Mr Thompson's Pub and Cabaret

There was a desk in Brendon's office, one that had belonged to Mr. Thompson, that he really admired. It was a dark, mahogany wood, with tiny flowers caved into the legs. There were scratches on the top from it being used so often, and the drawers were crammed with paperwork and drawings of ideas Rodger had before he had...well...passed. Brendon never had the heart to throw any of them away, especially because he found them so interesting. So one day while he was shuffling through them, he heard a slight tap on his door.

"Come in," he called out, setting the papers on the desk and looked up to see Ryan and Jon slowly come inside. Their expressions were hard to decipher, and that made him uneasy. "Hey guys. How's it going?"

They nodded. "Good."

"Go ahead and sit down," Brendon offered, gesturing towards the chairs in front of the desk, which they accepted. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the guys carefully. "So...any reason in particular you're here right now?"

Ryan and Jon looked at each other, as if they were silently debating who was going to be the one to talk. Eventually Ryan lost the battle. "We were offered another job," he admitted, seeming very hesitant about what he needed to say. "Both of us. And it's a really good opportunity in a band."

What? What? Brendon bit down on his lip so hard be could almost taste a trace of blood. "Well congratulations. Are you going to accept it?" he asked. God, they couldn't, could they? I mean, the cabaret needed Ryan. His lyrics were what fueled the songs, and without songs, it wouldn't be a cabaret. Brendon wasn't a lyricist. He could write music, but not words.

This time Jon spoke. "We were planning on it, yeah. But it's all the way out in California. They're old friends of ours, and they're going to make it somewhere. They've already started, and they just need two guitarists." His lips drew into a thin line as he tried to study the look on Brendon's face.

He nodded. "Right, right. I see. Well, I won't stop you from going, especially considering the fact that I know this is what you both want to do but...shit." He shook his head again, raking a hand through his hair. "It's not going to be easy without you." In the past few years Ryan and Brendon had gotten close. He'd learned about him, and really considered him a friend. He still didn't know Jon as well as he would have liked, but he was still an important part of the cabaret.

"Well, this is our two week notice," Ryan said quietly.

The two week notice. He hadn't had to deal with that the whole time he'd been here, Until now. Until he was loosing one of the most important people on the staff. What if Vera went next? What if the whole cabaret was crumbling under his feet? He'd be letting Mr. Thompson down. He'd be letting himself down. The last time a two week notice was brought up, it was Brendon getting the job.

"You're still more than welcome to use my songs," he added, his voice still soft. "If you want to use them. I know that...I know that those were things you really liked using."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did," Brendon replied, tracing one of the indents of the desk with his finger. "Thanks, Ry. And, I guess I wish you both luck for whatever becomes of your band." He tried to smile, but it came out a little sad looking.

"Thanks," they both said, and their little meeting ended. They walked out of the office and back towards the stage.

How was he going to break the news to everyone else? How was he going to get new songs. They couldn't just keep working on all of the same material again and again, because then it would become routine. Then everyone would know what to expect, and it'd be terrible for business. He'd really gotten himself into a hole, and he was struggling to get out.