The Voice of An Angel, the Voice of the Devil || DNF

404; dwindling start

The London streets were always filled with dancing, singing, laughter, and joy during the summers. Each and every one of them. There was never one dull moment that happened outside his window.

Some would assume that he was out at the bar, celebrating before their next concert. But, it was quite the opposite. He'd locked himself in his room for the past seven hours; working with their manager about the next concert, which was happening in about four days.

Their manager, Evander, had gotten behind schedule one morning, but he had reassured the band that all would be back to normal in two days. It hadn't, and now here George was, desperate to find outfits and which songs to do.

A knock on his door gently took him out of his thoughts. He finally looked away from his computer as he mumbled something somewhat incoherent. Nevertheless, the man on the opposite side seemed to take it as an invitation to enter.

The door to his room creaked open as Wilbur stepped inside with a coffee in his hand. He wordlessly placed it down on George's desk before sitting down on the bed against the wall. The covers were soft and velvet and plush pillows covered practically every inch.

"How's everything going?" Wilbur asked gently, watching George continue to type and response to Evander without a mere glance at the coffee sat on his desk.

"Fine, we almost have everything done, I just need to confirm something," George said, not looking at the man making himself comfortable on his bed.

"So we're back on track?" Wilbur stood up. George assumed it was because the man wanted to see the conversation between him and their manager, but he instead walked over to a window that gave him a view of the streets.

George leaned back in his chair, wincing as his back ached from being hunched over for so long. He stretched, arms straightening over his head as he yawned and spun to watch Wilbur stand before the window. "Yeah, thank god."

"What are you looking at?" he then asked.

Wilbur gave a slight tilt of his head. "Come look really quick."

Curious, George walked over to the window and peered through the glass, curiousity rising as he noticed a crowd swarming what looked like a group of people. He couldn't make out their faces from this distance, but they were walking closer.

"What the hell is happening?" he asked, looking over to the taller man.

Wilbur shrugged.

They watched in silence as two men urged the crowd the part, and slowly, it did, each side like a wave washing up to shore.

When the faces could finally be read, George's eyes widened.

"Take Me To Hell?" he gasped. "What are they doing here? They've never toured here."

Another shrug from Wilbur. "I have no clue. No wonder there's an enormous crowd."

George frowned and hummed as Wilbur stated he was going out for a snack; which held the words I'm checking the band out right in its hands.

He never liked them. It was stupid, honestly, but the band always got on his nerves.

They've been one of the top five bands in the world since practically ever, since they starting preforming. Every time George was sure they'd be close to the top five that year, Take Me To Hell would come out with another song or another concert.

404 was always top ten, and he was grateful, but it pissed him off how other bands never got a chance.

George knew this anger was from jealously, and he embraced it. He knew he was jealous and let it happen, let it turn his heart black and tear his mind apart.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he grabbed the coffee from the table and stepped outside of his room.

His band's house was a decent size, with a bedroom for each of them, plus a guest room, a good amount of bathrooms, and every other room that would be expected in a modern house. The only thing about their rooms was that Tommy's room was in the basement, so it was practically where he lived.

He walked down the stairs to enter their bedroom and waved to Quackity; sat on their comfortable couch with a pretty cat on his lap. Queenie, a ragdoll. Evander had surprised them with her as a little kitten and they all quickly fell in love.

Quackity perked up when George flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee and pulling out his phone to look at Twitter. "George! Finally, you're out of your room."

George shot him a playful glare. "Weren't you the one yelling at me to talk to Evander about it?"

A frown. "Shush."

George laughed, which quickly turned into a coo when Queenie decided to fall asleep in his lap instead, causing the drummer to scowl and cross his arms in a dramatic pout. He whined about something along the lines of 'why do you have to be the favorite?' before standing up and heading into the kitchen for a snack.

George rolled his eyes, but he then frowned when he saw a post.

@dreamofficial

hey @the404 , we're in london, and i heard you
guys have a concert this weekend
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15.2k retweets 200.4k likes
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|@wilbursoot

maybe we do...
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10k retweets 190k likes
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|@rose.exe

omg collab????
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30 retweets 450 likes
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|@tommyinnit

holy shit i get to meet dream?!
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13.3k retweets 200.2k likes
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   |@dreamofficial

   i get to meet tommy?!
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   14k retweets 198k likes
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George stood up with Queenie on his shoulder and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of orange juice. "Why do I feel like this entire band fans over Take Me To Hell but me?"

Quackity said, "Well, you do have some internal beef with them or something."

He scoffed. "I do not."

Quackity hummed. "Whatever you say, man."

The front door opened and in walked Wilbur, a grin on his face as he held up a box. "Anyone want donuts?"

"Donuts?" another voice joined in and Tommy walked into the living room from the basement stairs.

"When did you get up here?" Quackity asked.

"I was coming up for a snack, but then I heard Wil say 'donuts'," Tommy said.

George snorted before saying thanks to Wilbur as a grabbed one from the box.

Wilbur said, "Oh, I was going to tell you guys, Evander wants us to come to the studio to warm up a couple songs we want to do for the concert."

Tommy tilted his head. "Did Gogy finally figure out which ones he wanted to do?"

George shot him a glare. "Fuck off, dude--" he looked at Wilbur-- "did he say which ones?"

Wilbur shook his head and said, "Not specifically, just ones the he thinks we could work on."

Quackity shoved his donut in his mouth a snatched his keys from the rack that held all of theirs. "We're taking my car, and I'm driving."

Leaving no room for argument, the drummer left the house.

Wilbur sighed. "He's going to get us killed."