Brendon Urie: Dreamer Extraordinaire

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Ryan slams the old wooden door and throws his leather shoulder bag behind the counter with a distressed growl. Jon appears from the bag with an easy smile, amusement clear on his face. He’s worked with Ryan long enough now to realise that no matter how pissy his mood is, he’s the most nonviolent twig Jon has ever met, and the trees are particularly calm this rotation.

‘Careful with the door Ross, it’s an antique, older than you.’ Jon jokes and bends down by the shelf to scan through the assorted glass jars, picking one labelled ‘Burker Root 2/50mg’.

Ryan simply frowns and grumbles as he beings to shovel dead rats into the small, metal bowls now lined up on the counter. It’s only 6.30am so, despite Ryan being late, he still has plenty of time before opening.

Jon takes a longer look at Ryan as he joins him behind the counter and pulls on the latex gloves, snapping each with practised skill. ‘Bad dreams still?’ He questions, hands reaching down to open the jar, eyes still trailed on Ryan.

‘No.’ Ryan sighs and throws the scoop back into the box, replacing the lid and picking up 4 of the newly filled bowls.

Jon raises an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

‘No dreams.’ Ryan says in a surprisingly acidic tone.

‘That’s a bad thing?’ Jon laughs a little disbelievingly. He’d been wishing for that most of his life and sure, it’s a more than a little odd for Ryan not to dream but Jon thinks it’s a blessing in disguise. It didn’t used to be like this but since the solar eruption roughly 600 rotations ago everything has been a bit screwed up.

Dreams especially. Every night for everyone. And Jon’s weren’t particularly good ones.

‘I guess not.’ Ryan frowns. ‘But it’s not supposed to be like that. And without the dreams waking me up, I keep oversleeping.’ He wrenches open the metal door, quickly unclicking the lock, and strides into the backroom, screeches immediately pouring through into the shop front.

‘That could be a problem.’ Jon mutters and picks up 4 of the remaining metal bowls, following Ryan through. He pauses at each cage, opens the small metal hatch and slides the bowl in, snatching his fingers back before the claws can dig in straight through to the bone as Jon has experienced plenty before.

And Jon would question him further, maybe ask him how he managed it, what it feels like to just black out because he doesn’t remember anymore, but then Ryan glances up at the clock and yells over the noise, ‘Almost opening time! You ready the isolation room and I’ll check the appointments!’ before disappearing back into the front.

Jon sighs and moves over to the next cage, sliding open the hatch and pausing a minute to smile at the big, black eyes that emerge from the darkness. Dylan’s his favourite, not that he would ever admit that to Ryan. Although he’s sure that Ryan’s favourite is Hobo by the way he always sneaks on extra rabbit in her bowl when he thinks Jon isn’t looking.

He strokes a soft finger down her snout and she sounds almost like she’s purring. He hears the phone ring out front and Ryan’s monotone, ‘Hello, Winger’s Dragon Training Company, how can I help you?’. Closing the hatch, Jon smiles slightly and finishes up before heading out to do as Ryan said.

- - -

Spencer has also mastered the ability to read Ryan’s forever changing moods after living with him for close to 20 rotations. He’s also fully aware of Ryan’s door slamming habits so he made sure to install one of those devices that stop the door just before it hits the frame and Spencer would like to say it’s magic except it was far too cheap for that.

‘Bad day?’ He asks as Ryan drops onto the couch next to him.

Ryan grunts and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table only to be pushed off again by Spencer’s firm hand.

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