There's Nothing Ironic About Mahogany, Chapter Two
A Glee/ The Hunger Games cross-over fic. After a failed uprising in the districts of Lima, each year twelve boys and twelve girls are selected to compete in a fight to the death in a specially created, deadly arena. The tributes this year have bonded closely, but only one can survive The Hunger Games.
Warnings: Character death, swearing
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, the lighting would be better, and Sugar would rule errythang. And if I owned The Hunger Games, Foxface would have destroyed them all.
Author's Note: This is gonna be a bloodbath.
Santana Lopez opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. She shifted in her bed, feeling the arm wrapped around her. Brittany smiled.
“Morning,” she said, biting her lip slightly.
“Morning,” Santana smiled.
She sat up, leaning into Brittany, stealing her warmth and claiming it as her own.
“How are we gonna explain this to everyone?” Brittany laughed.
“Fuck ‘em,” Santana shrugged.
She climbed out of bed, trying to find her underwear. It didn’t matter that she looked like a mess - today the stylist was coming to make her beautiful. When Brittany and Santana appeared at breakfast, a sombre silence had taken over. Not even Harmony was talking. They finished their breakfast without saying a word, before moving into one of the large, ornate sitting rooms. One by one, Burt or Beiste came to collect them, not feeling the need to speak either. Sugar was the first one to be taken, as the female from District 1. She followed Burt nervously up the richly carpeted stairs into a white, blank room, where she was told to remove her clothes, leaving only her underwear. Shortly after, the Games’ famous stylist, Emma Pillsbury, a beautiful redhead, entered the room.
“Hello, take a seat,” she said, her voice sweet.
Sugar sat down obediently, waiting warily as Emma surveyed her, nodding occasionally, or even frowning.
“This shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said. “Just a quick waxing here and there, and we’ll pick out your outfit for the interview together, shall we?”
Sugar nodded, as Emma began to remove waxing strips from a white bag. Coming from District 1, waxing Sugar took only a short time. It was easier having more money - you could afford luxuries that others couldn’t.
“How old are you?” Emma asked.
“Sixteen,” Sugar replied, as Emma put away her strips.
“I think for your outfit we’ll go for something that makes you look young, it’s a good strategy to play in the Games,” Emma said. “Play up your vulnerabilities.”
If truth be told, Sugar did feel vulnerable. Everyone in Lima would have expected her to have been trained, and to thus already have an advantage in the Games, but she’d always preferred to imagine that she would never be picked, and so only trained occasionally to improve her speed and agility at her father’s insistence. She knew others who never got to be children, who were too busy training for the Games, who were lost when they were never chosen, and she didn’t want to be like that.
She remembered the day of the reaping well; the man from the Capitol, Carl Howell, with his glittering gold skin and his pearly white teeth, pulling her name from the ornate glass globe. She remembered the look in her father’s eyes; not of panic, but of excitement. It was his chance to show his daughter off to everyone - he cared little for what Sugar felt. She was so numb she barely even heard Sebastian’s name being called. He bounced up upon the stage, like an excitable meerkat, and winked at her. His family wasn’t as rich, but they were well liked, and Sebastian was seen as a bit of a poster boy, someone whom Sugar’s father would have preferred for a child, preferred to the scared little girl he had now.
“I’ve kept your makeup minimalistic,” Emma said, throwing Sugar a lifeline, rescuing her from the sea of emotions that threatened to drown her. “To play up your young nature, and I think I have the perfect outfit, let me go and look.”
She left the room, leaving Sugar feeling more alone than ever.
“Smythe, it’s your turn,” Beiste said.
Sugar hadn’t returned, so Sebastian had little idea what to expect as he was led to the white room. Emma had once again vanished, and Sebastian was instructed to take off everything but his underwear. He slipped his socks and shoes off, neatly folded his trousers, and was slipping out of his shirt when Emma entered the room. Normally the tributes would stand there nervously, but Sebastian almost seemed more confident in only his underwear.
“Have you had any thoughts about the angle we should go for?” Emma asked.
“Sex,” Sebastian said simply.
Emma was a little shocked, but hid it under a smile.
“Alright,” she nodded. “Let’s begin.”
A few of the tributes were easy to primp and find clothes for, but as they day progressed Emma found herself having to overcome many demanding obstacles. Becky insisted on being dressed as the sexiest bitch anyone had ever seen anywhere, Lauren wanted something that would reflect her childhood spent wrestling men in their forties, Sam kept asking if there were any bolo ties, Sunshine, as not only the shortest, but also, at fifteen, the youngest, was too small to fit in the majority of the clothes available, whilst Finn was the polar opposite, and was too tall for many of the suit trousers, Kurt dressed himself, before giving Emma a makeover and picking her out a new wardrobe, Rachel wanted something that just screamed sexy schoolgirl librarian chic, Blaine refused to wear socks, and insisted on a bow tie, and Rory would wear only green. But despite all of this, Emma managed to provide what she believed to be her best set of clothes yet.
The evening came, and the twenty-four tributes assembled in the biggest living room to wait their turn for the interview. It would be taking place in a special room in the house containing only two chintz patterned, comfortable armchairs. It was supposed to be intimate - an opportunity to show your personality off to the rest of Lima - but it was more frightening than anything. Sue Sylvester was a previous victor of the Games, and had the record for the fastest victory with just twelve hours, as well as the fastest kill - a curly haired boy named Will Schuester, whom she shot through the temple with an arrow, and subsequently used his body to protect herself from attacks from the other tributes. Sugar was the first to be called in, wearing a summery yellow dress that made her look more youthful, and was offered a quick pat of good luck from Burt as she entered the room.
“And first up, Lima, we have Sugar Motta, the female tribute from District 1,” Sue said, addressing the camera.
Manning the camera was a creepy man named Jacob Ben Israel, who tended to ogle at the female tributes and had once wet himself during the filming of a particularly scary interview with Sue.
“Welcome Sugar,” Sue continued. “Sit down, sit down, that’s it. Now, tell us about yourself.”
“My name’s Sugar,” Sugar began nervously.
Sue rolled her eyes, and slapped her knee irritably with her hands, playing it up to the audience at home.
“Why don’t you tell us something we don’t know,” she said abruptly. “This year has shown an unusual affinity between the tributes. Is it like that when the cameras aren’t there?”
“Oh yes,” Sugar nodded, a little more bravely. “We’re like a big family. We all sit down together at meals, and we hang out and sing songs in our spare time.”
“Why don’t you sing a little something for us now?” Sue asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Sugar blushed, reaffirming her childish façade. “Santana always tells me to sing quietly in the background, I’m not really as good as everyone else.”
She looked away slightly at that, and Sue knew it was the perfect time to play up her rarely shown sympathetic side with the audience.
“I bet you sing just fine, Sugar,” she said. “Just give us a little tune.”
A quiet croaking escaped Sugar’s lips, and before she could even get a full note out, Sue wrinkled her nose.
“I think perhaps Santana had it right, didn’t she folks?” she smiled at the camera.
She knew that there would be laughs from the people in the Capitol. Across the rest of Lima, the inhabitants of the districts remained almost rebelliously silent, as the camera zoomed in on Sugar’s embarrassed and upset face. There was a short ringing sound, and Sue leapt to her feet. Sugar stood up too, and shook hands with Sue.
“Best of luck in the Games, Sugar Motta,” she said. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”
Warnings: Character death, swearing
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, the lighting would be better, and Sugar would rule errythang. And if I owned The Hunger Games, Foxface would have destroyed them all.
Author's Note: This is gonna be a bloodbath.
Santana Lopez opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. She shifted in her bed, feeling the arm wrapped around her. Brittany smiled.
“Morning,” she said, biting her lip slightly.
“Morning,” Santana smiled.
She sat up, leaning into Brittany, stealing her warmth and claiming it as her own.
“How are we gonna explain this to everyone?” Brittany laughed.
“Fuck ‘em,” Santana shrugged.
She climbed out of bed, trying to find her underwear. It didn’t matter that she looked like a mess - today the stylist was coming to make her beautiful. When Brittany and Santana appeared at breakfast, a sombre silence had taken over. Not even Harmony was talking. They finished their breakfast without saying a word, before moving into one of the large, ornate sitting rooms. One by one, Burt or Beiste came to collect them, not feeling the need to speak either. Sugar was the first one to be taken, as the female from District 1. She followed Burt nervously up the richly carpeted stairs into a white, blank room, where she was told to remove her clothes, leaving only her underwear. Shortly after, the Games’ famous stylist, Emma Pillsbury, a beautiful redhead, entered the room.
“Hello, take a seat,” she said, her voice sweet.
Sugar sat down obediently, waiting warily as Emma surveyed her, nodding occasionally, or even frowning.
“This shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said. “Just a quick waxing here and there, and we’ll pick out your outfit for the interview together, shall we?”
Sugar nodded, as Emma began to remove waxing strips from a white bag. Coming from District 1, waxing Sugar took only a short time. It was easier having more money - you could afford luxuries that others couldn’t.
“How old are you?” Emma asked.
“Sixteen,” Sugar replied, as Emma put away her strips.
“I think for your outfit we’ll go for something that makes you look young, it’s a good strategy to play in the Games,” Emma said. “Play up your vulnerabilities.”
If truth be told, Sugar did feel vulnerable. Everyone in Lima would have expected her to have been trained, and to thus already have an advantage in the Games, but she’d always preferred to imagine that she would never be picked, and so only trained occasionally to improve her speed and agility at her father’s insistence. She knew others who never got to be children, who were too busy training for the Games, who were lost when they were never chosen, and she didn’t want to be like that.
She remembered the day of the reaping well; the man from the Capitol, Carl Howell, with his glittering gold skin and his pearly white teeth, pulling her name from the ornate glass globe. She remembered the look in her father’s eyes; not of panic, but of excitement. It was his chance to show his daughter off to everyone - he cared little for what Sugar felt. She was so numb she barely even heard Sebastian’s name being called. He bounced up upon the stage, like an excitable meerkat, and winked at her. His family wasn’t as rich, but they were well liked, and Sebastian was seen as a bit of a poster boy, someone whom Sugar’s father would have preferred for a child, preferred to the scared little girl he had now.
“I’ve kept your makeup minimalistic,” Emma said, throwing Sugar a lifeline, rescuing her from the sea of emotions that threatened to drown her. “To play up your young nature, and I think I have the perfect outfit, let me go and look.”
She left the room, leaving Sugar feeling more alone than ever.
“Smythe, it’s your turn,” Beiste said.
Sugar hadn’t returned, so Sebastian had little idea what to expect as he was led to the white room. Emma had once again vanished, and Sebastian was instructed to take off everything but his underwear. He slipped his socks and shoes off, neatly folded his trousers, and was slipping out of his shirt when Emma entered the room. Normally the tributes would stand there nervously, but Sebastian almost seemed more confident in only his underwear.
“Have you had any thoughts about the angle we should go for?” Emma asked.
“Sex,” Sebastian said simply.
Emma was a little shocked, but hid it under a smile.
“Alright,” she nodded. “Let’s begin.”
A few of the tributes were easy to primp and find clothes for, but as they day progressed Emma found herself having to overcome many demanding obstacles. Becky insisted on being dressed as the sexiest bitch anyone had ever seen anywhere, Lauren wanted something that would reflect her childhood spent wrestling men in their forties, Sam kept asking if there were any bolo ties, Sunshine, as not only the shortest, but also, at fifteen, the youngest, was too small to fit in the majority of the clothes available, whilst Finn was the polar opposite, and was too tall for many of the suit trousers, Kurt dressed himself, before giving Emma a makeover and picking her out a new wardrobe, Rachel wanted something that just screamed sexy schoolgirl librarian chic, Blaine refused to wear socks, and insisted on a bow tie, and Rory would wear only green. But despite all of this, Emma managed to provide what she believed to be her best set of clothes yet.
The evening came, and the twenty-four tributes assembled in the biggest living room to wait their turn for the interview. It would be taking place in a special room in the house containing only two chintz patterned, comfortable armchairs. It was supposed to be intimate - an opportunity to show your personality off to the rest of Lima - but it was more frightening than anything. Sue Sylvester was a previous victor of the Games, and had the record for the fastest victory with just twelve hours, as well as the fastest kill - a curly haired boy named Will Schuester, whom she shot through the temple with an arrow, and subsequently used his body to protect herself from attacks from the other tributes. Sugar was the first to be called in, wearing a summery yellow dress that made her look more youthful, and was offered a quick pat of good luck from Burt as she entered the room.
“And first up, Lima, we have Sugar Motta, the female tribute from District 1,” Sue said, addressing the camera.
Manning the camera was a creepy man named Jacob Ben Israel, who tended to ogle at the female tributes and had once wet himself during the filming of a particularly scary interview with Sue.
“Welcome Sugar,” Sue continued. “Sit down, sit down, that’s it. Now, tell us about yourself.”
“My name’s Sugar,” Sugar began nervously.
Sue rolled her eyes, and slapped her knee irritably with her hands, playing it up to the audience at home.
“Why don’t you tell us something we don’t know,” she said abruptly. “This year has shown an unusual affinity between the tributes. Is it like that when the cameras aren’t there?”
“Oh yes,” Sugar nodded, a little more bravely. “We’re like a big family. We all sit down together at meals, and we hang out and sing songs in our spare time.”
“Why don’t you sing a little something for us now?” Sue asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Sugar blushed, reaffirming her childish façade. “Santana always tells me to sing quietly in the background, I’m not really as good as everyone else.”
She looked away slightly at that, and Sue knew it was the perfect time to play up her rarely shown sympathetic side with the audience.
“I bet you sing just fine, Sugar,” she said. “Just give us a little tune.”
A quiet croaking escaped Sugar’s lips, and before she could even get a full note out, Sue wrinkled her nose.
“I think perhaps Santana had it right, didn’t she folks?” she smiled at the camera.
She knew that there would be laughs from the people in the Capitol. Across the rest of Lima, the inhabitants of the districts remained almost rebelliously silent, as the camera zoomed in on Sugar’s embarrassed and upset face. There was a short ringing sound, and Sue leapt to her feet. Sugar stood up too, and shook hands with Sue.
“Best of luck in the Games, Sugar Motta,” she said. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”