Revenge is a dish best served as humble pie.
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Rating: T for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters-no copyright infringement intended.
Still a shorter chapter but I promise they will get longer. The next chapters will involve the entire cast and have a lot more dialogue. These first two chapters set up the dynamic between Rachel and Quinn and their perceptions of one another. This story is obviously a little AU. I will try to stick with the authenticity and personality of the characters if not the story line of the episodes.
Chapter II. The Smell of Success
In all the years of harassment and degradation that Santana perpetrated upon Rachel she had never harmed her physically. Which was quite remarkable upon reflection; the feisty Latina had, on numerous occasions, assaulted other students that she tolerated a lot more than Rachel Berry.
Currently, the Very Berry Blue Santana Lopez was speaking in tongues while fighting the restraining arms of Quinn and Brittany in a mad attempt to strangle the tiny diva, who was just now coming down from the high of laughing herself into hyperventilating.
Rachel ended up on the floor, slumped against her locker gazing up into the golden, hazel eyed glare of Quinn Fabray. No one dared to look the Head Cheerio directly in the eye for fear of turning into stone. Like Medusa her gaze was laced with heady dark magic that could freeze the ignorant souls of unwary trespassers.
Rachel wasn't scared. She had never been afraid of Quinn. Disappointed by her on numerous occasions, hurt and humiliated countless times but never frightened by the mercurial girl.
Now that Quinn was all Yellow, the green that usually dominated her hazel orbs seemed lost within two golden pools. Little emerald specks were swimming and swirling wildly, intent on shattering the new restrictive boundary. The effect was so intense and new that Rachel almost turned away. Almost. Unlike the mass of spineless cowards at McKinley High she had always looked directly at Quinn.
Her fathers had taught her it was impolite not to make eye contact when another person was speaking to you. Even if, said person was insulting and abusive; Rachel never backed down. It had always been Quinn who shrugged and turned away from their encounters. After taunting her with disparaging nicknames or slinging slushies at Rachel, she would laugh overly loud - all the while trying to intimidate with the intensity of that Medusa like glare.
Rachel would cry sometimes. She really couldn't control that reaction her body had to the shock of ice cold corn syrup being slung in her face. It hurt. Also, most of the insults were inane but the intent behind them was malicious. That hurt too. The very idea that someone who really didn't know her was intent upon hurting her.
Why? Because she was different than most of the other teenagers in the school? Because she was talented? Because she had two dads? Because she was smart? Because she wouldn't flip the switch to "off" on her inner starshine ? All that hatred and cruelty because she would not humble herself and grovel so they could feel more comfortable?
But, even with a river of tears streaming down her cheeks, Rachel refused to look away from her tormentor. Quinn would shrug her shoulders indifferently, as if to say, "whatever" snort derisively and walk away. Rachel always felt a little triumph underneath the pain. Somehow, she always felt like she had won something and the Cheerio had lost.
She grappled with Santana from behind, her Lemony arms encircled the girl across her chest trapping the flailing limbs and hands while Britt snugged her fuming girlfriend around the waist. Quinn was calm and certain, that golden unflinching gaze latched onto Rachel's doe eyed innocence. Like a wolf that had its prey by the throat and would never let go until it felt the last wavering heartbeat of the beast it clasped between its tireless jaws.
Whoa! Rachel suddenly felt a little nauseous. She had to stop imagining people as fluffy harmless animals in an effort to like them better. Quinn Fabray had just become a ruthless rabid wolf.
Rachel refused to look away, even if, for the first time ever; that stony glare had made her flinch. No. NO NOOOOO. Quinn Fabray was a bitch and deserved to be all Yellow. She did not feel guilty or less because she had done a little something to fight back. Surprisingly, Quinn hadn't mouthed an accusation yet, and even if she had; there wasn't any proof. Rachel had been meticulous and left no traces behind. She would continue with her plan.
The tiny diva stood up on wobbly feet as the first bell rang its warning. She straightened her favorite butterfly sweater, pulled up her knee highs and smoothed the creases of her plaid mini skirt. Pushing a lock of silky dark hair behind one ear she glanced back at the Trio of Cheerios and offered up a piece of advice.
"During extensive research on various subjects in an effort to round out my education at the request of my Dad and Daddy... they want to be certain that I am well prepared to meet the world with a depth and breath of knowledge that goes beyond the scope of preparation for my future stardom...-"
"BERRY!" Santana screeched, she had seemed to regain her composure and was now only being held on either bicep respectively by Quinn and Brittany.
Rachel bobbed her head at the Latina, understanding she should make her point and make it fast, but found it somewhat fascinating that Santana's face looked more Purple now than Blue. She surmised it must be the flush of Red rage blending with the Blue pigment on her skin that combined together nicely to acquire that particular shade of Deep Violet.
" Ah... yes, as I was saying... I read that a vinegar rinse will help to strip away the effects of certain dyes."
And with that said, Rachel turned on the heel of her penny loafer and sauntered down the hall with a hop in her step. They didn't see the mischievous grin nor the devilish glint in her eyes as she hurried off to be on time for homeroom.
The three Cheerleaders were left behind to ponder what the tiny diva had said. Santana was wondering how many gallons of vinegar she would need to bully Puck into stealing for her.
Brittany wondered why Rachel had lied. She could always tell when someone was lying and especially now because Rachel never, ever lied. But she didn't know which part was the lie. The part about her Dad and Daddy wanting her to do something boring? Or the part about her perception scope? Or the part about stripping with Vinny Rinse? Who was Vinny Rinse?
Quinn didn't wonder about the truth of Rachel's words, nor did she consider a vinegar rinse. She wouldn't try to wash the dye off. As a matter of pride she would endure her just punishment. A punishment she thought was long overdue and rather tame considering the vileness of her own behavior toward that brilliant, beautiful and insufferable girl. Quinn also knew that vinegar was used as a final fix to brighten the color and hold the dye fast.
She snorted out a laugh and shook her head ruefully. Oh My God. Rachel Berry was a force of nature that had been nudged, and pushed, teased and bullied to the point of imminent destruction. That force had been unleashed and now the whole of McKinley high was going to suffer the consequences. Rachel never did anything half way. Whatever she put her focus on became an obsession that captured every ounce of the tiny diva's energy and attention. Whatever she was up to had only just begun and Quinn was certain it would be expertly choreographed and flawlessly performed.
Essence of Skunk
Essence of Skunk. Rachel laughed maniacally upon finding the perfect olfactory stimulator. Which, she discovered, could actually be purchased on ebay. After much deliberation as to which technique would be applied to which group of subjects, Rachel decided that a visual display would be much more appropriate and effective for the Cheerios. Whereas, the " StinK Factor " would not only make the boys repulsive to the school as a whole, it would also interfere with their performance on the field.
The preparations for Act I, Scene II: " The Smell of Success" were almost complete. Wearing protective glasses and a nose plug she carefully injected the tiny self-dissolving bath beads with a syringe that was filled with Essence of Skunk. One bead, carefully placed between the padded inserts of each helmet should suffice. When the helmet was placed on the players head the bead would eventually hemorrhage during the course of the game, squirting the odorous liquid into the hair and scalp of the player. Just a few drops in each tiny bead would nearly incapacitate the football players with an olfactory overload.
She had been painstakingly careful in her preparation and application of the substance. The stinky stuff was incredibly strong and could do serious damage if wrongly applied. She tested her methods multiple times and had even dosed herself to get the full effect of what the targets would experience. Nothing long lasting or harmful would occur. At most, the boys would stink for a week and be humiliated, which is what she was aiming for. A little embarrassment and discomfort was something these bullies could endure. They had certainly dished out their share of humiliation during their careers as popular jocks.
Rachel had no doubt that each player she targeted would get the full dosage. The idiots were fond of slapping each others behinds and smashing their helmets in some sort of primitive cave man ritual before the start of each game. The mutual head bashing and helmet pounding would squish the tiny fragrant bead onto their heads. And, if that failed, the sweating from exertion would cause the bead to melt while they played upon the field. Rachel hoped the latter option would occur.
The very first football game of the season had the potential to become unforgettable - even legendary. The whole of the Cheerleading squad looked like poster children for gay pride. The handmade vegetable dyes she concocted were made to stain the skin as well as color the hair. Like a tattoo ink they would hold their saturation for quite some time. Eventually, in a month or so, after much scrubbing or bleaching the dye would fade as the skin cells replaced themselves naturally. During that month the Cheerios would, hopefully, reflect upon their narcissistic obsession with appearances and become a bit more humble.
Calling people disparaging names would be rather pointless when one looked like a giant bright Orange Carrot, or a juicy Purple Plum, or a Stick of Celery. She was quite fond of the Celery color. She had been trying to create Lime green but actually favored the rather muted sickly green that tinted the hair and skin of Stephanie Hanson.
Giggling with that final thought she packed up her stinky beads, stuffed them into her backpack and went over her checklist one last time. This evenings Op would begin at three a.m. because on Friday nights her Dad and Daddy stayed up late. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day. Game Day. Wandering dreamily out of her makeshift workshop, which she converted from an unused garden shed in her backyard, Rachel launched into an old favorite song of hers.
"The sun will come out tomorrow... bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow... there'll be sun."
Tomorrow, tomorrow... I love ya tomorrow...
you're the perfect day for my Game..."
To Be Continued.
Thanks so much to those of you who left me a note of encouragement.
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