dorothy's slippers.

[highf]

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

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[turnedtoproust]

Scripps had been at the bench of the piano, debating which Rachmaninoff piece to play and deciding whether it was even worth it without Timms and Lockwood about to knock off an old classic to Scripps' tune. When the bloke finishes (and lord, but it's like Poz all over, right down to the tone of voice), Scripps peeks over the edge of the piano, leaning sideways. "Don't suppose you know Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered?"

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps offers a casual shrug as his fingers alight the piano in graceful allegro, drawn out by his foot sinking down to the pedals below. His fingers arch upwards in the manner of a boy long ago sunk to the habits of proper playing. "Hector had a habit of making us scholars of history," he admits with a shrug. "Try not to sink too deep into the tepid swamps of history," he warns with a rueful smile as he leans an elbow against the frame of the piano. "It's a terrible fight to unearth yourself. I always looked at the words like sheet music. They can be haunting or written in a time of vast despair, but they brought about art and one must never look unkindly on art."

[highf]

"Oh, I would never look unkindly upon art," Kurt quickly shakes his head, a soft sigh at the mere thought of being anything but an advocate, though soon after he blinks, looking up with a sudden look. "Although I suppose I should qualify that by saying that my definition of art may be, perhaps, narrower in certain respects than most people in our day and age. When it comes to music and theater, a part of me suspects that I was born a generation too late."

He shrugs, lips quirking, not too bothered by the admission or the thought alike, then walks to the other side of the piano, resting his elbows lightly on the frame.

"Why does your name seem so familiar to me?" he murmurs to himself, pressing his finger to his lips. "Are you sure you've never been to Ohio?"

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps laughs at the thought of him ever having set foot in a place like America, though it's not for lack of desire. It's simply the feeling of being bogged down in one town until he's granted a reprieve by way of education. "Born and raised in Sheffield and the furthest I ever went was London the once, and Bristol," he offers, like it's a grand accomplishment. "What is your generation? I've been told that when I'm from is not the current mode."

[highf]

"Being the ignorant American that I am," Kurt offers in reply, a small chuckle under his breath hiding the equally unsure beat of his heart, "I'd assumed it was just a local thing. Whenever you follow the Brits on television or watch the Harry Potter cast during film premieres, all of you seem so composed. Cultured. Whereas, at least in the town of Lima, Ohio, you'd be most likely to find the majority of us parked in front of the television every Sunday with a bowl of fried pigskins. And I wish I was exaggerating."

With a small exhale, he wonders if he's been babbling too much, if it might only be a distraction to Scripps, behavior that Kurt should be avoiding.

"Anyway, I suppose I still haven't given my answer- I'm from the year 2011. A few months before island time, apparently, but no great leap like some other people here have made."

[turnedtoproust]

"You're a far leap from me, then," Scripps says, with a mild look of horror on his face as he does the math in his mind, even allowing for a mild shudder as the number comes to him. "Eighteen years. There's a whole me in the space between our contemporary times!" he says, grinning even though that's not something that truly comforting to him. "And I like to think I'm cultured, but I can be very crude. God must hate me for it."

[highf]

Watching with anticipation, Kurt breaks into a surprised laugh as soon as Scripps reveals the final number, eyes widening. "Wow," he marvels, shaking his head and pressing his hand against the back of his neck, as though trying to gather all of his thoughts and pin them down. "Meaning you... are in fact, from my father's generation, and not my own. And there's quite the wake-up call."

Shaking his head, Kurt shrugs a shoulder. "You don't seem very crude to me, but- I'll admit, there hasn't been occasion for it so far in our conversation. Here's hoping that remians the case."

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps' smile is crooked and half-devious as he inspects Kurt up and down and wonders what Dakin might think of the man. He's horrified to realise that he'd love to find out. "Then here's to future encounters," he announces.