Lady of Sin City (BRENDON URIE)

03

Hey you, can I learn your flavor? It's brand new. Now it's in the papers; all I seem to see. Must be something underneath." - Black Coast ft. M.Maggie "TRNDSTTR"

Usually whenever Lolita called people it consisted of five minutes of someone wanting to talk naughty before scheduling regular naughty. But this Brendon Urie, as he had introduced himself, was far different than her usual. True, he was painfully similar to the complainers who wanted to go at it even though they were married but he told her a story of some outside relationship. He showed her loyalty, a very peculiar trait in Las Vegas especially. She had seen too many men hastily stuff rings in their pockets, but it seemed as though Brendon would keep his on until the figurative end. It reminded her that not all good characteristics were dead in the lifeless life she lived. So she willingly talked. Now, aimlessly wandering the Strip didn't exactly achieve much. Unfortunately for any person, like her, familiar with casinos knew that there was any signal to make calls. So she had to make do with conversing with him and traveling to nowhere in general. Lolita ignored the stares of feral hunger and lust in the eyes of many a passing strangers, walking and talking to this Brendon.

His realization was so amusing. Did Brendon know even understand his true self? Could he not even read his own emotions, infer things from his own actions? She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her dress, closing her eyes as she listened to him call her a heartless whore. She laughed. Lolita thought it was amusing. Those two words probably described her more than any other words. She had lost the humanity a long time ago, had become nothing more than a machine really. A machine that did not run on fuel or electricity. She was powered by a constant hatred of something, a desire to fade into mere nothingness some day.

"You're talking to me," she told him, smiling lopsidedly. He paused, a longer silence than before. There was a shuffling sound of blankets being untangled from feet and someone standing up. He was most likely getting up, possibly shifting to stare out the window.

"Yeah. I am." He pointed out the obvious, humor lacing his own voice. Suddenly it didn't seem so dead, as it had just moments before. "So, Lolita.." he began. "What's your favorite color?"

"Red." She smirked, shaking her head {a/n s.h.h sorry had to bye}

"Why?"

"Red can be used to define so many things. It's associated with danger, horror, sex, love. It can be your rage, it can be your love." She shrugged, though he wouldn't have been able to see that. It just seemed necessary with her explanation as she raked her hands through her hair. "And you?"

"Same. Except my reasons aren't as deep as yours." He laughed. Her own grin widened.

"What is your favorite meal?" She inquired.

"Give me pizza and beer and I'll be happy." Brendon responded. "Et toi?"

"I guess I enjoy...tom yum."

"What the hell is that?" Brendon snorted. "That sounds like some deep fried cat shit or something weird like that."

"It's a Thai spicy and sweet soup." Lolita scoffed. Her other phone buzzed; Eduardo was most likely concerned as to why she was engaged in such a long conversation on her work phone. She quickly exclaimed, "One moment, sorry," as she put the phone into the half-open purse and picked up the other one.

"Lola, what the carajo are you doing? You know how many guys are asking to call you and you're just chatting away with some guy who doesn't get enough fuck-time with his girl?" Eduardo hissed.

"Just give me two more minutes and I'll be ready, Eduardo," Eyes widened in disgust, Lolita softly growled back at him. "And it's Lolita, you lazy hijo de mil putas." She hung up, not waiting for him to react or yell at her and threaten to cut back on her paycheck, and apologized to Brendon. "Mr. Urie-"

"Shut up and call me Brendon." He cut her off.

"Well then, Brendon. I'm going to send you a text message from another number. It will be me. I would hate to force you to converse with me on my...professional number." Lolita was careful with her choice of words. He let out an, 'ah', understanding as to what she meant. "Goodbye," she hastily ended the call and remembered the number on her screen , typing it onto her personal phone. She sent a quick text message, a simple "It's Lolita" before her phone started aggressively ringing with business calls.

"I hope you're worth what little time I have, Urie," she muttered as she regained her smug composure and twiddling her hair, picked up the phone, "I bet you're dyiinngg to see me," she cooed. Ah, Lolita Jackson had appeared again as quickly as she had went.