Notes:

Written for a bunch of Klaine Advent 2021 prompts: silence, obligation, rhythm, orientation, fan, transparent, demonstrate, invisible, arrow, offend, chance, global, and mine. They are all underlined. Also, this is based on a true event that still makes me shoot tea out my nose when I think about it XD

"I th-thought the school board d-decided not to hold a-a fundraiser this year, c-considering the global issue," Kurt says, shivering behind his Gucci mask. Blaine shakes his head at the product placement, but Kurt had argued that they were attending a charity function. One that would attract media attention, ergo he might get photographed. As an employee of Vogue, he needs to represent, which, in this case, included the latest in Prada and Chanel, hot off the runway.

Unfortunately, those are the only things hot on him at the moment.

His teeth may be chattering, his eyebrows frosted over, and his feet numb, but he intends on remaining stylish af.

"Well, we're outside," Blaine says, unwinding his scarf and putting it around his husband's neck. Kurt only allows it because it happens to be Versace. "And everyone here is six feet away from one another, so we should be fine."

Standing outside a portable barrier coated in a thin layer of ice, Kurt glances around the empty schoolyard. The snow had been cleared, and a grid constructed over the asphalt using twine. The squares created have numbers chalked in the center like they're preparing to embark on a super game of Hopscotch.

"Okay, fair enough." Kurt pries one frozen finger from his balled fist and points up, in the direction of a helicopter that's been hovering overhead for the past half hour. "And that would be… ?"

"A helicopter."

"And why is it here?"

"I can't tell you." Blaine giggles in an unsettling way. "It's a surprise."

"Great." Kurt loathes surprises, but he doesn't want to ruin his husband's fun. Not after the stress of the last two years. Blaine can find the silver lining in every situation, but his optimism had begun to run thin. It's nice to see him this excited about something again. "By the way, how were you able to throw this together so quickly?"

"Some d.j. Sam knows owed him a favor."

"Hmm. That explains the mob of adoring fans, I guess." Kurt sighs, still not clear on what the heck is going on. The only thing he does know is there are turkeys involved, and the crowd gathered are playing whatever for the chance to win one. But the birds must be invisible. Kurt hasn't seen head or feather of them yet. "So, is this like Cow Pie Bingo but with birds? Are you guys going to let a turkey loose, and whatever square they take a dump in, that's the winner?"

Blaine's lips part in surprise at his husband's suggestion. "No. But that's a good idea. Maybe we should do that next year!"

"Wonderful! Glad I could help! But what's the plan for this year?" Kurt asks through teeth clenched against the cold but frustration grinding his molars.

Blaine shakes his head, refusing to outright tell him. He giggles again, pointing up.

Kurt huffs and looks. He doesn't like riddles either, and Blaine is acting like a Sphinx. A goofy Sphinx. Normally, he's more transparent. But this time, he has Kurt stumped. Kurt tries his best to put two and two together, but since the cold in his toes has migrated to his brain, it's not that simple. He should turn this into charades, ask Blaine to demonstrate, but considering his thing for birds, he might enjoy that too much.

And there are children present.

There's a helicopter. Kurt knows that. Helicopters are sometimes called birds? Could that be it? No, Blaine specifically said turkeys. Kurt doesn't imagine anyone would call their helicopter a turkey. It seems like an aviation insult.

Then there's the grid on the ground that looks like a Bingo card. He thought the orientation of the numbers might be a clue, but it's not. They're just numbers.

Back to the mysterious turkeys.

They have to be somewhere. But where? Kurt scans the crowd, the street beyond, the storefronts, the helicopter...

Kurt's eyes fly open wide.

"Tell me you're not tossing turkeys out of the helicopter!"

"A-ha," Blaine nods with delight. "And whatever square they land in, the person who bought that square wins a turkey!"

"Are they live turkeys? Because turkeys can't fly, Blaine! Not from that height!"

Blaine tuts, offended. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Keep talking, and we'll find out," Kurt mutters. "Fresh then?" He recoils at the thought of a fresh turkey landing on the concrete: the impact, the squelching, the splatter, the dismemberment. "There are a lot of kids here. I don't think the school can afford to pay for that much therapy."

"Relax. The turkeys are frozen."

Kurt's left eyebrow breaks free from its paralysis and arcs. "Frozen?"

"Yup. They're big suckers, too! I have no idea where the school got them, but they're humongous!" Blaine fishes his phone out of his pocket, opens up his gallery, and shows Kurt a picture of a radio personality he only vaguely recognizes, struggling under the weight of a frozen bird three times the size of his head. Kurt looks from the phone to his husband, and Blaine grins, his eyes highlighting the gesture since his mouth is hidden. "They named this one Shrek."

"I can see why. Whose bright idea was this? Tell me it wasn't yours."

"Nope. Not mine," Blaine admits, returning his phone to his pocket.

"Thank God for small favors." Kurt returns his gaze to the helicopter, the side door open and a face peeking out. He does some quick math in his head (good thing he took two years of Calculus in high school, even though it was useless considering his major), and the rhythm of his heart skyrockets.

"Blaine? You have to stop this. Now. Right now."

"Why? It's going to be fun! A school upstate did this same fundraiser with pumpkins over Halloween. It was a hoot!"

"Those were gourds! Not frozen birds! Heavy frozen birds! Birds the size of boulders!"

"Come on, Kurt. What's the worse thing that could possibly happen?"

The sound of the crowd counting down from ten, prompted by a voice through a bullhorn that Kurt isn't paying attention to, puts Kurt into a panic. He's grateful their daughter was too under the weather to come with them.

Because if Kurt is right, this is going to be a disaster.

"Look, don't ask me how I know this... " Kurt grabs the lapels of his husband's coat and begins pulling him away from the barrier "... but frozen turkeys dropped from a great height... "

The first turkey - Shrek, Kurt assumes - hits the asphalt with a resounding crack that brings the onlookers to silence. But while most people hold their breath, waiting to find out whether or not they've won, a few realize their mistake and start running.

The turkey's momentum does not stop when it lands.

The frozen bird ricochets a remarkable distance, then arcs toward Kurt and Blaine. It misses them by inches, barreling like a bullet train into the window of a car parked by the curb.

"... bounce," Kurt finishes, eyes drawn skyward when the remaining mob screams. A host of frozen fowl exit the helicopter and fall like rain. No. Like hail. Kurt swallows hard. "Run!"

Over a dozen turkeys get tossed before anyone can get a hold of the pilot and tell the crew to stop. Kurt and Blaine, stuck between wanting to bolt and needing to navigate the slippery street carefully lest they fall and break their necks, manage to dodge two that bound their way.

"Someday you're going to have to tell me how you knew this would happen!" Blaine snorts as they half-run/half-skate to the safety of the deli down the street, outpacing a third turkey that whizzes past, heading for them straight as an arrow.

"I'm not obligated to tell you anything if you're going to put our lives in danger!"