Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > But It's Better if You Do
I Wouldn't Be Caught Dead in this Place
1 reviewFear was slowly taking over him and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But he couldn't, he was at their mercy...if these brutes even had any.
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It was a bright and sunny morning in the Windy City, and this was precisely why Brendon was in a foul mood; mornings and sunshine. Neither were on the partially nocturnal man's list of favorite things. Sunshine certainly couldn't kill Brendon, but ever since he came back to life he was painfully sensitive to it. He pushed his round-framed glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, the green lenses were a welcome relief from the glare.
He lent against the brick wall behind him within the semi-comfort of the shade. Jr walked by him and knocked Brendon's bowler hat off as he passed. Brendon muttered a few choice profanities as he picked up his now dusty hat. He took it as a sign to go join Crackitus in examining the body that was inside the building. He followed Jr into the side door of the McCormick and Sons Mortuary. The body was fresh from the previous night and had yet to be washed, providing the league with a private setting for their investigations.
The mortuary was a welcome sanctuary from the harsh sunlight with its heavy purple drapes and warm, muted tones. Brendon tried not to shudder as he moved past the many caskets in the show room on his way to the back of the building where all the preparations took place. It was little more than a month since his own body had been prepared for burial in a place like this, he absently ran his fingertips over the scar on his neck. It was here that they met Crackitus and the elder Mr. McCormick standing above a mutilated carcass.
The man had obviously died a slow and painful death, his last moments drawn out in an agonizing and terror drenched existence. What was first to catch any man's attention was the state of the torso—torn open by unhuman claws, the wounds too massive to be wrought by any animal found in the Americas. Brendon covered his nose with a ready kerchief, a scented and lacy item that he stole from Blanche, to lessen the stench that assaulted his already sensitive nose. The neck of the poor man was in no better state, the head being almost entirely severed from the rest of the gruesome form. It was an act of intelligent passion, however, and not of animal hunger as none of the body was actually devoured.
Crackitus was hovering over the body with a pair of goggles strapped on, their many different lenses ready to be flipped down for use on different spokes. Apart from his overly magnified eyes, only his bearded chin was visible on his face. The beard waggled back and forth as he began to speak, "Brendon, may I have the honor of borrowing your nose?" Obviously his good humor was unaffected by the gore.
Brendon nodded and stepped up to the body. With a smile of encouragement from Crackitus he braced himself for the odor and breathed in. It took him perhaps three seconds before he threw up. At first Jr laughed, that is until he received a brief glare from Brendon after which he sobered up. Brendon wiped his mouth off with a towel offered by Mr. McCormick. "Alright?" Crackitus asked. Brendon nodded, "Spells like dog, mud, and dead man," Mr. McCormick laughed at the last obvious description while Crackitus handed a small vial over to the two younger men. "Dog, you say?"
Jr looked closely at the contents of the vial before passing it to Brendon. He peered through the glass and saw a few short grey hairs. "Boys," Crackitus said with some excitement, "I do believe we have a werewolf on our hands!"
-
Spencer walked down the muddy streets on his way to the cabaret. He didn't need to be there until the evening but he had left some music there that he wanted to go over before the night's show. The harsh sunlight from the morning had given way to rain soaked clouds. He had waited out the short storm till there was little more than drizzle to make his journey. Regardless, the long walk had already left his clothes drenched and his hair plastered down to his head. His only hope was to get back home before the rain came down heavily again. Though when he looked up at the street ahead of him he knew that would be to much to hope for.
Ahead of him three burly men stood stood in his path. But it was too late to turn back, they would punish him for running. His blue eyes hardened as he resigned himself to the inevitable. He walked up to the men and stopped about eight feet away from them. He stood silently waiting, his tall form prevented the thugs from looming over him, though that didn't mean he was undaunted by their stature.
"Heading to work a bit early, aint ya?" The tallest man in the middle sneered. Spencer nodded in reply but still remained silent. The man sniffed the air and said, "You a mute, boy?" At first Spencer was surprised that the man guessed how young he was, just barely an adult and many thought his looks were that of one beyond his years. "Are ya deaf too?" He hadn't answered fast enough. "No, sorry," he managed to say. Fear was slowly taking over him and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But he couldn't, he was at their mercy...if these brutes even had any.
The thug sniffed the air again, Scared, boy?" He asked. Spencer remained silent. "Well you have every right to be," The other two men started moving around him. "You see, my boss does business with your boss and he has a message he wants passed on," they now formed a circle around him. "My boss, Mr. Rogers is not so happy. Your boss," he stepped closer, "owes him some money and he wants it soon," he paused for a moment. "Did you get all that?" Spencer nodded, his stomach formed complicated knots that could confuse any sailor. "Good." That was the last thing said before the descended on him.
A/N: Hurray for updates, no? Well school has started and I can't wait till my summer job is over so I can actually have some free time. Thank you all for the reviews and ratings. You make me all warm and fuzzy inside. =) Please keep it up and tell me what you think and whatever theories you have or if there's anything you really want to happen (I might write it). Now, one question I have: Would you like me to continue this as a series? Let me know now so I can write the ending to this story accordingly. I have a few ideas that might actually bring in some other fandoms (Little Less Sixteen Candles, anyone?).
He lent against the brick wall behind him within the semi-comfort of the shade. Jr walked by him and knocked Brendon's bowler hat off as he passed. Brendon muttered a few choice profanities as he picked up his now dusty hat. He took it as a sign to go join Crackitus in examining the body that was inside the building. He followed Jr into the side door of the McCormick and Sons Mortuary. The body was fresh from the previous night and had yet to be washed, providing the league with a private setting for their investigations.
The mortuary was a welcome sanctuary from the harsh sunlight with its heavy purple drapes and warm, muted tones. Brendon tried not to shudder as he moved past the many caskets in the show room on his way to the back of the building where all the preparations took place. It was little more than a month since his own body had been prepared for burial in a place like this, he absently ran his fingertips over the scar on his neck. It was here that they met Crackitus and the elder Mr. McCormick standing above a mutilated carcass.
The man had obviously died a slow and painful death, his last moments drawn out in an agonizing and terror drenched existence. What was first to catch any man's attention was the state of the torso—torn open by unhuman claws, the wounds too massive to be wrought by any animal found in the Americas. Brendon covered his nose with a ready kerchief, a scented and lacy item that he stole from Blanche, to lessen the stench that assaulted his already sensitive nose. The neck of the poor man was in no better state, the head being almost entirely severed from the rest of the gruesome form. It was an act of intelligent passion, however, and not of animal hunger as none of the body was actually devoured.
Crackitus was hovering over the body with a pair of goggles strapped on, their many different lenses ready to be flipped down for use on different spokes. Apart from his overly magnified eyes, only his bearded chin was visible on his face. The beard waggled back and forth as he began to speak, "Brendon, may I have the honor of borrowing your nose?" Obviously his good humor was unaffected by the gore.
Brendon nodded and stepped up to the body. With a smile of encouragement from Crackitus he braced himself for the odor and breathed in. It took him perhaps three seconds before he threw up. At first Jr laughed, that is until he received a brief glare from Brendon after which he sobered up. Brendon wiped his mouth off with a towel offered by Mr. McCormick. "Alright?" Crackitus asked. Brendon nodded, "Spells like dog, mud, and dead man," Mr. McCormick laughed at the last obvious description while Crackitus handed a small vial over to the two younger men. "Dog, you say?"
Jr looked closely at the contents of the vial before passing it to Brendon. He peered through the glass and saw a few short grey hairs. "Boys," Crackitus said with some excitement, "I do believe we have a werewolf on our hands!"
-
Spencer walked down the muddy streets on his way to the cabaret. He didn't need to be there until the evening but he had left some music there that he wanted to go over before the night's show. The harsh sunlight from the morning had given way to rain soaked clouds. He had waited out the short storm till there was little more than drizzle to make his journey. Regardless, the long walk had already left his clothes drenched and his hair plastered down to his head. His only hope was to get back home before the rain came down heavily again. Though when he looked up at the street ahead of him he knew that would be to much to hope for.
Ahead of him three burly men stood stood in his path. But it was too late to turn back, they would punish him for running. His blue eyes hardened as he resigned himself to the inevitable. He walked up to the men and stopped about eight feet away from them. He stood silently waiting, his tall form prevented the thugs from looming over him, though that didn't mean he was undaunted by their stature.
"Heading to work a bit early, aint ya?" The tallest man in the middle sneered. Spencer nodded in reply but still remained silent. The man sniffed the air and said, "You a mute, boy?" At first Spencer was surprised that the man guessed how young he was, just barely an adult and many thought his looks were that of one beyond his years. "Are ya deaf too?" He hadn't answered fast enough. "No, sorry," he managed to say. Fear was slowly taking over him and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But he couldn't, he was at their mercy...if these brutes even had any.
The thug sniffed the air again, Scared, boy?" He asked. Spencer remained silent. "Well you have every right to be," The other two men started moving around him. "You see, my boss does business with your boss and he has a message he wants passed on," they now formed a circle around him. "My boss, Mr. Rogers is not so happy. Your boss," he stepped closer, "owes him some money and he wants it soon," he paused for a moment. "Did you get all that?" Spencer nodded, his stomach formed complicated knots that could confuse any sailor. "Good." That was the last thing said before the descended on him.
A/N: Hurray for updates, no? Well school has started and I can't wait till my summer job is over so I can actually have some free time. Thank you all for the reviews and ratings. You make me all warm and fuzzy inside. =) Please keep it up and tell me what you think and whatever theories you have or if there's anything you really want to happen (I might write it). Now, one question I have: Would you like me to continue this as a series? Let me know now so I can write the ending to this story accordingly. I have a few ideas that might actually bring in some other fandoms (Little Less Sixteen Candles, anyone?).
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