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

[halfscarlet]

Billy isn't sure what it is about this week, as he seems to be running into singing boys wherever he goes. One day, he's going to turn a corner and Tony will be singing Maria, he just knows it.

Coming out of the kitchen, book in hand and juice drink in the other, he puts both down at a table and listens a little, the melody and lyrics turning over in his mind. It isn't until the other boy is finished that the song clicks, and he brightens visibly. "Pippin?"

[highf]

The song is nearly done by the time Kurt realizes that someone's been listening, shyly turning so that he can provide a performance rather than simply the vocals themselves- after all, the best part of Broadway is the fact that it combines so many different corners of art at once. The scripts are well-written, the stories compelling. Song and dance are combined until it seems that there are very few details, if any, left untouched. It's that perfection and passion that Kurt wants to be a part of, even though he's sure that the journey will long and filled with its own trials, and so he likes to perform every chance he gets. No audience isn't worth trying to win over.

That's the whole point.

What he doesn't expect, coming from a boy roughly his age, is for the song to be properly recognized. Beaming, he nods. "You have no idea how glad I am that you didn't just cite the Jackson 5. Not that they weren't amazing in their own right," he beams, hands clasping. "But it'd be hard to go wrong with such an amazing song."

[halfscarlet]

"You'd be surprised how many people hear Pippin and think of the Lord of the Rings," Billy responds, pleased to, for once, find someone who might just share his love of musical theatre with. Teddy had always been around to listen to Billy ramble on about the virtues of My Fair Lady, but had never really been into it. "You must be new. You're enjoying the jukebox way too much."

[highf]

"And, to be fair to Tolkien, he certainly got there first," Kurt has to admit, turning to round the couch, tilting his head for the other young man to join. There's something immediately comfortable about speaking to him. Whether it's the shared interests, or the gentle smile on his face, Kurt isn't sure. Maybe a combination of both. Maybe his time at Dalton's given him a type of courage he never quite had before, the awareness that he isn't (and doesn't have to be) alone in his generation. That being defensive can be almost as isolating as being ostracized. "But had Billy Boyd never contributed his acting talents to Lord of the Rings, I highly doubt Pippin would have made as much of a splash with our generation

[vestalstone]

Pierrette had been about to go and see if the clothing box had any new pairs of sandals to offer her. The last week her pair from home had grown worn and tired, the leather shredding and breaking under constant wear. She was barefoot now, the leather thongs clasped in one hand and her feet dusted with a healthy layer of dirt and sand. Her head was tilted, her feet quick, and she nearly barreled past the large gathering room without a thought before her ears perked a the sound of music. When the singing began, she stopped entirely, her expression drawn and thoughtful. It wasn't unusual for men and women to sing as they worked, or for mothers to croon lullabies to fussing babies. It was in her own mother's songs that she had learned her ways as a masc, but she had never heard anyone sing this way. It was beautiful

[highf]

There were several ways that a person could accept praise, and of them all, Kurt had always had difficulty finding where 'gracefully' lay. Some people were humble, almost too much so, turning away most compliments and speaking very lowly of their talents. Kurt never wanted to be a part of that group, because in show business, and certainly in Broadway, confidence mattered. If one couldn't even acknowledge that one was a good singer, how were other people supposed to believe it? But the years that he'd spent at McKinley also made him acutely aware of the other extreme altogether, what he liked to call the Rachel Berry effect, where self-praise resonated more loudly than anything else and drowned out whatever constructive criticism other people had to offer. Kurt didn't want to venture into that area, either, and so when he turned to find a girl praising him, eyes rapt, he hesitated for a minute. Everyone on the island was different, somehow, than the average citizen back in Lima, Ohio

[vestalstone]

Pierrette wasn't entirely sure what a jukebox even was, and she typically kept her adventures into the compound as brief, fleeting affairs. She would snoop and peek around corners, but she wasn't one to sit and leisurely loiter in the gathering areas. If anything, she was quick to stay on the edges, content to watch and disappear unless she found a familiar face.

This boy was as unfamiliar as one could get. From his funny clothes to his pink cheeks he had the lines of someone who was ready to be a man but had stopped short. There was an odd softness to him. She wondered if this was the sort of softness that had given her away as a girl when she had been pretending to be Piers.

"No," she admitted, head shaking. Her hair was getting long, too long, she thought and she found herself pulling it over one slim shoulder. "I am afraid I do not know what a Broadway is. Is that the poet who wrote your song?"

[highf]

"Dear lord," he murmured to himself, suspecting that the lack of Broadway knowledge was something common among residents of the island. Although Puck's various attempts at explaining the island left something rather to be desired, Kurt had lingered around enough people to get the main gist- that the folks on Tabula Rasa came from all walks of life, all corners of the universe, and even though Broadway's influence was something that Kurt never wanted to undersell, he could more than imagine other galaxies not having the faintest clue what Broadway was. "It really breaks my heart to hear that question from you right now." Shaking himself out of the circular train of thought, Kurt held out a hand to try and invite her into the room

[user_wasp]

"What the fuck," said Lisbeth Salander as she walked in on a lost Christmas elf singing an American showtune. An American singing teenager would match Puck, she thought, jamming her hands further into her pockets.

The best thing to do, she thought, was let him wear himself out. Then she could ask, when she was safe from any serenading. Lisbeth picked up a research journal on genetics, not even bound in a hard cover, and sat down to wait.

[highf]

There was very little in the world that stood a greater chance of stifling Kurt Hummel's voice than a quietly unimpressed audience. It was one thing to have people catcalling at every turn, people jeering and making his life difficult just for the sake of making some narrow-minded point, and it was another entirely to see a girl who, judging by appearance alone, wasn't the sort who'd give him a hard time about who he was, but stared right through the song and the music and cared for none of it. He could push through to the end if he wanted, but there was a strain in his voice that was painful even to Kurt's own ears, and so he stopped, pressing his lips together almost shyly, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Sorry," he apologized, turning to face the bookshelf and wondering if it might serve as a decent distraction. "Didn't mean to sound off in such a small room and bother anyone."

[user_wasp]

Lisbeth looked back up from her book.

"You don't have to stop," she said, her voice thick with the Swedish accent. "You're good." Though she'd spent years hanging around a band, the fact remained that music still eluded her. One needed feelings for it, and there might not have been another on the island who kept hers as tightly locked away as Lisbeth Salander.

She looked at the Christmas elf more carefully this time. "Singing is not," she said. Lisbeth was not sure she would know what to say in Swedish, let alone English. But she didn't like how quickly he shut down. People did not usually respond so quickly to her. "I don't get music. But you can keep going."

Lisbeth realized she might be getting soft.

[highf]

It was the accent which struck Kurt first, his brows pulling together as he tried to pin it down. Without the ability to actually take off as he desired and tour around all of Europe, Kurt had spent much of his life watching foreign films instead, learning little customs and researching into any phrases that didn't translate particularly well in subtitles. Only upon realizing that learning where this woman was from alone wouldn't tell him much did Kurt shake himself away from that train of thought.

"I don't think that singing to a vaguely unwilling audience when my own desire has been stamped out by the lack of fervor is... a very smart idea," he admitted first, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting her gaze, more with surprise than in defense. "Besides which, I find your latter statement far more terrifying and intriguing all at once, unless I happen to be reinterpreting. When you say that you don't get music... is that to say that you've never enjoyed it? Never felt the melodies resonate with your emotions?"

[vvdanicavv]

To say Danica wasn't in the best mood was an understatement. The reason she lived in the Compound was to be close to modern amenities, but it also meant she had to put up with the various morons, idiots and inbreds that lived there too.

This one was clearly new and Danica wasn't yet sure into which category he fell. Judging by his wailing, she guessed he was an idiot, but she'd leave the choice up to him.

Coming up behind him, she slipped a hand around and over his mouth. "Stop." If he didn't, then she would be proved right.

[highf]

Everyone had told him that people on the island were kind, understanding, and generally supportive of personal goals, pleasures, and hobbies. And for those three brief days, Kurt had believed them. Apparently, this was the wrong choice.

Even without the application of great force, a hand over his mouth was an invasion of Kurt's privacy in a sudden and halting way, one that made all his thoughts immediately shut down and turn into panic, breath sharply passing between his teeth. His eyes didn't move their gaze, his shoulders hunched by his neck, and for those precious few moments, Kurt wondered what the proper course of action was for a threat like this. Being thrown against a locker was one thing. Being slushied in the face was another.

But someone was actually touching him, and Kurt felt himself struck with even more fear than Karofsky had ever managed to instill in him. "Okay," he breathed, as soon as he'd gotten even the faintest of grasps on his nerves. "Please... let me go."

[vvdanicavv]

If Danica had a dime for every time she'd heard that... A faint smile passed her lips when she did, pleasant memories flooding back of countless human bloodbags shackled in cells, waiting to be bled dry.

Sometimes she'd done it in front of them; dragged one out and had her meal in public. The screams sure helped her feel warm and happy inside.

"Good decision," she told him, her mouth not far from his ear. She removed her hand slowly. "You're not just a pretty face."

[highf]

The very feel of the woman's presence still wrapped all around him, the threat which laced over his skin, was sickening to the point that Kurt's already pale complexion managed to blanch further. He stepped back as soon as she broke contact, his eyes filled with suspicion and his breath only barely managed. This was different than what he'd experienced with Karofsky. That much was immediately clear. There was something very much like enjoyment in her eyes, not the fear that he'd come to recognize in the football player, the fear that only lashed out in anger and frustration like the grating of metal and rock.

Her gaze was predatory.

"You could have asked," he pointed out, hoping that there were people around who could intervene if necessary, though a stubborn part of him refused to back down, arching a brow instead. "I would have stopped singing if you'd just asked."

[whoneedsadream]

In Anatoly's experience, it was odd to hear someone sing along so gleefully with the jukebox and yet as he peered into the rec room, carefully balancing a cup of tea and the box containing his chess set, that was exactly what he found. Not wanting to interrupt, he slipped into the room and made his way over to his usual table and started setting up the board.

The boy did have a lovely voice and when the song was over, Anatoly applauded. "That was a very lovely song."

[highf]

All things considered, Kurt had felt that he had handled himself well back in the day, upon finding out that Josh Groban was going to be judging the New Directions at Regionals. Given how fond Kurt was of the singer's voice, it was actually rather remarkable that he'd been able to keep his mind centered on the competition rather than the judging, on the choreography and teamwork rather than trying to stand out in order to impress a single judge. But as soon as Kurt turned towards the sound of applause and his eyes took in who exactly it was giving him (or at least his decision to sing along with the song) praise, he felt his heart stop.

"Josh Groban," he whispered, his heart fluttering in his chest. "Oh. My god. I... never really thought that I'd ever hear those six words coming from you. Or, well, at least not until I made it big on Broadway, but I'm not holding my breath on that happening in the next couple of years, so this is still way more than I'm prepared for, but... can I just say that in spite of how you quite possibly voted

[whoneedsadream]

He would never understand what it was about this Josh Groban that caused people to lose their minds. If he was a grandmaster, that was one thing and would be understandable but this was not the case. He was a singer, admittedly a rather good one even if he had the poor taste to be involved in two concert versions of Anatoly's life and all right, they looked alike but that was it.

"I am afraid I am not Josh Groban," he said with a wry smile. "Though I understand I look very much like him."

[highf]

"Well, having... met Josh Groban before," Kurt began with a disbelieving raise of his brow, although his words were careful and measured, as though afraid that Groban had finally snapped or something similar- it wouldn't have been the first time that a performer did. "I'd say that you're really his spitting image. Maybe with a few years shaved off, but unless you've got a twin brother or clone elsewhere in the world, I'm finding it hard to believe that you aren't Josh Groban. Unless-"

He peeked off and to the side, eyes widening as he hoped that he hadn't suddenly made matters very complicated for Josh indeed. On an island of only three-hundred, Kurt could only imagine how difficult life probably was for the few celebrities who'd made their way to Tabula Rasa, flocked by civilians at all times without hope for reprieve. "Unless I was supposed to keep that secret to go with your newfound accent."