GLEE: (Day One) Of Seven (1/7)
Title: (Day One) of Seven (1/7)
author: infraredphaeton
summary: day one of the student placement. Eric does parkour. Kurt sings (Blaine is charmed). David does French. Wes is less than helpful.
warnings: Eric, more OCs, language, sap, fluff, French!fail
a/n: I woke up this morning to 53 comments. 53. That’s like...wow. SO MUCH WOW, AND SO MUCH LOVE. I AM LIKE MY ICON TO ALL OF YOU.
masterpost:http://infraredphaeton.livejournal.com/43131.html#cutid1
“Get down here, freak!” bellowed an angry jock. Eric sniffed, examining his shoe laces.
“You must think I’m even stupider than you, if you honestly believe I’m coming down there.”
“When you come down here, you’re gonna meet my fist, up close an personal.”
Eric raise an eyebrow, “I mapped the airducts, heating vents and upper wall windows within fifteen minutes of stepping onto the grounds. I don’t need to touch the ground today if I don’t want to.”
“You can’t stay up there forever.”
“Obviously you weren’t listening,” Eric said, bored, and straightened his shirt cuffs, “because I just told you that I can. The hours I do not spend on the subjects I chose purposefully to challenge me academically, emotionally, and physically, I spend free running. I have spent most of my live in an honest to god castle. You will not win this competition.”
Eric smiled at him coldly, and launched himself across the corridor and out a high up window. He landed on the clean green grass of the front lawn, and tucked just in time, rolling onto his feet in one smooth move.
He smiled at Rachel, who was standing in front of him, raising an eyebrow.
“You look wonderful today, Rachel. I like your llama sweater.”
“I hope you can meet Kurt’s standard of performance,” Rachel said, “despite the short time you are going to be placed here, I refuse to allow this to put our work back. Although his role is not large, Kurt is intrinsic to the balance of our group.”
Eric’s smile widened.
“I hope to impress you, then, Rachel.”
He straightened his lime green framed sunglasses, smoothed down his shirt, and strolled across the lawn to his next class, humming ‘When I Grow Up’.
Inside the school, Karofsky stared at the open window with a look of blank astonishment.
“So, do you understand?” David asked intently, staring across the breakfast table at Kurt. There loan student wasn’t dressed in full uniform, but a pair of black jeans that had made Blaine trip over when he went to get his muesli, an Alexander McQueen button up shirt and the closest approximation to the Dalton striped tie that could be found on the open market.
The actual pattern had been copy right-ed by the school many years ago.
“See, I know you’re saying something,” Wes said cheerily, when he sat down at the breakfast table, “but I have no idea what.”
“Je te deteste.” David scowled at his best friend, as he scribbled in answers to a mock exam.
Kurt winced.
“That’s wrong, isn’t it?” David asked, sighing gloomily, “I hate French.”
Blaine hummed in agreement from somewhere in his thick pile of higher level physics papers.
“Why aren’t you doing homework?” Kurt asked Wes, and Wes grinned.
“It’s called time management. Yesterday, while David was flicking paper footballs into Lee’s hair-”
“It’s so fluffy, I can’t help it. He finds them days later and gets all scowly, it’s hilarious,” David protested.
“I was finishing my practice oral for Spanish. While Blaine was compulsively rewatching Katy Perry’s live performance of California Gurls-”
“Wes. I know all your secrets,” Blaine said seriously, still writing frantically, “and I am not afraid to reveal them. I will tell the world.”
“I was finishing my Maths portfolio. So now, I get to enjoy my waffles in peace, while they try to write three thousand words worth of homework in half an hour.” Wes gestured grandly at his two friends, buried in homework. In unison, they flipped him off.
“Will they load me up with homework, too?” Kurt asked, and Wes shook his head.
“You’re on student placement. You get to sit and watch, and laugh, while we suffer.”
“Practice your evil laugh now,” David suggested, “so you have it down to an art when Lee is trying to work on his Art portfolio.”
Blaine suddenly sat up, “I just remembered, the final touch,” He pulled a little heraldic rose pin, the same as the ones on the Keiran boys’ collars, out, and offered it to Kurt, smiling hopefully.
Kurt looked torn.
Blaine smiled hopefully.
“I’m wearing McQueen,” Kurt explained.
“It’ll be fine,” Blaine smiled charmingly, “let me put it on for you?”
“But, McQueen,” Kurt protested, and then added, wincing slightly, “put it on my blazer lapel.”
“It’s as good as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”
“It really is.” Kurt said, almost apologetically.
Blaine leaned in and pinned the badge to Kurt’s lapel.
Kurt felt himself go red, and Blaine’s smile grew exponentially more charming.
David groaned and fell onto his paper in disgust, letting his pen roll across the table in front of him.
“Kurt, how do I say ‘fuck this let’s go play Team Fortress instead’ in French?”
Wes smiled and ate his waffles leisurely, “you know, I could do that right now. Because I have no homework.”
“Ferme ta bouche.” David muttered, rolling his pen along the table with his nose.
Kurt winced.
“So this is my illustrious competition,” Eric said, putting his hands on his hips.
“Dude, why are you sitting on the window sill?” Finn asked, “How did you even fit on the window sill.”
“Irrelevant,” Eric hissed, “now, I understand that you are nowhere near as sophisticated or intelligent as me, but I refuse to lose this time to refine my voice. Also, this will look good on my college applications.”
“Your face isn’t sophisticated,” muttered Mike, and Tina giggled slightly.
“How very mature,” Eric sneered, “now, I suggest that we pick a song that features my voice strongly, preferably with a solo.”
Mr. Schue frowned, “I don’t know how you run it at Dalton, Eric, but-”
“Well, it’s rather simple,” Eric explained, staring at the lazy turn of the ceiling fan above them, “the group picks a song, Mr. Matthews approves it. We deconstruct the song to assure that everybody gets an equal showing, and nobody gets all the solos. Mr. Matthews helps us by keeping track of what we’ve selected and who was lead on what. Then Jim, he’s our co-captain, sets the choreography with input from the rest of us. Mr. Matthews approves it. We learn the choreography, and then rehearse once a day for a week until we have it perfectly, and practice our vocal pieces at home, or in the commons. At the end of the week, we get back together, reassemble the piece, and perform twice, once for Mr. Matthews for approval, then once for our vice-principal, to make sure that there is nothing unsuitable for a school audience. That way we don’t waste too much time on anything that will be wasted by not being performed.”
Mr. Schuester’s smile went plastic, “That was a rhetorical question, actually.”
“Don’t ask a question if you don’t want it answered,” Eric sniffed.
“So, anyway. The theme we’ll be working on this week is that of co-operation. Duets, group pieces, you know the idea. We want something really awesome for when we give Eric back.”
“...Can we bring that date forward, maybe?” Artie asked, “I kind of want Kurt back.”
“You just can’t recognize genius when you see it.”
“Alright, boys, welcome Mr. Kurt Hummel, who is here on placement from McKinley High School in Lima.” Mr. Matthews introduced him to the twenty or so boys who were lounging all over the music room. Patting Kurt on the shoulder firmly, he smiled, and turned to the white board.
“Is this Double Oh?” asked an asian guy with messy black hair and a collection of Rolling Stones, Blur, Oasis and Beatles badges on his lapels.
“Indeed it is, Harry,” David said proudly, hugging Kurt and dragging him over to where Blaine and Wes were sitting on a desk.
“That’s caught on, hasn’t it?” sighed Kurt, and Blaine smiled charmingly, patting a space on the desk next to him. Kurt hitched himself up onto the wood next to him, dropping his satchel at his feet.
“I think of it as one of my stronger accomplishments.” David admitted.
“Giving someone a catchy nickname is on his bucket list,” Wes nodded, and from the front of the room, Mr. Matthews clapped twice.
“Come on boys, I know it’s all very exciting, but I want us to have something to sing at the end of the week, when we give Kurt back. Let’s show McKinley how...” Mr. Matthews’ smile widened, “what was the phrase again, David?”
“I believe you’re looking for ‘totally awesome’, sir.”
“Indeed I am. Let’s show McKinley how totally awesome we are.” Mr. Matthews said, and the Warblers whooped loudly.
“So, suggestions?”
Blaine’s hand shot up so fast, Kurt was surprised it didn’t catch fire from friction.
“Not Katy Perry.” Mr. Matthews sighed, “Other suggestions.”
Blaine put his hand down.
“Not to criticise, sir, but could we hear his voice? We don’t know how different he is to Eric.” said a dark haired boy who could rival Finn in height, and looked remarkably like Robert Downey Junior.
“Good point, Liam,” Mr. Matthews agreed, “Kurt, would you mind running us through your scales?”
Kurt shrugged, jumping off the desk lightly, “Just scales?”
“Well, if you have a song ready, I don’t see why you couldn’t perform that.” Mr. Matthews said, putting the same warm, friendly hand on Kurt’s shoulder when he reached the front of the room.
“Sounds fun.” Kurt smiled, and Mr. Matthews called out sharply.
“Phones away! iPods away! Face front! Boys, it’s called respect, and you’re going to show it!”
“Yes, sir.” they chorused, and there was a rustle of movement as they did as they were told.
“Alright. Take it away, Mr. Hummel,” Mr. Matthews said, and stole Kurt’s seat on the desk next to Blaine.
“Woo! Go Kurt!” Wes cheered.
“Rock us like a hurricane, Double Oh!” David agreed.
Blaine just smiled charmingly.
Kurt smiled again, straightened his tie, and opened his mouth.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ppmdvXsMBE
“I think I’m in love,” Blaine whispered to Wes.
“Please. Like you weren’t already.” David snorted, as the last note died away.
The Warblers, as one, stood and applauded.
“Alright, alright. Boys, settle down.” Mr. Matthews hopped off the desk and moved to the front of the class again. “Mr. Hummel, that was spectacular.”
“I think I’m in love,” Harry said, fingering his Beatles badge and staring at Kurt.
“Get your own, Blaine saw him first,” David said flippantly.
Kurt smiled, tucking his hair back, and came to sit on the desk again.
“So, Liam, was that a good example of Kurt’s range?”
Liam nodded, “Can we keep him?”
“That’s what I keep saying!” David said, frustrated.
“Sorry, boys. He goes back at the end of the week. In the mean time, let’s enjoy him while he’s here.” Mr. Matthews smiled, “So, with his voice in mind, let’s hear some suggestions?”
Blaine’s hand shot into the air.
“For the last time, Blaine. No Katy Perry.”
Blaine put his hand down.
author: infraredphaeton
summary: day one of the student placement. Eric does parkour. Kurt sings (Blaine is charmed). David does French. Wes is less than helpful.
warnings: Eric, more OCs, language, sap, fluff, French!fail
a/n: I woke up this morning to 53 comments. 53. That’s like...wow. SO MUCH WOW, AND SO MUCH LOVE. I AM LIKE MY ICON TO ALL OF YOU.
masterpost:http://infraredphaeton.livejournal.com/43131.html#cutid1
“Get down here, freak!” bellowed an angry jock. Eric sniffed, examining his shoe laces.
“You must think I’m even stupider than you, if you honestly believe I’m coming down there.”
“When you come down here, you’re gonna meet my fist, up close an personal.”
Eric raise an eyebrow, “I mapped the airducts, heating vents and upper wall windows within fifteen minutes of stepping onto the grounds. I don’t need to touch the ground today if I don’t want to.”
“You can’t stay up there forever.”
“Obviously you weren’t listening,” Eric said, bored, and straightened his shirt cuffs, “because I just told you that I can. The hours I do not spend on the subjects I chose purposefully to challenge me academically, emotionally, and physically, I spend free running. I have spent most of my live in an honest to god castle. You will not win this competition.”
Eric smiled at him coldly, and launched himself across the corridor and out a high up window. He landed on the clean green grass of the front lawn, and tucked just in time, rolling onto his feet in one smooth move.
He smiled at Rachel, who was standing in front of him, raising an eyebrow.
“You look wonderful today, Rachel. I like your llama sweater.”
“I hope you can meet Kurt’s standard of performance,” Rachel said, “despite the short time you are going to be placed here, I refuse to allow this to put our work back. Although his role is not large, Kurt is intrinsic to the balance of our group.”
Eric’s smile widened.
“I hope to impress you, then, Rachel.”
He straightened his lime green framed sunglasses, smoothed down his shirt, and strolled across the lawn to his next class, humming ‘When I Grow Up’.
Inside the school, Karofsky stared at the open window with a look of blank astonishment.
“So, do you understand?” David asked intently, staring across the breakfast table at Kurt. There loan student wasn’t dressed in full uniform, but a pair of black jeans that had made Blaine trip over when he went to get his muesli, an Alexander McQueen button up shirt and the closest approximation to the Dalton striped tie that could be found on the open market.
The actual pattern had been copy right-ed by the school many years ago.
“See, I know you’re saying something,” Wes said cheerily, when he sat down at the breakfast table, “but I have no idea what.”
“Je te deteste.” David scowled at his best friend, as he scribbled in answers to a mock exam.
Kurt winced.
“That’s wrong, isn’t it?” David asked, sighing gloomily, “I hate French.”
Blaine hummed in agreement from somewhere in his thick pile of higher level physics papers.
“Why aren’t you doing homework?” Kurt asked Wes, and Wes grinned.
“It’s called time management. Yesterday, while David was flicking paper footballs into Lee’s hair-”
“It’s so fluffy, I can’t help it. He finds them days later and gets all scowly, it’s hilarious,” David protested.
“I was finishing my practice oral for Spanish. While Blaine was compulsively rewatching Katy Perry’s live performance of California Gurls-”
“Wes. I know all your secrets,” Blaine said seriously, still writing frantically, “and I am not afraid to reveal them. I will tell the world.”
“I was finishing my Maths portfolio. So now, I get to enjoy my waffles in peace, while they try to write three thousand words worth of homework in half an hour.” Wes gestured grandly at his two friends, buried in homework. In unison, they flipped him off.
“Will they load me up with homework, too?” Kurt asked, and Wes shook his head.
“You’re on student placement. You get to sit and watch, and laugh, while we suffer.”
“Practice your evil laugh now,” David suggested, “so you have it down to an art when Lee is trying to work on his Art portfolio.”
Blaine suddenly sat up, “I just remembered, the final touch,” He pulled a little heraldic rose pin, the same as the ones on the Keiran boys’ collars, out, and offered it to Kurt, smiling hopefully.
Kurt looked torn.
Blaine smiled hopefully.
“I’m wearing McQueen,” Kurt explained.
“It’ll be fine,” Blaine smiled charmingly, “let me put it on for you?”
“But, McQueen,” Kurt protested, and then added, wincing slightly, “put it on my blazer lapel.”
“It’s as good as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”
“It really is.” Kurt said, almost apologetically.
Blaine leaned in and pinned the badge to Kurt’s lapel.
Kurt felt himself go red, and Blaine’s smile grew exponentially more charming.
David groaned and fell onto his paper in disgust, letting his pen roll across the table in front of him.
“Kurt, how do I say ‘fuck this let’s go play Team Fortress instead’ in French?”
Wes smiled and ate his waffles leisurely, “you know, I could do that right now. Because I have no homework.”
“Ferme ta bouche.” David muttered, rolling his pen along the table with his nose.
Kurt winced.
“So this is my illustrious competition,” Eric said, putting his hands on his hips.
“Dude, why are you sitting on the window sill?” Finn asked, “How did you even fit on the window sill.”
“Irrelevant,” Eric hissed, “now, I understand that you are nowhere near as sophisticated or intelligent as me, but I refuse to lose this time to refine my voice. Also, this will look good on my college applications.”
“Your face isn’t sophisticated,” muttered Mike, and Tina giggled slightly.
“How very mature,” Eric sneered, “now, I suggest that we pick a song that features my voice strongly, preferably with a solo.”
Mr. Schue frowned, “I don’t know how you run it at Dalton, Eric, but-”
“Well, it’s rather simple,” Eric explained, staring at the lazy turn of the ceiling fan above them, “the group picks a song, Mr. Matthews approves it. We deconstruct the song to assure that everybody gets an equal showing, and nobody gets all the solos. Mr. Matthews helps us by keeping track of what we’ve selected and who was lead on what. Then Jim, he’s our co-captain, sets the choreography with input from the rest of us. Mr. Matthews approves it. We learn the choreography, and then rehearse once a day for a week until we have it perfectly, and practice our vocal pieces at home, or in the commons. At the end of the week, we get back together, reassemble the piece, and perform twice, once for Mr. Matthews for approval, then once for our vice-principal, to make sure that there is nothing unsuitable for a school audience. That way we don’t waste too much time on anything that will be wasted by not being performed.”
Mr. Schuester’s smile went plastic, “That was a rhetorical question, actually.”
“Don’t ask a question if you don’t want it answered,” Eric sniffed.
“So, anyway. The theme we’ll be working on this week is that of co-operation. Duets, group pieces, you know the idea. We want something really awesome for when we give Eric back.”
“...Can we bring that date forward, maybe?” Artie asked, “I kind of want Kurt back.”
“You just can’t recognize genius when you see it.”
“Alright, boys, welcome Mr. Kurt Hummel, who is here on placement from McKinley High School in Lima.” Mr. Matthews introduced him to the twenty or so boys who were lounging all over the music room. Patting Kurt on the shoulder firmly, he smiled, and turned to the white board.
“Is this Double Oh?” asked an asian guy with messy black hair and a collection of Rolling Stones, Blur, Oasis and Beatles badges on his lapels.
“Indeed it is, Harry,” David said proudly, hugging Kurt and dragging him over to where Blaine and Wes were sitting on a desk.
“That’s caught on, hasn’t it?” sighed Kurt, and Blaine smiled charmingly, patting a space on the desk next to him. Kurt hitched himself up onto the wood next to him, dropping his satchel at his feet.
“I think of it as one of my stronger accomplishments.” David admitted.
“Giving someone a catchy nickname is on his bucket list,” Wes nodded, and from the front of the room, Mr. Matthews clapped twice.
“Come on boys, I know it’s all very exciting, but I want us to have something to sing at the end of the week, when we give Kurt back. Let’s show McKinley how...” Mr. Matthews’ smile widened, “what was the phrase again, David?”
“I believe you’re looking for ‘totally awesome’, sir.”
“Indeed I am. Let’s show McKinley how totally awesome we are.” Mr. Matthews said, and the Warblers whooped loudly.
“So, suggestions?”
Blaine’s hand shot up so fast, Kurt was surprised it didn’t catch fire from friction.
“Not Katy Perry.” Mr. Matthews sighed, “Other suggestions.”
Blaine put his hand down.
“Not to criticise, sir, but could we hear his voice? We don’t know how different he is to Eric.” said a dark haired boy who could rival Finn in height, and looked remarkably like Robert Downey Junior.
“Good point, Liam,” Mr. Matthews agreed, “Kurt, would you mind running us through your scales?”
Kurt shrugged, jumping off the desk lightly, “Just scales?”
“Well, if you have a song ready, I don’t see why you couldn’t perform that.” Mr. Matthews said, putting the same warm, friendly hand on Kurt’s shoulder when he reached the front of the room.
“Sounds fun.” Kurt smiled, and Mr. Matthews called out sharply.
“Phones away! iPods away! Face front! Boys, it’s called respect, and you’re going to show it!”
“Yes, sir.” they chorused, and there was a rustle of movement as they did as they were told.
“Alright. Take it away, Mr. Hummel,” Mr. Matthews said, and stole Kurt’s seat on the desk next to Blaine.
“Woo! Go Kurt!” Wes cheered.
“Rock us like a hurricane, Double Oh!” David agreed.
Blaine just smiled charmingly.
Kurt smiled again, straightened his tie, and opened his mouth.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ppmdvXsMBE
“I think I’m in love,” Blaine whispered to Wes.
“Please. Like you weren’t already.” David snorted, as the last note died away.
The Warblers, as one, stood and applauded.
“Alright, alright. Boys, settle down.” Mr. Matthews hopped off the desk and moved to the front of the class again. “Mr. Hummel, that was spectacular.”
“I think I’m in love,” Harry said, fingering his Beatles badge and staring at Kurt.
“Get your own, Blaine saw him first,” David said flippantly.
Kurt smiled, tucking his hair back, and came to sit on the desk again.
“So, Liam, was that a good example of Kurt’s range?”
Liam nodded, “Can we keep him?”
“That’s what I keep saying!” David said, frustrated.
“Sorry, boys. He goes back at the end of the week. In the mean time, let’s enjoy him while he’s here.” Mr. Matthews smiled, “So, with his voice in mind, let’s hear some suggestions?”
Blaine’s hand shot into the air.
“For the last time, Blaine. No Katy Perry.”
Blaine put his hand down.