Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Stolen Hearts; Swollen Egos
Just One of Those Things
3 reviews"Can I remind you of a little incident we like to call 'Sex! at the Disco'?"
1Original
Note: I'm introducing a new character in this one! I hope you like her and this new chapter- enjoy and please review! (Oh, and just a reminder, this is a companion fic to 'A Catastrophe...' - not a sequel. ^_^
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The door to the hotel room swung open before Brendon could even pull out the key card. A highly cantankerous Saffron greeted him with a glower, fisted hands on her barely-there hips. "I don't believe you!" she said slowly, just before Jon literally scooped the protesting girl up and promptly dropped her into Ryan's lap before returning to the door, letting Brendon in with a flourish of his hand.
"You win," Jon said simply, his grin only slightly less barmy than the one on Brendon's face. Ultimately, the entire band was on their feet, grinning at each other like mad, snickering like little kids, leaving poor Saffron to ponder upon what the hell was running through their minds.
She didn't have to think about that too intensely because a minute passed before she stated, "Pigs! You're all pigs."
Spencer, yes, still grinning, piped in, "Saffron, can I remind you of a little incident we like to call 'Sex! at the Disco'?" He was obviously referring to that one wonderfully embarrassing live television moment several months ago when cameras caught her and Ryan in just their underwear, also in a highly compromising position. The buzz around that piece of news had died down, but people still couldn't help but refer to it, mostly to piss her off.
Saffron immediately flushed an attractive shade of red, attractive, in this case, meaning not. She sent one last glare at all of them before exiting the scene. She called over her shoulder, "That's an entirely different situation! I did not have sex with an engaged, I repeat, engaged socialite skank!"
"She's jealous," Jon muttered.
"AM NOT!"
Friederike Stern, better known as Fritzi, was an uncomplicated, reserved young woman, Journalism major (she hoped) from Columbia, and a rather boring (in comparison) nineteen-year-old fellow socialite. Musetta never ceased to express her disappointment in her closest friend.
Fritzi, in a plain white polo, gray pearls, and a smart pleated, gray skirt, her blonde hair done in a pixie cut, sipped delicately on her cup of hot chocolate, her ankles crossed. She peered over her laptop screen, looking only mildly surprised as Musetta came strutting towards her, the paparazzi trailing behind. Fritzi secretly admired her friend's aptitude for keeping her cool in front of the press, whereas she nearly had heart attacks each time a man would pop out from behind a bush when she left one of her classes. (Now, she was a lower-profile celebrity, but a celebrity nonetheless.)
"Who is my favorite little studious college girl?" Musetta cooed. (Air kiss, air kiss.) She gracefully slipped into the seat across from her before waving at the waiter, calling out some complicated drink name that Fritzi hardly cared for.
"Me," Fritzi replied with a terse smile, absolutely hating all the camera men lurking around the general area. Well, she supposed that was just one of the perks of being best friends with Musetta. "So, how was your flight?" she asked politely, that same smile remaining on her face.
"Lovely," she replied absentmindedly, "now, love, what is with the formalities? It's little Muse!"
The blonde let out a long, heaving sigh and finally met Musetta's blue eyes with her green ones. "Musetta, I know why you're here, and I absolutely condemn the idea, as much as I love you, you really can't-"
Musetta pouted, leaning forward in her seat after the large coffee mug was placed before her. "Come on, Fritz, don't resist the pout, give into the pout, give in," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
Long-suffering Fritzi rubbed her temples. "Don't make me regret this, Musetta."
"Wait, let me get this straight," Jon said as they waited patiently (or impatiently, in Brendon's case) for their luggage, having just landed in Pennsylvania "She's is interviewing us for Rock Steady? Dude, I heard she's, like, scary in person."
("Well," Saffron said snippily, leaning against Ryan as they both perched their skinny selves on a bench, "you were probably napping when they dropped that piece of news on you.")
"She sounded cool on the phone," Brendon replied casually as Jon and Saffron exchanged nasty facial expressions (jokingly), pacing back and forth and back and forth, too eager to get to the arena and start rehearsal, or go for a run, well, maybe not go for a run, but there was a lot of pent up energy to take care of.
"Well," Ryan piped in with a smirk, "Saffron sounds nice on the phone, but that doesn't mean she's fucking m-" Saffron had chucked her sweater in his face, covering his entire head and muffling the rest of the sentence. He pulled the sweater off his head, his hair sticking out in all possible directions; she burst out laughing at the static the sweater caused, which forced Ryan to shut her up with a kiss. (Cue the general eye rolling.)
"We're meeting her at the hotel, right?" Spencer asked, trying not to look quite so apprehensive. "Wouldn't wanna be late, she might give us a bad grade, or something."
The entire posse ambled into the chic hotel, luggages and whatnot in tow, all simply joking around and laughing. A hush fell upon the band. Jaws literally dropped when they finally got a glimpse of the 'terrifying,' 'daunting '...
Fritzi Stern, in her black and white preppy, nineteen-year-old glory.
Another perk of being the best friend of Musetta: the girl scored a job for Fritzi at her father's magazine, Rock Steady. Fritzi was their youngest journalist, brilliant and honest, yet, surprisingly, one of the most cynical. Many musicians tended to avoid her, in fear that she would rip them apart with her words, note by note, bone by bone.
And sweet, seemingly unassuming Fritzi happened to be following the band for an entire week.
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The door to the hotel room swung open before Brendon could even pull out the key card. A highly cantankerous Saffron greeted him with a glower, fisted hands on her barely-there hips. "I don't believe you!" she said slowly, just before Jon literally scooped the protesting girl up and promptly dropped her into Ryan's lap before returning to the door, letting Brendon in with a flourish of his hand.
"You win," Jon said simply, his grin only slightly less barmy than the one on Brendon's face. Ultimately, the entire band was on their feet, grinning at each other like mad, snickering like little kids, leaving poor Saffron to ponder upon what the hell was running through their minds.
She didn't have to think about that too intensely because a minute passed before she stated, "Pigs! You're all pigs."
Spencer, yes, still grinning, piped in, "Saffron, can I remind you of a little incident we like to call 'Sex! at the Disco'?" He was obviously referring to that one wonderfully embarrassing live television moment several months ago when cameras caught her and Ryan in just their underwear, also in a highly compromising position. The buzz around that piece of news had died down, but people still couldn't help but refer to it, mostly to piss her off.
Saffron immediately flushed an attractive shade of red, attractive, in this case, meaning not. She sent one last glare at all of them before exiting the scene. She called over her shoulder, "That's an entirely different situation! I did not have sex with an engaged, I repeat, engaged socialite skank!"
"She's jealous," Jon muttered.
"AM NOT!"
Friederike Stern, better known as Fritzi, was an uncomplicated, reserved young woman, Journalism major (she hoped) from Columbia, and a rather boring (in comparison) nineteen-year-old fellow socialite. Musetta never ceased to express her disappointment in her closest friend.
Fritzi, in a plain white polo, gray pearls, and a smart pleated, gray skirt, her blonde hair done in a pixie cut, sipped delicately on her cup of hot chocolate, her ankles crossed. She peered over her laptop screen, looking only mildly surprised as Musetta came strutting towards her, the paparazzi trailing behind. Fritzi secretly admired her friend's aptitude for keeping her cool in front of the press, whereas she nearly had heart attacks each time a man would pop out from behind a bush when she left one of her classes. (Now, she was a lower-profile celebrity, but a celebrity nonetheless.)
"Who is my favorite little studious college girl?" Musetta cooed. (Air kiss, air kiss.) She gracefully slipped into the seat across from her before waving at the waiter, calling out some complicated drink name that Fritzi hardly cared for.
"Me," Fritzi replied with a terse smile, absolutely hating all the camera men lurking around the general area. Well, she supposed that was just one of the perks of being best friends with Musetta. "So, how was your flight?" she asked politely, that same smile remaining on her face.
"Lovely," she replied absentmindedly, "now, love, what is with the formalities? It's little Muse!"
The blonde let out a long, heaving sigh and finally met Musetta's blue eyes with her green ones. "Musetta, I know why you're here, and I absolutely condemn the idea, as much as I love you, you really can't-"
Musetta pouted, leaning forward in her seat after the large coffee mug was placed before her. "Come on, Fritz, don't resist the pout, give into the pout, give in," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
Long-suffering Fritzi rubbed her temples. "Don't make me regret this, Musetta."
"Wait, let me get this straight," Jon said as they waited patiently (or impatiently, in Brendon's case) for their luggage, having just landed in Pennsylvania "She's is interviewing us for Rock Steady? Dude, I heard she's, like, scary in person."
("Well," Saffron said snippily, leaning against Ryan as they both perched their skinny selves on a bench, "you were probably napping when they dropped that piece of news on you.")
"She sounded cool on the phone," Brendon replied casually as Jon and Saffron exchanged nasty facial expressions (jokingly), pacing back and forth and back and forth, too eager to get to the arena and start rehearsal, or go for a run, well, maybe not go for a run, but there was a lot of pent up energy to take care of.
"Well," Ryan piped in with a smirk, "Saffron sounds nice on the phone, but that doesn't mean she's fucking m-" Saffron had chucked her sweater in his face, covering his entire head and muffling the rest of the sentence. He pulled the sweater off his head, his hair sticking out in all possible directions; she burst out laughing at the static the sweater caused, which forced Ryan to shut her up with a kiss. (Cue the general eye rolling.)
"We're meeting her at the hotel, right?" Spencer asked, trying not to look quite so apprehensive. "Wouldn't wanna be late, she might give us a bad grade, or something."
The entire posse ambled into the chic hotel, luggages and whatnot in tow, all simply joking around and laughing. A hush fell upon the band. Jaws literally dropped when they finally got a glimpse of the 'terrifying,' 'daunting '...
Fritzi Stern, in her black and white preppy, nineteen-year-old glory.
Another perk of being the best friend of Musetta: the girl scored a job for Fritzi at her father's magazine, Rock Steady. Fritzi was their youngest journalist, brilliant and honest, yet, surprisingly, one of the most cynical. Many musicians tended to avoid her, in fear that she would rip them apart with her words, note by note, bone by bone.
And sweet, seemingly unassuming Fritzi happened to be following the band for an entire week.
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