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Mostly Snowy With a Little Burst of Sunshine	By : kimbk Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 904 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know any members of Rammstein. This is purely a work of fiction: it does not intend to reflect any aspect of the members' lives and I do not make any profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Mostly Snowy With a Little Burst of Sunshine
- 1
Author's Note: This story is meant to be a tie-in to 'Silence' but can also be read as a standalone. Reading 'Silence' is pretty much completely unnecessary, in other words, to enjoy this one. Nothing naughty - vague hints of Till/Richard, but it's not strong enough to need any warning. What does need a warning is the presence of drug use and language.
I wrote this to expand Doom Schneider's point of view and personality. Why didn't I do that in 'Silence'? Well... I feel that he's the least well defined character in that story so far. I've pretty much made everyone else's personalities clear or have plans for them later in the fic (or in case of Olli, I've made him appear often in fairly significant scenes). But Schneider is difficult for me; his appearance is so versatile and he's such a cryptic person that I can't really pin his personality down. So this oneshot has focused on 2001 (should take place during the timeskip in Ch. 2 of 'Silence'), around the shooting of 'Sonne', and is dedicated to him only.
Very much inspired from 'Making of Sonne' / 'Sonne' videos. I read somewhere that they were high when watching the Snow White video, but I don't know if this is actually true. But the idea tickled me, so... yeah, everyone is high. I am not advocating the use of drugs and I reiterate that this is strictly a work of fiction. Read on.
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Schneider just knows that it's going to be a very interesting evening when he walks into the rented apartment and is immediately greeted by the smell of smoke, cheap beer and chocolate. The surprises don't end there - he casually steps over what looks like a comatose Richard on the floor and into the living room, where Paul is strumming his guitar and singing at the top of his voice. The riff is being played well, but the drummer knows that Paul usually sings at least five times better than that.
"Wollt! Ihr! Das! Bett! In! Fla-mmen sehen!"
"Leave the verbal staccato up to Till," Schneider comments as he slaps the guitarist on the shoulder and sits on the sofa. Till's sitting there as well, and for a moment he thinks that the singer looks okay - he's staring in the direction of the TV and looks fairly composed - but then the man turns to him, his eyes unfocused with wide, dilated pupils, and says 'I am so fucking high right now' and Schneider inwardly sighs in response. This is going to be a long, long night.
"Do I even want to know why everyone is suddenly drugged up?"
Paul is far too busy hollering out the refrain of 'Ramm-stein!' to answer and he doesn't think that Till even really heard his question, Schneider's never thought of himself as the pushy type, so he simply sighs out loud and leans back, closing his eyes. He doesn't know if anybody else is in the apartment, and Paul and Till are quite clearly not capable of looking after themselves - as for Richard, he doesn't have a clue what's happened to him and is not sure if he wants to know, at least he doesn't look dead - so he should really remain clean and sober for the time being. Schneider is a fairly sensible man, and he's immensely fond of all of his bandmates, but at the same time he doesn't really know what to do about them when they're like this-
"Oh, Doom! You're here."
The drummer opens his eyes to see Olli, who has emerged from a side bedroom, and gives him a little smile and a wave (which the younger man returns). "You're there after all. Thought it was just me and these three in this place."
"Flake's here too, though he's in the kitchen so he probably didn't notice you coming in. And no, we wouldn't do that. Would never leave you alone in a madhouse like this," Olli says, throwing a glance towards Paul's direction. The drummer nods and laughs, feeling a mixture of slight disdain and immense fondness for the guitarist and his antics. "anyway, me and Flake had a go before those two did. Think he's still fairly high, but it's been over an hour and I can't feel anything... so yeah, here I am. I'll roll another and go back to what I was doing."
"Tch, Flake's high, how do you even tell."
They share a guilty chuckle as Olli sits down in front of a large black plastic bag and shakes out some of the weed. He lets out a small 'hmm' and gets to work rolling the joint, Paul serenading them in the background with an extended guitar solo and (thankfully) holding off on the singing; good old Olli, always so quiet and focused on whatever he's doing. None of them have been intoxicated on anything but alcohol for a long time, so Schneider can see quite a variety of reactions amongst all of them when exposed to other drugs, and it's quite fascinating to observe. But speaking of which, why are they all holed up doing drugs in the first place? "Neither Paul nor Till answered me when I first asked, so... uh, why are you lot all taking drugs? I've only been out for a few hours, since after lunch - what the hell happened during that time and where did you even get all this?"
"Risch came up with it," Olli mumbles, too transfixed in rolling the perfect joint. Any more concentration from his part and he'll space out enough to rival any high the marijuana can give him. "and it seemed like a good idea at the time. You know 'Sonne'?"
Schneider suddenly has a moment of realization. "Oh yeah. So we still don't have a clue what to do with it?"
The bassist nods grimly. "Got it in one. Brainstorming for ideas amongst ourselves didn't get much better after you left. So Risch just kind of threw his hands up and said that we might as well all try to delve into our innermost thoughts and desires, and Paul knew a dealer nearby, so... yeah."
Considering the difficulty they've had in going through ideas for 'Sonne', this actually seems to make perfect sense. The drummer nods back, letting out a vague 'hmm' - as utterly insane as all of this appears to be, he's perfectly aware that they're working on a tight deadline to come up with something. They can't hesitate on the sidelines forever, the music video for their single needs filming; if they don't have some sort of plan by next week, a random idea will be chosen and they're going to have to stick with it because putting this video off is not an option. But they've gone through nearly forty ideas now, and haven't yet managed to hit on one that clicks with all of them. How can they just pick one out of that pile and go with it, when they know that at least one of them won't be happy filming it? Till made it fairly clear that he wouldn't have that, and Schneider agrees with that fullheartedly. If the man weren't inebriated, they could have actually had a fairly long and thoughtful discussion regarding this.
Having made a joint that he quite likes the look of (and 'has a good feeling about', according to his own words), Olli excuses himself back inside the side room doing whatever it is that he's doing. Schneider bids him good luck and then looks at the plastic bag, only slightly aware that Paul has stopped playing and has unstrapped his guitar, panting heavily and dabbing the sweat off his forehead.
"What have you got there, then?"
At this question, Paul seems to sober up for a moment to respond. "Marijuana, mostly. But there's beer and vodka, plenty of those - and we've got a few lines of coke around, although only I've done that. They're meant to be inspiration drugs."
"I don't see much inspiration going on," Schneider comments wryly and then glances at Till. "well? What about you?"
Till is probably the one person who's high in that room who quite frankly shouldn't be purely for reasons for creativity. One would think that taking drugs would gift him with a lot of ideas, but he's apparently never had such an experience, preferring to write when thinking perfectly straight. In fact, things that he often comes up with when under the influence of drugs are more whimsical and adjusted than his usual fare, and as far as the drummer knows he's never written them down before he proceeded to forget them. It probably says volumes about Till's personality that he can think of more nightmarish and bizarre things when not drugged up. "I... I told you, S-Schneider," he slurs out, a sure sign that he's in the middle of his high. Till tends to become very sluggish and his speech becomes somewhat impaired after smoking a joint, which might explain why he isn't capable of writing during those times. "I can't... can't make the words come out s-straight on paper... I can't think of - anything for the video, either."
The drummer nods somewhat sympathetically and shifts closer to Till. "But at least you've tried, right? You've never told me about it, if you have."
"I did, uh - did try to write when I was high, just once. Thought it would g-give me... a plethora of material," Till slurs out as he takes another sip of his beer. How he doesn't manage to spill it is a miracle.
"So... it didn't go well?"
"Nuh-uh," he shakes his head. "I just ended up... staring at this, this spider in the corner of my ceiling until I sobered up. Or something. Total - waste of my time."
They fall silent afterwards. Schneider picks up the remote and flicks through all the channels, but there isn't much worth watching; Till appears to have been watching a pop music video marathon, and he doesn't even like pop music, which is another indicator as to how not in his right mind he is. It looks as if Schneider should probably get himself similarly inebriated if he wants to understand anything that's going on. He doubts that it'll ultimately help with coming up with ideas, but one can never know. Perhaps there's a masterpiece in hand. And if not, it wouldn't hurt to immerse himself in the same plane of thought as everyone else.
While he's contemplating this, Flake enters the living room, waving away the smoke casually. "Good evening, Doom. I apologize for all of this mess."
"No problem. Say, are you feeling all right?"
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I feel good," Schneider lets out a 'hmm' in response, scrutinizing the keyboardist; Flake looks back at him with such a completely normal smile that he briefly doubts that the man ever did drugs at all. But he's known the man for over a decade now and he knows better.
Flake is a strange specimen. For a start, he doesn't do drugs very often; he doesn't even drink much and prefers to stay completely sober if he senses that everyone is getting completely wasted. But on the few occasions that he joins in, he does so wholeheartedly while never actually behaving like he's high. The keyboardist can smoke a couple of blunts by himself and still be completely coherent and fairly sane, even actively being able to come up with a viable keyboard solo on the spot or other things that require creativity. One might think this meant that he was immune to weed, but it does seem to put the keyboardist in an considerably elated mood, so this is probably not the case. Olli is also fairly creative in a similar way, although he usually tends to hide away and not show it off until later. Either way, this can make for some productive nights. This little advantage hasn't gone unnoticed with the other bandmates - Schneider himself quite envies it, and Till is forever trying to catch the man slipping up, like he's doing right now.
"Alphabet. Backwards. Do... do it for me, Flake," he demands from the sofa, the nickname coming out like an exaggerated 'Flock-ah' because of his slur. It's the same challenge that he's presented Flake with a couple of times in the past. Without even looking at Till, he rattles it off smoothly, even adding the list of umlauts and the eszett at the very end.
"Or do you prefer 'scharfes-S'?"
"Show-off," Till grumbles. Flake simply gives him a cocky smile - quite unusual for one as quiet as he - and makes himself at home on the armrests of the sofa.
"Is Risch okay?" Schneider asks, looking over and watching the keyboardist rock lightly on the armrest, keeping himself balanced. It's quite mesmerizing.
"Yeah," Flake nods. "just asleep. He isn't dead or passed out or anything. Before Paul came back with the drugs he just pleaded tiredness and fell asleep right there, the bastard. Worse than an insane idea or having no idea at all is not actually being awake to contribute anything," he pauses and gazes at the scene in front of him, with a lethargic Till and Paul sitting down to smoke half a joint (the coke having worn off by this point). "could you open a window, please, Paul? So I guess we haven't come up with any more ideas for 'Sonne'?"
Till shakes his head, but rather admirably speaks up despite sounding as if every word is torture to pronounce. "I still... still think that we should go with the H-hiroshima idea. I... I sang most of the damn thing, it's not happy, and I think something - apocalyptic - would suit it."
"And that would be offensive to many," the guitarist pipes up from the floor; he inhales the smoke, closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, and lets it out again. They all know to appreciate Paul's sanity when it's there. "don't mention the goddamn war, is the rule. Do we want to add more accusations of us being Nazis to our record?"
"Everything is offensive to everyone at some point," Flake says wisely. "we've got to choose one somehow. I think it's a good idea."
"Quite frankly, Paul, what have we done so far that hasn't gotten us accused of being Nazis?" Schneider puts in, although he privately agrees that the Hiroshima idea doesn't seem quite viable. Less thought and too much refuge in audacity. "this album hasn't helped matters. But don't get me wrong! Messing around with that perception really is quite fun. Links, zwo, links, zwo... links, zwo, drei, vier..." he sings lightly under his breath to demonstrate his point.
Till gives him an approving look, and the drummer is slightly proud of himself for a moment. "I wish... Risch was - awake to l-listen to this," he mumbles - Richard, alongside Till, revels the most out of all of them in the controversies that they cause. But the older guitarist frowns and leans back, holding the smoking joint in his hand and fiddling with it lightly.
"Well, I think we should go with the story of a boxer. Dedicate it to Vitali Klitschko like we wanted to from the beginning."
"Isn't that too... well, obvious an idea?"
Paul shakes his head and takes another puff of the joint. "You just say that because our music videos so far have been nigh incomprehensible to everyone else. We've set that streak, why not actually go with something perfectly obvious and intentional this time? We've always indulged in the subversive," he's actually making a fairly serious and valid point, and even Till seems to have broken free of his stupor for the time being, nodding and urging the guitarist to go on. "think about it - we thought the boxer idea was good enough when we first made the song, so why wouldn't it be good enough for the video? It might seem too straightforward compared to everything we've done, but maybe that's the appeal of oh my what is that shiny thing beneath the sofa."
"Oh Paul," the drummer groans and sighs. "just when it was getting interesting."
The keyboardist stands up and dusts himself off. "Well. Seeing as we aren't really going to get anywhere, I'm going to go and bake a cake. Anyone want to help me?"
"I sure will!" Paul jumps up from the floor and nigh-hurls himself into the kitchen at the mention of cake; at the same time, Till gives Flake a slightly annoyed glance. Schneider suspects that this is because Flake and Olli can channel their creativity to actually doing practical things under the influence while he can't. At least he's aware of it, he thinks to himself, before walking over to the plastic bag and picking it up.
"Well, I feel a little left out - might as well get myself high too, seeing as you're here. You agree?" the keyboardist nods in approval, in stark contrast to his usual stoic, no-nonsense demeanor, and Till gives him a lopsided grin and a thumbs-up. "I don't want to do lines, though. Have you got any joints? Or is there suitable paper somewhere, I can roll my own like Olli did."
"Yeah. But I know a much better way," Flake says with a devious grin, before he goes to the fridge and carries out a tray that has two ramekins on it. "I baked some chocolate pudding and thought I'd toss in some cherries and weed in there while I was at it. And of course you can roll your own. Pick your poison."
"Oooooh."
-----
Having a sweet tooth is kind of awesome. Within ten minutes, Schneider slips into a fairly relaxed high and sighs happily, the empty ramekin sitting next to him. He's so impressed by the effect and the overall quality of the pudding that he volunteers to help out Flake in the kitchen as well, mainly so he can see what the keyboardist is doing with his unconventional ingredients. Schneider is thus rather disappointed when he peers inside the kitchen and sees that it's only really big enough for Flake and Paul; they probably fit so well in there because the former is tall and skinny and the latter is short, although there is no way he'd be able to say that aloud in front of them without inviting himself to a kick in the shins or more.
"That's the caster sugar, Paul, pour it in. I've left out the butter in the bowl already. I didn't think you were even the cooking type, Doom," Flake says as he quickly moves about the tiny kitchen, never stumbling or looking lost for even a second. Quite admirable. "but I guess it's okay for you to watch. If we need extra hands - which we will eventually, I think - then you'll be in. Fair enough? Paul, don't just stare at it, whisk it."
"Oh. Oh, right."
When Paul starts up, though, he's actually quite careful with what he's doing. He has very interesting and different reactions to different drugs, for sure. Right now he's quite down to earth, but it won't be too long before he gets distracted or starts having wild mood swings. Schneider peers into the now-fluffy butter and sugar mixture and watches the older guitarist fold in the flour and cocoa powder; he's not a hugely skilled cook, but he quite clearly has some experience. When Paul turns away to look for the cake tin, the drummer takes one careful step forward and dips a finger in the batter, licking it off and letting out an appreciative 'mmm' at the taste. And he'd have gotten away with it too if the keyboardist hadn't chosen that precise moment to look around - Flake gives him a half-exasperated and half-affectionate smile before waving a wooden spoon at him.
"Out!"
Having been kicked out of the kitchen, Schneider slinks back towards the living room, slightly dejected but at the same time thinking that he kind of deserved it. He's treated to yet another surprise when he actually makes it back; his place next to Till on the sofa has been taken by a now-awake Richard, who's taken off his jacket and is now in trousers and a white sleeveless shirt. Both of them are sort of leaning on each other and blankly staring in the direction of the TV; Till's unfocused gaze can be excused from his current state, but Richard manages to look just as stoned when in reality he's the only one out of them who hasn't tried drugs that evening. It's quite perplexing.
"Evening, Risch."
Richard doesn't move, but his gaze swivels in the general direction of the other. "I'm all out of cigarettes," he mumbles; the unease in his body language is obvious from the way he's glaring at nothing in particular and the way his hands are trembling.
"Nice to see you awake, too," the drummer says nonchalantly, too used to Richard's cigarette addiction (which stems back from the pre-Rammstein days and when they, along with Olli, lived together) to become nervous by the other's reaction. "want something else to replace your need with?"
The guitarist stares at him, his nails digging into the armrest like he wants to claw chunks of it out. "Ja, bitte. That would be... that would be really nice right now. But I don't want the coke and I don't think I can roll one when my hands are shaking."
Schneider rummages around in the plastic bag, and to his dismay finds that there isn't a lot of the weed left - at least, not what he can work with. It's a good thing he chose to go with the pudding beforehand. He has the feeling that Olli or Paul might be able to help, but doesn't want to disturb either of them, either. "Sorry. I can't make one for you, there's not a lot in there, it'd have been better if you were awake earlier."
"I was tired and I thought this would be a good idea," Richard's expression suddenly crumples into a near tearful look as he buries his face in his hands. "was that so wrong."
Not wanting to see his friend in such distress, Schneider fetches the last ramekin from the table and offers it to Richard, who looks at it blankly and asks what it is. "It's pot chocolate pudding," he pauses to chuckle to himself; somehow it sounds really funny. He repeats the phrase again, enjoying the way the words roll off from his tongue. "pot - chocolate - pudding. Bless Flake and his heart. It's actually good."
"I'll have it."
Considerably perked up by the thought of an easy fix, Richard eagerly takes the pudding from the other's hands. Schneider decides to be extra nice and fetch him a spoon to go with it and ventures back into the kitchen, slipping out a teaspoon from a drawer while Flake and Paul are working on the chocolate icing. He turns around and throws it in Richard's direction, watching with satisfaction as the guitarist catches it and signs his thanks, before Flake taps him on the shoulder.
"You're just in time. Could you get the double cream from the fridge? We've got our hands full at the moment."
Sure enough, Paul is currently occupied stirring a mixture of cherries and syrup and Flake is busy clearing up. The drummer nods and opens the fridge door, taking out the cream and putting it carefully onto the worktop. "Danke. Would you be as kind to get the Pyrex bowl out too, I won't bother you after that."
"No problem," Schneider says as he peers at what's already been done, roughly committing the recipe so far into memory before looking up at the cupboards. The one near the left side of the kitchen has the Pyrex in it, he knows that; it's also the only one that has a lock on it. Before they rented out the apartment, it used to be a cupboard that the previous owners used for keeping expensive wine in and the key's still hanging from a little pin protuding from the wall. Defeats the point, he thinks to himself, but opens the door with ease and takes out the bowl before handing it to Flake. As he watches the Pyrex exchanging hands, though, Schneider is suddenly struck with an indescribably odd feeling; it feels as if someone is hitting him repeatedly over the head with a pillow, and although it doesn't hurt, the sensation is nevertheless strong enough that he lets out a faint groan and clutches at his head. I need to sit down, he thinks as he shuts the cupboard door in a daze and turns to go.
"Doom!"
Slightly dazed, the drummer looks back to see Flake with a handful of glass dishes standing beneath the cupboard and staring incredulously at him. Paul is humming, beginning to space out again as he stares at the cherry mixture, but none of this seems to really connect together at the moment. "Why the hell have you locked the cupboard?"
"But... but I didn't lock it," the drummer mutters, staring blankly at the cupboard door before glancing down at his hands. Much to his shock, he finds that he is indeed clenching the keyring in one fist and he has no idea how it got there. Flake looks at him oddly as he stares at the cupboard and then back down at his own hands, completely unable to convince himself that he's locked it somehow.
"You, uh..." the keyboardist says slowly, delicately plucking the key from his hands. "Doom... why don't you... let it wear off. I think the pudding was more potent than what I intended."
Just because he felt very relaxed and at ease with himself when he was done with the pudding doesn't mean that he is currently under a perfectly mellow high. In fact, it seems to be peaking somehow - it's been about half an hour, and the effect will likely wear off after the same length of time. The drummer thinks that he's still taking it fairly well, except the obvious dissonance that's been created between his actions and his perception of reality; he's now really just curious to see how Richard is going to fare, having eaten the same pudding. Richard isn't really very manic like Paul, but he's capable of saying and doing some seriously strange things under the influence. It's worth watching. Schneider chuckles and wonders if this makes him a bad friend, and comes to the conclusion that he kind of is, though not in a malicious way.
Whatever sense that makes, at least.
-----
"Hey," Till is saying as Schneider comes back and sits on the floor, trying to get a grip on himself. Sitting down is helping to clear his head somewhat. "who... muted the TV?"
"Ohh. Es tut mir leid," Richard answers, stabbing his spoon into the ramekin (half-emptied) before he looks over in the singer's direction. He looks kind of guilty and guilt is not usually an emotion that shows often in his face; Schneider, observing, thinks that this is really just to do with Richard's soft spot for Till. "I turned the volume down because I couldn't taste my pudding."
Schneider lets out a loud snort at this comment as Till thinks about it and nods as if it made perfect sense to him. "Well," the drummer asks jovially, knowing the answer to the question already but feeling that he might as well play along. "is it working?"
"Ja. Needs more cherries though."
"It's black forest cake we're making right now. When it's done I'll give you all the cherries you want," Flake calls from the kitchen, making the guitarist smile in an almost childlike way. Quite endearing. Till seems to think the same and the drummer notices him shifting a little closer to Richard on the sofa; he's acting a little less sluggish than before. A quick glance at the clock determines that Till's own sustained high is also going to be wearing off soon.
"So we've got thirty-eight ideas in all," Richard resumes the conversation that he and Till were presumably having before Schneider came over. "and Paul thinks the boxer idea's best and you think that we should go with the atomic bomb."
"Mmm. Yeah."
The guitarist mulls over this for a while, mindlessly licking his spoon as he finishes off the pudding. He looks down at the empty ramekin somewhat longingly. "Damn, that was good. I can't say I can think of any other better ideas than the ones we already have. It's nearly forty in all, I doubt we'll be able to get more, we just need to decide between all of them. Why did we even decide to do 'Sonne' in the first place, again? I thought 'Mein Herz Brennt' was good as a single too. Gives me chills whenever I play the main riff," he sings the chorus lightly under his breath. "I kind of want to play my guitar half naked in the cold now. Just because I can. Maybe in a forest, atop a snowy mountain or something. Either of you ever felt that way?"
"You're not making any sense, Risch," Schneider says, but he's quite amused by all of this anyway. Richard's gone completely off-track now, his eyes taking on the zoned-out look as the high sets in; he ignores the drummer and starts mumbling something along the lines of 'Mrs. Kruspe-Bernstein is going to murder me'. Till looks at the guitarist as if he's gone mad for a second before he slides down the sofa and sits on the floor next to Schneider.
"Paul, where's... where's the coke?" he calls out loud.
"The coke?" comes the considerably elated-sounding reply in the direction of the kitchen. "on the table. I've divided it up to lines already," Till stands up, only swaying slightly as he makes his way over to the table and looks at the lines of cocaine. "is Herr Lindemann going to be naughty and do a line before he's completely sobered up, then?"
"It looks like sugar. Is it sugar?"
"No. Pure stuff."
"But it looks like sugar," the singer insists; his slur is considerably diminished, a sign of him slowly recovering. But it'll be a while yet. He squints hard at the white powder, frowning. "icing sugar at that. it doesn't look that pure, either."
Paul simply hums as the oven timer goes off and he takes out the chocolate sponge. "Be adventurous, Till. Whatever it was, it worked for me!"
"Mein Gott, I want to get stoned on this, Landers, not sprinkle it onto my goddamn cookies."
Richard and Paul both spontaneously burst into raucous laughter at this statement, and after a second or two Schneider can't help but join in. The older guitarist collapses right onto the floor and beats it with a fist as he laughs, and Richard looks as if he's about to pass out from lack of breath; it wasn't even that funny, really, but as the drummer wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes it feels as if he's in the middle of a truly dysfunctional comedy. The singer looks at them with a small frown, looking genuinely puzzled as to why they're all laughing, and they'd have taken this as a cue to stop if not for the sudden hysterical cackles coming from the side room.
"Is that..." Richard manages to ask, inhaling and exhaling deeply to get his breath back. "is that Olli?"
He is answered when the door to the room swings open, the bassist swaying lightly and laughing his head off as he stumbles out of the room with his stocky laptop in hand. "You lot have to see this," he gasps out as he makes his way over to the table and sets the laptop on it. "I said I had a good feeling about that joint, Doom, didn't I? Well, it worked! I was right!"
At this, everyone gathers around, Schneider having to help Richard up in the process. Paul is pouring the syrup on one sponge and pressing the second down on top of it, letting the juices soak in, as he looks expectantly at the screen. Olli pulls out a chair and sits himself down on it, making himself comfortable showing them-
"... Is that Snow White, Olli?"
"What the hell are we doing watching a cartoon?"
Olli answers with a short grin and then brings up a music player, clicking 'play' and minimizing the window quickly. Within seconds they are greeted to the familiar drum-and-keyboard ostinato.
"Eins... zwei... drei... vier..."
The singer leans in closer, frowning lightly as he conciles the song to the video playing out on the screen. It's not just Snow White, it's a series of clips from it mixed in seemingly random order. But within seconds it becomes evident that Olli has arranged the clips to fit along with the music; as for what other logic was applied to it, the drummer has no idea. The first true highlight comes just before the chorus, when Snow White picks up a stocking standing behind a table with little birds and bunnies on it, lips syncing perfectly to '...und die Welt zählt laut bis zehn!' - this even causes Flake's lips to twitch lightly.
But that's only the beginning. They haven't started on the dwarves yet.
"Eins!"
The dwarves gather around the three beds, picks, clubs and a lamp in hand, getting ready to draw back the sheets.
"Hier kommt die Sonne!"
The sheets are drawn back. Cut to Snow White's beautiful sleeping face.
"Zwei!"
"'You must be Grumpy,'" Richard suddenly quotes in a high-pitched voice as he recognizes the scene, and then starts biting the back of his hand to keep back the laughter bubbling up within him.
"Hier kommt die Sonne!"
"... Wait, why are we back at the wishing well?"
Now thoroughly fascinated, they keep on watching as a pieced-together plot begins to emerge. Snow White's scenes are intercut repeatedly with the shot of the dwarves working in the mines, and from that alone (and the conspicuous absence of the wicked Queen) it looks like she's enslaving them to work for her for all eternity. Alternate character interpretation doesn't even begin to describe it. The depressed vocalization of the song doesn't help when the morose-looking dwarves are in the mines, but despite all this the princess is cheerful-looking as ever, dancing and singing with cute animals and living it up.
"But that doesn't fit at all," Paul says; his shoulders are shaking, though, and he seems to be trying very hard to keep a straight face. "oh God. That doesn't fit at all."
What they're watching is truly dissonant and completely insane. But nevertheless they can't help letting out a collective gasp (followed by a chuckle) when Snow White collapses after eating the poisoned apple - oh nooo - to the tune of Till growling 'läßt dich hard zu Boden gehen!' in the background. (Schneider has to bite his tongue to stop himself calling out 'sure looks like she did!' at this point,) Something strange is happening - it's ridiculous but the longer they watch it, the more they find themselves curiously empathizing with the situation. Richard is even nodding to the beat and mouthing along to the words, mesmerized by how oddly fitting and incredibly hilarious the video suddenly seems to be. Even Flake can't help snickering when a shot of Snow White lying in her glass coffin is shown along with the line '...and will never fall from heaven!'; as black as comedy gets.
"I can't do this," Till whispers, and repeats it in a louder, more strangled tone of voice, trying desperately to suppress his sniggers. He’s seen one dancing animal too many. "I can't do this, Oliver. What the fuck are you making me watch."
This is the straw that breaks the camel's back. They can't take it anymore; everyone, Till, Flake and all, completely breaks down and start positively screaming with laughter at this point. "That is brilliant," Schneider chokes out, "oh, Olli."
"It was the joint to end all joints," the bassist shouts triumphantly, rocking on the chair. "I'm glad I totally photographed it earlier. I'll never smoke a better one, not after this," he pushes the laptop away from him as he buries his head in his arms, shaking with laughter, dangerously close to the half-completed black forest cake on the table.
"Move the cake out of the way," Flake cries before dissolving into another fit of giggles, and this somehow makes them laugh even harder as they carefully nudge the cake away from the centre of the table. This leaves Paul free to collapse into a nearby chair, leaning into Flake and hyperventilating from sheer mirth; Richard gives him a few thumps on the back before moving away and falling back heavily against the wall. Till is busy wiping the tears from his eyes and congratulating the bassist on coming up with the idea, telling him how completely and utterly amazing it was, and that it was worth getting high for hours just to see this being created.
"We're doing that."
They don't know who said that exactly, in the midst of their collective joyful madness someone just states it matter-of-factly and they all unanimously agree. Just bizarre enough to be the usual Rammstein fare, and yet charmingly dark and hitting close to home for many. Their lovely Schneewittchen, the Lady Snow White, ruthless and cruelly beautiful in the company of serious dwarves who are utterly obsessed with her - both enslaved and enslaving. Schneider is already completely in love with the idea, and as he looks over at the rest of the band (in various states of mirth) he feels so powerfully fond of all of them for being so delightfully screwed up and incredible that he doesn't know what to do with himself. His heart swells with pride and joy, making him aware that he's part of all of this, the best thing that's ever happened to him.
Paul then proceeds to bury his head in his hands and burst into tears because he thinks he hasn't put the cake together properly, sobbing that he's 'never really tried to cook a masterpiece before', and things can only go downhill from there so they all calm down, sober up, clean the place and manage to get to bed before midnight. So that's why drugs are terrible things to do and they should all feel bad. But goddamn it if it didn't result in an awesome idea, because that's kind of what being musicians tends to be about.
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Mostly Snowy With a Little Burst of Sunshine