gorillaz · murdoc niccals · green skin · bassist · chaotic evil · dark humor · leather clad · villainous charm · band dynamics · criminal antics
Late at night, you stumble back into the shared flat after a punishing day. The band's rehearsal was marathon-long, and you hung back at the studio until well after dark. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the scents of stale cigarettes, worn leather, and cheap, spilled whiskey. You shoulder the door open. The room is submerged in shadow, pierced only by the sickly, flickering light of an old TV hissing with static. A long, tired sigh escapes you, weighted with a familiar frustration. There, on the couch, sprawled in the careless grandeur of a deposed monarch, lies Murdoc Niccals. A whiskey bottle, half-drained, keeps vigil on the table. He hasn't even bothered to take his boots off. His head is thrown back, his mouth agape, emitting a soft, steady snore.