fic: Solar Winds (45/?), Part 1/2
Media: Fic
Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 45/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, swearing, violence.
Spoilers: None for either series that I am aware of.
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Word Count: ~6400
Summary: When a usurper sets eyes on the Fire Nation throne, Avatar Kurt and friends find themselves on the run with the deposed Prince Blaine in a country gone mad. Can they escape Lady Sylvester’s wrath? Or will her minions snuff them out for good? Fusion fic!
Author’s Note: My current goal is to have Chapter 50 be the finale of Act 2. As a result, there should be four parts to Raise Your Glass. The next few chapters might be fairly large, but they are loaded with fun, so hopefully you won’t mind. ;) Enjoy!
Master Post
~~~
CHAPTER 45 - Raise Your Glass, Part 2
Rich people are boring.
Kurt practically has to nail his hands to his thighs to keep from twiddling his thumbs or playing with his hair while the Duke of Waht-Evah prattles to the Chancellor of Hoo-Kaers about some kind of sport that involves catching balls in nets… or spikes… or something. Kurt always blanked out when his dad and Finn had their little sports talks, and apparently it now functions as a reflex. It never fails to amaze him how many things about a society can be completely different, with just a few things remaining as constants. Sports talk is, apparently, a constant among males, which means that Kurt is feeling decidedly out of place with his newfound companions.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the gender fence, Mercedes smiles politely while a Countess and a Duchess hold a progressively more aggressive game of richer-than-thou. They prattle on about all sorts of things that Mercedes truthfully has no interest in whatsoever-expensive clothes, the latest trends, designer pets, their private beach houses on Ember Island, their privately-owned beaches, blah, blah, blah.
It takes a second or so of eye contact from across the table for them to silently communicate their mutual need for escape.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Kurt says. “I must away for a moment.”
“Ladies,” Mercedes says. “I’m going to freshen up. Be right back.”
Their companions dismiss them quickly. The men go back to sports talk. The women back to one-upmanship.
And Kurt and Mercedes wander a short distance away to have a little chat.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Kurt says, annoyed. “All these doofuses want to talk about is sports. I can’t undermine them if I don’t even understand half of what they are saying!”
“The women are no better,” Mercedes says, massaging her forehead. “All they do is prattle on about all the expensive shit they buy, trying to out-rich each other. It’s like they’re speaking another language.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, intrigued. “Do they mention fashion, by any chance?”
Mercedes considers this for a few seconds. “They do,” she says.
“Ah-ha…” Kurt drawls, smirking with fiendish glee. “You know, I seem to remember the Duke and the Chancellor eying you up earlier this evening…”
~~~
Mercedes reaches over to the appetizer tray and pops what appears to be a small blob of congealed rainbow into her mouth.
It happens all at once.
Her eyes widen. Her pupils dilate. Her body temperature rises. A light sheen of begins to form on her skin as she reclines in her seat, her tastebuds experiencing nothing less than unbridled ecstasy.
Whoever this Chef Flambé guy is, he is damn good at what he does.
She moans. She groans. The noises that come out of her blow straight past ‘inappropriate’ and land well into ‘scandalous’ territory.
Everyone at the table is staring at her.
“My compliments to the Chef,” she says lasciviously.
The women try not to seem too eager when they snatch a few blobs for themselves.
Meanwhile, the men eye her with a decidedly different kind of hunger…
~~~
“That was quite the performance you put on,” Kurt says with a grin.
Mercedes shakes her head. “Oh, no, honey, that was no act. Those little blobs are like tonguegasms.”
Kurt quirks an eyebrow at her. “Huh. Might have to try one myself… either way,” he says, smirk returning. “I have an idea…”
When they return to the table, Mercedes is the first to take a seat…
…between the men.
“Hello boys,” Mercedes says. “Mind if I join you?”
“Errr…” the Duke says, looking uneasy. “Well… your husband… he might…”
“Oh, he’s no problem,” she says. “He’s right over there.”
She waves coyly to Kurt, who is now seated across the table with the ladies. He gives a little wave back.
Turning back to the boys club, Mercedes puts on her best veil of innocence. “I just heard you boys talking about… that ball game, with the net,” she says, looking confused. “What did you call it?”
“Kuai Ball?” the Chancellor says.
“That’s it!” Mercedes says excitedly. “I’ve always been curious… I was wondering…” she trails off, leading them on with an exaggerated pout. “Could you boys explain it to me?”
“Of course!”
“Certainly!”
They speak at the same time, and immediately launch into an explanation of the ins and outs of the game. Mercedes listens attentively-not because she’s really interested, but because it’s vital to her plan. Years of being around boys have taught her several useful lessons… one of which being thus; if left unchecked, a disagreement between boys about sports will inevitably lead to bloodshed. She smiles as they talk, nodding at all the right places, just waiting for the chance to plant the first seed and watch the chaos grow…
Meanwhile, Kurt chooses a more roundabout way of dealing with the ladies. Having given each of them a once-over to spot their weaknesses, he lays the trap carefully…
“Councilor,” Countess Gertrude says, looking across the table. “Your wife…”
“Oh, she is fine,” Kurt says, waving her off. “She merely aches for the acquisition of knowledge. I, on the other hand,” he says, nodding to her, “ache for beauty.”
“Oh, well,” the Countess blushes.
“Indeed,” he says, turning to the slightly younger Duchess Dorothy. “In my presence this evening are two of the most radiant stars to shine on the earth, or in the heavens.”
“Stop it,” the Duchess says, turning away coyly.
“Come now!” Kurt says. “Do not be shy! The two of you are immaculate. If the choice were offered, I do not believe I could choose between you.”
The ladies lock eyes for a split second. “Oh?” Countess Gertrude says.
“Indeed,” Kurt says, clutching a hand to his heart. “And do you know what impresses me most?”
The ladies lean forward.
“How natural you are,” he says sincerely. “I have always admired the products of nature’s providence. The man-made, the artificial, it all strikes me as a pale imitation of the true beauty to be found in nature. Your clothes, your jewelry, your hair, your flawless skin, all of it as natural as the day you were born. Truly, your natural beauty makes the eyes of my soul weep sparkling tears of awe. Equally magnificent, the pair of you,” he finishes, his voice thick, averting his eyes to dab at them with a hankie. He counts the seconds.
One… two… three…
“Well… I wasn’t going to say anything,” the Duchess says, full of false sweetness, “as I didn’t want to stir up trouble between the Countess and her husband, but… I do believe that necklace is a fake.”
The Countess gasps. Kurt gasps right along with her. “Say it is not so!” he cries.
“I’m afraid it is,” the Duchess says, sickeningly sycophantic. “Real sparkgems have a slight internal glimmer when you turn them, almost invisible to the untrained eye.” She puts a hand on the Countess’s shoulder. “It’s alright dear; you can’t be expected to spot these things. Your eyesight probably isn’t what it used to be. Hardly your fault.”
Burn, Kurt thinks, fighting back his grin. “Oh, you poor thing,” Kurt says, seeming at least a bit more sincere than the Duchess.
“I suppose I owe you thanks,” the Countess says, staring archly at her younger opposite. “Please, allow me to repay your kindness by pointing out that your white lion-lynx scarf is, in actuality, died skunk-mink.”
The Duchess can’t seem to decide whether to widen or narrow her eyes, so she gives one eye to each.
“By the breadth of Agni’s waistline!” Kurt says, scandalized.
“True white lion-lynx has a much softer curl, and a lighter sheen. It’s the kind of thing you learn to spot with experience, darling,” the Countess says with a carnivorous grin.
“Are you sure?” the Duchess asks tersely. “Perhaps your aging eyes are mistaken-”
“Oh, no, dearie,” the Countess counters. “I’m quite sure. There is one more aspect of died skunk-mink that sets it apart from genuine lion-lynx…”
At this, Gertrude reaches up and grabs onto the fur scarf, yanking a handful of hair out of it with admirable ease. “Skunk-mink fur comes right out! One can only wonder how many places this poor thing has shed since you started wearing it.”
The Duchess clenches her teeth. “Well… thank you for that. I will certainly be more careful in the future.” Her testy gaze rakes over the Countess for several more seconds, before she finds reason to smirk again. “As long as we’re on the subject of things that are fake, I feel it would be terribly rude of me not to mention…”
Kurt hides his smile behind a sip of tea. This is going to be a cakewalk…
~~~
Unfortunately, Blaine can hardly say the same for his job.
“You there!” a man with an outrageously curly mustache calls. “More tea!”
“Coming right up, sir!” Blaine calls, dashing over to refill the man’s cup.
“Excuse me, tea boy!” a woman in a deep purple dress calls. “My cup is empty!” she holds up the cup as an accusation against him.
“Terribly sorry, ma’am,” Blaine says, running towards her, pivoting and pirouetting around other guests while carefully balancing his tea tray on one hand. He refills her cup with admirable speed, but she simply harrumphs and turns away.
“Tea boy!” calls another voice.
Blaine bounds over.
“Hey! I’m running dry over here!”
The Prince sprints to the rescue.
“You! With the helmet hair and the teapot!”
Sho Fa’s newest bus-boy buses himself with aplomb.
“Waiter!”
“Tea boy!”
“Excuse me!”
“HEY!”
“IF I DO NOT GET SOME TEA IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS I AM GOING TO SCREAM UNTIL I PASS OUT!”
Back and forth across the floor, Blaine is bounced between tables like a little rubber ball. He administers his tea quickly and quietly, serving with a smile and always bowing graciously. He takes pride in his work, being sure to always act in a friendly, speedy, efficient manner.
It isn’t until he is on his way back to the kitchen to refill his teapot that he suddenly realizes; this isn’t even my job! Why on earth does he care so much about this?
Blaine stops for a few seconds, blinking and thinking.
He… might have a slight addiction to people-pleasing.
Whatever. He’ll worry about that later.
“Raw, raw, RAW!” Chef Flambé roars as Blaine enters the kitchen. He dashes underneath the Chef’s flailing arms as he lambasts some poor entry-level grunt on his inability to cook meat. Quickly finding another pot of tea, he replaces it on his tray and starts to head out. “I do not run a kitchen that serves raw food!” the Chef shouts. “I do not run a kitchen that serves sub-par meals! MY KITCHEN IS PERFECT! SO STEP UP, OR GET OUT!”
Blaine picks the second option, even knowing that the Chef isn’t actually talking to him. The last thing he wants is to get on that man’s bad side.
…
The Prince slides to a halt again.
Is that the last thing that he wants?
Hmmm…
Blaine smiles, quickly getting back to work with a new pep in his step.
He completely understands why Kurt gets that little smirk of his whenever he comes up with a plan. Having an idea is an electrifying feeling, and Blaine has a pretty good one, if he does say so himself…
~~~
Finn has his ear carefully pressed against the door, trying to hear whatever is happening inside, when he hears something else entirely.
“Is this the dressing room of Miss Rodell Betty?”
The voice makes Finn jump, which nearly makes him hit his head on the doorway. He’s dangerously close to hitting his head on everything anyway, so surprises are totally not cool with him. Spinning around like a pissed off tornado, Finn spots a guy with a notepad who looks very… pointy. Like, that’s the best way Finn can describe him. He looks like he could stab you. With himself.
“Sir?” Pointy Guy says. “I asked you a question.”
“Oh,” Finn says. “Uhhh, yeah, this is Rachel’s room.”
“Ah,” the man says. “She is present, yes?”
“Yes,” Finn says.
“And her costar?” asks Mr. Point.
Finn grits his teeth. “Him too.
“Fantastic,” he replies, making notes with a little pen. “They are on in ten minutes. Please inform them of such.”
“Okay,” Finn nods.
Pointy Man starts to head off, and suddenly, a thought bounces out of Finn’s skull and into his mouth.
“Hey!” Finn says. “Uhh… both of them are on? At the same time?”
The man turns back, arching an eyebrow at Finn. “Yes. The first number is a duet.”
“Oh,” Finn says, nodding. “Well… umm… Jesse was running a bit late. He… umm… might not have time to, you know, get ready. Rachel wanted me to ask you if she could do, like, a solo first, and have the duet come later.”
Pointy raises his other brow to join the first. “Very well. Miss Betty-”
“Berry.”
“-will be on in ten minutes,” he says, scribbling stuff on his paper pad.
“Thanks,” Finn grins.
Pointy walks off without another word.
The waterbender knocks on the door to Rachel’s dressing room.
Of course, Jesse opens it. “Finn,” he says with an annoyed smile. “You’re still here! Despite being completely superfluous!”
“I’m not sick,” Finn says, already tired of dealing with the jerk. “I haven’t had the flu since-”
“What do you want?” Jesse cuts him off, glaring at him.
“I just wanted to talk…” Finn says, before barging past Jesse into the room. “to Rachel-”
“FINN!” Rachel shouts, turning around to glare at him and cover her boobs.
Her boobs which are naked.
Her naked boobs, which Finn is looking at, but not looking at, because they are covered by her arm, but he is staring at her arm because he knows there are boobs underneath and it’s like the sun when people tell you not to stare at it, and that just makes you want to stare at it more because-
“FINN! GET OUT!” she shouts with super-Rachel-force, and Finn finally gathers enough sense to cover his eyes.
“Sorry!” he shouts. “Sorry! I just wanted to tell you that some guy came by and said he had to rearrange the songs because Jesse was running late so you’re doing your solo first and you’re on in ten minutes, okay, bye!”
Jesse grabs him and shoves him towards the door.
He slams into the wall on the way out.
Twice.
The door slams behind him, and Finn is pretty sure that, like, all of his blood is in his head now. His face needs to share with the rest of his body because he kind of feels like he is going to pass out soon.
And he can’t afford to pass out right now. This might be his one chance to get Rachel alone and tell her what he knows about Jesse St. Stick-up-his-ass.
Oh, yeah. He’s squealing like a startled moo-sow. He doesn’t care what Jesse thinks or does. Rachel deserves to know the kind of douche she is about to run off with.
And Finn is going to tell her.
Just as soon as he drinks, like, a ton of water because all of a sudden, his mouth is, like, really dry…
~~~
“Well, far be it from me to point out the obvious!” the Duchess seethes, rising to her feet, her voice growing louder and louder. “I’m sorry that you have to wear so much make-up that you probably melt in direct sunlight!”
“Ladies, please!” Kurt says uselessly, eying the two ladies with all the pretend horror he can muster. Their little spat is starting to gather quite the crowd.
“I’d rather melt than be made of rock!” the Countess responds scathingly, ejecting from her own chair. “Tell me, darling, how do you eat? Is your jaw more flexible in the mornings or do you just have someone pre-chew your food?”
Both women are practically plum-faced with fury. It’s only a matter of time before the explosion.
“What on earth is going on here?” Lady Keros says, pushing through the crowds.
“Cat fight in the making!” a gruff voice shouts.
“My money’s on the frumpy old one!” a younger voice replies.
“Have you seen the claws on the skinny one?” a smooth voice asks.
“My friends!” Lady Keros pleads to the women in question. “There is no need for all this arguing. Why don’t we all just step outsid-”
“STAY OUT OF THIS!” the bellow in unison, turning back to each other.
The Countess is the first to speak after that. “By the way, I simply must know what kind of eyedrops you use. It’s startling how your eyes stay moist despite the fact that you can barely blink! Or are those fake as well?”
The old bird knows how to press buttons, that’s for sure.
And fortunately for Kurt, this particular button is labeled ‘detonation.’ “They’re certainly more real than your wig, you balding old witch!” the Duchess shouts, stepping forth and ripping off the older woman’s hairpiece, revealing the barely-there net of gray underneath.
The crowd gasps in outrage.
The Countess, by contrast, is enraged. “Well, at least I started with hair and lost it! You can’t lose what you’ve never had… little Miss Paper Boobs!” With that, the older woman steps forth and grabs the front of the Duchess’s top, pulling it out, reaching down, and producing two wadded up rolls of paper in her hands.
Kurt is pretty sure at least one woman faints outright.
“You… bitch!” the Duchess roars.
And it is on.
Faces are slapped. Claws are raked. Heels come down on toes, and the crowd goes wild.
“Oh, my dear gods,” Lady Keros breathes, horrified. She snatches a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and downs it in a single gulp before shouting “Security!”
Blaine tries not to look like he’s paying too much attention as he counts two guards spilling out of the backroom to contain the melee.
Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, Kurt spots a bit of orange in a flowerpot, and quietly slinks away from the crowd, admiring the ferocity of the battle as he goes.
The Countess has a mean left hook. Woman could probably cold-cock a platypus bear into unconsciousness if she really needed to. At least one guard gets to experience this firsthand as he tries to pull the women apart.
Yeouch, Kurt thinks. Good thing he was wearing a helmet…
~~~
To the Next Part
Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 45/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, swearing, violence.
Spoilers: None for either series that I am aware of.
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Word Count: ~6400
Summary: When a usurper sets eyes on the Fire Nation throne, Avatar Kurt and friends find themselves on the run with the deposed Prince Blaine in a country gone mad. Can they escape Lady Sylvester’s wrath? Or will her minions snuff them out for good? Fusion fic!
Author’s Note: My current goal is to have Chapter 50 be the finale of Act 2. As a result, there should be four parts to Raise Your Glass. The next few chapters might be fairly large, but they are loaded with fun, so hopefully you won’t mind. ;) Enjoy!
Master Post
~~~
CHAPTER 45 - Raise Your Glass, Part 2
Rich people are boring.
Kurt practically has to nail his hands to his thighs to keep from twiddling his thumbs or playing with his hair while the Duke of Waht-Evah prattles to the Chancellor of Hoo-Kaers about some kind of sport that involves catching balls in nets… or spikes… or something. Kurt always blanked out when his dad and Finn had their little sports talks, and apparently it now functions as a reflex. It never fails to amaze him how many things about a society can be completely different, with just a few things remaining as constants. Sports talk is, apparently, a constant among males, which means that Kurt is feeling decidedly out of place with his newfound companions.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the gender fence, Mercedes smiles politely while a Countess and a Duchess hold a progressively more aggressive game of richer-than-thou. They prattle on about all sorts of things that Mercedes truthfully has no interest in whatsoever-expensive clothes, the latest trends, designer pets, their private beach houses on Ember Island, their privately-owned beaches, blah, blah, blah.
It takes a second or so of eye contact from across the table for them to silently communicate their mutual need for escape.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Kurt says. “I must away for a moment.”
“Ladies,” Mercedes says. “I’m going to freshen up. Be right back.”
Their companions dismiss them quickly. The men go back to sports talk. The women back to one-upmanship.
And Kurt and Mercedes wander a short distance away to have a little chat.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Kurt says, annoyed. “All these doofuses want to talk about is sports. I can’t undermine them if I don’t even understand half of what they are saying!”
“The women are no better,” Mercedes says, massaging her forehead. “All they do is prattle on about all the expensive shit they buy, trying to out-rich each other. It’s like they’re speaking another language.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows at her, intrigued. “Do they mention fashion, by any chance?”
Mercedes considers this for a few seconds. “They do,” she says.
“Ah-ha…” Kurt drawls, smirking with fiendish glee. “You know, I seem to remember the Duke and the Chancellor eying you up earlier this evening…”
~~~
Mercedes reaches over to the appetizer tray and pops what appears to be a small blob of congealed rainbow into her mouth.
It happens all at once.
Her eyes widen. Her pupils dilate. Her body temperature rises. A light sheen of begins to form on her skin as she reclines in her seat, her tastebuds experiencing nothing less than unbridled ecstasy.
Whoever this Chef Flambé guy is, he is damn good at what he does.
She moans. She groans. The noises that come out of her blow straight past ‘inappropriate’ and land well into ‘scandalous’ territory.
Everyone at the table is staring at her.
“My compliments to the Chef,” she says lasciviously.
The women try not to seem too eager when they snatch a few blobs for themselves.
Meanwhile, the men eye her with a decidedly different kind of hunger…
~~~
“That was quite the performance you put on,” Kurt says with a grin.
Mercedes shakes her head. “Oh, no, honey, that was no act. Those little blobs are like tonguegasms.”
Kurt quirks an eyebrow at her. “Huh. Might have to try one myself… either way,” he says, smirk returning. “I have an idea…”
When they return to the table, Mercedes is the first to take a seat…
…between the men.
“Hello boys,” Mercedes says. “Mind if I join you?”
“Errr…” the Duke says, looking uneasy. “Well… your husband… he might…”
“Oh, he’s no problem,” she says. “He’s right over there.”
She waves coyly to Kurt, who is now seated across the table with the ladies. He gives a little wave back.
Turning back to the boys club, Mercedes puts on her best veil of innocence. “I just heard you boys talking about… that ball game, with the net,” she says, looking confused. “What did you call it?”
“Kuai Ball?” the Chancellor says.
“That’s it!” Mercedes says excitedly. “I’ve always been curious… I was wondering…” she trails off, leading them on with an exaggerated pout. “Could you boys explain it to me?”
“Of course!”
“Certainly!”
They speak at the same time, and immediately launch into an explanation of the ins and outs of the game. Mercedes listens attentively-not because she’s really interested, but because it’s vital to her plan. Years of being around boys have taught her several useful lessons… one of which being thus; if left unchecked, a disagreement between boys about sports will inevitably lead to bloodshed. She smiles as they talk, nodding at all the right places, just waiting for the chance to plant the first seed and watch the chaos grow…
Meanwhile, Kurt chooses a more roundabout way of dealing with the ladies. Having given each of them a once-over to spot their weaknesses, he lays the trap carefully…
“Councilor,” Countess Gertrude says, looking across the table. “Your wife…”
“Oh, she is fine,” Kurt says, waving her off. “She merely aches for the acquisition of knowledge. I, on the other hand,” he says, nodding to her, “ache for beauty.”
“Oh, well,” the Countess blushes.
“Indeed,” he says, turning to the slightly younger Duchess Dorothy. “In my presence this evening are two of the most radiant stars to shine on the earth, or in the heavens.”
“Stop it,” the Duchess says, turning away coyly.
“Come now!” Kurt says. “Do not be shy! The two of you are immaculate. If the choice were offered, I do not believe I could choose between you.”
The ladies lock eyes for a split second. “Oh?” Countess Gertrude says.
“Indeed,” Kurt says, clutching a hand to his heart. “And do you know what impresses me most?”
The ladies lean forward.
“How natural you are,” he says sincerely. “I have always admired the products of nature’s providence. The man-made, the artificial, it all strikes me as a pale imitation of the true beauty to be found in nature. Your clothes, your jewelry, your hair, your flawless skin, all of it as natural as the day you were born. Truly, your natural beauty makes the eyes of my soul weep sparkling tears of awe. Equally magnificent, the pair of you,” he finishes, his voice thick, averting his eyes to dab at them with a hankie. He counts the seconds.
One… two… three…
“Well… I wasn’t going to say anything,” the Duchess says, full of false sweetness, “as I didn’t want to stir up trouble between the Countess and her husband, but… I do believe that necklace is a fake.”
The Countess gasps. Kurt gasps right along with her. “Say it is not so!” he cries.
“I’m afraid it is,” the Duchess says, sickeningly sycophantic. “Real sparkgems have a slight internal glimmer when you turn them, almost invisible to the untrained eye.” She puts a hand on the Countess’s shoulder. “It’s alright dear; you can’t be expected to spot these things. Your eyesight probably isn’t what it used to be. Hardly your fault.”
Burn, Kurt thinks, fighting back his grin. “Oh, you poor thing,” Kurt says, seeming at least a bit more sincere than the Duchess.
“I suppose I owe you thanks,” the Countess says, staring archly at her younger opposite. “Please, allow me to repay your kindness by pointing out that your white lion-lynx scarf is, in actuality, died skunk-mink.”
The Duchess can’t seem to decide whether to widen or narrow her eyes, so she gives one eye to each.
“By the breadth of Agni’s waistline!” Kurt says, scandalized.
“True white lion-lynx has a much softer curl, and a lighter sheen. It’s the kind of thing you learn to spot with experience, darling,” the Countess says with a carnivorous grin.
“Are you sure?” the Duchess asks tersely. “Perhaps your aging eyes are mistaken-”
“Oh, no, dearie,” the Countess counters. “I’m quite sure. There is one more aspect of died skunk-mink that sets it apart from genuine lion-lynx…”
At this, Gertrude reaches up and grabs onto the fur scarf, yanking a handful of hair out of it with admirable ease. “Skunk-mink fur comes right out! One can only wonder how many places this poor thing has shed since you started wearing it.”
The Duchess clenches her teeth. “Well… thank you for that. I will certainly be more careful in the future.” Her testy gaze rakes over the Countess for several more seconds, before she finds reason to smirk again. “As long as we’re on the subject of things that are fake, I feel it would be terribly rude of me not to mention…”
Kurt hides his smile behind a sip of tea. This is going to be a cakewalk…
~~~
Unfortunately, Blaine can hardly say the same for his job.
“You there!” a man with an outrageously curly mustache calls. “More tea!”
“Coming right up, sir!” Blaine calls, dashing over to refill the man’s cup.
“Excuse me, tea boy!” a woman in a deep purple dress calls. “My cup is empty!” she holds up the cup as an accusation against him.
“Terribly sorry, ma’am,” Blaine says, running towards her, pivoting and pirouetting around other guests while carefully balancing his tea tray on one hand. He refills her cup with admirable speed, but she simply harrumphs and turns away.
“Tea boy!” calls another voice.
Blaine bounds over.
“Hey! I’m running dry over here!”
The Prince sprints to the rescue.
“You! With the helmet hair and the teapot!”
Sho Fa’s newest bus-boy buses himself with aplomb.
“Waiter!”
“Tea boy!”
“Excuse me!”
“HEY!”
“IF I DO NOT GET SOME TEA IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS I AM GOING TO SCREAM UNTIL I PASS OUT!”
Back and forth across the floor, Blaine is bounced between tables like a little rubber ball. He administers his tea quickly and quietly, serving with a smile and always bowing graciously. He takes pride in his work, being sure to always act in a friendly, speedy, efficient manner.
It isn’t until he is on his way back to the kitchen to refill his teapot that he suddenly realizes; this isn’t even my job! Why on earth does he care so much about this?
Blaine stops for a few seconds, blinking and thinking.
He… might have a slight addiction to people-pleasing.
Whatever. He’ll worry about that later.
“Raw, raw, RAW!” Chef Flambé roars as Blaine enters the kitchen. He dashes underneath the Chef’s flailing arms as he lambasts some poor entry-level grunt on his inability to cook meat. Quickly finding another pot of tea, he replaces it on his tray and starts to head out. “I do not run a kitchen that serves raw food!” the Chef shouts. “I do not run a kitchen that serves sub-par meals! MY KITCHEN IS PERFECT! SO STEP UP, OR GET OUT!”
Blaine picks the second option, even knowing that the Chef isn’t actually talking to him. The last thing he wants is to get on that man’s bad side.
…
The Prince slides to a halt again.
Is that the last thing that he wants?
Hmmm…
Blaine smiles, quickly getting back to work with a new pep in his step.
He completely understands why Kurt gets that little smirk of his whenever he comes up with a plan. Having an idea is an electrifying feeling, and Blaine has a pretty good one, if he does say so himself…
~~~
Finn has his ear carefully pressed against the door, trying to hear whatever is happening inside, when he hears something else entirely.
“Is this the dressing room of Miss Rodell Betty?”
The voice makes Finn jump, which nearly makes him hit his head on the doorway. He’s dangerously close to hitting his head on everything anyway, so surprises are totally not cool with him. Spinning around like a pissed off tornado, Finn spots a guy with a notepad who looks very… pointy. Like, that’s the best way Finn can describe him. He looks like he could stab you. With himself.
“Sir?” Pointy Guy says. “I asked you a question.”
“Oh,” Finn says. “Uhhh, yeah, this is Rachel’s room.”
“Ah,” the man says. “She is present, yes?”
“Yes,” Finn says.
“And her costar?” asks Mr. Point.
Finn grits his teeth. “Him too.
“Fantastic,” he replies, making notes with a little pen. “They are on in ten minutes. Please inform them of such.”
“Okay,” Finn nods.
Pointy Man starts to head off, and suddenly, a thought bounces out of Finn’s skull and into his mouth.
“Hey!” Finn says. “Uhh… both of them are on? At the same time?”
The man turns back, arching an eyebrow at Finn. “Yes. The first number is a duet.”
“Oh,” Finn says, nodding. “Well… umm… Jesse was running a bit late. He… umm… might not have time to, you know, get ready. Rachel wanted me to ask you if she could do, like, a solo first, and have the duet come later.”
Pointy raises his other brow to join the first. “Very well. Miss Betty-”
“Berry.”
“-will be on in ten minutes,” he says, scribbling stuff on his paper pad.
“Thanks,” Finn grins.
Pointy walks off without another word.
The waterbender knocks on the door to Rachel’s dressing room.
Of course, Jesse opens it. “Finn,” he says with an annoyed smile. “You’re still here! Despite being completely superfluous!”
“I’m not sick,” Finn says, already tired of dealing with the jerk. “I haven’t had the flu since-”
“What do you want?” Jesse cuts him off, glaring at him.
“I just wanted to talk…” Finn says, before barging past Jesse into the room. “to Rachel-”
“FINN!” Rachel shouts, turning around to glare at him and cover her boobs.
Her boobs which are naked.
Her naked boobs, which Finn is looking at, but not looking at, because they are covered by her arm, but he is staring at her arm because he knows there are boobs underneath and it’s like the sun when people tell you not to stare at it, and that just makes you want to stare at it more because-
“FINN! GET OUT!” she shouts with super-Rachel-force, and Finn finally gathers enough sense to cover his eyes.
“Sorry!” he shouts. “Sorry! I just wanted to tell you that some guy came by and said he had to rearrange the songs because Jesse was running late so you’re doing your solo first and you’re on in ten minutes, okay, bye!”
Jesse grabs him and shoves him towards the door.
He slams into the wall on the way out.
Twice.
The door slams behind him, and Finn is pretty sure that, like, all of his blood is in his head now. His face needs to share with the rest of his body because he kind of feels like he is going to pass out soon.
And he can’t afford to pass out right now. This might be his one chance to get Rachel alone and tell her what he knows about Jesse St. Stick-up-his-ass.
Oh, yeah. He’s squealing like a startled moo-sow. He doesn’t care what Jesse thinks or does. Rachel deserves to know the kind of douche she is about to run off with.
And Finn is going to tell her.
Just as soon as he drinks, like, a ton of water because all of a sudden, his mouth is, like, really dry…
~~~
“Well, far be it from me to point out the obvious!” the Duchess seethes, rising to her feet, her voice growing louder and louder. “I’m sorry that you have to wear so much make-up that you probably melt in direct sunlight!”
“Ladies, please!” Kurt says uselessly, eying the two ladies with all the pretend horror he can muster. Their little spat is starting to gather quite the crowd.
“I’d rather melt than be made of rock!” the Countess responds scathingly, ejecting from her own chair. “Tell me, darling, how do you eat? Is your jaw more flexible in the mornings or do you just have someone pre-chew your food?”
Both women are practically plum-faced with fury. It’s only a matter of time before the explosion.
“What on earth is going on here?” Lady Keros says, pushing through the crowds.
“Cat fight in the making!” a gruff voice shouts.
“My money’s on the frumpy old one!” a younger voice replies.
“Have you seen the claws on the skinny one?” a smooth voice asks.
“My friends!” Lady Keros pleads to the women in question. “There is no need for all this arguing. Why don’t we all just step outsid-”
“STAY OUT OF THIS!” the bellow in unison, turning back to each other.
The Countess is the first to speak after that. “By the way, I simply must know what kind of eyedrops you use. It’s startling how your eyes stay moist despite the fact that you can barely blink! Or are those fake as well?”
The old bird knows how to press buttons, that’s for sure.
And fortunately for Kurt, this particular button is labeled ‘detonation.’ “They’re certainly more real than your wig, you balding old witch!” the Duchess shouts, stepping forth and ripping off the older woman’s hairpiece, revealing the barely-there net of gray underneath.
The crowd gasps in outrage.
The Countess, by contrast, is enraged. “Well, at least I started with hair and lost it! You can’t lose what you’ve never had… little Miss Paper Boobs!” With that, the older woman steps forth and grabs the front of the Duchess’s top, pulling it out, reaching down, and producing two wadded up rolls of paper in her hands.
Kurt is pretty sure at least one woman faints outright.
“You… bitch!” the Duchess roars.
And it is on.
Faces are slapped. Claws are raked. Heels come down on toes, and the crowd goes wild.
“Oh, my dear gods,” Lady Keros breathes, horrified. She snatches a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and downs it in a single gulp before shouting “Security!”
Blaine tries not to look like he’s paying too much attention as he counts two guards spilling out of the backroom to contain the melee.
Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, Kurt spots a bit of orange in a flowerpot, and quietly slinks away from the crowd, admiring the ferocity of the battle as he goes.
The Countess has a mean left hook. Woman could probably cold-cock a platypus bear into unconsciousness if she really needed to. At least one guard gets to experience this firsthand as he tries to pull the women apart.
Yeouch, Kurt thinks. Good thing he was wearing a helmet…
~~~
To the Next Part