bandom fic: nostalgic for disaster | audrey kitching | 1k+
Title: Nostalgic For Disaster
Pairing: Audrey Kitching, Sarah/Brendon, Audrey/Brendon
Rating: T
Word Count: 1k+
Summary: It's always the wrong window for the right opportunity.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people.
::
Audrey is a creature that is a strange mix. If she were a tree, she would be one torn between an evergreen and one that is deciduous, that's how indecisive she is about things. She signed a contract a few years ago to say her hair would remain pink -- that doesn't mean she's tried as many ways to get around it as she can. She's had bright, obnoxious pink, colored streaks, blonde in it, black in it, green ends -- really, she could go on. She tries to be private and then she doesn't, she hasn't had a boyfriend in God knows how long, Waffle takes up most of her affections and, well. Life's pretty much a rut right now.
She's currently sporting pastel pink hair and a pale complexion (ha, does that ever change) with a small fuck-the-world attitude flitting through her system. Her blogging is going downhill because all kids care about is Lady Gaga and their new thing is to dub Audrey as a 'wannabe.' Had she of been three years younger she'd have turned around and told them to go fuck themselves. Now, she just sighs and closes her laptop, because she doesn't want to see another little face of a girl with a too-large side fringe telling her she's out of date.
::
She's walked through L.A in full make up and high heels so many times just to get a cup of coffee, and found that it's far more comfortable (and far quicker) to do so in flats and tights instead. She can't forgo the make up though. Her mother used to sit with her when she younger and say, 'never leave the house without make up on, Audrey, you never know who might see you.' It was something she took to heart and has carried out ever since.
That's why, when she's browsing through one of her favorite Op-shops, she's glad she did remember what her mother said.
::
She comes here often, generally on a Saturday around midday when all the new stuff is in. The racks are high and piled haphazardly with clothes and scarves and hats and everything else that can be perched precariously atop another something. She's kind-of-friendly with the guy who volunteers there -- Chris -- he's from Cali originally, and he once told her a really long story about how he got really, really blazed out on the rocks at dusk with his ex-boyfriend and then had sex in the sand. Audrey had raised a brow and said, "ouch." He'd laughed, made a face, and then said, "yeah, yeah ouch is right."
"Do you want to dig through this?"
Audrey's pilfering a rather wobbly rack of brightly colored jackets when Chris comes up behind her brandishing a rather big bag over flowing with something satin.
"Awesome, thanks." She takes the bag from him. "How're things?"
"Eh," the blonde makes a rather non-committable sound, and an equally nonchalant hand gesture. "Slow, hot, boring." Audrey can understand that. She's the only one the shop, has been since she walked in. He looks at her over his glasses. "You?"
She shrugs, spotting a pretty silver top and setting it aside to try on later. "Pretty decent, I suppose. I'm kind of in between things at the moment, so." She leaves the sentence hanging, choosing to look at a denim jacket instead. "I'm gonna go try some stuff on." She waves a handful of clothing at him and he nods, sifting through another pile of clothes on the counter.
He turns the radio up when she's behind the cloth-curtain, and she can hear him humming off-key to the slow, indie beat. She's just managed to disentangle her current top from her hair when she realizes she hasn't picked up the silver top from earlier. "Fuck." She sticks her head out the curtain and looks for Chris. He isn't at the counter. "Shit." Glancing around, she slips out in her bra and rushes down to where she'd left her top.
She can see it over the top of another rack, so she ducks around the corner and -- dashes straight into someone else.
Oh my fucking God. Mortified, she grabs the nearest thing off of a rack and clutches it to her chest, "I'm sorry!" She says as she looks down to make sure she's appropriately covered. "Really, really sorry." Fuck, what the hell did she pick up? Pants. Of all the things... "I just wanted my top --"
She looks up, finally, and feels her jaw drop before she can even attempt to stop it. Of all the people, of all the places, of all the fucking scenarios.
Brendon is obviously trying not to laugh, and Audrey wants to smack him. Brendon Urie. What the hell kind of joke is this?
"I'm not so sorry," she snaps, tucking the pants around her torso, embarrassment fueling her anger.
"Bren? Who are you talking to?"
Oh fuck.
Audrey feels herself cringe inwardly as Sarah comes up behind Brendon, an arm around his waist as she looks over his shoulder. Her eyes widen and she looks just as shocked as Audrey felt a few moments ago.
"Oh," she says, and then shuts her mouth. Her eyes flick down to Audrey's attempt at modesty and then back up to her face. Her expression is not as amused as Brendon's is. "Hi there."
Audrey isn't stupid. She can practically taste the scorn and feel the sneer that Sarah wants to come out with. She smiles sarcastically back at her, "hi there, who are you?"
It's obvious she knows who she is, but the jab works, and Sarah's face flatlines. "Sarah." She offers dryly.
"My girlfriend," says Brendon, and when Audrey looks at him he's giving her the look he used to give her when they were eighteen and she was being too rude to Ryan fucking Ross.
Audrey doesn't smile. "Charming."
"Oh hey, Audrey, did you like any of -- uhm, where's your shirt?" Chris comes around then, opportune moment, and raises his brows at her.
Audrey walks over and snatches the silver top off the rack. "Here." She snaps, and then turns around and heads back towards the changing rooms.
Behind her, she hears Sarah say, "seriously, Brendon?"
Stinging, Audrey raises her hand over her shoulder and waggles her fingers at them in a sarcastic wave, "see you around, Brenny-bear."
At least her face was made-up and her feelings weren't hurt. Right?
~Fin.
Pairing: Audrey Kitching, Sarah/Brendon, Audrey/Brendon
Rating: T
Word Count: 1k+
Summary: It's always the wrong window for the right opportunity.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people.
::
Audrey is a creature that is a strange mix. If she were a tree, she would be one torn between an evergreen and one that is deciduous, that's how indecisive she is about things. She signed a contract a few years ago to say her hair would remain pink -- that doesn't mean she's tried as many ways to get around it as she can. She's had bright, obnoxious pink, colored streaks, blonde in it, black in it, green ends -- really, she could go on. She tries to be private and then she doesn't, she hasn't had a boyfriend in God knows how long, Waffle takes up most of her affections and, well. Life's pretty much a rut right now.
She's currently sporting pastel pink hair and a pale complexion (ha, does that ever change) with a small fuck-the-world attitude flitting through her system. Her blogging is going downhill because all kids care about is Lady Gaga and their new thing is to dub Audrey as a 'wannabe.' Had she of been three years younger she'd have turned around and told them to go fuck themselves. Now, she just sighs and closes her laptop, because she doesn't want to see another little face of a girl with a too-large side fringe telling her she's out of date.
::
She's walked through L.A in full make up and high heels so many times just to get a cup of coffee, and found that it's far more comfortable (and far quicker) to do so in flats and tights instead. She can't forgo the make up though. Her mother used to sit with her when she younger and say, 'never leave the house without make up on, Audrey, you never know who might see you.' It was something she took to heart and has carried out ever since.
That's why, when she's browsing through one of her favorite Op-shops, she's glad she did remember what her mother said.
::
She comes here often, generally on a Saturday around midday when all the new stuff is in. The racks are high and piled haphazardly with clothes and scarves and hats and everything else that can be perched precariously atop another something. She's kind-of-friendly with the guy who volunteers there -- Chris -- he's from Cali originally, and he once told her a really long story about how he got really, really blazed out on the rocks at dusk with his ex-boyfriend and then had sex in the sand. Audrey had raised a brow and said, "ouch." He'd laughed, made a face, and then said, "yeah, yeah ouch is right."
"Do you want to dig through this?"
Audrey's pilfering a rather wobbly rack of brightly colored jackets when Chris comes up behind her brandishing a rather big bag over flowing with something satin.
"Awesome, thanks." She takes the bag from him. "How're things?"
"Eh," the blonde makes a rather non-committable sound, and an equally nonchalant hand gesture. "Slow, hot, boring." Audrey can understand that. She's the only one the shop, has been since she walked in. He looks at her over his glasses. "You?"
She shrugs, spotting a pretty silver top and setting it aside to try on later. "Pretty decent, I suppose. I'm kind of in between things at the moment, so." She leaves the sentence hanging, choosing to look at a denim jacket instead. "I'm gonna go try some stuff on." She waves a handful of clothing at him and he nods, sifting through another pile of clothes on the counter.
He turns the radio up when she's behind the cloth-curtain, and she can hear him humming off-key to the slow, indie beat. She's just managed to disentangle her current top from her hair when she realizes she hasn't picked up the silver top from earlier. "Fuck." She sticks her head out the curtain and looks for Chris. He isn't at the counter. "Shit." Glancing around, she slips out in her bra and rushes down to where she'd left her top.
She can see it over the top of another rack, so she ducks around the corner and -- dashes straight into someone else.
Oh my fucking God. Mortified, she grabs the nearest thing off of a rack and clutches it to her chest, "I'm sorry!" She says as she looks down to make sure she's appropriately covered. "Really, really sorry." Fuck, what the hell did she pick up? Pants. Of all the things... "I just wanted my top --"
She looks up, finally, and feels her jaw drop before she can even attempt to stop it. Of all the people, of all the places, of all the fucking scenarios.
Brendon is obviously trying not to laugh, and Audrey wants to smack him. Brendon Urie. What the hell kind of joke is this?
"I'm not so sorry," she snaps, tucking the pants around her torso, embarrassment fueling her anger.
"Bren? Who are you talking to?"
Oh fuck.
Audrey feels herself cringe inwardly as Sarah comes up behind Brendon, an arm around his waist as she looks over his shoulder. Her eyes widen and she looks just as shocked as Audrey felt a few moments ago.
"Oh," she says, and then shuts her mouth. Her eyes flick down to Audrey's attempt at modesty and then back up to her face. Her expression is not as amused as Brendon's is. "Hi there."
Audrey isn't stupid. She can practically taste the scorn and feel the sneer that Sarah wants to come out with. She smiles sarcastically back at her, "hi there, who are you?"
It's obvious she knows who she is, but the jab works, and Sarah's face flatlines. "Sarah." She offers dryly.
"My girlfriend," says Brendon, and when Audrey looks at him he's giving her the look he used to give her when they were eighteen and she was being too rude to Ryan fucking Ross.
Audrey doesn't smile. "Charming."
"Oh hey, Audrey, did you like any of -- uhm, where's your shirt?" Chris comes around then, opportune moment, and raises his brows at her.
Audrey walks over and snatches the silver top off the rack. "Here." She snaps, and then turns around and heads back towards the changing rooms.
Behind her, she hears Sarah say, "seriously, Brendon?"
Stinging, Audrey raises her hand over her shoulder and waggles her fingers at them in a sarcastic wave, "see you around, Brenny-bear."
At least her face was made-up and her feelings weren't hurt. Right?
~Fin.