dorothy's slippers.

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So here's what you missed on Glee:

Puck and Santana have been stranded on an island that kind of reminds them of Lost, except without the cool polar bears and the smoke monster, and both of them are missing home and feeling way out of their league, even if neither will admit to it. ( "Not your type of party, is it?" "If I say no, you're going to

Comments

[phoinikothrix]

"I think that's the first I've ever seen of anyone enjoying the jukebox," Francis said, leaning casually against the doorframe and giving the other boy an appraising look.

He'd come into the rec room to get some work done--yet another of his pointless translations, true, but it was something--but that didn't mean he was unwilling to be distracted.

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Kurt blinked as soon as the voice registered, casting his glance over to the entrance of the room, unsure how to feel about the fact that he'd been found out, discovered, and in the middle of a Broadway tune. It was the sort of thing that, back at McKinley, would certainly have earned him a slushie or two in the face, and although he certainly wasn't expecting the island to be quite as intolerant, still Kurt found it hard to get his hopes up too high with anything that he couldn't himself control. Fortunately, surprise soon gave way to a grin as he laid eyes upon the other man, impeccably dressed, perhaps the first person who'd really shown a good sense of smile that Kurt had come across so far on Tabula Rasa.

And he always did have a weakness for an outfit carefully thought through.

"Well, maybe the jukebox likes me. But I'd like to see anyone failing to enjoy a nice Broadway tune. Anyone with taste, anyway," Kurt laughed lightly, with a nod of his head.

[phoinikothrix]

"You'll get no complaints from me there," Francis confessed as he moved further into the room, though with a half-sheepish smile. After nearly three years as Julian's pupil, eschewing his love of anything beyond what the old professor had called the life of the mind, the soul of the ancients, some habits were difficult to break.

"Which show was that from? I'm more familiar with older musicals--well, older to me, at least."

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Pleased at having, apparently, found a friend with good taste in both clothing and music, Kurt couldn't hide the small grin on his face as he turned to round the couch, seating himself neatly on the side and folding his hands over his knees, waiting expectantly for the other young man to join. Ever since transferring to Dalton, Kurt had grown more accustomed to seeing young men who seemed to care about their appearance- and not merely as a means of gaining 'street cred,' as Puck's mohawk was intended to do- but that didn't mean that he would pass the opportunity to do so yet again.

And, truth be told, to be suddenly separated from all of his friends for the second time in such a sort period was no small hurdle to leap.

"Pippin," he replied with a grin. "The song's 'Corner of the Sky,' from Pippin. Not the earliest of all the musicals I've acquainted myself with, but having first opened in 1972, most would still consider this branching out of my own generation."

[phoinikothrix]

Francis nodded at the explanation, seating himself at the opposite end of the couch from the boy. "Ah, see, in 1972 I was seven years old and listening to my grandmother's Cole Porter records."

That almost every record had been listened to when his grandfather was out of the house, or when Francis was alone in his room at school, went unsaid. Whether that was borne of shame, or fear, or embarrassment, Francis didn't know--it was just easier, somehow, not to say.

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"1972," Kurt repeated, voice lowering to a surprised breath, one which quickly melted into a light laugh. "Wow. Guess that explains a lot. Maybe it's a little bit bold of me to say, but I'd like to think that people back then had much better taste. Listen to any of the mass-marketed drivel that's released these days, and you'll be longing for your music again in no time." His eyes held a touch of envy. Of course, he imagined that in retrospect, everything was made more beautiful, but the advent of technology was still something that Kurt held personally accountable for the gradual degradation of the arts.

Reaching across the couch, Kurt held out a hand for the other young man with a smile. "I'm Kurt, by the way."

[phoinikothrix]

"Well, it was 1986 before I came here, lest you think I have a frightful painting hidden in an attic somewhere," Francis clarified with a grin, mistaking the younger man's surprise for shock or dismay. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him so much, to make it clear to the pale, fey brunet that he wasn't--technically--almost a decrepit forty-six. But it did.

"Francis Abernathy. It's a relief to meet someone else with taste." He gave the extended hand a shake, before continuing wryly, "Both musically and sartorially."

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"Oh no, hardly." A soft tinge rose to his cheeks as he was called out for his rather spirited reaction, and Kurt did his best to try and discern the quickest and most effective way to backpedal. Certainly, he hadn't meant to express the belief that Francis was in any way behind the times, or old, or inaccessible. Quite the opposite, Kurt was starting to wonder if perhaps he would have fit in better in an earlier age (although that in itself, of course, came with the inability to access and exercise certain rights, so perhaps not). His hands gestured helplessly as he pushed forward with his explanation. "More to the point, I haven't yet grown accustomed to the idea that there are people here from so many different times. It's strange, meeting someone from my father's time, but someone who's much closer to my age, but

[phoinikothrix]

Francis' lips quirked in a badly-hidden smile as he listened to Kurt try--and fail rather charmingly--to dig himself out of his conversational faux pas. "You're almost as bad at this as I am," he said, kindly. Unthinkingly, he reached out a hand, resting it lightly on Kurt's shoulder. "I'm surprised I haven't made a hash of our conversation yet myself."

At the younger man's assessment of the future--or rather, Francis' future, and Kurt's present, the way these things were reckoned here--he had to laugh. "I was afraid you'd say something like that," Francis groaned, only half-jokingly. "At least prep school uniforms don't look like they've changed much in the intervening years."

[highf]

"I..." Kurt stammered lightly, feeling still more color rise to his cheeks at the gentle touch, so familiar, reminding him of his first few days at Dalton. Relax, Blaine had told him. Don't be so worked up, don't worry so much. And while Kurt had never been able to take that advice fully to heart, still he'd appreciated it nonetheless, as he did now, the reality of the island slowly creeping on him in a way that he never wanted to acknowledge, but couldn't help doing anything but. "I suppose that I am. But, in my defense, I've also never spoken to a man roughly my age but actually separated from my time by about thirty years. I hear it takes some getting used to."

Nervously crossing his arms again, Kurt tried to iron out the energy that spun in his stomach, winding further and further. "As for the uniform, I'm sure that any changes to the style would be vetoed by generous alumni struck by a hit of nostalgia. Who can blame them, really? At least some people get to see high school as their glory years."

[phoinikothrix]

"This entire place takes some getting used to," Francis replied.

He had meant to accompany his words with a wry smirk, but the other boy's blush and the twisting nervousness in his frame gave Francis pause. He wasn't entirely certain of Kurt's age--close to his own, at least, which relieved him in a way he wasn't yet willing to admit, at least fully--but he seemed young enough, or uncertain enough, that a new world would be wholly overwhelming.

"You're probably right," he said after a moment, in an awkward attempt to change the subject. "About the uniforms, that is. Outside of that one awful place in Switzerland, I spent my formative years looking like I could have walked out of a school photograph from the 1940s."

[highf]

"And there are worse things," Kurt reminded with a quirk of his brow, willfully ignoring the matter of getting used to the island itself. No matter how many days passed, it seemed, Kurt still woke up every morning expecting to be in his bed, to pull his uniform's blazer from its hanger, to apply moisturizer to his face and check his can of hairspray to make sure that it would last the day. Eventually, he was told, he'd cave. He'd come to think of the island as its own place, and his new home. But Kurt doubted that

[phoinikothrix]

"A gentleman after my own heart," Francis murmured lightly, a slight smirk crossing his face. "What school were you attending? I'm afraid I don't recognize the crest." He dipped his head briefly in a nod at Kurt's blazer. "Something that starts with a D, clearly."

[highf]

"Dalton Academy," Kurt replied immediately, before taking another deep breath to pace himself, to settle the thudding in his heart, far stronger than he felt the moment really justified. Of course, Puck had taken the time to inform Kurt that the island was a hell of a lot more accepting than McKinley ever was, and that Kurt's dating pool had expanded considerably... but that wasn't any reason to allow himself to fall within the first week of being on its sandy shores. (And, a small voice reminded him, there was still Blaine. There was still Blaine. Unrequited or not, that wasn't a feeling that was about to disappear anytime soon.) "Which is a pretty big boarding school for Ohio, but I'm not really sure how much of a splash it makes out-of-state. We get a few kids into the Ivies ever year, though, so that's a start."

[phoinikothrix]

"I"m afraid I don't recognize the name," Francis said, apologetically, regretfully. "My school career was spent bouncing around New England and, well, old England and the Continent, though, so I hope you won't take it personally."

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"Hardly," Kurt shook his head quickly, gaze immediately darting to the side, Kurt barely managing to keep from rolling his eyes at how pretentious he would have sounded if he had taken the statement personally. Yet, he knew that plenty of students within Dalton surely would have, proud of their school, their crest, their groups, all in a way that Kurt couldn't imagine himself ever adopting in full. Not after all that had happened in his time on the New Directions, barely clinging to the bottom rung of the social ladder. "Unlike many of my classmates, I'm not one to place too much weight on high school. I'll worry more about university, when we actually get judged based on merit rather than income or location."