Plastic Beach

Chapter 1 - Pilot

The crashing of the ocean waves against the shore was peacefully enduring, along with the sea breeze that blew delicately through the air.
Murdoc Niccals- founder and bassist of the famous band, Gorillaz- was settled nicely into his fold-out chair, unconscious.
The chair was positioned firmly in the sand, which was amazingly stupid on his behalf; once the tide came in, it was possible for the sea to sweep him away. Sometimes, Murdoc was curious of what would happen if he'd remained black-out drunk, long enough for the tide to swiftly take him on a journey; he wondered where the waters would take him. The bass player wasn't suicidal, not one bit. Just curious.

Besides, he knew Cyborg would take care of his singer, who he'd kept locked down in his underwater bedroom; the sod would try to escape again, otherwise. The green-man programmed her himself to take precaution and have the 'prisoner' and his safety become her first priority, if anything bad were to ever happen to the Satanist, that is.
That was another phenomenon Murdoc would catch himself dwelling over — the possibility that something bad really could happen to him, with the dozens of painted targets on his back and all; he'd made various types of numerous enemies in his lifetime. But, like always with every problem that occurred, Murdoc would drown his anxiety and intrusive thoughts with endless bottles of rum. Except, that 'endless' supply was getting short. He really needed to remind Cyborg a week earlier than usual to order in his rum and the Faceache's pain killers, if he felt generous enough.

As nonchalant as the waves were, Murdoc couldn't shake off the cold and wet feeling that began to manifest in his Cuban-heeled boots. The bassist- even though reluctant- forced his eyes open and inhaled sharply as a gasp, immediately sitting up-right in his chair. He despised waking up this way, with such paranoia filling his mind and body, reaching every inch of his narrow veins — it happened all too often, with his reoccurring nightmares; them mainly being about his abusive childhood, with his father and older brother, and especially that wench of a dinner lady.
After taking a deep breath to steady his pace, he glanced down at his feet, noticing how the tide was already beginning to plunge in and soak the bottoms of his boots. He had to move, and fast. Unless he wanted to put an end to that wonder of where the waters would take him — he considered it for a mere moment, before deciding that the answer could wait for another day. Possibly tomorrow, with the way things were going.

With a common, grumbled mutter that came directly from the back of his throat, the Satanist stood up from his seat and folded his chair, slotting it underneath one of his arms. He began treading his feet along the beach, sighing tiredly as he watched the waves crashing in, though they seemed silent.
Along his way back to the Plastic Beach HQ, Murdoc had came across many (many) empty bottles of liquor, scattered around the island from his previous drunken black-outs. Some bottles were even half-empty, still containing small amounts of alcohol inside of them. Murdoc contemplated whether he should set his chair down again, near the building this time and fully emptying those half-empty bottles. But strangely enough, it occurred to him that Stu-Pot, his blank and legal junkie of a frontman, hadn't been let out of his bedroom for at least two or three days. Eh. Murdoc couldn't really be bothered to count the days and keep track of the time.

Down in Stuart's 'dungeon,' as he liked to call it, the bluenette could never tell whether it was night or day due to having one-small portal window which restricted his view, only allowing him to see right out into the bottom of the sea. 2-D gathered he'd been locked down there for at least a week, (he was such a drama-queen). He couldn't say for certain, though, because it was always dark.
Even so, he usually avoided letting his gaze set out into the ocean, anyway. He was absolutely terrified of that humongous whale that surveyed him; Murdoc had paid it to stalk him, so he thought. That bastard bass player enjoyed getting a good scream out of him- he was cruel and sadistic like that. And, Stuart hated him for it — he loathed him for many more and different reasons, actually, but those reasons were a completely different (and more complicated) story.