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[TEXT] to Nick Matheson
Sep. 5th, 2012 03:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
woman_or_a_girlI have fantastic news, love... But before I go there, is it okay if I stay over at your place tonight?
woman_or_a_girlrockstarwarblerWho: Blaine Anderson, Noah Puckerman, Mike Chang, Kurt Hummel and Quinn Fabray
What: A whole new world
Where: Mike and Puck's Bungalow
When: About 24 hours after Blaine's arrival
The first thing Blaine was aware of when he woke up was that he was sore. All over sore, from head to toe. He was lying still, but it still had a thrumming ache throughout his body and he shifted, turning his head to the side a little with a soft mumbled moan as his consciousness of his body began to return. Hell, what was wrong? Was he sick? Hungover? There was a heavy awareness that he had a full bladder too, but he was too groggy and not quite with it enough to do anything about it yet. He got his eyes open to squinted cracks, but that was all he could manage at first.
He tried to move a little bit more, pushing at the blankets over his feet when that felt heavy and hot too. Hot. That's what he felt. Like he was burning up and overheating. It gave him the mental kick to work on shoving the covers down away from his face and he sucked in a quick, groggy breath as he rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm. He felt like he had a really, really bad nightmare, but nothing was really joining up in his head yet. He wasn't aware it was because of the strong sedatives. He wasn't aware he was on a strange island in Puck's bed. He was sure of much else beyond his basic sensations right now.
"K... Kurt?" he mumbled thickly and got his eyes open just a little more to try and look around to see where he was.
What: A whole new world
Where: Mike and Puck's Bungalow
When: About 24 hours after Blaine's arrival
The first thing Blaine was aware of when he woke up was that he was sore. All over sore, from head to toe. He was lying still, but it still had a thrumming ache throughout his body and he shifted, turning his head to the side a little with a soft mumbled moan as his consciousness of his body began to return. Hell, what was wrong? Was he sick? Hungover? There was a heavy awareness that he had a full bladder too, but he was too groggy and not quite with it enough to do anything about it yet. He got his eyes open to squinted cracks, but that was all he could manage at first.
He tried to move a little bit more, pushing at the blankets over his feet when that felt heavy and hot too. Hot. That's what he felt. Like he was burning up and overheating. It gave him the mental kick to work on shoving the covers down away from his face and he sucked in a quick, groggy breath as he rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm. He felt like he had a really, really bad nightmare, but nothing was really joining up in his head yet. He wasn't aware it was because of the strong sedatives. He wasn't aware he was on a strange island in Puck's bed. He was sure of much else beyond his basic sensations right now.
"K... Kurt?" he mumbled thickly and got his eyes open just a little more to try and look around to see where he was.
justbeingaqueenWho: Kurt Hummel and Quinn Fabray
Where: Bungalows @ The Resort
Time of Day: Just after sunrise
Open or Closed: CLOSED
Kurt Hummel was sitting out on the balcony of the bungalow he shared with old friend (and current fag hag), Quinn Fabray. A large photo album was lying open on the outdoor table and he swirled a thick gold band around the tip of his finger on top of the glossy page as he stared off out at the waves of the beach. With his other hand, he brought a glass of amber liquor with ice to his lips and took a long sip. He couldn't believe he had been on this damn island two years, and he couldn't believe he was stuck here.
The triple shot of straight scotch was strong, and burned his tongue and the back of his throat as he swallowed. The ice tinkled against the side of the glass as he set it back down on the table and then grabbed up a packet of cigarettes from nearby and was soon lighting one up, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side absentmindedly. Some days, he stupidly entertained the notion of getting out of this place, but it wasn't going to happen. Then he entertained the idea of someone coming here to him, but he had given up hope of that happening too. Initially, he had booked himself to the brim with appointments for fashion consults that day, but now it was here, he wasn't sure he could face trying to convince trumped up women with fake boobs that they looked fabulous in a string bikini, so he cancelled all of his appointments, pleading a terrible case of food poisoning. He would try and sleep the day away if he could, but his mind wouldn't switch off. So getting drunk and getting lung cancer was the next best thing.
Where: Bungalows @ The Resort
Time of Day: Just after sunrise
Open or Closed: CLOSED
Kurt Hummel was sitting out on the balcony of the bungalow he shared with old friend (and current fag hag), Quinn Fabray. A large photo album was lying open on the outdoor table and he swirled a thick gold band around the tip of his finger on top of the glossy page as he stared off out at the waves of the beach. With his other hand, he brought a glass of amber liquor with ice to his lips and took a long sip. He couldn't believe he had been on this damn island two years, and he couldn't believe he was stuck here.
The triple shot of straight scotch was strong, and burned his tongue and the back of his throat as he swallowed. The ice tinkled against the side of the glass as he set it back down on the table and then grabbed up a packet of cigarettes from nearby and was soon lighting one up, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side absentmindedly. Some days, he stupidly entertained the notion of getting out of this place, but it wasn't going to happen. Then he entertained the idea of someone coming here to him, but he had given up hope of that happening too. Initially, he had booked himself to the brim with appointments for fashion consults that day, but now it was here, he wasn't sure he could face trying to convince trumped up women with fake boobs that they looked fabulous in a string bikini, so he cancelled all of his appointments, pleading a terrible case of food poisoning. He would try and sleep the day away if he could, but his mind wouldn't switch off. So getting drunk and getting lung cancer was the next best thing.