Mad as Jazzmen |1930s Ryden AU| ✔️

-10-

It was well after midnight when Brendon left the Pontalba Apartments.  He slinked past the front desk, clad in all black, and stepped out into the misty streets of New Orleans.  Only the faint orange glow of the streetlights were there to guide his way.

There was an eerie vibe to the city at night, especially when he was alone.  With Ryan it was one thing, but now, it was just him, and he was able to experience every little thing he couldn't with another person.

The air was damp.  That part was obvious, but it was the atmosphere of it that really chilled him to the core.  Mist surrounded him, and the way the streetlights sliced through the droplets made the isolated streets all the creepier.  It was silent, except for the pitter patter of his footsteps against the wet concrete.  The breeze whistled.  He could hear the faint sound of the ocean waves in the distance.  Not a soul was in sight, and he truly felt like he was the only person left on Earth.

Jon had said he lived on the outskirts of town.  Where exactly that was, Brendon didn't know, but he had a hunch he'd find it eventually.  He had to.  Jon would help them.  He knew he would.

An old newspaper blew across the empty street, the rustling of the paper sending chills down Brendon's spine.  The wind had seemed to pick up, and it was cold.  It was so much colder than it had been before.  He was in New Orleans.  Surely it didn't get this cold, even at night.

Regardless, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued on his way, trying to his best to ignore the sickening feeling of someone watching him from the shadows of the alleyways.

He couldn't tell Ryan and Spencer where he was going.  They'd try to convince him otherwise, tell him they could handle it themselves, but Brendon knew better than that.  They were prideful, but no one could pay off a foreclosure on their own.  They needed help, and Brendon was sure Jon wouldn't hesitate to jump on board.  He'd made a promise to keep them safe, and he was fulfilling just that.

The outskirts of town just screamed dangerous.  Old, broken down shacks and buildings, flickering streetlights, the distant sound of growling dogs.  Brendon was starting to question his decision to do this at night.  Maybe he had misheard Jon.  Maybe Jon didn't live in the broken down, crime-filled part of New Orleans.  Maybe he was going to get eaten by wild dogs if he didn't get out of the empty streets.  Who knew.

He heard a meow then, a low, guttural meow, and a streak of black raced past his leg.  He nearly jumped out of his socks when he saw a pair of angry amber eyes staring back at him from the darkness.

So he was going to get eaten by a wild cat instead.  What a turn of events.

"Jynx!"  a voice suddenly snapped from the shadows.

Jon stood in the doorway of a small hut, completely barefoot and clad in loose, dark clothing.  Brendon had never been more relieved to have a man save him from a cat in his life.

"How many times have I told you to treat our guests with respect?"  Jon went on, and to Brendon's surprise, the black cat watched him with wide, amber eyes.  It even seemed to shrink into the streets out of shame.  Was Jon some kind of cat whisperer?

When Jon glanced up at Brendon, he flashed him a smile.  "Sorry about that,"  he said.  "Jynx is a bit protective.  She's a night patroller."

"Don't sweat it,"  was all Brendon could manage.  He didn't even know what to think anymore, especially as Jynx stalked past Jon's legs and disappeared into the hut.  Out of all kinds of cats, of course Jon had to have a black one.  Probably just to scare away people who strolled around at night, just like Brendon had been, and he had to admit, it worked flawlessly.  If Jon hadn't appeared, he would've made a break for it.  He wasn't planning on getting eaten by a cat any time soon.