#This drawing was meant to be a stupid sketch and then whoops it was fully rendered

[rat-ttinkle-ddinkle]

Dailywisdom 9

[g-2doc]

Start of a fic:

Where - ages ago - I wanted to write up my headcanons for Murdocs childhood/write up my take on his entire fuckin life, but kinda went off the idea because of how long it'd probably take... Whoops I'm a quitter ://

Murdoc walked to school. It was quite far, but he couldn't afford the bus and the car had been stuck on the drive for nearly a year, since his dad couldn't be bothered to fill the tank. Besides, getting his dad to drive him in would be suicidal, as there wasn't a day that went by where the man wasn't hammered out of his mind. Murdoc didn't overly mind walking to school either. Though his second-hand, charity-shop, bought-with-his-own-money school shoes were a size too big and didn't let him forget it... Otherwise, he was fine. It just meant he had to wake up earlier than most of the kids who went to his school. Getting up early wasn't all bad either, since it meant he missed when his dad woke up incredibly hungover and even more angry at the world than he normally was.

He always made the effort to arrive exactly on time. That way, he wasn't early - meaning he wouldn't have to hang around in the playground with the other children - and he wasn't late - meaning he wouldn't get a letter home, avoiding a scolding and a few bruises. He wasn't an antisocial child, he would've loved to have been able to gone in early in the mornings to play games with his classmates, but no one wanted him to because no one liked him. So instead, he just showed up on the bell, and went straight to his classroom every morning.

"Hang up your bags, then come sit down at your desks," The teacher instructed as she always did. All of the other children shoved past Murdoc to get to their pegs. He stood back, waiting his turn. Luckily, he was more than used to being ignored. Once there was space, and a colourful array of backpacks and satchels was on display, Murdoc slipped in and hung up the Sainsbury's bag he carried his books in.

"You still haven't gotten a bag, Murdoc?" The teacher asked, appearing behind. Murdoc turned, surprised she was talking to him. He shook his head. She'd told him he'd needed to get one the week before. He used to have one, a plain black one he'd found hanging on the fence of the local church, but it'd gone missing one day during school. He'd found all of his books scattered in the playground - so he'd counted his blessings.

The teacher didn't looked pleased. She folded her hands in front of her long, floral skirt. "You know, they sell school backpacks in the office?" She suggested.

"I don't 'ave any cash, Miss," Murdoc replied, a little worried she was going to tell him off. She sighed, appearing quite agitated.

"Well, perhaps if you ask your mummy and daddy nicely, they can get you one," She then said. Murdoc didn't know how to reply. There wasn't a way a child his age could articulate his home life. He didn't fully understand it himself, even. His dad hadn't explained to him the reason why he seemed to be the only little boy in the school who didn't have a mum. He didn't really understand the reason why they never had any money, and he didn't know why his dad didn't go off to work each day like the other kid's dad's did. He didn't really know he reason why he rarely saw his dad, why he always came home late, or why he didn't wake up early to see Murdoc off to school. He only knew facts, not the reasons for them. So he simply lowered his head, not replying.

The teacher obviously sensed that Murdoc wasn't willing to take the conversation any further, and went back to the front of the class to take the register. Murdoc's peers were all sat at their desks, chatting to one another from across the aisles. Murdoc sat at his desk, the one in the back corner. The kid next to him never spoke to him, always spoke to his friend who sat the other side of him. At the beginning of the year, when they'd chosen where to sit, he'd complained profusely about having to sit next to Murdoc, but he'd put up with it by blanking Murdoc the entire year.

"Children! Quiet!" The teacher scolded. The class hushed. As the teacher begun to take the register, reading out each name, Murdoc begun to continue colouring the corner of his desk with his pencil. He'd managed to get a significant amount done since the cleaner last scrubbed it off, forming quite a nicely sized silvery triangle.

Once the register was done, the class begun to do their morning prayer. Murdoc's dad had told him not to bother joining in with the school's prayers. Murdoc and his dad were Catholic, whilst the school was Anglican, and while Murdoc's dad was hardly a saint, he was loyal to his faith (even though he didn't abide to the teachings of it - at all). The teacher had spoken to Murdoc a couple of times about him ignoring their prayers, but she'd given up trying to explain that the religions were actually both churches of the same religion, and decided to let Murdoc do as he would.

The first lesson was maths, which Murdoc didn't pay attention to either. He knew enough maths to get by, so he didn't need to listen. He opened his maths book, and put his notebook on top so that the teacher would be less likely able to tell the difference.

Murdoc wasn't exactly an artistic child. He couldn't draw, nor paint, nor do whatever else those fancy artists did those days. However, he still had his notebook. It was A5, ring-bound and had a plain black cover; it'd cost him just short of a quid at the post office at the end of his road. He'd had it a couple of weeks and it was nearly full. Though not artistic in the classic sense of the word, Murdoc was remarkably creative. The inside of his head was filled with tunes from the radio, pictures of stars, words that rhymed and melodies that stuck. The book contained scribbled lyrics, funny little sketches, and big ideas: and it'd fast become his prized possession.

"Whassat?" A voice sounded. Murdoc looked up from writing out Space Oddity for what was probably the fifth time in his notebook. The kid next to him was looking at his notebook with a slightly confused expression. Unknowing to how he was supposed to reply, despite being incredibly excited about the fact he'd been acknowledged, Murdoc simply gaped in response. "You deaf or sum'fink?" The kid asked.

"I'm not deaf," Murdoc answered, shifting awkwardly.

"Whassat then?" The kid repeated, pointing to Murdoc's notebook. His friend was talking to someone else, so Murdoc decided he wasn't trying to trick him or anything. He glanced to his notebook, all messy and scribbled.

"Um, it's a notebook," He said.

"Yeah, but what's in it?" The kid questioned. Murdoc picked it up and turned to his favourite page. He'd done a fairly decent drawing of the Bad Company logo, along with some other band's lyrics - some Queen and Led Zeppelin, that sort of stuff. "Oh, you like rock music?"

"Yeah..." Murdoc mumbled, lowering his book again.

"That's cool, my sister has tonnes of vinyls up in 'er room," The kid said. "If you're free after school, you can come to my house and listen to 'em!" He smiled brightly.

Murdoc's eyes lit up. He'd never been to someone else's house, let alone invited round by a classmate. Swallowing hard, Murdoc tried to keep back the grin that was trying to tug at his mouth.

"Um, yeah, I'm free..." He mumbled.

"Wicked. I'm Tony, by the way, Tony Chopper." The kid held out his hand for Murdoc to shake, reaching across the aisle. Murdoc was amazed even further by the fact that he wanted to actually touch him.

"I'm Murdoc Niccals." They shook hands briefly, before Murdoc retracted his hand back to his lap - returning to his position of hunching shyly.

"Murdoc - that's a proper cool name that is," Tony said, sounding very impressed.

"Thanks..." Murdoc mumbled. Name or otherwise, 'cool' rarely existed in the same sentence as 'Murdoc'. In fact, any praise at all was rare. His dad stuck to adjectives like 'ungrateful', 'gross' and 'really fuckin' stupid', and parents were supposed to be the biased ones.

"When your mum comes to pick you up, you can tell 'er you're comin' to mine,"  Tony explained. At that, Murdoc's stomach dropped. He'd already picked up at that age that his home life wasn't normal, but he hadn't picked up how to go about informing others. He shifted in his seat a bit.

"Uh, ok... I will..." He murmured, barely audible. Tony nodded happily, then went back to his work. Murdoc had been excited about going to Tony's house, but suddenly he was terrified. What if Tony's parents wanted to speak with his 'mum'? What if they found out that Murdoc didn't have one? What if they ended up talking to his dad? What if his dad came to the school? Murdoc was panicking. He had a shot at making a real friend and his home life could end up blowing it for him. He considered phoning Billy at his work and asking him to come and talk to Tony's parents, but the number was taped above the bread bin at home, and he had no way of getting it at school...

As it turned out, he spent the entire rest of the lesson fretting over what to do. He hardly noticed when English started, because he'd been so wrapped up in his worrying. Then English went by without him doing any work, or even doing anything in his notebook.

The bell for break rang and the students rushed to get their snacks out of their bags. Murdoc didn't have a snack because his dad never bought him one, and he was no closer to a solution, so he went to sit in the hallway like he always did. He slumped down against the wall - the same spot as always.