Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > A Road Called Loathing
“Hey, so are you going to the Drive Shaft concert tonight?”
Brendon whipped around, mouth slightly agape, and tried to tune into the conversation that was happening on the other side of the gas pump. Brendon and Margot had stopped for gas, and she was waiting in the car, still giving him the silent treatment, while Brendon filled the car. He stopped pumping for a minute to listen to what they were saying.
“There’s a Drive Shaft concert tonight?”
“Yeah, but I heard it’s sold-out now.”
Brendon swore under his breath and returned to putting gas in his car. Of course it would be sold-out. Drive Shaft was only his favorite band, why should he be able to see them live? He finished with the gasoline and got back into the car, slamming the door and revving the engine.
“What’s your problem?” Margot had finally decided to start talking to him again. Not so much out of trying to reconcile, but because Brendon was a lot easier to deal with when he wasn’t in an awful mood. Margot had had enough experience to know that if she was a bitch to him, he’d be more of an asshole right back. But if she made the effort to be nice, he was a bit more bearable.
“Nothing,” he snapped.
“Obviously there’s something wrong. Just tell me.”
“If you must know, nosy, there’s a Drive Shaft concert tonight, and I would love to go, but it’s sold-out.” Brendon pulled back out onto the road, pushing the gas a little further than intended in his agitation.
Margot immediately saw a way to put Brendon in a much better mood. In fact, he might be put in such a good mood that he didn’t bother her for the rest of break. She sighed. If that’s what it took.
“Then let’s go see us some Drive Shaft.”
“Are you stupid? I just said it’s sold-out.”
Margot turned to Brendon, begging her temper to remain under her control. “What would you say if I could get us backstage seats?”
“I’d tell you to stop fucking around with me, Margot. What, do you know Charlie Pace personally, or something?”
“No, but what I do have is two years of theatre training under my belt.”
Brendon snorted. “Yeah, you took Drama I in freshman year and you’re in Comprehensive Theatre this year. Great training.”
Margot bit the inside of her cheek impatiently before continuing. “Look, what does it hurt to try?”
Brendon sighed and turned his attention back to the road. “Nothing, I suppose. What exactly is this idea of yours?”
“I’ll explain it to you on the way to the convenience store,” Margot said, reaching into the back seat and rifling through her clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to change, and so will you. But I’ll explain in a moment, just keep driving!” Margot finally found what she was looking for and began to change in the front seat, ignoring Brendon’s protests. He eventually just continued driving and listened as she explained her plan.
“That’ll never work, Margot,” Brendon said as they walked down aisles, Margot plucking an assortment of things off the shelf. They meandered down the greeting-card aisle, Margot closely examining the items.
“You underestimate my ability, Brendon. Do you think a ‘congrats!’ card would be appropriate?”
After an hour, the two teens had been able to put together a very convincing-looking gift-basket, sign a card, and find out details about the when and where of the concert.
Brendon’s left leg jiggled nervously as they got closer and closer to the concert venue, and he was nibbling at his fingernails.
“Brendon,” Margot said. “Relax. The worst that can happen is we get turned away. And put your glasses on; they make you look older.”
“Is that why you’re wearing your glasses?”
“That, and to look more professional.”
“This isn’t gonna work.”
“You don’t know that.”
They pulled up to the venue, skirting the main entrance and following through to the entrance to the backstage area. To Brendon’s surprise, there wasn’t any security blocking the parking lot.
“Ready?” Margot asked, wedging a bud in her ear. She had bought a child’s toy microphone that went into the ear. It looked very similar to a Bluetooth when worn correctly.
“I guess.” Brendon stepped out of the car, smoothing down his oxford shirt that Margot had demanded he change into. As for Margot, she was wearing a very business-looking suit, her glasses for reading, and her hair pulled back. To look at the pair of them, one would mistake the boy for her assistant. That was the idea.
“Okay, grab the basket and look like you’re afraid of me.”
“I’ll just pretend you’re about to eat me.” Brendon heaved the rather heavy basket out of the backseat of the car and kicked the door closed, following Margot to the backstage entrance of the concert. She walked very tall for someone so short, and she carried herself very seriously. Brendon struggled with the basket a few feet behind her. As they walked up and opened the stage door, Margot began to talk into her makeshift Bluetooth, acting as though she were on the phone with someone very important. They approached a burly security guard, Brendon gulping nervously at the bulging muscles of a man that could, quite easily, snap the small boy in half.
“…Yes. Yes, sir, I just walked in and am about to hand it off. Yes. Yes, I hope so, too. I’ll tell them. Yes. Okay.” She pretended to push a button on the toy, turning her attention to the security guard, regarding him as though he was nothing more than a troublesome six year old. Maybe she was a better actress than he’d given her credit for, Brendon thought to himself.
“Can I help you?” The security guard asked, looking down at little Margot, whom he towered over. Brendon’s knees went weak; the man’s voice matched his gruff exterior.
“You most certainly can,” Margot told him, cocking her hip importantly. “I have this basket,” she gestured lazily to the parcel that Brendon was holding behind her. “To be delivered to a Mr. Charles Pace.”
“I’m sorry, but I can‘t let you back there without authorization,” the guard told her, shaking his head.
Margot looked at him incredulously, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on her hip. “I’m sorry, do I look like someone who has time to be running around, delivering packages to singers at a teeny-bopper concert? No, I don’t.” She said when the man opened his mouth to speak. “I need you to take it back to wherever Mr. Pace is and give it to him.”
“I--I don’t know…” The guard looked around nervously, as though someone would come along and tell him what to do. They didn’t. “I don’t know if I can--”
“Listen, I’d love to sit here and chat with you, but I’m really very pressed for time right now, and if you’re not going to deliver this basket for me, I have a lot of damage-control to be doing. Now, I don’t know Mr. Pace, I’ve never met him, I’ve never even heard of him before today, but if he’s anything like my boss, who happens to be a very close friend of the man, and has been for many years, he would be very disappointed to hear that this package was delayed because you aren’t aware of what your job entails. Now, are you going to deliver this for me, or do I have to inform my superior that his long-time friend will not be receiving his package?” Brendon gaped; he didn’t think Margot had it in her to speak to anyone like that, especially a huge security guard that could easily pick them both up by the scruff of the neck and toss them out with the trash.
“Uhh…” The security man glanced around the stage once more before nodding and relieving Brendon of the heavy basket weighing down his arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“So am I. Chop, chop!” She added as he continued to hesitate. He turned and quickly weaved his way back through the crowd of people that were hurrying around trying to prepare for the concert that was about to take place.
After he was out of sight, Margot walked past the podium he’d been sitting at, indicating that Brendon should follow. There were a few chairs set up just behind the curtain to the stage for special guests to view the show. They were all taken by people already, so Margot summoned a techie with the snap of her fingers. “Excuse me,” she snapped as the poor guy drew near. “There aren’t enough chairs here, I see. Is there a problem, or is it just that no one can do their job?” The man mumbled an apology and quickly brought over two chairs and set them closest to the stage. “Thank you,” Margot said coolly, taking her seat as Brendon took his.
“I can’t fucking believe this actually worked!” Brendon whispered, awed.
“Enjoy the show,” Margot said, grinning as the lights illuminated the stage and the four men entering from the other side. The crowd in the audience cheered, as did the few people sitting backstage.
“I will,” Brendon promised, reaching over to grab Margot’s hand and squeeze it tightly.
Both their stomachs fluttered.
Haha, my friend's mom actually used to do this to get into concerts. xD So...I'm quite surprised by the reaction to this story. When I started writing, I figured I might have a few readers, a comment every few chapters, what-have-you, but I'm pleasanty surprised with what has actually happened. A lot of people seem to like this, for some reason, and seem to have as much fun reading it as I do writing it, which I'm glad of. Keep commenting, rating and subscribing! THanks. OverAndOutxx
Brendon whipped around, mouth slightly agape, and tried to tune into the conversation that was happening on the other side of the gas pump. Brendon and Margot had stopped for gas, and she was waiting in the car, still giving him the silent treatment, while Brendon filled the car. He stopped pumping for a minute to listen to what they were saying.
“There’s a Drive Shaft concert tonight?”
“Yeah, but I heard it’s sold-out now.”
Brendon swore under his breath and returned to putting gas in his car. Of course it would be sold-out. Drive Shaft was only his favorite band, why should he be able to see them live? He finished with the gasoline and got back into the car, slamming the door and revving the engine.
“What’s your problem?” Margot had finally decided to start talking to him again. Not so much out of trying to reconcile, but because Brendon was a lot easier to deal with when he wasn’t in an awful mood. Margot had had enough experience to know that if she was a bitch to him, he’d be more of an asshole right back. But if she made the effort to be nice, he was a bit more bearable.
“Nothing,” he snapped.
“Obviously there’s something wrong. Just tell me.”
“If you must know, nosy, there’s a Drive Shaft concert tonight, and I would love to go, but it’s sold-out.” Brendon pulled back out onto the road, pushing the gas a little further than intended in his agitation.
Margot immediately saw a way to put Brendon in a much better mood. In fact, he might be put in such a good mood that he didn’t bother her for the rest of break. She sighed. If that’s what it took.
“Then let’s go see us some Drive Shaft.”
“Are you stupid? I just said it’s sold-out.”
Margot turned to Brendon, begging her temper to remain under her control. “What would you say if I could get us backstage seats?”
“I’d tell you to stop fucking around with me, Margot. What, do you know Charlie Pace personally, or something?”
“No, but what I do have is two years of theatre training under my belt.”
Brendon snorted. “Yeah, you took Drama I in freshman year and you’re in Comprehensive Theatre this year. Great training.”
Margot bit the inside of her cheek impatiently before continuing. “Look, what does it hurt to try?”
Brendon sighed and turned his attention back to the road. “Nothing, I suppose. What exactly is this idea of yours?”
“I’ll explain it to you on the way to the convenience store,” Margot said, reaching into the back seat and rifling through her clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to change, and so will you. But I’ll explain in a moment, just keep driving!” Margot finally found what she was looking for and began to change in the front seat, ignoring Brendon’s protests. He eventually just continued driving and listened as she explained her plan.
“That’ll never work, Margot,” Brendon said as they walked down aisles, Margot plucking an assortment of things off the shelf. They meandered down the greeting-card aisle, Margot closely examining the items.
“You underestimate my ability, Brendon. Do you think a ‘congrats!’ card would be appropriate?”
After an hour, the two teens had been able to put together a very convincing-looking gift-basket, sign a card, and find out details about the when and where of the concert.
Brendon’s left leg jiggled nervously as they got closer and closer to the concert venue, and he was nibbling at his fingernails.
“Brendon,” Margot said. “Relax. The worst that can happen is we get turned away. And put your glasses on; they make you look older.”
“Is that why you’re wearing your glasses?”
“That, and to look more professional.”
“This isn’t gonna work.”
“You don’t know that.”
They pulled up to the venue, skirting the main entrance and following through to the entrance to the backstage area. To Brendon’s surprise, there wasn’t any security blocking the parking lot.
“Ready?” Margot asked, wedging a bud in her ear. She had bought a child’s toy microphone that went into the ear. It looked very similar to a Bluetooth when worn correctly.
“I guess.” Brendon stepped out of the car, smoothing down his oxford shirt that Margot had demanded he change into. As for Margot, she was wearing a very business-looking suit, her glasses for reading, and her hair pulled back. To look at the pair of them, one would mistake the boy for her assistant. That was the idea.
“Okay, grab the basket and look like you’re afraid of me.”
“I’ll just pretend you’re about to eat me.” Brendon heaved the rather heavy basket out of the backseat of the car and kicked the door closed, following Margot to the backstage entrance of the concert. She walked very tall for someone so short, and she carried herself very seriously. Brendon struggled with the basket a few feet behind her. As they walked up and opened the stage door, Margot began to talk into her makeshift Bluetooth, acting as though she were on the phone with someone very important. They approached a burly security guard, Brendon gulping nervously at the bulging muscles of a man that could, quite easily, snap the small boy in half.
“…Yes. Yes, sir, I just walked in and am about to hand it off. Yes. Yes, I hope so, too. I’ll tell them. Yes. Okay.” She pretended to push a button on the toy, turning her attention to the security guard, regarding him as though he was nothing more than a troublesome six year old. Maybe she was a better actress than he’d given her credit for, Brendon thought to himself.
“Can I help you?” The security guard asked, looking down at little Margot, whom he towered over. Brendon’s knees went weak; the man’s voice matched his gruff exterior.
“You most certainly can,” Margot told him, cocking her hip importantly. “I have this basket,” she gestured lazily to the parcel that Brendon was holding behind her. “To be delivered to a Mr. Charles Pace.”
“I’m sorry, but I can‘t let you back there without authorization,” the guard told her, shaking his head.
Margot looked at him incredulously, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on her hip. “I’m sorry, do I look like someone who has time to be running around, delivering packages to singers at a teeny-bopper concert? No, I don’t.” She said when the man opened his mouth to speak. “I need you to take it back to wherever Mr. Pace is and give it to him.”
“I--I don’t know…” The guard looked around nervously, as though someone would come along and tell him what to do. They didn’t. “I don’t know if I can--”
“Listen, I’d love to sit here and chat with you, but I’m really very pressed for time right now, and if you’re not going to deliver this basket for me, I have a lot of damage-control to be doing. Now, I don’t know Mr. Pace, I’ve never met him, I’ve never even heard of him before today, but if he’s anything like my boss, who happens to be a very close friend of the man, and has been for many years, he would be very disappointed to hear that this package was delayed because you aren’t aware of what your job entails. Now, are you going to deliver this for me, or do I have to inform my superior that his long-time friend will not be receiving his package?” Brendon gaped; he didn’t think Margot had it in her to speak to anyone like that, especially a huge security guard that could easily pick them both up by the scruff of the neck and toss them out with the trash.
“Uhh…” The security man glanced around the stage once more before nodding and relieving Brendon of the heavy basket weighing down his arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“So am I. Chop, chop!” She added as he continued to hesitate. He turned and quickly weaved his way back through the crowd of people that were hurrying around trying to prepare for the concert that was about to take place.
After he was out of sight, Margot walked past the podium he’d been sitting at, indicating that Brendon should follow. There were a few chairs set up just behind the curtain to the stage for special guests to view the show. They were all taken by people already, so Margot summoned a techie with the snap of her fingers. “Excuse me,” she snapped as the poor guy drew near. “There aren’t enough chairs here, I see. Is there a problem, or is it just that no one can do their job?” The man mumbled an apology and quickly brought over two chairs and set them closest to the stage. “Thank you,” Margot said coolly, taking her seat as Brendon took his.
“I can’t fucking believe this actually worked!” Brendon whispered, awed.
“Enjoy the show,” Margot said, grinning as the lights illuminated the stage and the four men entering from the other side. The crowd in the audience cheered, as did the few people sitting backstage.
“I will,” Brendon promised, reaching over to grab Margot’s hand and squeeze it tightly.
Both their stomachs fluttered.
Haha, my friend's mom actually used to do this to get into concerts. xD So...I'm quite surprised by the reaction to this story. When I started writing, I figured I might have a few readers, a comment every few chapters, what-have-you, but I'm pleasanty surprised with what has actually happened. A lot of people seem to like this, for some reason, and seem to have as much fun reading it as I do writing it, which I'm glad of. Keep commenting, rating and subscribing! THanks. OverAndOutxx
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