Mr Thompson's Pub and Cabaret

In the daylight, there was something different about Mr. Thompson's. There was something about the whole street where the building was located. The sun made it seem less sinister, and with the marquee unlit, there wasn't as much of the Vegas glitz as there was at night, but yet it still intrigued Brendon. He still was somehow so interested in everything about it, the lights and the music and the dancing became the only thing that he could possibly think about.

Mr. Thompson's Pub & Cabaret became so much of an obsession for Brendon, the day after he had gone for the first time, he found himself coming back with his guitar case slung over his shoulder.

His fingers wrapped around the golden door knocker on the right side of the double doors, and after a few minutes, a woman wearing a long black robe with black hair in tight curls answered, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Puis-je vous aider?"

Brendon's eyebrows furrowed as he processed what the woman had just said to him. "Je ne parle tres bien francais. Est-il Mr. Thompson?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and the exposed skin on her arm reveled a chain of small flowers tattooed up her wrist. She leaned a shoulder against the faded wood of the door way. "Qui veut savoir?"

"Mon nom est Brendon Urie. Je me demandais si vous aviez besoin des musiciens ici."

They woman's amber eyes flickered towards the guitar on his back and then back to him. She pursed her lips and then held the door open for him. "Entrez."

The inside was better lit than it had been the previous night. It seemed to be a new place entirely, except the bar was still there, and the tables, and the stage with the velvet red curtains hanging over. The chandelier over head glistened in the tiny bit of sunlight coming in through the windows near the back of the bar.

"Le bar n'ouvre qu'à sept, et le spectacle ne commence pas avant dix ans. M. Thompson! Il ya quelqu'un ici pour vous voir." The woman stared at Brendon for a minute, before disappearing back stage, and a moment later, Mr. Thompson walked out, his face clean of the makeup he'd been wearing earlier. Now he just appeared to be a man in his mid-thirties just making a living.

He slowly examined Brendon, pulled a chair out from underneath the table, and sat down. "Yes?"

After clearing his throat, and giving himself a minute to adjust to speaking English, Brendon continued. "I've been looking for a job ever since I came into Chicago, and I came across this place last night, and...I was really interested in getting a job here. As a musician? I'm a fast learner, I can sight read, and I can play a few things that you might find useful."

"That being...?"

"I can play guitar, piano, bass, drums, accordion, organ-"

Mr. Thompson shook his head. "I'm sorry, your name is?"

"Brendon. Brendon Urie." He extended his hand out for him to shake, and Mr. Thompson placed it in his hand, holding the grasp tightly for a minute, keeping strong eye contact with Brendon before taking his hand away.

Mr. Thompson leaned back in his chair and waited a minute before beginning to talk again. "Brendon Urie. Interesting name. But you do know that I can't just hire you without hearing you play. That would be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, even if you were the world's greatest musician."

"Why is that, sir?" he asked, pulling out the chair across from him.

"Because, Brendon, cabaret is not just a job. It's not something we wake up in the morning and say that we have to do. It's a lifestyle. It's how you eat, breathe, sleep. And in order to be here, you must prove to me that you can handle that lifestyle, and live up to our expectations."

"I think I can do that, sir."

The older man stood up, looking up at Brendon, before heading back stage where the woman had disappeared off to, but appeared yet again with a few sheets of paper in his hand. "Alright. You say you can sight read, and I'm going to hold you to your word. Play this for me on your guitar."

Brendon walked up onto the stage and read over the music quickly, before unzipping his guitar and playing the original score in front of him. His fingers gently danced upon the neck of his guitar as he perfectly hit every note in the 3/4 time signature, as every note and beat was stamped in his brain and he had played it many times before. Years and years of practice had gotten him this far, and he wouldn't let it fail him now.

As he finished, he looked up towards Mr. Thompson for some sort of expression, to see how he liked what he had heard, but he kept a straight poker face. "Well Brendon," he said. It seemed like he enjoyed to say his name. "Our current guitarist gave us his two week notice on Thursday. It looks like you're in luck." He extended his hand just like Brendon had a few minutes ago. "Congratulations, you're now apart of the family."