Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > But It's Better if You Do
Brendon stood nervously on the gravel that littered the ground outside of the old mill. Wafting tendrils of fog danced around him in the predawn light and he looked impatiently around him. For one who was used to always be late, he was quite surprised to find himself the first one here. He had come alone after convincing Blanche to keep the duel a secret from the rest of the League... and after he had drugged her dinner to make sure she'd sleep in to late to follow him here.
So now here he was leaning against a damp brick wall and squinting out into the dim surroundings to see if anyone were approaching. At least his annoyance at everyone else helped to stem the fear that he struggled to keep at bay. He considered himself a good shot, but he had never been in a duel before and frankly didn't have much confidence to be the winner.
The sun was now visible through the haze of the overcast sky above and Brendon was nearly dizzy with anxiety. Did he get the time wrong? The location? A new set of worries swarmed through his mind as he fiddled with the chain of his pocket watch.
Just as he was about to walk another lap around the yard he saw a figure limping through the fog towards him. As he came nearer the figure proved to be an extremely tired-looking Spencer. The drummer walked up to stand at Brendon's shoulder.
The singer took in his companion's haggard and slightly cranky appearance. “You look like you're the one who's dueling and I'm the second,” he said with as much humor as he could muster.
Spencer glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, but tried to offer up a smile when he sensed how scared Brendon was. “I think it's gonna be alright...” His words trailed off as he stared at two approaching figures at the far side of the field.
“You think?” Brendon was also watching the two well-dressed men. He recognized Mr. Beckett from the night before, a black umbrella held aloft above his head, and Brendon's very favorite Thug that always seemed to pop up when least desired.
They stopped a few feet away from the two musicians and stared at them coldly, neither pairs wanting to initiate the conversation. “What?” Brendon finally asked, “Did your boss chicken out or something?”
Mr. Beckett cringed and dabbed a handkerchief to his red lips before replying. “Mr. Rogers, unfortunately, has been murdered this last night,” he paused as the news started to get digest by the musicians, “I have come to inform you that you are free from this morning's obligations.” He tipped the brim of his bowler with a gloved hand and turned to walk away. He stopped, however, and addressed Brendon from over his shoulder, “Until next we meet, Mr. Urie.” The Thug turned also to follow after he cast Spencer a curious look mixed with disgust.
Brendon stood, baffled by the conversation and turned gaping to his companion. “Best news I've heard since, “Oh! You're alive again!”” The drummer cast him a strange look and Brendon smirked at his confusion. “Another story, another time!” He patted his second on the shoulder and jerked his head back towards the center of town, “C'mon, I know a good place to get breakfast.”
-
Unfortunately, Brendon's breakfast plans had been suitably squashed as the one person who was capable or willing to cook was in a noticeably bad mood. Blanche sat at the center table of the warehouse, that served as their dining table, with a look that could make even Zeb feel fear. Her green eyes glared out from under a disheveled head of hair and her fingers idly twirled a kitchen knife.
Brendon grimaced when the light reflecting off the blade flashed across his eyes and he approached her timidly, Spencer following at a safe distance. “So... did we miss breakfast?” He realized how dumb he was to think that Blanche would be happy to see him, let alone him alive.
“Sadly, you missed it,” Blanche stood up from the rickety chair and smoothed her robe out, she hadn't even bothered to dress yet. “But,” she smirked at him now, a look that shook Brendon to the core, “you two gentlemen are just in time to do the dishes!” She gave a pointed nod to the giant stack of pots and plates behind her, little did they know that she had dirtied more than she needed to just to add to their punishment. She stabbed the cooking knife into the wood of the table with an audible thud and turned to walk back to her room.
“Aren't you glad I made it back alive?” Brendon asked, wondering why she didn't seem pleased that he had survived the experience.
She paused at the door to her quarters and replied, “Yes, I am. Because now I will have the pleasure of killing you myself if you ever drug me again.” She smiled at the drummer now before entering her room, “It was nice seeing you Spencer!”
The two men exchanged awkward glances and moved to do the dishes, not wanting to further upset the mistress of the house. They were just halfway done when the other members of the League walked into the headquarters, their arms burdened with large iron frames and various lengths of chain.
Brendon glanced up curiously as the older men moved to an empty corner of the place and began to work. “What's going on, JR?” He called out while handing a wet plate to Spencer to dry it.
“Oh hello, Brendon! Glad to see you survived the duel!”
“At least someone is,” the singer muttered to himself.
JR gestured to the work going on behind him and explained what the new mess was. “It's a holding cell for tonight!”
Spencer looked up now in confusion, “A holding cell for what?” JR glanced behind him and moved closer to whisper to the drummer, “You've probably heard the rumors by now, but we're gonna catch ourselves a werewolf!”
Brendon eyed Spencer out of the corner of his eye to see the other man's reaction. Would he scoff at the claim of the supernatural prowling the streets of Chicago? Would he shiver in fear at the mention of such a beast?
Spencer stared calmly, “Oh.” The two member's of the League glanced at each other in pleasant surprise at the other man's composure. “Good luck with that,” the drummer said.
Brendon handed Spencer another wet plate but the drummer's usually dextrous hands fumbled with the item and let it crash to the ground. Brendon immediately moved to pick up the shards while Spencer reddened in embarrassment, “I... I better get going, Brendon. I will see you tonight at the show.” He was gone before Brendon even stood up straight.
A/N: Thank you guys sooo much for reading. Um, please let me know if you like this, I work so hard on this story with my head buried into my own little world that I have no idea if I'm hitting the mark and not just writing a piece of crap.
So now here he was leaning against a damp brick wall and squinting out into the dim surroundings to see if anyone were approaching. At least his annoyance at everyone else helped to stem the fear that he struggled to keep at bay. He considered himself a good shot, but he had never been in a duel before and frankly didn't have much confidence to be the winner.
The sun was now visible through the haze of the overcast sky above and Brendon was nearly dizzy with anxiety. Did he get the time wrong? The location? A new set of worries swarmed through his mind as he fiddled with the chain of his pocket watch.
Just as he was about to walk another lap around the yard he saw a figure limping through the fog towards him. As he came nearer the figure proved to be an extremely tired-looking Spencer. The drummer walked up to stand at Brendon's shoulder.
The singer took in his companion's haggard and slightly cranky appearance. “You look like you're the one who's dueling and I'm the second,” he said with as much humor as he could muster.
Spencer glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, but tried to offer up a smile when he sensed how scared Brendon was. “I think it's gonna be alright...” His words trailed off as he stared at two approaching figures at the far side of the field.
“You think?” Brendon was also watching the two well-dressed men. He recognized Mr. Beckett from the night before, a black umbrella held aloft above his head, and Brendon's very favorite Thug that always seemed to pop up when least desired.
They stopped a few feet away from the two musicians and stared at them coldly, neither pairs wanting to initiate the conversation. “What?” Brendon finally asked, “Did your boss chicken out or something?”
Mr. Beckett cringed and dabbed a handkerchief to his red lips before replying. “Mr. Rogers, unfortunately, has been murdered this last night,” he paused as the news started to get digest by the musicians, “I have come to inform you that you are free from this morning's obligations.” He tipped the brim of his bowler with a gloved hand and turned to walk away. He stopped, however, and addressed Brendon from over his shoulder, “Until next we meet, Mr. Urie.” The Thug turned also to follow after he cast Spencer a curious look mixed with disgust.
Brendon stood, baffled by the conversation and turned gaping to his companion. “Best news I've heard since, “Oh! You're alive again!”” The drummer cast him a strange look and Brendon smirked at his confusion. “Another story, another time!” He patted his second on the shoulder and jerked his head back towards the center of town, “C'mon, I know a good place to get breakfast.”
-
Unfortunately, Brendon's breakfast plans had been suitably squashed as the one person who was capable or willing to cook was in a noticeably bad mood. Blanche sat at the center table of the warehouse, that served as their dining table, with a look that could make even Zeb feel fear. Her green eyes glared out from under a disheveled head of hair and her fingers idly twirled a kitchen knife.
Brendon grimaced when the light reflecting off the blade flashed across his eyes and he approached her timidly, Spencer following at a safe distance. “So... did we miss breakfast?” He realized how dumb he was to think that Blanche would be happy to see him, let alone him alive.
“Sadly, you missed it,” Blanche stood up from the rickety chair and smoothed her robe out, she hadn't even bothered to dress yet. “But,” she smirked at him now, a look that shook Brendon to the core, “you two gentlemen are just in time to do the dishes!” She gave a pointed nod to the giant stack of pots and plates behind her, little did they know that she had dirtied more than she needed to just to add to their punishment. She stabbed the cooking knife into the wood of the table with an audible thud and turned to walk back to her room.
“Aren't you glad I made it back alive?” Brendon asked, wondering why she didn't seem pleased that he had survived the experience.
She paused at the door to her quarters and replied, “Yes, I am. Because now I will have the pleasure of killing you myself if you ever drug me again.” She smiled at the drummer now before entering her room, “It was nice seeing you Spencer!”
The two men exchanged awkward glances and moved to do the dishes, not wanting to further upset the mistress of the house. They were just halfway done when the other members of the League walked into the headquarters, their arms burdened with large iron frames and various lengths of chain.
Brendon glanced up curiously as the older men moved to an empty corner of the place and began to work. “What's going on, JR?” He called out while handing a wet plate to Spencer to dry it.
“Oh hello, Brendon! Glad to see you survived the duel!”
“At least someone is,” the singer muttered to himself.
JR gestured to the work going on behind him and explained what the new mess was. “It's a holding cell for tonight!”
Spencer looked up now in confusion, “A holding cell for what?” JR glanced behind him and moved closer to whisper to the drummer, “You've probably heard the rumors by now, but we're gonna catch ourselves a werewolf!”
Brendon eyed Spencer out of the corner of his eye to see the other man's reaction. Would he scoff at the claim of the supernatural prowling the streets of Chicago? Would he shiver in fear at the mention of such a beast?
Spencer stared calmly, “Oh.” The two member's of the League glanced at each other in pleasant surprise at the other man's composure. “Good luck with that,” the drummer said.
Brendon handed Spencer another wet plate but the drummer's usually dextrous hands fumbled with the item and let it crash to the ground. Brendon immediately moved to pick up the shards while Spencer reddened in embarrassment, “I... I better get going, Brendon. I will see you tonight at the show.” He was gone before Brendon even stood up straight.
A/N: Thank you guys sooo much for reading. Um, please let me know if you like this, I work so hard on this story with my head buried into my own little world that I have no idea if I'm hitting the mark and not just writing a piece of crap.
Sign up to rate and review this story