A/N: I'm sorry for this chapter being so late. In my defense, Lincoln, NE, is an empty, empty place...that I now know more of than I ever wanted to know...and even then I don't think this chapter is particularly up to snuff. So...it's late and beeppy. However...it's also likely the lastupdate you'll be getting in a while, as I enter the military tomorrow. I'll only be back on the weekends, and the next city on the tour route is... research-intensive. So...I hope you still enjoy it for what it's worth, and this is, as always, for my muse.

(Also, I promised Kinn, Klaine, and Puckurt. I now update this to possibly include Kum. Heh. Heh heh heh heh hehehehehaaahaoooooo... Possibly...and Puck only gets a headstart because he's currently the only one out of the four of them who's in the same state as Kurt, but once we get to Hollywood all bets are off.)

This Is

Puck raised his head up, blearily eying the other three participants in this mad, mad world. Situation. Whatever. He blinked, trying to make sense of the chaos and the rampant kissing and the giggling and the hiding. Not all of them were from who he would've expected, either.

"...I'm still not drunk enough for this yet."

This is...American Idol.

So from the Lone Star State, we've arrived in Star City, otherwise known as Lincoln, Nebraska.

Now, although Lincoln is primarily the sporting town of Nebraska, as can be seen from the large red N on the Memorial Stadium behind us, its live music scene has been growing over the past five years, resulting in such hit groups as Aural Intensity - brought to fame by our very own Sue Sylvester - Birds And White Lemons, with their chart-topping hit Red Curtains and of course, Endorphin, who just replaced their frontman with last season's Idol runner-up, Jesse St. James.

So, with all these independent talents springing full-grown out of Nebraska, who will we see today?

The red seats of the Memorial Stadium are first shown empty, rising high above the fields. Time speeds up as a mass of humanity floods through the gates. Quick close-ups reveal grins of anticipation and excitement, people holding up signs and pointing to each other, or to people wearing wristbands. At the gate, administrative people are busy handing signs with numbers on them to contestants, who paste them on. Some walk in, completely convinced of their singing talent, head held high, while others remain humble, only occasionally smiling at the camera. Some hum songs in warm-up, or bob their heads to music playing in iPods. Still others strum a guitar, and just like every other city, groups quickly form around the guitarists, forming little patterns in this seething, boisterous mass of humanity.

Lift that barge, tote that bale...

Now Nebraska is the Cornhusker State. It's on the name of the sports teams, the nicknames, the people itself. But whether anyone can be as successful in terms of singing - in terms of making it unique, making it big...now, that's a different question.

For once in the entire auditions circuit, the four judges aren't tired, and are actually optimistic about Lincoln's chances.

"-I fully expect to find some true talent here. In shining my shoes."

Well, everyone except Sue, of course. But by now, everyone's used to her. Or at least, they should be.

...This doesn't prevent contestants from having to flee the room in tears.

Various shots of contestants breaking down into tears. While having to flee the room.

But here's someone who looks like he could stand through one of Sue's rants. Luke Fritz, 25 years old, from Dothan, Alabama.

"Hi, everybody. I'm Luke, and I've been watchin' American Idol since I was ten. I had the chance when I was fifteen to audition for American Idol, but a bunch of my friends - who I thought were better singers than me - tried and didn't make it through. So I thought I couldn't, either. Ten years on from that, and I've grown away from that insecurity. So I'm auditioning here to prove to myself and to America that doubt is one of the things that keeps us from success."

Fine words, Luke. But can your voice match your silver tongue?

"What are you singing for us today, Luke?"

"I'll be singing Teeth, by Lady Gaga."

"Gaga, huh?" Shannon leaned back in her chair. "That's difficult to pull off."

Sandy snorted into his hand. The other three judges looked over at him. "Difficult to pull off," he gasped. "Like...her clothing. Difficult to pull off - you get it? Ha!"

As one, the other three judges' heads swung back to Luke, who looked rather frightened.

"Don't be too put off," Will said, and gave a little flourish with his hand. "Go on."

"Take a bite of my bad, boy, meat-"

"-That suddenly takes on a whole new meaning," Will muttered under his breath.

"Didn't you notice in the original song?" Shannon said, then held up a hand. "What'd you think, Will?"

Will tilted his hand back and forth. "So-so. Not bad, precisely, but not great either."

Luke's face fell.

"But...I suppose..." Will's eyes narrowed. "With a bit more training, I think you could do quite well. Yes, I think you could do quite well. So, yes from me."

"Sue?"

"No."

"Sandy?"

Uncharacteristically serious, the overweight man polished his glasses on a hankerchief he fished out of a pocket. This one was florally-patterned with a fox in the center of the cloth. "I'd advise you to choose a different song, Luke. Don't do Gaga, or any of the more recent produced music. There's very little live singing value in them; they focus mostly on easy, catchy hooks, and then production and computerised editing to make them unique. Given your voice, I'd advise you to look up some of the higher-ranged singers of the earlier 20th Century...you've got a solid quality to your tone, as well as some unique edge to the sound."

Shannon and Will gaped at him. They looked at each other. Back at him.

Sandy frowned at them.

Will flung his arms out. "Sandy! You're being serious again!" He grinned, hopefully.

"Yeah," Sandy said. "Don't expect this coherent state to last for too long."

With Luke's...lukewarm reception of his Lady Gaga performance (I'm sorry, but it had to be said), one would think that those who followed him would learn from his mistakes and not sing anything to do with Gaga.

What followed, in fact, was a Gaga parade...something that she would probably approve of.

"Rah-rah-uh-uh-uhhhhh-"

Uh...

"-I've had a little bit too much, and all the people start to ruu-u-uuu-ush-"

Hurk.

"-I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me, to write a bad romance-"

"Just dance, badda-bing-blam-badda-boom-boom-shake-da-dee-da-doo-da-ehh-ehh-ah-ha-badda-badda-blim-blam-ahhh-ooh-shaka-laka-hwee-hee-ha-ha-aaaa-a-a-a-aa-a-a-aaaa-a-a-a-ehh-ii-ohmmm-aii-dee-da-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-hey-"

Does that man have gills?

"-Let's play a love game-"

Um...

"I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me, love me, paparazzi!"

The disturbing thing about that audition was that the contestant was looking at Sue. And she approved.

Then again, what with the next line, I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise.

"-Baby there's no other Sue-perstar-"

"You know you, can't read my, can't read my, poker face-"

And thaaat one? Breathed in weird places. Worse than Sandy.

"-Won't Stop Until I Call You Mine..."

And that one? Managed to somehow put emphasis on every word so it sounded like everything was capitalized. Not in caps. Capitalized.

Beat.

I didn't even know that was humanly possible... outside of fiction!

"RAH-RAH-ROMA-MAAAAA-"

"Go home, crying to your 'mama'," Sue said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please. Do."

"What, no scathing comment, Sue?"

"Her screeching noises have momentarily corrupted my brain's faster-than-light signal to my bile-producing organs. Otherwise, I would have been puking on her quicker than you could say 'a tub of gel', pegajoso."

Aaand...a little bit of Sue - suiting, really, considering how headstrong both women are. Truly, a model for our industry today.

Shot of Sue, snoring in her chair, as contestants peer at her anxiously.

Yes, a role model indeed.

Sue, chewing with her mouth open, gaping at the most prissy of contestants, eagerly watching them fall apart.

The picture of role model inde-

"Midget," Sue said, towering over him. "Your display of sarcasm was about as pointed as the tip of Sandy's gut, which is large enough to sink the Titanic. Now, be quiet, or I shall have to make you."

Yes'm.

"Your name is beepsy."

"Tchtze, thank you. Pronounced 'Chit-tsy'. I was bullied enough in high school..." the man muttered under his breath.

"Then you should be used to it by now, beepsy. Whatever. And your name is 'William'. That's already two strikes against you in my book. I'm going to say... 'no'."

"You haven't even heard him sing yet!"

"His name is William, William. And anyone who bears that name is automatically a lockjawed pansy. Raised on beep."

"If that's the case, Sue," Shannon cut in, "Then it's all the more impressive that he's here - given that being as much of a pansy as you're implying..."

Will shot her a betrayed look.

"Mr. Tcht-Chit-Cha...William," Sandy said, taking off his glasses and leaning forward. "Relentless mocking aside, please do continue with your audition. What will you be singing today?"

"Sandy!" Will said. "You're serious again!"

"Only because the rest of you are nuts," Sandy said frankly, and cleaned his glasses with a hankerchief he fished out of his pocket. This one was water-coloured with a hint of a rainbow displayed in the middle, in all the colours of blue.

The other three judges, yes, even Sue, stared at him, bewildered. Sandy placed the glasses back on his face. "Continue," he monotoned.

"Well, um," Tchtze said, "I'll be singing 'On The Street Where You Live'."

He took a breath.

"Are there lilac trees in this part of town -"

"I'm waiting at outside the audition room with William's family, all of which bear the Shi-Chi-Tchtze name. I've been practicing saying their name." He glanced away for a second. "They proudly hail from an Eastern European country, but when asked about their name they all seem to have developed selective hearing. I suppose it was a little rude to ask them why they haven't changed their name yet."

William's mother glared at him, her prominent hawk-nose turning her glare from merely irritated to fully sinister. Ryan cringed.

The door opened.

"Well?" William's mother asked, her voice a harsh croak.

"They said..." William said, his face looking down. "Well, Sue said...that I was the beep!"

He fished out the golden ticket, and his family erupted into celebration and swarmed him.

Ryan grinned as encouraging music began to play.

Up next, more interesting names, more interesting songs, and will we find America's next Star from the Star City? Find out more...after the break.

Fade out to black screen.

"Hey, Blaine?"

The American Idol from Season 14 threw the hood up before turning to look at his main security guard. "What's up, Jeremiah?"

The tall, curly-haired man shrugged. "I was wondering if you were heading out again...without talking to me." Jeremiah fixed upon Blaine a Glare Of Doom. "I was also wondering if you were ready to be swarmed by the media."

Blaine sighed. "Yes, 'Miah, I was...and no, I guess I'm not ready. People don't really talk too much about the changes I had to make to my life, you know."

Jeremiah's eyes weren't particularly sympathetic. "Fame isn't all about fun and games, Blaine..."

"It's more about acting and dodging, I know," Blaine finished. "And sometimes hiding, depending on how much the paparazzi feel like seeking." He threw his hands up in frustration. "But it's just...I'm the first Idol in four years, if not more, that wasn't mildly famous before. Didn't have a fanbase before."

"Except for the time with the llama..."

"Except for the time with the llama. Which I thought we were never going to speak of again."

"You agreed to that. I never said anything."

"I'm your principal! Does client confidence even mean anything to you?"

"Oh yes it does...when it's not hilarious."

"There are enough graphics of me and llamas already, 'Miah."

"Heh. Heh heh heh." Jeremiah very carefully did not tell Blaine that he was...casually encouraging the graphics to flourish. It did no harm to his principal...and it was pretty hilarious to watch his face whenever he saw another picture of a llama when he talked to his fans - again. And again and again and aga- "Hey!"

"What?" Blaine asked, fidgeting in his hoodie, otherwise careless of the fact that he was two steps further away from Jeremiah pre-llama talk.

"You don't get to go anywhere. Siddown. Stay."

"I just wanted to get to a TV so I could watch this season of American Idol...see who's going to join the crowd, you know," Blaine said, unconvincingly.

At least, by the standards of his chief bodyguard, who was now barring the door. "No, Blaine," Jeremiah explained. "You're not going out to be hunted down by the media. I have a headache today."

Blaine pouted. "Isn't that a girl's excuse?"

"No, I really do have a headache, and I don't want to exacerbate it by letting you run from the media like Bambi from hunters."

"Does that make you Thumper?"

"Headache. Worsening."

Blaine cackled.

"Llamas."

Blaine shut up.

Welcome back to American Idol. It's midday, and already the fifteen-thousand-strong crowd has thinned out to a much more manageable number.

"Urrrggh."

Of course, the corollary of that is that the judges' sanity has also lowered considerably...whether that's manageable or not is entirely a different matter.

"Beep. Beep. Beep."

"SUE!"

"No, you beep-beep-beepplicker beep-face cbeeptsucking beret-wearing bunch of beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-"

Sandy casually pulled out a hankerchief to wipe the spit off his glasses. Sue was spraying it pretty unrelentlessly everywhere in the room - nowhere was safe (or dry) from her tirade.

This one was green-and-white striped with the promises of orange and yellow peeking out of the background.

It might be wise to cut away from that. The poor man having to face that was beginning to break down, I think.

He deserved to get through to Hollywood, if for his sheer endurance, if nothing else. Unfortunately, his voice was-

"-EEeeeeeEEEeeeEEee! For mEEEeEEeeeeEeEeEEEe!"

...Not exactly Hollywood material.

Lincoln is one of the quieter cities in America. Apart from the growing live music scene, it's a city where you can wander around and watch the clouds pass, listen to the western meadowlark sing, pluck the goldenrod flower...carve your initials into the trees...just generally have a laid-back time.

A little bit of a pity that the contestants can't seem to get that philosphy when it comes to rejection.

"No, you beep-beep-beepplicker beep-face cbeeptsucking beret-wearing bunch of beeeeeeeeeeeep- You listen to me, I have more talent in my pinkie finger than any of you have in your whole body. I'm so talented, I'm going to be the next American Idol, so you will retract that No and I will get a golden ticket, regardless of what you say! Give me a golden ticket! Now!"

Shots of the judge's faces. Will looks shocked. Shannon covers her eyes and slumps. Sandy's asleep. And as for Sue...

Folks, I think it's wise that we...

Sue's face darkened noticeably, and a twitch in her right eye became pronounceable. She rose to her feet and slammed one of her palms down on the table. The contestant jumped. Sue glared.

The Ride of The Valkyries, by Richard Wagner, begins to play.

Sue opened her mouth.

The music cuts off, and the Star Wars Theme begins, specificially the Emperor's Theme. With deep breathing overlaid over the top.

The contestant began ranting again, and the American Idol censoring sign appeared and reappeared on her lips more times than Jessica Simpson visits the buffet table.

Cut to Sue.

The blue oval is on her lips. It doesn't leave.

The other three judges cringed.

The music swells to a full, thunderous roar, almost painful to listen to, easily drowning out what would be said.

Will plugged his ears with his fingers as Sue raised one judging finger.

Fireworks, by Katy Perry, begins to play.

The contestant keeled over, and looking very satisfied, Sue sat back down, calmly folding her hands together. Medical orderlies rushed into the room to pick the contestant off the ground, and try to get her to uncurl from her fetal position. And possibly to get her thumb out of her mouth.

Sue smiled.

Sandy was quivering in his seat. He pulled out a hankerchief.

The camera focused on the other cameraman, who was focusing on the camera, his face white.

"I'm not, not, not," the other cameraman whispered, his voice carrying clearly, to Sue's amusement. "I can't...I can't look at Sue Sylvester right now...s'why I keep focusing on the hankerchief...it keeps me sane..."

"Hey, Ryan," the next contestant said. Ryan kneeled down so that they were on the same level. "Sue's supposed to be a vocal coach, right? So how come, in all her time on the show, you've never shown her actually teaching anyone?"

"She does help," Ryan said. "It's all behind the scenes, though. She doesn't like us filming her because it's supposedly a secret special-technique, but I'll point out that everyone she's tutored has gone very, very far. Blaine Andersen, from last season, was one of her pupils. She only helps people who she thinks deserve it...but her standards are so high that the people who she's willing to teach don't need to be taught."

"Oh," the boy said. "I see."

Ryan patted the boy's gloved hand. "She's going to like you."

"I hope so," the boy said, then took a deep breath. "Time to face the music, right?"

"Right," Ryan said.

"What's this?" Sue asked. "Another sob story we don't want to hear? We're not the Oscars, rollerskater boy, and a sob story won't get you any further if your talent's not up to scratch."

Artie took a deep breath. "I think you'll find that I've got the vox to back up my boasts."

"Oh?" Shannon said, leaning forward. "Do tell."

"I was in a boy band for a couple of years before this happened," Artie said, pointing down at his paralyzed legs. "I really miss being able to dance...but I can still sing, and do some of the moves."

"Dance? In that wheelchair? This, I've got to see," Sue said, beginning to look intrigued. "Go on."

"I wanted to know you - but karma's a trip now..."

"I'm impressed," Sue said, blinking quickly. "Do that move again. The one-wheeler."

Artie shrugged, and did it, crossing his arms over each other as the wheelchair's other rubber-rimmed wheel bounced back into position. "...You probably shouldn't have left me standing alone..."

"It's like watching one of the boy-bands from the nineties, complete with ubercorny moves," Sue said, with a not-so-subtle glance over at Will.

Will's face twisted as he absorbed the hit. "I'm going to say yes."

"Looking at everyone, I'm confident in saying that it's a warm welcome to Hollywood, Artie."

And so Artie joins fifteen other equally memorable contestants from the honorable city of Lincoln, Nebraska, in celebrating their paid-for trips to the Pasadena Center. As for everyone else, some left the building in tears, others with assurances that they'd only get better in seasons to come, and more than a few probably assigned to a mental hospital or two, courtesy of Sue.

But tune in next time, as we travel to a city that sprawls over three states...the city of bright neon and shady bars, the land of cool gin and hot pianos, the one with the musical, Chicago.

Tss-tss-tss...and all that jazz.