Kurt was glad at this point that Blaine was actually here. Kurt knew he was here... he had felt his heart beat, ran his fingers through his thick curls, got re-acquainted with his dick, felt him inside him. Because he was pretty sure that if someone other than his husband had arrived from home and he had to greet them, he would have had an irreversible nervous breakdown and probably needed to spend the rest of his island years locked in a padded room in the hospital. He had barely kept it together greeting Jeff. Well, he hadn't really kept it together at all. He had lost it and Jeff copped it, but at least he had kept his sanity. But now Blaine was here, so he didn't need to fly off the edge over yet another familiar face arriving when the damn place took its time bringing Blaine to him. But Blaine was snoozing peacefully in the bungalow, and Kurt's were a little more at ease now, even if it was all going to be a bit stressful as they helped Blaine adjust to this new life in the wake of witnessing Kurt's death. He was okay sometimes, but others, like with this nightmare, it was obvious his brain probably felt like it was in the washing machine spin cycle that just wouldn't stop. It was why Kurt was keeping extremely close to him. He wasn't going to work, he was barely leaving the bungalow in case Blaine needed him. He wanted Blaine to know he was there as much as he could... there, and not dead.
He just sighed and looked down at her with a tired blink, his brain giving him a sing-song, 'Here we go ag-ain'. Which was rude, to say the least. Everyone was in the same shock boat when they arrived. He had just gotten old and grumpy (well, he felt old, so it counted) and set in his island ways that he probably should be banned from greeting newbies. But apparently those old and set in their island ways were the best to greet because you got a knack for explain the nuances without it getting too confusing. And another one who came from around the time of his death too. He needed to get a t-shirt or a hat to explain all this, or maybe a little printed card he could just hand everyone once they got here.
He just let her ramble, checking his watch and nodding along with a slight bored look on his face... until she got to the ghost of Christmas past thing and this earned her a Kurt Hummel patented Bitchpls look. "Bitch, please, I would never lower myself to unclassy hauntings. Why the hell would I hang around the afterlife waiting for you all to drop dead and meet me when I have hell to explore? Aren't you forgetting that queers don't get into heaven? Oh great, now you're giving me the inevitable 'But you're dead' look. I hate this part," he bitched. He wished he was back in bed having hot, sweaty sex with Blaine. He didn't mean to be bitchy, but he was still recovering from Blaine's arrival. "I'm dead back home. I'm not dead here. I'm very much alive here. This is Etre Libre. It's an island somewhere, but no one knows where. You know those movies you see that are an alternate reality? Where people wake up in a different time and place but they don't know how they got there? Well, that's this place. You were having a bad day, you consciously or subconsciously wished you were anywhere but where you were, and you got your wish. Only here, there's no genies with bottles. Just a tropical island with me, who could never pull off a genie outfit. It would make my hips look big."
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He just sighed and looked down at her with a tired blink, his brain giving him a sing-song, 'Here we go ag-ain'. Which was rude, to say the least. Everyone was in the same shock boat when they arrived. He had just gotten old and grumpy (well, he felt old, so it counted) and set in his island ways that he probably should be banned from greeting newbies. But apparently those old and set in their island ways were the best to greet because you got a knack for explain the nuances without it getting too confusing. And another one who came from around the time of his death too. He needed to get a t-shirt or a hat to explain all this, or maybe a little printed card he could just hand everyone once they got here.
He just let her ramble, checking his watch and nodding along with a slight bored look on his face... until she got to the ghost of Christmas past thing and this earned her a Kurt Hummel patented Bitchpls look. "Bitch, please, I would never lower myself to unclassy hauntings. Why the hell would I hang around the afterlife waiting for you all to drop dead and meet me when I have hell to explore? Aren't you forgetting that queers don't get into heaven? Oh great, now you're giving me the inevitable 'But you're dead' look. I hate this part," he bitched. He wished he was back in bed having hot, sweaty sex with Blaine. He didn't mean to be bitchy, but he was still recovering from Blaine's arrival. "I'm dead back home. I'm not dead here. I'm very much alive here. This is Etre Libre. It's an island somewhere, but no one knows where. You know those movies you see that are an alternate reality? Where people wake up in a different time and place but they don't know how they got there? Well, that's this place. You were having a bad day, you consciously or subconsciously wished you were anywhere but where you were, and you got your wish. Only here, there's no genies with bottles. Just a tropical island with me, who could never pull off a genie outfit. It would make my hips look big."