Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 6.0 Nacho Flavoured Nachos

Skwisgaar had solidly spent the last two weeks padding out the demo riffs for the new album. He sat in the practice chamber surrounded by a variety of guitars, empty energy drink bottles, a pile of scribbled on papers, and one very full ashtray. He was steadily re-working the bass part for 'Carpe Jugulam' when Nathan and Murderface walked into the large, cavernous room.

"Bullschit! The Nacho flavoured Doritosch are fucking mind blowing! How could you posschibly not like them?" Murderface said to Nathan as they walked the several meters towards him from the other side of the chamber.

"It's not that I don't like the flavour, it's that I don't like the concept." Nathan tried to explain.

"What the hell isch that schupposed to mean?"

"You can't have Nacho flavoured Doritos when you make Nachos out of Doritos. It just doesn't make sense."

"Holy SCHIT, Man! That'sch an effing great idea! Use the Nacho flavoured ones to make actual Nachos! You're a God damn genius, Nathan!"

"Arrh, thanks, but I think you're missing my point."

"Wow, Skwischgaar! You look like you've been schit out Beelzebub's asschole!" Murderface gleefully commented when the lead guitarist looked up to greet his band mates.

A lit cigarette danced freely on Skwisgaar's lips as he held the long neck of the bass guitar and scribbled down some notes at the same time. His eyes were blood shot and watery and the bags under them had recently been upgraded to suitcases too heavy to be permitted on international flights. He also had a fine blonde stubble growing in that aged him several years and his skin had an oily shine.

"Ja, well I haves been busy workings wit your bass parts." Skwisgaar said pointedly and slipped the pencil back through his greasy hair to rest behind his ear. His heal twitched metronomically.

"What? Why have you been fucking around with my bass lines!? That'sch mine, I wrote them!" Murderface said.

"Ja, Moirderface. Dats why I ams here, rights now, writings dem." Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes and pointed to the Bass in his lap.

"It'sch a collaboration! Fucking, whatever, we only came down here to get you for dinner." Murderface folded his arms and found something else in the room to look at.

"We decided on that awesome seafood place where they have a tank on every table and you can put whatever you want in it." Nathan said.

"My vote isch for two lobschters. I wanna see them fight, then eat the winner." Murderface said.

"I still think an electric eel and a sea snake would be cooler."

"Whys we moves de day for restaurant nights ups to nows?" Skwisgaar asked as he picked up one of his hand scribbled notes and clicked his teeth together in the pattern he was reading.

"Huh? We didn't move it? Schunday's alwaysch been restaurant night." Murderface raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh. I tought today ams Friday." He said conversationally and leaned over to put out his cigarette in the limited real estate of the ashtray. That's when Nathan noticed the tell-tale red marks on the inside of his arm.

"Yeah, well that Speed Pickles has is good shit. I'm not surprised you lost a day or two." Nathan said, eyeballing the tiny puncture wounds. "When was the last time you slept?"

Skwisgaar folded his arm up to hide the track marks. He wasn't ashamed, none of them were, but he caught the concern in Nathan's voice and it made him uncomfortable. He lit another cigarette to stop himself nibbling on his lower lip.