Puck rolled his eyes. He was at his usual seat in the back of the choir room, and even though it's been a week, New Directions was still crying over Kurt's transfer to Gargler Country. Sure, Puck missed Saint Baby Gay Bitch from time to time, but there was work to be done. Puck knew that his grades were abysmal, and that his football –playing was mediocre at best, but he knew that New Directions had a shot at Nationals, with or without Hummel. He also knew that with the current state of things, it was up to Puck to set the tone. He stood up, jogged to the middle of the choir room, and roared, "Listen up, losers! So Hummel's gone. So fucking what? The Garglers -"
"Warblers," Berry corrected.
"They could be the fucking BARBERS, Berry! What-fucking-ever! We can take them down. Besides, I don't know why you're so worried about a bunch of guys with no female vocal power. We have that. We have you and Aretha for power, Santa, Brit and Quinn round out the sound," Puck insisted.
"Kurt was our ace-in-the-hole, Puck. The go-between that links Tina's alto-soprano and Sam and your baritones and Finn's tenor. He's -"
"The Missing Link," Puck finished for her. "Like, literally. Ya know, guys, whatever. I can't take much of this moping around much longer. I'm going to Carmel for intel on those Vocal Automatons, which I shouldn't have to be doing if Rachel hadn't told that Pint-sized Powerbelter to audition in a crackhouse."
All eyes turned to Rachel. Puck grinned. Divide and Conquer. Deflect and Destroy. Now that New Directions was distracted from the whole Hummel deal, maybe they'll manage to pull their heads out of their asses, and Puck can get started on his own plans to give his choir a new direction.
