Ryden Oneshots

Eurora

The whole class turned to stare at Brendon when he entered the classroom. The walls were a gray color with various posters pinned to it. The posters had incomprehensible words and phrases written on them.

A middle-aged teacher was standing behind an oak desk. She was trying in vain to capture the class’s attention. Brendon gazed around the room, noting that there were more then a few students missing. Clearly, wagging school was an issue.

The teacher followed the class’s gaze. “Ah, you must be Brendon?” she said, slowly and intentionally. Brendon stared at her blankly, only recognising his name. He nodded, feigning coherence. The teacher beckoned him over. Brendon trotted over to her hesitantly. 

“Children, this is Brendon Urie,” the teacher said, talking to the class. Everyone looked at Brendon expectantly. 

“Ich weiß nicht, wie zu sprechen Englisch,” (I do not know how to speak english) said Brendon uncomfortably, looking over at the teacher. Comprehension clouded the teacher’s face and she looked back at the class.

“Would anyone like to take Brendon to the German teacher?” asked the teacher. A boy with hazel eyes raised his hand slowly, wanting to get out of the classroom, and he was also rather keen to get a closer look at Brendon.

“Okay, Ryan,” said the teacher. Ryan stood, picking his bag up off the ground and walking over to the teacher’s desk. He grabbed Brendon’s forearm and dragged him out of the room. Ryan released Brendon’s arm once they’d exited, Ryan turned and looked at Brendon warily, unsure how to communicate with him. 

“Uh,” mumbled Ryan. He pointed at Brendon, then to himself and made a motion on his hand that was supposed to imitate someone walking. Brendon blinked. Ryan bit his lip, beckoning Brendon over and turned around. He began to walk down the empty hall, hoping Brendon would get the drift. He did. Ryan heard light footsteps padding along behind him as he led the way to the German teacher’s classroom.

“You can’t speak English?” wondered Ryan out loud, slowing down slightly so he and Brendon could walk in unison. Brendon stared blankly at the ground and continued walking, giving no indication that he’d heard Ryan. Ryan was slightly embarrassed at his obvious question and grateful that Brendon hadn’t understood. 

Ryan stopped abruptly outside the German classroom, quickly stepping aside to avoid a collision with Brendon. Ryan opened the door swiftly and entered, Brendon trailing quickly behind. The German teacher, Mr. Stelmaschuck, looked up at the boys as they entered the room. Ryan shut the door behind them. “What can I do you for, boys?” asked Mr. Stelmaschuck, his deep voice echoing around the room.

“Um, this is Brendon, he’s a new kid from Germany, and I don’t think he knows how to speak English,” said Ryan, pacing over to the teacher’s desk. They both turned to look at Brendon, who looked rather nervous. 

“Wie geht es Ihnen, Brendon?” (How are you, Brendon?) asked the German teacher warmly. Relief flooded through Brendon as he recognised his own tongue. 

“I mögen es nicht, hier,” (I do not like it, here) replied Brendon, his voice bitter. Ryan’s eyes travelled from teacher to student as they conversed. 

“Ah, ja. Würden Sie gerne mit mir zu bleiben Sie heute?” (Ah yes. Would you like to stay with me today?) Brendon thought about the teacher’s question briefly; he’d very much like to have someone that he could understand and vice versa. But having a teacher following him around all day would probably ensure that Brendon would get noticed and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Brendon looked at Ryan, who was looking back at him intently. 

“Nein, aber kann ich mit ihm bleiben?” (No, but can I stay with him?) asked Brendon, gesturing towards Ryan. The teacher turned to face Ryan.