fic: Solar Winds (46/?), part 1/4
Media: Fic
Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 46/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, swearing, violence.
Spoilers: None for either series that I am aware of.
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Word Count: ~15,000
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: I’ve got to rethink my stopping points. I almost split this into two parts, but I am determined to have Act 2 over by Chapter 50. It’s just such a nice, neat number! As a result, this part is longer than the previous two chapters combined and might well be longer than the final part of Raise Your Glass. Hopefully, there is so much good stuff here that you won’t mind. The next chapter is a truly juicy bit of plot, so stay tuned. ;)
Master Post
~~~
CHAPTER 46 - Raise Your Glass, Part 3
The semi-ruffled head of Lady Keros pokes through the door to the artifact room.
“Is the thingy ready yet?” she slurs.
Gregory looks away from the tablet, glancing back at her, annoyed. “Not yet. I still need to add a few-”
“HOLY CRAP,” the Lady sighs, somehow managing a full-body eye roll, cupping her hands around her mouth as she shouts; “NO ONE CARRRRRRRES.”
Gregory is not amused. “Do you really think this will foo-”
“Do you really think anybody’s here is going to give a crap?” the Lady asks. “Everyone here is a moron. Draw a fucking smiley face on it for all I care, just hurry up. I need distractions!”
“Yes, milad-” Gregory starts.
He doesn’t finish, however, as the Lady has already flounced back to the ballroom.
Gregory sighs. “The things I suffer for my art…”
~~~
It’s pretty common knowledge that Fire Nationals, in general, are fairly impulsive people. Blaine likes to think he’s more careful than most, but even he has to admit that sometimes his enthusiasm bodily picks up his common sense and runs off with it, forcing him to act without really considering the consequences.
For example; putting a small, crunchy bug carcass in the middle of an otherwise tender and chewy meal in an attempt to gross someone out.
What kind of unintended consequence might result from such an action?
If you said ‘choking,’ then congratulations: at the moment, you are smarter than Blaine!
“Honey?” Miss Angry asks, staring at her husband oddly. “Dear, are you alright?”
The male half of the Angry Couple is clutching at his throat and hacking and sputtering and spasming and making all the generally accepted international symbols for ‘NO, I AM NOT OKAY.’ No one really seems to know what to do, so the small crowd that actually notices settles on standing around and gasping in shock like they do at absolutely everything. Blaine is suddenly very aware that this man might actually choke to death and it will be completely his fault. He has a brief image of himself so overcome with guilt that he turns himself in to the authorities and spends the rest of his life in prison with no hair gel and nothing to climb on.
It is not a pretty sight.
Blaine has to do something.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know what. His need for action overwhelms his desire for rational thinking and, well…
Imagine, if you would, being in the middle of a fancy party when one of the serving boys dashes across the room, leaps through the air, and delivers a flying drop kick to a wealthy patron’s gut.
What kind of unintended consequence might result from such an action?
If you answered ‘lots and lots of unwanted attention,’ then congratulations: you are, once again, smarter than Blaine!
On the bright side, the obstruction is violently ejected from the man’s throat, saving his life.
On the dimmer side, said obstruction smacks his wife in the face and falls down her top, prompting her to scream in exquisite horror. Her scream is timed just so that it prompts everyone to turn around as Mister Angry goes sliding across the floor and Blaine recovers from his soaring dragon kick. Thus making it seem like the woman was screaming about her husband being surprise-attacked from above, and not about the dead beetle in her blouse.
There is a collective gasp of horror, followed by dead silence. Blaine suddenly finds himself the center of attention for the entire room.
Normally, this would have him preening and smiling like crazy, but right now, he’s kind of afraid that he is about to be lynched.
“Oh, for the love of… security!” Lady Keros shouts, more exasperated than shocked.
Two more guards file out of the back as the crowd seems to close in on Blaine and oh shit, oh shit, he blew it, he blew it, he blew it, he just blew the whole stupid plan with one stupid move and now everything is ruined and he is going to die. Or go to prison. Maybe both. But not in that order. Probably.
“There,” Lady Keros says, sloshing a half-full wine glass at Blaine. “Him! Make him go away. He drop-kicked Mister… Mister…” She hiccups, trying in vain to recall the man’s name. “Well, I don’t know who he is, but that’s besides the point! You are not allowed to drop-kick my party guests. That sort of thing is frowned upon! So take this boy outside and frown upon him. Violently, and with extreme prejudice.”
“Come with us, son,” one of the guards say, moving towards Blaine and grabbing him by the shoulder as his heart plummets down to his foot and bursts out of his heel tries to burst out of his heel.
Kurt watches the entire spectacle unfold from the opposite corner of the room, face schooled into the polite smile of secret horror. “What is he doing?” he asks Mercedes.
The earthbender shrugs. “No idea. That kick had great form, though. I’m impressed.”
“So not the point of what just happened!” Kurt seethes, watching with increasing panic as a lost-looking Blaine is escorted towards the exit. He is one second from calling the whole plan off and picking up some smack to lay down when the universe finally decides to cut them a break.
It comes in the form of none other than Mister Angry himself.
“Unhand that boy!” he says, rising to his feet. The guards, quite used to being ordered around, comply. The man’s face is red as he stomps up to Blaine, who is slightly afraid that he’s about to get punched.
“Young man,” Mister Angry growls. “I want to shake your hand.”
Blaine’s eyes bulge. “What?”
Mister Angry grabs his hand without even waiting for permission and pumps him like a water spout. “You just saved my life, my boy!” he says merrily. “I was choking!” he says, to the room at large. “And while you lot stood around and gawked, this upstanding young man took action and saved my bacon. So stop staring and give him a hand!”
Kurt is so relieved, he very nearly sighs his lungs inside-out.
A small round of applause bursts forth from those paying attention, and Blaine bashfully scratches at the back of his neck, blushing. “Thank you, sir,” he says.
“No problem, son. My honor demands that I recognize the one who saved my life,” he says, bowing to Blaine.
“But that’s not all!” Misses Angry interjects, holding up the successfully-fished-out beetle in her hands. “It also demands that we strike back against the one who tried to murder you with his foul cooking!”
A collective cry of outrage spreads through the onlookers.
“Great gods!” Mister Angry cries. “Is that what was choking me?”
“Yes!” the Misses replies. “What do you say we go shove it down the Chef’s throat, and see how he likes it?”
“A splendid idea, love,” Mister Angry says, taking a second to fix his robe and straighten his pants, before letting out a mighty battle cry and charging the kitchen, his wife by his side.
Blaine gapes at the pair of them. As does everyone else.
Except, of course, Lady Keros. “Well, don’t just stand there!” she shouts at the already-present guards. “Go! Attacking the Chef is frowned upon! Start frowning!”
The poor guards share a look of camaraderie and confusion, before charging the kitchen themselves.
It is at this point that Blaine decides to just go for it. As the crowd titters about the insanity and everyone gossips about everyone else, Blaine quietly slips into the back hallways and begins searching for his prize.
He isn’t entirely sure how much more this party can take before it implodes entirely.
In fact, he’s not even really sure the party needs their help to implode.
~~~
In the opposite corner of the room, Kurt returns to the task at hand, sitting and stewing in his infinite frustration. The prim and proper gentleman hasn’t touched his wine since Kurt went through the trouble of drugging it.
“All this excitement is making me thirsty,” Kurt says, picking up his own glass (full of water) and sloshing it around. “I certainly could go for a cool, nice, refreshing drink right about now.”
“Indeed,” the gentleman says, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin before bringing another perfectly proportioned piece of turducken to his lips and continuing to eat.
Kurt takes a long, luxurious drink from his glass, being sure to draw it out for as long as possible, taking extra care to throw his head back, throat on full display as he swallows.
Nothing. Guy doesn’t even blink.
Kurt growls, and Mercedes looks at him questioningly. The Avatar simply crosses his arms and pouts.
For someone with such impeccable manners, Mr. Prim is really starting piss Kurt off.
~~~
This is a dark time for Rachel Berry. The star-scribed love between her and Jesse St. James has been beset by yet another great obstacle, and the girl cannot help but wonder how much more fate expects her to endure! The endless cycle of love and loss and love again and loss again inflates and deflates her heart like a balloon, and soon, she will surely either burst open or shrivel up into nothingness.
“Jesse!” she cries, dashing down the hall, looking for her lost lover. Thousands upon thousands of scenarios play themselves out across the stage of her mind as she runs. What if Jesse wasn’t lying? What if he really did face some kind of great evil to get here, and now it has returned for vengeance? What if some horrible fate has befallen him? What if the forces of evil attacked him in their dressing room and he chose to surrender himself rather than endanger her life? What if-
Rachel is so caught up in her vivid inner universe as she turns the corner to head back into the dressing room, she does not see the exceptionally tall human wall running towards her. The two of them collide, and Rachel bounces off of him like criticism off of April Rhodes.
“Oh my gosh!” Finn cries. “I’m so sorry!”
“Owwww,” Rachel groans from the floor, rising slowly and clutching at her poor, bruised face. Life is so cruel! Not only does it wound her emotionally by tearing out her very heart, but it wounds her physically by placing giants in her path as she is blinded by despair.
Finn is the very picture of woe as he bends the water forth from the small animal skin he carries with him on his belt. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know where you were and I wanted to find you because you were panicking like crazy and I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I kind of caused you to get hurt anyway and I’m so sorry.” He finishes, looking so earnest that Rachel can’t help but feel even angrier at him, because his big, dumb earnestness makes it very difficult for her to be angry with him at all. “Where does it hurt?” Finn asks.
“My entire face,” Rachel says miserably. She imagines herself looking like one giant bruise. Her face will probably swell up and become all discolored and misshapen. She won’t even be able to hold it up properly! She will have to be carried around on a stretcher while everyone points and laughs at her big, purple, bulbous head… oh, she can’t possibly be expected to perform in this condition!
“Here,” Finn says, gathering the water around his hands. “Let me help,” he whispers, gently cupping Rachel’s cheek, and oh.
Oh my.
The water around Finn’s long, muscular fingers begins to emit a soft blue glow, which seems to cancel out all other light. He massages her cheeks gently, presses on her temples, gently sweeps the water around her jaw… the chill of the liquid contrasts with the warmth of his hands, and her pain is quickly replaced by an indefinable tingling that spreads like wildfire from everywhere he touches her. For a few seconds, Rachel forgets about everything. Her world shrinks to a single point of blue light just bright enough to illuminate them both. All Rachel can see is Finn’s concerned face as he gently ministers to her own. There is no Jesse. There is no party. There is no stage. There is nothing and no one but the two of them.
And then Finn withdraws his hands, (prompting an audible gasp from Rachel) the water flowing away right along with them, and the moment is over. “Do you feel better?” he asks, bending the water back into his pouch.
Rachel runs her fingers along her cheeks, ghosting over the spot where his fingers left her. “Yes,” she says quietly.
He smiles, crookedly-he always does that, she notes. His little smiles are so one-sided. Like he isn’t entirely sure he should be smiling, but he just can’t help it. She finds herself smiling back at him as he reaches down and helps her up (and he is so strong, she can tell, but he holds her carefully, like she is fragile-no, like she is precious).
And then it hits her.
Suddenly, Rachel Berry’s world shifts on its axis. The sun turns blue, rain flies up from the ground, birds swim in the ocean and fish soar in the sky. Everything that was settled is now disturbed. Everything that was certain is now decidedly un.
And in this strange, frightening new world, Finn Hudson looks very different. She doesn’t think she will ever look at him the same.
Oh, no.
“No, no, no!” Rachel says, shaking her head as if trying to expel her traitorous thoughts. “No, I can’t do this again,” she says forcefully, more to herself than anyone else.
“Can’t do what?” Finn asks, looking concerned again (stop it, stop it! Stop caring about her so much!).
“Nothing,” Rachel says with finality, steeling herself against her emotions. Everything is flooding back to her-the world their little moment kept at bay returns in force, and Rachel must put aside her feelings and deal with it. She is an actress. She can control her own emotions. She can keep her heart in check while she attempts to find with her missing boyfriend, who she is going to elope with! She can keep her stupid, traitorous feelings under wraps while she deals with the fact that she is expected to perform a duet with someone in just a few minutes and she has no duet partner…
“Rachel,” Finn says. “About Jesse… I found something, and I think you should know about it…” He takes a breath, seeming uncertain as to whether or not he should continue.
“Later,” Rachel says suddenly, surprising even herself.
“What?” Finn asks.
“I don’t know what happened,” Rachel says, her voice firm, “but wherever Jesse went, I can’t help him right now. There is one absolute in theater, one unshakable rule that aspiring actors and actresses must adhere to. One thing that the theater lives and dies by.”
Finn’s face is nothing but open curiosity. “What is it?”
Rachel walks over to a pile of scattered papers on the floor, picking up a copy of the score, before turning to face him, her eyes determined.
“The show must go on.”
~~~
Blaine steps lightly, always on the lookout. He is ready, at a moment’s notice, to run, or hide, or make a desperate attempt at lying. He has no idea how many guards are left in these darkened, torch-lit hallways, but there can’t be that many. There are only so many people who will even fit back here.
Unfortunately for him, all it takes it one to fuck him over.
“Hey!” the guard says, spotting Blaine as he rounds a corner, passing the hallway that connects directly to the kitchen. “What are you doing back here?”
Blaine freezes for a split second, his mind in desperate motion for a good answer.
The sound of several explosions and a sudden burst of fire from beneath the kitchen doors provide him with all the answer he needs.
“What was that?” the guard asks.
“Chef Flambé has gone crazy!” Blaine says urgently, dashing towards the man. “Please, you have to help before he hurts someone!”
“Shit!” the guard says, shouting down the corridor at the top of his lungs. “CODE F! CODE F! FLAMBÉ ON RAMPAGE, ALL HANDS ON DECK!”
From around the corner, about five more guards suddenly emerge, and wow. Artie was so not kidding about the ridiculous level of security here.
He hopes to let the guards sweep past him, but unfortunately, his luck is not quite that good. He is quickly caught up in the sweep and forced to run along with them back to the kitchen.
The sight that greets him when he gets there is more than worth the trip.
“Chef Flambé, please!” the already-present guards plead. “Let them go!”
Mister and Misses Angry cower in a corner with the Chef towering over them, wielding a ladle that could only look that dangerous in his hands, all parties slightly scorched. The other cooks seem to be hiding in cabinets and under counters, large chunks of which are missing and currently smoldering in various places throughout the room.
“Absolutely not!” the Chef says, lashing his ladle about unpredictably. “They accused me of purposefully sabotaging my own food, IN MY OWN KITCHEN!” A small burst of fire escapes from his mouth as he speaks, and Blaine subtly shifts to hide behind the guards. “My honor has been insulted! My professionalism has been insulted! My FOOD has been insulted! And I will have satisfaction.” He turns to Mister Angry. “Come on, big boy, on your feet! You and me, Agni Kai, right now.”
“B-b-but I’m not a firebender!” the man stammers.
The Chef rolls his eyes. “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you accused me of attempted murder!”
“Chef, please-” one of the guards stammers.
“Toss off!” the Chef orders. “Unless you want to join the fun!”
“Chef Flambé!” one of the guards that game in with Blaine says. “Stand down immediately, or we will be forced to apprehend you!”
“Oh, come off it! Here, tell you what; apprehend this!” the Chef shouts, hurling his ladle at the guard. It bounces off of his helmet with a clang!
And, yet again, it is on.
Pot and pan clashes with sword and shield. Spoon and spear meet in combat as the Chef dishes out disaster to all who dare to defy him. As the battle rapidly escalates, the Chef climbs up on the counter, smears his face in some kind of red broth that looks a little too much like blood, rips off his shirt and roars at the heavens.
Blaine decides that this is an excellent time to leave.
The explosion that rocks the room shortly thereafter assures him that he made the right call.
“Okay,” he says to himself. “Back to business…”
~~~
Mercedes is the one who decides to invite others to their depressing little table. She coyly waves at a few passersby, and soon, they are joined at their seats by a group of people that are brightly colored, loud, and very animated. They’re like human sparrowkeets, and to his infinite shock, Kurt finds himself actually enjoying their company.
Much to the consternation of the prim and proper gentleman.
At least, Kurt thinks he is consternated. It’s hard to tell with this guy. He’s about as animated as your average ice sculpture. He seems to be eating slower but he still. Won’t. Touch. His. Drink.
Mercedes converses with a couple about interesting vacations they have taken. Not like private beach houses or luxurious day spas-actual interesting vacations to actual interesting locations.
“Oh, yes!” says the Interesting Man. “It honestly looks like the trees are inlaid with thousands of tiny little crystals. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“And as if that wasn’t spectacular enough,” the Interesting Woman adds, “it glows at night.”
Mercedes’s jaw drops. “You are kidding me.”
“Not at all, dear,” the Interesting Woman says with a smile. “If you ever get the chance, I recommend you and your husband visit the island yourself. It’s just… magical.”
“IF we get the chance,” Mercedes sighs. “With all the travel restrictions laid down because of the quarantine, it’s hard to get anywhere these days.”
“Oh, I know,” the Interesting Man sighs. “And believe it or not, I hear the new Fire Lord plans to make them even worse.”
The earthbender’s eyebrows rise. This could be useful information. “Oh? Please, tell me more…”
Meanwhile, Kurt happily exchanges compliments with the more well-dressed members of the table.
“May I just say, Councilor, that your outfit is positively stunning!” says a woman in blue.
Kurt blushes and waves her off. “Oh, stop it. I am sure that were you and I to stand side by side, all eyes would drift to you, my dear. I would be as a frightened cranemeleon-all but invisible, unless you squint.”
“Nonsense! I simply must know how you got that fit. Who is your tailor?” the blue woman asks.
Kurt looks up with no small amount of pride. “My tailor is me,” he says.
“Get out!” she says, looking both scandalized and impressed, and as strange as it seems, Kurt could see himself being friends with her. Maybe even a few others.
So… not all rich people are boring, pompous windbags.
Only most of them.
~~~
To the Next Part...
Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 46/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, swearing, violence.
Spoilers: None for either series that I am aware of.
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Word Count: ~15,000
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: I’ve got to rethink my stopping points. I almost split this into two parts, but I am determined to have Act 2 over by Chapter 50. It’s just such a nice, neat number! As a result, this part is longer than the previous two chapters combined and might well be longer than the final part of Raise Your Glass. Hopefully, there is so much good stuff here that you won’t mind. The next chapter is a truly juicy bit of plot, so stay tuned. ;)
Master Post
~~~
CHAPTER 46 - Raise Your Glass, Part 3
The semi-ruffled head of Lady Keros pokes through the door to the artifact room.
“Is the thingy ready yet?” she slurs.
Gregory looks away from the tablet, glancing back at her, annoyed. “Not yet. I still need to add a few-”
“HOLY CRAP,” the Lady sighs, somehow managing a full-body eye roll, cupping her hands around her mouth as she shouts; “NO ONE CARRRRRRRES.”
Gregory is not amused. “Do you really think this will foo-”
“Do you really think anybody’s here is going to give a crap?” the Lady asks. “Everyone here is a moron. Draw a fucking smiley face on it for all I care, just hurry up. I need distractions!”
“Yes, milad-” Gregory starts.
He doesn’t finish, however, as the Lady has already flounced back to the ballroom.
Gregory sighs. “The things I suffer for my art…”
~~~
It’s pretty common knowledge that Fire Nationals, in general, are fairly impulsive people. Blaine likes to think he’s more careful than most, but even he has to admit that sometimes his enthusiasm bodily picks up his common sense and runs off with it, forcing him to act without really considering the consequences.
For example; putting a small, crunchy bug carcass in the middle of an otherwise tender and chewy meal in an attempt to gross someone out.
What kind of unintended consequence might result from such an action?
If you said ‘choking,’ then congratulations: at the moment, you are smarter than Blaine!
“Honey?” Miss Angry asks, staring at her husband oddly. “Dear, are you alright?”
The male half of the Angry Couple is clutching at his throat and hacking and sputtering and spasming and making all the generally accepted international symbols for ‘NO, I AM NOT OKAY.’ No one really seems to know what to do, so the small crowd that actually notices settles on standing around and gasping in shock like they do at absolutely everything. Blaine is suddenly very aware that this man might actually choke to death and it will be completely his fault. He has a brief image of himself so overcome with guilt that he turns himself in to the authorities and spends the rest of his life in prison with no hair gel and nothing to climb on.
It is not a pretty sight.
Blaine has to do something.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know what. His need for action overwhelms his desire for rational thinking and, well…
Imagine, if you would, being in the middle of a fancy party when one of the serving boys dashes across the room, leaps through the air, and delivers a flying drop kick to a wealthy patron’s gut.
What kind of unintended consequence might result from such an action?
If you answered ‘lots and lots of unwanted attention,’ then congratulations: you are, once again, smarter than Blaine!
On the bright side, the obstruction is violently ejected from the man’s throat, saving his life.
On the dimmer side, said obstruction smacks his wife in the face and falls down her top, prompting her to scream in exquisite horror. Her scream is timed just so that it prompts everyone to turn around as Mister Angry goes sliding across the floor and Blaine recovers from his soaring dragon kick. Thus making it seem like the woman was screaming about her husband being surprise-attacked from above, and not about the dead beetle in her blouse.
There is a collective gasp of horror, followed by dead silence. Blaine suddenly finds himself the center of attention for the entire room.
Normally, this would have him preening and smiling like crazy, but right now, he’s kind of afraid that he is about to be lynched.
“Oh, for the love of… security!” Lady Keros shouts, more exasperated than shocked.
Two more guards file out of the back as the crowd seems to close in on Blaine and oh shit, oh shit, he blew it, he blew it, he blew it, he just blew the whole stupid plan with one stupid move and now everything is ruined and he is going to die. Or go to prison. Maybe both. But not in that order. Probably.
“There,” Lady Keros says, sloshing a half-full wine glass at Blaine. “Him! Make him go away. He drop-kicked Mister… Mister…” She hiccups, trying in vain to recall the man’s name. “Well, I don’t know who he is, but that’s besides the point! You are not allowed to drop-kick my party guests. That sort of thing is frowned upon! So take this boy outside and frown upon him. Violently, and with extreme prejudice.”
“Come with us, son,” one of the guards say, moving towards Blaine and grabbing him by the shoulder as his heart plummets down to his foot and bursts out of his heel tries to burst out of his heel.
Kurt watches the entire spectacle unfold from the opposite corner of the room, face schooled into the polite smile of secret horror. “What is he doing?” he asks Mercedes.
The earthbender shrugs. “No idea. That kick had great form, though. I’m impressed.”
“So not the point of what just happened!” Kurt seethes, watching with increasing panic as a lost-looking Blaine is escorted towards the exit. He is one second from calling the whole plan off and picking up some smack to lay down when the universe finally decides to cut them a break.
It comes in the form of none other than Mister Angry himself.
“Unhand that boy!” he says, rising to his feet. The guards, quite used to being ordered around, comply. The man’s face is red as he stomps up to Blaine, who is slightly afraid that he’s about to get punched.
“Young man,” Mister Angry growls. “I want to shake your hand.”
Blaine’s eyes bulge. “What?”
Mister Angry grabs his hand without even waiting for permission and pumps him like a water spout. “You just saved my life, my boy!” he says merrily. “I was choking!” he says, to the room at large. “And while you lot stood around and gawked, this upstanding young man took action and saved my bacon. So stop staring and give him a hand!”
Kurt is so relieved, he very nearly sighs his lungs inside-out.
A small round of applause bursts forth from those paying attention, and Blaine bashfully scratches at the back of his neck, blushing. “Thank you, sir,” he says.
“No problem, son. My honor demands that I recognize the one who saved my life,” he says, bowing to Blaine.
“But that’s not all!” Misses Angry interjects, holding up the successfully-fished-out beetle in her hands. “It also demands that we strike back against the one who tried to murder you with his foul cooking!”
A collective cry of outrage spreads through the onlookers.
“Great gods!” Mister Angry cries. “Is that what was choking me?”
“Yes!” the Misses replies. “What do you say we go shove it down the Chef’s throat, and see how he likes it?”
“A splendid idea, love,” Mister Angry says, taking a second to fix his robe and straighten his pants, before letting out a mighty battle cry and charging the kitchen, his wife by his side.
Blaine gapes at the pair of them. As does everyone else.
Except, of course, Lady Keros. “Well, don’t just stand there!” she shouts at the already-present guards. “Go! Attacking the Chef is frowned upon! Start frowning!”
The poor guards share a look of camaraderie and confusion, before charging the kitchen themselves.
It is at this point that Blaine decides to just go for it. As the crowd titters about the insanity and everyone gossips about everyone else, Blaine quietly slips into the back hallways and begins searching for his prize.
He isn’t entirely sure how much more this party can take before it implodes entirely.
In fact, he’s not even really sure the party needs their help to implode.
~~~
In the opposite corner of the room, Kurt returns to the task at hand, sitting and stewing in his infinite frustration. The prim and proper gentleman hasn’t touched his wine since Kurt went through the trouble of drugging it.
“All this excitement is making me thirsty,” Kurt says, picking up his own glass (full of water) and sloshing it around. “I certainly could go for a cool, nice, refreshing drink right about now.”
“Indeed,” the gentleman says, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin before bringing another perfectly proportioned piece of turducken to his lips and continuing to eat.
Kurt takes a long, luxurious drink from his glass, being sure to draw it out for as long as possible, taking extra care to throw his head back, throat on full display as he swallows.
Nothing. Guy doesn’t even blink.
Kurt growls, and Mercedes looks at him questioningly. The Avatar simply crosses his arms and pouts.
For someone with such impeccable manners, Mr. Prim is really starting piss Kurt off.
~~~
This is a dark time for Rachel Berry. The star-scribed love between her and Jesse St. James has been beset by yet another great obstacle, and the girl cannot help but wonder how much more fate expects her to endure! The endless cycle of love and loss and love again and loss again inflates and deflates her heart like a balloon, and soon, she will surely either burst open or shrivel up into nothingness.
“Jesse!” she cries, dashing down the hall, looking for her lost lover. Thousands upon thousands of scenarios play themselves out across the stage of her mind as she runs. What if Jesse wasn’t lying? What if he really did face some kind of great evil to get here, and now it has returned for vengeance? What if some horrible fate has befallen him? What if the forces of evil attacked him in their dressing room and he chose to surrender himself rather than endanger her life? What if-
Rachel is so caught up in her vivid inner universe as she turns the corner to head back into the dressing room, she does not see the exceptionally tall human wall running towards her. The two of them collide, and Rachel bounces off of him like criticism off of April Rhodes.
“Oh my gosh!” Finn cries. “I’m so sorry!”
“Owwww,” Rachel groans from the floor, rising slowly and clutching at her poor, bruised face. Life is so cruel! Not only does it wound her emotionally by tearing out her very heart, but it wounds her physically by placing giants in her path as she is blinded by despair.
Finn is the very picture of woe as he bends the water forth from the small animal skin he carries with him on his belt. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know where you were and I wanted to find you because you were panicking like crazy and I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I kind of caused you to get hurt anyway and I’m so sorry.” He finishes, looking so earnest that Rachel can’t help but feel even angrier at him, because his big, dumb earnestness makes it very difficult for her to be angry with him at all. “Where does it hurt?” Finn asks.
“My entire face,” Rachel says miserably. She imagines herself looking like one giant bruise. Her face will probably swell up and become all discolored and misshapen. She won’t even be able to hold it up properly! She will have to be carried around on a stretcher while everyone points and laughs at her big, purple, bulbous head… oh, she can’t possibly be expected to perform in this condition!
“Here,” Finn says, gathering the water around his hands. “Let me help,” he whispers, gently cupping Rachel’s cheek, and oh.
Oh my.
The water around Finn’s long, muscular fingers begins to emit a soft blue glow, which seems to cancel out all other light. He massages her cheeks gently, presses on her temples, gently sweeps the water around her jaw… the chill of the liquid contrasts with the warmth of his hands, and her pain is quickly replaced by an indefinable tingling that spreads like wildfire from everywhere he touches her. For a few seconds, Rachel forgets about everything. Her world shrinks to a single point of blue light just bright enough to illuminate them both. All Rachel can see is Finn’s concerned face as he gently ministers to her own. There is no Jesse. There is no party. There is no stage. There is nothing and no one but the two of them.
And then Finn withdraws his hands, (prompting an audible gasp from Rachel) the water flowing away right along with them, and the moment is over. “Do you feel better?” he asks, bending the water back into his pouch.
Rachel runs her fingers along her cheeks, ghosting over the spot where his fingers left her. “Yes,” she says quietly.
He smiles, crookedly-he always does that, she notes. His little smiles are so one-sided. Like he isn’t entirely sure he should be smiling, but he just can’t help it. She finds herself smiling back at him as he reaches down and helps her up (and he is so strong, she can tell, but he holds her carefully, like she is fragile-no, like she is precious).
And then it hits her.
Suddenly, Rachel Berry’s world shifts on its axis. The sun turns blue, rain flies up from the ground, birds swim in the ocean and fish soar in the sky. Everything that was settled is now disturbed. Everything that was certain is now decidedly un.
And in this strange, frightening new world, Finn Hudson looks very different. She doesn’t think she will ever look at him the same.
Oh, no.
“No, no, no!” Rachel says, shaking her head as if trying to expel her traitorous thoughts. “No, I can’t do this again,” she says forcefully, more to herself than anyone else.
“Can’t do what?” Finn asks, looking concerned again (stop it, stop it! Stop caring about her so much!).
“Nothing,” Rachel says with finality, steeling herself against her emotions. Everything is flooding back to her-the world their little moment kept at bay returns in force, and Rachel must put aside her feelings and deal with it. She is an actress. She can control her own emotions. She can keep her heart in check while she attempts to find with her missing boyfriend, who she is going to elope with! She can keep her stupid, traitorous feelings under wraps while she deals with the fact that she is expected to perform a duet with someone in just a few minutes and she has no duet partner…
“Rachel,” Finn says. “About Jesse… I found something, and I think you should know about it…” He takes a breath, seeming uncertain as to whether or not he should continue.
“Later,” Rachel says suddenly, surprising even herself.
“What?” Finn asks.
“I don’t know what happened,” Rachel says, her voice firm, “but wherever Jesse went, I can’t help him right now. There is one absolute in theater, one unshakable rule that aspiring actors and actresses must adhere to. One thing that the theater lives and dies by.”
Finn’s face is nothing but open curiosity. “What is it?”
Rachel walks over to a pile of scattered papers on the floor, picking up a copy of the score, before turning to face him, her eyes determined.
“The show must go on.”
~~~
Blaine steps lightly, always on the lookout. He is ready, at a moment’s notice, to run, or hide, or make a desperate attempt at lying. He has no idea how many guards are left in these darkened, torch-lit hallways, but there can’t be that many. There are only so many people who will even fit back here.
Unfortunately for him, all it takes it one to fuck him over.
“Hey!” the guard says, spotting Blaine as he rounds a corner, passing the hallway that connects directly to the kitchen. “What are you doing back here?”
Blaine freezes for a split second, his mind in desperate motion for a good answer.
The sound of several explosions and a sudden burst of fire from beneath the kitchen doors provide him with all the answer he needs.
“What was that?” the guard asks.
“Chef Flambé has gone crazy!” Blaine says urgently, dashing towards the man. “Please, you have to help before he hurts someone!”
“Shit!” the guard says, shouting down the corridor at the top of his lungs. “CODE F! CODE F! FLAMBÉ ON RAMPAGE, ALL HANDS ON DECK!”
From around the corner, about five more guards suddenly emerge, and wow. Artie was so not kidding about the ridiculous level of security here.
He hopes to let the guards sweep past him, but unfortunately, his luck is not quite that good. He is quickly caught up in the sweep and forced to run along with them back to the kitchen.
The sight that greets him when he gets there is more than worth the trip.
“Chef Flambé, please!” the already-present guards plead. “Let them go!”
Mister and Misses Angry cower in a corner with the Chef towering over them, wielding a ladle that could only look that dangerous in his hands, all parties slightly scorched. The other cooks seem to be hiding in cabinets and under counters, large chunks of which are missing and currently smoldering in various places throughout the room.
“Absolutely not!” the Chef says, lashing his ladle about unpredictably. “They accused me of purposefully sabotaging my own food, IN MY OWN KITCHEN!” A small burst of fire escapes from his mouth as he speaks, and Blaine subtly shifts to hide behind the guards. “My honor has been insulted! My professionalism has been insulted! My FOOD has been insulted! And I will have satisfaction.” He turns to Mister Angry. “Come on, big boy, on your feet! You and me, Agni Kai, right now.”
“B-b-but I’m not a firebender!” the man stammers.
The Chef rolls his eyes. “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you accused me of attempted murder!”
“Chef, please-” one of the guards stammers.
“Toss off!” the Chef orders. “Unless you want to join the fun!”
“Chef Flambé!” one of the guards that game in with Blaine says. “Stand down immediately, or we will be forced to apprehend you!”
“Oh, come off it! Here, tell you what; apprehend this!” the Chef shouts, hurling his ladle at the guard. It bounces off of his helmet with a clang!
And, yet again, it is on.
Pot and pan clashes with sword and shield. Spoon and spear meet in combat as the Chef dishes out disaster to all who dare to defy him. As the battle rapidly escalates, the Chef climbs up on the counter, smears his face in some kind of red broth that looks a little too much like blood, rips off his shirt and roars at the heavens.
Blaine decides that this is an excellent time to leave.
The explosion that rocks the room shortly thereafter assures him that he made the right call.
“Okay,” he says to himself. “Back to business…”
~~~
Mercedes is the one who decides to invite others to their depressing little table. She coyly waves at a few passersby, and soon, they are joined at their seats by a group of people that are brightly colored, loud, and very animated. They’re like human sparrowkeets, and to his infinite shock, Kurt finds himself actually enjoying their company.
Much to the consternation of the prim and proper gentleman.
At least, Kurt thinks he is consternated. It’s hard to tell with this guy. He’s about as animated as your average ice sculpture. He seems to be eating slower but he still. Won’t. Touch. His. Drink.
Mercedes converses with a couple about interesting vacations they have taken. Not like private beach houses or luxurious day spas-actual interesting vacations to actual interesting locations.
“Oh, yes!” says the Interesting Man. “It honestly looks like the trees are inlaid with thousands of tiny little crystals. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“And as if that wasn’t spectacular enough,” the Interesting Woman adds, “it glows at night.”
Mercedes’s jaw drops. “You are kidding me.”
“Not at all, dear,” the Interesting Woman says with a smile. “If you ever get the chance, I recommend you and your husband visit the island yourself. It’s just… magical.”
“IF we get the chance,” Mercedes sighs. “With all the travel restrictions laid down because of the quarantine, it’s hard to get anywhere these days.”
“Oh, I know,” the Interesting Man sighs. “And believe it or not, I hear the new Fire Lord plans to make them even worse.”
The earthbender’s eyebrows rise. This could be useful information. “Oh? Please, tell me more…”
Meanwhile, Kurt happily exchanges compliments with the more well-dressed members of the table.
“May I just say, Councilor, that your outfit is positively stunning!” says a woman in blue.
Kurt blushes and waves her off. “Oh, stop it. I am sure that were you and I to stand side by side, all eyes would drift to you, my dear. I would be as a frightened cranemeleon-all but invisible, unless you squint.”
“Nonsense! I simply must know how you got that fit. Who is your tailor?” the blue woman asks.
Kurt looks up with no small amount of pride. “My tailor is me,” he says.
“Get out!” she says, looking both scandalized and impressed, and as strange as it seems, Kurt could see himself being friends with her. Maybe even a few others.
So… not all rich people are boring, pompous windbags.
Only most of them.
~~~
To the Next Part...