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Displacement	By : AndreiValentino Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Gorillaz Views: 3252 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Gorillaz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Displacement
- 2-Ch 2
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own 2D, Murdoc or Russel. I do own their lawyer, Mrs. Katrina Eppley. Murdoc, 2D and Russel are owned by Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett, as well as their affiliates.
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Murdoc Niccals stood in the kitchen, a fag between two fingers of one hand and half a biscuit in the other. The breakfast of champions. The cloudy sky glumly shown down on the landfill he stood watching; not really interested in anything or in deep thought. Just watching in nothing but his jeans, as usual. It was a couple of days since he'd found out about the lawsuit and beat up 2D for making a stupid comment. Not that it was anything new for him.

He was about to pop the rest of the biscuit in his mouth when he heard heavy footsteps coming toward the door. It was Russel. No one else in the studio was that loud. The bassist popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth just as the door opened.

Russel came through the door and simply stood there, his arms crossed against his large chest. The Satanist didn't turn around; merely popping another biscuit in his mouth and continuing to stare out across the landfill. Russel, sighed after a few moments of Murdoc more or less ignoring him. Guess he had to bring it up. The New Yorker wasn't surprised.

“A'ight Muds, ya know why I'm here. By now, I'm used te ya beatin' on 2D an' shit. Boggles ma mind why he lets ya do it so much.” Murdoc let out a mocking, loud sigh. The drummer's eyes narrowed. He saw this coming a mile away, but it still pissed him off.

“Look, if this is going to be about how the bloody moron's brain ticks, why don't you go talk to the dim wit yourself and stop wasting my own precious time.” The Satanist brushed a fly away from his last two biscuits, put the fag between his lips and took a long inhale. Russel's fists clenched as he took a step toward him, his voice booming louder.

“Listen Muds, I ain't expectin' an apology. I just want te know I won't have te rush 2D te the hospital again and say he 'fell down several flights 'a stairs', ai'ght?” The Brit sighed, held the fag between his lips and turned to finally face the drummer nonchalantly, his arms crossed against his chest.

“I may do it again, I may not.” The drummer furrowed his eyebrows, about to say something much akin to a threat when a small, timid voice came from the door behind him.

“Russel... it's alright... you don' have to worry 'bout it...” Both of the surprised men looked to see 2-D leaning against the edge of the door way, his bruises an ugly black and blue with one eye swollen shut. His black, open eye looked down at the ground as he rubbed his opposite arm with his hand. “Really Russel... jus' leave it 'lone...”

The Satanist blinked and raised an eyebrow. What the Hell is the bloody dullard doing? He could have killed him a couple of different ways that one day. Now here's Russel, sticking up for him as usual. And the bloody idiot's telling him to stop?

Russel's mouth hung open, staring at 2D in shock before his face turned into an expression of utter bewilderment. The drummer tried to make words that ended up just being random sounds; each time looking even more confused and pissed. Finally, he threw up his hands and started storming out of the kitchen. “Fine! I don' have te be here! I don' have te care what the fuckin' cracker-ass sadist over there does! I'm gone! You can bleed te death if ya fuckin' want...” The large rant slowly faded away as Russel got further and further away from the kitchen.

Murdoc continued to look at 2D, wondering what possessed the lead singer to stop Russel. The dim wit still stood at the door frame, timidly looking up to meet his eyes, then quickly looking back down at the floor again. Stu-Pot was really just bloody stupid. He had to be; there was no other explanation. How could anyone else get that bloodied up and NOT want any sort of payment. He had to be bloody stupid.

A few more moments passed before Murdoc picked up the last two biscuits and casually made his way to the door. Without breaking stride, he placed one of the biscuits in the lead singer's free hand and continued to walk down the hallway as he popped the other into his mouth. 2D looked down at the biscuit in his hand, then smiled slightly and turned toward Murdoc. “Our lawyer called.”

The bassist stopped walking down the hallway, simply standing with his back turned.

“She said your Da' dropped the suit.”

A few moments ticked by as Murdoc stood there. Then the bassist simply stated, in an almost cheerful tone.

“Good.”

He opened the door at the end of the hall and walked through.

2D looked once more at the biscuit, smiled a bit more and gingerly bit into it. He would eat it, even if it was a little painful for him to chew right now.

---

Purity: Yay, short, I know. Just a mini-sequel to 'Displacement'. Oh, and yes, I did use British terms. For those who aren't British and don't know, Biscuit = Cookie and Fag = Cigarette.

2D: Wai' a tick, I though you weren' British?

Purity: Nope, I'm not.

Murdoc: Of course she isn't, dullard! She's just pretending to be because Brits, such as myself, are damn sexy! *Pelvic thrusting*

Purity: *Raises eyebrow* Yes, most of them are at any rate.

2D: Well, what abou' me?

Purity: Eh... you're more cute. You know, uke-ish. ^_^

2D: ...Oh...Ok! ^_^
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Displacement