(no subject)
Characters: likeihatenazis & isfullofennui Hummel
Setting/Location: Your friendly neighborhood Lere'unfru saloon.
Date & Time: Day 22, morning/afternoon
Warnings: Maybe language. Nothing serious.
Summary: Father and son have a family reunion in order to stare at each other and hopefully get up to speed. Awkwardness, hoy.
This was not what Burt Hummel could ever classify as a good day. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse the longer it went on on the sheer principle of not making sense. He'd been miniaturized, dumped in an old western flick and told there was no immediate route to home or to normalcy- not to mention they'd dragged actual kids into it, too, or at least kids in his book.
Sixteen was young. Too young for deserts and stuff that normally just happened on television.
His son was here. And Finn, too; he might not be happy with the guy, but this was a bit much to wish on anybody. If nothing else, he had to take care of them until they could all get home. The job was already off to a shaky start and it hadn't even been a full day.
He's ninety-nine percent sure that he'll be smacking his head against a wall before it gets dark out.
So when Kurt says he'll come to find him and hangs up, Burt makes a station out of the table closest to the front door and rubs his forehead while he waits. He would stand outside just in case Kurt could use the extra help getting to the right saloon, but he's already seen the giant that apparently pulls a hotel standing around, and he's not entirely sure he can take whatever brain-breaking thing crops up out there next.
"I'm too old for this crap," he mutters wearily. The irony is not lost on him.
Setting/Location: Your friendly neighborhood Lere'unfru saloon.
Date & Time: Day 22, morning/afternoon
Warnings: Maybe language. Nothing serious.
Summary: Father and son have a family reunion in order to stare at each other and hopefully get up to speed. Awkwardness, hoy.
This was not what Burt Hummel could ever classify as a good day. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse the longer it went on on the sheer principle of not making sense. He'd been miniaturized, dumped in an old western flick and told there was no immediate route to home or to normalcy- not to mention they'd dragged actual kids into it, too, or at least kids in his book.
Sixteen was young. Too young for deserts and stuff that normally just happened on television.
His son was here. And Finn, too; he might not be happy with the guy, but this was a bit much to wish on anybody. If nothing else, he had to take care of them until they could all get home. The job was already off to a shaky start and it hadn't even been a full day.
He's ninety-nine percent sure that he'll be smacking his head against a wall before it gets dark out.
So when Kurt says he'll come to find him and hangs up, Burt makes a station out of the table closest to the front door and rubs his forehead while he waits. He would stand outside just in case Kurt could use the extra help getting to the right saloon, but he's already seen the giant that apparently pulls a hotel standing around, and he's not entirely sure he can take whatever brain-breaking thing crops up out there next.
"I'm too old for this crap," he mutters wearily. The irony is not lost on him.