Return of the Rose Vest (s/a)

[longerthanwedo]

Title: Return of the Rose Vest

Authors: longerthanwedo, and Jade, who currently does not have a LJ.

Rating: PG-13, probably

Pairing: Ryan Ross/Rose Vest

Summary: Ryan Ross is almost content with life in the form of paisley shirts and The Beatles. But what happens when an emblem of his past comes back to…haunt him?

Disclaimer: Don’t own… I think that once you read this story, the disclaimer writes itself.

Author’s Notes: This was written in about half an hour while I was over at my friend’s house. She had this idea…and we just started writing it. This is a horror story, of sorts, but it’s a humorous horror story. I know that this would never happen, that’s kind of the point. But I like it anyway.

 

 

 

 

It was a dark and stormy night, not usual for the Ross residence.

"Augh! There’s absolutely nothing to wear!” complained Ryan as he shifted through his extensive clothes collection. He groaned as he glanced at the “rejection” pile, which was far greater than the “maybe” pile.

“What am I gonna do?” he whined as he flopped himself down on his unmade bed. The guys were coming over, they were going to watch movies and play guitar hero, and he could not find anything decent to wear.

He sat there, defeated, listening to the rain, when he heard a sinister rumbling noise coming from the closet. Startled, he instinctively reached for his cell phone and had his finger on the 1 button, Brendon’s speed dial, but the rumbling grew louder and he realized that Brendon’s presence would just make it worse, seeing as how he was the most chicken out of all his friends. Ryan took a deep breath, and stepped toward the closet. He hoped it was a decent outfit calling him to the back of his room, but his gut told him otherwise. Ryan didn’t know this, but the Rose Vest was on the prowl.

Summoning all the courage he could, Ryan carefully opened his closet door. Surprisingly, it was entirely empty. Empty, that is, except for one lone vest hanging stiff on the back rack.

“It can’t be!” Ryan muttered to himself, as he reached out to the abandoned bright red icon of his past. He knew he should walk away then, but something kept pulling him, drawing him towards the dreaded mass of polyester roses. Maybe it was destiny, he thought, that they should come together once again on an evening like this. But on the other hand, he realized, it had taken him so long to get rid of this. This hated Victorian piece of his long forgotten past. Hated, despised, and yet, loved. Oh yes, this vest was quite loved.

“Love me again,” it seemed to call, whispering to him, taunting him. Ryan knew he shouldn’t, but he reached out and gingerly lifted it from its long time home on that hanger. The crinkly roses felt so right under his fingertips, and he knew right then that he could never let them go. No, not again.

“I’ll never leave you,” he whispered into its velvet pockets, perhaps wishing that it could hear that it could understand his regret.

Slowly, slowly, savoring the silky feel, he slipped the vest on over his plaid shirt. As soon as it was buttoned, he felt like a new man. Somewhere, in the back of his he knew this was bad, and his friends wouldn’t approve, but deep inside he really didn’t want to take it off. No. this vest was here to stay.

“And stay for good I shall,” it seemed to whisper in his ear. Ryan sighed and breathed in its dusty, long forgotten scent.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he answered, lightly running his fingertips over the burgundy petals. And then, at that moment, Ryan finally felt complete.

He wrapped himself in his Rose Vest, his previous dilemma completely forgotten, and fell asleep. Together, he and the Rose Vest: one, at last.

 

 

The next morning, Ryan woke, petal imprints across his face, and sun shining brightly in his window. Today was gonna be a good day, he thought, I just know it. As he looked about his room, he felt a strange urge to burn all of his old clothes. His Rose Vest held him securely, as he watched the dark smoke rise into the sky.

That’s strange, I’m never usually violent like this, he thought as he watched the flames with a strange kind of joy that seemed to be emanating from his chest. He gave the Rose Vest a suspicious look, but it gazed back with such love and devotion that he just shook the feeling off.

As Ryan walked inside, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Something seemed to be missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Eyeliner” the vest seemed to hiss. Ryan’s feet made their way up to his room and he opened the long ignored drawer at the bottom of his dresser. Ryan realized that his hands and feet were moving on their own accord, and was slightly alarmed until the tickle of a petal on his chin calmed his senses. Ryan dutifully applied the eyeliner, but he hand did not stop at one coat. No. it stopped once his entire face was adorned with swirls and birds.

“Isn’t that just lovely, Ryan?” the vest asked in a sweet voice. And as much as he hated to admit, Ryan thought he looked pretty darn cool.

As Ryan was vainly admiring his reflection, he realized what time it was. His friends would be here any minute. Had it been any other day, he would have thrown a hissy fit, but here, with his form-fitting Rose Vest hugging his girlish figure, he couldn’t bring himself to worry.

“Hello!” his friends’ voices rang out from downstairs and Ryan’s pulse quickened. He put a hand to his heart, and the cool fabric against his skin calmed him down at once. still, he was worried about his friends’ reactions to his lapse into past days. He was quickly assured that all would be well, as the rose petals softly caressed his cheek.

With that, he made his way down the stairs.

The faces of his friends met his appearance with slightly questioning looks, but Brendon, being Brendon, came up and hugged him anyway, despite his feverish appearance.

When Brendon pulled away, he had a faraway look in his eyes, and, seemingly from out of nowhere, his hand brought a stick of eyeliner out from the pocket of his tight jeans. He looked at it with reverence on his face, his eyes glistening.

“Yes, yes,” chanted the Rose Vest. “Hug them all.”

Ryan closed his arms around Spencer, and Spencer was overcome with a sudden need to shave his beard. Spencer and Brendon held hands and made their way into the bathroom.

Jon looked worried, and when he saw Ryan take a step toward him, he whipped out his iPod, turned on the Beatles full-blast, and ran out of there as fast as his Walker legs would take him.

“Get him!” the vest hissed in a more demanding voice.

“Yes!” Ryan answered, and chased after Jon’s retreating figure. Newly-shaven Spencer and spiky-haired, dark-eyed Brendon were close on his heels.

Jon yelled, “No!” plucked some flowers from a nearby yard, and whipped them in the direction of his followers as he made a speedy getaway.

Jon rounded a corner, and then he was out of sight. The Rose Vest had lost, for now. And yet, it gained a lot. Brendon and Spencer came up on either side of Ryan. All had sweat dripping down their foreheads, a telltale sign of a Fever they couldn’t sweat out.

 

 

Sunlight wasn’t what woke Brendon, Ryan and Spencer’s huddled forms the next morning. A brave Jon Walker stood in the doorway, iHome ready and waiting on the floor, set on his favorite 70’s playlist. He smelled lightly of sugarcane, and several daisies adorned his hair and beard. He was armed and ready with a bag of feathers to toss on the unsuspecting Fever victims.

The other three glared at him through smudged grey eyes, and told him the new days were over. Emo was where it’s at.

Jon shook his head profusely and asked them what happened to That Green Gentleman. They said that That Green Gentleman was dead on the linoleum floor. Jon gasped and hit the play button.

The three of them shut their eyes and screwed up their faces against the opening chords of Across the Universe. Brendon made a feeble attempt to conduct a “Time To Dance” sing-along, but he was immediately shot down by John Lennon’s vocal abilities.

The Rose Vest hissed and thrashed about, bring frail Ryan with it, and Jon took his chance, emptying the bag of feathers all across the floor.

Ryan’s head throbbed as a memory pushed its way through his Fever-clouded mind.

“Pretty odd!” he gasped, as he ripped the vest off.

Suddenly, without warning, and with a final cry of “don’t smoke!” the Rose Vest melted into a pile of scarlet-colored raindrops. Jon soaked them up with a flower print shirt

All at once, the other three were wiping off any eyeliner, trying to recover what little left they had of their manhood, and immediately broke in to a chorus of “We’re So Starving”, Jon of course singing the loudest.

And then all was well in the Land of Misfit Boys. And their weathervanes and watermelon smiles and mad rabbits lived on and the Rose Vest was never heard from again.

But then one day Brendon Urie was rummaging through his closet, looking for something to wear…