DMH Fiction: Cheese

If you haven’t met Deadly Metal Hatchet yet, they’re the *other* band around here. Young and hungry, but also incredibly stupid, they’re musically inept but they have a great gimmick. Read on!

“No. I don’t like it. Every single freaking heavy metal band out there has pictures taken in front of a gothic gate like this one,” Scott said.

“Do we have to take pictures?” Fozzy asked.

Scott, Gecko, and Lido turned and glared at their guitarist.

Fozzy wandered off toward the gates. Scott followed, taking in the sight. Heavy dark brick, probably stained with some sort of smog or soot. Maybe it was moss; it didn’t matter. It wasn’t something you’d see at home.

Scott still couldn’t believe the record company had flown them out East just for a stupid photo shoot. They’d claimed the woods behind the gate was the Hatchet’s natural environment. That the sand and brush of the desert had nothing to do with the Hatchet.

Fozzy had tried to explain that the Hatchet was a city dweller, born on a wide asphalt street. No one at the label had cared. They wanted the Hatchet associated with all the usual gothic shit. Iron railings connecting the two tall columns of stone. Yawn.

“How many other bands have taken their group pictures right here?” Scott asked Fozzy, who lit a cigarette and stuffed his lighter into the front pocket of his jeans.

“The Hatchet could like it here,” Fozzy said after a minute. “Lots of hiding places. Lots of victims probably come through here.”

“Yeah,” Scott sniffed. “All our competition.”

“So where do you want to do this photo shoot?” Fozzy asked. He narrowed his eyes like he did when he was expecting something good but stayed ready to brace himself for something less than okay.

Scott turned in a circle, his face tilted up toward the sky as he thought. It was easier to give Fozzy something good than spend the next five hours waiting for him to draw the Hatchet. They had a schedule to keep. This stupid photo shoot. “In a ferris wheel,” he said at last. “A shot from a distance. That’ll go over easier with Mr. camera-shy.” He slid a look at Fozzy, waiting for a reaction. None came. Lido bit back a smile. Gecko lit a cigarette of his own and scuffed at a leaf on the ground. It was damp; it turned his work boot dark brown.

“The Hatchet can be… anywhere,” Scott said. “In a car of its own, digging the ride. Jammed into the electronics and ready to strike the poor suckers stuck at the top. Taking freaking tickets for all I care.”
Fozzy held his cigarette like it was a joint. “That could work.”

“Now we’ve got to get the label to go along with it.”

Fozzy smiled, that ugly, thin smile that was the only one Scott had ever seen. “Let the Hatchet handle that.”

This actually compiles three writing prompts. There’s the Easy Street Prompt from September 25, the Your Photo Story, and this week’s Sunday Scribblings.

Links to more Deadly Metal Hatchet (in order!):
Thursday Thirteen — The Hatchet
Anonymous
Chapeau
Thursday Thirteen — Bits about Deadly Metal Hatchet
Fozzy’s Skateboard
Somewhere
Late Invite?
Fozzy’s Accident