#an apology for the horror i posted earlier lolol

[dayandnightwritings]

Kurtbastian Week, Day Three: Kurtbastian + Crossovers/AU

The backwoods of Ordona is not the best place to nurture a burgeoning sense of fashion.

Neither is his new outfit at the height of said fashion, if the look of the people wandering Hyrule Castle Town is anything to go by. Kurt tugs uncomfortably at the hem of his tunic, causing the pointed green hat to slip over his eyes yet again. He thinks the light spirit at the spring might have been being a sarcastic bitch when it said he was the ‘hero of the gods.’ Kurt doesn’t exactly feel heroic in this outfit. And fashion may have no gender, but he’s never been a fan of tights.

Still, he’s doing the hero thing, even if it means being stuck in tights, and the ‘hero thing’ has led him to Hyrule Castle Town, which is bustling with activity. Try as he might, Kurt is still a small town kid, and he knows he’s gaping unattractively, but he can’t help himself.

He’s never seen this many shops in his life.

Popping in and out of a couple of them reveal that they’re mostly geared towards adventuring supplies. Which are all well and good, but Kurt wants something more along the lines of apparel. He does manage to find one little shop near the edge of the town square that looks promising, but is turned away at the door by a snooty doorman who claims his shoes are filthy. Kurt looks down at his leather boots in dismay, finding nothing wrong with them.

It must be the tights.

Eventually Kurt gives up on getting any type of shopping done. Approaching a couple of the people in town yields the location of a bar, not too far from the south entrance, where he might find the help he was looking for.

He finds it off of the busy main road, sheltered in the shadow of two large buildings. Santana’s Bar, the sign reads, and Kurt pushes the door open slowly, adjusting the sword on his back with unconscious nerves. After some of the shit he’s seen, it’s really not a surprise.

The bar is dark, even in the middle of the day, and lit mainly from a glowing fire in the corner. It’s also practically empty, save for a huddled group of people whispering in a back alcove and the bartender half hunched over, rummaging beneath the bar. Figuring this is as good a place as any to start, Kurt approaches the counter and taps gently on the surface for attention.

The head that pokes itself over the lip definitely does not look like a “Santana” to him. A neat swoop of sandy hair is the first thing to appear, followed by narrowed green eyes and broad…exposedshoulderswhatthehell?

Kurt stumbles back, eyes wide, as the rest of the bartender emerges, all freckles and tanned skin. A quick glance downwards instantly clears up the preconception that he’s naked; a pair of shorts and a wrap hang low from his hips, secured with a rather flimsy looking belt. Kurt can feel his face reddening (how nice, a complimentary color to accent all the green) and drags his gaze upward guiltily.

His staring has not gone unnoticed; the barman is smirking now, putting down the glass and rag he was holding before lounging against the counter. His eyes too are wandering, taking in Kurt’s outfit with barely concealed derision, and Kurt suddenly feels like smacking the expression off of his face with the flat of his sword, as impolite as the action may be.

“Woooow…” The barkeep’s voice is low and melodic, and had it not been running with a nasty undercurrent of superiority, Kurt might have swooned. “We get a lot of characters around here, but I’ve never served an oversized grasshopper before.”

Kurt scowls, nose wrinkling with distaste as the man continues on. “You don’t look like the type to drink…If it’s Santana you’re looking for; she’s out for the day. Doubt she’d want much to do with a little, gay-faced thing like you though, you’re not really her type…”

Impolite or no impolite, Kurt really wants to change his decision about hitting him with the sword now. The barman sees the tensing in his shoulders and laughs, rolling his head back in a movement that causes the firelight to catch along the planes of his abs. “I really don’t see you doing much harm with that thing, lady. Though, I’m a gentleman, and I’d let you have the first strike, of course.”

 Kurt wants to tell him off, wants to ask when the last he’d been in a volcano, when the last time he’d been battling hordes of monsters and rescuing kidnapped children was. He seethes visibly, flushed all the way to the tips of his pointed ears now, and the barkeep notices that too. He doesn’t have the courtesy to stop laughing though, even as he holds up two hands in a defensive, calming gesture.

“Alright, grasshopper, relax. If you really want San, come back around the same time tomorrow.” The barman’s already turning away, busying himself with whatever it is shirtless barmen do. Kurt berates him silently for his utter uselessness and turns to go. He’s not even sure if this Santana’s help is worth this kind of treatment. Surely there is somewhere else in this gods-awful shopping-less city that’s a little more welcoming.

He’s nearly out of the bar when the man calls out again, and despite himself, Kurt stops with a foot out the open door, noises and chatter from the street already filtering in.

“And if I were you, I’d invest in a new outfit. No one’s gonna take you seriously in that get-up. Although…” And the barman’s laughing again, green eyes bright with amusement Kurt can see despite the dim lighting.

“Those tights really make your legs look hot.”

Kurt freezes, feeling his face filling yet again, and slams the door behind him. It’s not enough to muffle the loud, belly-deep laughter that’s emitting from inside, and the sound only fades as Kurt stomps off, fuming, not at the laughter but more at the small part of himself that’s actually looking forward to having to visit tomorrow.