Katharsis

by 0mniessence

Brittany, a naive city-wandering derelict, abandons home in search of life-altering excitement for her existence, and although in philosophical principle that seemed like a great idea, as she's left starving and unshowered in the streets, a stray toilet paper ad with bits of dried poop publicizing a strip club might just be the purpose she seeks. What curious individuals await her?

3. Chapter 3

"AND I WAS LIKE

BABY, BABY, BABY, NOOOOO

LIKE

BABY, BABY, BABY, OOOOO—"

Rachel awoke in alarm and bustled out of her mummy-like sleeping position to find the source of the sudden hubbub, only to belatedly realize she was still neatly wrapped in her satin sheets and rolling off of bed towards her inevitable collision with the floor – at least it was matted.

But there were dust bunnies.

And they got stuck on her freshly applied green clay mask.

And now the floor was marred of its immaculacy due to unsightly green splotches.

And, just to add insult to injury, the resident cockroach crawled out from a clandestine hole to pay the rent.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHH!"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"What's that noise?"

A neighbor!husband asked, turning off the stove fan and readjusting his apron.

A neighbor!wife put down her newspaper, stopped blowing bubbles with her pipe, and sat up from her recliner.

"Do you think it's…"

She looked at her husband.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to think so, too," he confirmed.

"It's got to be Baby by Justin Bieber," she finished.

And they both returned to their morning proceedings in satisfaction, relieved to have appeased their curiosities.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"How incredibly dreadful!" Rachel grumbled distastefully, typing away at her computer. "I can assert with utmost confidence that I did not leave my computer alarm preferences to HasBeenOnlinePopSensations, but on BroadwayClassics4DWannabes. So how did I wake up to this mainstream tune?"

Rachel reconfigured her system preferences and shut down her laptop.

She had already disentangled herself from her sheets, washed off her ruined facial treatment, brushed off her blemished floor, swept the dust bunnies away, and left the impertinent cockroach entrapped in a glass container at the last step of her apartment's staircase, to be exposed and fried by the sun, its remains to hopefully become biomass that could be used for the energy benefits of society.

I always think of everything, Rachel thought to herself in self-approval. Ah, that's just me, never stops giving.

It was 6:00 a.m. in the morning.

She didn't actually have to start making her way to work until 5 p.m., but sleeping in was an unproductive manner to spend precious hours of one's life. She rather liked having an entire day to look forward to. And, yes, she had bloodshot eyes from working late shifts, and yes, she also had bags under her eyes, and yes, her buttocks was itching due to yet unidentified reasons, but reasons that were not going to hold her back!

Ms. Pillsbury must have become distracted by a stubborn blemish in her reading glasses and spent several hours trying to remove it, thus forgetting to disinfect some of the bar stools, Rachel rationalized passively, swiftly scratching her behind. Her persistence is so admirable. If I harbor half as much of her determination, I am certain to one day realize my dream – making it to Broadway!

Rachel slipped out of her pajamas and entered her bathtub for a quick, refreshing shower.

I'm already in New York, where the Broadway Theatre is situated, which means I have already completed one vital step in my multi-faceted plan to make it on the big stage.

Rachel did actually have a multi-faceted plan towards her big break.

She had already phased through her early goals – work on building her tragic backstory by making her childhood as miserable as she could, until age 12, when puberty would hit, and she would be struck by an epiphany: she wasn't meant to rot her days out in Israel, arrange marry a man from the United Arab Emirates, and be left at home taking care of numerous children named after biblical figures while he went out to live it up in she-hasn't-thought-out-a-place-yet.

She was made for stardom.

She had more to offer to the world than her uterus.

Anyway, long backstory short, she would build around herself a moving tale of rags to riches, from possessing nothing, to lording over matter. In New York, she would work at Katharsis to develop performance skills and showcase her talent in hopes—no—with the knowledge that one day a hotshot scout would enter through the imposing doors, flash her a business card, recruit her, and propel her to fame.

It's all part of the plan, Rachel assured herself every morning.

She stepped out of the shower, slung a bathrobe on, and dried her hair as she contentedly gazed at herself in the mirror.

Another wonderful day, nudging her closer to her destiny, her respected status, her life of glamour, her countless photo shoots, her sex scandals, her celebrity signings, and nearest and dearest, her payday, as she had many store dues withstanding and she couldn't allow her Angel card from Victoria's Secret to be annulled.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"Hmrrrrrgh…"

"Ngh… Sugar… tell your gastric juices to be quiet…"

"Phoooo….."

"Ahngh… No, Harmony… you tell your butt to stop dealing silent killers…"

"Hmph…I'm not"—Harmony realized she was addressing Sugar's read; she sleepily rolled the other girl around to face her—"I'm not the one making those noises…"

Sugar groaned, eyes still shut. "Then who…?"

Harmony rubbed her eyes and lazily looked through the gap between the driver's seat Sugar was sleeping in and the passenger's seat she herself was occupying.

Rory was sprawled out the length of the back seat, face-down, and snoring like a sasquatch.

Great, this just had to go and be the manliest thing about him, Harmony thought with mild irritation.

"Sugar, it's just…"

She paused to yawn.

"C'mon… don't leave me… in suspense," Sugar voiced without conviction.

Harmony narrowed her eyes slightly. "As if you're even conscious enough to listen…"

"Stop nagging… and take that… dodo bird wig off…" Sugar finished. "They're… endangered…"

If Harmony weren't still too mellowed over by her sleepiness, she would have raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"It was just Rory," she replied. "And dodo's are extinct."

"Whose fault is that…?" Sugar mumbled out, ensconcing herself further in the jacket she'd draped over herself.

This time, Harmony did quirk a choleric eyebrow up.

"Well, if the offending remarks are any sign, I think your brain is functioning well enough for you to get up," Harmony spat, bending over Sugar and abruptly cranking her seat forward.

The momentum had Sugar faceslam against the wheel.

"OOOOOOOOWWWWW, MY NOSEEEE!" Sugar whined nasally. "You know my insurance doesn't cover me here! ! ! !"

"Lesson of the day: call it quits with your wits," Harmony with faux saccharinity.

"Whatever, you're just jealous 'cause your pace in my race has no game," Sugar countered petulantly.

"I told you to stop," sighed Harmony, folding her arms.

Sugar stared her down.

"What are you doing?" the brunette asked after a while.

"You told me to stop, so I did so, 'cause if not, you'd blow your top," Sugar replied smoothly.

Harmony glared at her.

Sugar leaned in and whispered, "Rory might like that."

Harmony lightly, but nevertheless brusquely, pushed Sugar back, and the latter snickered.

Rory began to stir awake due to all the commotion at the front end of the car. He languidly raised his head to see what all the fuss was about.

"Well, I'm heading back to bed!" Sugar announced. "Well—the car seat."

She promptly cranked her seat all the way back, bludgeoning Rory smack-dab in the skull.

A weak groan, and an alarming crack(? ? ? ?), was heard.

"OH MY GAWD, RORYYYYYY! ! ! ! !"

"OH MY GAWD, THE CHIIIIIIIPS! ! ! !"

"Really, Sugar? REALLY ! ?"

"Hey, where I'm from, Lays went out of business," Sugar shrugged, opening the bag and popping a broken chip into her mouth.

She held the bag out to Harmony

Harmony shook her head in disbelief and ignored Sugar to tend to Rory.

"Rory, are you okay?" Harmony inquired in concern.

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, just a mild concussion," Rory reassured. "Maybe marginal brain damage that could result in a tumor someday…. But, otherwise, doing fine, doing fine…"

"I'm glad," Harmony breathed out in relief.

"Did I do something to anger Sugar, or...?" he began with uncertainty.

"What? Nah, nothing of the sort, Rory," Sugar said dismissively. "There's no blood on the headrest so my parents won't get mad once I take the car back. We're cool. You want some breakfast?"

Sugar held the bag of chips out to Rory.

"Sure," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"What happened to the nicknames?" Harmony asked suspiciously.

"That's so yesterday, Harmony," Sugar said with her mouth full. "Why do you ask? Did you actually like yours? Aww, I knew you were into it!"

"Don't go assuming things," Harmony muttered out. "I was just wondering…"

"You know, Rory, you make a great nutcracker," Sugar complimented.

"Thanks, it was one of the top results in my career match test," Rory said abashedly, stretching his neck. "Right after window washer."

"Sweet," Sugar said "I got Supreme Court justice."

"Nice, you were always the first to judge people," Rory said conversationally, chewing his chips.

"Stop flattering me," Sugar squealed, blushing.

"How do you get Supreme Court justice and I get funeral director?" Harmony questioned incredulously.

"I don't know, Harmony, your personality does kind of suck the joy out of living," Sugar offered casually.

Harmony narrowed her eyes. "Thanks."

"No prob," Sugar said dismissively. "I do have a great judge of character, after all."

"I think…"—Rory cleared his throat—"I think you're fun, Harmony..."

"I appreciate that, Rory," Harmony said kindly. "At least someone's happy to have me around."

"C'mon, don't be like that," Sugar coaxed her moody friend. "I wouldn't have you around if I didn't like you. I would have already framed you with some crime and left you to waste your days away in some prison in Timbuktu."

"Why Timbuktu?" Harmony queried, perplexed.

"It was the first country that came into my mind," Sugar explained. "There's just something cool about international fugitives, y'know?"

"…Right."

"I like you, Harmony," Sugar stated.

"Uh-huh."

"I do," Sugar continued. "I really like you."

"Okay… thanks, I guess?" Harmony said with trepidation. "I like you, too?"

"Good, because I truly, really, incredibly like you," Sugar reiterated with ardent passion, fixing her gaze into Harmony's.

"Rory, check the nutrition facts on those chips, and don't eat any more!" Harmony warned hastily, too freaked out to get sentimental.

Rory made to snatch the bag from Sugar's hands.

"What are you—! ? Noooooo, let go of my chiiiiips!" Sugar cried.

They wrangled over the bag until Sugar won when she pushed Rory into the back seat.

She was breathing heavily, but gloriously. "Hah… hah… huff… whoa, I need to work out. I almost got beat by a girl!"

"Hey!" Rory squeaked out, wheezing from the exertion.

"Kidding, kidding," Sugar appeased. She then turned to her other disturbed friend, the previous target of her affectionate words. "Harmony, because of my great judge of character, I know that you're an insecure girl in constant need of reassurance. That's why I tried to raise your self-esteem by reassuring you that our friendship is mutual. I mean, you're totally my sidekick, but other than that, we're equals."

"Seriously, who even created that stupid career match test? It's got to be flawed. If you're the future of America, I give up, I just… can't," Harmony said with mild frustration, raising her arms up in surrender to the merciless days of morrow.

"Guys, let's not fight," Rory said after recovering, taking both of the girls' hands and uniting them. "We came here with a purpose, right? We gotta follow through before our parents find out."

"Aw, Rory, you're so cute," Sugar said with a coo. "Harmony and I do this aaaall the time. It's our usual banter. It's how we bond, right, Harmony?"

Harmony banged her forehead on the headrest. "Rory's right, we can't let any distractions get in the way of our self-assigned mission."

"This is a mission trip?" Sugar questioned. "Cheesus, I forgot my bible…"

"I saw a bookstore close by, we can get one there," Rory reassured.

"YOU GUYS, THIS IS NOT A MISSIONARY TRIP! ! !" Harmony reminded.

"You sure? Some of this people are in legit need of a savior…"

"Sugar, you're the one that came up with the crazy idea of driving all the way to New York!"

"I was kidding, sheesh," Sugar grumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"Um… yeah…sure… me too," Rory mumbled.

Harmony sighed.

Sugar squeezed her hand and smiled. "Don't stress."

Harmony raised her head to meet Sugar's eyes. "I'm not… I just… sometimes it feels like you don't take things seriously enough…"

That's great, they're talking things out, Rory thought contentedly.

"I knoooooow… I knoooow… but I want to make this trip fun," Sugar said, concedingly "For the three of us."

Harmony locked her gaze on their clasped hands. She sighed. She was always so easy to give in. "Okay. I get it."

"You get it?" Sugar questioned with a charming grin.

"I get that you want us to have a blast, rock it out with locals, get some mission-related work done on the side, and maybe find ourselves passed out and dehydrated in some ditch one Sunday morning with killer headaches and convenient amnesia, or the like," Harmony conceded with an almost imperceptible smile.

"Yay, you're back to your regular sarcastic self!" Sugar cheered, clapping.

"But you're taking us to the waffle house or starbucks after this," Harmony badgered, to save face. "I'm not letting junk food down my throat."

"Would you prefer some weenies, then?" Sugar offered slyly.

"Now that I can swallow," Harmony replied.

"I bet," Sugar followed mischievously.

Harmony's eyes burst out of her sockets. "SUGAR! ! ! !"

Sugar cachinnated uncontrollably, rolling around the driver's seat and lightly banging into random objects strewn about the seat.

"Oh my gawd, I can't believe it took you so long to figure it out! ! !" Sugar guffawed, eyes squeezed shut with small linings of tears bordering at the slits.

"I SWEAR ONCE I GET MY BODY TO STOP WRACKING WITH INSURMOUNTABLE FURY AND MY HEAD TO STOP SPINNING WITH ALL THE INTENSELY AGONIZING, LEGALLY QUESTIONABLE COURSES OF ACTIONS I COULD POSSIBLY TAKE AGAINST YOU, YOU'RE GONNA GET CLOBBERED BY MY FISTS! ! !"

"Um, Harmony, I don't think it's fury that's making your body feel like that," Rory provided fearfully.

"Not now, Rory, I'm about to blow the exhaust pipe! ! !"

"Yeah, you are~" Sugar further teased, giggling.

"Sugar, when did you become so… so… vulgar!" Harmony expressed with an appalled look. "I'm telling on you!"

"You wouldn't!"

"I would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would—"

"—you guys quit it, can't you feel the car's moving! ? ! ?" Rory interceded with urgency.

"WHAT! ? I thought that feeling was due to the sheer intensity of my rage! !" Harmony shared in alarm.

"WHAT! ? I thought that was because I fed Rory too many chips! !" Sugar cried out in panic.

"WHAT! ? I thought that was because you hit the handbrake with your elbow while you were laughing! ! !" Rory supplied.

"… Rory, it's no fun if what you say is actually right…"

"Oh no, we're falling backwards!"

"Whose bright idea was it to park on a hill! ? !?" Harmony clamored for an answer

"Tee-hee~!"

"SUGAR!"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Quinn was redoing her make-up in Victoria's Secret public restroom.

Of course, she locked it because the art of painting her face required the utmost concentration, and she didn't need a girl with a bursting bladder busting in and causing her to botch her eyeliner.

It's happened too many times already, Quinn thought to herself, distressed.

It had happened once.

It's becoming troubling, Quinn continued disconcertedly.

It had happened once.

They really should make a policy against people rudely barging in and disrupting others as they defecate, urinate, regurgitate, or apply make-up, Quinn contemplated, distraught.

It. Had. Only. Happened. Once.

"I think I'll file a complaint," Quinn said to herself in self-satisfaction after she wiped some excess lipstick off her thin, delicate lips.

As Quinn sauntered her way out of the bathroom, unlocking the door and having a pre-pubescent girl bolt right past her. Even though the girl was clearly rushing through her with a constipated expression, she still took a few seconds to regard Quinn's stunning looks because, come on, she was the epitome of everything every self-esteem lacking, self-conscious bulimic or anorexic chick devastated her health and anatomy to be.

Even when Quinn wasn't looking stupendous, at her worst she could be described as looking maybe like… Kim Kardashian—actually, that's too insulting—maybe an older Angelina Jolie. And, at her best, she was probably comparable to a young Jennifer Aniston or a current day Olivia Wilde.

Of course, these qualitative measurements of comparison were only necessary if one had not ever had the fortune of beholding the almost divine features that formed Quinn's facial sculpture.

If one had, then it would become strikingly clear that Quinn's beauty could not be gauged. She easily and single-handedly established her own category just by existing.

Now, if I were a complaint box, where would I be? Quinn deliberated.

She panned her line of vision left and right and, as she was doing so, locked on a sales clerk's desk.

Oh, well, it's more fun to tear them down in person and see them cower and apologize profusely for their inadequacy, Quinn darkly through to herself with a smirk.

Quinn confidently strode over to the desk with an upbeat click to her heels and an almost malicious grin on her gorgeous, expectant face.

Her anticipation quickly stilled and instantly dissipated when she recognized the individual that was at the moment speaking to the sales clerk.

"—And so, although I currently do not find myself in the financial position to pay my monthly bill, I assure you with the certainty that the sun is to rise that I will have this month's as well as next month's dues ready to hand in come the following repayment period."

Well, Quinn didn't exactly her recognize her face so much as she recognized her voice.

That enviable voice.

"So," the sales clerk, an 18-year-old saving up for oral contraceptives dispensed by the underground economy, began, "I'm getting that you don't, like, have the money?"

"Not at the present time, I'm afraid," Rachel regretfully informed.

"Well, why did'ja have to beat around the bush for so long?" the sales clerk questioned peevishly. "You could've just opened with that."

Rachel appeared perplexed. "I just… I wanted to be sure that the Victoria's Secret franchise was cognizant of my situation and respectable credit. I did not wish to be perceived as an undependable customer whose credibility would be subject to further scrutiny."

"So… you just didn't want any trouble, basically?"

"Well, I suppose if one truncated my message into simpler and more succinct terms, it could be said that I did want to convey—"

"So you just didn't want any trouble, basically?"

"… Yes."

"Cool. Your Angel card's still active," the sales clerk finished with disinterest.

"Fantastic!" Rachel beamed. "I would like to thank you for your disposition to dispense information as well as your generously attentive presence. I will now resume my lingerie shopping."

"Knock yourself out," the girl drawled out as she pulled out a Vogue magazine and leaned forward on her elbows to skim through the pictures.

Quinn watched, unmoving, as Rachel walked away from the desk and headed into a section of interest in the store.

And then her synapses finally clicked into a spark and she realized that the short brunette was walking away.

Her body took control before she was even able to summon a coherent, cognitive command.

She raced.

"Mhph!"

"Oh!"

She bumped into her.

"Goodness, how careless of me, I sincerely apologize!"

"No… no, don't, it was my bad, I wasn't watching where I was going."

The polite brunette nodded in acknowledgment and resumed her projected path.

Shoot, I panicked, Quinn irritably thought to herself in mild embarrassment. Why did I even do that? I hardly know her!

True.

Quinn had no idea who that girl was. All she knew was that she listened to her mellifluous voice at the time when, against her better judgment, she stepped a dainty foot into club Katharsis.

After she had found the advertising square of toilet paper with bits of mud(?), she mentally checked over her entire schedule and realized that she had nothing better to do—other than Everest-sized piles of homework to slave over, a student government meeting (of which she was the head) to attend, a sorority initiation speech to discourse, and a hazing procedure to preside over.

Ain't no thang. Girl had time.

I can't believe she didn't have the slightest idea of who I was, Quinn thought to herself indignantly, arms folded before her puffed out chest. I mean, couldn't she even recall my face!

And one does not simply "forget" Quinn Fabray's face.

Quinn sighed out her frustrations.

She didn't even know why she was reacting in this way.

The girl… what was she called? Safir… Spittle… Splash… Spear…Sphere… Sphene…SPHENE! Sphene probably met various clubbers every night and had no time to devote to learning names or faces, so understandably she hardly had any recollection of Katharsis' guests.

So why exactly did she take any personal offense for the girl not recognizing her?

They hadn't met.

They hadn't talked.

They hadn't accidentally but serendipitously run into each other in the public restroom.

They hadn't sung Happy Birthday to a nearby customer who was celebrating the achievement of making it to his 21st year inhabiting this despicable world.

They hadn't even come into a 10-meter radius of each other.

But they had made eye contact.

Then again, Sphene had made eye contact with over three fourths of the crowd, and the audience must be blacked out from the performer's point of view, so who's to say that Quinn hadn't imagined it all?

After a few more distressing minutes, Quinn decided to give up on identifying her newly sprouted emotions, and instead focused on the most prevalent one—distaste.

She really didn't like that Sphene chick. She wasn't sure why, but that girl had hurt her pride. And amidst all these negative feelings that were broiling in the pit of the small black hole that was her heart, Quinn wasn't one to go down without a proper catfight.

Metaphorical, of course. Manicures don't come cheap.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

HAWLEY SMOOT! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !...….. tariff act of 1930, Rachel inwardly thought to herself, agitated.

She briskly marched through the store into whatever section established the most protracted distance between herself and the customer she had recently run into.

But then she noticed that the Victoria's Secret store was a giant loop, and found herself approaching aforementioned customer, and thus rapidly strode backwards with a remarkable sense of direction.

She turned on her heel and came across a mannequin sporting a wardrobe choice that she suddenly decided to take an interest in.

It's her! She mentally exclaimed, gears turning in her head. She was at last night's performance! Did she recognize me? I surely hope not. Her eyes were quite large as they landed on me, but that may have sprouted from the shock of running into me rather than recognition.

Rachel continued to ramble in her head, listing off the various interpretations that could be spawned from the widening of the girl's eyes after their collision.

At work, the chirpy brunette always took attentive care to etch into memory all customers that were in attendance during her performance, which is why she believed in making firm eye contact with the audience as she entertained them.

Others tell me that it's creepy and unsettling and to, as Santana so eloquently put it, 'Just cut that [profanity] out!' Rachel thought to herself. I, however, believe that it establishes and unspoken connection between the audience member and the performer, allowing them to form a personal, albeit ephemeral, bond that will remain faintly sustained throughout their time apart but grow exponentially powerful as the audience member frequents the club to see the performer and gradually lessens his or her intervals of absence.

Rachel was also about to explain how this financially benefited the Katharsis labor force but was skillfully tied to the catwalk at the elevated upstage and passed out from aeroacrophobia.

Ah, curse my unfailing memory and excellent customer service! Rachel thought to herself. Were it not for my advanced face recognition skills, I wouldn't find myself in this dilemma at the present moment!

The dilemma being, of course, that she is meeting one of the club's frequenters outside the club. This was problematic. Not only did it go against Katharsis' strict 'no seeing customers outside of work hours' rule, it also incited a feeling of intrusion into her personally established bubble of privacy.

It was not that Rachel did not take pride in the work she did; she was distinctly one of the best entertainers at Katharsis, but the feeling of… inadequacy… always seemed to distastefully stir within her once she was out of work and back in the real world, where people had jobs that most directly benefited the global society, not that strip clubs didn't, but they certainly employed much raunchier methods.

I understand that my line of work is not regarded upon as favorably by the rest of my societal peers, Rachel reminded herself. However, when I memorized the customers' faces, I never once imagined that I would ever meet them outside of the establishment and find myself having to contend confrontation about my work.

Pffft, okaaaaaaay, that was a joke.

Rachel imagined as many mathematically possible scenarios in which she met a customer outside of work, and in her mental representations of the encounter, she always found herself smoothly breezing through a potentially uncomfortable situation—she went out and bought them a sleeping pill-laden latte so that she could make her escape after they were knocked out; she pulled out a laptop and portable projector to present an argument for and against her identity being that of a late-night dancing and singing service girl at Katharsis; or she even expeditiously inflated her emergency 'me' balloon doll, left it standing before the customer, and scrammed before he or she noticed she was gone.

Fantasy!Rachel had always been quicker to think on her feet than Reality!Rachel, Rachel thought to herself dishearteningly.

Quinn had been watching all the different facial expressions flit across Sphene's face with mild amusement… and an undeniably slight tinge of disturbance.

She's certainly… emotive, Quinn contemplated.

Rachel had been too busy spazzing over the concealment of her identity and her dual personality issues with fantasy!Rachel that she had failed to perceive Quinn's presence drawing subtly closer to her in the store's underwear sections.

Quinn, after overcoming her initial indignation at someone overlooking her unparalleled resplendence, had finally mollified her temper and just approached merely out need to satiate her curiosity—over what, though, she wasn't sure.

Maybe she just wanted to see how strippers acted outside their zone?

As she internally battled with herself, Rachel unexpectedly turned in Quinn's direction, hoping to find some inspiration in looking at a poster of one of the scantily-clad Victoria's Secret's models, but she was instead met with the mortifying profile of the girl that had caused this mental distress.

Not mortifying because the girl was a grotesque sight—she was actually quite kind to the eye—but because she was the customer Rachel was desperately trying to think of a smooth way to escape!

Quinn had sensed the movement in Rachel's direction and turned just in time to feign close inspection of a piece of lingerie she would normally leave to wither in natural disaster-stricken, radioactive zones.

Ah, well, it was time for the old balloon 'me' inflatable figure trick again. Rachel opened her purse and felt around for the wrinkled object, but realized she had brought the wrong purse (she had various, but the reasons, those were a story for another speech).

Fortunately, I always put a foldable, body-sized cardboard cutout of myself in every single one of my purses. Although it is a two-dimensional figure only capable of distracting the target for a few seconds, it'll have to do, Rachel thought to herself with confidence

Just as Rachel was about to reach into her purse to pull out her cardboard cutout, she noticed that another Victoria's Secret visitor was checking out the underwear sale collection, but what was startling about this was not the fact that the girl had been checking out what other female peers would judge as granny panties, but that the girl swiped it.

Who in their right mind would swipe granny panties! ? Quinn thought with an expression scribbled with horror.

Who in their right mind would dare to take the panties I was about to purchase! Rachel thought to herself, appalled.

Fashion aberrations and nonexistent proprietary disputes aside, the girls focused in on the problem.

This was a crime.

The girl walked off looking smug and the remaining petrified pair found themselves making eye contact for the second time since bumping into each other.

"Did you just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think she just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think I should just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think we should just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think the store clerk just—?"

"Alright, that's it, are you just going to exhaust every general and personal pronoun in the English language! ?" Quinn finally snapped, exasperated. "She's getting away!"

"YES! Of course!" Rachel quickly broke out of her disbelief and shook her head into reason. "Here is what I believe we should do: we split up, with you chasing after the thief while I take the opportunity to make a mad dash to the store clerk and inform her of everything that has just transpired leading up to this point, including the details of this short but efficacious plan. In case you object, I feel that, from physical inspection, I have judged our respective capabilities well in assigning these positions as you have the greater leg length and thus you would be more likely to catch up to the thief and attract burly men with your feminine charm—as I am not currently dressed for the role—so that they may restrain her with a tight stronghold while you wait for my return with police authorities to arrest her for robbery. I am more suited for the speaking role as my articulate and succinct manner of communication will clearly convey the situation to both the clerk and the authorities so that—"

"WHATISTHISIDON'TEVEN—please tell me you're not being serious right now!" Quinn exclaimed with frustrated incredulity. "We just wasted an entire minute hashing out your ridiculously long idea of a plan! I don't even care what you have to blabber about anymore, I'm chasing after that fashionably insensible shoplifter!"

Rachel was left gaping and slightly offended as Quinn instantly turned around and skidded out of the store.

Rachel felt that she was being brief on the delivery too! She was going to omit the concluding portion where they became acclaimed mall heroes, attained worldwide fame, and procured a monetary award worth a fortune Paris Hilton herself wouldn't be able to afford even as jail bail!

She was going to save that part of the story for when things settled down.

"Well," Rachel said tightly, folding her arms, "if she chooses to operate solo, then I will let her be, but that does not mean I will not contribute to the apprehension of the swindler."

Rachel marched stiffly over to the sales clerk's desk.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"And that's the story of how I almost captured the panty thief," Rachel finished with self-satisfaction.

"Why you looking all proud?" Mercedes questioned, perplexed.

"You didn't even catch the bitch!" Santana called out with irritated incredulity.

"Thus explains why I included almost in my statement," Rachel pointed out, undisturbed.

"Rachel, I don't see what glory there is to take in that," Kurt opinioned, arms crossed over his chest.

"I hope she sees realizes the gravity of her crime, returns the panties, and turns over a new leaf to start a life guided by ethical and moral righteousness," Marley voiced wishfully.

"Amen, sistah," Unique preached. "Amen."

"What happened to the blonde chick you said was with you?" Santana questioned.

"Well, after I went up to the sales clerk, she had—"

"Hey, why are you guys all gathered here?" Sam asked, popping his head into Rachel's dressing room. "I didn't know there was a faculty meeting? OH. NO. Have I been fired? Is this why I'm not included in the meetings! ? Why does nobody ever tell me anything! ? Not even that I don't work here anymore! ! !"

Sam tossed his apron onto the squeaky clean floor.

"Sam, calm your man-tits," Santana said with apathy.

"B-but I can change," Sam pleaded in unattractive desperation, blowing his nose on his discarded apron.

"This is a Katharsis girls meeting," Mercedes explained before Sam could continue to slobber and fall apart on Rachel's floor (the girl was anal retentive about neatness, and she didn't want to set that fuse off).

"Whoa, not a sex change," Sam said, quickly picking himself up off the floor.

"You sure about that?" Unique queried, raising his eyebrow. "I'm saving up for it."

"Men," Kurt said, shaking his head ruefully. "So quick to back out on their promises."

"But, wait, Kurt isn't a girl," Sam noted, befuddled.

"Yeah, but boy's feminine enough to pass as one," Mercedes explicated. "I mean, between him and Santana, I ain't even sure who'd be more suitable to attend this meeting."

Santana perked up indifferently at hearing her name. "I'm only here 'cause I have a vagina."

"And I'm planning to get one soon," Unique commented. "So I'm surrounding myself with the XX's."

"Unique has always been one of us on the inside," Marley remarked with a diffident grin.

"Aww thanks, girl, I think you're black on the inside, too," Unique said affectionately.

"Uh… yay…?"

"Um, okay, then, why isn't Becky here?" Sam asked.

"She dissed us," Mercedes said, shrugging. "She prefers to spend time decapitating salmon in the kitchen than hanging out with us."

"But we're handling it surprisingly well," Marley added.

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you," Kurt said, reciting the old adage.

"Ah, I see, then why isn't Sue here?" Sam inquired.

"She isn't—"

"Come. On. What is this 21 questions?" Santana snarked. "This isn't even a meeting! We're just gathered here to talk about Berry's hero-wannabe misadventures! If I had known this was in store for me, I would have just stayed at the bar and spaced out while Sam did his Kanye West impressions."

"Hold on a minute!"

"Don't even," Santana spoke over him, palm high with attitude. "Consider it a complimentI actually find that marginally better than this."

"Alright, Santana, pipe down," Mercedes said. "We don't want you going all angry Chihuahua on us this early in the evening."

"Angry Chihua—what! ?" Santana reiterated, temper flaring. "Hmm, así eres entonces, ya veo como es la cosa… well, okay, if we're going to be slinging racial slurs at each other, I got a few of my own that I've just been itching to try out for a while now!"

"Everyone, please stop fighting over me!" Rachel cried woefully, jumping in between the crowd of fellow colleagues.

"Rachel, hon… no one has even included you in the conversation this whole time," Kurt pointed out gently.

"Now, I beg to differ, Santana did mention me during the utterance of her clearly inaccurate diatribe," Rachel reminded, composed.

"Inaccurate diatribe? Listen, Berry, everything's not always about you and your big head and your big mouth!"

"Hey, I'm the one with the big mouth," Sam exclaimed, reclaiming an inherent part of his identity. "Don't take that away from me!"

"Yeah, smurf, don't take away trouty's only defining feature as a person!" Santana accused, being rather supportive of her huge-lipped friend, as he just happened to be convenient at the present moment.

"How has this argument abruptly pivoted to become about Sam's lips?" Rachel queried, befuddled.

"See? You can't even stand it for a minute when the conversation heads in a direction that isn't even remotely related to you," Santana noted, rolling her eyes.

"Santana, if I may say, you know perfectly well that was not the message I was trying to convey," Rachel replied, indignant.

"Girl, I love you, but you can be a little egocentric sometimes," Mercedes provided, throwing her two cents into the discussion.

"Preach," Unique said to Mercedes.

"I… I…. I think I'm just going to remain quiet and laugh or gasp at appropriate times," Marley quietly said to herself. I don't want any bad blood to circulate between our group.

Plus, she wanted to keep her job and was in no position to disrespect her seniors.

"Well, you can kind of be a self-centered brat at times, Rach," Kurt provided.

Rachel gasped.

Marley gasped.

"Kurt, I thought at least you'd be on my side!" Rachel cried accusingly. "To think I have been betrayed by my closest work-category male friend!"

"I'm just being honest with you—wait, you categorize your friends?"

"Of course, I have a scrapbooked catalog, I can show it to you all at a later time if you'd like."

Everyone exchanged glances and mumbled in curious acquiescence.

"But, back to the point," Mercedes said. "Rachel, you have to learn to be more aware of others, and I mean that in a more spiritual rather than physical way."

"Yeah, you have to watch out for others rather than just yourself," Kurt continued. "Haven't you ever experienced the joy of helping someone else?"

Rachel scoffed. "Of course I have! Just today, I went after that criminal!"

"You didn't even catch her!"

"It's the thought that counts!

"And what exactly were your thoughts?"

"To help, evidently!"

"No, Rachel, deep down, what were you exact intentions?"

"… To help the store, and then maybe get interviewed by the local news station, attain more exposure, be recognized for my crime-solving and performing talents, and maybe start a for-personal-profit organization called "Rachel Berry's Crusaders for World Peace" that traveled around the world fighting injustices and carrying out musical performances for the entertainment and salvation of the miserable, lonely, and depressed. All the while building and improving my stage presence in order to become an EGOT before reaching the mature age of 29."

"Don't you see what's wrong with that picture?"

"…"

Rachel blankly stared at Kurt. Her eyes then suddenly lit up. "You're right, I can't believe I didn't see it before. I should change it to before reaching the mature age of 28. That's when Barbra Streisand became an EGOT and I'd absolutely love to be on par with my idol."

"No, the problem is that you're not really helping people!"

"But I am! Did you miss the part about Rachel Berry's Crusaders for World Peace?" Rachel asked.

"No."

"Would you like me to repeat it?"

"Oh, GAWD, no," Santana muttered.

"Down, girl," Mercedes commented.

Santana glared at Mercedes.

"Whoa, play nice," Mercedes remarked.

The African-American diva could swear she almost heard Santana growl after her last comment.

"Rachel, sweetie, everything you do, it either directly or indirectly benefits you in some way," Kurt noted softly.

The brunette felt a lurch in her heart at hearing her best friend once again scold her, no matter how lightly. "I don't see why you are all being like this to me right now!"

Unique sensed the tense atmosphere in the air and decided this was the best time to step out; he took Marley with him.

"Here we go again with the 'me,'" Santana snorted.

"Well, I've grown used to getting this treatment from Santana, but not you guys!" Rachel cried, detesting her voice for sounding so strained at a time when she was really calling for emotional detachment.

"Rachel, oh, no, hon, don't do this," Kurt said in faint volume.

"Don't do what?" Rachel demanded, voice shaking and eyes stinging.

Kurt slowly approached her and lifted a hand to come into delicate contact with her puffy cheek. "This."

Rachel hadn't noticed that stray tears had leaked out and already formed a trail down her cheek. She sniffed. Now she felt like a child. This was so humiliating.

She dealt with this the only way she knew how.

"You guys are insufferable!" Rachel defensively called out, annoyed that her voice had undulated into a whimper at some point during the utterance. "Consider yourselves eradicated from my acceptance speech during my various, future awards shows!"

And she dramatically stormed out like a boss.

Santana sighed.

Mercedes shook her head.

Kurt ran his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair.

Sam made popping noises with his mouth.

Puck barged in.

"I heard someone crying!" he said, sounding out of breath. "Who needs pity sex?"

Santana pointed to Kurt.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Santana.

Mercedes grinned.

Puck cringed.

Sam made popping noises with his mouth.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

I can't believe how underappreciated I am by my fellow workmates! Rachel thought to herself indignantly, furiously wiping some semi-dried tear trails before the straggling locals of the late afternoon noticed her at her most vulnerable.

Well, it's not like the New Yorkers would care, really, but this is Rachel's train of thought we're talking about here.

I always have to hold myself up to high standards, Rachel continued to vent internally. Granted, nobody's actually pressuring me to be the best, but I personally cannot settle for anything less! It's so hard to be me…

The short brunette was too preoccupied with her thoughts that she wasn't even aware of where she was heading. She had at some point crossed into Zenith Central Park's vicinity at the heart of the city.

"Someone of my unprecedented grandness could never conceivably be contained," Rache muttered to herself, sniffling a little as she gradually composed herself. "I wish that realization would just hit them already!"

THUMP!

"OUCH, DEAR BARBRA, who was the delinquent that decided to plant a tree in my path right as I delivered my doleful, internal soliloquy! ?"

Rachel mean mugged the lanky tree.

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

Rachel jumped like Shaggy, except she didn't have a Scooby to catch her, so she landed on the prickly grass, sharp as freshly cut.

"EEEP, GOLDEN STARS, these are alarmingly pointy!" Rachel hissed out, suppressing her shriek.

She quickly sprung up to her feet, picking out any grass splinters.

She stared resentfully at the wispy tree.

"Well, I suppose I deserved that," Rachel relented, sighing. "Today has not been a good day. I apologize for having taken it out on you, innocent and inanimate outgrowth of nature."

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

Rachel gasped, startled. "Okay, okay! No, then! Not inanimate! Alive! Very much alive! Yes! And not at all innocent, but big and strong and experienced! Incredibly experienced! I am sure you are far more sagacious than I, as you have declared ground on this turf for who knows how many years—or the many to come! The things you must have borne witness to!"

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

"Y-you do not wish to recall the things you've seen? Well, okay, that's quite all right, we do not have to touch on that at all! In fact, how about we go over the things we find pleasing—such as love, per se. I, for instance, completely love your kind! As a matter of fact, I love them so much, I eat them everyday!"

"Mmmhhhgrrrmmm!"

"I sincerely beg your pardon! I realize that was completely insensitive of me to say! Please, Sir Tree, do not be disgruntled! Don't lay floral curses on me; I have too much talent to pass at too early an age! H-here, I-I'll even consider becoming a Wiccan for you! I-is that not good enough—offering to resign my religion? I'll need to speak and discuss the conversion with my parents first, of course, but then I am free to frolic in a circular motion about your leafy glory and sing and dance with the birds and the bees as we all convene to celebrate your—!"

"So… Noisy…"

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!?"

Rachel quickly shut her mouth.

"Sorry, I meant, aaaaaahhh," she contritely whispered out.

But it was too late. Rachel could already hear a rustling sound by the bushes at the base of the tree. Any moment now, vine-like tentacles would shoot out, wrap around her, and constrict the last musical note out of her.

Who knew her first appearance in a newspaper would be her obituary?

I might as well sing some sorrowful melody as I await my impending death, Rachel reasoned. I believe Sarah Brightman would be exceptionally fitting for this morose situation.

" Time to say goodbye

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you "

"When did I get a radio alarm clock?" a voice sleepily yawned out.

Rachel blinked.

"Excuse me, but would you please clear the area?" she politely requested. "I am patiently awaiting my calamitous end, you see."

"But… I live here," the recently emerged blonde countered, confused. "Oh, no, am I getting kicked out? I didn't know I had to pay rent…"

"You live… here…?" Rachel repeated in astonishment. "In the bushes?"

"In a box in the bushes," the girl supplied.

"How do you—why do you—I'm sorry, what's your name?" Rachel inquired.

The tall blonde crawled out of her cardboard box behind the bushes and extended her hand amicably.

"Brittany," she chirped with a friendly smile. "You?"

"Rachel," the brunette enunciated, shaking her new acquaintance's hand. "Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Nice to meet you, Rachel Barbra Berry," Brittany replied excitedly. "That's a really long name."

"Likewise," Rachel responded with a smile. "And you can just call me Rachel."

"I like Barbra."

"You can call me Rachel."

"Okay."

"I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to assume the great Barbra Streisand's name without first having accomplished as many milestone achievements in my career as she has," Rachel explained. "One day, I will be worthy, though."

"Okay."

Rachel smiled.

Brittany smiled.

Rachel continued smiling.

Brittany continued smiling.

Rachel's smile was tightening.

Brittany's smile only grew wider.

Rachel stopped smiling in order to open her mouth and say something.

Brittany's competitive spirit kicked in and she beat her to it.

"Soooo, wha'cha doing hanging around the park this late?" Brittany asked sweetly.

Rachel instantly thought back to her earlier tree-worshipping activities.

"Just appreciating nature," she answered quickly, with a hint of embarrassment.

Brittany noticed the faint crease of distress on her brow.

She patted Rachel on the shoulder.

"No shame," she reassured. "I talk to plants sometimes, too. They're great listeners."

"How did you—?"

"You're a bit of a screamer," Brittany said simply, shrugging.

Rachel blushed, and then cleared her throat.

"I apologize, I must have interrupted your nap," Rachel said, holding her chin up to retain some dignity.

"That's alright," Brittany said cheerfully. "It's too early to sleep, anyway. The squirrels don't like it when I mess up their rest schedules by staying up all night… or is it all morning…?"

Rachel nodded in acquiescence. "Well, the plants may be great listeners, but not as great at doling out advice…"

"You noticed it too?" Brittany queried, interested. "I think it's kind of rude of them. I always tell them about my problems and even help them out with theirs, but they never help me, or even thank me! Sigh, it's always a one-sided relationship with them…"

Rachel quirked a befuddled eyebrow. "I suppose so…"

"I just wish that sometimes they would let me know they're giving some sort of comfort, you know?" Brittany conveyed sadly. "I don't know…. Drop an apple on my head… have a branch slap me… trip me over with a root… just some sort of sign!"

Brittany slumped down on the ground with an anguished crouch.

The short diva went to sit down next to and consolingly stroke the dejected girl. "For live beings, plants can be quite insensitive…"

"First my cat, and now the plants," sighed Brittany, sulking. "Is there something wrong with me? I mean, I never indulged Lord Tubbs in his unhealthy cravings, but that was 'cause I was looking out for him! He really didn't like it at Addicts Anonymous…"

Rachel furrowed her brow.

"And the plants were always taken care of! Mr. Gardener watered them everyday with his hose…"

Rachel's eyes widened, pupils shifting left and right in perplexity.

"I, uh, I—"

Hmm, well, that was a first. Rachel never fumbled with her words, but she found it somewhat difficult to come up with appropriate follow-ups to the girls' comments.

"You don't have to say anything," Brittany ensured sullenly, sensing Rachel's trepidation.

Rachel stopped her succoring ministrations.

"But… I always have something to say," the young singer said, sounding as though she herself couldn't believe it.

"Then," Brittany began, "say something."

"About what?"

"Mmm, I don't know, tell me about yourself," Brittany settled.

Rachel's eyes instantly sparked with enthusiasm, but she quickly thought back to the reason she had sobbingly arrived at the park and politely asked, "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to be too imposing by speaking only about myself. Would you like to go first?"

"Okey-dokey," Brittany conceded plainly. "Once upon a time, a girl named Brittany—me, in case you were getting confused—was born in the—"

"Waiiiiiiit," Rachel interrupted, holding her palm up. "Wh-why are you telling me your life story?"

"Well, you did say I could go first," Brittany replied unaffectedly.

"I know what I said!" Rachel responded urgently. "But that was just an articulated expression of social etiquette: you offer a kindness or service, I decline said kindness or service, you offer aforementioned kindness or service again with increased reserved fervor, and I finally accept the offered kindness or service with increased humility and gratitude."

"… You said 'kindness or service' four times," Brittany stated with a blank expression.

"Pardon?"

"I counted," the blonde replied, shrugging.

"Why, I find that it is rather admirable how you were capable of both following my assertion while simultaneously recording the number of times I—WAIT, were you even listening to me at all! ?"

"I got distracted," Brittany blurted out, lightly biting the side of her cheek. "You have a really nice voice."

"So you really weren't—! ? Oh, my, I am beyond flattered, I do appreciate and thank you for your kind remark."

Brittany : Unwitting Master of Deflection.

"No problem," Brittany said with a smile. "I'm just glad you're happy now."

"Now?"

"You looked kind of bummed when I first saw you," Brittany explained.

"Oh… OH… yes, I realize now it might have appeared that way," Rachel said in low volume.

"Appeared?"

"OKAY, okay, I admit it, yes, I was quite despondent when we first became acquainted," Rachel rushed out. "Although I certainly wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition!"

"But… I don't know any Spanish," Brittany softly demurred, shrinking away.

Rachel noticed Brittany's slight withdrawal and quickly scampered to apologize. "My profoundest apologies! It wasn't my intention for my words to sound so acrimonious…"

Brittany grinned. "It's alright."

Rachel demurely smiled back.

"So, then, you're not going to tell me why you were moping like a sad seal?" Brittany encouraged, sympathizing.

Rachel gasped. "Was I barking like a seal?"

Brittany quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, not the point, message received," Rachel intoned, chuckling. "Well, how should I commence? The problem has its roots in my small social network of labor-specific colleagues, who do not seem to comprehend the lengths that I must extend to in order to fulfill the destiny I know I am meant and striving for. For instance—"

"No need for big speeches," Brittany simply said, staring at Rachel with a lax, friendly gaze. "Just tell me what's on your mind."

Rachel blinked.

"I… ehem… well, I should say that…" Rachel stopped midway and sighed dejectedly. "It's my friends from work… they're mad at me and I don't know how to fix it…"

Brittany stared off into space, then returned her eyes to Rachel. "Why are they mad?"

"Because of something I did," Rachel said, bringing her knees into herself and locking her arms around them.

"Something you did?"

"Well, maybe I should say it was something I said," Rachel amended.

"What did you say?"

"It was something inane," Rachel replied, ruffling her hair a little.

"Will we be getting into the specifics any time soon?" Brittany prodded playfully.

"Oh, right, of course, I apologize, I am usually so focused, I don't know why I'm being this vague presently," Rachel said sheepishly.

Brittany grinned encouragingly.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Well, the problem is that, they don't seem to believe in me as much as I believe in myself."

"How's that?"

"I'm an ambitious individual," Rachel begins, clearing her throat and straightening out her posture. "When I do something, I always run its potential through to the fullest. I plan to become a splendid Broadway talent someday in the very near future, and I hope to star in countless plays in which I take the lead, both in the script and values sense, guiding my acting troupe to brave through and gain experience from the many theatrical challenges that may be catapulted our way. I love to sing, dance, and act. These three actions constitute my passion. I currently spend my days garnering experience through my job and launch myself front and center to any auditions Broadway holds that might come to my attention. I do everything and anything that I can to accomplish my dream. I wish for it to one day realize quite… rather… intensely."

Brittany hummed pensively, soaking the words in.

Rachel continued to speak, though in a way that would lead one to believe she had momentarily lost awareness of the blonde's presence beside her. "But… my friends do not seem to support me in my endeavors. To my understanding, they believe I am blindsided by my aspirations. They think that I am not considerate enough of others when I strongly feel that I am. My goals themselves are inclusive of others—I seek to entertain people and ease them into a world where their concerns may be temporarily dismissed; all they would need to focus on is the pleasure I may bring them through my voice, dance, and acting. They may enjoy themselves as they become fully engrossed in the stories that plays bring them, the fantasies with happy endings that they themselves wish to procure by the end of their lifetime. Is it so wrong of me to want to bring them that? It's just incredibly offensive for them to say I do not care about people. I always critically watch their performances and provide input so that they may improve. How is that bad? I am completely mindful of others!"

Brittany hummed again, nodding languorously, arms outstretched and palms flat on the prickly grass as she leaned back, eyes closed.

Rachel slapped her hand to her mouth.

"I sincerely beg your pardon," Rachel apologized genuinely. "I did not mean to say so much. Here you are being nice enough to lend an ear, and I gave you a mouthful, which reminds me, that is yet another fault my friends see in me. I appear to talk too much. For me, this is normal, though, my parents have always encouraged me to speak my mind, and thoroughly articulate my thoughts in a way I find will be sensible to others and comprehensively communicate my sentime—oh, there I go again, I think I will just—"

"Tunnel vision," Brittany abruptly blurts out.

Rachel arched an eyebrow in polite confusion. "I didn't quite catch—"

"I think you have tunnel vision," Brittany said, adding more completion.

Rachel mildly frowned.

"I also think your friends are wrong about you," Brittany continued.

Rachel mildly smiled.

"You are wrong, too, though," Brittany elaborated.

Rachel mildly frowned.

"But you guys are both right at the same time," Brittany continued nonchalantly.

Rachel wondered how many more times she would have to switch her facial expressions.

"If I may, that seems to me like a bit of a paradox, what you just stated," Rachel told Brittany, pursing her lips as she stared befuddled at the enigmatic, dubitable blonde.

"You should watch your diet if you don't want to get fat," Brittany suddenly said. "This has been proven over and over and over again. That's, like, one of the only things I know that has tons of research papers with difficult words and even more confusing PowerPoint presentations to prove it. My cheer coach used to tell me that all the time, except she didn't put it as nicely."

Rachel nodded slowly, smiling unsurely.

Yikes, I really should have brought my cardboard cutout, Rachel thought to herself, panicking and berating herself for forgetting her purse at her dressing room when she stormed out. Why do I always bump into the kooks! ? ! ? Oh, God, is this divine punishment for having earlier been so easily swayed to toss my faith and dietary restrictions aside in order to convert into a Wiccan! ? ! ? I ASK FOR FORGIVENESS.

"Any advice I could give you, though, has no scientific basis," Brittany continued, unaware of Rachel's internal torment. "I wish I could find an old man with a white shower robe, pyjama pants, a stethoscope, glasses, and white hair and a fluffy beard to say, 'Totally!' and make everything I say legit, but I tried that in middle school and the poor man that I dragged to school was arrested under charges of… what was it… necrophilia…I think?"

Rachel sat rigidly. I think it actually might have been something else that very closely rhymes with that word…

"But I'm still going to dish out my advice because I read once in a pamphlet that an ancient guy from like centuries ago once said that every man wants to be quoted at least once in their lives, or something like that," Brittany explains. "I thought he was way off 'cause I'm a girl and I want to be heard too, but I forgave him because I just assumed he lived in a gay colony somewhere in the Andes back then and women had yet to arrive and conquer the place. They probably didn't know they existed. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is… they had tunnel vision."

IhavenoideawhathepointisIhavenoideawhatthepointisI havenoideawhatthepointis, Rachel thought to herself with a static, petrified smile, legs begging her brain to order them into action and haul her ass out of that place.

"I think both you and your friends do, too," Brittany said with a relaxed tone. "You're wrong 'cause you're stuck in a tunnel where you're only looking at the bright, shiny end. Your friends are wrong 'cause they are stuck in a tunnel where they're looking at the sides; I don't think they can see their bright, shiny end yet. You're right 'cause I'm thinking you want to help them see their bright shiny, end. Your friends are right 'cause I think they want you to look at the sides of your tunnel sometimes, too. It's scary to be alone in the dark, and I think they don't want to be left behind staring at the sides, and are a little mad you're the only one that gets a little light. They're totally worried about you, though, from what you told me about them."

Rachel nods slowly, staring at Brittany with attentive eyes. Her legs begin to relax as she realizes she might not have to make a mad dash for her life just yet. "Please, do tell how you deduced the notion."

"You're not full-out living the now, you know?" Brittany coaxed. "Like, let's say, you're in a car with your parents, and in the tunnel, and the dark sort of makes you sleepy, and then you wake up and are finally in the light, but you totally missed the journey, even though everything was sort of hard to see while passing through the tunnel, somehow you got through it, but you weren't alone. Otherwise you would have crashed, and that would have sucked. I don't think your friends want you to fall asleep at the wheel. I think they want to help in the drive. Maybe stop for McDonald's along the way or something. I think they want you to be the driver at times for them too."

Rachel suddenly laughed, shaking her head.

Brittany usually perceives laughter as good, but when words come out of her mouth and people laugh, it's not usually the positive type of laughter, in her experience.

She pouts insecurely. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"What you just said was completely nonsensical"—Brittany imperceptibly winced—"yet so enlightening in the most round-about way. I will honest, it might take me a while to completely process this through and decode the metaphor, but I think I received the overall message."

Brittany allowed a small smile to bloom on her lips.

"I thank you for your time," Rachel told Brittany, standing up and patting her skirt free of grass. "I appreciated your words. They were so simple, yet so illuminative."

"Any time," Brittany reassured, back to her bubbly self. "Well… maybe not from 5 to 7, that's when I go hunting for food."

Rachel chuckled.

Brittany stared blankly.

Rachel stopped chuckling. Dear Barbra, was she serious?

"Well, ehem, I should be heading back now," Rachel said softly, sounding somewhat apologetic. "My work hours are about to go into effect and, unfortunately, I have no animate replica to take my shift for me, so I must retire to carry out my job duties."

"Roger," Brittany replied chirpily.

Rachel smiles at the blonde's understanding nature. She found herself at a loss of how to part with her. They just engaged in a rather intimate exchange, so should she just shake her hand? Hug her? Pet her? Sing a farewell song?

She figured she might as well stick to convention

Rachel extended her hand out and Brittany grasped it amicably as they firmly shook their clasped hands.

"It was a pleasure speaking with you, Brittany," Rachel voiced, sounding unnaturally formal after the previous exchange. "I hope life paves a way for our paths—well, maybe, our tunnels—to cross again in the future. I would be delighted to make your acquaintance once again should I be allowed the opportunity."

Brittany sensed the formality and decided to go along with the mood. She could feel through the bodily contact that Rachel seemed somewhat reluctant about... something.

"Clockwise," she replied in her best uppity voice.

Rachel tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow.

"Oh, I butchered it, sorry," Brittany laughed. "I meant"—she straightened up and attempted to look aloof—"Likewise."

Rachel grinned. A curious individual indeed.

The two waved good-bye and Rachel walked away as she made her way back to Katharsis.

She took one last glance behind her and noticed Brittany scrutinizing her box. It seemed to have flattened out, and was hardly holding its cubic shape. She witnessed the blonde trying to fit herself in without it having the box crashing down on her, unsuccessfully attempting to, anyway.

The brunette bit her lip in apprehension.

She really shouldn't be feeling such compunction this profoundly. Up until today, she and that girl were strangers. Sure, they exchanged some kind words and made light chat, but that didn't bind them in any personal way. She shouldn't feel as though she was somehow obliged to do something about her situation. It really bothered her, though. She couldn't leave the girl like that.

If I were to do that, then what exactly have I learned from that run-on, long-winded, slightly redundant metaphorical comparison to life she so thoughtfully concocted to teach me a valuable lesson?

Brittany was actually just rambling whatever sensibly popped into her mind, but Rachel didn't need to know that.

She tightened her jaw, raised her head, and with determined eyes briskly strode back to where the blonde was still helplessly trying to keep the flap from smacking her on the forehead every time she went into her box.

"Ehem," she cleared her throat.

Brittany was still fixing the flap with her box.

Rachel blinked, and tried again. "Ehem."

Brittany heard the noise and rose up, but collided with the top of her box, ripping it.

Ah, the struggle…

"EHEM."

"Are you okay?" softly queried Brittany. "Do you need me to perform the Heimlich maneuver on you?"

Rachel choked, embarrassed. "Ehem." She rolled her eyes; okay, that one was totally incidental. "No, I'm fine, thank you for your concern."

Brittany sighed in relief. "Good, I didn't know how to. I didn't want to stop your heart by accident."

Rachel's eyes bulged. "It's the thought that counts."

Brittany smiled. "But you've been doing that for a while now. Something wrong?"

"Wait, you heard me the first time?"

"Yeah, I thought you were just clearing your throat waiting to say something, so I waited," Brittany explained, shrugging.

Rachel mentally banged her head on a desk.

"I was waiting for your acknowledgment before I proceeded!" Rachel whined, scrunching up her forehead.

Brittany pursed her lips in marginal affliction. Had she missed another important social cue? AGAIN? Sigh, it wouldn't be the first time…

"Sorry," the blonde muttered, shame tinting her tone.

Rachel glanced up at the downtrodden girl.

Splendid. I come here to offer the girl a helping hand and all I do is further trample on her. Just splendid, Rachel thought to herself, shaking her head and sardonically congratulating herself on her tact.

"Please do not apologize," Rachel said tenderly. "It was just a passing remark."

Brittany lifted her head, engaged visually with Rachel, and released a tiny smile. "Okay."

Rachel once again felt the determination coursing through her veins. "Well, I suppose you are waiting for me to divulge my reasons for having returned, and particularly after such short period has elapsed following my departure. I have what one would call a proposal for you."

"Wow, I'm flattered, but I think I'm too young for that kind of commitment."

Rachel's eyes popped out of their sockets.

She tried to form sentences out of her currently non-conforming tongue and only ended up sputtering pitifully.

"Th-this is not a proposal! I mean, yes, it technically is, if we analyze the meaning of the word semantically, but that is not the point! What I mean to say was I have a, um, proposition for you! Yes, that's the word, how could it have slipped me! Not marriage. Proposition. As in suggestion."

"Phew, I'm glad to hear that 'cause, while I think you're totally hot, I think we should set up a date and get to know each other fi—"

"I HAVE NO ROMANTIC ULTERIOR MOTIVES!" Rachel yelped, flustered and holding a palm up to indicate "please stop right there, ma'am, seriously treading into some awkward territory."

Brittany simply shrugged and mumbled, "Okay."

"Good."

"But for the record, can I say I broke up with you?"

"WE WERE NEVER TOGETHER!"

Brittany stuck her tongue by the side of her cheek, rolling her eyes upwards as she dealt dismissively.

Rachel almost laughed. It was really hard to tell if this girl was being serious or just goofy.

"Anyhow, back to what I was saying," Rachel continued, settling down. "I noticed that you were having some trouble with your humble abode"—she flicked her palm at the pathetic box—"Considering what just occurred, the unfortunate tear of your cardboard residence, I felt that you might need a new place to"—Rachel stopped, rethinking her approach—"I thought you might a distraction. The place I happen to work at is incredibly welcoming. It will help you cope with the sorrow of the loss of your home and clear your mind. So, that way, when you return, you may rethink your next steps more lucidly."

Brittany's face look grief-stricken. "Y-you're right… it was short-lived, but I think I need the right amount of time to mourn my house. I never thought it would go out like this. Why do I hurt the things I love?"

Rachel patted the girl on her back sympathetically. "It is but another phase of life. Do come join me. I'll make sure you leave your troubles behind."

Brittany sniffed, "Thanks, but I don't want you to be a rebound. You deserve better."

"We're not talking a relationship!" Rachel squeaked, once again embarrassed.

Brittany's hid her face and her shoulders shook.

Rachel blew out a breath of amused frustration. Seriously, is she laughing or crying?

"So… I work at this night club," Rachel phrased, trying to look as dignified as possible. "Would you like to come…maybe?"

Brittany's shoulders continued to quake. "You need… to get… better lines."

"I'M NOT CHATTING YOU UP!" Rachel cried.

Brittany's face reemerged from the small barrier her forearm bordered before her eyes. She looked completely blank.

"Someone said that to me just the other day," Brittany uttered pensively. "Wow. I really need to get out more. Let's go!"

Rachel was suddenly pulled by the sleeve of her long shirt and dragged out of the park.

Brittany stopped and immediately released her. "Wait, I don't know where we're going."

"Please, follow my lead," Rachel said smoothly, stepping right past Brittany and confidently guiding the way.

"We're going to dance?" Brittany questioned.

Rachel's shoulders scrunched up. This girl. So peculiar. Thank God (Rachel supposed He wasn't so mad at her if He allowed such an interesting person to walk into her life) they for looking at the sides.

"By the way, you should trust me on the diet thing, no lie," Brittany said after a while. "Maybe you should become, like, vegetarian or something. I became one three days ago 'cause the stores wouldn't give me meat. Plants are cheaper."

"I'm already vegan, " Rachel said. "I'm afraid I can't be vegetarian."

Brittany tugged Rachel back and, with a dazzling, amiable smile, said, "Rachel, you can be whatever you want to be!"

Huh.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Puck was sliding his fingertips in a controlled and repeated circular motion as he played around with different mixes to his recorded music.

There were some people at Katharsis already, sitting down in the tame restaurant area, being catered to by some of the waiters and waitresses. The establishment didn't become a melting sexpot until much later in the evening, when the comely customers egressed and the swankier ones emerged.

It was getting to be that time and there was no still sign of Rachel Berry.

Puck scratched the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't occupied with the disk.

He was supposed to be on the lookout for the diva, but at this point no one knew where she was. She had just stormed off, with no clear indication of direction.

At this pace, the show would have to go on without her, but that would precipitate some awkward choreography improvisation and song line fillers in part of the rest of the performing girls.

He was confident that Rachel wouldn't endanger her career by missing any shows that could help her develop further as a professional (her words, not his), but as the clock neared warm-up time, he was becoming impatient.

Suddenly, the doors abruptly swung open clanged at the rubber doorstoppers at the sides.

"Never fear, Rachel Berry's here!" the short brunette called out to the main, large chamber.

The clang still reverberated throughout the room and Puck, even with his headphones on, winced in pain.

It was a combination of both her screeching voice and the loudness of the door, really.

Despite the pain, he smirked.

"Well, if it isn't my Broadway Babe," Puck noted sleazily. "Thought you wouldn't show for a sec there."

"Noah, while a reasonable concern, I still find your lack of faith in my person quite insulting!" cried Rachel, offended. "I would never miss a show!"

"Glad to hear it; wouldn't wanna miss those legs even for a night," Puck remarked, shamelessly leering at his co-worker. "You might wanna tone down on the entrance next time, though. You're starting to look like Kurt, except with more BOOM than POOF."

Rachel huffed, though was inwardly somewhat flattered. "I believe that, in order to make an impact, I need to learn to carry myself with the quality of grandeur that in the future my very successful self will need to become accustomed to, and that also includes they way in which I make my entra—"

"Whoa, Brand Barbie, and who might you be?" Puck interrupted with a husk and no trace of contrition.

Rachel instantly closed her mouth and glanced at her companion. She turned back to Puck with a radiant smile.

"Noah, I would like you to meet Brittany, a very recent acquaintance of mine whom I have decidedly struck a budding friendship with," Rachel introduced, gently nudging the girl forward. "Brittany, this is Noah, my co-worker, friend, and—"

"—occasional bedmate," Puck finished smoothly.

Rachel cleared her throat. "I was going to say adulating fanboy, but after that comment, I will be sure to prevent manufacturers under my jurisdiction to sell you posters, body pillows, or any items that contain my visual when I become globally famous. I fear for their potential debauchment."

"Nice to meet 'cha, Noah!" Brittany piped up, taking Puck's limp hand from his side and shaking it with a friendly squeeze.

"Call me Puck, Gorgeous Gold," Puck requested with a sensual gruff.

"Is your throat okay?" Brittany asked. "Do you need me to perform the Heimlich—?"

"OKAY, now that proper introductions have been made, let's head backstage so that we may finish getting ready, how does that sound?" Rachel squeaked out hastily, grabbing both of her friends' hands and pulling them as she guides them rapidly to the appropriate destination.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Rachel strutted through the back hallway with purpose, with Brittany and Puck trailing behind her.

"Are you new here, babe?" Puck asked suavely, wiggling his eyebrows. "'Cause if so, you might wanna meet my friends, Boulder and Dash."

He flexed his muscles in Brittany's direction as he walked.

Brittany beamed at him. "Nice to meet you two! Here, lemme introduce you to mine, meet flipper and pecker!"

She extended her middle and index finger.

Puck's expression caved. It need not be said which one came first.

"Together, I call them bunny bonanza!" Brittany elaborated eagerly, wagging her digits.

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to drag their puny ass back just in time for the show," a sultry voice drawled out in a malicious tease.

Rachel harrumphed as soon as she stopped in front of the source.

"Are you going to go off on us like a petulant brat again—"

"No, no, really, the bunny shadow looks more like this."

"Babez, I'm sorry, but my fingers just don't twist like that nohow! They're good for… other things, though, you feel me?"

"—Sphene?"

There was something very imminently dark about the way Santana had called her stage name, and it was not just the bold typeface.

The Latina fiercely arched an eyebrow and flicked a smolderingly questioning glance at a particular member of the duo closing in behind Rachel.

She quickly got the hint.

"San—Sapphire! How presumptuous of you! I will have you know that my posterior is in no way minute and that I had each and every intention to timely make my appearance before the show, as if I could ever miss one!" she defended with an indignant pout.

"Who's your posse?" she inquired indifferently, upwardly nodding with her chin towards the two that grew closer in distance.

They stopped right at her sides, and sparks of recognition ignited.

"Whatever could you mean? You are acquainted with Noah, evidently," Rachel said, gesturing in direction of the devilish boy. "As for the lovely femme on my left, I am sure introductions have yet to be made. Brittany, I would like you to meet—"

"SAPPHIRE!"

The blonde dashed past the short brunette and collided in an embrace with the taller one.

"—Sapphire, whom it appears you are already familiar with. Well, then, Sapphire, allow me to make proper introduction of—"

"BRITTANY, or whatever the hell your real name is, Get. The. Freak. Off. Me," Santana grunted through gritted teeth and poorly veiled distaste, pushing the girl roughly away with both hands.

Puck caught Brittany before she completely lost her balance and fell backwards.

"Whoa, easy on the chest there, Amazon," Puck subtly chastised Santana as he securely gripped a still disoriented Brittany.

"—Brittany, whom it appears you are also acquainted with, and apparently also hold a personal vendetta against. Are Noah and I not privy to some vital information regarding any previous engagement between you two here?"

Santana huffed, folding her arms in irritation. "Spare me the interrogation, gasbag gnome, there's nothing to tell. I came out remind you we only have about 15 minutes before we go on, and heavens know you need to prim up if you hope to get game on this turf, looking like the disheveled dwarf you do right now."

"Dishing out two insults in one sentence?" Puck asked after an appraising whistle. "What's got your panties in a twist, Fire?"

"Oh, now you're 'probing' around?" Santana sneered. "I gotta 'hand' it to you, I'm surprised."

"While I appreciate a good dick joke, I don't think we got time for our little repartee, Sizzle," Puck replied with a smirk. "Now, start talking, tit-tok, tit-tok, tit-tok."

Santana grinned devilishly. "Touché."

"I heard a boob joke," Mercedes said, suddenly materializing from who-knows-where.

"Yeah, me too, what's going on?" Kurt suddenly poofed in.

"Am I missing something?" Artie queried, rolling up the hallway.

"Hold on, wha'chall doing in the hallway?" Unique piped up right after Artie.

"I followed after Unique," puffed out Marley as she tried to regain her bearing following her quick jog. "Is everything okay?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Great, half our regular staff is here, all we need is Sam showing up!"

"Did someone call me?"

Everyone groaned.

"Well, nice to see you, too, guys!" Sam offered, insulted.

"Lips, what are you even doing here?" Santana called out. "You're supposed to be keeping post at the bar!"

"Nah, it's cool, Puck's got it covered," Sam reassured dismissively.

"Dude, I'm right here," Puck said.

"… Aw, man, you gotta drop the Mohawk, it's getting really hard to tell you apart from the other dudes at the bar!" Sam whined.

"Shut up, bitches!" a voice suddenly echoed out.

"Becky!" chided Rachel. "As we have all previously expressed in collective disapproval, we do not appreciate being called any type of vulgar expletive!"

"You did?" Becky questioned incredulously.

"Collective?" everybody else chirped.

"D-didn't you receive my formal statement of disapproval? I wrote it on behalf of all of us…"

Becky shook her head.

Everybody else shrugged.

"I-I placed it in the suggestion box."

Mercedes snorted. "Girl, ain't nobody listen to the haters."

Rachel gasped indignantly. "I will have you know that suggestions do not necessarily carry negative connotations—!"

"Be quiet!" Becky shouted, and everybody else cringed at the sheer sound of her voice.

"Chief has something to say," Becky later added, revealing the laptop she keeps hidden in the large pocket of her chef apron and pulling it out.

Everyone gulped, except for Brittany, as they waited for the screen to turn on.

Suddenly, the screen flickered to life and a tightly aged face came into view, completely blocking out anything that could be shown on the background.

"Hmm, well, what have we here…" the figure in the monitor said right after clucking her tongue. "If it isn't my favorite subservient group of miscreants lounging about the intestinally narrow hallways and rolling over their own lethargic filth. Thank you for bringing me to them, Becky."

"No problem, Chief," Becky uttered.

Everyone remained quiet.

"Now, I'm beginning to wonder, what are you all plotting blocking my imposingly intimidating hallways like the stagnantly hardened mucus of a congested low-life organism with a sinus infection?"

That was a rhetorical question.

Right?

Wasn't it?

Everyone began whispering amongst themselves, wondering if they were supposed to answer or not.

"SHUT YOUR JAWS!"

A hush veiled the length of the hallway.

"Now that I have garnered the attention of all your facial cavities, will someone grow the genitalia necessary to properly respond to my earlier posed query?"

Everyone remained silent, exchanging wary glances amongst each other.

Sue raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Um."

Everyone turned towards the source of the uncertain voice.

"Hiya, Chief, sir—err—ma'am!" Brittany amended, stepping tentatively forward.

"Hmm, well I'll be phenomenally blessed and strike it opulently rich at a casino in Las Vegas, who the creep are you?"

"I'm Brittany S. Pierce!"

"Becky," the Chief sternly called, closing her eyes in mild exasperation.

"Got it, Chief," Becky complied, immediately reaching into her pocket and pulling out a fly swatter.

She smacked Brittany on the side with said fly swatter.

"OW!"

"Now, let me ask you again, Who. The. Creep. Are. You. Really?" the Chief once again questioned, leaning back away from the screen, and making the rest of her vicinity visible. She was at an office of sorts. "I don't remember hiring a golden maned flamingo for my performances. Why are you creeping around here? Are you a spy from Caesura? FIRMLY STATE YOUR INTENTIONS LEST I'M FORCED TO SWAT YOU AGAIN."

"Eeeep, I'm totally innocent!" Brittany squeaked, raising her hands up in surrender.

"Ch-Chief Sylvester! ! !" Rachel yelped out, stepping before Brittany and into the Chief's line of vision. "I-if I may!"

"You have 20 seconds to speak, Statuette," the Chief intoned. "Becky."

"Timing it, Chief," Becky assured. "20…. 19…. 18…"

Rachel jumped and hastily began. "It was me! I brought Brittany here. Or, actually, perhaps in a more profound sense, it might have been her that actually urged me to return. She was incredibly kind to me during my hour of internal conflict and, a-as she hand nowhere else to go, I-I brought her with me. She currently finds herself destitute, desolate, and derelict. I couldn't have possibly left her to—!"

"Time's up," Becky said.

Rachel inwardly slumped.

"I see, so you brought a trailer park bubba into the premises, is what I have gathered from your heartfelt rambling?"

"I'm not really coming from a trailer park, though," Brittany said, pursing her lips in confusion.

"S-she was living in a Home Depot box," Rachel supplied. "Until tonight, when it was accidentally ripped apart."

Brittany rubbed her temples, recalling the devastating tragedy.

Everyone was silent while the Chief rubbed her chin thoughtfully, appraising the blonde standing next to the short brunette.

"I see… and for what purpose did you bring this waif to my humble domain?"

"I… I was hoping for her to be able to entertain herself at the club and forget the loss of her home?"

"Why does your intonation sound like a question?"

"Because… I… had ulterior motives," Rachel relented, looking down to the floor and sighing.

"Explain your covert scheme," the Chief encouraged tersely.

"There was, quite honestly, no malicious 'scheming,' per say," Rachel began. "Only a general hope that maybe my new acquaintance would be permitted to stay a couple of days? Until she found a new home?"

"Spears, any commentary?" the Chief demanded, turning to the blonde.

"It's actually just 'Pierce'—"

"Other commentary?"

"Well, I didn't know she wanted me to stay here," replied the blonde, shrugging. "I thought I told her it was too early to start moving in together…"

"NOT MY INTENTIONS BY A LONG SHOT!" Rachel interjected, embarrassed, clearing her throat.

The Chief deliberated her decision as she raked her eyes over the entire lot at the hallway.

"Gangly Limbs, do you have a job?" the Chief questioned.

Brittany saw that she was looking at her, and thus the question was directed at her.

"Nope."

"A house?"

"Nope."

"A pet?"

"… Not anymore," Brittany whimpered.

"A spouse who turned out to be a terrorist and thus secretly filed divorce while taking custody your illegitimate child and abandoning you to rot in the streets of Zenith while he went out to look for a more promiscuous mistress in the far, war-stricken lands of the Middle East?"

"Hmmm…"

Everyone's eyes popped out.

"Nope, last time I checked."

"Are you an illegal Irish immigrant?"

"No."

"Do you have a degree?"

"No."

"Do you have any skills whatsoever?"

"… Yes."

"Excellent, welcome to your new residence," the Chief welcomed sternly with finality to her voice.

"Sweet," Brittany said, smiling.

"YES!" cheered Rachel.

"PERO QUE DEMONIOS? OKAY, NO, HOLD ON. WHAT! ?"

Santana looked absolutely boggled.

As was everyone else.

"Listen here, Sue, you're not seriously letting this… this… bizarre mess of a stranger actually stay here, are you?" Santana questioned with indignation.

"Are your emergency inflatable breasts preventing the sound waves emanating from my vocal chords from reaching your ears?" Sue questioned. "I believe they are, because for one, your cosmetically chiseled heinie dared to call me Sue when it is in your contract that you are obliged to call me Chief, and two, you actually had the nads to question me. Does your impertinence know no legal bounds?"

Santana reddened with barely contained animosity. "Not at all, Chief, I was just trying to have you possibly… reconsider… the decision you've made."

"Are you implying that I have made a mistake?" the Chief challenged. "Sue Sylvester makes no mistakes; therefore, Sue Sylvester does not 'reconsider' after she has reached a decision."

"But, Sue, you don't understand—!"

"Becky."

Becky smacked Santana on the side with the fly swatter.

"SHIT!"

Brittany's eyebrows dipped sympathetically, wanting to reach out. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Santana took her words the wrong way and shot a wilting glare at the blonde.

"I'm really not talking to you right now," Santana muttered out, seething.

"Thank you very much, Chief Sylvester!" Rachel said with appreciation. "I'm really thankful you allowed Brittany to stay; we'll all make sure to take care of her!"

The present staff glanced at one another. Seriously, does nobody want their input?

"Now, Collectibles, don't get too excited," Sue droned out. "I never said it was a permanent extension of hospitality."

Santana quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

Rachel's smile dropped.

Everyone else continued their act as spectators and blending into the background like pro's.

"Gangly Limbs, if you are to reside under my tutelage for this temporary period, you are to find a job during your stay," Sue dictated. "Once you have managed to seize some type of work, you will promptly leave this establishment and go find your own apartment. A portion of your first paycheck will go to me as repayment for letting you remain here for however long it takes for you to get a job."

Brittany nodded with determination. "Understood."

"If you can't hold down or never manage to snatch a job, you will be put to use," Sue declared with intensity. "Are we clear?"

"As Windex," Brittany replied.

"Spectacular," muttered Sue. "Becky, take me back to my office."

"You're already there, Chief," Becky replied, confused.

"No, Becky, take Laptop Me back to the office, please," Sue corrected.

"Thank you very much once again, Chief Sylvester," Rachel politely said.

"Thanks so much!" Brittany echoed.

"Wait just a sec, Sue," Santana said.

The laptop was turned to face her. Sue quirked an eyebrow threateningly.

"Chief Sue," Santana murmured out, rolling her eyes. "Where is she even going to stay? There's only one residence room and that's…"

She fiercely tried to communicate her angry discomfort through her eyes.

"You're right," Sue said in monotone. "However could it have slipped me by."

Santana sighed.

"Congratulations, you got yourself a roommate."

Santana's eyes bulged out. "Bend me over and screw me sideways on a park bench, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"By the look of inconsolable desperation and disbelief marring your features, I believe I have already figuratively 'screwed' you," Sue finished, looking disinterested. "Gangly Limbs, Sandbags here will show you around and help you get settled. Did you bring any baggage—emotional or otherwise?"

"Well, I am kind of sad that my cat—"

"Tell it to Sandbags, I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear it," Sue said.

"Sue!" Santana cried out.

"Becky."

Becky closed the laptop. "Talk to the hardware."

Santana palmed her face in frustration.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as they watched Becky walk briskly away.

"So…" Puck began. "Welcome to my harem, Blonde Sensation!"

"Ehem, I hope 'I' have been included in that harem?" Unique piped up, glancing at Puck meaningfully.

"Erm… all the ladies are!" Puck reassured.

"Not out of our own volition, though," Marley murmured quietly.

"Brittany, right?" Mercedes boomed out heartily. "Cool to have ya here! Even though you don't work here, I think we'll be seeing you around enough to consider you family. Nice to meet'cha, I'm Mercedes. Stage name: Trixy."

"Hi, I'm Marley!" the seemingly younger-looking girl softly introduced herself. "Stage name: Kiki."

"Well, you I think you probably already heard, but my name's Unique; though out there they call me Sparkz," the cross-dressing boy said amicably.

"Hey, I'm Artie!" the boy in the wheelchair chirped up.

Brittny stared at him intently.

"Um…. Boys don't get stage names here," he supplied.

"Oh, okay," Brittany chuckled, clearly having waited for his cool nickname.

The shorter, pristine-looking boy was the next to approach, although additionally extending a hand in acquaintance. "How do you do? I'm Kurt."

Brittany shook his hand. Kurt added an extra hand and squeezed, making the handshake far friendlier and warm.

"I like your bracelet, by the way," he commented with a radiant smile.

"What bracelet?" Brittany questioned curiously. She looked down at her wrist and found a delicate flower-patterned bracelet. "Wow! I don't remember ever getting one of these! You're, like, magic!"

Kurt took a bow.

"Kurt over here can be a pesky pick pocket trickster, but he can also lay items on you if you're not paying attention," Sam explained with a grin. "Once I woke up with a mustache. I thought I'd hit puberty… but I guess I didn't…"

"Sam, dude, that wasn't magic, that was a prank," Artie said.

"Oh," he said obliviously. "Well, that wasn't very nice, you guys!"

He bristled good-naturedly, and then turned to Brittany.

"So… hey," the blond charmer greeted amiable, widely grinning. "I guess you didn't come back to pay the bill?"

Brittany tilted her head over in perplexity until her eyes widened in realization. "OH! I'm so so so so so sorry! I didn't mean to leave all those drinks!"

Sam laughed. "It's okay! I had enough tips that night so as not to upset the establishment income."

Brittany pouted and her lip trembled. "B-but those were your earnings! I can't believe I did that…"

"I said not to worry! I make enough every night," Sam reassured, placating the girl. "That one time is not going to mess me up."

Brittany still looked regretful.

"Um…" Sam wracked his brain for something else to say that would comfort his new friend. "Maybe… if you want… you can pay me back later? Like, after you get a job and stuff?"

Brittany brightened up. "Absolutely!"

"Wait, you guys know each other?" Puck questioned, lifting up both eyebrows. "Dude, like, even if you met her first, I still call dibs."

"Dibs? Like, the ice cream?" Sam asked.

"No one will be staking a claim on anyone tonight," Rachel calmly informed.

Brittany shrugged. "Rachel, I never pegged you for the jealous girlfriend type…?"

Rachel groaned. "For the last time, I HAVE NO ROMANTIC ULTERIOR MOTIVES!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "This is such waste of time. The 15 minutes are almost up! We gotta get on stage already! Move it, ninnies, your feet are stuck in the hallway like a freaking anchor."

"Santana, some of us aren't going on stage, you can't tell us what—"

"Zip it, milksop," Santana interrupted, bending her fingers in a zipping motion.

Kurt gaped indignantly and walked off.

"Wait, your bracelet!" Brittany called out.

"Keep it," Kurt shouted from the end of the hallway. "Consider it a gift!"

Sam stared after him and then turned back to Brittany. "Um… I gotta go see what's up with him. I'll see you around, yeah?"

Brittany nodded with a smile.

Puck added, "And I gotta go cover his shift since some random doppelganger took the post for me, apparently."

Brittany pursed her lips in sympathy.

"Later, babe!"

Artie said, "And 'I' have to go after Puck 'cause he knows nothing about bartending. See ya, Brittany!"

"Bye!"

Unique and Marley scurried over to Brittany. "I hope you like our performance! It's going to be off the hook!"

"I'll be sure to watch!"

The pair left giggling.

Mercedes approached the waving blonde and appraised her. "Well, I hope to see you out there." She glanced to the left and right of the hallway. Santana and Rachel were talking to each other. "Look, girl, just…. Good luck."

She shook her head and chuckled lightly.

Brittany blinked in slight confusion. She wasn't able to pinpoint the expression on the girl's face. "Thanks? Shouldn't I be saying that, since you're about to go on stage?"

Mercedes laughed again. "Yeah, yeah, you know what? You're right. Ha ha ha, yeah. But, still, just keep it in mind!"

"Got'cha," Brittany assured, beaming. "Break a leg!"

Mercedes hurried down the stairs.

"But not really!" Brittany added, just in case. She didn't want the girl to actually think she wanted her to get injured on stage.

Santana ambled over to the girl and wrapped her hand on her shoulder blade. "She knows what you mean," she said, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah? I just wanted to be sure…" Brittany trailed off.

Santana narrowed her eyes at her. "Are you gonna finish that thought?"

"Well, no, not really," Brittany replied. "Don't you have to go out there, too? Do you want my 'good luck' wishes too?"

"I want you in my good graces, but seeing how the only way you can accomplish that is by bouncing your ass out of this place, I don't see how that's going to happen," Santana said with an exasperated sigh.

Brittany shrugged, somewhat bashfully. "I don't think I can bounce on my butt. I tried to do it when I was a kid and stepped down the stairs with my butt cheeks but my mom told me I'd end up with a hernia."

Santana stared blankly.

"O-or my butt would end up so bruised they would have to remove it," Brittany continued. "And waiting for a butt transplant takes forever."

Santana stared blankly.

"And most of them wouldn't match my skin tone or body size," Brittany supplied. "Six-year-old white butts aren't very common."

Santana stared blankly.

"Life with no butt is no fun," she finished shyly.

Santana stared blankly.

She opened her mouth to say something, but just as quickly closed it.

She looked pointedly at Rachel and then back at Brittany.

She then resignedly hung her head and shook it in incredulity.

"Look, just… just… stay out of my way and wait somewhere in the club 'till I come fetch you after the show, you get me?" Santana finally settled, staring moodily at the blonde.

"Roger," Brittany said, nodding and smiling in the Latina's direction. "Good graces!"

Santana shook her head more vehemently and sharply turned to walk the other way, muttering rather loudly, "Good Gracious, THIS. IS. INSANE!"

Rachel stepped closer to the blonde, staring after Santana looking contemplative.

She suddenly broke into a megawatt smile.

"She didn't commit defenestration against you!" Rachel celebrated gleefully. "I think we're off to a great start!"

---

Hey, guys! I hope the chapter was worth the wait. I realize the chapter was Berry centric on Rachel (#badpuns), but I assure you, the next chapter will contain more of our favorite couple!

I apologize if you feel the development of the main characters' relationships to be slow-paced, but I like to really allow a romantic connection to progress in a realistic sense. I will make it worth your while! The love will unfold~!

Anyway, did you notice that now fanfiction allows you to add up to four centric characters on a story? Check out which other two lovely characters will be a main part of this story, if it isn't obvious already!

On a sad note, I am sure the entire glee fandom has been struck by the wave of grief that was the news of Cory Monteith's passing. I was a bit hesitant about posting so soon after his death, but I decided to go ahead and update this story. Hopefully, the content will help you temporarily cope with these sad news.

I had some plans for Finn in this story, but I am now questioning whether or not to include him. It just feels strange to do so. I'm not sure if to honor his memory by writing him in, or just refraining from adding him to the story altogether, but then come off as insensitive for doing so. Right now, I am somewhat vacillating, but I will have reached a decision by the next update.

What do you guys think?

Thank you for reading!