Mercedes had, indeed, planted her hands on her hips as soon as Quinn got into the thick of her untimely rant. It had started as a bit of a frustrated rant about kicking her toe, but then it just escalated to an outright cranky rave over living with males and how dicks sucked, and therefore so did Puck and Blaine. Honestly, the boxes were piled neatly and they knew they would have to live around them for a bit because they had moved without whilst still needing to work and study. She knew Kurt had been planning to help Blaine get the rest of his things unpacked that very day but Blaine had been a mess with his head. Mercedes saw it with her own eyes when Kurt had texted her from upstairs earlier and asked her to bring him an icepack up. He just had to sleep it off and there definitely wasn't going to be any unpacking that day. "You damn right, girlfriend," she cut in with a nod for emphasis. "What y'all playing at finger-pointing at the mess? I've still got boxes I ain't been able to get to and yours were lying 'round just as crazy these past few days. Puck's been working his buttcheeks off on nine nights straight at the cop shop and you wanna stand there and moan about a sore toe? Mmhmm. Bitch, please."
There might had been a sassy head wobble all of her own, and even a sassy finger shake. It was true, Quinn had been on edge the whole time they were moving, but everyone had been, so it was less pronounced. The only time she seems somewhat okay was when Jeremy Smyth had been there to help them carry boxes (at Blaine's request, and at least until he had been swivelling on the chair at the kitchen counter and he, too, copped a tongue-lashing) or when Kurt was in the midst of his OCD thing. She had softened then, knowing if they didn't let Kurt just do his thing, it could set him back to square one on his treatment progress. They knew all along he wouldn't cope if things felt out of place for him. He had to find his own new niche so he could keep a hold of the regime for his eating disorder. But now Quinn's mood was rife, and finally, her two bitchy friends weren't going to be outbitched anymore. Not even close.
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There might had been a sassy head wobble all of her own, and even a sassy finger shake. It was true, Quinn had been on edge the whole time they were moving, but everyone had been, so it was less pronounced. The only time she seems somewhat okay was when Jeremy Smyth had been there to help them carry boxes (at Blaine's request, and at least until he had been swivelling on the chair at the kitchen counter and he, too, copped a tongue-lashing) or when Kurt was in the midst of his OCD thing. She had softened then, knowing if they didn't let Kurt just do his thing, it could set him back to square one on his treatment progress. They knew all along he wouldn't cope if things felt out of place for him. He had to find his own new niche so he could keep a hold of the regime for his eating disorder. But now Quinn's mood was rife, and finally, her two bitchy friends weren't going to be outbitched anymore. Not even close.