fic: The Countertenor, The Seeker and The Wardrobe
Title: The Countertenor, The Seeker and The Wardrobe (Part 2)
Author: ahmarionette
Genre: humour (I hope!)
Rating: PG
Pairings: onesided Kurt/Blaine (but I'm planning on making this a 'verse type thing, if I can find the motivation, so eventual Kurt/Blaine!), David/England, Nick/Japanese poetry
Spoilers: none, goes AU from Kurt's transfer to Dalton
Warnings (if any): too much punctuation?
Word Count: ~1700 for this part
Summary: The worst part is, none of the others can notice it. It's like they're under some kind of spell, or hypnosis, or they're all being controlled by tiny identically-uniformed voodoo dolls.
Author's Note: I was going to wait until tomorrow to upload this, but I had so much fun writing this chapter (and megalomaniac!Wes).
Part 1
Friday November 30, 2010, 16:04
"So Kurt, what are you going to sing for us today?"
"I'll be singing Don't Cry For Me Argentina, from Evita, as I'm sure you all know."
"Well then, go ahead."
As the opening strains of the West End classic fill the room, Kurt searches across the open space for Blaine, needing some moral support. He doesn't get it. Instead, the boy he is looking for is picking at his fingernails, looking entirely distracted. Kurt fights the urge to feel insulted by this. There are more important things at hand. Besides, Blaine doesn't owe him anything. Aside from two dollars for yesterday's coffee. And a bagel, but that's beside the point. Blaine gave him the chance to come here, to Dalton. Blaine opened Kurt's eyes to a place of acceptance and equality, a place without slushies. Blaine is excused from listening. As for the rest of the boys laying about the room, some with eyes closed in obvious exhaustion, Kurt would just have to move them to listen with the power of his voice and impressive stage presence.
He opens his mouth, body emanating poise, and lets the first note fall from him with the elegance and practice of a true performer. He can't bring himself to feel nervous about this. Dalton is not the place to feel nervous. It is Kurt's place of safety, and he won't allow anxiety to ruin this audition, or any other aspect of his life here. It would also be a dishonour to his father and Carole, and their efforts to get him into such a prestigious school.
He doesn't know Dalton all that well yet, but he feels like he knows a certain few of the Warblers. So he picks out a couple of faces from the group of boys sprawled around the room to pour out the emotional intensity of the song to. His eye-line falls on Wes, the only one in the room looking like he's truly listening to Kurt. He knows Wes takes the Warblers very seriously, and Kurt can tell that his position of authority in the room is well earned. So he sings to Wes, and God does he sing it well. By the end of the song Kurt has to gasp for breath, not because his breathing is substandard (it's anything but, thank you very much), but because he's so worn with the emotion he's just laid bare to a room full of anything-but-enthralled young men.
Except Wes, who claps thoroughly from behind his desk, and Blaine, who stopped picking at his nails sometime through the first verse and is smiling a kind of fatherly smile, which is kind of creepy when Kurt thinks about it. He doesn't want Blaine to be 'proud of him'. Ick. He shoves the thought aside and soaks up the sounds of the clapping which Wes initiated.
It's beginning to seem as if Wes could be a real friend around Dalton. Somebody to share his love of the arts with. Wes obviously appreciates the genius that is Lloyd Webber, considering how captivated he'd seemed just a few seconds earlier. Yes, Wes might just be the kind of friend Kurt's been needing. A sort of... Filipino Rachel Berry. Less obnoxious, more male, but just as enthusiastic about the likes of Bernstein or Menken.
The applause quietens and Kurt listens eagerly in anticipation of what Wes will say. He finds himself suddenly craving his approval, that of a true connoisseur of the arts.
Wes picks up his gavel.
"Kurt", he begins "I'm sure everybody in this room will agree with me when I say how wonderful that performance was".
Kurt smiles and nods his thanks. The others in the room nod their concurrence.
"Your voice is spectacular, I'm sure you realise this. You have a unique gift and a rare timbre. A countertenor like you is a rarity, a very special thing..." He trails off, looking to David for guidance.
"What Wes means to say Kurt," David says "Is that somebody who could be, will be, such an asset to the Warblers in Sectionals and beyond... well, needs to be protected."
"I'm sorry?" Kurt is very confused by the direction this is taking. Aren't they supposed to just praise his audition and let him join the Warblers? Isn't that how it's meant to go?
"There are people out there, nasty people, who are going to want you for their own," Wes finds his voice again. Kurt is baffled, and looks across to Blaine again for support. He is met once again with disappointment, as Blaine is nodding sagely along with Wes' ridiculous words. Kurt vows never to call Blaine in an emergency, ever.
"Such people are everywhere, always watching us. They want to ruin our game Kurt, can't you see?" David's eyes are pleading, as if willing Kurt to understand. Kurt doesn't.
"I'm not really sure I understand what you're asking of me..." Kurt says, truthfully. "Does this mean I didn't get in? Because I thought you said I was-"
"Oh no, no! Your performance was fantastic!" David grins, but there's something strange about it, Kurt thinks. Almost... possessive.
"What we're trying to say here Kurt is that you need protecting and that we, as a unit, are the best ones for the job. We've been told what to do in a case such as this by our predecessors. It's all here in the Dalton Academy Warblers Handbook", Wes taps a file-o-fax with his index finger. "You're our responsibility now, Kurt. We can't let anybody else get their hands on you."
Kurt is outraged (and a little scared). "This is ridiculous, you're all a bunch of paranoid-"
"Warbler Kurt, we haven't finished." Wes sounds horribly calm and collected. Kurt feels like he's selling his soul to the devil, or some weird governmental organisation."
"I didn't ask for this! What are you, some kind of cult?!" Kurt yells, eyes wide as he tries to back out of the room slowly, whilst standing his ground against these lunatics.
"Kurt," Blaine's voice cuts across the room. "They're just trying to protect you..." But he sounds a little unsure, and Kurt can see him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth (he looks adorable when he's indecisive).
Kurt is about to say that he doesn't need protecting, but jarring memories from the previous few weeks flash through his mind, serving as reminders, so he stays quiet.
"Silence Warblers!" David booms. "Let's put this to a vote. All in favour of signing the duties for protection of Junior Warbler Kurt over to we, the Warblers as a whole, please raise your hands."
All but Kurt and Blaine raise one arm up, and Kurt gets the feeling that Blaine isn't really sure either way. Not that it would have mattered if he's sided with Wes, Kurt still would have lost. But he appreciates the support. Blaine is learning.
"Don't I get any say in this?" Kurt's voice is resigned and feeble.
"Warbler Kurt, this is a democracy!" Wes sounds positively gleeful as he points out what Kurt can only assume he thinks is the obvious. His hand gestures around the room at all the Warblers who have just signed off Kurt's freedom to a show choir full of mental cases.
"An almost unanimous vote," David informs Wes, as if it wasn't already clear.
As Wes turns to face him, Kurt can't help but feel a little betrayed. Just a few minutes ago he had thought of Wes as a potential friend. Now all dreams of Broadway evenings and trips to the ballet have been dashed. Wes is now some kind of weird, all singing, all dancing overlord who Kurt must adhere to. It's all so surreal.
He raps the gavel three times on the desk, sealing Kurt's fate.
The eyes of the other Warblers are all fixated on the gavel, even Blaine's. Kurt is struck again by how absurd it is that a group of teenage boys be treating this whole ordeal like some kind of sanctified act. Maybe Wes has them all under duress.
"Kurt, as stated in the Handbook, you will be accompanied by a Warbler at all times. When you go home, there will be a car stationed outside your house to protect you in case of an emergency attack. Are you boarding this weekend?"
"Yes." Kurt is dejected.
"Wonderful!" David grins.
Wes has lifted several, large cardboard boxes onto the desk and is now distributing little black walky-talkies around the room. "Warblers, please each take a walky-talky and set it to frequency 'three'. David and I had anticipated this happening since Junior Warbler Blaine informed us of Kurt's countertenor abilities, so we prepared for the occasion. Thanks for the heads up Blaine."
Several Warblers grin in admiration of Blaine's noble efforts. Kurt is absolutely livid. He glares at Blaine who, to his credit, is looking sufficiently sheepish, and turns back to Wes and his gang of minions.
"You're lunatics, every last one of you!" He yells.
"And you're a rare and special asset Kurt. We're preserving your dignity, you'll thank us for this one day."
"It's for the good of the group, Kurt."
"Think of sectionals, regionals..."
"Think of the Warblers!"
Kurt huffs, crossing his arms across his chest, and then uncrossing them to smack away the hand of some Warbler he doesn't know very well trying to fix some kind of tracking device to his blazer.
"Hey now," the Warbler says. "You'd want us to be able to find you if you were kidnapped, right?"
Kurt throws his hands in the air and curses under his breath, letting a near-perfect stranger attach a bug to his clothing. What the hell, he has nothing left to lose.
Friday November 30, 2010, 22.28
"Parakeet safely in his room for the night, over."
"God job Warbler Jon, over and out."
"Over and out, sir."
Jonathon Hyde, dressed all in black for stealth and camouflage, steps out of the shadows around North Dormitory, and makes his way back to his own room. He has reached the end of his shift without incident.
A job well done.