(no subject)
Aug. 21st, 2011 05:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesThe first half written fic that's now completely finished, thanks to pikasfire's nano thing. Several more crossovers will be coming, I still have half an AU table left.
Title: Quiet Little Mountain Town
Pairing: Spencer/Jon/Ryan/Brendon
Rating: pg13
Wordcount: 2694
Summary: If Spencer had known what would happen when the bus broke down in some shitty little town in Colorado, he probably would have walked to the next venue. Unfortunately hindsight is 20/20.
Warnings: I wrote this for genderbent for AU bingo. There's also bigoted language.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author’s notes: You don't need to know anything special about South Park to read this, but if you do watch it there are references that will hopefully make you snicker.
Spencer never thought the ‘getting stranded in a town full of rednecks’ thing would happen to him. It’s a strictly two genre thing. Either you watch a horror movie in which the small town has a secret and ends up sacrificing you to a giant bug, or you watch a chick flick in which a woman needs a change of pace and finds herself falling in love with a gentle small business owner. Ryan might argue a third category, the Hallmark movies in which high powered business people find themselves liking the gruff townspeople and quit being a lawyer to live in the small town. But since there’s usually a ‘they fall in love’ subplot, Spencer considers it a subset of the second.
Ryan bickering with him or not, the point is getting stranded in a redneck town is a movie thing. Along with other ridiculous shit like hookers with hearts of gold, and falling in love with your best friend’s fiancee, and cloning, it’s not supposed to happen in real life. And yet somehow they are stranded in a place that only has one hotel, a main street actually called Main Street, and no fucking Wal-Mart.
Considering it’s slightly after midnight Spencer’s not all that surprised that everything is dead. He doesn’t even care, he just wants to sit somewhere and fuck around on his laptop. Since there’s no twenty four hour cafe, he votes for hotel, and Brendon and Jon firmly agree. Ryan winces at the woman who stumbles out of the one open bar with a bleach blonde beehive. Spencer knows that Ryan would probably rather sleep in the bus than entrust himself to the hotel. Unfortunately for him it's not exactly a choice. The driver says he’s going to get it towed to the repair place and he’ll meet them in the morning.
They get two rooms, for appearances sake, like always. Zack is past the point of being stoked at having a room to himself, it’s just routine. Unless there’s some sort of drama and Zack has to spend the rest of the night pretending Ryan isn’t crying because acknowledging it makes him worse, or playing cards with Jon and trying to convince him smoking through his whole stash in one night would be stupid, or letting Brendon plaster on his plastic smile and act like there’s no particular reason he decided to come in, or letting Spencer tell him the plot and dialogue of movies he’s already seen, Zack’s been sleeping alone for awhile.
Spencer does not approve of being woken up by Brendon shouting. He’s made that clear in the past, and they’ve spoken of Repercussions. Still, there’s Brendon screaming. Not even a real word, just “Urggh!”
Spencer grunts in warning. Brendon ignores it. “Ryan’s pissed the bed!”
“I didn’t!”
“The sheet is damp!”
Spencer buries his face, half in Jon’s shoulder, half in the pillow, and hopes that Brendon will shut the fuck up before he has to get out of the warm spot to strangle him. It’s possible that it’s just too early in the morning, but Brendon sounds high pitched. Spencer hopes the asshole doesn’t have a cold. They have a strict rule on no making out if someone’s sick, and since that’s basically Brendon’s foreplay it would put a damper on the hot sex he was planning to have with the three of them. You know, at a decent hour. Like eleven.
“Holy fuck, Ryan’s dying!” Brendon bellows.
“What?” Jon slurs. It’s not that Spencer wouldn’t care, he just thinks Brendon’s full of shit. If Ryan was dying the whole world would know from the production he would make of it. Shit, Ryan would probably make it a three part opera with costumes.
“It doesn’t smell like piss, it smells like blood.” Spencer doesn’t want to know how he knows. As the youngest sibling Brendon doesn’t even have the diaper excuse.
There’s a shuffle of sheets and he can even hear the snap of lamp dial being turned. Spencer knows with such attention to detail he’s probably screwed for getting back to sleep, but he’s not quite ready to surrender hope yet. He keeps his face firmly tucked into Jon’s shoulder. He doesn’t know how the fuck he manages to smell like wood chips, but he’s never going to complain about it.
“What. The fuck.” Ryan says, monotone. But Spencer has had a long time to learn nuances, and for that matter Brendon and Jon are pretty good at it too. It’s not the words so much as the tiny bits of tone that make Spencer open his eyes and sit up, Jon making the same movement behind him.
Spencer notices three things. One, Ryan turned the multi-brightness lamp attached to the wall to it’s brightest setting, making everything all glowy white. Two, Brendon’s right, there is a circle of blood on the nightstand side of the bed, which is the side Ryan always sleeps on, no matter what configuration everyone else falls asleep in around him. Three, Ryan, who is standing close to the foot of the bed, doesn’t have a dick. The problem with that is Ryan does have a dick. Spencer happens to be really goddamn well acquainted with Ryan’s dick, considering it was in his mouth last night, and on many occasions before that.
“What the fuck,” Spencer repeats. And shit his voice is all fucked up too. So technically it’s the most important that Brendon be able to speak. That doesn’t mean Spencer likes having a cold.
“Guys,” Jon says, and it’s clear he’s sick too. Spencer would make a joke about plague at the disco, but pretty much every fill in the blank at the disco joke stopped being funny years ago. “I think something fucked up happened.” Spencer arches back to look at Jon, and his hand is pressed flat to the place on his boxers where anatomy lessons say it should be cupped. Spencer’s hand immediately goes to his dick, but before he has a chance to scream about his not being there Brendon speaks up.
“You think the rednecks drugged us and cut our dicks off?” Even giving room for a cold fucking his throat up, Brendon’s voice still sounds wrong.
“You don’t think we would have woken up?”
“I said drugged.”
“And they sewed a wig to my scalp?” Spencer turns back again, and fucking hell, Jon’s got long hair. Spencer moves his hand to his head, his hair feels the right length. What’s wrong is that on the way back down his forearm snags. On his chest.
“Well I don’t fucking know! Ask Spencer then.”
“I think we’re women. Somehow we woke up women.” Jon sounds almost calm about it, and Spencer wants nothing more than to hit him in the face. His beardless face, which is fucking weird as hell. Possibly weirder than the curves Spencer can vaguely see under his t-shirt.
“ZACK. ZACK ZACK ZACK!” There’s no time to even consider telling Brendon to shut up, in the face of Jon’s calm Brendon explodes. And moments later Zack is bursting through the unlocked doors joining the room. Spencer’s got no question that if the door was locked he’d have shouldered it down.
Spencer sees him scan the room for threats, sees the confusion on his face when he sees there aren’t any creepy stalkers in the room. Normally he might write it off as Brendon being annoying, but there’s no question there was fear in Brendon’s voice, even through the door he had to have heard it. The confusion only gets deeper when he looks from Brendon who’s just a head in completely commandeered blankets, to Ryan, tall and naked, to Jon and Spencer, still half in the blankets but obviously curved.
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah, I think we’ve all said that once already.”
“You’re girls!”
“Yeah.” Jon continues. Spencer’s comfortable with him taking the speaking role, he really doesn’t want it. Hearing his voice sound so feminine makes him shudder.
“How the fuck-”
“Zack! You’re supposed to be the one who knows everything! Fix this.”
“Brendon, I do laundry and get crazy fans away from you. I don’t have a strategy for magic tits.”
Brendon looks on the verge of tumbling off the bed and kicking and screaming at the response. Spencer decides to take one for the team. Ryan’s method of freaking out and Brendon’s method aren’t very compatible, and if he doesn’t get them in separate rooms soon one of them will murder the other. Spencer really doesn’t want one of his boyfriends to murder another one, it would be so tacky and CSI storyline. “Me and Brendon are going to go get the stuff Ryan needs. We’ve got sisters, we know what to look for.”
He comes along easily enough, crawls out of his cocoon of blankets and pulls a pair of jeans over his boxers and the baggiest sweater he can find while Spencer does the same. But as soon as the door is closed he looks at Spencer and crosses his arms. Spencer feels envious for a moment. Brendon can almost make the movement like he could have last night, whereas Spencer is all bulgy and rubbing awkwardly against the fuzz of his hoodie. Small breasts are still breasts though, and it’s not like Brendon looks happy. He’s probably the least capable of dealing with them, really, considering he’s the only one of them to have never had a girlfriend.
“You do realise I was a Mormon, right? That shit wasn’t discussed.”
“So you’ve never seen a single pad in your life?” Predictably Brendon shuts up. Spencer can’t quite grin, but he feels better for stumping him.
It only lasts until they’re in the proper aisle. Spencer can’t even begin to understand how this is fascinating to Brendon, all he wants to do is grab a package and get out. But then this isn’t entirely about getting Ryan supplies, it’s just as much about letting Brendon get his nervous hyperactivity out, and if Brendon wants to read the package and explain what a cardboard applicator is, Spencer will deal. “Ohhhh, we should get him a diva cup. I mean, he is one.”
Correction; he will deal unless Brendon wants to do something that will make this all a hundred times worse. Spencer glares until Brendon happens to look up from the box and notices it. “We are not getting him something he needs to put inside him. He’ll beat you to death.”
“So no tampons then.” Spencer’s not going to answer that. He’s also not going to hit Brendon, for which he should feel grateful. “What about Cherokee hair tampons?”
“What the hell?”
“Seriously! Look at them.” Brendon points.
“Okay, that is the most disgusting thing ever. Honestly.”
Brendon wrinkles his nose. “Girls are gross.”
Normally Spencer would explain that they must be the Vanilla Coke of the feminine product world, that no woman would ever, ever use them. But that’s when three girls join them in the aisle. Spencer doesn’t normally eavesdrop, but he could use even a momentary distraction. The one in the orange zippered hoodie is barely understandable, voice heavily muffled. “Haven’t we done this before?”
“Yeah but this time isn’t some bullshit you all made up to exclude me and Stan.”
The fat girl turns to the one with a green hat. "This is all your fault you goddamn Jew.”
“Me? How is this my fault?”
“You have your dirty hippie ways.”
“Fuck you fat ass.”
Orange Hoodie smiles. “I’m gonna play with my tits all day.”
Green Hat ignores that, saying “we need to get some for Stan too.”
"Why, is he busy sucking Wendy’s dick?”
“You think he would?”
Orange Hoodie laughs as Fat Ass snipes “why don’t you just go and have a big gay threesome together.”
Spencer would really like to tell the fat girl she’s being a bitch, but he figures it’s a bad idea to piss off the locals. Especially if their bus isn’t ready, the last thing they need is for to mouth off then find out the mechanic is Fat Ass’s father. He's sure it isn't, Zack would be phoning them to come back to the hotel if it was. He grabs Stayfree, pretty sure that’s the brand his mom uses at home. If not, at least he’s seen commercials for it so it’s not a shitty brand that’ll leak or whatever. He’s sure that when it’s not blue dye leaking is a lot bigger problem.
When they get back to the hotel things have improved in some ways and haven’t in others. Ryan’s at least sitting down and wearing an old t-shirt of Jon’s. Spencer gives him the weird plastic bag-box and Ryan grabs an pair of underwear before locking himself in the bathroom. The shower turns on and Spencer knows seeing Ryan in anything less than an hour is unlikely.
It’s only half an hour later when he calls Pete. Pete is a bastard.
“Can’t you just wear hoodies?”
Spencer doesn’t see why the fuck he has to be the one discussing this with Pete. So what if Ryan is still showering, and Jon is out, and Brendon cannot be trusted because Pete could talk him into anything, and Zack is in the other room drinking heavily? It’s still not fair.
“No. Even if you take away the fact that Ryan Ross would never wear a hoodie on stage in his life, and if he did the entire audience might think he was dying, no. Jon’s got no beard. He’s got armpit length hair and no beard and he refuses to cut his hair because he thinks it’s the girl manifestation, yes, he actually said that, of his beard, and he fears if he cuts it off once we turn back his beard will be gone. And yeah, Brendon’s like an A cup, he could hide. If he kept his mouth closed. He’s soprano.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
“Panic at the Disco isn’t really a concert if only the drummer shows up?”
“Is that all you’ve got?”
Spencer groans. He’s pretty sure it’s a valid excuse. A session guitarist and bassist fine, but you can’t have a session lead vocalist. But Pete’s going to bother him until he answers. “I’m robust,” Spencer says with a wince, and begins the countdown from five.
When he gets to two Pete blurts “Spencer Smith are you stacked?”
Spencer hangs up. There are no levels to how much he’s not having that conversation with Pete.
Brendon waits until Jon’s back, an entire plastic bag full of comfort food like hot turkey sandwiches and peach licorice before he asks, “so what do we do now? If we’re not touring. Do we go home?”
“When I was getting everyone coffee,” Jon starts, passing out three cardboard cups and putting the fourth in the microwave for whenever Ryan is finally done, “and seriously that girl samples way too much of her own product. Twitchiest girl ever, and she kept pulling her hair, and when she wasn’t doing that she was letting out these little shrieks.”
“Sure the coffee isn’t laced with meth?”
“Try and see, I guess? But a few other people came in and apparently it’s the whole town. They didn’t even seem fased, just compared it to the time the entire town went metrosexual, and then someone else said having a dick was as annoying as the asshole aliens that wouldn’t stop breeding. This is a weird fucking town man. I’d say we either run for the hills and hope we revert once we’re out of the limits, or we stay and wait for one of them to figure it out.”
Spencer feels the need to point out “those are two completely opposing ideas.”
“So eenie meenie,” he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. Jon can be ridiculously, annoyingly chill sometimes. Spencer can only figure it’s all the weed. Which actually sounds like a wonderful idea. At this point he totally deserves a bowl. And maybe if they get stoned enough Brendon can have sex without getting freaking out about vagina. Female or not, wasting hotel time just seems wrong.
Title: Quiet Little Mountain Town
Pairing: Spencer/Jon/Ryan/Brendon
Rating: pg13
Wordcount: 2694
Summary: If Spencer had known what would happen when the bus broke down in some shitty little town in Colorado, he probably would have walked to the next venue. Unfortunately hindsight is 20/20.
Warnings: I wrote this for genderbent for AU bingo. There's also bigoted language.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author’s notes: You don't need to know anything special about South Park to read this, but if you do watch it there are references that will hopefully make you snicker.
Spencer never thought the ‘getting stranded in a town full of rednecks’ thing would happen to him. It’s a strictly two genre thing. Either you watch a horror movie in which the small town has a secret and ends up sacrificing you to a giant bug, or you watch a chick flick in which a woman needs a change of pace and finds herself falling in love with a gentle small business owner. Ryan might argue a third category, the Hallmark movies in which high powered business people find themselves liking the gruff townspeople and quit being a lawyer to live in the small town. But since there’s usually a ‘they fall in love’ subplot, Spencer considers it a subset of the second.
Ryan bickering with him or not, the point is getting stranded in a redneck town is a movie thing. Along with other ridiculous shit like hookers with hearts of gold, and falling in love with your best friend’s fiancee, and cloning, it’s not supposed to happen in real life. And yet somehow they are stranded in a place that only has one hotel, a main street actually called Main Street, and no fucking Wal-Mart.
Considering it’s slightly after midnight Spencer’s not all that surprised that everything is dead. He doesn’t even care, he just wants to sit somewhere and fuck around on his laptop. Since there’s no twenty four hour cafe, he votes for hotel, and Brendon and Jon firmly agree. Ryan winces at the woman who stumbles out of the one open bar with a bleach blonde beehive. Spencer knows that Ryan would probably rather sleep in the bus than entrust himself to the hotel. Unfortunately for him it's not exactly a choice. The driver says he’s going to get it towed to the repair place and he’ll meet them in the morning.
They get two rooms, for appearances sake, like always. Zack is past the point of being stoked at having a room to himself, it’s just routine. Unless there’s some sort of drama and Zack has to spend the rest of the night pretending Ryan isn’t crying because acknowledging it makes him worse, or playing cards with Jon and trying to convince him smoking through his whole stash in one night would be stupid, or letting Brendon plaster on his plastic smile and act like there’s no particular reason he decided to come in, or letting Spencer tell him the plot and dialogue of movies he’s already seen, Zack’s been sleeping alone for awhile.
Spencer does not approve of being woken up by Brendon shouting. He’s made that clear in the past, and they’ve spoken of Repercussions. Still, there’s Brendon screaming. Not even a real word, just “Urggh!”
Spencer grunts in warning. Brendon ignores it. “Ryan’s pissed the bed!”
“I didn’t!”
“The sheet is damp!”
Spencer buries his face, half in Jon’s shoulder, half in the pillow, and hopes that Brendon will shut the fuck up before he has to get out of the warm spot to strangle him. It’s possible that it’s just too early in the morning, but Brendon sounds high pitched. Spencer hopes the asshole doesn’t have a cold. They have a strict rule on no making out if someone’s sick, and since that’s basically Brendon’s foreplay it would put a damper on the hot sex he was planning to have with the three of them. You know, at a decent hour. Like eleven.
“Holy fuck, Ryan’s dying!” Brendon bellows.
“What?” Jon slurs. It’s not that Spencer wouldn’t care, he just thinks Brendon’s full of shit. If Ryan was dying the whole world would know from the production he would make of it. Shit, Ryan would probably make it a three part opera with costumes.
“It doesn’t smell like piss, it smells like blood.” Spencer doesn’t want to know how he knows. As the youngest sibling Brendon doesn’t even have the diaper excuse.
There’s a shuffle of sheets and he can even hear the snap of lamp dial being turned. Spencer knows with such attention to detail he’s probably screwed for getting back to sleep, but he’s not quite ready to surrender hope yet. He keeps his face firmly tucked into Jon’s shoulder. He doesn’t know how the fuck he manages to smell like wood chips, but he’s never going to complain about it.
“What. The fuck.” Ryan says, monotone. But Spencer has had a long time to learn nuances, and for that matter Brendon and Jon are pretty good at it too. It’s not the words so much as the tiny bits of tone that make Spencer open his eyes and sit up, Jon making the same movement behind him.
Spencer notices three things. One, Ryan turned the multi-brightness lamp attached to the wall to it’s brightest setting, making everything all glowy white. Two, Brendon’s right, there is a circle of blood on the nightstand side of the bed, which is the side Ryan always sleeps on, no matter what configuration everyone else falls asleep in around him. Three, Ryan, who is standing close to the foot of the bed, doesn’t have a dick. The problem with that is Ryan does have a dick. Spencer happens to be really goddamn well acquainted with Ryan’s dick, considering it was in his mouth last night, and on many occasions before that.
“What the fuck,” Spencer repeats. And shit his voice is all fucked up too. So technically it’s the most important that Brendon be able to speak. That doesn’t mean Spencer likes having a cold.
“Guys,” Jon says, and it’s clear he’s sick too. Spencer would make a joke about plague at the disco, but pretty much every fill in the blank at the disco joke stopped being funny years ago. “I think something fucked up happened.” Spencer arches back to look at Jon, and his hand is pressed flat to the place on his boxers where anatomy lessons say it should be cupped. Spencer’s hand immediately goes to his dick, but before he has a chance to scream about his not being there Brendon speaks up.
“You think the rednecks drugged us and cut our dicks off?” Even giving room for a cold fucking his throat up, Brendon’s voice still sounds wrong.
“You don’t think we would have woken up?”
“I said drugged.”
“And they sewed a wig to my scalp?” Spencer turns back again, and fucking hell, Jon’s got long hair. Spencer moves his hand to his head, his hair feels the right length. What’s wrong is that on the way back down his forearm snags. On his chest.
“Well I don’t fucking know! Ask Spencer then.”
“I think we’re women. Somehow we woke up women.” Jon sounds almost calm about it, and Spencer wants nothing more than to hit him in the face. His beardless face, which is fucking weird as hell. Possibly weirder than the curves Spencer can vaguely see under his t-shirt.
“ZACK. ZACK ZACK ZACK!” There’s no time to even consider telling Brendon to shut up, in the face of Jon’s calm Brendon explodes. And moments later Zack is bursting through the unlocked doors joining the room. Spencer’s got no question that if the door was locked he’d have shouldered it down.
Spencer sees him scan the room for threats, sees the confusion on his face when he sees there aren’t any creepy stalkers in the room. Normally he might write it off as Brendon being annoying, but there’s no question there was fear in Brendon’s voice, even through the door he had to have heard it. The confusion only gets deeper when he looks from Brendon who’s just a head in completely commandeered blankets, to Ryan, tall and naked, to Jon and Spencer, still half in the blankets but obviously curved.
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah, I think we’ve all said that once already.”
“You’re girls!”
“Yeah.” Jon continues. Spencer’s comfortable with him taking the speaking role, he really doesn’t want it. Hearing his voice sound so feminine makes him shudder.
“How the fuck-”
“Zack! You’re supposed to be the one who knows everything! Fix this.”
“Brendon, I do laundry and get crazy fans away from you. I don’t have a strategy for magic tits.”
Brendon looks on the verge of tumbling off the bed and kicking and screaming at the response. Spencer decides to take one for the team. Ryan’s method of freaking out and Brendon’s method aren’t very compatible, and if he doesn’t get them in separate rooms soon one of them will murder the other. Spencer really doesn’t want one of his boyfriends to murder another one, it would be so tacky and CSI storyline. “Me and Brendon are going to go get the stuff Ryan needs. We’ve got sisters, we know what to look for.”
He comes along easily enough, crawls out of his cocoon of blankets and pulls a pair of jeans over his boxers and the baggiest sweater he can find while Spencer does the same. But as soon as the door is closed he looks at Spencer and crosses his arms. Spencer feels envious for a moment. Brendon can almost make the movement like he could have last night, whereas Spencer is all bulgy and rubbing awkwardly against the fuzz of his hoodie. Small breasts are still breasts though, and it’s not like Brendon looks happy. He’s probably the least capable of dealing with them, really, considering he’s the only one of them to have never had a girlfriend.
“You do realise I was a Mormon, right? That shit wasn’t discussed.”
“So you’ve never seen a single pad in your life?” Predictably Brendon shuts up. Spencer can’t quite grin, but he feels better for stumping him.
It only lasts until they’re in the proper aisle. Spencer can’t even begin to understand how this is fascinating to Brendon, all he wants to do is grab a package and get out. But then this isn’t entirely about getting Ryan supplies, it’s just as much about letting Brendon get his nervous hyperactivity out, and if Brendon wants to read the package and explain what a cardboard applicator is, Spencer will deal. “Ohhhh, we should get him a diva cup. I mean, he is one.”
Correction; he will deal unless Brendon wants to do something that will make this all a hundred times worse. Spencer glares until Brendon happens to look up from the box and notices it. “We are not getting him something he needs to put inside him. He’ll beat you to death.”
“So no tampons then.” Spencer’s not going to answer that. He’s also not going to hit Brendon, for which he should feel grateful. “What about Cherokee hair tampons?”
“What the hell?”
“Seriously! Look at them.” Brendon points.
“Okay, that is the most disgusting thing ever. Honestly.”
Brendon wrinkles his nose. “Girls are gross.”
Normally Spencer would explain that they must be the Vanilla Coke of the feminine product world, that no woman would ever, ever use them. But that’s when three girls join them in the aisle. Spencer doesn’t normally eavesdrop, but he could use even a momentary distraction. The one in the orange zippered hoodie is barely understandable, voice heavily muffled. “Haven’t we done this before?”
“Yeah but this time isn’t some bullshit you all made up to exclude me and Stan.”
The fat girl turns to the one with a green hat. "This is all your fault you goddamn Jew.”
“Me? How is this my fault?”
“You have your dirty hippie ways.”
“Fuck you fat ass.”
Orange Hoodie smiles. “I’m gonna play with my tits all day.”
Green Hat ignores that, saying “we need to get some for Stan too.”
"Why, is he busy sucking Wendy’s dick?”
“You think he would?”
Orange Hoodie laughs as Fat Ass snipes “why don’t you just go and have a big gay threesome together.”
Spencer would really like to tell the fat girl she’s being a bitch, but he figures it’s a bad idea to piss off the locals. Especially if their bus isn’t ready, the last thing they need is for to mouth off then find out the mechanic is Fat Ass’s father. He's sure it isn't, Zack would be phoning them to come back to the hotel if it was. He grabs Stayfree, pretty sure that’s the brand his mom uses at home. If not, at least he’s seen commercials for it so it’s not a shitty brand that’ll leak or whatever. He’s sure that when it’s not blue dye leaking is a lot bigger problem.
When they get back to the hotel things have improved in some ways and haven’t in others. Ryan’s at least sitting down and wearing an old t-shirt of Jon’s. Spencer gives him the weird plastic bag-box and Ryan grabs an pair of underwear before locking himself in the bathroom. The shower turns on and Spencer knows seeing Ryan in anything less than an hour is unlikely.
It’s only half an hour later when he calls Pete. Pete is a bastard.
“Can’t you just wear hoodies?”
Spencer doesn’t see why the fuck he has to be the one discussing this with Pete. So what if Ryan is still showering, and Jon is out, and Brendon cannot be trusted because Pete could talk him into anything, and Zack is in the other room drinking heavily? It’s still not fair.
“No. Even if you take away the fact that Ryan Ross would never wear a hoodie on stage in his life, and if he did the entire audience might think he was dying, no. Jon’s got no beard. He’s got armpit length hair and no beard and he refuses to cut his hair because he thinks it’s the girl manifestation, yes, he actually said that, of his beard, and he fears if he cuts it off once we turn back his beard will be gone. And yeah, Brendon’s like an A cup, he could hide. If he kept his mouth closed. He’s soprano.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
“Panic at the Disco isn’t really a concert if only the drummer shows up?”
“Is that all you’ve got?”
Spencer groans. He’s pretty sure it’s a valid excuse. A session guitarist and bassist fine, but you can’t have a session lead vocalist. But Pete’s going to bother him until he answers. “I’m robust,” Spencer says with a wince, and begins the countdown from five.
When he gets to two Pete blurts “Spencer Smith are you stacked?”
Spencer hangs up. There are no levels to how much he’s not having that conversation with Pete.
Brendon waits until Jon’s back, an entire plastic bag full of comfort food like hot turkey sandwiches and peach licorice before he asks, “so what do we do now? If we’re not touring. Do we go home?”
“When I was getting everyone coffee,” Jon starts, passing out three cardboard cups and putting the fourth in the microwave for whenever Ryan is finally done, “and seriously that girl samples way too much of her own product. Twitchiest girl ever, and she kept pulling her hair, and when she wasn’t doing that she was letting out these little shrieks.”
“Sure the coffee isn’t laced with meth?”
“Try and see, I guess? But a few other people came in and apparently it’s the whole town. They didn’t even seem fased, just compared it to the time the entire town went metrosexual, and then someone else said having a dick was as annoying as the asshole aliens that wouldn’t stop breeding. This is a weird fucking town man. I’d say we either run for the hills and hope we revert once we’re out of the limits, or we stay and wait for one of them to figure it out.”
Spencer feels the need to point out “those are two completely opposing ideas.”
“So eenie meenie,” he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. Jon can be ridiculously, annoyingly chill sometimes. Spencer can only figure it’s all the weed. Which actually sounds like a wonderful idea. At this point he totally deserves a bowl. And maybe if they get stoned enough Brendon can have sex without getting freaking out about vagina. Female or not, wasting hotel time just seems wrong.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-30 08:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-10-15 09:44 pm (UTC)