(no subject)
Puck really didn't like sitting around feeling sorry for himself. That kind of introspective crap was for pussies. He wasn't a pussy, and he wasn't sensitive or deep or any of that other crap. He was badass and cool, and he didn't let anything get to him. Even when stuff got really, really bad he was the king of spinning it so it looked like he'd come out on top.
So, the island was kind of lame. So what? So, he'd been turned into a kid and hadn't even really been able to enjoy. Big deal. So, he missed all of his friends, especially all those Glee dweebs, and he missed his mom and sister, and even Mr. Shue. So, he felt kind of like he didn't fit anywhere, and that he was even more of a Lima Loser than he'd been back home. A Tabula Rasa Loser, which had to be like a hundred times worse.
He wasn't a super hero, or a genius, or a cop, or some kind of movie star clone. He was just a kid from Ohio, with a guitar and a pretty killer voice, but who secretly knew he'd never amount to anything.
Okay, this not sitting around feeling sorry for himself crap was frickin' depressing.
Getting up from his seat in the rec room, Puck strolled into the kitchen, thinking maybe he could either scrounge for leftovers or sweet-talk some chick into making him some dinner. But that's when he saw it. Sitting there in the middle of the floor was a Slushee cart. Stacks of red and white cups that said Big Quench and two slushee machines, humming quietly as the little mixers inside turned. One cherry and one grape. Rachel Berry's favorite.
"Damn," he sighed, looking around to see if anyone was watching, if this was some kind of dumbas prank, but he'd heard of this kind of thing happening. That is was like, normal or whatever. But a frickin' slushee cart. How lame was that?
Lamest of all was the feeling in his gut, kind of like he'd been kicked really hard, and the even more embarrassing tightness in his throat. It was just thirst, he told himself, stepping forward and sullenly taking one of the cups from the stack. Cherry, he decided. He'd never liked grape much, anyway.
Leaning against the counter, he took a sip, and the really sad thing was, he didn't even want to go and find some loser to slushee in the face. Not that long ago, that kind of thing would've made him feel better in a heartbeat.
So, maybe this is what growing up felt like. Either way, it frickin' sucked.
[[Find him in the compound kitchen after dinner (but before his shift at the club) sulking by a slushee machine. Don't worry, he'll share, if your pup's in the mood for convenience store nostalgia. Sorry, guys, but I really need to close this post down to new toplevels, unless I've already spoken with you.]]
So, the island was kind of lame. So what? So, he'd been turned into a kid and hadn't even really been able to enjoy. Big deal. So, he missed all of his friends, especially all those Glee dweebs, and he missed his mom and sister, and even Mr. Shue. So, he felt kind of like he didn't fit anywhere, and that he was even more of a Lima Loser than he'd been back home. A Tabula Rasa Loser, which had to be like a hundred times worse.
He wasn't a super hero, or a genius, or a cop, or some kind of movie star clone. He was just a kid from Ohio, with a guitar and a pretty killer voice, but who secretly knew he'd never amount to anything.
Okay, this not sitting around feeling sorry for himself crap was frickin' depressing.
Getting up from his seat in the rec room, Puck strolled into the kitchen, thinking maybe he could either scrounge for leftovers or sweet-talk some chick into making him some dinner. But that's when he saw it. Sitting there in the middle of the floor was a Slushee cart. Stacks of red and white cups that said Big Quench and two slushee machines, humming quietly as the little mixers inside turned. One cherry and one grape. Rachel Berry's favorite.
"Damn," he sighed, looking around to see if anyone was watching, if this was some kind of dumbas prank, but he'd heard of this kind of thing happening. That is was like, normal or whatever. But a frickin' slushee cart. How lame was that?
Lamest of all was the feeling in his gut, kind of like he'd been kicked really hard, and the even more embarrassing tightness in his throat. It was just thirst, he told himself, stepping forward and sullenly taking one of the cups from the stack. Cherry, he decided. He'd never liked grape much, anyway.
Leaning against the counter, he took a sip, and the really sad thing was, he didn't even want to go and find some loser to slushee in the face. Not that long ago, that kind of thing would've made him feel better in a heartbeat.
So, maybe this is what growing up felt like. Either way, it frickin' sucked.
[[Find him in the compound kitchen after dinner (but before his shift at the club) sulking by a slushee machine. Don't worry, he'll share, if your pup's in the mood for convenience store nostalgia. Sorry, guys, but I really need to close this post down to new toplevels, unless I've already spoken with you.]]