Their host—who, unfortunately, gives off an aca-trocious creeper vibe, which doesn't really put Chloe at ease—turns and points to a giant board.
"The final category is…male/female hip hop collaborations!" he announces with a sweeping gesture. "Bellas and DSM, you will go back and forth in intervals until one of you fails to respond in the allotted time frame. You have twenty seconds to come up with a song. Captains, come forward for the coin toss to decide who begins."
There's a collective groan from the Bellas, followed by hasty brainstorming, but Chloe's a bit distracted by Beca trying to hide her crush on the Kommissar since she's failing miserably, and it's adorable. And Chloe likes when Beca is adorable. She has a bit of a knack for it, between simply being small and wearing lots of plaid and flannel and trying to be badass but then also getting sucked into watching Vines of precious puppies when she takes breaks from mixing. She squeals at them. Chloe didn't think it was possible.
Beca's probably unaware that Chlo knows her weakness for dogs. She usually watches the videos when Chloe's in the shower and the house is empty and she can indulge in her guilty pleasure privately.
Chloe doesn't stalk Beca that much, but it's hardly her fault the Bellas have a weird house and her bathroom has a vent connected to Beca and Fat Amy's bedroom, meaning she can eavesdrop.
Again, not that she does it all the time. Just when she can tell something's eating at Beca and she's even quieter and moodier than usual.
Suddenly, DSM starts in on their song, one of Chloe's newest lady jams: "Drunk in Love."
"Wait, that counts as a collaboration?" Beca jabs her finger at (surprise, surprise) the Komissar. They're not even gonna get to Jay-Z's part!" she continues. "How is that a collaboration?"
"Unfortunately for your team, it does fit the category," the host answers.
"So we're more screwed than when Obama saw my vag, yeah?" Fat Amy groans.
In a word, yes. None of the Bellas are that into rap, so they're in trouble.
Beca grabs Chloe—a definite sign of her stress, given how the brunette usually abhors even a tap on the shoulder—and whispers, "Do you have anything? Any ideas? Cause my mind is blank."
Chloe's is, too, because goddammit, Beca Mitchell manages to look fantastic even when she's exhausted and her hair's a mess and her fingernails are worn down from her nibbling on them. But getting lost in thoughts (okay, daydreams) about her best friend does wonders for the redhead this time.
"Yes," she answers, trying to inject confidence into her nod.
Beca gives that half smile Chloe's grown to love. "You look like a bobble head, Beale. Can I trust your judgment, or are you going bonkers?"
"Absolutely, Mitchell." Chloe gives her a winning smile, plus a jaunty salute, then whips back around to listen to DSM, grinning when she notices Beca follows close behind her.
"Flashing lights, flashing lights," DSM harmonizes perfectly on the first verse.
"5 seconds to jump in, Bellas!"
"You…" and Chloe pounces on the line, belting out, "You can sound the alarm/you can call all the guards/you can fence in the yard/you can hold all the cards/But I won't back down!/Oh, no, I won't back down! Oh no…" she holds the note, praying her guess will pay off.
And Beca strides past her—actually shoves the taller redhead behind her—as if to simultaneously protect Chloe and take over for her.
If an adorable Beca makes Chloe happy, an aggressive one makes Chloe horny.
Beca stares the Komissar down and bobs from side to side while—there's no other term for it, and Chloe's hardly one to use rap lingo, but the phrase "spitting fire" seems appropriate. "Am I the reason that your boyfriend stopped rappin?" She points at the guy next to the tall blonde German girl, quirks an eyebrow, smirks. Fuck, this unleashed side of Beca is doing unholy things to Chloe at the worst possible time. Does a bird chirp?/Does Lil Wayne slurp syrup and smoke purp til he burps? Does a word search get circles wrapped around it like you do when I come through? Beca takes another step forward toward the taller girl, energy crackling out of her eyes. She waggles her tongue in a stellar Michael Jordan impression (yeah, she's actually fairly into sports, though most people didn't guess it) relishing the power she's gotten, the way she's taken DSM by storm, proving she is most definitely NOT a little troll, and the lyrics back her confidence up. I'd like you to remind yourself of what the fuck I can do when I'm on the mike/Now you're the kinda girl that I can take a liking to/" Beca tilts her head, aims a sugary sweet grin at the Kommissar, elicits a gasp from the taller girl. Then the brunette winks, jumps away, and yells, "Psych! I'm spiking you like a football"
The buzzer goes off.
"DSM has not responded in time. Therefore, the Bellas have won!"
Chloe feels Beca's shoulders heaving as she grabs the brunette in a hug from behind, and it's like a switch flipped, and Becs is back to normal.
"Uh…why are you all staring, dudes?" she asks as she turns around, and Chloe nearly giggles, cause only Beca would rap like that out of nowhere and not think it's a big deal.
"Cause you just dominated Sound Machine!" Emily shouts, joining on Chloe and Beca's hug.
"Well, good thing my favorite redhead happened to come up with that song idea," Beca grins, pulling Chloe into a one armed hug-headlock combo. Her voice rises at the end of the sentence: the host is turning the competition floor into a dance floor to open the post riff-off party. She glances down at Chloe who, for once, is actually closer to the ground than the brunette, which pretty much only happens when Fat Amy's margarita bombs put everyone on their ass. So Beca, being Beca, sticks her tongue out and deadpans, "How'd you know to pick it, short stack?"
Only Beca can get away with dropping so much sass and physical humor on Chloe.
God, she is so whipped.
"When I booted up your laptop so we could watch Grace and Frankie on Netflix the other day, it was playing. Couldn't get it out of my head," she shrugged. Which is par for the course in her friendship with Beca. Anytime she mentions a new movie, song, or show, Chloe hops on Google and finds at least a Wikipedia article about it. Or bugs Beca with more questions.
Like that time a few weeks ago when the brunette mentioned she'd never heard the song "Kiss Me" and Chloe asked, "Which version?" Beca answered, "There are two?"
So Chloe had played New Found Glory's version first, assuming Beca would love the pop-punk version. Beca had dubbed it "meh," then did her patented "I dig this shit" slow head bob along to the Sixpence None the Richer version, which had led to Chloe calling her a "big teddy bear of a romantic." Beca had shot back that if she was a teddy bear, she'd use her cuteness to convince the other bears she was harmless, but then attack them without warning to ransack their honey supplies. And Chloe nearly fell off a kitchen stool laughing at the thought of Beca Mitchell dressed up as a teddy bear for Halloween.
Beca snaps her fingers inches away from her best friend's face. "Earth to Beale! Resident gorgeous, life ruining ginger, please respond!"
Chloe gawked. Then accidentally put 3 quarters Jack and one quarter Coke into a red cup at the bar. Apparently, something other than her brain is good at not walking into people, cause she doesn't really have a clear thought process as to how or why she ended up over here.
"Aww yeah, turn up for the victors," Stacey nodded and grinned in approval of Chloe's decision.
Chloe dumped it out quickly and remade the drink correctly, wondering how the hell Beca doesn't notice just how flustered she gets when she flirts. It's really absurd, given that Becs is aca-awkward as hell, but there ya have it.
The redhead clears her throat, praying her voice doesn't crack. She already feels enough like a pimply teenage boy talking to an out of his league crush. "Gorgeous and life ruining? Where'd you find that description, and how can I be both those things?" Chloe gave a mock frown. "If I'm gorgeous I'm clearly making someone's life better."
"A tag on Tumblr," the brunette answered. "I dunno, Chlo, act it out." She tapped one foot on the wood floor. Chloe grinned and adopted a lofty pose and a throaty Southern accent. "I have scores of gentlemen callers at my door all hours of the weekend! I do declare, if they don't leave soon, I shan't have time to bake a pecan pie for tomorrow's potluck dinner at church." She makes a dismissing yet friendly hand motion at an invisible suitor. "Do get along, Mr. Sanders." Here, Chloe winks and says, "A true lady doesn't kiss and tell, that's what makes me more worth my while than Sandra McCarthy," and Beca and Emily snort their drinks out of their respective noses at the same damn time, so Kimmy scampers away to retrieve napkins. In the meantime, Beca uses Chlo's hoodie sleeve as a handkerchief, and the redhead laughs along with the chaos, not even caring that Beca's snot is smeared on an article of her clothing. Cause really, to Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell can do no wrong.