fic: concentrated evil
Title: Concentrated Evil
Character(s): Sylvester, Fabray, anonymous cheerleaders
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor its characters.
Summary: She looks on at them in disgust, the angelic blonde of her hair clashing with the satanic red of her track suit. The blue of her eyes clashing with the black void where her soul should be.
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: ~300
The routine ends and an unnerving silence settles over the field. Thirty cheerleaders -out of breath, some dehydrated, and a few suppressing the symptoms of heat stroke- watch in fearful apprehension as she surveys them, no doubt taking time to recall every flaw of their performance.
She looks on at them in disgust, the angelic blonde of her hair clashing with the satanic red of her track suit. The blue of her eyes clashing with the black void where her soul should be. Thanks to the seniors, the freshman firmly believe she was sired by a mixture of Josef Stalin’s ghost and concentrated evil. Thanks to her ruthlessness, the seniors half believe the story themselves.
Her fingers curl around the megaphone in her hand as she brings the speaker to her mouth, and thirty cheerleaders hold their breath. The lower classmen can’t suppress a shudder.
Their assistant coach: four feet of deceptively cute, blood-thirsty terror.
“Sloppy babies!” the seven-year-old’s voice booms across the field. “You think this is hard? Try being abandoned by your teenage mother to be raised by her sociopathic cheerleading coach. That’s hard!”
The little girl smirks as she looks up to Coach Sylvester, the only mother she’s ever really known, who nods in approval before using her own megaphone to finish the reprimand.
“Are there National champions here? Because all I can see is mediocrity and expanding waistbands! Now go throw up any lunch you’ve eaten and hit the showers! You stink of failure!”
As the cheerleaders file off the field, Sue feels a small hand grip her own. “I think we should cut their sleeping privileges and increase practice to midnight. They’re getting sloppy.”
Sue smiles and gives the little girl’s hand a squeeze before they head off to their appropriately expensive and shiny winners’ car. She couldn’t have asked for a better protégée.
Or daughter.
Character(s): Sylvester, Fabray, anonymous cheerleaders
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own neither Glee nor its characters.
Summary: She looks on at them in disgust, the angelic blonde of her hair clashing with the satanic red of her track suit. The blue of her eyes clashing with the black void where her soul should be.
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: ~300
The routine ends and an unnerving silence settles over the field. Thirty cheerleaders -out of breath, some dehydrated, and a few suppressing the symptoms of heat stroke- watch in fearful apprehension as she surveys them, no doubt taking time to recall every flaw of their performance.
She looks on at them in disgust, the angelic blonde of her hair clashing with the satanic red of her track suit. The blue of her eyes clashing with the black void where her soul should be. Thanks to the seniors, the freshman firmly believe she was sired by a mixture of Josef Stalin’s ghost and concentrated evil. Thanks to her ruthlessness, the seniors half believe the story themselves.
Her fingers curl around the megaphone in her hand as she brings the speaker to her mouth, and thirty cheerleaders hold their breath. The lower classmen can’t suppress a shudder.
Their assistant coach: four feet of deceptively cute, blood-thirsty terror.
“Sloppy babies!” the seven-year-old’s voice booms across the field. “You think this is hard? Try being abandoned by your teenage mother to be raised by her sociopathic cheerleading coach. That’s hard!”
The little girl smirks as she looks up to Coach Sylvester, the only mother she’s ever really known, who nods in approval before using her own megaphone to finish the reprimand.
“Are there National champions here? Because all I can see is mediocrity and expanding waistbands! Now go throw up any lunch you’ve eaten and hit the showers! You stink of failure!”
As the cheerleaders file off the field, Sue feels a small hand grip her own. “I think we should cut their sleeping privileges and increase practice to midnight. They’re getting sloppy.”
Sue smiles and gives the little girl’s hand a squeeze before they head off to their appropriately expensive and shiny winners’ car. She couldn’t have asked for a better protégée.
Or daughter.