Hiya everyone! Chapter two is here!

I've been getting a few PMs and a review that claim "WE ARE CONFUSED. PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS MONSTROSITY." I love that y'all are puzzled as heck; that's what I intended :) Orbis is a world pretty unlike our own, and it's supposed to be super confusing! I promise you guys will learn more as Scott also learns about this strange world he's been plopped onto. I can't wait to let loose a few tricks I have up my sleeve and explain more later.

Just a FYI; this chapter takes place on our Earth, not on Orbis.

Thank you for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Read away!


"Somebody put something in my drink..." Scott protested, hanging onto Avi like his life depended on it. The bass supported his fellow singer on one shoulder, trying not to grumble at the weight.

"Yeah, Scott. Alcohol." He said back as calmly as he could. Where were his keys again? Actually, where was the car, again? Dammit, if he forgot where the car was he was going to crack himself over the head with a pan for being such an idiot.

The blonde pulled away from his friend's side, stumbled, and watched as the ground swirled underneath his feet. He almost fell over attempting to regain his balance, but reached to his left and found the solid metal of a car before he could do so. It was late at night, he knew that much, very late. And he had just come out of some sort of club, Scott knew that too. There shouldn't have been anything wrong, as this situation had happened several times already; him needing an escort home, that is.

Yet something was amiss.

"No." The baritone's words were slow and unsteady. "I was drinking water, I swear."

Avi dug around his pockets for his keys, all the while sending his friend a disbelieving look. What was a clear alcoholic drink that looked like it could be water's twin? "I think you were taking shots of tequila, Scott. You weren't drinking water. If you had been, you wouldn't be tripping over your own feet."

Frowning slightly, Scott shook his head. "I remember I was drinking water...I didn't wanna get a hangover because we have morning rehearsal tomorrow. I remember, Avi."

The bearded man sighed. Though the explaination was a good one, Avi couldn't honestly take the blonde's word when he was in his current state. "Listen, buddy, I know you might think that, but you're drunk and you don't know what you're saying." He finally retrieved his car keys and pressed a certain button. Somewhere to the right of the pair came a loud beep. "C'mon, lets go home."

This made the other man push at Avi when he tried to support him again. "We have to go back." Scott's voice carried a slight slur, which wasn't helping to provide proof that he wasn't drunk. But he knew he wasn't; when he was drunk, he felt bubbly and happy and his thoughts were centered around his favorite brunette. Now he was dizzy and nauseous and confused, and he was taking no joy in the experience, while he usually didn't mind the high he got from regular alcohol.

Who was that girl who messed with his water? She was a redhead, he remembered...she asked him why he'd been there all alone with no partner...something about being a bartender for a few months. That's everything Scott could recall without a dull ache blossoming in the back of his mind, coaxing him to forget about the girl and anything she might've done.

"A redhead...she fucked with my water. Avi, she did it!" The baritone grabbed the bassist's arm with shocking strength and started to heave him the way they had come. It wasn't an easy task considering that Scott could barely stand up straight and Avi was aware with a sharp mind.

The bearded man was disgruntled and was beginning to feel slightly ticked off. It was eleven at night, he was tired, and his band mate didn't want to cooperate. A bad mixture. "Scott, stop. You need to go home. Get rest and let your system filter whatever shit you drank."

The statement had blonde scowling at his friend. "I was drinking water. Oh, my head. My head hurts." He clutched at his temples, which were starting to throb.

"Whoever this redhead is, I'll find out about her tomorrow." Avi grabbed the taller man's hand and yanked him with finality towards his car. It was a difficult, toiling process, but they eventually got there and climbed in.

The ride to the apartment Scott shared with Mitch was a fruitless one; Scott wouldn't let the matter go and continued to try and convince Avi that he wasn't wasted and that some girl had altered his water. The bass wouldn't listen, countering and arguing with his friend for a solid twenty minutes about it. Their bickering lasted until the bearded man pulled up to the apartment and said pointedly, "Do you need help getting up the stairs? Otherwise I'd really like to go home."

"I think I can get up there." Scott held onto his head. It ached horribly. Wincing, he started to exit the vehicle, but Avi stopped him.

"Take it easy the rest of tonight, okay?" His deep voice rumbled. Despite his annoyance at having to pick up the other singer in the middle of the night (Kirstin and Kevin had been too tired. Mitch had been asleep before Avi had called him and woken him up to ask if he could do it. His response? A sigh, and, "Can you please do it? For the queen?"), he truly cared for Scott and did not want him to accidentally hurt himself. "Make sure that Mitch watches you. Constantly. Okay?"

A nod was the confirmation. Avi nodded back and drove off.

Scott took in several deep breaths, steering his muddled painful thoughts, walking slowly towards the entrance to the apartment and sluggishly pushing the door open.

Usually making his way up the stairs would probably take a grand total of thirty to forty seconds. In the current state he was in, it was three minutes before he finally stood in front of the door that would lead him to his bed. He raised a fist and rapped on the wood a few times. Scott held his body up by leaning on the wall, not trusting himself to hold his own weight.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" A high-pitched voice announced on the other side of the door. Its handle jiggled and it opened. Mitch Grassi stood in the illuminated space dressed in an oversized shirt (that was most likely Scott's) that went to just above his knees and his undergarments. Brown eyes shining with both irritation and lack of rest, he began to snap, "It's the middle of the damn night, what the hell do you-" Then he noticed his best friend standing there with a sickened expression. "Oh my god, Scott. Avi dropped you off?"

"Nope." The blonde said in a strained voice. He stumbled into the apartment. The door clicked closed behind him. "I got picked up in a limo that had three blonde male hookers in the back that told me if I offered them each a twenty they'd give me a lap dance."

"Did you give them the money?" He wasn't shocked that Scott could uphold his joking manner even while intoxicated.

"Also nope." He shook his head. Trying not to trip over his own feet, he walked as steadily as he could to the couch, plopping on it to rest his legs. "I told them I was into brunettes." Using his fingers to rub his temples, he smiled faintly at Mitch, who was standing in front of him with a hip cocked. "You look good in my shirt."

The countertenor rolled his eyes. "Thanks, babe. I didn't think you'd be back so early and I didn't want to answer the door in my underwear."

"I wouldn't have minded." Was the flirty reply.

Okay, that statement just blatantly confirmed Scott was hammered. No way would he ever hit on Mitch so openly if he wasn't. "You really are drunk, aren't you." It wasn't meant to be a question.

"I'm not drunk!" The baritone protested loudly. A wave of dizziness hit him, forcing the room to tilt, sway, and turn upside-down. "Ugh...why are there three of you, Mitchie?"

His other half was acting way out of sorts, and it was honestly worrying the smaller man. Carefully, he sat beside Scott, grabbing his jaw and dragging his face so that their gazes could meet. The action, though it propelled the two so close that they were nose-to-nose (Scott didn't mind that in the slightest), made a spark of pain jolt across Scott's brain.

"My head hurts so bad." He whimpered, closing his eyes to try and stop the vicious pounding. Mitch's features softened. He scooted closer so their legs pressed together and took his best friend's face in his hands.

"Louise, girl, look at me."

Scott refused, squeezing his eyes tighter. Oh...oh, god it burned. Everything motherfucking burned.

"Maybe you need some ice." A high tone said with an equally high level of concern. A cool hand touched the blonde's forehead. "You're hot, babe. Like, on fire."

"Really? I didn't know you valued my physical aesthetic that much."

"You need to shut up before I murder you." Mitch threatened. He got up from the couch, lifting an eyebrow when the blonde finally opened his eyes and met his gaze. The tinker of the two pointed to where he had previously been sitting. "Lay down. I'll get some ice from the freezer."

"Noooo..." Scott whined. He reached out to hold his friends wrist. "Don't leave."

"I'm not going to leave, babe. You need ice." The brunette said. He waited until his counterpart let go of him before traipsing to the kitchen. A pink, almost unnoticeable blush resided on his olive cheeks.

Wyatt meowed somewhere, loudly enough that the tall singer could hear him. Scott nearly got up from his position to let his kitty, realized that Mitch would probably kill him if he did so, and instead called, "Wyatt! C'mere, baby!"

As quick as a dart, the sphynx cat shot from the bathroom, scrabbled down the hall, and tripped over his clumsy paws until he got close enough to the couch to leap onto his owner. The baritone sneezed in response to his allergies, making his head give a throb. Wyatt meowed again, butting his head against Scott's arm and purring.

"Your Daddy's sick." Scott told the kitten. His pale green eyes locked on his owner. "A red headed girl put something in his water and now he doesn't feel well. But your Mommy is gonna take care of me, because she's fucking amazing." He sighed. "Hopefully, when I go back to that bar tomorrow, I can track down that girl and bust her."

The cat blinked, seemingly understanding despite knowing not a word of English.

Mitch came back into the living room then. He carried an ice pack in one hand. "Seriously? You're letting Wyatt walk all over you while you're sick? Are you shitting insane? Wyatt, come here, queen." He only had to snap his fingers once and gesture for the kitty to get the message; Wyatt hopped off of Scott and sullenly walked out.

"Hey! I was confiding in him. What gi-" The blonde waited while his nose prickled. In the next second he sneezed powerfully, his head protesting the action. "Ow..."

The tinier man walked to the couch, lifted his friends head, and sat down. Scott's head ended up in Mitch's lap, tilted so that he could see the television, with the ice pack pressed to his forehead firmly. He hadn't noticed, but SpongeBob was playing. He watched it and tried not to squint.

Fingers started to sift through Scott's hair; the gesture made him tingle at the slightly painful pleasure. Goosebumps prickled along his skin. He shivered, curling into himself and snuggling closer.

"Are you cold?"

"No." Scott shut his eyes. So this is what it was like to be content. Also turned on, half-incoherent, sluggish, and maybe-not-really-drunk. But content as well. He felt a sudden overwhelming appreciation for his best friend, sitting here and caring for him. "How are you so incredible? You're incredible."

The countertenor giggled. "You're only saying that because you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk!" The baritone protested yet again. How many times tonight was he going to have to-

Uh oh.

Scott snapped out of his semiconscious state and leapt away from Mitch. Covering his hand with his mouth, he ran as well as he could without tripping to the bathroom, keeled over, and was violently sick.

The liquid rising in his stomach had a burn that was worse than acid. His esophagus was morphing into a volcano that spewed lava, uncontrollably and constantly. Oh, god, this was painful. Was throwing up supposed to hurt this much?

"Scott!" Soft footsteps sounded behind the ill singer. Scott retched again, not able to help it.

"Shit..." He gulped air. "What the hell did I throw up?"

Mitch stood behind him, plugging his nose and grimacing. He peeked over his best friend's shoulder at the vomit. "Probably some nasty dark brown stuff, eww-" His high tone froze. He gasped, swiveled his gaze to the blonde, and looked at the liquid foaming in the toilet. "Scott. What did you drink tonight?"

"Just water, I swear-" Then he too froze, for he now noticed what his other half was so shocked about.

The mixture sitting in the toilet was purple. Not purple as in a tinge of violet overshadowed by the yellow of acid (eww), but a bright almost-magenta that was swirling fiercely. As the two watched, a neon light began to shine through the liquid faintly, enough to illuminate the features of the people examining it. The purple churned for a moment more, bubbled like it was alive, and was silent.

"Flush it." The countertenor whispered shakily.

"That was in my stomach?" Scott whispered back, horrified. No wonder he felt like crap.

"Scotty, that needs to go down the drain-" Gurgling, the liquid started to move again, and again the light started to shine through. Now the bathroom was filled with the sweet sound of low singing; a choir, humming a hymn.

Both men were frightened out of their minds, clutching each other tightly despite the soothing sound of the music. The light got brighter and the singing got louder, joined by the scent of trees and wood, the scent wafting around the room and creeping throughout the rest of the apartment. It was the strangest thing either singer had ever heard or seen.

The toilet started to vibrate as the singing grew ever louder. Scott finally snapped out of his surprise, lunged forward, and pressed the lever that brought all of it, the singing, the smell of forest, the purple substance, down down down into the sewers of L.A.

"Ohmygod." Mitch crept to the toilet. "That was the freakiest shit I've ever seen. What the hell was that, Scott?" Another question seeped into his mind. "Was that inside your body?"

The baritone drew an unsteady breath. "I-I-I think so. I have no idea what that was." He ran a hand through his hair. His brain leapt and thought quickly. Suddenly something hit him. "That girl! That redhead girl! She'd know what that was!"

"What?" A glance of confusion was sent his way.

"I've been telling you and Avi that I'm not drunk because all I had tonight was water. Avi thought I was drinking tequila. But I wasn't." He explained horridly as Mitch continued to stare at him. "There was thus redheaded girl who was bar tending tonight..." His mind fogged a little. "Um...she didn't say her name...but she was the one who served me drinks. She must've put some weird crap in my water."

For a second Scott was under the impression that his best friend would believe him. How could one not, even after witnessing such a paranormal event?

"O...kay." Mitch said slowly. He closed the lid of the toilet and turned to the taller man. "Something really weird just happened. It happened because you threw up. You're telling me you what to blame this on some random bar tender girl?"

"Umm..." Scott wasn't drawing any confidence from the patronizing glint in the dark brown eyes aging at him.

Those same eyes softened. "Sorry. I'm kinda freaked out." The smaller singer sighed. "Okay. We're okay. So." He continued after taking a deep breath. "Let's go back in the living room and watch SpongeBob and deal with this in the morning. Okay? This is too damn much to handle this late at night."

Thinking it over, it wasn't such a bad idea. The blue-eyed man's mind was already muddled and in some sort of shock. "That sounds good. I'm closing the bathroom door though."

"Deal." Mitch smiled softly. "C'mon, let's lay down. Hopefully that weird shit doesn't bubble back up and strangle us in our sleep." He quickly amended his sarcastic comment when Scott's face visibly paled. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean anything. That strange-ass liquid will not bubble back up and strangle us in our sleep."

They were right; after the bathroom door was closed, Scott informed Mitch that he didn't feel sick anymore, and the TV flipped back on with the two in the same position as they were in before, no liquid colored purple that glowed neon and sang strangled them as they slipped into sleep.

No, that didn't happen. Scott, snuggling against the brunette's side, embraced the dreamlessness that awaited him believing (even if it had happened only a few minutes ago) that the entire ordeal was just drunken imagination.

He was wrong.


The pair had woken up tangled in each other's arms. Blushing profusely, they had separated, gone through their morning routines, and warily checked the toilet in the guest bathroom. Nope. No purple stuff.

Scott had suggested telling Kirstie, Avi, and Kevin about the incident, but the countertenor persuaded him otherwise; that bass already thought his taller friend was drunk out of his mind. The rest of their friends would most likely think them insane. The baritone paused to bite his lip as he mulled over that (not noticing when Mitch stared at the automatic gesture), and nodded in agreement as he ate more pancakes.

Thus, the day had gone by fairly normally. Right after breakfast, rehearsal had commenced; the best friends (as per usual) were pretty much joined at the hip all day and were unwilling to give up their positions. During lunch, the brunette had sat next to his counterpart (as usual) and rested a hand on his thigh (as not very usual), occasionally whispering something in the blonde's ear (a mixture of usual and not very usual).

At least Scott had managed to break away from the group for a short time to continue to write the song he was working on. It was when he was walking back to finish up rehearsal (his brain whizzing with possible song titles...maybe he'd call it Glow in the Hall...or perhaps Light in the Hallway. Yup. That had a better ring to it) he'd been yanked aside by Kirstin to talk with her about a certain someone.

She insisted that he do something about the obvious attraction between the two, but the baritone turned her down. He'd do it later, he protested firmly, when he was ready. Hell, Mitch might even ask him out first. He was queen, after all.

They bickered back and forth the entire rest of the afternoon, unaware that the rest of their friend group was watching them with curious eyes.

Rehearsal ended (rather successfully at that; it had been a good day, full of singing, teasing Avi, making fun of Kevin's irritability, and trying to keep his mind from wandering to Mitch for too long), and Scott went back to the apartment with his best friend. When they got there, the blonde checked the guest bathroom one last time and procured nothing. Maybe the previous night really had been a drunken illusion (he ignored the fact that his pounding headache had vanished after he'd gotten ill).

The two best friends had then decided to have a musical movie marathon night. They gathered their favorite musicals, snatched blankets, and situated themselves in front of the TV with a giant bowl of popcorn between them. In the beginning of the showings, they had sat close enough so that their knees touched and their arms were pressed together; however, after singing along to Wicked, Rent, and Chicago, Scott had ended up laying on the ground with Mitch casually sprawled on top of him, both wrapped up in their chosen blankets.

The solid, tiny frame on top of him felt nice. Mitchie was toasty warm.

Like he could read Scott's mind, the brunette cuddled even closer, if that was possible. He rested his head of dark locks on his counterpart's chest, nearly close enough to his heart to hear it fluttering rapidly. It would've been very easy to kiss the top of his head. Very, very easy.

Somehow the blonde refrained.

It seemed that the night would continue on as blissfully normal. Chicago finished, and the pair were just about to pop in Grease when the smaller of the two claimed he needed to use the facilities. While he was busy in the bathroom, the baritone (already missing Mitch's comfy heat...god, he was pathetic) chewed his tongue as an idea began to blossom in the front of his mind.

He chose to present it to Mitch when he came back; once they got into their previous position, right as he was about to hit Play, the singer thought better of it and set the remote aside.

"I'm going to that bar tonight to find that girl. I want to know what she put in my drink." Scott said. Dark brown eyes widened, before the person whom owned the assets gathered control of himself and set his chin against his best friend's chest, thinking.

"Babe, last night was just..." His high voice faltered, searching for words. "Well, last night was weird. The singing didn't sound dangerous, and neither did the purple liquid when it was doing some major bubbling shit-"

"Right, meaning its safe for me to-"

"You were sick even before you threw up, Scott. That stuff, whatever the hell it was, made you so damn sick that you started hitting on me."

The taller man was slightly hurt that his other half thought he needed to be wasted in order to flirt with him. It must've shown on his face, too, because Mitch continued. "Not that you need to be drunk to hit on me-" He threw in a wink and a small smile, calming any doubts flooding Scott's brain. "-but still. You worried me. You still worry, me you crazy maniac. I just don't want you to come home feeling as bad as you did yesterday."

"I won't. I know I won't because I won't drink a single thing." Mitch raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I promise. Even if three male hookers give me a free lap dance and offer a drink afterward."

The blonde couldn't stop the thought that flitted into his brain. If you gave me a lap dance, I'd pretty much do whatever the hell you wanted, Mitch.

Then he felt like frowning and blushing at the same time. STOP THINKING NAUGHTY THOUGHTS! THIS IS MITCH AND NOT SOME RANDOM SOMEBODY!

"Okay." Was the soft-spoken reply. "But I swear, if you break your sober promise, you will experience the full wrath of Queen Mitch."

That caused a giggle to escape. "I should get going now, then. The bar closes at midnight and its eleven right now." Scott gently moved his crush off of him, unwrapped his legs from their blanket prison, and stood up to stretch. His back popped. "Do I look okay to go out?" He was dressed in a plain grey T-shirt, blue jeans, sneakers, and a simple black jacket. A bracelet that Mitch and Kirstie had gifted to him hung on his left wrist, with silver charms on it; the letters M, K, and S, a tiny heart, and a shimmering microphone. He adored the accessory and rarely took it off.

The countertenor waved a hand dismissively. "Babe, you look fabulous. Always. Now, shoo, peasant, and hurry back before I watch the rest of the movies without you."

Scott had reached the door and pulled out his keys. Unlocking and unlatching it, he opened the door and, by a strange impulse, looked behind him one last time at Mitch.

He was cute. Definitely cute. He was curled up by himself in the middle of the carpet, watching the baritone with a teasing glint in his gaze. His hair was ruffled, sticking up slightly on one side, and he seemed to be coming out of a content sleep. Maybe it was the slightly pleased glaze covering his orbs.

Mitch winked at his counterpart and blew him a kiss. "Love you, Scotty! Come back to me sober, 'kay?"

He was feeling a mixture of happiness, slight confusion, and hesitation. Nevertheless, Scott grinned, made a kissy face, and closed the door to the apartment.


It took a while. In fact, it took so long that the blonde thought the bar might close before he found her.

Fate was in his favor, however, and eventually he found the menace. And what was she doing? Bar tending, no less.

Scott slid onto a bar stool after he managed to slip past the wave of people blocking his path. He was shocked that there was even a seat available; since it was nearly time to call it a night, patrons were crowding the bar in order to get their last taste of alcohol. Thankfully he wasn't one of them.

He didn't know what it was that made him stand out. Actually, he was probably the least noticeable person waiting at the bar for service (he intended to keep his promise and not drink a single drop. Last night had been enough of a convincer). Compared to the woman with thirty face piercings, the young man whom was making out with his girlfriend, and the older business-like adult who had a tattoo of a dragon curled around his ear, Scott was the plainest person.

Despite that, she noticed him.

Her hair was cranberry red, and seemed to be naturally so. At least the tall singer recalled that much correctly. What he hadn't remembered was just how young she looked, or how quiet (but sure) her voice was when she spoke. Her opening sentence was, "I have a feeling that you came to see me, not to get a drink. Am I right?"

She leaned forward on the counter so that her cleavage was much exposed (her uniform was a low-cut top and jeans). Her eyes, he also noted, were an extremely steely grey. Scott didn't bat an eyelid at her antics and returned with a cool, "You're right."

Smile catlike, she straightened and gestured for him to get up and follow her. He figured that he might as well; it might be better for her to inform him of what she gave him last night in private, anyway. If anybody heard them talking they'd assume the two were bonkers.

The redhead led him to the back room, twining gracefully past the office of the manager and next to the crates of liquor that stocked the back halls. Scott guessed she'd lead as far back as she could until they could go back no longer. His hypothesis was incorrect, though, and her slim body lead him to outside. Specifically the private staff parking lot, where nobody would be for at least forty minutes.

Wind billowed about the two. The girl gave him an up-and-down look. Assessing him with those eyes.

"I'll make you a deal." She said. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small bottle full of liquid. It could all be downed in a single swallow. "You drink this, and I tell you everything you want to know about that purple glowing stuff. Yeah?"

"How did you-" Scott's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I just do." She said impatiently. "Drink it, or I tell you nothing."

Obviously, drinking the liquid she was offering wasn't smart. Duh. Any sane person could recognize that. But the blonde was desperate for answers, and what had happened the night before had truly shaken him. The purple singing neon shit had come from his body! That was weird!

Against his better judgment, he slowly accepted the bottle, uncorked it (yup. It had a cork. Super old fashioned), and brought the container to his lips. A nutty, herbal taste filled his mouth, coaxing him to completely drain the stuff. He licked his lips afterwards while he handed the bottle back. It was shockingly good.

"Now talk. What was that purple stuff?" Scott demanded, squinting at the redhead. He was already regretting walking here with her.

Suddenly, her expression morphed from cocky and confident to more than a little upset. Sighing, she stuffed the bottle back into her pocket and faced the baritone. "That was me fucking up. I accidentally forgot to add an ingredient to the mixture. That's why you got so ill. Naturally, I knew that you'd puke, and I knew you'd seek me out with questions." Her shoulders shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but you just walked straight into my trap."

"Trap?" The blonde made a move to grab for the door he knew was right behind him. It would lead to the bar. He could get the hell out of here.

His mind instantly started to pool with a calm feeling. Not ready for the abrupt change in emotion, Scott swayed on his feet, now being soothed into a bath of blank forgetfulness.

The girl caught him when he lost his balance and fell into her. Grunting, she said, "Yeah, sorry about this. But somebody on Orbis wants to use the power of Sound that you've got in your veins. Sucks for you, but you have a lot of it. And it's my job to yank you from here and plop you back home. Hopefully not in the middle of a lake."

Her words swam inside of the baritone's head, echoing like she was at the end of a long tunnel. The sentences, the letters, they didn't make sense strung together.

God, it would feel good to sleep. It would feel really good to sleep right now. Scott leaned heavily on the girl, not caring that she was probably some psychotic murderer and he might die of poisoning.

Just his luck.

He heard her dig around her pockets again, throw something, and sing a quiet song. The sound of music and the smell of a forest filled Scott's ears, as well as the tug on his body telling him something wanted to drag him forward.

Blue eyes, blurry and bleary, caught sight of a pretty swirling thing that looked like it could be a sci-if portal. He went limp as blackness greeted him, right as the girl (clutching his body tightly) took a deep breath and leapt into the beautiful light.