When he finally did make contact with the floor, Kurt was surprised to feel the rude slap of cold tiles against his skin. He opened his eyes, his bare ass stinging beneath him, and surveyed the inconcievably vast room surrounding him. His voice was a stunned whisper as he stood, gazing up at his own two-storey boot which was pitching up a pile of discarded designer clothes. "Toto.. I have a feeling we're not in Lima anymore."
Now a real-live figurine, Kurt Hummel wandered through the jungle of a locker room, awestruck by everything he saw. A balled up pair of socks sat in his path, reeking of foot funk. Nearby a pair of mud-caked cleats lay overturned, smelling like a thousand gruelling football games. Kurt shook his head. "Ugh, boys. I'll bet my Gucci none of these neanderthals have ever been near a pumice stone or peppermint scrub in their lives."
Next to the gym doorway leading to the gym, a pair of white underwear sat soaking in a pool of sweat, and for a moment Kurt stared at the crumpled up briefs, wondering just whose man meat had left those particular smears and stains all over the worn fabric. He quickly forgot his curiosity, though, when a towering figure appeared in the doorway.
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