“The thought of using that shiny, reflective, hard surface you call hair to your advantage has never crossed your mind? Oh, ma cherie. Obviously Throat Explosion is at a much higher level, artistically, but we both already knew that.”
He looked down at Blaine, quite literally, smiling down evilly at his shorter competitor. Jean couldn’t wait to show the New Directions what his show choir had to offer. He wanted to take them down.
“You think you stand a chance that’s precious. And I’m from Montreal. I’m French Canadian. You have read about me from the show choir blogs, no? I grew up with the cirque, all the more reason for you to be intimidated. I float across a stage. Might as well give up while you’re ahead, little bug.”
Ma cherie? Isn’t that how the French address women? Blaine burrowed his brows and canted his head to the side at that before blinking it away. There was no way he’d budge under the maniacal smile/grin/whatever Jean was casting down at him. No way.
“Why would I bother reading about you in the show choir blogs? I don’t think you’re that interesting of a subject to hone in on.” He read every article he could get his hands on about their biggest competitor. Obviously–a small fact of Jean being FAKE FRENCH (or something–Blaine was getting desperate for any kind of way to knock this guy down in his mind so he could speak without stuttering) slipped his mind.
“Precious?” Speaking of French? Blaine suddenly wished Sebastian was here. Anything to have someone with a sharp tongue to have his back. No such luck–he was going solo on this one. Only him and Jean Baptiste. Why’d he go for coffee? “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s possible for someone with as big of a head as yours to float anywhere. We’re not giving up. OR losing to a show choir group named Throat Explosion. What kind of a name is that anyway?”
“Your hair really is quite shiny. Is that an artistic choice? Are you planning on using it as a reflective surface of some kind ? Like a human disco ball? If you think that’s going to outshine me, no pun intended, then you are sorely mistaken, petit homme. I am ready to crush you, like a bug. I want you to know that, you and your shiny hair.”
“I–What does most of that even mean? No. I’m not going to use it as a human disco ball. Who does that? There’s nothing wrong with my hair.. Judging by half your teammates styling it the exact same way. So… What you’re saying is there’s no chance of friendly competition for the sake of two show choir affectionados? Okay. I get it. I guess–if you’re planning on crushing me..? You better wear heavy boots because the New Directions won’t be going down without a fight. And–by the way–if you’re really French? Where did your accent go?”
pianokeysandbowties 