Angels and Kings was as intimidating as it's name sounded, and to Gerard, it was VERY intimidating.
The Club was decked out in black, black, black. Lighting was golden and black, outfits were golden and black, a cake even at atop a decorated gold and black pedestal. Gerard looked down at his clothes. A red and black flannel, black boots and nearly ripped jeans that were being held together just by the seams. He looked simple and daft, compared to the ballroom elegance of Pete Wentz' nightclub. Pete Wentz himself was mingling around, introducing everyone, and rank stayed at an arm's distance, almost as if he was a watch-corgi for the Queen of England. The comparison made Gerard giggle quietly, as Frank was certainly the size to be portrayed as a corgi.
He couldn't believe just how many people had shown up. The entirety of Fall Out Boy was there, slinging shot after shot, laughing and singing randomized lyrics with impeccable harmonies. Gerard wondered if any of them had classical training in singing, because he certainly didn't. He owed everything to his grandma, his artistic abilities and performance abilities. Too bad he still couldn't play the guitar.
"Hey, hey, hey everybody!" Pete called to the crowd, "Look! It's My Chemical Romance!"
The crowd cheered, and then continued on with everything they had stopped. Gerard's anxiety was building. His palms were sweaty, knees weak, his arms felt like spaghetti. Frank began to give him a sensual back rub.
"Hey, quit being so tense. We're at a party for OUR album. You should be having fun!"
Gerard pushed him off, leaving the back rub unfinished, "I'm trying okay?"
Frank raised an eyebrow "I guess you could say that you're...not okay."
"Fuck off, and leave me alone. I'm getting drink." Gerard pushed through the heavy crowd, toward the bar where he'd drown the butterflies he had in pure tequila.
He spotted Brendon Urie drinking a Pina Colada, and checking his MySpace.
"Hey," said Gerard. He pulled up a barstool and signalled the attention of the bar keep. Brendon raised an eyebrow, and turned to focus his attention. Brendon was dressed in an outfit extremely reminiscent on 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies', complete with a top hat of top quality.
"Sulking at your own party? I would've killed for something like this when our album came out." he laughed playfully.
"I never ask for parties. Frank and Mikey are the ones who wanted this."
"What about Ray?"
Gerard slammed a shot. "He couldn't care either way."
Brendon laughed quietly to himself and continued to scroll. Gerard figured he wouldn't have gotten another word out, so he continued to drink. Music pounded in his skull, and resonated deep down in his gut. Was it the music? Or was it the multiple shots he'd drank to forget this was happening? One thing was for sure: he needed air.
It felt as if the room was closing in on him. Walls collapsing, heart racing. It was like claustrophobia, but extremely harrowing. His palms were drenched. He stumbled through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, until he reached the side exit, right into the alleyway.
And it all came up. It seemed like buckets and buckets of vomit, and once everything was gone, he leaned his body against the brick. The sound of a door opening distracted him.
"Are you okay?" Pete wentz stepped out from the shadows, offering his hand.
"No, I'm literally dying." retorted Gerard. He looked uneasily down at the puddle of vomit he'd spat up earlier.
"Here, let's get you somewhere safe. I'll walk you there."
That confused him, but he grabbed Wentz's arm and pushed nearly all his body weight onto him. Suddenly, he spun around, and nailed Gerard to the wall where he was previously positioned.
"I always want what I can't have." Fangs began to erupt from Pete's gums, reaching out, and Gerard began to frantically struggle. Pete Wentz was a vampire?