying his little girl. Lars got up from the table. “Lars dearest,” said Mrs. Ulrich. “Honey, where are you going? We haven’t had dessert yet.” “I’m just going up to my room,” Lars mumbled. “I just need some time alone.” “I think we need to get him to the Doctor,” said Mrs. Ulrich. “He might have it! He might have the fever!” “Ma!” Lars shouted. “I don’t have the focking fever!” Lars stormed out of the dining room. He didn’t give a fock about what his mother said, or about what his father had said about not getting anymore involved with Cecily until he knew for sure if she were really his. He had seen Kirk and Mr. Chelton, and Cliff and Cecily. Neither were related, but they all loved each other very, very, much, and if they could do it, so could he. *** Cliff Burton with his bass in tow trudged through the slush and snow. He shivered as a gust of snow nearly ripped the skin off of his face. “I fucking hate this cold,” he spat. “I just want to go back home.” He had just passed the milliner’s shop. It was closed up for the night, but just seeing the shop’s window made him think of Emily. “I wonder what’s she’s doing on a night like tonight? Does she have someone to keep her warm? Is she thinking about me? Fuck. She’s probably thinking about what a slime bucket I am. She’s another person who’s on the list of people that hate me,” Cliff thought out loud. A pretty straw hat trimmed with flowers caught his eye. “Cecily would like that,” he immediately thought. He also immediately scolded himself. He had to stop thinking that way. Cecily hated him. She no longer wanted to see him anymore, and rightfully so. “Fuck all,” he muttered as he pushed through the revolving hotel door, thankful to be greeted by the warmth. He had spent the evening getting totally shnockered in the bar, and then went over to the recording studio to practice bass for a while like a good boy. Now all he wanted to do was go back to his room, smoke a couple of joints, and settle down for a pot induced winter’s nap. Cliff got up to the room, set down his bass, and took off his jacket. He stopped to light a joint, and made his way over to the bed. He sat down on it, only to be startled by a squeak. “Jesus! Shit!” Cliff exclaimed, dropping his beloved joint onto the floor. He sprang up from the bed to find Cecily’s frail, little, body lying nearly lifeless on the bed. “Cecily!” he gasped. He immediately took the girl in his arms and held her close. Cecily coughed. “Mr. Cliff,” she faintly moaned. “Is that you?” “Yeah,” Cliff reassured her. “It’s me Baby. I’m here now, and I’m never going to leave you.” Cliff could see the Cecily had been somewhat cared for, sort of. She had a now dried up washcloth sitting on her forehead, and some blankets thrown on top of her. “I don’t feel good,” she moaned. “I hurt all over.” “I know Baby,” said Cliff. “I’m going to make it better, I promise.” Cliff was just slightly a little bit more together when it came to handling emergencies than Kirk was. When James had accidentally shot and killed his ex girlfriend’s cat, Kirk wasted the day by calling a priest to come over to try and resurrect the cat from the dead. While Cliff saved the day by going to the pet shop, and finding another cat that looked just like the dead one. She never knew the difference. So while Kirk was off staggering around Copenhagen with his bottle of Grand Marnier trying to find help, Cliff phoned the doctor, and told him to come to the Hotel Iroquois immediately. He also had some Grand Marnier sent up via room service. He poured Cecily a glass of it, and warmed the orange liquor up by holding it over one of the scented pussy candles that Kirk insisted on keeping in the room. Cecily tried to watch Cliff with interest, but she was too weak and delirious to know what the hell was going on. “Is that for me?” she weakly asked as Cliff brought the glass over to her. “It sure is,” Cliff replied as he sat down next to her. “It’s really good shit. It will help your throat feel better.” Cliff helped Cecily weakly take a sip. She immediately made a face. “You have to drink it all Cecily,” Cliff instructed firmly. Cecily looked up into Cliff’s eyes. Her entire face had fear and uncertainty written all over it. He could see that she was very, very, scared. He wished that there was something that he could do to erase her fears. She obeyed him though, and drank the rest of it. It did seem to coat her throat, and her cough eased down just a tad. “I’m sorry Mr. Cliff,” she said. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.” “I deserved it Cess,” Cliff admitted. “I did a really terrible thing to you, and I want to make up for it.” “I don’t hate you,” she cried. “Really, I don’t. I even wrote you a letter that I gave to Mr. Kirk appol, appol-” “Apologizing,” Cliff finished for her. Cecily nodded gratefully. “I still wish that you could have been my dad,” Cecily finished. “I love you Mr. Cliff.” “Cess, don’t say that shit,” said Cliff. “Don’t be saying goodbyes and shit. Not right now. You’ll have plenty of time to make it up to me, just like I’ll have plenty of time to make up for the horrible thing that I did to you. You have every right to hate me forever, and never forgive me.” Damn, he thought. What the fuck is taking the fucking doctor so long? Cecily coughed, and Cliff poured Cecily another glass of Grand Marnier, and fluffed up her pillows. “You don’t have to do this for me,” she sniffled. “You don’t have to keep pretending that you like me.” “I’m not pretending Cecily,” Cliff replied as he smoothed back her hair away from her face. “No, you’re not my daughter by blood or anything like that, but that doesn’t necessarily determine who a father is. Even the Danish Men’s League could see it. That’s why they chose your essay.” “I feel bad that our night at the gala was ruined,” said Cecily. “I had wanted it to be so special and everything when you won, and instead we were mad at each other.” “We don’t need no silly contest to tell us how we feel about one another,” retorted Cliff. For the first time since being gravely ill, Cecily smiled a little bit. She reached up to try and hug Cliff, but she was just too weak. Cliff was starting to grow very impatient waiting for this fucking doctor to come. She was getting worse. “I am really very sorry for what I did to you,” Cliff went on. “I can understand how hurt you must feel. I was crushed like that once.” “You were?” asked Cecily. “Really? Did someone take your Dad away too?” “Not exactly,” said Cliff as he fixed Cecily some tea. “It wasn’t anything to do with my Dad, but it still really hurt.” “I can’t imagine anyone hurting you,” Cecily breathed. “Please tell me Cliff. Tell me a story, one last story.” “Her name was Victorine,” began Cliff as he gave Cecily a sip of the tea he had made. “And I liked her a lot.” “That’s a lovely name,” Cecily gushed in a breathy, labored, tone. “Was she beautiful?” “Absolutely,” Cliff nodded. “She was fucking gorgeous, and hot as all fuck. She had long, wavy, dirty blonde hair, and these tits. Well never mind about her tits. I remember the day that met her. She was wearing these tight little purple suede bellbottoms, and a white halter top. She was walking along these railroad tracks out behind our tour bus, and she just loved to make love outdoors. Anyway, I was fucking crazy about her, and she was crazy about me.” “Did you get laid?” Cecily asked, as she weakly sunk back into the pillows. Her fever was starting to slip up even higher and higher. “I did,” Cliff nodded. “And I was in sheer heaven. I thought about the fucking chick constantly. I loved her. I had even bought her this really nice little pearl pendant necklace thing. It was a fairly expensive necklace too. Then one night I went backstage after a concert, and she was sitting there on the sofa holding the necklace in her hand. She gave it back to me, and told me that she didn’t want to be with me anymore, and that we were over. I asked her what I had done wrong, and she told me that the only reason that she had slept with me in the first place, was to get to James.” “That’s so very tragic Mr. Cliff,” Cecily whispered. “I was crushed,” said Cliff. “Devastated actually. So, I know how you must have felt when I did the same to you. The only difference is unlike with Victorine, I actually care about you Cecily. You’re my little girl, and I love you to pieces. And even though you’re not my daughter, I think that we’re just as close as any “real” father and daughter are.” “Really?” Cecily asked, nearly asleep. “Why is that?” “Because,” said Cliff as he put a fresh damp cloth on Cecily’s forehead. “Unlike most fathers and daughters we got to choose each other.” “We did,” Cecily agreed. “I chose you bec-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Her fever had peaked too high, and she fell back into unconsciousness. “Cecily!” Cliff wailed in desperation. “Don’t slip away from me!” He had no idea how to get her actual fever to go down. For some reason, he didn’t think that any more Grand Marnier would do the trick. Where the fuck was the doctor? Cecily’s breathing began to get very, very, shallow. Cliff bit his lip. The kid was on the brink of death, and he had no idea what to do to help her. His medical remedies didn’t really go much beyond pot, alcohol, and telling stories. He knelt down by her bedside, and grabbed her frail little hand. “You’re going to make it,” he promised. “I’m not going to let you die!” |
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| Raedoll | August 1, 2007, 12:01 am Post #117 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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ROARGH! CLIFFHANGERWOMAN! I hate it when you do that, please don't let Cecily die!! She is a brat sometimes but kids NEED to be brats sometimes so they can redeem themselves later. I love Cecily and Cliff together adn Cliff finally seems happy ;_; he's been crushed and broken once and Cecily dying would shatter him. I don't think he could recover. |
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| MissMetallica;; | August 1, 2007, 2:01 am Post #118 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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another cliffhanger! god dammit!! i agree very much with edgirl. yes cecily can be a little brat at times, but shes a cute little brat. and cliff needs her so much and if she dies, im scared of what cliff would do. he loves her so much i dont think he'd be able to live and function properly. and that nice lars is coming out again. YAY NICE LARS! fantastic update! |
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| Shayi | August 1, 2007, 3:13 am Post #119 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Cecily is a bit of a brat - but not a hate-able brat So that's okay. And besides, what would Cliff and that lot do without her?! However I don't know whether getting a sick kid drunk on Grand Marnier before the arrival of a Doctor is necessarily the best idea.... but still! And a little flash of Nice Friendly Lars, rather than Asshole Lars. Always nice to see. And I love it when you explore the relationship between Lars and his parents - it's such an interesting one. On the one hand his fussing mother.... on the other his father who cares, but doesn't. Strange stuff and it explains a lot about Lars! I'm rather worried about little Kirk out there in all that snow though! Excellent update
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| Verity | August 1, 2007, 10:46 am Post #120 |
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The Story Girl
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Thanks for the reviews girls, and the comments on Cecily. Still thinking... I had to get up ungodly early this morning just so I could do something for like 5 minutes. Since I had like a pot of coffee, I couldn't go back to sleep, so I finished another installment instead. Shayi- Yeah, Grand Marnier probably isn't the best thing for a little girl with a fever. That part is an ode to Randy the bartender, who gave me some Grand Marnier when I had a rather nasty cough and sore throat. He warmed it up for me and I remember it tasting and feeling so good to my scratchy throat. anyways Chapter 36- Help from Unexpected Sources “Won’t someone please help me?” Kirk Hammett desperately as he made his way up Hettie’s front porch steps. Kirk had been inside every tavern, every pool house, every tobacco shop, and every speakeasy, searching for Cliff but he couldn’t find him anywhere. He was now trying the last place that he could possibly be: the village whorehouse. All eyes fell on Kirk as soon as he entered the dark, but warm, and smoky parlor of the brothel. A piano player who looked bored out of his mind sat in the corner playing an upright piano. Two old and fat guys from the Danish Men’s League sat playing cards at one of the tables, each had a flaxen lass on their arms. Kirk Hammett was a rare delicacy at Madame Hettie’s, who was used to catering to bald and fat business men. Plus, Kirk had reputation for being a rather generous tipper. “Hello there cutie,” greeted one of the girls. “Have you come to get “warmed” up?” She immediately began to run her fingers over his bare chest. “I’m looking for Cliff Burton,” Kirk replied, pushing the girl away. For once, he wasn’t in the mind to think about his dick. After all, Cecily was dying! “We don’t have anyone by that name working here,” Madame Hettie replied as she looked up from her book keeping which by the way she did with one of those fantastic feather pens. “We’re not that kind of place. Go to the Princess and Penis down the street for that.” “That’s not what I meant,” Kirk said, blushing. “I mean, has he been in here at all as a customer tonight?” “Oh,” Madame Hettie said. She put down her pen, and opened her sterling silver cigarette case, and took out a long, slender, cigarette. “Come to think of it,” she replied as she lit her cigarette. “I haven’t seen Mr. Burton around in ages. He must be getting some from elsewhere. Actually, I think he still even owes a payment.” She squinted down at her account book. “He sure as hell does!” another girl who was draped over the chaise muttered bitterly. “He hasn’t paid me yet, and I did all of the sick shit that he wanted me to do to for him. If you find him, you send him right over here immediately!” Kirk sighed as he thanked Madame Hettie for her time and left the whorehouse. For some reason, he felt that even if he did find Cliff, that Cecily would take precedent over his unpaid Madame Hettie’s bill. Kirk also had no luck finding a doctor. He had knocked on the door of virtually every doctor in Copenhagen, and no one could help him. Every doctor was absolutely slammed with fever patients. Cecily was at the end of a very long line of people. She also was just a little girl. Not a duke, or a princess, or a noble prize winner, so she was very low on the doctors’ priority lists. He had also gone by the milliner’s shop only to find it closed and dark. Warm tears began to trickle down Kirk’s face as he slugged through the slush. “Now little Cecily will die for sure,” he moaned. “I have no doctor, or medicine. She’ll surely die! Not only will she die, but she’ll die alone because I can’t find Cliff or Emily. I’ve totally let her down.” There was only one person left. One kindly soul who might be able to help him: Mr. Chelton! Kirk raced through the snow covered streets. Mr. Chelton lived with his wife in a small apartment that was up above his guitar shop. Kirk knew that it was well into the wee hours of the night. Surely Mr. and Mrs. Chelton would be asleep. He hated to wake them up, but Cecily’s life depended on it. “Mr. Chelton! Mr. Chelton!” Kirk cried as he pounded on the door. “Please help!” Kirk was silent for a few moments. Finally, a light from inside flicked on, and he heard stirring. “Kirk Lee!” Mr. Chelton exclaimed as he opened the door. “Where’s your shirt? You’ll catch the fever for sure running around half dressed like this. And whatever are you doing out at this time of night? Wait a minute, don’t tell me. You’re a rock star. God only knows.” “It’s not what you think Mr. Chelton,” responded Kirk, blushing. “It’s Cecily. She’s got the fever, and she’s near death.” “Cecily?” Mr. Chelton repeated. “Wasn’t she the dear girl who wrote that heart warming essay about your little friend?” “Well, he’s not exactly my little friend,” Kirk replied. “Cliff’s actually taller than me, but you have the right girl.” “I’m an old man Kirk Lee,” said Mr. Chelton. “Anyone under the age of forty is a “little” friend to me. Come on inside, or else you’ll be deathly ill as well. You can borrow one of my shirts to wear.” “We have to make haste,” said Kirk as he gladly stepped inside. Mr. Chelton threw one of his oversize flannel shirts around him. “Her fever’s gotten really high, and I can’t find a doctor anywhere.” “With the fever epidemic that’s going around for every doctor that we have there’s at least thirty patients,” said Mr. Chelton. “That poor, poor, little girl. She was such a sweet and adorable little thing too. It’s a shame that she’s so sick.” “Her mother doesn’t care either,” said Kirk. “She went off for a night on the town with James. We’re all that Cecily has.” “Your little friend is with her right?” asked Mr. Chelton. Kirk shook his head. “I can’t find Cliff or Miss Emily anywhere. If we don’t hurry, she’ll surely die alone.” “God bless the poor little thing’s soul,” said Mr.. Chelton as he shook his head. “It’s so sad when you think about all of the people out there who would just love to have a little girl, and then there’s people like her mother, who can’t be bothered with her, even at a time like this.” “You’ve just got to help her!” Kirk pleaded, tears falling down his face. “You just have to do something Mr. Chelton!” Kirk threw himself down on his knees, right at Mr. Chelton’s feet. “Kirk Lee,” Mr. Chelton said soothingly as he affectionately ran his fingers through Kirk’s thick mass of dark curls. “I really wish that I could help you and little Cecily, but I’m not a medical doctor. I don’t even have enough medical knowledge to fill a thimble, let alone save a dying little girl.” Kirk’s face flooded with tears. Mr. Chelton just couldn’t take seeing his adopted son crying at his feet. “But you’re Mr. Chelton,” Kirk cried. “You’re all that’s good and wonderful in the world. You’re supposed to be able to fix anything.” Mr. Chelton looked thoughtful as he wiped Kirk’s tears with his handkerchief, and gently stroked the top of his head. Kirk looked up at him with bag, sad, puppy dog eyes “I’m sorry my boy,” he said. “But even I cannot fix a poor little child who has the fever. All that we can do is try and be with her so she doesn’t have to die alone, and try and keep her comfortable, during her darkest hour.” “There were two people that Cecily requested to be at her bedside,” said Kirk. “Cliff has seemed to jump off the side of the earth. But maybe I could find Emily. You wouldn’t happen to know where Emily from the milliner’s shop lives do you?” Kirk asked. “I know Emily,” Mrs. Chelton piped up. “I always see her down in the milliner’s shop working very hard. She helped me pick out buttons for my pea coat once. She lives in a small cottage at the edge of town called the Rose Cottage. I could take you over there.” “You don’t have to,” said Kirk. “I hate to bother you with this so late at night. I’m sure that I could find the cottage myself.” “Gobbledygook!” scolded Mrs. Chelton as she quickly put on her long heather colored wool coat, and her kerchief, and scarf. “If that poor, dying, little girl can’t have a decent mother around her during her last few hours, she will at least have a room filled with decent friends. It’s the least that I can do for the poor thing. I’m also going to pack a care basket for her. We have some extra medicine, who knows? It might even help save her.” She bustled around the apartment grabbing some extra blankets, pillows, a bottle of antibiotics, some cough syrup, and a thermos of chicken noodle soup for Cecily. “Thank you,” said Kirk as he hugged each of them. “Both of you are the greatest parents in the entire world!” *** “I’m sorry Mr. Burton, but our doctors are working overtime trying to get to all of the fever patients that are out there! Your daughter is just going to have to wait for a couple of hours,” the nurse said to Cliff over the phone. “She doesn’t have a couple of hours!” Cliff snapped into the receiver, not bothering to correct the nurse that Cecily wasn’t his daughter. At this point, did it really matter? The kid was probably going to die anyway. “She’s a child,” Cliff begged the nurse. “Can’t you at least send a paramedic or nurse, or even a med student over here to help her?” “They’re all assisting other patients,” replied the nurse. “I don’t think that you understand the magnitude of this fever epidemic Mr. Burton.” Cliff glanced over at the bed where Cecily was fading fast. She was now totally unconscious and quiet, except for shallow, labored, breathing. “Trust me you stupid, old, bitch,” he snarled into the phone. “I understand the magnitude of it very well. I also understand that Cecily will die if she doesn’t get medical attention immediately!” “Your daughter has to wait her turn just like everyone else,” replied the nurse coldly. “Fuck you, you stupid goat fucking slore!” Cliff yelled into the receiver. “You’re a lousy, piss poor excuse for a nurse! My fucking dog, could have given me more help than you have!” “That will be quite enough Mr. Burton,” said the nurse. “I will not tolerate you cussing at me, and calling me inappropriate names.” “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you slut!” Cliff yelled and smashed down the phone receiver. That would be fifth phone that he had smashed and broke during his tenure at the Hotel Iroquois. Cliff looked at the pathetic, busted, telephone. “Fuck you,” he growled at it, as if cussing at it would magically fix it. He put his head down on the desk. It was helpless. Not only had he hurt Cecily by lying to her about her father, but now he was failing her. She was depending on him to save her, and he just couldn’t do it. For the past few hours, Cliff had held vigil at Cecily’s side. When she shivered, he gave her more blankets, and put hot washcloths on her face. When she was sweating, he took the blankets away, and put icepacks on her head. When she coughed so violently that her whole ribcage convulsed, he propped her up with more pillows. He even told her another three chapters of Misfits stories, but nothing that he did seemed to bring her back. He was a terrible nurse. Cliff was near exhaustion himself from being up all night. “It’s not fair!” he moaned as he watched Cecily sleep. “I’ll do anything that you want me to, but you must pull through this,” he said to Cecily. “I’ll take you back to California with me, I’ll even fucking kidnap that Emily chick and marry her, anything! You can stay with Aunt Josephine when I’m away touring. She’s loaded with shitillions of dollars, and has no one except her toy poodle, her favorite nephew, and twelve cats to spend it on. She’ll adore you, and buy you tons of shit. I’ll go to church, I’ll cut my hair, I’ll adopt orphaned puppies, I’ll even memorize the entire Bible. Just don’t die Cecily! Please live, do it for me.” Cliff was pulled out of his ramblings by a knock on the door. Finally, finally, there was the fucking doctor! Cliff raced to the door as if he were expecting to see Geezer Butler himself standing on the other side of it, instead of just the village doctor. It was neither. Cliff frowned. “Is Cecily here?” Lars asked. “I’m worried about her.” “Since you don’t have proof that she’s your daughter, I thought that you no longer gave a shit about her,” Cliff retorted. “Fuck off Burton you piece of shit!” Lars scoffed. He pushed past Cliff, and let himself inside the hotel room. He gasped when he saw Cecily. The girl was ashen white, and breathing very slowly. For the first couple of seconds Lars actually thought that she was dead. “Oh shit,” he murmured, as he fell to Cecily’s bed side. “Cliff, whatever did you do to her?” “I didn’t do this to her!” Cliff snapped. “If it would have been up to me, I would have had her ass in to see a doctor long before she got this far into the woods. I’ve been trying to nurse her back to health for the entire night.” “Well you’re not doing a very good job of it. Obviously,” scoffed Lars. “Let me try. I know lots about medicine.” “Lars, knowing how to make sculptures out of your own shit isn’t exactly medicine,” Cliff snapped. “I want to thank you for your help Cliff,” Lars said calmly. “It means a lot to me that you care about my daughter so. But I’m here now, and what she needs is her father. I can take the medical decisions from here. Fetch me a knife.” “We are not cutting her open!” Cliff shrieked. “We’d kill her for sure.” “I’m not going to cut her open you dick,” snapped Lars. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you put a knife under the bed, it cuts the pain in half?” Cliff made a face. “No,” he said. “Actually, she didn’t, and that’s the most ridiculous thing that I’ve ever heard!” “And just what do you propose that we do?” Lars snapped as he took Cecily’s frail, little, hand in his and held it up to his cheek. “Nothing that you’ve done has helped her.” “She needs a doctor Lars,” said Cliff. “She needs an honest-to-God, real, live, fucking, medical doctor.” “Well let’s call one then,” said Lars. “I have!” Cliff shouted. “They’re all too fucking busy with other patients. I can’t get anyone to come down here and help.” Out of frustration, Cliff picked up Cecily’s empty Grand Marnier glass and threw it against the wall, shattering it. “Nice move Cliff,” Lars quipped. “You know that Flemming is going to charge you for that, and for that busted telephone too.” “I don’t fucking care!” Cliff retorted, and he started crying, right then and there. He slid down to the floor. Lars looked thoughtful. “Let me trying giving the doctor a call,” he offered. “It’s no use,” Cliff said through tears. “They won’t come help us. Cecily has to wait her turn just like everybody else,” he mimicked. “You don’t know how I’ve tried to get a doctor to come down here.” Lars got up and went over to the busted phone. Even though the receiver was rather dilapidated and fucked up, it still presented a dial tone and seemed to work. Two minutes later, Lars was off the phone. He went over and sat down on the floor, right next to where Cliff was sitting, smoking a cigarette with tears still trickling down his face. “Doctor will be here within five minutes,” Lars reported. “What?” Cliff asked. “But they told me that she had to wait.” “That’s because,” Lars began, his face beaming with pride. “You forgot to tell them that her grandfather is a famous tennis pro…” |
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but i dont think that this chapter was pointless at all, and its good to know that mr. gurken will try and help out the boys.
poor cecily.

8:42 PM Jul 10