Across the corridor from Cell one.

[Sam]

A cell currently only occupied by Brendon Urie. Across the hall from Bert McCracken and Gerard Way.

[They're close enough for conversation.]

[Amber]

Brendon: Pitch black. Dark isn't how Brendon likes it- especially in the dark, caged up by a number of crazy men who, for the most part, lacks a God or a conscience. Most notably the crazyass across from his lonely cell who seems, so far, to like keeping people from sleep. He lies under his uncomfortably starch-stiff sheet, on his back; staring up at the almost invisibly dark, cracking ceiling. Brendon groans and turns, and attempts to shield himself from the dark by tucking his head under his arm, and drifting away to a far-off dream, which he hopes won't be another frightening recount of the nights he spends with men who are just as likely to kill him in his sleep as they are to pay for a place for him to lay his head at night.

[Sam]

Gerard: Sleep, like always, isn't coming easily to him. The ceiling right above his head leaks pretty much every night, and the sounds of the other inmates sleeping just makes it harder. It sounds at times like they are right behind him, waiting to stab him and take him to hell, though in reality they're being as innocent as a prisoner could be. Standing up, he walks slowly along the cold, cracked floor, and closes his fists around the metal bars. Squinting across the corridor, and into the cell across from the one he shares with Bert, he sees Brendon sleeping. At least, that's what he thinks his name is; he's never really talked to him a lot since he'd arrived here about three weeks ago.

[Amber]

Brendon:Leak, leak. Crack, crack. Step, step. Brendon twitches at the subtle sounds, and a few seconds later raises his head. From the floor he scoops up his red glasses and looks ahead of his cell, and between the slicing bars a man is looking at him. Bren had heard of him before, his name's somewhere between Gerald or Gerard, and from first glance he assumed him to be some type of overgrown Goth-kid, who was probably in jail from killing someone's livestock or burning a church. Who knew. Brendon stared intently at him through the dark. He can almost make out the look of his paperish, pale face; but his eyes are shadowed. Oh, how Brendon hopes he's not staring too hard.

[Sam]

Gerard: After a minute of looks into the other cell, he finally sees a face. Brendon. His face is soft looking, with wide, almost innocent eyes that look like they're pleading to be tainted.
"Can't sleep either, kid?" Gerard asks, breaking the silence into a million pieces. He puts his face a little coser to the bars, and no doubt, Brendon's looking straight at him. In the past month, he's been able to tell that he is younger than himself and most of the inmates, and scared as hell. But he's been having trouble figuring out why someone with such a pretty face was here, of all places. Jail wasn't the type of place for someone like him. It was for guys like himself, who were useless, completely fucked up, and didn't deserve anymore second chances.

[Amber]

Brendon: Holding back the urge to cover his face and hide, Brendon cowardly replies a "Nah," back to the man speaking to him. Gerard's eyes are almost visible now, and the virtual staring contest is starting to break down on the younger boy's nerves. Brendon nervously sighs and turns on his back, just before whispering "Are you..alright?"
Growing up in a nosy household still wore on Brendon; and he almost wanted to slap himself for such a question.

[Sam]

Gerard: He hears the question loud and clear. Staring at Brendon, his lips form into a smirk. Then a smile. Then he laughs. Not a long, hearty laugh, just a dry chuckle. What a question, indeed.
"Am I alright? I don't fuckin' think any of us are. If we were alright we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Gerard asks, cocking his head to the right a little as he notices that the Brendon has turned back on to him. He sighs. "What the fuck are you hiding for? I'm not gonna bite, and even if I would, it's not like I can reach you."

[Amber]

Brendon: Brendon wished he would bite him- bite off his head, spill his guts and so he wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of making himself seem to stupid; so immature. Thank whoever-the-fuck-created-him he said it in the middle of the night.
Brendon had no will in himself to turn his face back to Gerard, but tries his hardest with his next response not to sound as anxious as he is. "You got a point, s-" He says flatly, stopping himself before he apologizes. "I didn't mean 'alright' intending on you as a whole." Bren pauses. "That's pretty obvious, you're scary." The last few words he uttered softly, intent on not getting a voodoo curse cast upon his soul; which, he half-believes just could happen in here.

[Sam]

Gerard: Still, the smaller male hasn't turned back to face him. This slightly annoys Gerard, but not more than when he hears what Brendon thinks of him. He thinks he's scary.
"Scary, eh?" Gerard grins. "You think I'm scary?" He pauses to lean against the wall, but he's still looking through the bars at the huddled figure across the hall. Folding his arms under his head, he starts to speak again. "So what, I'm some kind of monster? A bad man? Well guess what, kid, get used to it. It's not home, it's not fuckin' grandma's house in the summertime, this is prison." Gerard's had it with people. Mankind as a whole. To him, the world is just a sad, lonely place where you're going to grow up, slave away for some company until they put you in the ground, in a cold metal box. Forever.

[Amber]

Brendon: God, no shit. Brendon thinks to himself, before taking off his glasses, and pulling his sheet over his probably very red face. He felt far too underestimated at Gerard's statements, like he hadn't opened his eyes in this place at all in the past few weeks.
Brendon's stay on the wrong side of the track was short lived. He was all-too-used to the larger than life sort of men like Gerard's cell mate, but no where near the creepy-asses like Gerard himself. Brendon was such a sheltered thing. He'd long ago taken the liberty upon himself of degrading his quality as a person down to that of no one at all. A toy. An item. Just smart, self-selling livestock. The things he told people didn't matter too much. He was just eager to hide here until he was able to go home, fake a night of prayer with his bishop, and maybe find a way to kill off whatever in him still had a need for Ryan Ross.

[Sam]

Gerard: After waiting a minute, and hearing nothing but the constant sound of water dripping onto concrete, he begins to speak again.
"What, you too pretty to answer me?" He smiles and watches Brendon more closely. Of couse he thought the guy was pretty - hell, he's even heard Bert mention that he wouldn't mind having his way with him some time. But that's Bert, he says that about almost everyone. Gerard squints a little, trying to see Brendon better through the bars. Sure enough, he sees a lump under the sheet of the bed, and knows it's him. He sighs, hoping Brendon's not sleeping. Gerard knows, to his dismay, that if he is it means he's going to be up for the rest of the night, alone and in the dark. Even he likes a little conversation once in a while. Even if it's in the pitch black dark, in a cold dreary prison cell. But in places like this, after a while you learn to just take what you can get, and don't bitch about it.

[Amber]

Brendon: "What do you want me to say?" Brendon shoots through the dark, still breathing through the sheets. After a short pause, he lifts his makeshift veil and turns to face Gerard. ..This guy just won't give it up.
"'That I just am too pretty, and that I don't want to talk to a heathen like you?', and start some shit so that the moment we're in open space you have a reason to snap me in half?" Brendon raises an eyebrow at the skeletal-looking older man, but soon retreats back to submission and turns down his gaze.

[Sam]

Gerard: He blinks slowly at Brendon's response, and feels his shoulders drop. That tone of voice - he's heard it before.

"Gerard, no I don't want to smoke. I was never into that stuff." Mikey says, giving you a look from on his bed. You just smile, feeling all that alcohol you'd drank earlier finally beginning to work it's magic.
"Aw, c'mon Mikes, you'll liiikke it." Your speech is slurred, and he glares at you.
"Look, if you're that wasted, then just get out of my room. I don't want to have to clean up your vomit."
"But Mike--"
"Gerard, GET OUT."

Casting his eyes to the floor, Gerard pushes himself from the wall, and goes back over to his bed. Lying down and trying to avoid that spring that always seems to jab his back somehow, he shuts his eyes. Memories are always too much.

[Amber]

Brendon: Brendon's jaw virtually drops. He expected something back, something that would burn. Instead, Gerard just seems to blow himself down, and walk away. Bren's mouth emits a pointless sound, But soon takes it back and leaves Gerard to his own. He settles himself back down, anxious and confused, but doesn't try to fall asleep. Far too strange of a night to sleep.

[Sam]

Gerard: He hears what he thinks to be a small sound coming from Brendon, but he just ignores it. For now, all that he can think about it the past. About Mikey. His once baby brother. Things used to be so happy back at home. Gerard himself was a few months away from graduating art school, and was dreaming of creating a cartoon series of his own. Mikey had always supported him. Ever since day one, when he was about twelve and had sketched out this really crappy looking Batman from the latest comic. Gerard smiles to himself at the memory, but feels a sharp sting in his heart. It tells him that those days are long gone.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, more to himself than anything else.