Seven Years Later Chapter 1: Fallen Rose Petals, a glee fanfic

Hi! I'm Your author for this story. I'm still a bit new on , so I'm working out a few kinks and things of how to work this thing. Anyways, I heard that there was going to be a glee spinoff, but it was cancelled. So in honor of the death of that poor, poor spinoff, I decided to write one myself. This is set way in the future, when Rachel and Kurt have long graduated college (long as in, two years ago) and are trying to become broadway legends. This is mainly about the McKinley high New Directions, though I will throw in a couple Warblers, and I suggest you read CP Coulter's Dalton before this if you want to understand any of my crazy references. (i.e. The White Rabbit is Blaine, The twins, Dwight, etc.) So without further ado, here's my version of what our beloved New directions would be like...

Seven Years Later

Episode 1: Fallen Rose Petals

March 14, 2019

"It's like, we can't find a single Broadway job! We tried out for Wicked, the Wizard of Oz, Mama Mia, Les Miserabales, are we not good enough?" The frustrated brunette looked over at her friend for support. Kurt said nothing. Anything said at this point would only enrage the girl more and keep her ranting.

"I mean, we're talented, we're good singers, we can dance quite well, what's wrong with us? Why can't we get a job like that?" Kurt stayed silent. The only job meant for him right now was to hear Rachel out and maybe think it through in his own head. He was sure that they were doing something wrong. He knew everyone else auditioning for the shows were people hoping to be extras, or people hoping to get a large role. Almost all of them were professionals, and they all beat him and Rachel. It wasn't like the aftermath of the recession was good. In face, he and Rachel were having a hard time themselves.

Without a Broadway job to support him, Kurt had been working part time at Forever 21. He fit in perfectly with the staff, and the pay was decent. The only thing they lacked was good quality clothing. Not that that mattered to him, he wouldn't be caught dead shopping there.

Rachel was still unemployed, and hadn't signed up for benefits yet, since she didn't really qualify much. She hadn't ever had a job before, but was applying for jobs in various music stores across New York. Ever since Finn got deported from Fort Drum, Rachel hadn't been acting quite sane anymore. In fact, Kurt suspected that she was never sane in the first place.

Finally, Kurt and Rachel stopped at their towering apartment building in lower east Manhattan. They hadn't been able to afford much, due with the lack of a decent job, but it was a pretty decent building, not like those of some lesser apartments nearby.

Kurt and Blaine had taken the job immediately to remodeling the apartment completely. It was rather small, but still looked like one of a millionaire's.

First, he had picked a plain, white base color and covered the floors and walls with cream white wood boards. Then, he had dragged in a large, fluffy white sofa, and a 42 inch black flat screen TV. A glass coffee table sat between the TV and the sofa, on top of a soft white carpet. He had remembered the day when he brought it in. Finn, who was just about to leave to start training at the military base, had thought that Kurt had gone out and killed a mutant bunny.

Smiling to himself, Kurt hung his coffee brown Prada bag on the silver coat rack, sticking his navy blue Burberry coat in the closet. Rachel slipped into her clean black flats on and flicked the light switch. The line of silver orbs dangling in lamp like cups from the ceiling ignited.

Making sure that his regular slippers he wore in the house were on, and that Rachel was wearing a clean pair of shoes, Kurt went into the kitchen. He immediately threw on an apron to make sure his Marc Jacobs shirt didn't get dirty. Running a hand through his dark chocolate brown hair, Kurt started baking.

Of course he was stressed. He was probably just as mad as Rachel. Kurt only ever baked a lot when he was stressed. Which was often, lately. Blaine wasn't home either, which made it twice as bad. Blaine had, however, been able to get a spot in West Side Story, as an extra, of course, but still. He got a part. Maybe that's out problem. Kurt and I get too full of ourselves and go for the biggest parts; we need to start small. Regretting blowing up today for not getting in as Elphaba in Wicked, Rachel raced down the small hallway down to her room. She had some planning to do.

Stafford Arima

Brendan Stewart

Kyle Rosen.

"Hmmmmm…" Rachel mumbled. She had heard of Stafford, of course, director of Carrie, a musical, but Rachel had never come across the names Kyle Rosen and Brendan Stewart.

One by one, she looked up their credentials on Google. Kyle Rosen was starting a new musical right now and was looking for actors and actresses, while Brendan was still writing the screenplay for one he was coming up with. Kyle would have to do. The auditions were all of next week, and the musical was called Ginger.

Rachel found the description and started reading.

Ginger is a musical based on the life on a young girl with red hair. She is trying hard to get a job in the theater, but the only play she ever gets into is Annie. Along with a good friend of hers, Ginger seeks the help of another actor named Brunt, a gay, and he helps her with her dream. (Based off of a book by Lyle, my brother)

The characters and descriptions are listed below:

Ginger- anyone with orange or red hair (Actress must be able to cry on cue, scream very loud, and jump high)

Betsy- brown haired and short (Actress must be able to seem exasperated and curious, it would also be preferred if actress could reach very high notes.)

Maria- blonde hair, blue eyes, taller than actress for Ginger (Actress must be able to be very mean and snobby on stage)

Griffon- brown hair, average height, (Actor must be able to reach high notes, would be preferred if actor was gay)

By the time Rachel had reached the latest character, she was smiling uncontrollably. It had the perfect roles for her and Kurt. If they could not make it to the better roles, then they would have to be extras, but that would do. Every career started somewhere, and if they had to be extras, then they were going to be extras.

Rachel rolled her rose pink chair over to the birch bookshelf. She ran her hand along the second shelf from the bottom, popping out a sparkly pink notebook. Rolling back over to the white desk, Rachel pulled out her sparkly pink pen. Flipping through her pages, Rachel began to plan the next day.

A creak downstairs signified that the door was opening. We need to get those hinges oiled. Rachel was probably somewhere upstairs completely ignoring the fact that she still had a life. Pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven, Kurt walked into the living room and placed them the glass table.

Blaine had already put away his coat and was sitting on the couch tapping away at his laptop. Sniffing the air, he looked up,

"Kurt, did you make the magic cookies?"

"Yes."

Both Blaine and the tray disappeared within seconds. Smiling to himself, Kurt sat on the couch. Rachel rushed down, plopping down on the couch next to Kurt. She seemed in a much better mood than earlier today.

"Hey, Kurt, could you explain to me why Blaine just rushed into his room and slammed the door? He isn't mad at you, is he?"

"No. Since when did you get so happy?"

"I decided that there are too many opportunities out there, and that we need to spend more time trying to grab them rather than weeping into our pillows and whining." Smiling, Rachel turned to Kurt. "In fact, I have found an audition for a new musical that I found online. We're going tomorrow."

"What?" Kurt exclaimed. "But I haven't prepared a song, or an outfit! What am I supposed to do?"

Rachel laughed at her friend's panic attack. "Stay calm, and be you."

She tapped the link into Blaine's computer and handed it to Kurt. "You're perfect for the part."

Sighing, Chandra Ashman looked up again. Why, again, had she decided to audition for this stupid show? Brushing her scarlet red hair out of her face for what felt like the thousandth time, she checked the map. Turning right off Madison Avenue, Chandra spotted a gold sign. Auditions today, it read.

Smiling, Chandra raced to the door. Walking in, she knew her surroundings immediately. The theater was the only place where she never got lost. A group people were waiting to get on stage. They were all seated in the front row, watching short brunette, probably trying out for the role of Betsy. Chandra sat down next to a fashionable boy with smoothed back brown hair. She raised her head. The brunette was good.

I love him

But every day I'm learning

All my life

I've only been pretending

Without me

His world would go on turning

A world that's full of happiness

That I have never known

I love him

But only on my own…

"Has Miss Ashman arrived yet?"

"Yes, sir." Chandra looked up. The director was a very stout man. He was slightly chubby, with a mass of curly, orange hair. His eyes were hazel, and relatively blank. If she were in high school, Chandra would have mistaken him for a vampire during her twilight obsession in sophomore year.

"Go on up, Miss Ashman. We're waiting for you." Chandra smiled, walking up to the stage. Smoothing out her white and black polka dot dress, she took a deep breath. Brushing her red hair out of her face, she looked up.

"My name is Chandra Amylin Ashman. I am auditioning for the role of Ginger." She said steadily, trying to fall of the stage, or stutter.

Everybody's waiting

Everybody's watching

Even when you're sleeping

Keep your ey-eyes open

Chandra observed the group of people watching her sing. They were pretty intrigued, so she assumed that she was doing well. Keep it up, she thought to herself.

The tricky thing

Is yesterday we were just children

Playing soldiers

Just pretending

Dreaming dreams with happy endings

In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords

But now we've stepped into a cruel world

Where everybody stands and keeps score

Keep your eyes open

Everybody's waiting for you to breakdown

Everybody's watching to see the fallout

Even when you're sleeping, sleeping

Keep your ey-eyes open

Kurt smiled. This girl was good. Her voice rang out in the theater, echoing off the walls. He was very impressed; she was his top choice for the lead role. Even Rachel couldn't beat this.

Keep your feet ready

Heartbeat steady

Keep your eyes open

Keep your aim locked

The night goes dark

Keep your eyes open

Everybody's waiting for you to breakdown

Everybody's watching to see the fallout

Even when you're sleeping, sleeping

Keep your eyes open

Chandra glanced at the director. He looked pretty impressed, with a smile on his face. "Congratulations, Miss Ashman, I think you've earned yourself a finalist for the role of Ginger." Chandra's face burst into a smile, and she rushed off stage.

"The results will be posted on the wall on Friday. Good luck."

Chandra nodded wildly, grabbed her bag, and rushed out.

I'm a finalist!

The streets were rainy, but Chandra didn't care. She didn't care if she got lost, or got her dress muddy, or even if she had to starve for a week straight—She was a finalist for the lead role in a new musical! It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face. Pulling out her phone, Chandra started to text Allan Wechsler, her best friend. Hitting send, Chandra felt someone bump into her shoulder.

Raising her head, she faced an average sized blonde woman, about twenty-five years old. She had high cheekbones, and pretty hazel eyes. It was clear that she was businesswoman of some sort—she was wearing a white collared shirt under a black blazer along with a black skirt and heels.

"I'm so sorry!" Chandra exclaimed.

"It's alright, it was just a bump. Do you know the fastest way to get to Bronx?" she inquired.

"No, sorry, I get lost really easily, and I can never remember directions. There's a theater around the corner though, with a gold plaque on it saying that 'auditions are today' I know people in there will most definitely point you in the right direction. There was also a couple of maps in there too."

"Thanks." The woman smiled, and walked away.

Quinn Fabray's fresh start from high school couldn't have gone better. She had graduated from Yale around three years ago and was living a pretty decent life in Philadelphia as an accountant. Sure, she was really disappointed that she didn't get a job as an actress, but that was just a silly dream from high school.

Right?

Popping a piece of mint gum in her mouth, Quinn walked into her work building. Her office was at the very end of the third floor. A plaque with the name 'Lucy Fabray' was printed next to the mahogany door. When she opened it, she immediately spotted a manila envelope sitting on her clean desk.

Placing her bag on a chair, Quinn picked it up. It smelled like someone threw a rotten fish in a blender and sprayed it on the paper. As formal as it looked, Quinn was pretty sure someone accidentally threw it away. Ripping the top off, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

Miss Fabray;

Our company is expanding soon. We have planned to build a new place in New York. We have sent you and a couple of your colleagues to New York to check on the new building. I am also thinking of appointing you as the administrator and manager of the new building. This is, of course, a promotion offer if you earn it. The trip to New York is by train; you will be arriving in Brooklyn, where your hotel is. Then you will be walking or riding the bus to Bronx, where you will check up on our new building. A few things I would like you to do are to get some people to work there, put up advertisements, ask people on the street, do interviews. I would very much like it if nothing distracted you this time.

On that note, you have indeed redeemed yourself since the Brent incident last year, and I do believe that you have grown from your troubles, and that you will work even harder to achieve the goal of the assignment I have given you.

Your departure is tomorrow at 7:30. You have the day off and

The Best of Luck,

Benita Lewiston

She was going to New York with a promotion possibility. Quinn smiled at the thought, and immediately grabbed her bag and making her way home.

"Quinn?"

The first thing Kurt did was squeal and rush up to hug her. He and Rachel had been leaving the theater when they spotted their old high school friend. Rachel had yelled out her name, catching up to Kurt. She hugged Quinn too.

"What are you doing here, are you auditioning?" Kurt asked, with the most enthusiastic voice he could produce.

"No, a girl who had a bad sense of direction told me that I could find some information here. What are you guys doing here?"

"We're finalists in the new musical Ginger! Can you believe it? Our dreams of being stars are finally coming true!"

Quinn went quiet and smiled. "I'm glad that's happened."

Kurt's smile fell. "What's wrong?"

"It's just, when I was in Yale majoring in drama, I thought that I could become an actress, but it didn't work out. So I just moved to Philadelphia and started working at a bank as an accountant. I guess I'm pretty happy—

"No you're not, Quinn. I know it's been years but I can still hear that hopeless voice. We're going to make you an actress while you're here."

"I don't know, Kurt, my boss told me not to get off track."

"This is the city of dreams, Quinn. We're going to make your dreams come true, like it or not. Ours are starting to work out; Finn became a marine, and Blaine's playing Rip in West Side Story. Rachel and I just got finalist positions in a new musical; there is no way that your dreams aren't coming true. Does that make sense?"

Quinn laughed at her friend's fondness. "Alright, but it can't interfere with my work schedule."

"Great! We'll start on Saturday then. We'll be hearing our results for the musical the day before." Rachel gave Quinn a cheeky grin.

Nodding, Quinn walked off. She walked all the way to Central Park when it hit her. She had forgotten to ask for directions. For all Quinn knew, she was somewhere north of Manhattan, probably miles from Bronx. Screw this, Quinn thought. I'm taking a Taxi.

It turned out that taking a taxi wasn't the smartest thing that Quinn had ever done. It actually took a very long time to get to 1201 Montgomery building, Bronx New York. The driver always ended up in some sort of stupid traffic, or wound up almost running over someone.

Finally, after almost crashing into a light pole, running over a squirrel, actually bumping a particularly rude pedestrian that flipped them off, and waiting through nearly and hour of traffic, Quinn stepped out of the car. The Montgomery building only 4 floors tall, and covered in shiny, blue reflective glass. Stepping into the revolving door, Quinn made her way to the front desk. The secretary there looked pretty busy with work. Her jet-black hair fell in curls over her blood red blouse, her chocolate brown eyes concentrated on the computer screen.

"Hello, my name's Quinn Fabray, I'm supposed to be checking up on the building and helping with it's development and…!" The secretary looked up from her computer screen and put on her famous bitch smirk. Santana Lopez, out of all people, worked here.

"Hey, Quinnie, it's been a while! Last time I saw you, you were completely mad for that acting job that you quote 'had a great shot at'. Am I right?"

Quinn frowned. "Yes, but I don't intend on trying to get any more acting positions. Now—

"Really? 'Cause Berry just texted me saying that you were at New York and agreed to search for another one."

"Santana, just, forget it." Quinn growled. "Now, We have a tight budget, and I need to work on furnishing the place.

"On that note, I know the best interior decorator in New York would love to help for no extra cost!" Santana smiled widely, and picked up the phone. Covering the mouthpiece for a second, Santana slapped the table. "Oh, Erik! Get down here and show Quinn around!" Santana punched in a number, and started talking. Quinn rolled her eyes. Santana hadn't changed one bit. Grabbing her purse, she watched as a man stepped out of the elevator. How he had heard Santana from the first floor, Quinn had no idea.

"Hello. I'm Erik, I'll be showing you around today."

Oh god, he's cute. Quinn thought. Not that she would ever say that out loud, but he was. He had large, yellow brown eyes that seemed to glow, and sunset gold hair with streaks of dark brown. His smile was more of an adorable half-smirk, and his skin was pale and creamy.

He was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. "Oh, uh, hello, Erik. I'm Quinn. Quinn Fabray." Quinn gave him her winning smile, and held out her hand.

He shook it, and led her upstairs. "This is our working quarters. So far, we don't have anything but the dividers and desks, but you're in charge of any further decorations or arrangements."

Quinn nodded, scribbled a few things down on her notepad, and followed Erik to the next floor. This one was a simple, wide hallway, with a very high ceiling and glass windowed rooms running down the corridor.

"This is where we're planning to put the more important offices, like yours, along with a meeting room or two. Like the floors below us, you are entirely in charge of the rest of the arrangements."

The fourth floor took Quinn by surprise. Every single wall was covered in paper. The only thing that was visible was the metal staircase that led up to the roof. Quinn walked to the center of the room, and spun around, taking in the area.

Erik grinned. "We're thinking about making this into a lounge, but we weren't sure, so we left it up to you. The only things that are under the paper are regular white wall, and wooden floorboards."

Quinn took in a breath. "Okay, what's on the roof?"

"See for yourself."

Quinn's black high heels clicked on the metal staircase, her blonde hair starting to sway under her beanie in the slight wind coming from the roof. The blast of sunlight she got when she reached the top was extremely bright. Squinting, Quinn pulled out a pair of purple tinted sunglasses from her purse.

It was amazing. It was literally a rooftop garden. There were a couple of bright red maples that highlighted the autumn feeling, and a lot of grass. A couple of noticeable rose stems protruded from the ground, but they were flowerless.

The ground was covered with dirt, except for a long, clean path of large stones that wove through the brush. A marble bench or two sat along the edges, under bare magnolia trees, or next to bushy raspberry plant that wove its bare, gnarly branches up a wooden post. An arch covered in now dead pink roses stood right in front of her, welcoming her into the rooftop garden. The ground was littered with pink and red petals.

"Wow." Quinn whispered.

Erik, who had followed her up, smirked at the sight of Quinn. She was, after all, really pretty. She was also his boss, which made it slightly awkward.

"Do you like it? Santana came up with the idea."

"I love it. It's perfect!" Quinn said, still amazed. "The arranging of the trees, the pathways, the arch…!"

"You two better get down here, the designer has arrived!" Santana shouted. Looking up, Quinn noticed that an intercom hung right next to the doorway. So that's how Erik heard her.

Quinn glanced at Erik. He nodded towards the door. "After you."

The two made their way to the first floor, where Santana was in the lobby, blabbering away to a finely dressed young man in a signature Burberry scarf and military button down leather coat.

"Kurt?" she asked. The man turned around, revealing a pair of hazel eyes and a mass of curly black hair under his brown cap. "Oh, Blaine!" Quinn cried.

"Yeah, Kurt couldn't make it, so I came instead."

Quinn smiled. "So, when do we start?"

"Now."

"I can show you around, if you want." Erik offered. Blaine shrugged and agreed, following Erik up the stairs, leaving Quinn with Santana.

"Cut the crap, Blondie, you like him."

"Who, Blaine? Definitely not, he's gay!" Quinn exclaimed, astounded by Santana's accusations, but inside, she knew that Santana wasn't talking about Blaine.

"Oh, you know I wasn't talking about Blaine." Santana smirked.

"Fine. I think he's cute, and presentable." Quinn admitted, turning scarlet.

"Liar. You think he's hot as hell."

"You haven't changed one bit." Quinn grumbled.

"You've changed too much for your own good." Santana challenged.

"I can still do a better basket toss than you." Quinn argued.

"Yeah, when was the last time you did that, senior year? Come on, Quinn, live a little. We all know that you can do better than a stupid business building in the middle of Bronx."

Quinn shook her head. "Look, Santana, we're grown up now, we can't just act like we're still teenagers anymore."

"You're right. I'll try to stop, but I've kind of always been like this, so you might have to deal with if for a while." Faking a smile, Santana went back to her work on the computer.

Erik and Blaine had just gotten down the stairs, and were looking at the women, as if they needed permission to go back up.

"Come on, guys, let's start." Quinn grumbled.

"Oh, Quinnie dear!" Santana called back. Quinn ushered the two men up the stairs before looking back at Santana.

"What?"

"If you really must know, I slept with him." The Latina lied, sure that Quinn couldn't tell. If there was one person in the world that could still lie to Quinn Fabray, it was Santana Lopez.

Keep your calm, Quinn. "Good for you." Quinn growled. "Good for you." And with that, she stormed up the steps, leaving a quite satisfied Santana laughing to herself, knowing for sure that Quinn liked Erik.

"So based on the rooftop garden, I think a more colorful and comfortable look would be nice for this building." Blaine was saying.

"Really? I though pastels might work better than bright colors. Brighter colors are distracting." Quinn jumped in; eager to forget the things Santana had just told her about.

Blaine nodded in consideration. "That actually might work."

The two got busy with planning, listing the things they wanted on Quinn's laptop. A light green chair here, a pale pink lamp here—every office area was different. One would have a yellow rug; the next would have a purple one. The budget was the hardest part. Quinn and Blaine had to balance the money they wanted to use. Every now and then, they would get Erik or Santana to help them with a couple of things.

By the time it was five, Quinn and Blaine had finally finished all their planning. Erik and Santana both looked kind of worn out too.

"Okay, tomorrow, you two," Quinn said, gesturing to Erik and Santana, "Are going to help me recruit a couple of people to work here." They nodded, both quite worn out from a day's work of running around, yelling at each other, tripping over their own feet, spilling paper, coffee and lunch, and more yelling. "Oh, and Blaine? Thanks for your help."

Blaine shrugged. "You're Welcome."

"Okay, let's call it a day." Quinn grumbled. Packing her laptop and papers back into her bag, Quinn pushed the revolving door open. She would have to spend the rest of the daylight today searching for an apartment that she could manage, probably in the Bronx area.

Blaine left in a bit of a hurry. He had promised Kurt that he'd be there to pick him up for a date around 5:30, and it was already 5:31. Rushing to the subway, Blaine hurried past the gates and hopped on. He was really late for a very important date. Grinning to himself, Blaine recalled his high school years. His classmates at Dalton had dubbed him the White Rabbit. A couple times after he left Dalton, and high school altogether, Blaine would still relate to their references.

Arriving in front of Gershwin Theater, Blaine immediately spotted Kurt Hummel standing outside, waiting for him.

"Kurt!" he called, as he approached the door.

"Hey, Blaine. Rachel couldn't come, and you're late."

"For a very important date; seeing Wicked on our anniversary."

March 15 was definitely Blaine's favorite day. It had been the week of regionals, and he and Kurt were going to do a duet together. Looking back on it, Blaine was glad that Pavarotti died. Wes, however, had gone on a rant about how it had taken a dead bird to get him and Kurt together.

Kurt had taken the time to wear a green vest in honor of Elphaba, along with a pink rose pinned to his breast pocket for Galinda.

"Pink goes good with green." He smiled.

"Yes, yes it does." Blaine replied, pecking Kurt on the cheek.

The two headed into the theater, holding hands.

I'm on a stage. Are they expecting me to sing?

"Sing!"

Yes, they are most definetly expecting me to sing.

"Sing!"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Not even a cracked note.

"Sing!"

Shut up.

"Sing!"

Shut up!

March 15, 2019

"Kurt?"

"Shut up."

"Kurt, this is serious, I need you to wake up."

"Shut up."

"GET UP!"

There was a flash out the window. It was raining like there was no tomorrow, and the thunder was intense. Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Kurt Hummel snapped open his eyes and sat up. "There, I'm up. Happy?"

"No." Rachel scowled. "Our results came today, and Blaine's kind of late for his West Side Story rehearsals. Please don't tell me you two—Never mind."

"Don't get jealous, Rachel. I'm sure you an Finn had plenty of time to do it before he left." Kurt smirked, throwing over the covers. "Oh right, did we get the spots?"

"I don't know; I was waiting for you."

"Oh then surely you could be kind enough to wait another thirty minutes as I do my daily skin regimen."

Rachel sighed and headed downstairs, sitting down on the couch. Sometimes Kurt could be so weird, even though, Rachel herself had already done her skin regimen twenty minutes ago. Fiddling with the two envelopes in her hand, Rachel kept glancing at the clock. Kurt was going to get thirty minutes before she would burst of anticipation.

After fifteen minutes, Rachel couldn't wait any longer. She left Kurt's envelope on the counter, and ripped off the flap on her own. The contents were pretty heavy. There was a huge wad of paper to the back, and next to it, there was a thinner, yellowish one. Rachel decided to read this one first.

Rachel thumbed past the larger wad of paper, and just when she was about to pull out the next piece of paper, the doorbell rang.

"Rachel, will you get that?" Kurt called from the bathroom.

"Sure." Rachel replied, getting up from the sofa. Slipping her black flats back on, she headed towards the door. Peeking through the peephole, she spotted a tall figure with blonde hair, next to an almost unrecognizable dark skinned girl.

Rachel's face broke into a smile, and she reached for the doorknob. Just then, everything went dark. The last thing Rachel heard was, Kurt's nervous voice asking to no one in particular:

"Who turned out the lights?"

Okay! So, for the song Credits, On my Own from Les Miserabales and Eyes Open by Taylor Swift.

And for those people who aren't exactly the biggest Taylor or Hunger Games fans, don't review just to hate on my song selection, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. On that note, I hope you liked the Chapter! If you see anything wrong with it, feel free to PM or review telling me what I should work on or fix. R&R

In the next episode: New York is going through a major blackout, the worst in its history. Blaine's musical has been delayed, and might possibly be cancelled. Rachel and Kurt have yet to see their results for their own musicals, and Quinn is on the verge of loosing her job; if she doesn't find a nearby house fast, Santana might take Quinn's promotion opportunity, along with her chance at being an actress. Worst of all, a figment of Quinn's past comes back to haunt her...

Review! *lessthanthree*