Dallon scoffed, taking another sip of his coffee. It wasn't difficult to miss the judgement radiating off him and his posh suit. "You've lost your mind, Urie," he said with a chuckle. "What, is the big city too much for the little wheat? Can't handle the noise and excitement this place brings?"
"What?" Brendon was taken aback. Where the hell had Dallon pulled that from? He had just asked a simple question. He wasn't being a pest, although to Dallon, he was sure his mere existence was a nuisance.
Instead of answering him, though, Dallon traced the brim of the mug with his fingertip, his harsh gaze not once leaving Brendon's puzzled face. Their encounters seemed to get more and more confusing and frustrating every single time they met. Brendon hardly knew what to think of it anymore.
"Forget it," he finally scoffed, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. "You're no help to me. I'll just be on my way."
"Have a good afternoon, Urie," Dallon smirked as Brendon turned to leave the lobby. "Have fun taking care of your disturbed and sickly friends. Oh, and don't forget that next month's rent is due in a week! You can kiss your life in New Orleans goodbye if you forget to pay up!"
Brendon ignored him as the door to the complex slammed shut behind him.
* * * * *
Brendon knew something was wrong the moment he saw that the door to Jon's hut was ever so slightly cracked open, letting the shadows from the inside spill out onto the damp streets. Jon always kept his door closed, and locked up, for that matter. Panic flooded through Brendon's veins at the thought of his worst fears coming to life before his eyes.
"Jon? Are ya in here?" Brendon called out hesitantly as he pushed the creaky door open; the interior was just as barren and lifeless as the streets outside. "Jon? Hello?"
But the only answer he received was the echo of his own voice.
Some of the candles were still burning, melted wax spilling down the sides and flooding the shelves they rested on. Everything was still in its proper place as far as Brendon knew, so it was unlikely anything had happened inside the hut. That was a relief, but still, the unanswered question burned and boiled inside Brendon's chest, and it only fueled his growing anxiety with every passing second.
Where was Jon?
Brendon searched the hut as thoroughly as he could, desperate to find any clues as to where Jon had vanished. The skull was still on the old table. All the books were still coated with a thick layer of dust. The cot in the corner looked as if it hadn't been touched in days. Had Jon not been home since that one stormy night?
Fear gripped Brendon's heart. Jon was his only hope for paying the crippling debt that hung over The Spotted Cat's head, and he might as well have been the only person left in the city who Brendon felt comfortable talking to. Spencer could barely speak anymore. Brendon was far too uneasy around Ryan nowadays, and Dallon was obviously off the list. Jon was the only person he felt like he could share his feelings with, because Jon wasn't one for holding back his emotions. He was an open book. Maybe that was why Brendon liked him so much.
That, and of course Jynx was a definite bonus.
Now that he thought of the sleek black cat, he wondered where she was, too. He hadn't been greeted with a friendly meow, and he hadn't been mesmerized by her mysterious amber eyes. Had she gone off the grid like her master, as well?
Then, in the midst of his search, Brendon stumbled across a folded-up note tucked away under the skull. His heart picked up its pace as he grabbed the note to read its contents.
YOU ARE READING
Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️
Fanfiction"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing." * * * The Great Depression was, by far, one of the worst tragedies in the history of the world. People drowned in debt. Banks were ruined. The stock market was broken and unreliable. But one...
