Inspired by @andrew-thy-accursed (Who honestly made the AU)
These are just some little notes and points I have for the AU!
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So, we all know generally what went down with the BM band Mayhem; This project is more of an idea of an alternate timeline where Pelle survived his suicide attempt and where Øystein survived being attacked by Varg/Kristian.
This post will be going over Pelle Ohlin specifically; part 2 will focus more on Øystein!
...
In 1991, Pelle attempted to take his life on April 8th; but survived the gunshot wound. He was hospitalized almost immediately; through emergency surgery, they were able to preserve most of his brain. The surgery was a success, of course, but he will have to go through extensive therapy to help him regain basic functions.
His parietal and occipital lobe received the most damage from the shot; thus there are some differences in how Pelle now feels pain, as well as processing certain things. Of course, as time goes on and the more he does it, he gets used to it again. But he really struggled with motor control in the first half of recovery.
With the Occipital lobe; it was extremely hard for Pelle to make out objects, faces, etc. Plus, he now only has one eye to see out of, it's all the more difficult. This took a LOT of time to get used to, even now he struggles sometimes.
The surgery he got was, of course, reconstructive. They had to skin graft his face mostly; luckily, they were able to retain a good amount of skin. But even so, he still needed a lot to try and fix the damage done.
He now has to take several medications for pain, depression, anxiety, etc. (He hates it)
However, the whole situation did make Pelle realize a lot of things. How much he would have missed out on with Mayhem, the people he would leave behind, etc.
He still deals with Depression and Anxiety, that doesn't just go away. But, he learns how to deal with it better over the years.
Pelle spends at least a year in recovery, with visits from friends and some family members. He gets to leave the hospital near the end of the year, where he is now on bed-rest at home. (Øystein takes care of him mostly during this time)
Once he' fully recovers (or gets to a place where he can communicate properly and walk around) Pelle gets down to business with Øystein, talking about the future plans for Mayhem.
Pelle is able to function like before well into mid 1992 to the beginning of 1993.
He takes a backseat during recovery, of course; but as soon as he can, he's back to recording vocals with them and going on stage per usual. (Øystein tries not to let Pelle push himself too hard, though.)
Pelle fully suggests kicking out Necrobutcher from Mayhem (And eventually Hellhammer, too).
He is completely blindsided when Varg attempts to murder Øystein; at the time he was visiting his brother.
He, of course, visits Øystein in the hospital. Pelle is there more often then not, and brings whatever he can into the hospital room with him.
This will lead us into part 2, which will focus on Øystein and his side of things...
This is a continuation of the last post, but it focuses more on Øystein and his survival.
...
Øystein, of course, was there fore Pelle in 1991 when he was in the hospital; so Pelle essentially returned the favor by being there for him when Varg attacked him in 1993.
Øystein suggested that Pelle work at Helvete after he opened around May-June 1991 (After he recovers, of course.)
In 1992, Pelle was a little more active, so he and Øystein could move forward with plans for the band; Pelle suggested kicking out Necrobutcher and Hellhammer, considering a lot of things that went down at the time. There was still gripe about how there was no real contribution the band financially, and Pelle felt they weren't as in it as they said they were. Øystein toyed around with the idea for a bit, but didn't kick them out at first.
They met Varg around this time of inner band turmoil, which wasn't great for them either.
They all lived at Helvete at one point or another; and eventually Varg and Øystein's friendship had turned to rivalry, despite Øystein's attempt to take Varg under his wing. (This pissed off Pelle to no end.)
With all of the church burnings, things in the scene were really starting to grow out of control; and so was Øystein's relationship with Varg.
On August 10th, 1993; Varg attacked Øystein in his apartment, stabbing him in various places like in the back(both metaphorically and physically), the back of the shoulder, the neck and in his head.
He was bleeding out severely on the stairwell when the paramedics arrived at the scene; a second later and he very well would have been dead.
Fortunately for him, they were able to stop the bleeding and get him to the hospital. He had to get a lot of stitches and his wounds were bandaged heavily.
Due to the injuries to his head; this would affect Øystein's left eye and it's sight; and of course, there would be scarring when all of the wounds eventually healed.
Much like Pelle, it took Øystein awhile to be able to walk again; even then he couldn't do so properly due to the nature of the wounds on his back.
For the first few months of his recover (out of the hospital), Øystein used a wheelchair to help him get around. He could stand for a little bit, but never long amounts of time
He got better about it as the year went on, and was eventually able to walk/stand for longer periods of time. But not the way he used to.
Originally, he was supposed to serve time for an altercation that happened a bus stop; but the charges were dropped against him.
Øystein and Pelle finally kicked Necrobutcher and eventually Hellhammer out of Mayhem; considering all the bullshit they dealt with and how the two were barely in sight when either of them were in the hospital (and how little the contributed to the band), it was about time.
For a short while, it was just Pelle and Øystein; they would have other people come in and 'fill in' the bass or the drum spots, but no one was ever really too concrete. (This went well into 1994)
During this time, Øystein got a bird (A cockatoo, named Quorthon) who has unexplainable beef with Pelle, for some reason. (Props to Andrew)
In 1995, Pelle and Øystein are more focused on developing Helvete and Mayhem and the music they make. Sometimes they'll hold auditions for spots in the band, but so far, they haven't found anyone solid.
In other parts, I will go over some other members of the Black metal scene who were connected to Mayhem at the time, and what role they play in the AU.
Continuation of the Hannigram AU set in 1995. Part 1 here.
Hannibal followed Will away from the convention hotel, through a French Quarter street packed with drunken revelers, to an old three-story house that had been converted into apartments.
"Is this where you live?" Hannibal asked.
Will scoffed. "No offense, but I don't know you well enough to bring you back to my place," he said. "You could be a serial killer for all I know."
Hannibal couldn't help but smile. "Then why bring me anywhere at all? Would it matter to a serial killer if it were your home or someone else's?"
Will laughed, tossing back his head lightly to shake the black feathers in his crown. "The 'someone else' who lives here could kick your ass before you knew what was going on, that's why."
With that preview, Hannibal was expecting to meet a formidably burly man, but it was a slender Asian woman about Will's age who met them at the door. She hugged Will and kissed his cheek in greeting, then held him at arm's length and touched the feathers on his wrists.
"Oh, babe, you having the ravenstag nightmare again?" she asked.
"Yeah, but I'm not here for me this time," Will said, blushing through his pale makeup.
She turned a studious eye to Hannibal and announced, "This one has spiritual problems---catastrophic level problems."
"I assure you I don't," he said, giving her his most charming smile. "I admire God's work enormously, and he hasn't disapproved of mine so terribly that he's seen fit to intervene."
She watched him for several long moments more before offering him the top of her hand. "Beverly des Chattes," she said.
Hannibal pressed a light kiss just above her knuckles, near a tattoo of golden feline eyes. "Please to meet you, Beverly of the Cats."
"Beverly is very in touch with the spiritual plane," Will said, bounding into her apartment and tugging on Hannibal's sleeve to follow him. "She can read auras and shit, too."
Hannibal cast an amused eye at the apartment's interior, decorated with assorted skulls,and piled high with Chinese and Korean books of folklore, religion and recipes. From the kitchen emanated aromas of cloves, fresh bread and chicken fat. A curtain fashioned of small bones and beads hung from the door frame.
"What color is my aura?" Hannibal asked.
"I'm having a hard time seeing it," she said. "Must be the loudness of your suit getting in the way.
Will slapped her arm even as he laughed into his hand.
"So, are you two hungry or what?" she asked.
"Famished," Hannibal said.
******
After they ate egg sandwiches fried in schmaltz and drank spiced orange tea, Beverly arranged six candles on a small table.
"Are we having a séance?" Hannibal asked.
"No, I thought we'd just admire each other by candlelight," Beverly said, rolling her eyes.
Will tucked his hand into the crook of Hannibal's elbow. "Sorry about Bev," Will said. "She's just mad her boyfriend never showed up for their Halloween plans."
Beverly shot Will a scathing glare.
"I doubt Mademoiselle des Chattes needs anybody to apologize for her," Hannibal said. He winked at Beverly when she looked at him.
When Will moved to pull his hand away, Hannibal placed his own on top of it. Will looked up at him with a slow smile and licked his lips.
"Oh my God, already?" Beverly asked, noticing them. "How long have you two known each other?"
"We only just met," Hannibal said.
"You look like you're on your damn honeymoon," she said.
For the second time in an hour, Will blushed furiously.
Beverly placed half a sandwich in the middle of the table---an offering for the visiting spirits, she explained. She dimmed the lights and lit the candles.
"What is it we're consulting the spirits about?" she asked.
"I want to know if I should spend the whole weekend with him," Will said, "or just tonight."
Beverly raised an eyebrow at Hannibal.
"This is news to me," he said. "I wasn't aware we'd be spending any nights together."
She rolled her eyes again. "So what we're looking for is a character reference," she said. "Well, normally I ask one of my dead aunties for a visit, but they don't know you from a hole in the ground."
Hannibal only just succeeded in stopping himself from laughing. The entire idea was foolish, but both Will and his friend seemed utterly serious.
"You can ask my mother," Hannibal said. "Although, admittedly, she might be biased in my favor."
"Do you have anything of hers?" Beverly asked. "And what's her full name?"
Hannibal reached into his wallet and handed her a lock of blond hair tucked into a vellum sleeve. "Ask for Mischa Lecter," he said. "And tell her I say hello, of course."
*******
Ten minutes into chanting and entreating the spirit world, Beverly opened her eyes and looked directly at Hannibal. "Someone is speaking to me, but I don't understand the language."
"My mother spoke Lithuanian," Hannibal said. “You may have noticed my accent.”
"This is a little girl," Beverly said, shaking her head. "Blond, like the hair you gave me. Wait---" Here, she closed her eyes again. "She says she will try to speak to me. She only knows a little English. She says...she says you shouldn't tell lies, Hannibal."
Hannibal was surprised to feel himself wince, and chastised himself. He prided himself on holding a firm rein on his emotions.
"Who is it?" Will whispered.
Beverly frowned in concentration. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. "She says...she says she's your sister. Your mother's name isn't Mischa. She doesn't know why you lied about that, but she doesn't like it. It makes her sad."
"This is ridiculous," Hannibal said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "This--this game you're playing at---"
"No, it's real," Will said. "I told you, Beverly is very in touch with---"
Hannibal started to pull his hand out of Beverly's, but she held fast, far stronger than she should have been. He felt she might crush his bones in her incongruously delicate fingers.
"Don't go," Beverly said, her voice childlike. "Please, I have to tell you something!"
The cadence of her voice was eerily familiar. He fought against being swayed by it.
"Please, brother," she whispered. "You must not relive the past."
Hannibal let Will's hand drop and swept all the candles off the table in one swift stroke of his arm. At once, Beverly let go of him and stared up at him in open-mouthed surprise.
"Your connection to your sister must be incredily strong," she said. "For her to visit so quickly, be open to talking to us like that..."
Hannibal ignored her as he snatched up the little parcel of hair. Instead, he focused on Will. "I don't know what you two hoped to accomplish here tonight. Rope in a gullible tourist? Is that it? I would have given you money if that’s what you wanted." Will looked like he might cry, but said nothing. "Well, if you'll excuse me. I have a panel to attend very early in the morning."
He stormed out of the apartment and back into the chill of the night air outside. His breath came in angry bursts he could see against the starless backdrop of the sky.
As he headed back toward the hotel, he heard the click of heels on the sidewalk behind him.
"Hannibal, wait!" Will called out. "Wait!"
Hannibal walked faster. "Don't follow me."
Will ran to catch up to him. "I don't understand why you're mad at me!"
Hannibal stopped. "You and your friend tried to play some kind of trick on me. Halloween fun, or do you do that sort of thing all year long?"
Will flinched as if struck. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. "I...I just wanted to know if I should spend more time with you, like I said. I'm kind of a terrible judge of character when I think a guy is cute."
Looking into those gleaming blue eyes, Hannibal felt the anger ebb away from him, even as he scrabbled to hold onto it.
"Are you a good judge of character?" Will asked.
"Almost frightfully so," Hannibal admitted.
Will took a step closer to him. "Then tell me how you judge me," he said. "Does this feel like the truth?"
Hannibal didn't move---couldn't move---as Will pressed sweetly up against him and gave him the softest of kisses. He tasted like cheap lip balm and orange tea. He smelled like terrible aftershave and someone else's cigarettes, and the inky black dye from the feathers on his costume. Through all of it, Hannibal could sense not even an atom of deceit about him.
"Well?" Will asked, pulling back.
"Did you decide to spend the weekend with me?" Hannibal askd. "Or just the night?"
Will broke into a grin that lit up his whole face. "Well, the séance was over before I could figure that out," he said. "But we could start with the night and see how it goes."
