"Plot": Margarette… err… Mack, undergoes some changes and is forced to move to another school. Did I forget to mention s/he can see how a person dies?
Dalton!Verse, pre-Klaine, AU-ish. Supernatural. Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.
Everywhere she looked, there wasn't anything she wanted to see at all. Bloody images, sounds of cars crashing, of high-pitched screams, there was just too much for one human like her to take.
"Excuse me," a feminine voice brought her out of her nightmarish visions.
"Kurt Hummel-Anderson, elite fashion designer, dead at 47."
Blinding lights were all she saw, and the clicking off of flashes of cameras were all she heard. Though it did not include the extreme amount of mumbled voices, ranging from whispered to shouting, and muffled sirens.
There was a crime scene, a porcelain figure that didn't look as if it lived and breathed was bent at an awkward angle on the luxurious bed sheets. The glass windows were shattered and the person's blood was splattered over the stark white that was his skin.
"Are you ok?" he asked. She closed her eyes, let go of a breath, and nodded.
"I'm alright," her eyes almost widened at her masculine voice, and then she was reminded again of her… er… odd changes.
"I'm-" he started, but she cut him off.
"You're Kurt Hummel, famo-" she cut herself off this time, immediately shaking his offered hand. He raised his eyebrow, but she gave him a shaky smile.
"Sorry, I'm new here," she whispered, so as to not utter anything that she shouldn't have.
"I've heard," he replied, giving her an understanding smile. Now he didn't focus his eyesight on her, as he waved someone else over.
"Hey, Blaine!" he called over the 'Blaine' person. Her curiosity broke her willpower as she turned around.
"Sir Anderson, Mr. Hummel has been found… dead," a replayed message from a telephone went on ad infinitum, and then her vision range widened.
The room was large, and one wall was only glass windows, showing off the expansive sky of blue and white. However, the scene took a turn for the worse as the man named Blaine was shown.
A thick rope was tied on to a man's tan neck, and it seemed to be hanging on a broken light bulb. The strong face was bloodied, and she saw glass embedded on the skin.
"Suicide," she breathed, returning back again to the real world. Blaine's brow furrowed, but shook off the bordering-on-paranoid thoughts his mind was conjuring.
"Mack," Kurt called her - his - name. "This is Blaine, the prefect for the Windsor house."
"Pleasure," she said, shaking the tan boy's hand.
This is going to be a long day.
