I write sins, not tragedies..., chapter 1
"Ugh.... so god damn tired... and its annoying to hear our same song, over and over again." He yawned.
"As soon as the new video is done, I'll be happy..."
He sat on his bed, Brendan Urie, the lead of the great new band Panic! At the Disco, they had really been gaining a reputation with their hit single, I write sins, Not tragedies.
He had come home after a long day of filming for their new video, The only difference between Martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.
He laid down on the bed, completely exhausted.
Soon, after a long silence, he dozed off.
"Master Urie, wake up, Master Urie!"
Brendan woke, he was still sleepy. Looking around, all he saw was some white faces surrounding him.
"Aaah!" he yelled and shot up.
He was surrounded by mimes.
He looked around, he saw nothing but numerous amounts of caravans, old carts, and horses.
He glanced at his hands, he was wearing white gloves, and then his chest, he was in a red outfit. He touched his head, what was supposed to be his hair was covered with a sharp top hat.
"You are awake sire," said one of the mimes again.
"Who the fuck are you! Leave me alone!"
He wasn't taking this too well, he had just dozed off, it must be a dream again.
"Sire, you have been out for some time."
"And stop calling me that! What the fuck do you want with me?"
The mimes looked puzzled.
"You must have hit your head when the elephant ran into you, Master Urie."
"What the fuck are-" But Brendan jumped up and he heard a loud sound behind him, he spun round to see a huge grey elehant.
"Holy shit!"
He jumped up and stepped back.
It all seemed familiar, then he remembered the video.
"What... This has to be a weird dream..."
One of the mimes walked over.
"I shall escort you to your cabin, sire."
He decided to follow the mime out of curiosity. He had a huge cabin,
with the word 'RING LEADER' painted on it.
He walked in and there was a short, but slim young man with a heavy head of hair. He was dressed in some kind of 18th century clothes.
"Master Urie!" he jumped.
Brendan recognised him right away, it was his bandmate that played bass, Brent.
"Sire, may I get you a drink?"
He walked up to him. He hda a frightened look in his eyes.
"Brent? What the fuck is going on? Whats happening? Are we still-"
"Sire, I thought you never spoke the devils language." Interrupted Brent.
Brendan looked confused, Brent quickly apolagised.
It was as if he was scared of him.
"I hear you were knocked out by the elephant sire, care for me to explain?"
Brendan was about to explode with questions, but then said yes.
"Okay Master Urie, Tis the year 1832 You are Brendanson Uriclastle, but you shortened it to Brendan Urie, and we are a travelling circus, but we are not the ordinary circus, you write sins, that become tragedies, as you have a type of magic, and then you choose a destined area, and we all go, and whoever the victim of the sin or tragedy is, they become one of your circus people. Do you undertsand, sire?"
Brendan tried to take it all in, but he couldn't. He nodded, though still in confusion.
He thought for a moment,
"And where is the next tragedy going to be? Not what town, just where?"
Brent was silent and then spoke,
"I believe, Sire, that the next area, is at a church. The tragedy is a couple getting married, as you put it, the groomsbride is a-"
"Whore." Brendan finished.
What was happening?
He thought for a moment,
"As soon as the new video is done, I'll be happy..."
He sat on his bed, Brendan Urie, the lead of the great new band Panic! At the Disco, they had really been gaining a reputation with their hit single, I write sins, Not tragedies.
He had come home after a long day of filming for their new video, The only difference between Martyrdom and suicide is press coverage.
He laid down on the bed, completely exhausted.
Soon, after a long silence, he dozed off.
"Master Urie, wake up, Master Urie!"
Brendan woke, he was still sleepy. Looking around, all he saw was some white faces surrounding him.
"Aaah!" he yelled and shot up.
He was surrounded by mimes.
He looked around, he saw nothing but numerous amounts of caravans, old carts, and horses.
He glanced at his hands, he was wearing white gloves, and then his chest, he was in a red outfit. He touched his head, what was supposed to be his hair was covered with a sharp top hat.
"You are awake sire," said one of the mimes again.
"Who the fuck are you! Leave me alone!"
He wasn't taking this too well, he had just dozed off, it must be a dream again.
"Sire, you have been out for some time."
"And stop calling me that! What the fuck do you want with me?"
The mimes looked puzzled.
"You must have hit your head when the elephant ran into you, Master Urie."
"What the fuck are-" But Brendan jumped up and he heard a loud sound behind him, he spun round to see a huge grey elehant.
"Holy shit!"
He jumped up and stepped back.
It all seemed familiar, then he remembered the video.
"What... This has to be a weird dream..."
One of the mimes walked over.
"I shall escort you to your cabin, sire."
He decided to follow the mime out of curiosity. He had a huge cabin,
with the word 'RING LEADER' painted on it.
He walked in and there was a short, but slim young man with a heavy head of hair. He was dressed in some kind of 18th century clothes.
"Master Urie!" he jumped.
Brendan recognised him right away, it was his bandmate that played bass, Brent.
"Sire, may I get you a drink?"
He walked up to him. He hda a frightened look in his eyes.
"Brent? What the fuck is going on? Whats happening? Are we still-"
"Sire, I thought you never spoke the devils language." Interrupted Brent.
Brendan looked confused, Brent quickly apolagised.
It was as if he was scared of him.
"I hear you were knocked out by the elephant sire, care for me to explain?"
Brendan was about to explode with questions, but then said yes.
"Okay Master Urie, Tis the year 1832 You are Brendanson Uriclastle, but you shortened it to Brendan Urie, and we are a travelling circus, but we are not the ordinary circus, you write sins, that become tragedies, as you have a type of magic, and then you choose a destined area, and we all go, and whoever the victim of the sin or tragedy is, they become one of your circus people. Do you undertsand, sire?"
Brendan tried to take it all in, but he couldn't. He nodded, though still in confusion.
He thought for a moment,
"And where is the next tragedy going to be? Not what town, just where?"
Brent was silent and then spoke,
"I believe, Sire, that the next area, is at a church. The tragedy is a couple getting married, as you put it, the groomsbride is a-"
"Whore." Brendan finished.
What was happening?
He thought for a moment,
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