I told you I was Glee ficcing.Title:
Three TonsPairing, Character(s):
Oh, everyone, almost. Will, Sue, and Figgins are the leads.Rating:
PGish for language, I guess.Word Count:
Some things have gone very wrong at William McKinley High School. The instructors are attempting to get everyone's input so they can get to the bottom of it.Notes:
This was inspired by a TWoP poster's mention of a desire to see a Rashomon-like episode. Granted, this is significantly less humorous than that would be, but hey: just the way things developed!
Principal Figgins peered in confusion at the two instructors before him. "You said... what happened, again?"
Sue Sylvester jerked her thumb at the man next to her. "Toy Poodle's Island of Misfit Toys decided to play a little prank, Figgins. Just like Napoleon decided to play a little prank when he invaded Russia."
Will Schuester rubbed the space between his eyebrows. "One, you have no proof that we were involved, Sue. Two, Napoleon's invasion of Russia? Didn't end so well for him."
She smirked. "My point exactly."
He just couldn't help it. Not after he saw that gleaming, spotlit monstrosity of a trophy staring at him every time he entered his own Glee room. It was small, and petty, but damn
it felt good to say, "And yet, whoever played that prank on you very successfully managed to place the Carmel statue in the middle of the gym."
Figgins blinked. Repeatedly. "Carmel High's school statue."
"Yes," Sue seethed, folding her arms. "Right in the middle of where my Cheerios were going to practice their new numbers. We're getting a jump on next year. Or we would if we hadn't been tragically violated.
Figgins seemed utterly perplexed. "But it weighs three tons."
"And is of a great white shark eating a seal pup, I know, I know." Will didn't bother holding back a smile and shrugged in a sweeping, dramatic arc of his hands. "Funny how these things happen."
"Aha!" Sue pointed at his expression, almost tracing the curve of his smile with her finger. He resisted the urge to snap at it. "Look at the guilt on his face. He reeks of it. Like his hair gel reeks of papaya and ineptitude."
"Sue, William." Figgins held up his hands. "I agree there is no proof, but who was last involved in a showdown with Carmel? Your students, William! Who was acting like juvenile delinquents in their own club room? Your students, William! I am not making a formal accusation, certainly, but I would just like to hear what they have to say. I would like to gather information. Because, you must admit: right now, you're not looking good."
"I know they fought, Figgins, but I can handle it myself. The football team gets into fights with each other, you don't put them through the third degree."
"Yes, Will," Figgins said, "but those football players are not trying to interrupt the operation of another student group. If they had forced the Cheerios out of the gymnasium I would have Ken in here, believe me."
"Why would my students try to disrupt the Cheerios?" Will asked, shaking his head. "A quarter of Glee is on the squad! I... fine. Fine. You can talk to my kids, hear what they have to say about what happened. I know they fought. And I'm getting to the bottom of that. But I really don't think they were involved in this.
"Very well, William," Figgins said smoothly. "Let's call them in and ask what happened."
"Isn't our trophy awesome, Mr. Schue?" Brittany asked as she walked into the office. It was a very wide smile. Will wondered if it hurt. Or if she could actually stop smiling. "It's so big."
"Yes." He struggled to maintain his own smile. "It is a very big Cheerios trophy that we have in the Glee room right now."
She kept smiling at him. It was becoming more than a little unnerving. "Isn't it way better than having it in your apartment? Now we can all look at it together."
Sue patted Brittany on the back and motioned her to a seat. "The best thing about her," she confided in the two men, "is that she's such a natural at psychological warfare that she doesn't even need to know the term! Which is a good thing, as she seems to be physically incapable of remembering words with more than three syllables. Even two's pushing it."
"Why don't you just tell us if you know anything about what happened that day, Brittany?" Principal Figgins suggested.
"Well..."* * *
I left for school early because my little brother was watching Sesame Street. I don't like Big Bird. He's too yellow.
Santana was mad that I didn't wait for her to pick me up, but then I mentioned Sesame Street and she got it. So then we walked in together and we saw everyone was glaring at us. I mean, on purpose. Puck always looks sort of mean and Quinn has pregnancy hormones or whatever and Mercedes couldn't handle the Cheerios Cleanse and she acts weird whenever she sees me drinking, but they were all like... mad.
Okay, Finn wasn't, but I don't think Finn knew what was going on.
You guys? I think Finn's kind of dumb.
And then Rachel started yelling at me, and I don't really know what she said? Because whenever Rachel talks I start replaying scenes from Varsity Blues and tune her out?
Huh, Mr. Schue? No, it's okay, I can keep talking. I don't have class for another ten minutes.* * *
Will rubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe we shouldn't have started with Brittany."
Artie wheeled in more slowly than usual. One hand was bandaged. "Hi, Mr. Schue. Principal Figgins." He pointedly ignored Sue.
She raised her eyebrows delightedly at the insult. "Your kid's got spunk, Schuester. That's a nice bandage on him. That's the sort of bandage you might see on a person's hand after they help carry a bronze statue that's been set free with a buzzsaw."
Will rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sue. Artie personally carried the Carmel statue into the middle of the gym. In his wheelchair."
"See, Figgins? He admits it."
"What?" Artie asked, looking around the room in confusion. "I didn't have anything to do with a statue. I got my bandage from a fight."
Will sighed. This, he did know about. "You'd better tell them, Artie, so they're not left wondering."* * *
"You guys suck!" I yelled, and I didn't even care who heard it. Because I didn't want to take the chance that my words of total, honest to God truth didn't make it into their heads. And Kurt, Brittany, and Santana?
They were standing there in their little liar clique
, all "Oh, look at me, I'm so awesome. I win national championships, I don't give a shit about my friends any..." Sorry, Principal Figgins. I'll watch my language.
But it's true. It was obvious they didn't give a... didn't care about us any more. And yeah, I expected that of Santana all along, really. But I thought Brittany was starting to be a real friend. I thought Kurt already was. One of my best friends.
Santana snapped something about how we didn't know what it was like for them. Have you noticed that girl is always snapping? I'm just saying. She's like a turtle in a skirt. And I just thought that was hilarious, because hello? The hot cheerleader is whining that she's suffering to the guy stuck in this chair. Yeah. Boo hoo for her.
Mercedes started crying, and you do not want to mess with Mercedes when she's crying. Seriously. You don't want to. Because she will take it out on whoever made her cry.
And the guy who made her cry was dumb enough to go over to her and try to fix it, like this whole mess wasn't the Cheerios' fault in the first place. So she shoved Kurt away, he fell when he stumbled backward, and I punched him in the face.
Yes, Principal Figgins. I know admitting that could get me a suspension.
Then I punched him again.
Or I would have, if he hadn't moved away just in time.
And so I punched the piano instead, and that's why I have this bandage around my hand.* * *
That was about where Will had walked in. He shook his head. Sue was hoping that she'd find out about the statue in her gym. He was just hoping to find out why his entire Glee Club had turned on each other.
"What the hell started that?" he wondered, shaking his head. "One day, they're all coming together like a big... costumed family in the hallway. The next thing I know it's a madhouse."
He didn't even need to look over. "Stop reveling in my misery, Sue."
"William, do you also ask birds not to fly?"
"Do you guys know what happened?" Finn asked as soon as he walked into the office. "Because no one told me anything, they just got all mad and I was trying to run between everyone to figure out what was going on, and then..." He moved his hands apart and whooshed out the sound of an explosion.* * *
No, seriously, do you guys know what happened?* * *
"Brittany said Puck looked particularly mad," Will decided after Finn had been sent packing with the promise that he would tell him what had gone wrong as soon as they knew. "Let's ask him."
"'Sup, Mr. Schue. Figgins." Puck didn't ignore Sue, as Artie had, but he did manage to cram a whole lot of condescension into the name "Sylvester."
"Puck," Will said. "Finn and Brittany weren't much help in figuring out what was going on, and Artie was a little up close and personal with everything. Did you see everything that happened?"* * *
Sure did, Mr. Schue.
That morning Rachel told us everything that she'd seen go down the day before. It was a pretty wild story. Like, I know Rachel cares about Glee like Team Rocket cares about taking over the...
You got a problem with my kid sister watching Pokémon when I'm around, Coach?
Anyway. Rachel can get intense and all, so it was hard to know whether to totally trust her or not. Sure, she seemed upset and that kinda made me want to get upset too for reasons that I don't totally understand or want to really think about, but she's also told us that by this time next year she's convinced we're all gonna be opening a Broadway show. Chick can be crazy, is what I mean.
She confronted Brittany and Brittany just kind of blinked and walked away from her, so we figured we'd have to ask the others. They weren't around at lunch. Probably in the gym.
We got to the choir room that afternoon and they were already there.
So we were standing there watching Lopez and Hummel and, uh, Brittany gloat over their big stupid trophy. Talking about how it was all worth it. Whatever. We don't care.
Pretty soon it was a giant throwdown right there by the piano. Everyone was calling the girls on being total ferrets or moles or whatever, and Hummel on being a sell-out, and there was crying and all this chick stuff that I just didn't want to get into.
I ducked out of the room to grab a slushie, came back—
Huh? Oh, about thirty seconds. Why? You look confused, Mr. Schue.
Anyway, I came back just in time because Artie was totally clocking Hummel right in the face, which was awesome
because I didn't know he could throw a punch like that. Which, okay, backfired on him when he hit the piano, but still. Rock on, dude.
What? No, Figgins. This just means "rock on." I'm not praising Satan.
Mercedes looked pretty pissed, so I figured I'd give her the honor. Passed her the slushie, assumed she'd take care of Hummel's black eye with it, but she surprised me. Dumped that bad boy all over Lopez.
I mean, I knew Santana was a screamer, but when her hair's full of corn syrup? Girl screams.
I. Uh. No, Principal Figgins, I didn't mean anything by "screamer."
I should probably go.* * *
"Your children should all be in a juvenile detention center, William."
"Figgins, is there any point at which I can just start ignoring her?"
It was Rachel who had looked the most crushed from all of this, outside of the trio targeted by the Glee kids' wrath. Will decided to call her in next.
She strode into Figgins' office with her head held high but tears clearly wanted to start. "Thank you," she said to Will when he pulled out a chair. Archly, she turned and nodded to Sue. "Coach Sylvester. Congratulations on another victory. I know how hard you work on your routines."
Sue actually drew back. "Fine, Berry." For the first time that day, Sue Sylvester didn't look wholly in control of the moment. "Spill it."
Will's eyes narrowed and he waited to see what she had to say.* * *
I greatly value originality in presentation, Mr. Schuester. I know you appreciate the fresh interpretation I bring to every piece I tackle. Furthermore, I value the personal relationships I've created in this club and don't wish to divest myself of them with anything less than serious, weighty consideration.
It's a pity others in New Directions aren't willing to make a similar effort.
I had just finished eating lunch in the choir room while reading through some of those books of sheet music Mr. Ryan bought for us. I do have several suggestions, by the way, that I believe will take advantage of underutilized areas of my range. Realizing that it would be best to take a short walk before class after eating my meal, I put away the books and headed for the hall.
That was when I walked past the gym. The Cheerios were having an extra rehearsal at lunchtime. And I heard it. I heard... it.
You know the opening, Mr. Schuester.Rah rah, ah ah ah. Ro ma ro ma ma.
Thank you, Principal Figgins. I know I have a beautiful voice.
Confused, I walked into the gym and watched through the supports of the bleachers. I'm quite sure no one saw me. There they were: every Cheerio in uniform, under Ms. Sylvester's keen eye, executing a particularly acrobatic take on the fundamental moves you yourself saw from members of Glee. And standing in the front, performing the entire song without mentioning it to any of the rest of us, were Kurt and Santana.
I was surprised, certainly, but it is a popular song. A very popular song with a very popular music video, after all. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that they would have landed on that song entirely by accident, and that my two choirmates would be able to take advantage of their previous work on the piece with us. Their friends.
And then Kurt and Santana started to sing an up-tempo version of "Somebody to Love."
And Brittany chimed in for "My Life Would Suck Without You."
Yes, Principal Figgins, thank you. I would like a tissue.
It was when I watched the far line of the Cheerios perform a series of coordinated backflips to "You Can't Always Get What You Want" that I simply couldn't take it any more and ran out crying. It was clear what had occurred, Mr. Schuester. Terribly, painfully clear. They were stealing from Glee to bolster the Cheerios. They were taking all our work for theirs, uncredited, and they were the ones winning national titles on our backs. It was such a... complete betrayal when I realized this.
Kelly Clarkson. She was the worst. No, no, I don't mean to insult her. I actually find her tone quite lovely, although she of course lacks my years of training due to her meteoric rise on a show more dedicated to popular culture than proper musical form. Mr. Schuester... we've performed Somebody in public. We've performed Can't Always Get in public. And we walked around school in our Gaga costumes.
Ms. Sylvester could know about those, become inspired, and tell the Cheerios to perform those songs.
But Mr. Schuester, we only ever sang the Kelly Clarkson song in our own room. Together. For you.
And I know it wasn't a coincidence that it was there in the gym.* * *
"No way," Will said blankly, staring unfocused at a bronze metal duck on Figgins' sideboard. "They wouldn't do that." He turned to Sue. "Why are you picking all our songs, Sylvester? How are you finding out about them? How are you getting my arrangements?"
Sue smiled. "Unlike you, William, I listen to my kids when they come to me with ideas."
Will shook his head. "No way."
"Ask them yourself, then."
Kurt wouldn't meet his eyes when he walked into Figgins' office.
Will's gut lurched. That seemed like a really bad sign.
He had to agree with Artie: Santana, sure. Brittany, okay. But Kurt, betraying the Glee Club like this? He was the second one in it. He signed up before they knew whether they'd have any kind of future past the first week. He stood up for being different, and now he was going to throw everyone aside because... he could be more popular in a Cheerios uniform?
Sadness overwhelmed him and Will sought for any handhold out of it. Surely there had to be an explanation. Surely Kurt would put his mind at ease.
As much as his mind could be put at ease, of course, when one of his Glee kids was sporting one hell of a black eye.* * *
First off, since I'm sure Rachel told you: yes. We've been taking the vocals and choreography from successful Glee routines and delivering them to the Cheerios for Coach Sylvester to adapt. It's saved us time. It's saved us effort. We're leaning on your vocal arrangements. I admit it.
I was standing in the room waiting for you to arrive, Mr. Schuester. Brittany, Santana and I were looking at our trophy. It seemed out of place in the room, yes, but it also reminded us of what we were working so hard for. And why we were in Glee: to help them win, like the Cheerios won. We were going to help Glee.
I realize it doesn't make sense to you, Mr. Schuester. May I continue?
I understand why everyone was mad. But they really did overreact.
They came in and lined up in front of us like a firing squad. Or the available models on Project Runway. We were immediately put on edge, of course, as anyone would in such a confrontation. Rachel asked us if she'd heard what she thought she had in the gym the day before.
She had. We told her as much.
If I may say so, the word "traitor" is thrown around far too easily. They didn't ask our side. They just started... they started saying that they thought we were... different.
I'm fine. Excuse me.
It all spiraled completely out of control. Before I knew it I was no better than the bullies, Santana and Brittany were the same—pardon me—the same bitches they always thought they were, and I was giving up on my best friend because I'd rather be seen with two popular cheerleaders. We were all cardboard cutouts of who we used to be. No questions asked.
Oh. Did I say that it was all right if I didn't have the Cheerios, so long as I had Glee? I did? Did... did I say that, Mr. Schuester? It must have slipped my mind. We've all been so busy addressing the fallout from Puck and Finn's revenge.
Coach Sylvester, let me assure you: I was playing him. We needed a way to get you back with us for Nationals. By positioning myself as someone loyal primarily to New Directions above the Cheerios, it made him more inclined to listen to me.
Th... thank you, Coach Sylvester. I'll take "manipulative" as a compliment.
One you seem to enjoy giving.
Mr. Schuester. Glee sticks me in the back and we're cannon fodder for Vocal Adrenaline. The Cheerios stick me front and center and we win national titles.
I know Glee Club is your pride and joy, but are you really surprised that just maybe... it's not mine, any more?
Please don't compliment me again, Coach Sylvester. Not right now.
Is that enough?
Can I please go now?
Mr. Schuester, please, I don't want to talk about this any more.
No, Mr. Schue. Mr. Schuester. I really don't want to talk about it.
Thank you, Principal Figgins.* * *
"This is insane," Will said blankly as Kurt left. "I just can't believe it."
"Your flypaper of a club has lured my Cheerios' attention and captured them on a sticky strip of failure. Is it really so hard to believe that it would happen in reverse? That someone would choose me over you?"
"Yes!" Will said, a bit of hysterical laughter edging his voice. "You're a terrible person!"
"And a damn fine coach. Kids have their parents if they want to be told they're special. They have their coaches if they want to succeed. And you just can't deliver there, William." Sue grinned. "Your impotence delights me."
It was right then that Mercedes stormed through the door. Will saw her ready to shove Kurt out of the way, only to hear the word "impotence" fall from Sue's lips. Her horror gave her friend time to walk out, head down.
Ex-friend? He didn't even know.
"Mercedes, I think we've gotten a pretty good idea of what's going on by this point. But if you have anything else to add, please do so. And then... and then I'll wrap it up."
He just couldn't believe it.* * *
I know I didn't look like I belonged on the squad. I knew it then, know it now. And I tried. Oh, did I try. And I had the boy who I thought was my best friend driving me toward starving myself just so we could stay on it. You'd think I'd take that as a warning, huh?
But no. I let it slide. Never mind that it was the girl who left the Cheerios telling me to take care of myself, and the whole squad telling me to pass out from hunger so I could drop a dress size. I let it slide.
Didn't say one damn word when the three of them packed up and flew off for Nationals right before we were facing down our own matches at Regionals.
Didn't say one damn—yes, Principal Figgins, I said damn again, I'm expressing myself—word when I got bailed on at the mall for an extra Saturday practice.
That trophy in our room? That's an insult. We all know it, Coach Sylvester. We all know it. You insulted Glee right there. And when it came time to pick Glee or pick their uniforms, your three little Cheerios stood right there in front of their big trophy.
Yeah, things got ugly. Brittany said something about how she'd never tried to hurt us, and can you even believe that? Believe she'd dare? I knew the girl was dumb, but damn, that's a whole lot of dumb.
And then things got real
ugly. Did I shove Kurt Hummel away when he tried to say something to me, like he hasn't obviously been playing me ever since Sylvester offered us a spot on the squad? Yes I did.
And then did Puck appear out of nowhere to stick a slushie in my hand? Yes he did.
Then did I take that slushie and throw it all over Miss Perfect Santana Lopez, giving her a little taste of what it feels like to be on the outskirts? Yes I most certainly did.
Would I do it again? Hell yeah.
And then did my boy look up from where Brittany was helping with his eye and go help Santana with her hair? And then did the three of them walk out together?
Yeah, he did.
Can I leave now, Mr. Schue?* * *
"I don't think we need to call in anyone else," Will said, and rested his forehead in his palm.
"Hi, Quinn," Will said. He was going to need a drink that night. Or five. "It's okay. We've got everything figured out by now. You can go, if you want. I'm sure you're tired. God knows I am."
She primly took a seat between her vocal director and former coach. "Principal Figgins? I'd still like to say something."* * *
Yes, Mr. Schue. I saw everything.
They weren't acting like themselves. I should know. I've gotten very good at putting on an act.
Yes, Ms. Sylvester, I am actually sure of that. And no, Ms. Sylvester, I don't think I have anything more to say.* * *
Will looked at Sue, eyes narrowed. "Why would she say something like that, Sue?"
"Pregnancy-driven dementia. Some women kill their husbands with a spatula. She has delusions about her fellow students. Tragic, really."
"Principal Figgins? Could you call in just one last person, please?"
"I've been hearing some interesting stories from your friends, Santana," Will said as she nervously entered the room. "I'm looking forward to what you have to tell us."
"I'd really rather not," she said, dry-washing her hands. Santana Lopez didn't often look nervous. She did then.
Will considered this very carefully, along with Quinn's words and the behavior of the previous Cheerio to take the stand. "Principal Figgins," he said. "I'd like to make a suggestion. Why don't Sue and I leave the room while she talks?"
Sue shifted in her chair. "I see no reason to do that, William."
"She's only a child, Sue. It has to be intimidating for her to be outnumbered three to one by authority figures. By relaxing our students, perhaps we can improve their recollection." All mumbo-jumbo, sure, but it used big words and talked about student welfare. Figgins clearly ate it up with a spoon.
Sue glared daggers. "If Santana's talking, I want to be in here."
Figgins shook his head. "William raises a fair point. Both of you are her directors for different clubs. Let me talk to her alone, without any pressure. It's a good plan."
"Santana," Sue said before she left. "Just remember winning Nationals. And how that felt. On the Cheerios."
"Come on, Sue."
Sue and Will soon stood outside the closed door of Figgins' office, arms folded rigidly across their chests. Inside the office, Santana began to talk.* * *
"Well, kids, how does it feel to be on a winning team?" Coach Sylvester asked the three of us after we'd been called into her office. I relaxed. You never know how hard you'll be yelled at in that office, but when she starts off by talking about winning it's a good sign. Coach Sylvester really likes to win. Puts her in a good mood. It's like her... equivalent of sex, I guess.
Sorry, Principal Figgins, I'll watch my language.
Uh, Principal Figgins? Are you okay? You're kind of... gagging a little.
So anyway. We're in her office and she starts talking about Nationals. She talks to me and Brittany about how she's "pleased that us splitting our attention didn't hurt our performance on the Cheerios." She talks to Kurt about how it's her greatest joy in life to find some... wait, let me remember the line. It was pretty hilarious. Some "underappreciated directionless loser and forcibly extract a winning performance from him through fear, humiliation, and backhanded compliments." He said thank you. I mean, not loudly, but he had to say something, and what else are you going to say to that?
And that's when she ordered us to quit Glee.
And you know what, Principal Figgins? It was totally weird, but at first I didn't know if I wanted to listen to her. I know. Yeah, my eyebrows went as high as yours are right now. Oh? Uh, really high.
Anyway. She started talking about how now she's done wasting our time on that club, and Kurt was practically out the door before she used her remote control to shut it in his face. Yes, I know that's not standard school equipment. So we had to stand there and listen to her unless we were planning to bust through the window to get out.
We had to listen to how she put the trophy into the Glee room to make all of them think about how they weren't winners. How we were the only worthwhile people in the room.
We had to listen to how she was going to start putting more and more of her trophies in there. Starting with a Heisman, which... how in the hell, right? Until there wasn't even any room to practice. Just to see how long everyone would last before they gave up and realized that Glee would never be anything in the world.
We had to listen to how she was going to go back to targeting the kids themselves, not just Mr. Schuester, and how there would be no club at all by this time next year. Because teenagers are fragile. So we might as well get off that worthless sinking ship. She had us from Glee, she could win with us, and now the club had no reason to exist.
We had to listen to how she could call in some favors and get everyone fired from their new jobs, so we'd have no chance of paying off all those slashed tires.
We had to listen to... she had so many plans. Like some secret agent and Glee was her target. And Principal Figgins? She was going to win.
It was... I didn't think it'd be so hard to listen to someone talk about Glee that way.
Believe it or not, it was Brittany who came up with the right approach. I know, right? She started talking about how she didn't want to leave Glee because it was fun to sing, and she'd never gotten to sing before on the Cheerios. And she was learning new things.
So Kurt and I just looked at each other and we knew we were on the same wavelength.
Oh, Coach Sylvester! You're the best cheerleading coach in the nation, of course, but you're not a trained musician. Now that you've added live singing into your routines, shouldn't we be coached in that as well? After all, your specialty is in cheerleading. By letting us practice our singing there, we'll come better prepared to perform for you.
She seemed to buy it. Sort of. But then she wanted to bring in some boring old music PhD guy from some university if there was going to be some music source that was pumping out performers for her. He was like... ancient. Forty-five. Maybe fifty.
So... oh, Coach Sylvester! Wouldn't a music PhD know, like, Latin choir music or whatever? But in Glee, we come up with all these fun, modern group numbers that are totally like what the Cheerios do!
And it worked.
She agreed to leave Glee alone. She said she wouldn't bother them. So long as we brought over everything useful to the Cheerios. She said something about... I don't even remember. "Getting her money's worth one way or another."
No more trying to get the club shut down. No threats about the cars. They could win their own titles for all she cared. So long as we brought her the numbers and our voices, and so long as we saved her time and effort and won with those songs. She called it an "investment."
Then Coach Sylvester said she knew that was all a load of crap we'd just shoveled from start to finish, but she admired our cunning. We knew exactly what she wanted to hear and that made her proud. Her manipulative little Cheerios could have their little Glee Club so long as we brought her the songs. Her manipulative little Cheerios could have the whole club ready to start next year at a run instead of her trying to hobble it. So long as we didn't spill the beans, so we wouldn't ruin her fun.
And she said she'd just destroy Mr. Schuester through focused, personalized psychological torture centered on his private property, but I sort of stopped listening at that point so I couldn't be named as an accomplice.
That's what happened, Principal Figgins.
Swear to God.
I don't want to do it any more. This is stupid. We'll just handle dangers to Glee like before. We probably should have told them in the first place. I guess they're right to be pissed. We'll get yelled at more. Even though we were helping—no more threats, no more bullying, the club would be totally safe—it was weirdly better to be one group on the same side of a bad situation than two groups who didn't have to worry. It's almost like... they're actually my friends or something. I don't even know what that's all about.
But if Jones ever slushies me again, I will cut her.* * *
"You tried to destroy my club with its own kids, Sue!" Will yelled after Figgins had told them everything that happened.
"Catch up, William. I've been doing that all year!"
"Just because you have some Cheerios in Glee—"
"Again, William. Please try to keep up with the times."
"And you're going to play off their insecurities—"
Sue let out a noise of wonderment. "It's really like you haven't been paying any attention at all."
"Artie hurt himself, Kurt has a black eye, Santana will not stop informing every single person as to what chilled corn syrup has done to her hair... over and over and over
, she's told us..." Will threw up his hands. "And no one trusts anyone. Who knows how long that'll take to get back?"
"Huh." Sue laughed and leaned back. "Maybe I'm not sad that they went ahead and told, after all. They may have violated my explicit orders, but they did so in a way that caused massive upheaval within my target of bile and rage. I can't entirely complain about the results, given that it's kind of fun to watch you flail."
"I will end you, Sylvester."
"I believe there is something very important than has been overlooked here."
Sue and Will both snapped their heads over to Figgins. "What?"
"We haven't heard one word to explain why the Carmel statue is in our gymnasium."
They blinked. "Oh."* * *
Shelby Corcoran retrieved the fax as her machine beeped an alert. Oh, the wonders of modern technology: you could receive invoices faster than ever before.
Boy, she thought as she scribbled out a payment on checks prominently plastered with the Vocal Adrenaline logo. Will Schuester didn't have a lick of strategic sense. It sure wasn't a good idea to invite the competition into a private meeting between yourself and a rival whom you clearly loathe. It wasn't a good idea at all.
It'd do things like encourage the ruthless director of an equally ruthless show choir to toss out some provocative little number like a "stolen school statue trucked into the middle of their gym" just to see how much trouble it caused..