Title: Cotton Fluff Ambitions
Chapter: Three
Rating: T for language and character death
Word Count: 3,715
A/N: First of all, a massive thank you to all that favorited and alerted! It means so much that I finally have an audience. Reviews make me sparkle, so if you have the time, please do so! Second of all, thank you for being so understanding on account of last week's update absence. If you want sneak peeks, update schedules or just want to learn more about me or the story, please visit my tumblr at (no spaces): http : / / struck by lightning bowties . tumblr . com/. Expect another update next Saturday! Gracias to my amazing beta: xBleedingBlackRosex.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Glee characters, nor The Hunger Games, both of which are much too amazing to be owned by me.
"Nothin' better than a fresh cup o' wine to start the day, eh?" April said, raising her glass and sloshing the dark purple liquid onto the tablecloth.
After a night with nearly no sleep in a bed much too comfortable, and then being forced to change into a sickly tight suit at the break of dawn, Kurt was barely tolerable of April's early morning antics. A sliver of golden sunshine slipped through the blinds on the far window, bathing the silent dining cart in warmth.
Breakfast included the same quantity of elaborate foods; hash browns, eggs (scrambled, fried, hard-boiled), sausage, bacon, waffles, pancakes, muffins, oatmeal and a different array of fruit jell-o's. Kurt couldn't bring himself to swallow anything more than a roll and some juice. He was arriving at the Capitol today.
Santana was having no apparent difficulty, and wolfed down her waffles by the dozen. She kept addressing Kurt's curious glances with an expression that read, "What? I am entitled an any way I decide to eat!"
Holly was already clad in her fancy wear of the day, with a cupcake-styled pink dress, fishnet tights, green high heels and her blonde hair was tied up in a beehive with a flashy white bow. She clicked her silver fork on the edge of her platter and sighed dramatically.
"Well," she began, "we should get to the train station in a couple of hours. Last, of course, because your district is so far away."
"What'll happen once we get there?" Kurt couldn't help but ask.
"Oh, we're going to get bombarded with paparazzi, much more than at your petty station. After that, your stylists will want to see you. Tonight is when you make your first official introduction to the Capitol! We want it to be special," Holly said, her spirits seemingly having picked up.
April guzzled her wine and reached for a refill. "And then…hah, and then comes the g-games. The Hunger Games. Have you h-h-heard of them?"
Santana's gaze fastened onto April angrily. "Yeah," she snapped. "And you're the one who's supposed to be coaching us through it."
"What?" giggled April, brushing some of her grimy locks over her shoulder broadly. "Me? I w-won the games once, you know."
"And how did you do that?" Santana stabbed a link of sausage.
"A little thing…A little thing I like to call camouflage. I-I covered myself with all this mud and hid around, only c-coming out…coming out to get some fruits from a nearby tree. I was so clever. I g-guess the big shots forgot all about me! I managed to avoid them until…the l-last day." April frowned.
Kurt drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring the fact it was considered poor manners. "What happened?"
April looked down at her wine sadly. "There were only three…three of them left, you see. I sh-shot two of them with an arrow I'd been hiding when they weren't looking. The last one s-started towards me with his spear, and I d-d-d-didn't know what to do. So I stabbed him. With an arrow. O-Over and over," she confessed.
Santana's spoonful of jell-o froze halfway to her lips and her eyebrows knitted into a line of confusion. "You killed him?"
April shrugged. "Murdered." Kurt's face contorted into one of pure horror and April growled at him. "Don't you dare look at me like that, dreamboat."
Santana cleared her throat. "Are you going to teach us how to survive?" she wanted to know.
April lowered her glass. "No. I'm not."
"Then we're going to get killed!" Santana cried.
"Trust me, sweetheart," snarled April, "that's much better than any fucking win."
"No-"
"Do you know what winning is? Well, do you? Winning in the Hunger Games is killing. Everyone. Oh, doesn't matter if it's a twelve year old boy with a family! Who cares if it's the girl from your district! Nobody fucking cares. They're all meat, pawns, in this game. When you take the life from somebody, it haunts you forever. It doesn't go away when the Capitol gives you giant palaces and fancy gowns or whatever. It never goes. So I'd rather you two die than ever be branded like this. No, I'm not going to teach you how to survive," April said. She stood up, scooping up a muffin. "I think I'd like to eat this in my room."
Holly shook her head. "That woman. Honestly. Some people just don't understand the meaning of fun!"
Kurt rested his chin on his knees and closed his eyes. It was too much. He was supposed to just allow himself to be killed?
"Skank," muttered Santana, her lashes hooding her tear-brimmed eyes. "I'm going back to my room, too."
Her chair screeched as it was roughly pushed back. She tossed Kurt a questioning glance over her shoulder and he, too, rose up out of his chair and dutifully trailed after the girl to her room.
Her bedroom was the same as his, with the beaded gold comforter and crimson walls, plush carpeting that sunk in a couple inches wherever you stepped. She collapsed on her bed, which had been made thanks to the never-ending supply of robot-like maids that patrolled the halls at all hours.
"God, what do you think of that Rhodes chick? Pretty psycho, huh?" Santana hugged a pillow to her chest and set away at gnawing her bottom lip.
Kurt sat down tentatively on the edge of the mattress and nodded bitterly. A few moments of awkward silence skittered by before Santana took a deep breath and propped up her feet.
"So, tell me about yourself. I know we went to elementary school together, but it's not like I knew more than your name," she said.
Kurt twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly. "My, uh, my name is Kurt Hummel. I'm eighteen years old. It's just…Me and my dad. My mom died when I was eight years old."
"Tell me about you. What you like, what you do, what you want to become," she encouraged.
"I like to sing," Kurt admitted. "My mother taught me how. I also like…I like clothes, I guess. Fashion, you know, like all the people in the Capitol wear. I buy the weekly issue of TAUP from Fanny's every Tuesday when it comes out. As for the last question, I'm not really going to become anything. But if I had to say something, my friend Darcy and I want to start a road band. We'd travel through the districts, performing for everyone."
"You look happy," Santana pointed out. "Your eyes get this dreamy look and you kind of fade away. It's…sweet."
Kurt blushed. "What about you?"
"Name's 'Tana Lopez. I live with my grandmother and my parents, we get along fairly with the pay from the Capitol. I like staying out of everyone's way; blending into the background. After what happened in fifth grade, I can't bare the publicity. You know what they do to people like me," Santana remarked sourly.
"People like you?"
"You know," Santana whispered, "everybody knew about it in grade school. I like girls…Lesbian, I think is the technical term."
Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Oh."
"I swear to god, if you-"
"Santana, I'm not going to. I…I'm the same way. I like boys."
She laughed. "Are you kidding me? Wow, great, won't our district be proud of us. Two fags to fight."
Kurt sighed. "I prefer 'gay'."
She giggled again and covered his hand with her's. "Look, Kurt, I don't care what April says. You're strong and you have a chance to win this thing. We have a chance."
He blinked and smiled softly. "I know we can."
The entire train suddenly darkens as it moves beneath a large stone tunnel. Santana sighed and dug her palms into her eyes roughly. "We've arrived," she declared to a frightened-looking Kurt.
Holly paraded into the theatre cart in which Kurt and Santana were rewatching the reapings, holding up a portable mirror and fixing her beehive and dabbing on more blood-red lipstick. She smiled at them.
"Excited?" she wanted to know. "For heaven's sake, Kurt, darling, put on your big boy pants."
Kurt swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, willing the sudden spike of terror to extinguish.
"Once we get to the train station," Holly continued, "you'll be taken to your stylists and from there you'll make your presentations to the Capitol in chariots, of course, and then to the Training Center for some rest."
Santana was twirling a lock of her shiny ebony hair around her finger. "Do we have to pose for the damn paps again?"
Holly frowned. "No, Santana, watch your language," she remarked sourly. "Ooh, ooh, look there it is! Goodness, it's it gorgeous? Home sweet home!"
Light flooded throughout the cart again as the train exited the tunnel and zoomed along the track over a glistening body of water. Kurt and Santana jumped up to watch the passing Capitol through the spotless window. Buildings that reached up to tickle the blue sky flashed silver in the sunlight. The streets were busy with brightly colored cars moved slowly in traffic, and the sidewalks were alive with hundreds of bustling, oddly attired people.
From yards away, Kurt could still decipher every elaborate stitch on a brunette's floral cupcake dress and he could even see a blue-haired man's roots a pale blonde on the top of his head. All the rainbow colors burned Kurt's eyes and he chewed his lip nervously. Already pedestrians had recognized their vehicle and were hurrying up to the tracks to wave.
Santana crossed her arms and retreated to the couch. "Close the blinds," she demanded.
April tsk-tsked from where she leaned against the doorframe, balancing a cigarette between her lips. "Sweetheart, don't you…don't you get it? You want them to be your f-friends. That way, maybe they'll t-toss you a couple specials in the g-games."
Kurt pressed his cheek against the cool window and stared out, feeling a tight knot of nausea in his stomach. He felt like he was one of the chess pieces in the fading marble set his father kept on the shelf above the fireplace. Pawns were worth nothing, only there to help please the puppeteers. He and the other tributes were pawns, and the Capitol were going to bid on their lives, all for the lone sake of having an annual sport of enjoyment.
Bile rose in the back of his throat and he clothes the curtains without casting the giggling citizens another glance.
Once the train parked in the Capitol station, Holly herded the duo outside into the humid platform and rushed them towards a large steel door at the end of the walkway. Inside, Kurt witnessed a few other tributes being pushed into rooms by stylists bearing razors and clicking their tongues in pity.
At the end of the hall, thick with clouds of hairspray, were two doors marked District 12. Holly patted Kurt's head and grinned happily. "I'll see you two in a couple hours. Have fun, Emma."
Kurt spun on his heel as long fingernails grazed his cheek. A redhead with bright green eyes and freckles dotting her rosy cheeks dragged Kurt away from Santana and into a room that was scented with antiseptic. She pointed to the large examination bed next to a platter boasting an array of different grooming tools along with a paper gown.
"I'm Emma. Emma Pillsburry, your stylist," she informed him, sticking out a hand.
He shook it numbly, dangling his legs off the side of the bed. "Kurt."
She took a bobby pin from the pocket of her blue corduroy dress and pinned her hair back, looking over Kurt with her sparkling eyes. Out of the few people he had seen so far, and Holly, she was the most normally dressed person, it appeared, in the entire Capitol. And she was a stylist.
"Usually," Emma was saying, "stylists work as a team. But I prefer to work alone. I like getting to know my clients, and to help them achieve the peak of beauty before they are sent off."
Kurt winced as she snapped a pair of scissors. "You've got a lovely body," she remarked. "High cheekbones, flawless skin, perfect hair and those eyes. It's going to be a pleasure working with you."
"T-thanks," Kurt stammered, taking the gown from her grasp and she turned around to allow him time to change. He slipped out of the silk trousers from the train and removed his shirt.
"My goal today, Kurt, is for you to make an impression. Before you go into the games, you want to make sure you have plenty of allies, you know, people here that can send you things when you're in great need. The only way you're going to do that is if they like you. They want a pretty boy, and that's what I'm going to make you into. My partner, Alex, and I have already designed an outfit we think will do the job well." She turned back around and clapped her hands. "Shall we begin?"
After nearly two hours of being plucked, shaved, and practically performed on with every tool on the platter, Kurt stood in front of the mirror in awe. His skin, porcelain Darcy liked to call it, shimmered from a special moisturizer Emma had rubbed all over his body. His chest was smooth, and toned from working in the mines alongside his father. His hair had finally been washed after days, and combed into a perfect wave that looped over his now groomed eyebrow. A slim black suit covered with sequins stretched over his body. Attached to the cuffs of his sleeves were plastic red and orange flames, identical to the ones also attached to his black shoes.
Emma laughed. "You like it?"
"Y-yes. I mean, thanks. I look…"
"Fabulous. They're going to be drooling over you."
Kurt blushed as Emma straightened his lapel. "I suppose we'd better get you to the chariots. Your companion, Santana is it?, should be ready as well."
The hallway was now crowded with dozens of stylists perfecting the outfits of tributes, chariots that matched outfits lined up at the entrance to a roaring audience.
Santana stood beside a oak wood chariot lead by two black stallions. Alex, Kurt presumed was the man smoothing her curls, winked at Emma proudly.
"What do you think?"
Santana wore a thin layer of mascara that really made her cocoa eyes dazzling, her lips were glossed with pink glitter, her hair was shinier than before and spiraled around her shoulders. She wore a simple dress made of the same material as Kurt, and fabric flames peeked out near her knees.
She did a little twirl, obviously pleased with the way she looked. Her high heels clacked on the pavement.
Emma tapped Kurt's back and he hopped up onto the chariot. "They're going to start going in a couple minutes," she said. "Remember, kids, keep your heads high. You are not weak, you are not scared, you are celebrities. What we're trying to sell here is not cockiness, so don't appear that way. You've got this under control."
Alex kissed Santana's cheek. "Good luck, kids."
Kurt leaned over the polished head of the chariot in order to view the other tributes. At the very front of the synchronized trailer was District 1. A dark-haired girl and muscular boy in glitzy white outfits. Following behind were the other districts. Although the dresses and suits were majestic, Kurt thought they were too much. His attire and Santana's projected modesty and pride, along with the symbolic trademark of the mines they so cherished.
Right in front of them stood District 11. A short boy with gelled hair and hazel eyes along with a twelve year old girl. They both wore plain white attire, the male's a milky suit, and the girl's a puffy cupcake white dress.
"You want pity. Pity, pity, pity," their stylist ranted. "Blaine, dear, I want you to smile. But there has to be this look of longing in those gorgeous eyes of your's. And Beth, sweetie, I want you to cry. I want you to look like it's the end of the world. I suppose it is for you two." He chuckled dryly.
Kurt watched Blaine's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. He plucked at his sleeveand shuffled his feet. Kurt licked his lips.
Blaine looked up at that moment, and their eyes met. A foreign thrill went up Kurt's spine and left it tingling. Blaine's lips turned up at the edges in a shy, feeble smile. Kurt returned one equally tiny and gripped the head of the chariot hard. No, this was his opponent.
It was then that a blaring horn sounded and the District 1 trailer galloped into the coliseum. Blaine and Beth stepped up into their chariot and Kurt was forced to look away.
Each chariot left in an orderly fashion, waving to the crowd as they charged over a red velvet carpet. You could tell who the favorites were. Soon, the District 11 chariot exited.
Blaine and Beth's faces were immediately flashing on the huge screen. Blaine's eyes stared bashfully at the horses, blushing gently. Beth wiped a tear from her cheek. Kurt wondered if they were good actors, or if it was truly how they felt. The Capitol released pathetic "aww"s and cheered when the chariot reached the end.
Emma blew a kiss to Kurt as their chariot lurched and he sent her a silent thank you. The horses stampeded across the ground. Santana turned to wave and beam at the citizens, looking beautiful in her flattering dress. Men snapped pictures and threw her small gold coins of desire. She picked up a stray rose and kissed it dramatically, winking at the man who had tossed it.
Kurt was grinning dumbly at everyone, his heart thumping so painfully he thought it might explode. The cheering stung his ears and the gaudy outfits and lights nearly blinded. Almost there, he kept assuring himself. Almost there.
It was as if Blaine's entire world had evaporated with the simple calling of his name not twenty-four hours ago. He felt like he was in a numb trance, following Reg wherever he went, and allowing Bryan Ryan, his stylist, to groom him gruffly. Beth seemed no better.
Although their outfits appeared to be made of the downy cotton from District 11, it was truly itchy and ill-fitting. His suit latched onto his body and stuck grotesquely to the dry skin on his elbows. His wily curls had been tamed with a gallon of gel.
He kicked at the pavement beneath his feet and zoned out as Bryan began to lecture them on posture. His eyes roamed dully over the other tributes, lined up and prepping one last time. The crowd's impatient calls already could be heard from the stadium.
As Blaine turned at the demand of Bryan, he caught sight of the District 12 tributes. A boy with chestnut hair and deep, turquoise eyes was staring at him. Blaine's lungs seized and he trembled with the sudden impact of attraction. He was positvie he'd never seen a more beautiful man in all his life. Sure, Blaine had always know that he was "homosexual", but he'd never had an actual crush.
The boy licked his rose petal lips, the motion going straight to prance on Blaine's heartstrings. "Kurt," shouted his female stylist. Kurt. Blaine allowed the name to roll off his tongue. It tasted sugary and natural, like it belonged there. Kurt.
The horn blew, signalling the exit of the first chariots. Bryan forced him onto the chariot, but he still felt the pleasant sting of Kurt's gaze on the back of his neck. Blaine couldn't focus on anything except the boy for the rest of the evening. A small tremor in his heart beat out the question he so longed to answer. Is this love?
