The email was short and sweet and, really, more a threat than anything else. Of course, when it came to Sue Slyvester, nothing less would do.
Still, she wonders, as she got her PA, Becky, to read it aloud for her for the fifth time, maybe she should be a bit nicer.
"And if you are not ready for my crew or put up a fight, may-"
"Becky? Change 'piranhas feast on the last of your rotten innards' to 'rabid, about to be euthanized, dogs' instead. I'm the spirit of giving today."
"Got it, boss."
Santana choked on her mouthful of cereal and milk, when she read the email on her phone. Spluttering, she called for help. "What the-Q!"
"What?" Her best friend yelled back from her spot on their living room couch, where she was channel-surfing. "I'm busy! So if you need me to find the salsa jar again-"
"No, you idiot!" Santana stomped through the kitchen, her phone in one hand, and her breakfast in the other. "This!"
"I don't know-whoa, did you spill all over yourself or something? Do I need to get you a bib?"
"Shut your pie hole, Fabgay. Focus on the problem."
"You mean it's not the fact that you have half-chewed cereal and milk dripping down your shirt?" Quinn was amused. Any chance to ridicule her roommate and best friend was a chance to be taken. The fiery Latina glared at her, her arm pulling back, and that was all the warning she got that she was going to toss her phone at her.
"Hey-watch it, San." The phone nearly slipped from her fingers, but Quinn managed to palm it in time. She glanced at it, and then back at Santana. "What's wrong?"
"That!"
"Your phone? You just got it; what's wrong with it?"
Santana rolled her eyes, finding it hard to find words to articulate the problem. Instead, she flapped her hands, hopping slightly from one foot to another, not caring that she probably looked a little ridiculous. She needed Quinn to read the email.
"Seriously, San, I don't know-" Quinn's annoyed remark stopped suddenly, as she began to read the email on the tiny screen before her, her eyes growing wide when she saw the letterhead.
'From the Office of Sue Sylvester.'
Around the country, nine more people got the same email.
Around the country, nine people alternately cursed and gaped.
"Shit, Q, what do you think this is all about?" Santana muttered, hoping her low voice wouldn't give away her nervousness. It was early morning, and the sun hadn't risen yet. Shadows played across the floor of their shared apartment, and Quinn sat next to her at the dining table, slightly slumped over, where she thought the cameras couldn't see her.
"I don't know, San." The blonde looked dazedly to the shy-looking brunette setting up a film camera next to the other two pointed at them. To Quinn, it was too big and looked like it belonged in some mad inventor's workshop, with lenses that size.
Santana, on the other hand, didn't seem too phased by it. It was comparably smaller to the ones they normally had on set. Instead, she was wondering if she could use the lens as a magnifier to burn a hole into someone's shirt when they weren't looking.
Small punishment for knocking on their house door this early in the morning.
"If you two would sign these release forms…" Santana noted that it wasn't the blonde that had crossed her arms sassily and declared their team of four to be people from Sylvester's show, come to set up. Santana took in the dark, mischievous eyes that seemed familiar, and the small smirk the man had at their confusion.
"Doesn't he look familiar?" She nudged Quinn, folding her arms across her chest. "The guy holding the boom mic, look up."
Quinn did as she was told, taking a minute due to her grogginess, before her eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh yeah, he does. Huh."
"The eyes and smile, right?" She was grasping at anything that would give them clues to what was going on. Maybe someone they knew set the entire thing up?
Seriously though, why was all this happening so early in the morning? Santana had been planning to sleep in today, what with her rare opportunity of a day off from filming.
Quinn, on the other hand, was a morning person anyway, but even she was slightly annoyed underneath her calm façade. Her morning run had had to be postponed, and she was seriously craving a cup of coffee. Still, it seemed rude to move, after the blonde had bustled into their house with a sweet smile and began to direct them to sit where they felt comfortable.
Santana sighed, as she looked down at the form she was holding, and then scowled. She got dressed slightly decently for this?
"Hey, people I don't know. Come here a sec." She ran her hand through her uncombed hair, her voice dipping dangerously. Her tone had Quinn straightening next to her, ready for whatever was about to come next. She recognised her friend's unspoken warning, and prepared herself to intervene, if necessary. "San?"
"Read the first line." Came the clipped reply, as the crew looked at each other, uncertain for the first time since they stepped in. They didn't like the tone the star was taking with them, but they couldn't not follow her instructions. The Latina looked pissed.
Quinn watched as the film crew gathered together for a second, before assembling in a ragged circle around the table. She noted the way the brunette stood next to the familiar-ish guy, her doe eyes darting to meet his for a courage of some sorts; the way the blonde stood just the slightest bit taller and at the front of the ragged group, despite her small frame; the way the last Asian girl stood somewhat disconnectedly from the other three.
She returned her eyes to the papers they had received, doing as her best friend told-and she too felt her lips curl into a displeased pout. Her name had been filled in under the title of 'Person Appearing'; 'Glee (Gameshow)' under the name of the film; 'Sue Sylvester' under the name of the producer.
"For good and valuable consideration, receipt and sufficiency of which I hereby acknowledge, I hereby irrevocably grant to Producer the right to photograph, film, videotape, or otherwise record me in connection with the Film…"
The next piece of paper was a contract that released Sue Sylvester from any legal action for any injuries or anything else that pertained to the personal wellbeing of the undersigned.
She stopped reading. She had enough.
Santana glared at the ragtag group, piercing the blonde's gaze first. She was obviously the leader, or at least, by having the guts to be the one the half-asleep Santana had opened the door to first, had made herself a target.
"I'm giving you four one minute to tell us what the hell is going on. If I don't like your answer, I will go all Lima Heights on your asses. Yes, I'm talking specifically to you, Sassy Susie." She sealed the threat with a hard scowl aimed at the group, and all four bristled visibly.
"San, calm down." Despite her soft tone, Quinn looked equally as pissed, and Santana thanked god that she seemed to have come out of her caffeine deprived daze. "Maybe they should introduce themselves first."
Santana, who didn't really see the point of knowing the people she might have to wipe the floor with, rolled her eyes, but nodded anyway. It couldn't hurt.
The four exchanged glances again, and Santana bit her tongue to comment on it, as Petite Blonde spoke up. "We were sent here by Sue Sylvester."
"We know that, Honey Boo Boo." Quinn poked her harshly in the ribs, and Santana swallowed the yelp.
"Anyway," the woman continued, her green eyes flashing slightly. She had fire. Huh. "I'm Kitty. That's Jake, Marley and Kazatori."
"And what possessed you to come here, to our house, at ass-o' clock in the morning, setting up cameras without even giving us time to put on proper clothes?"
The brunette, Marley, spoke up now. She looked intimidated by Santana, and inwardly, Santana smirked. "Well, like she said. Sue Sylvester sent us here."
"That's actually a really good reason." Quinn muttered, leaning back in her seat. "What's Glee?"
"Glee's a gameshow." Jake was the one talking now, glancing between the two. Santana narrowed her eyes further, still trying to place him. Darting his eyes away, he shoved his hands into his pockets, his thumbs out. "And before you asked, we don't know anything about it too. We just met this morning, in the parking lot. The email told us to be here, and said that we'd know more later on, when they contact us. We're supposed to film continuously though. So…that's why the release forms."
Santana sucked her lips into her mouth, sharing a look with Quinn, wordlessly asking if they should trust them. Her roommate shrugged, exhaling again. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Santana stood, the chair scraping noisily.
"If Sylvester's putting me on a gameshow without telling me, my agent is begging for a call, and Emma probably is too, Q. Now, if you'll excuse me," Santana began to head towards her room, when Marley stepped in front of her, gulping loudly when Santana glared at her.
"I, uh. We're not supposed to let you out of our sight." Marley cleared her throat, licking her lips and trying not to shrivel in the face of the Latina's anger.
Something in Santana softened-and if anyone asked, she would deny it-and she smirked slightly. "Calm down, Rachel Berry-ish. I'm just going to change-if I'm appearing on television, I will not be in my robe, despite it being silk and my boobs looking phenomenal in it. I'll be back to make coffee for all you trespassers, so cool your heels for a while. If anything comes, Q can deal with it. The dragon probably needs someone to yell at to wake up, anyway."
"Shut up, Lespez."
"You're welcome, Fabgay."
Later, when the sun had actually begun to rise, and the film crew had been sitting in their living room for approximately two hours (or long enough for Santana to decide that she could tolerate Marley and maybe Jake and Ambiguous Asian-the blonde gave her a bad feeling no matter how much she smiled at her and Quinn), Santana's phone rang.
'Blocked Number'
"If that wasn't foreboding…" She breathed to herself, setting her coffee mug onto the glass coffee table. She placed her phone next to it, as the crew scrambled up to their positions behind the cameras, leaving Quinn and her on the sofa, a smaller replica of the bigger film cameras settled directly in front of them both.
"The tape's been rolling. Slate." Kitty announced, pushing the Japanese girl in front of the cameras, clutching a clap board in her hands. Said Asian (Santana really couldn't remember her name) announced the beginning of actual filming, and then scuttled back to her spot behind the B roll camera. "You can pick up the call now, I guess."
Santana stared apprehensively at the still ringing device, signalling that Quinn should pick it up.
"Why me?"
"I don't want to talk to Sylvester!"
"Oh for crying out-here." Quinn rolled her eyes, her earlier irritation only softened slightly by the coffee. "Hello?"
There was silence for a moment, as Quinn tapped it again, putting it on speaker. Everyone in the room listened closely.
"That doesn't sound like Santana Lopez. So it must be Quinn Fabray!" The voice filtered through the speakers of Santana's phone, and it took her a minute to place it.
"Mercedes Jones?" Santana was incredulous. Why the hell was her friend calling her now? "Aretha, I love you and all, but we're kinda waiting for an important call."
"I am the call, Satan. Now reassure me that you haven't somehow murdered every idiot that knocked on your door this morning."
Bewildered, she glanced at the crew, and spoke back into the receiver. "They're all breathing. We even made them coffee."
"You did? Admit it, it was Quinn." Before she could protest, Mercedes kept going, her smile translating even though it was a phone call. "Anyway, so my mama can sleep soundly tonight, Quinn, tell me that you haven't killed them."
"Hey 'Cedes. No, I haven't. But why are you calling?" Quinn had met the black girl a couple of times, through Santana, and they got along well, but she had no idea why the talkshow host was calling them this morning.
"Relax your pretty nerves, Quinn. Are they filming now?"
"Yeah. We've had a camera rolling ever since they arrived." Santana was still pretty much puzzling over the meaning of her call. Then she got it.
"Holy shit, 'Cedes. You set this up, didn't you? You volunteered us for this show." The accusation was clear, but Mercedes only laughed.
"You too, Santana. Chill. But you're right. I did set the show up; pitched it to the higher-ups. And now, you two and eight other contestants are in the running for the Golden Lungs!"
"The what?"
"Eight?"
"Welcome to Glee, ladies. You'll hear from me later on; for now, bond with your crew members. They'll be following you everywhere. Santana, you're with Jake and Marley; Quinn, Kitty and Kazatori. Now, if you'll excuse me, this woman has to call the other contestants. Oh, and you two? Good luck. You're going to need it."
A dial tone. Mercedes had hung up.
"What in the actual fuck?" Santana proclaimed loudly.
Everyone in the room nodded.
A/N: So this is kinda something I've started based on a small idea. Nothing too heavy, nothing too intense. Give me some feedback, what you wanna see?
Also: for the readers of my other story, I haven't given up! I'm just writing out the chapters with the outlines I have already, so that when I return to updating, the breaks between won't be too long!
Reviews are always welcomed. Seriously, you guys.