Word Count: 535


It takes just one nervous twitch, and everything goes wrong. The drumstick drops from Ron's hand, clattering to the floor. George is the first one to notice; he stops strumming his bass and turns with raised brows. Slowly, Fred and Lee seem to catch on, and the music stops completely.

"Okay, new theory," George says. "Maybe we should play so quietly no one can hear us." He smirks. "Or at least so no one can hear Ron."

"Lay off," Ron grumbles, adjusting his hat, his cheeks burning. "You're the one who asked me to fill in."

"A mistake on my part, I assure you," George says dryly.

Lee taps his microphone. The sound is amplified by the speakers, cutting across the bickering brothers. "Oi! We're in Vegas," he says. "This is the big time, not amateur hour. Now, are we here to whine, or are we here to rock?"

"I don't know about these two, but I'm here to rock," Fred says.

"Right on." Lee returns to the front. "Now, from the top!"

Pansy isn't sure why Daphne has dragged her to this show. The headlining band isn't famous, and the warmup, Lee and the Weasels, is even less known.

Still, they're in Vegas. The least she can do is try and have a good time.

"The bassist is well fit, don't you think?" Daphne asks.

Pansy shrugs. "He's alright. I bet that drummer can bang more than drums, if you know what I mean."

Daphne grins before handing Pansy a shot glass filled with pink liquor. "Only one way to find out," she calls loudly over the music. "Cheers."

"Cheers!"

Ron isn't sure where the girls come from. One caught George at the bar and managed to sweet talk her and her friend's way backstage. Her friend seems to only have eyes for Ron.

"I thought you were amazing," the friend says.

"Really?" Ron takes a swallow of his beer. It tastes like sweaty socks left to sour, but he keeps it down. It gives him something to do, a way to channel his nerves.

"Really. I'm Pansy."

"Ron."

She grins, leaning in. "Yeah. I know."

Pansy doesn't know how much she drinks. The world around her is all light and noise, and everything is a blur. She thinks that maybe Elvis is there, but it doesn't make sense.

But Ron is there. He is real and solid, and he is a perfect gentleman.

Ron's head pounds when he wakes up, blinking against the sunlight filtering in through the window. He looks around. A hotel room. Not terribly strange since he is on tour.

But two things stand out. A llama is asleep by the door; Ron can only guess he must have drunkenly bought or stolen the animal. The second sight is stranger. A woman is bed beside him, wearing a banner that proudly declares that she is just married. She has a floral name; Ron remembers that much. Pansy, he thinks. He hopes. Asking might be awkward.

He pushes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He accidentally got married, and now he has a llama to care for. Maybe he wasn't ready for Vegas after all.