The One With Charades.
September 2009.
ii. Someone to face the day with, to make it through the rest with, someone I'll always laugh with.
If one glances across the sitting room, they would see a mirage of confused and puzzled expressions on all of the people. Now, it isn't a huge mystery or something overly important that has got the occupants so bewildered, but a simple game of charades.
A tall, pretty, slender woman with long blonde hair stands at the top of the room. She's jumping around the room theatrically, throwing her arms about and kicking her legs in all directions. There's a look of expectancy on her face as she gazes at each of her friends faces.
A man with an obviously mature Mohawk decides to take one for the team at this point and speaks up, "Er, Brit... I think I speak for everyone here when I say I have absolutely no idea of what you're doing."
Brittany sighs and frowns for a moment, then puts more vigour into her jumping. Had she been doing something else, perhaps the height she could reach would be impressive, but all of her movements so far failed to impress those with her. It's at this point that a short, tanned woman with an aura of self-esteem and self-worth stands up and clears her throat loudly, "Yes, your technique is not quite right, Brittany. That's okay though.. we've only been playing this a couple of years now, and you know, it can be quite a complicated game if one doesn't get the right movie to act. Now, I know what you're all thinking – Rachel, your performances are always spectacularly accurate. But that's due to my background and experience in stage, not everyone should be so lu—"
"Can it, manhands." A striking latina speaks up, rolling her eyes. Her fit form always has men queuing up at the door; her brown hair and brown eyes hypnotising them into a false sense of security. This would be all before she used and abused them, of course. Her eyes turn instantly soft – as they so rarely do, but more often around the blonde jumping vicariously - "I think we give up, Brit. What is it?"
She sighs heavily and falls into the free arm chair, "Up. I don't know how you didn't get it... Sometimes, I wonder if I actually am smarter than you guys."
There's a silence in which no one quite knows what to say. It's at this point that one should know who is exactly sitting in the room. It's a quaint living room that has a nice view of the kitchen if you glance behind. Located in an apartment in Manhattan, it has a wonderful view of the city and big enough space for a large couch and two armchairs. A moderately sized tv graces the top of the room, and judging by the worn buttons along the bottom, it's safe to assume that the television is used quite frequently.
There's a door either side of the tv, and one more door beside the one on the right. Three bedrooms for the four occupants of the house; Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray, Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez. Three of which are currently sitting in the living room, enjoying their Friday night with their closest friends. Rachel Berry is the outspoken, vivacious brunette with enough ambition to fuel the world. She can at times come across overbearing and obsessive and has a compulsive need for things to be perfect, but also has a kind heart which is recognised by her friends. (It also is sometimes required to be remembered by her friends when she is at her worst.)
Rachel decides to break the silence (she's never been fond of silence, for reasons she never wants to explore), "Well. Maybe we should just move onto something else then.."
A man of Asian ethnicity speaks then, a look of dread on his face, "Oh no... Give us one week reprise Rach, please?"
She rolls her eyes at him, "Mike, I don't understand why you don't like our sessions. It's fun to let go, and you need it more than anyone." He doesn't seem surprised by her response, and just resigns himself to silence. He sits in between Brittany and the man with the Mohawk. This man is more commonly known simply as 'Puck'. Full name being Noah Puckerman, he's a self-proclaimed 'sex shark' with a penchant for chatting up women and carrying a conversation with almost anyone. He's awful at just about anything that doesn't involve those things and is completely unabashed about it; he's confident in himself, and isn't afraid to flaunt his flirtatious side and his best features. He often says what's on his mind regardless of consequences, not unlike Rachel. He occupies the apartment across the hall with two of his friends, Finn and Kurt.
Finn sits on the other side of Mike on the remaining arm chair, is tall and lanky with a goofy smile that can make the right girls swoon. 'If you're into that type of thing' Puck puts it. Any woman with an attraction to the more clumsy, awkward and adorably goofy men hit it off with Finn. Unable to dance, constantly making a fool of himself with women and finding amusement in the most simple of things, Finn is the very definition of the goofy guy.
Kurt is absent from the gangs get together on this particular night, due to a gruelling college assignment. Being significantly younger than the others, he often has to sit out certain nights and events due to college commitments. The reason he originally became friends with them was due to being Finn's step-brother, but it soon became real friendship as it is between the others. Kurt's life could be summed up in fashion, music and boys, really. At this time in his life, they are his main topics of conversation.
"One song could be bearable." Finn responds, looking apprehensive. Everyone except for Mike enjoys their sessions, but sometimes Rachel gets a little carried away. Finn never minds though; he had never been able to be annoyed for long with her.
She beams at him, and he's taken aback for a moment by the beauty that's sitting across from him on her armchair. He smiles back automatically, and tries to put the fluttering in his heart down to indigestion. He had a big dinner. "Excellent! You speak sense, Finn. Anyone want to have a go, or shall I –"
It's at that moment that the door to the apartment is swung open, and in walks the beauty that is Quinn Fabray. Blonde, slim with stunning features that frequently make people stop and comment, she enraptures most men. Her hazel eyes have the same effect as Santana's deep brown ones, and have also been described as hypnotic. Again similar to Santana though, she keeps men at arms length. Perhaps not as cruelly or harshly as Santana or in any way similar, but she doesn't get too involved for too long. Recent relationships have all ended upon the six month mark. Why isn't important to her, and anyone who asks receives a curt answer.
What Quinn Fabray has in beauty is measured up in unadulterated bitchiness. She, of course, couldn't take the title of supreme bitch from Santana, but she uses it in a more controlling way. It ensures that in her workplace, no one speaks out of line to her, despite the fact that she isn't a manager or boss. Albeit, she's loyal and can be compassionate and caring. She pretends to be tough and unbreakable, but secretly, she knows she's more weak than anyone quite realises. Her friends are the most important thing in the world to her, but they all know it and appreciate it. They all value each other, it does work both ways.
She's a little forgetful, an awful cook and a sucker for romantic comedies, even though she claims they're cheesy.
Quinn throws her keys down on the counter angrily and takes a wine glass out of one of the presses. Without sparing a glance to her on looking friends, she then proceeds to retrieve an opened bottle of wine from the fridge and pour herself a glass. "You can all stop staring."
Puck laughs, "Babe, you look like you could do with some Puckzilla time,"
She snorts, "In your dreams."
"How bad was it, Q?" Santana smirks from her spot on the floor. She's currently leaning against the armchair Rachel is sitting on, allowing the girl to play with her hair (although she really does love when people play with her hair, it's the one of the few times she feels truly relaxed).
Quinn's eyes dart to her for a minute before returning to her drink, and she leans back against the counter of the kitchen. She seems to be contemplating going into detail. Quinn looks at Finn then, "Worse than Hairy Harriet."
His eyes widen, "That's impossible!" An involuntary shudder passes through his body as he remembers his date with the infamous hairy Harriet. Her name had actually been Lisa, but Santana had coined Hairy Harriet and it stuck instantly. The essence of the name came from the fact that she well – well, she never shaved. When he inquired, because he simply had to, she had informed him about the conspiracy of waxing and razors. He had wanted to climb out the bathroom window, but it had been a while since he had sex, and so the two anatomy's Finn used to think battled it out for the next hour until finally, Finn's brain finally won. It's a rare occasion, but he still feels it was the right call.
"He didn't have any hair?" Brittany asks, scandalized. She's the slowest on the uptake of the group, and more often than not, conversations fly straight over her head or are interpreted in the oddest of ways. From time to time, she hits the nail on the head though with her uncomplicated view of life.
Quinn looks reluctant to go on, "No... he had hair. But he didn't shower or brush his teeth. He asked me several times what the smell was, and insisted I was the one smelling odd!"
Several of them look ready to gag, and then Puck sniggers, "Well, not everyone can be as manly and sexy as us men right here. You ladies don't really have to look any further.. If we would have you that is."
Finn, slightly irritated, replies, "You've had 'relations' with just about every girl in the room, Puck."
He waves him away, "Not important..."
"Where did you find such a horrendous creature, Quinn? I mean, honestly, you'd have to really go to the depths of the earth to pick out such an outrageous specimen. I don't understand a need to neglect personal hygiene, it's just an abomination."
Quinn's expression becomes serious again, and her eyes narrow, "That's the thing.." she begins to walk forward, swishing her wine around in her glass. "It's not the man whose number I got. Someone must have changed the digits around in my phone or something.. So own up. Now."
Everyone automatically looks to Puck, who holds his hands up defensively, "It wasn't me! But kudos to whoever did." He laughs, and Quinn throws him another one of her looks. He shrugs innocently, "It's a pretty funny gig."
Her eyes roam around the room, until finally, they land on Finn. He's shifting uncomfortably in his seat with his eyes constantly moving from area to area, but never landing on her. "Finn?" She asks, genuinely disappointed. "God, grow up."
Mike's eyebrows shoot up and he pats him on the back, "Didn't think you had it in you, man."
Quinn looks at Mike's hand at back to Mike, and back to Finn, "This doesn't warrant a pat on the back, Mike!" Her voice becomes high-pitched and everyone winces.
"Get ready for the volcano..." Puck whispers quietly, but so Finn can hear.
"It was just a prank! Puck said I'd never be able to pull off one that was even half-way decent after he did that legendary one to Santana of locking her out in her underwear! And that time ages ago when he locked you all out in your underwear! I wanted to prove him wrong – and come on, the real guy was a douche anyway. Me and Mike were with you at the bar when you met him, and both agree he is adouche –"
Mike cuts in here, indignant, "Don't bring me into this! I never endorse these stupid pranks you two insist on..."
Puck rolls his eyes, "That's cause you're boring, Mike." He stands then, throws an arm over Quinn's shoulder and smiles, "well Q, looks like it all worked out for the best then, eh? You're still hot and single, Finn proved he has balls after all, and you avoided another tool."
"Sometimes – actually, most of the time – I wonder why the hell I'm friends with you toolbags." Santana announces, unabashed by her words.
"Dude, don't be a pussy, just drink the damn thing." Finn groans upon hearing his friends words and eyes the drink worriedly, wondering whether his health is seriously at risk.
"Why don't you?" It suddenly hits him, and he's smirking widely. Puck scoffs, claiming to have proven how manly he is on many occasions.
"I've drank loads of stuff like this, and you know it. C'mon, it's just a few secret ingredients... it won't kill you. Well, not in that quantity."
Finn looks at him suspiciously again, "there's no absinthe in this one, is there?"
Puck looks to be thinking deeply about this, and then shakes his head, "Nah, not this time. Where's Shirley this morning anyway? He should be downing this stuff to buff up." He is, of course, referring to Finn's step-brother, Kurt.
He finally pushes the drink away, grateful for the change in subject, "I don't think he wants to buff up. He's a bit feminine if you didn't notice.."
"Whatever. Don't have to tell me twice, his girly shit is all over the bathroom."
Finn wants to roll his eyes at Puck's antics, but knows that he does agree with him. He sits back against his chair, finally able to relax again without the threat of the deadly concoction. (Puck seems to be distracted by something for the moment – what, Finn isn't sure. He has his ideas though.) Their apartment is a little smaller than the girls, for reasons they're not quite sure of. They have better views from their bedrooms but other than that, the girls apartment is pretty much better in most ways and so they usually end up there. There's an open door policy between the two houses. Probably not smart, but they're confident in their security for foolish reasons. Mike lives two doors down from Finn, Puck and Kurt and although he doesn't maintain the same policy with his own door, he frequently takes advantage of theirs. (He's a little more logical and wise than the rest of them, a fact that is often laughed over.)
Finn glances around the spotless apartment, and realises that Kurt must have cleaned it again when they were asleep this morning. He nudges Puck, "Kurt cleaned again."
He groans, "I wish he'd stop doing that. It replaces my manly smell with flowers," His nose scrunches at the idea, as if it's a foul smell that he finds repugnant.
"You are such a douche. Anyway, you in work later?" He asks, rising from his seat to retrieve something to quell the hunger rumbling away in his stomach. Surveying his nearly empty fridge, Finn decides he had better head over to the girls instead. They always have something in their fridge.
Puck shakes his head, "Got the night off. Been a while since I got to do my thing on a Saturday, y'know? In tomorrow night though."
Finn stands facing Puck as the other man sits at the breakfast counter, "Sometimes I envy you and your job, but then I remember I have all summer off and many other weeks during the year, and I realise my job is so much better." He smiles triumphantly and turns to leave the room.
"Yeah, 'cause I'd much rather spend all day with snot-nosed kids than all night with hot chicks at a bar." Finn chooses wisely to ignore that comment, and walks across the hall to see what delicious meal could be hiding away in the girls fridge.
Puck lets him go, strangely unwilling to fight him further on the matter. He knows he'd hate minding little kids, anyway, and that is all that matters. There's a grand total of two kids he can stand in the whole world – and he isn't even sure if his sister still counts as a kid. To him at least, she'll always be a kid. Probably to his mother, too. He's not sure the poor girl will ever be able to leave Lima.
Albeit, back in the day, Puck thought he wouldn't be leaving Lima either. Now? He's living the life in New York. Just a small town boy. Undoubtedly, he struggled a lot when he first arrived. Finn settled much quickly due to a proper career, but Puck had never settled down or started a career and so he floundered a little at first. He went from job to job for years, busking on the side with his trusty guitar, until he fell upon a job as a bartender in a busy club downtown. He's not sure if it'll be permanent, but for now, he's happy with it. It pays the bills, which is more than he's been able to do in the past. There could be an oppurtunity to perform in a few weeks too, which he would love. (Though he'll deny it if asked, he loves the sessions with his friends on Friday nights and the girls apartment. Admitting that would be like a defeat to Rachel, so usually he makes a groan and then pulls out the guitar.)
He's pulled from his thoughts as a skinny, feminine and strikingly pale boy enters the apartment in a fluster. Puck raises his eyebrows at the spectacle, and though he was tempted to laugh at first, feels this strange sense of worry, which Puck very rarely gets. Unless we're talking football or something important like that.
Kurt's scarf has fallen down so that it's only hanging onto his neck by the very end, his jacket has fallen to his elbows and his hair (that is usually impressively immaculate) is in disarray. What worries Puck most though, is the glitter of tears he can see in the young boys eyes. Puck hates tears – he'd like to think more than most men (it reminds him too much of the past) but he doesn't run this time because genuine concern keeps him rooted. He see's this kid as a little brother, too, no matter how much he jokes around.
He isn't about to break tradition though. "Betty, what's going on?" Puck stands and walks around to the boy, whose eyes widen, as if he's only just realising the other mans presence.
Kurt sniffs disdainfully, straightens himself and shakes his head, "It doesn't matter. J-Just some immature and ignorant people," He spits out, starting out calm but allowing his temper to take over towards the end. Puck simply tilts his head for him to go on, and Kurt does as he fixes his clothes. He's seemingly gathering himself. "Some yob shouted some things at me on the underground and then threw some things at me. It doesn't matter. I'm better than he'll ever be and will have more money when I'm older than social welfare will ever give him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go exfoliate my skin after having such filthy things thrown at it."
He begins to walk away, and as he reaches the bathroom door, he finishes quietly, "I'll be done in about forty minutes."
Puck takes that as a hint to stay, that the kid wants company. He sighs and wonders why he's such a good person.
Santana and Quinn push their grocery trolley around slowly, checking each item carefully for ingredients and calories – because of Rachel and her annoying vegan habit – as they move along. No one wants to ever do the grocery shopping and this week, it happens to fall on Santana and Quinn. Rachel claimed it had been five weeks since they did it, and since neither Santana nor Quinn remember the last time they went food shopping, they agreed reluctantly. Besides, it gives them ample opportunity to gossip.
"Uh, no. Mike's abs are by far the best out of all of them." Santana states firmly, silently thinking that she's willing to bring up the fact she's seen all the boys bodies. Well, they had all been on holidays together – so she supposes Quinn has as well. Besides the point. (Santana hates being wrong, or even close to wrong.)
"I don't know.. he's been slacking a little lately." Quinn replies, picking up some chocolate spread. She holds it in her hand, and then glances guiltily at Santana, "Too bad?"
She shakes her head, "Nah, chocolate's good for the soul. Though don't wanna get fat again, Q."
The blonde simply ignores that comment, and continues with the conversation, "I'm sick of us all being single – I wanna' meet and grill a boyfriend or girlfriend."
Santana nods and shrugs a shoulder, "Preferably a girlfriend. Much more fun to torment."
Quinn nods in agreement, "I was thinking of setting Finn up with the Dragon Lady..."
The Latina gasps, a large smirk running across her face, "You wouldn't! That is priceless.. I say do it. Finnocence needs some sex soon, I think. The way he's looking at Rach lately makes me want to barf."
"You've got such a way with words, San. And she's not that bad; she said thank you to me today and smiled. She's constantly complaining about men and her love life, too. Finn is happy, she'll like that for ten minutes, get laid, and then dump him when she remembers that she loves misery." She pauses, "Of course, I've factored Finn's feelings into this. I plan on telling him she's an awful human being, but that she may put out."
Santana pouted, "Why you gotta' tell him about your boss' horrid side? It would have been so fun to see him arrive home after that one." She looks wistful and Quinn nudges her.
"It would be too cruel."
"This is where we differ, Barbie. You coming out tonight? Some wanky after last night?" Her smirk reappears again and Quinn groans.
"Don't remind me. But, yes, I am... God knows I can never 'just say no'." It isn't as if they go out every weekend, but ... most weekends. There are a few regular places they all went to, and then sometimes it's more spontaneous than that. Problem is, although Quinn loves it, there is usually some drama after nights out. Only when drink is involved (which it usually is) obviously; Rachel is a needy drunk who becomes incredibly touchy-feely; Santana becomes bitchier than usual, and then sluttier, too; Brittany strips and dances for money wherever they are – that one can get them into trouble; Finn gets horribly, disgustingly sick if he drinks too much and he's much more liable to it than the others... Not to mention he says the most stupid things when he's drunk; Puck's not much different, except louder and likes to think he's a rockstar; Kurt falls asleep and when he's awake, talks in French rapidly; Quinn talks a lot (non-stop) and can be emotional at times; finally, Mike is the most placid drunk – he simply talks more.
It's rare that all of them go out at the same time as at least one person tends to be busy as there are so many of them – if eight can be called many. Big occasions like birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, holidays, etc are the ones that everyone goes out for. Quinn's not quite sure who'll make it out tonight. Santana and Puck always – unless he's working – Quinn this time, probably not Kurt as he's snowed under with college and work, Finn maybe if Puck can convince him (or if Rachel's going out), Rachel perhaps pending on how her day at work went, not Mike as he doesn't go out unless it is an occasion and not Brittany as she has a dance class tomorrow.
"There shouldn't be a desire to! May just end up being you, me and Puck. We're the funnest ones anyway. I think I'll be able to get Rach and Brit out, and then Finn will come. We've got a few then!"
Quinn smiles, "Lovely. A good night out is to be had then!"
A/N: Thoughts? They'd be much appreciated! I won't always be updating daily, but for the most part, I will until chapter 13. I may at times leave two days to allow it to get around, if that makes sense? Also, in case you haven't noticed, there will be rather strong language in this story. Probs should have gave that warning before! Don't forget the poll on my page for endgame ships. (Yes, I'm going to say this every chapter. haha) Yes, I have to disclaim Puck's names for Kurt as it's an idea from Scrubs with Cox-JD.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, Friends or "I'll Be There For You" by the Rembrandts.
Thanks,
CN.