“How long did the salon take to give you that do?” She smirked at him as she approached the mic. “I dunno, Jim,” she replied, “How long did it take for your mother to give you that face?”
The guitarist blinked once at her, “Clare, that wasn't even funny.” He didn't look offended, just underwhelmed by her reply. Clarice was a lot of things, an expert jokester was not one of them.
“I dunno, it had all the right elements: your face AND your mom,” her bassist spoke up from his spot, “Doesn't that count for something?”
Jim shook his head again, “Yeah sure, 'A for effort', Reese. But it just wasn't funny.”
“Give me a break!” Clarice threw up her hands and wondered just what powers were so cruel to have her stuck with these nuts. Thankfully, Bill, the drummer had remained quiet for this exchange and instead focused on trying to get under the tarp that covered Spencer's drum set, most likely for a prank for later in the evening. Clarice chose to forget what she saw and prepared herself for a long sound check.
Thirty minutes later and she was breezing past the waiting fans outside in her tight jeans and red plaid shirt. She was running late to pick up dry cleaning but she couldn't help but stop to sign a few autographs. Clarice may act like a spoiled dive on stage but that character couldn't thrive without Kat driving her to connect with her fans.
She was caught by surprise when a sniffling Brendon came up behind her. “Time to go, princess, or we'll be late. He whispered in her ear. “Back off, germ bad. I'll be ready in a second,” she muttered back. He shrugged his shoulders while Clarice wondered how he could be so annoying. He was nice when she first met him, but as she signed her last autograph she realized that he had been nice to Kat, not Clarice. He certainly liked one more than the other...
Brendon's cold only seemed to get worse during sound check. And by the time she had finished her set during that night;s show, he was already sweating before he got on stage. This was not looking good and she watched with growing anxiety as his voice cracked and he started to forget words. She couldn't watch anymore; annoying or not, he was very sick.
“Hey, Jim!” The lanky guitarist walked over to her, passing by the many cables that orchestrated the various curtains and set walls of the stage. “I need you to cover for me, I'm gonna go pick up some stuff,” he nodded knowingly in reply. “Sure thing,” he whispered, earning him a grateful kiss on the cheek. The concert was already past intermission and she would have to move fast.
After what was probably the fastest shower she had ever taken, she dialed room service. While waiting for the hotel service to pick up she pulled on pj pants and a hoodie and hoped she had gotten all her eyeliner off. “Hi, I was wondering if you had chicken noodle soup? No? Could you give me some numbers of local chinese restaurants? … Yes? … Uhuh … Thank you so much!”
She had made the last phone call and was double checking her medical bag when there was a nock on the door. Right one time. “Hey Dallon!” He looked at her in surprise as he took in her ready appearance.
“Lead the way Livingston!” Not only did she interrupt him but also ignored her own command and shoved past him to take the lead. Even with his long legs he had a hard time of keeping up with the determined nurse. “Um, so I think his cold is now a fever and he's really burning up and says he's woozy and achy.” She nodded in understanding, “Thanks for filling me I.” They were at the room now and he let her in with his key.
She walked past the open suitcases that littered the floor and up to the first bed she recognized to have a suspicious lump under the covers. “Spencer's out with Pete and Ian,” Dallon explained.
She placed her bag on the bed next to the oblong lump that she guessed was Brendon. He was lying face down, buried under the down comforter. She took a thermometer out and gently shook the singer;s shoulder, “Alright Brendon, I need you to sit up for me so I can take your temperature.” A series of grumbles and moans came up from the bed, but Brendon still turned over and dragged himself up. “Alrighty, now lift your arm like a good boy.” He did as he was told and she put the end of the thermometer in his armpit. “Ok, Dallon, I've got this covered.” The bassist nodded and headed out the door, he didn't want to catch what looked like the virus from hell. “Call me if you need anything!”
She waved goodbye and took the now beeping thermometer from Brendon and glanced down at it. “Well that's not a good sign,” she mumbled. She took one look at Brendon and knew she was in for a very long night.
A/N: I'm baaaaaack. Geez, STILL sick. But hey, at least I'm updating all my outstanding stories right now! New record? I think yes! Golly, it's been AGES since I've updated this one. =D Thanks all so much for reviewing and even more thanks and kissies (cute, platonic cyber type) to those who also rate and review!