The moment he woke up and realized he wasn't wearing glasses, Charles knew that getting drunk with Dethklok had been exactly as bad an idea as it had seemed at the time.
He sat up with great care and inspected himself. Hands too big, quite thick fingers; pale, but not as pale as Skwisgar or Toki; hair felt long and heavy, turned out to be black...
Somewhere nearby Charles's voice said, "What the f%#k just happened - whoa, guys, something's wrong with my voice…"
"Dude, Charles, you sound like Nathan," Pickles said. "What the f%#k's up with that?"
"I believe there's been a bit of a mix-up," Charles said, and paused to cough - how on earth did Nathan speak with these vocal cords? "Do any of you -" he coughed again, "- happen to have been sober - I mean, not drunk enough to recall what we did last?"
Silence answered him, and five stares from around Mordhaus's main room.
"Holy s#!t that's creepy," said Charles's body. "Why am I talking like Charles, that's f%#king weird."
"Ums, Nathans saids he was hungries," Toki volunteered, "and yous saids yous coulds makes curry... Thens there was kinds of an explosions."
That would do it, Charles thought, and brushed a lot of Nathan's hair out of his face. Aunt Anthy had warned him about curry, but obviously while trying to keep up with Dethklok's usual alcohol intake, he had forgotten...
"This is not right," Nathan-in-Charles's-body said, taking off the glasses. "Hey you don't even need these, you can see just fine..."
"Thank you for sharing that with everyone, Nathan."
Naturally, when Charles-in-Nathan's-body inspected the kitchen, there was no curry powder left. Either it had been destroyed in the explosion, or he had tried to make enough to feed everyone in Mordhaus for the next five years, in which case it was pure good fortune that the rest of the band hadn't gotten switched around as well.
"I don't get it," Nathan said. "Like how do you switch people's bodies just by cooking, that's really f%#ked up."
Charles poured himself a glass of water, and said, "It runs in the family," which was at least partially true. His father was a fine cook who never accidentally did magic in the kitchen, but that particular trait had not gotten passed on. "Unfortunately, the only solution is to repeat the original circumstances..."
"Well that's easy, we get drunk all the time," said Nathan. He pulled a ridiculously large bottle of tequila from one of the cupboards and began to swig it down.
Charles reached over and took it. "You are not drinking like that with my body," he said. "I can't replace my liver every week, I have a very rare blood type... No, we'll have to find some other way."
"You won't even let me drink? This is brutal."
"I'm just going to run out to the store and get curry powder. Sit down somewhere and don't do anything permanent to me."
Two Klokateers died from accidentally inhaling the nine-million-fold curry and the chef had had to go on holiday for his nerves and finger reattachments, but as Charles carefully re-knotted his tie and cleaned his unnecessary glasses, he thought that it was a small price to pay for peace of body.