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

Comments

[curiously_cora]

"Do you always just burst randomly into song?" Coraline asked curiously, leaning over the edge of one of the sofas so she could stare at the boy. Coraline had watched High School Musical over a hundred times and she'd always just wanted to burst out into song but whilst she had been gifted with unending curiosity, she most definitely had not been gifted with a good voice. "It's kind of like on High School Musical but without back up dancers. You should probably get some of them. Oooh, and fireworks."

[highf]

"Did... you honestly just compare a classic Broadway song to High School Musical? Oh, you poor child," Kurt immediately lamented, shaking his head as he took a couple of paces closer, arms folded neatly over his chest. Yes, it was a little bit embarrassing, perhaps, to have been caught in the middle of a rather heartfelt song and performance, one that he hadn't spent any amount of time practicing (for all he knew, he'd probably been off-key). But Kurt was nothing if not a performer, and so he allowed the thought to slide easily off his back as he offered the girl a tolerant smile. He'd never been the best with kids younger than himself. "At any rate, I imagine it'd be very difficult to secure back-up dancers and fireworks until whenever I happen to make it big."

His smile was dampened a little as a glance towards the bookshelf reminded Kurt that he was far from where he wanted to be.

"Which, I'm told, probably won't happen as long as I'm on this island."

[curiously_cora]

"I'm not a child. I'm nearly fifteen. Sort of. Well, I'm fourteen but I'm only nine months away. And High School Musical is brilliant, it has Zac Effron in it. Have you seen Zac Effron? He's... flawless," Coraline enthused, staring at the rather pretty boy. Coraline had known handsome boys and strong boys and rugged boys but never pretty ones and he was really, really pretty. "We have dance classes here and really famous ballerinas and there's loads of dancers at the Catscratch Club place maybe if you ask then people will dance for you."

Coraline would dance back up for him. She might not know her way around a tune but she could certainly dance and her mostly akward stage was finally rubbing off now that her growth spurt was slowing down some. "Why can't you be big here?"

[highf]

"Fourteen and three months is a child, as much as I'm sure it pains you to hear," Kurt replied first, leaving no room for argument. If there was anything that Kurt knew well, it was that it didn't matter how many responsibilities a child could be made to shoulder. It didn't matter whether Quinn had birthed a baby, whether he had to watch over the house after his father had suffered a heart attack, whether Artie had been in a car crash that had left his legs paralyzed. All of those experiences gave them ground to stand on and strength to their hearts, but every single one of the kids in New Directions was just that: a kid. Kurt happened to embrace that fact. It reminded him that, no matter how distant his dreams felt, there was time yet. "I'm seventeen, myself, and almost eighteen, and even I know that I'm still a child. And waxing poetic about Efron, while not completely undeserved, only seems to push you back into the sea of teenyboppers

[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.

[highf]

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."

[highf]

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."

[tooktheblack]

Jon tried to avoid the Compound for the most part as he and Ghost were much more comfortable outdoors but he had developed a taste for coffee in the few weeks he'd been here and, considering he couldn't get it anywhere else but the Compound, he braved it a few times a week for a cup or two. He had just gotten a cup and thought to go to the bookshelves when he heard the singing and stood to listen for a moment, appreciative.

He was no bard and never would be but this boy (man...he looked of an age with Jon, anyway) seemed to be well-trained even without a high harp or a lute.

"You have a fine voice," Jon said during a break in the music, not wanting to interrupt.

[highf]

"Oh," Kurt exclaimed lightly in surprise, turning around and smiling sheepishly as his gaze landed on someone who had, apparently, come along and decided to listen to the song. While Kurt certainly never had a problem with people watching for any kind of performance, casual or otherwise, he did wish that the man had made his presence known earlier, if only so that Kurt could have paid more attention to his pitch, to the presentation. No matter, though. He'd been paid a compliment, and while Kurt didn't need them quite as much as Rachel Berry ever did, that wasn't to say that he still didn't feel pleased, a light fluttering in his chest and a faint tinge rising to his cheeks. "Well, thank you, you're very kind."

Only when he took a closer look at the man, he had to wonder about that hair.

Momentarily struck silent, Kurt raised a playful brow and relaxed into a wider smile. "I'm not sure if people here sing along with the jukebox much, but when given a Broadway tune, you just figure why not, right?"

[tooktheblack]

"I don't know anything about Broadway," Jon admitted, wondering if that was yet another thing this island had that Westeros didn't and never would. It seemed the island was much, much different from Westeros.

"Was that the name of the song you sang? Broadway?"

[highf]

"The song?" Kurt repeated, taken aback by the fact that the young man wasn't familiar with Broadway. While it was true that most people couldn't explain exactly what made something a Broadway performance, still Kurt was fairly certain that the majority of people were at least aware that the theater was involved, and that colloquially, Broadway had become a synonym for a successful theatrical performance. "No, no, the song is called 'Corner of the Sky,' and it's from the play Pippin, one of hundreds of plays to make it to Broadway. Think of Broadway as being a selective filter for theater. If you've made it to Broadway, you know you've made it big."

Letting his weight shift from foot to foot, Kurt smiled as he turned to shyly sit back down on the couch, crossing his legs and waiting for the other boy to join. "But how is it that someone who clearly knows a good song when he hears it, hasn't heard of Broadway?"

[one__song]

Roger had just been passing through. He was tired, and five seconds ago, he didn't think he would have stopped for anything, but he does stop. At first, it's the structure of the melody -- both beautiful and haunting -- and then it's the voice. It propels him to the doorway where for a second, he's shocked to see it's a male that had been singing. Then he's listening and it doesn't matter anymore. His voice is pure, experienced, and most importantly, tonally flawless. Roger can't seem to imagine any guitar line he's ever written backing that voice, but he can definitely hear Maureen being just a little jealous.

He doesn't realize it's been several minutes, but the song ends, and Roger applauds softly, not trying to be either a creep or a dick. "That was great," Roger says, sounding almost humbled by it.

[highf]

If there's any part of Kurt which has finally caved to the notion that he is, indeed, stuck on a magical island with no known way off, it immediately vanishes as he turns to find none other than Adam Pascal leaning against a doorway. Applauding his singing. Admittedly, looking a little thinner than Kurt remembers him appearing in recent years, but no less amazing and awe-inspiring for it, and it takes a few seconds for him to fight off the very real temptation to get down on his knees in front of the guy and... basically embarrass himself beyond recovery.

(He's already a little dizzy, and his cheeks feel far warmer than they should in the nice, air-conditioned temperature of the rec room.)

"Jesus in a handbag," he breathes, fanning himself with both hands and fighting down the urge to squeal. "Adam Pascal, I am... your biggest fan."

Yeah, no way this isn't a dream. But that doesn't mean that he can't enjoy the moment anyway.

[one__song]

Oh, okay.

He doesn't know who Adam Pascal is, but he can make a few educated guesses. Either he's another character like Trumper, or he's whatever face that they all have in common. An actor, probably. Either way, he's done putting thought into it.

"I'm Roger," he corrects, not wanting to disappoint the kid, but what else can he do?

[highf]

While Kurt likes to think that he has a decent understanding of his own subconscious, the decision to bring in Roger Davis rather than Adam Pascal isn't one that hits him straight away with anything other than deep confusion. Kurt blinks for a few seconds, tilting his head (sometimes even just a different visual perspective helps ideas form and inspiration strike), but to no avail. He's no less starstruck, of course, because background aside, the man standing in front of him is surely just as talented. His lips curve back into the smile soon enough.

"...Davis, right?" he asks, throwing caution to the wind. Doesn't matter what Puck says; there exist strange phenomena, and then there exists the impossible. "I'm Kurt Hummel." He holds his hand out for a shake. It seems a little more dignified than hugs from a stranger.

"Pleased to meet you."

[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?"

[highf]

Although Kurt immediately tensed at the voice, not having realized that there was anyone else with him in the room, his expression immediately brightened at the man's question. "Don't suppose I do," he replied with a slight shimmy of his shoulders, more from excitement than anything else as he stepped towards the piano with a spring in his step. He hadn't really been expecting to find anyone on the island capable of providing the background instrumentation that he'd grown accustomed to as part of the McKinley glee club (even Dalton, for all its funds and gracious alumni, had nothing of the sort), and the very chance to sing with an accompaniment again had his heart beating madly inside his chest.

"My favorite rendition is, naturally, Barbra Streisand's performance on the Judy Garland show. In D Major?" he asked, standing taller and hoping, against all odds, that the pianist would work some magic. There was very little in the world that Kurt enjoyed more, after all, than a good Broadway show tune.

[turnedtoproust]

Christ, even the voice is roundabout the same. Scripps adjusts back to the piano, cracks his knuckles, and returns to an old familiar tune in D Major that he hardly needs the sheet music for. There are some tunes which they've revisited time and time again in general studies that are burned in his mind. "I hope you don't expect a singing harmony," he says, ruefully. "I've very little talent of the sort."

[highf]

"Oh, believe me," Kurt reassures as he clears his throat, brushing nonexistent dust off his shoulders, if only to surreptitiously work away the tension there, "if you just work on getting those magic fingers to tickle the ivories, I'm pretty sure that I can handle the rest." It's a rare opportunity, to get to play with an accompanist who wants to hear the specific song being sung. An accompanist who ends up being as much audience as aid. And somehow, the joining of the two art forms has Kurt's chest filling out more than ever as he closes his eyes to feel the melody as it hums through every nerve in his body.

"He's a fool and don't I know it," he sang, the volume of his voice low, tone sweet. "But a fool can have her charms. I'm in love and don't I show it... like a babe in arms."