Summary: Everyone has a breaking point: a flicker of insecurity, a fluster of memory, and most importantly, a moment of pure insanity. Although, with Quinn Fabray, it may be more insanity than anything else. Set in Season 1
Note: Hello! This is set in Season 1 - but without the baby drama. Just imagine that it is as the beginning of Glee.
Everything has a breaking point. When set to the correct temperature, water will boil, metals will melt, and with too much weather damage, roads will even erode; it's just about the same with a person, they can fall apart and crumble just like anything else that may be manufactured. But what is more difficult is understanding the reason, hardly being as durable as concrete, it came with a sort of insight in human nature.
With Quinn, it was harder to trace. She had the systematic currency of McKinley, good grades, a golden reputation, the flowering prosperity of her father's business, all the material she needed to make a name of herself, inside and out of Lima. But while the old familiar goals had kept her in well enough shape for the future, something else had started to take root. It started slowly, like most things do. Maybe a glance in the hallway, a raised hand in class, an interruption, a passionate rant, whatever it was, it started getting underneath her skin.
She refused to admit it at first, this affection, it was something she couldn't understand. Any knowledge she gained was from the horror of her father's own contempt. But as much as she struggled, it was hard to overlook something that never left. She found herself watching her, waiting for her, looking for her, wanting her. An almost overwhelming amount of proof sat underneath her bed, her fixation drawn out across sketchbooks and overdue homework. It wasn't long after her fifth missing assignment that she forced herself to acknowledge it. This crush.
Quinn was a girl who liked results. If she took time into something, she expected her effort to have gone to some good use; or at least make some progress. But with all the work she took to pushing Rachel away, it did nothing for her. She still got those queasy feelings in the pit of her stomach, still felt completely out of control, even with her added title of HBIC. She was at a loss, and as frustrated as ever - because this wasn't just a small flicker that momentarily caught her attention, like a moth you can swat from your eyes - though her case did fit well with a moth analogy, as she herself grew flighty and fluttered about, drawn to the flame.
And every once in a while, Quinn would indulge in the thought that Rachel liked her too. It was one of those fantasies couldn't help but want, couldn't help but revisit in the middle of the night, that every insult she ever threw was seen as it was, and that Rachel wasn't ashamed, mad or embarrassed She would pretend that Rachel wanted her too, that she was just waiting for her to figure it out.
It was depressingly easy to avoid the truth when one was desperate to see something else, but Quinn had always a knack for being composed of only reality, and never survived long in any dream. So her indulging thought remained so, and very rarely flamed up into anything so deceiving Should she ever get too hopeful and search for any signs of proof, then the answer would be well received in Rachel's hard, defensive gaze. And if Quinn thought really hard about it, it might have been that fact alone that caused all of this.
Which all somehow found a way on Santana Lopez's shoulders, "I can't believe you convinced me to do this, Fabray." Santana's smoky voice drifted through the end of Quinn's cell phone, nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder.
Blinking away the thickness of her thoughts, Quinn lazily brought the phone back to her ear. Her friend's voice crackled through the phone again. "I knew you were already well gone in that noggin of yours, but this is a little too much madness for me, and probably for the likes of the last few sane people in this town. Which, by the way, is starting to look like it's still just me."
Quinn rolled her eyes and dropped her head against the wall of Charlotte's Web, which was, apparently, the only legitimate store that carried the necessities for her plan in stock. She wasn't even allowed to enter Hot Topic without an adult, which was her first idea, but with more thought, she convinced Santana to take her to the store in her local facility.
Mulling it over, she decided it was a good call, Hot Topics was like a children's day care in comparison. "You already agreed. No backing out now Lopez." Quinn said absently, tilting her sunglasses back to look out for the straying ally men that seem to lurk around like mice. "Just get everything and I'll slip in and pay for it."
Already, she was compromising her morals. Willingly stepping into the boundaries of Lima Heights was warranted at least a weeks worth of punishment from her father, but since he wasn't about to find out, she figured memorizing passages from the Bible could wait till after she was arrested for being this reckless.
She figured Santana could manage the shopping until her heart properly recovered from the pleasant discovers it made from encountering the civilians here - all in which, looked very much like the 'outdoor campers' Coach Sylvester studied for her most recent Sue's Corner.
Santana's hazy voice returns, breaking Quinn from her inner musings and making her position the phone again. "This better not bite me in the ass later, Fabray. If you plan on becoming some kind of gothic serial killer, fine, but don't be dragging me down with you." Quinn opened her mouth to retort, but Santana continued heedlessly, "Also, what color wig did you want again? Because honestly, this brown one ugly as fuck."
Quinn pursed her lips and tapped the phone irritably with her finger, "The brown one is fine, just add it to the pile." Quinn waited for the scathing remark, but could only hear the quiet transmission of static and the distant clicking of metal. Quinn huffed and continued on. "You know, you don't have to like it. I already looked at it online. It's fine."
When she was met with only silence, Quinn sighed and scratched her forehead irritably with her wrist. She positioned her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose again, waiting impatiently for Santana to say something - anything really.
Finally, Santana's hazy voice returned, "Yeah, there is no way in hell I'm buying this."
Quinn's forehead furrowed, huffing, "Santana, just get the wig and I'll pay for it! I don't care if you like it or not." And with another huff, sounding a little more petulant than intended, she continued, "I mean, I have to look considerably attractive in it, and brown hair is like the middle ground for people with pale skin."
Santana's voice was thick with indolence, "Alright Fabray, dial back your crazy for a bit." Quinn could only roll her eyes. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, because honestly, I couldn't give a fuck, but somethings going on with you and the whole 'I just want a new look' descriptor is no longer cutting it for me. So, if you have plans to murder half the population, or whatever you Christians do on your free time, you're gonna have to tell me now before I get my ass in jail for you."
There was a pause, and then a distinct sound of disgust. "Man, who walks out of the house looking like that? You should see the cashier, she looks like a pregnant cow with a flamboyant dead bird nesting in her hair." Santana finished with a snort, her voice raising to alert everyone in a ten mile radius of her offensive opinion.
Quinn frowned and glared at the phone again, a mixture of confusion and irritation flickering across her face. "So, you're not getting the stuff?" Quinn finished with a hint of uncertainty. She always needs an affirmative with Santana, sometimes words just came out of her mouth without true commitment to go through with them.
"Just get your ass in here Fabray." Quinn frowned when the call suddenly ended, leaving only the light beeping of the dial tone to ring in her ears. With a petulant huff, Quinn snapped the phone shut and readjusted her sunglasses. Kicking away the loose gravel, she sneakily made her way to the front of the building and maneuvered away from the sights of direct sunlight. Those 'outdoor campers' can practically smell sweat.
Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she snuck through the darkly dappled building and avoided any eyes that may have strayed to her. It smelled faintly of old clothes and musky cologne that burned dimly in her throat. She found Santana by a shelf of demonic jewelry, shifting through the anti-Christ symbols as if it were old newspaper articles.
Quinn didn't want to share her plan with Santana; the girl was pretty much incapable of feeling empathy, or any form of compassion, and sharing this somewhat sketchy transition in her life would most likely be met with unwavering laughter. But Quinn couldn't bare tell anyone else, so it left Quinn with two undesirable options: tell the truth, or give up now and reserve herself to a dull and disappointing life.
Quinn pursed her lips, switching back and forth between the two evils. It took some time, but she mulled over the idea of giving up, crumbling up her plan and settling down with her current boyfriend, which would inevitably end with marriage and several happy (dopey) children in Lima. With a gut ripping twist, Quinn ducked her head shyly and tried to formulate a way to put her situation lightly; which was a loss on Santana as she completely missed the need for delicacy and coarsely added for her to 'spit it out already'.
Quinn's head bows and lets out a hoarse, inaudible whisper. "I don't think I can be Quinn Fabray any longer." Santana raised an unimpressed eyebrow and instantly pressed the speed-up button on Quinn's nervous speech. "Well, not entirely at least. I can still be her in a way, I just can't...look like her."
Santana raised her other eyebrow and a flash of something passed across her face. Suddenly, the squirming feeling in Quinn's stomach returned.
Quinn took another shaky breath, "Look, I can't explain it, okay? All you need to know is that this is something I'm going to do," when Santana just stared at her, she felt the need to slip out another part, as though her friend really didn't mean that much to her, as though she didn't need her and wasn't feeling queasy again with the fear of doing this alone. "With or without your help."
Santana rolled her eyes. "Right, well if not me, then get some sort of attention. I can call the institution." Quinn sighed and raised a hand, covering her eyes helplessly. She could sense the quick fall of another response and just how quickly this conversation could turn out into an argument, and then she would never have her help. It was now or never.
"I want Rachel Berry." Santana blinked wordlessly, but Quinn had already started, and the words wouldn't stop, "I want Rachel Berry, and not in the way that I wanted Finn, or wanted my sisters old bicycle. I want her, but as the whole world knows, Rachel doesn't want me, and for a pretty damn good reason." She sighed and her eyes flickered about, another thought popping in almost absently. "My parents would kill me."
The pause that extended between them was endless, but when Quinn continued, it was all in the same breath, and her heart jumped to life again.
"But if I wasn't Quinn Fabray, maybe...I could get her." Quinn muttered helplessly, but still, the words wouldn't stop. "I could be Quinn Fabray for a good portion of the day, go to school, get good grades, show up for dinner, and meet all of my parents requirements, but then, when I could fit time in, I could be someone else. Someone no one knows, who no one would recognize. Someone who could get Rachel Berry."
Santana was staring at her with wide, crazy eyes, but still, the words continued to flow out of her, becoming a slur of nervous explanations.
"I mean, sure...it's going to be difficult. I know Rachel could probably recognize my voce. But I figured those things can easily be altered and maybe, if I look different enough, she wouldn't be able to recognize me. I can't look ridiculous, but, if I could buy a different hair color or maybe just different clothes, she wouldn't see Quinn Fabray in her. She would see somebody else."
Quinn slowly drifted off when she took notice of Santana's gaping mouth, moving irritably up and down like some fish.
When Quinn felt as though she may be sick with all the emotional indigestion, Santana finally found her voice. "This is a fucking joke, right? If so, fuck you, and if not, that is so fucking messed up, I don't even know where to begin."
Quinn's heart jumped again and she fought the urge to do something drastic, or possibly embarrassing. She didn't want to loose Santana, no matter how irritating she was.
Quietly, she stepped a little closer, her voice dipping down. "This isn't a joke Santana, I can assure you." Evidently, that wasn't the answer Santana was hoping for, because her lips only grew firmer in the corners, carving lines into her caramel forehead.
Quinn raked a hand nervously through her hair. "Honestly, Santana, this isn't a joke. I know it's a little...crazy," Quinn breathed out airily, but ignored the odd and somewhat cruel sound that came out of Santana's mouth, "but this is something I'm going to do, whether you help me or not."
A rich silence followed shortly after her words. Santana's dark eyes narrowed like that of a snake, reducing into dark distrustful slits. Santana watched her carefully as her eyes flickered up and down Quinn's body as if expecting to see her deceit written plainly on her skin.
Evidently, she didn't find an inky telegram on Quinn's arm, and eventually let out a sigh, kneading gently at her temple. "Ah, fuck. Why the hell do I always get mixed up with the crazies?" Quinn stomach bottomed out, but she forced herself to follow the trail her words, working past the stab of her first sentence. "Come on Blondie, you have to disguise yourself better than that. Clark Kent may have gotten away with it, but your not fucking Superman. If you part your hair and put large glasses on, people will still recognize you. I'll just never speak to you again."
Quinn slowly blinked, parting her lips as if to ask a question, although, no other words came out. Santana rolled her eyes and knocked Quinn lightly on the hip as she turned around toward another part of the store. Quinn felt weak all of a sudden as she watched her friend walk away, but the sentiments of her emotions quickly turned sour when Santana looked behind her and whistled at her like a dog.
If that wasn't enough, she followed through with her usually offensive voice, "Come on Lassie, I don't have all day." Quinn gawked and straightened her spine in revolt, folding her arms stubbornly across her torso. The aching throb in her chest vanished the moment Santana opened her big mouth. Being neglected and abandoned was starting to look like the ideal situation.
Santana's only answer was to turn around and stalk towards the sketchy place in the store, a move marked with trepidation as she slipped behind the curtains. Quinn frowned and bit her lip, hesitating to move any closer to the possibly possessed shelves, but with Santana's impatient whistle, Quinn kicked into gear and forced her legs to follow.
Surrounded by darkness, Quinn gasped as the hard frame of a chair abruptly knocked against her knees; Santana's hands pulled her into the seat and pressured her shoulders to relax into it. With only the blackness in front of her, Quinn groped for a familiar object to hold onto, frustrated with her limited range of the wooden arms of her chair.
She was about to jump out by any means possible by the time Santana clicked one of the dangling lights above her, filling the room with a gloomy sort of luminance. It was an instant relief and her body fell into the chair, deflated from a breath Quinn hadn't realized she was holding.
Quinn's glare was acid; it could have scared anyone into submission, but Santana merely laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, are you claustrophobic? It must have slipped my mind." Tugging on Quinn's ear, she moved away to quickly uncover the clothed mirror in front of her, firmly readjusting it into the proper lighting. "You're about as hopeless as Finn winning a single football game, but, who knows, maybe with a little slut luck." Santana crinkled her nose as she wiped away the faint stains of makeup and other unknown substances from the vanity.
Quinn sunk lowly into her seat, her eyes becoming cautious and weary. "I don't want to look like some harlot, I just- I just."
"Yeah, I got it the first time, hot for Berry. We're making it happen, so sit the fuck down." Santana pressed her hands back to Quinn's shoulders, as she had already tried to make a move to leave. When Quinn stopped resisting and finally sank back down into the chair, Santana smirked and removed herself to filter sample products with the promising fact that Quinn stilled at the thought of Berry.
As Santana left her side, Quinn's attention diverted to anything else but the mirror, lingering on the posters and pictures stapled onto the walls; but every few seconds her eyes would flicker back to the glass reflection and an uncomfortable squirming would occur in her lower intestines. She didn't look like the girl she remembered; there was no happy Christian smile, or unwavering hazel eyes.
This girl was hesitant and cracked, like a stranger you might meet in a seedy place where one can only keep eye contact for a few seconds before it becomes shamed. She was unrecognizable, a different girl. She wasn't exactly Quinn Fabray, but she wasn't the new girl either, she was a girl inbetween and Quinn didn't exactly like her.
The girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair, staring uneasily into the darkness where Santana had disappeared. Her anxiety trailed off when she stared longer into Santana's darkened corner, feeling a kneading curiosity in the pit of her stomach. Santana has no reason to be here, especially since she isn't exactly a charitable person. The last time the Salvation Army tried to ask for money, Santana growled at them like a wild dog and scared them half to death.
Clearing her throat, Quinn looked back to Santana. "Why are you helping me, San?"
In the darkness, there was a pause. It was hardly noticeable, but it lasted for a few seconds longer before Santana was in motion again. "Other than to see you crash and burn?" Quinn rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the gauzy mirror. "I suppose it's 'cause my life is as dry as the Sahara desert and your little mental break down is like a fucking oasis for my boring life." There was a faint clicking sound as Santana rummaged through the piles again, "Also, my television broke down last month and I am seriously getting Reality TV withdrawals. If only you spoke Espanól, then this would truly be the Spanish soap operas I am desperately missing."
Quinn shook her head and chuckled. "You're a bitch, Lopez."
Santana suddenly appeared right beside her and swiftly latched a metal demonic chain around her neck, "The one and only." Quinn watched the metal necklace dangle on her neck with wide fearful eyes, but could only nod weakly when Santana questioned if she should continue. Santana looked far too pleased for their interaction to be considered legal.
It went on like that for nearly an hour and a half. Quinn only grew paler as the time went on, changing with a wide variety of different facial features and hair colors. Her expression was drawn on as if she were a dry erase board. Once and a while a customer or curious staff member would wander over to question them, but whether they were irritating or merely curious, they left in a hurry after hearing the long stream of insults tunneling from Santana's smiling, hyena lips. All the while, Quinn's pile of clothes and jewelry grew larger.
Getting the nose piercing was a deal Quinn tried to squirm out of. She didn't even like facial jewelry, but Santana somehow managed to tie her to it. And it was a nasty compromise: a nose ring or a tongue piercing. Normally, Quinn would have disregarded Santana's opinion whenever she saw fit, but due to their current situation, she had no choice but to acquiesce. Still, the nose ring was better than the dangle metal bar that would have gone through her tongue.
"I still don't know why a nose ring is necessary " Quinn lamented, wincing when Santana's short fingernails scratched against the tender spot behind her ear. "I can take off a wig, but a nose ring leaves a hole. And my parents don't like jewelry that pierce the skin, they think it's unnatural." Santana's snort was loud in her ear and she scratched the tender spot again, with perhaps more intention.
Santana's smirk was conniving. "Ya know, I always wondered about that." she drawled as she picked through her pile, finally fingering the nick of an old faux leather collar. Quinn stilled, her eyes wide. Santana snorted. "What made nose rings the devil's jewelry, but nailing a guy to a cross is written down and worshiped" The dig was enough to blink her dazzled stare and open her mouth, but Santana had quickly cut back in, just in time to save herself from a sermon. "They're not gonna notice, Q. You could probably come home without an arm and they wouldn't notice until it stained their white cushions."
Santana smirked and worked the latch on the metal teeth, her fingers swiftly clicking the collar together and readjusting the position.
She didn't notice the tightened muscles underneath her fingertips, or the way Quinn had stopped breathing. She didn't see the tension coil in her stomach or the ice set in her eyes. What she didn't understand was the small flicker of fear that came from a child's greatest terror: the thought of being unloved. It's a quiet, cold knowledge that looms in the back of her mind and bites her with hard mechanical jaws whenever she gives it any notice.
Quinn felt the cold icy knowledge slip through her veins. Her heart constricts, but with great difficulty, she swallows down the stream of insults she wants to whip out.
"Whatever. Just make sure it's a small hole. You're enough trouble as it is, I don't need anyone else figuring me out." Quinn said coolly, her voice becoming sharp enough to cut her own tongue. Santana only nodded, taking note to the shaky ground between them.
She didn't say anything more, but her movements became delicate, her hands become gentle and her fingernails no longer scratched the tender spot behin her ear, and eventually, Quinn relaxed into her chair.
After what seemed to be a century, Santana released a long sigh that marked the end of Quinn's torture. "There, I did it." Santana wiped the fake sweat off her forehead and leaned closer to appreciate her work through the mirror. "I can now officially call you attractive without hacking up a lung." Quinn shot her a glare through the corner of her eyes, but quickly returned her attention to her reflection. She was stunned, she looked completely different.
Quinn shifted foreward and looked sharply over her new features, moving her eyes rapidly across the unrecognizable reflection. The blonde hair was gone, stuck underneath a fiery pink wig. It was tapered and wild, ghosting past her cheek and framing her face in an oddly alluring way. Even things Santana did not alter looked different.
Her high cheekbones looked hollow and dusted her skin with a paler skin tone. Her nose was delicate and thin, and her cheekbones swept down to a small chin that made her face appear heart-shaped. The girl in the mirror looked at her unwaveringly, unashamed, her wide-set hazel eyes swirling with mystery.
This wasn't Quinn Fabray, and this wasn't her reflection, but she owned it somehow, and she felt the need to claim it. Hesitantly, Quinn touched her cheek with the soft pads of her fingertips, gingerly exploring her high cheekbones and the small dimple in her chin, touching as if she were afriad the skin may disappear.
Santana watched Quinn with a bored expression until her patience broke. "So, Mr. Kent, you have a new name for that look, right? Cause if it's something embarressing or in any association with fruit, I will take you down." Quinn blinked and slowly removed her gaze from the girl in the mirror, turning to stare blankly at her friend. She hadn't considered getting a new name, least of all what it may be if she were to get one. Santana's smirk slowly fell off her face the longer Quinn's silence crawled on, dragging the moment out painfully between them.
"You're joking, right?" Quinn at least had the decency to look ashamed and Santana's expression of surprise slowly molded into one of disgust. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You didn't think about this at all before jumping into it, did you? Dios mio." Santana shook her head.
"Yes I did!" Quinn retorted stubbornly, but the faint blush on her cheeks conflicted with her lie. Quinn returned her gaze to the mirror, vaguely grabbing her lower lip in an inattentive habit. "I can't just go by my middle name?" Quinn said with her pointer and middle finger poised against her lips. Santana's eyes narrowed onto her nervous quirk, watching as the fingers moved by muscle memory to reflect her anxiety.
"No, you can't." Santana said bluntly. She didn't know Quinn's middle name but she wouldn't be surprised if it was something embarressing like her sister's name, or something Christian - which was equally shameful in her opinion. Quinn huffed and turned her attention back to the mirror, tuggling lightly on her lower lip. "Also, what the fuck are you doing?"
Quinn blinked and dropped her hand limply into her lap, looking up at her friend with a mix of skeptical puzzlement, "What?"
Santana rolls her eyes. "First, you can't act like Quinn Fabray, so stop doing all of her quirks and little antics." Quinn pauses and furrows her brow, obviously trying to remember what she did only moments ago. Santana sighs and taps her lightly on the wrist, "You've got a problem with playing with your fingers and lower lip." Quinn blushs and quickly looks away, clearing her throat uncomfortably. It was an odd expression on the face of this new woman, which reminded Santana of the problem at hand. "And, since you're incapable in doing so yourself, I will name you Dara."
That got her attention. The girl paused and tilted her head to the side in question, "Dara?" Again, the expression looked odd on the face of a woman with metal chains wrapped around her belt loops.
Santana sighed in exasperation, "Yeah, she was a character in a movie I watched. She was all badass and rode with a motorcycle gang, but those are all unnecessary details." Santana shook her words away with a wave of her hand, eager to move on with the subject and Quinn forced herself to bite down her remark on Santana's dork-i-ness. "Anyway, the point is that the name fits a punk high-school drop out, not a Christian cheerleader. And right now you look like some half-breed inbetween. And if I don't buy it, there is no way in hell Berry will. She probably smells fear with that large Toucan beak of hers."
Quinn's eyes flash briefly before she looks back to the mirror, her hand ghosting across the pink hair and the darkened hollows of her cheekbones. She hesitates, nibbling lightly on her lower lip, "Do you really think Rachel will like all of this?" Quinn's voice wavered and she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "I mean, do you think she's into this kind of stuff? Because what if she doesn't like nose rings, or 'punk high school drop outs', what do I do then?" Quinn asked timidly, her fingers tracing the large witch symbols on her necklace.
Santana paused to stare at Quinn with an unreadable expression. Her dark eyes whirled ominously in the dim light, and the sudden pressure of the new mood prickled across their skin, forcing a thick silence to emerge between them.
As it grew, Santana's lips started to move, a subconscious motion to patch up the uncomfortable silence, "I don't know if Berry will like 'Dara', but it's not like she was a big fan of Quinn Fabray either." Quinn winced and looked away, the ominous light casting dark shadows across her face.
Santana's forehead crinkled and her lips moved again to manage the damage, "What I mean is that you don't have anything to loose, and if you really want Berry – which makes me vomit a little in my mouth – then you kinda don't have a choice. I can't guarantee anything since Berry still chases that boy toy you dangle around," Quinn grimaced fiercely, "but, I don't know, maybe the hobbit will surprise you."
Santana finished tightly, her dark eyes staring at Quinn a little longer to make sure the message was passed before shifting away from her; an action that can be understood since Santana didn't like to be out of her stone fortress of heartlessness for any longer than a few minutes. Either way, Quinn appreciated it.
Quinn nodded slowly, absorbing the rare bit of kindness from her friend with a small smile. Tilting her head, she looked back to the mirror and rotated her face, getting the full view of this new identity. Her long eyelashes were darkened with slick black mascara; her lips were colored a different shade now, looking moist with a vibrant bloody red. Her skin appeared a shade paler than before from the fiery contrast of her pink hair and hollowed cheekbones, but with the right expression, she had to admit she looked good.
Quinn tested out a few expressions, going through the short list of facial flexibilities. And of course, when the uncomfortable sentimental feelings vanished from Santana's iron stomach, she returned with vengeance. She blushed at Santana's muffled laughter when she curled her lip and clawed the empty air.
Evidently, she did find something that Santana deemed worthy; it wasn't apathetic, but it wasn't something that would scare the dogs away. Her eye-lids drooped half-way into a hazy sleepy expression. Puckering her lips, she blew herself a kiss. She would have Rachel Berry, even if it wasn't Quinn Fabray that would get her.
She could do it, she could be Dara.
Quinn sighed and rolled her eyes. Of course she had never planned to use another name other than her own, but now its obvious that would be her only choice. She would have to think of something, but for now, Quinn was content with admiring this new side of her - watching as her new half-identity formed into her skin. And she had to say, her skin wore it perfectly.
Through the reflection of the mirror, Quinn watched distantly as Santana started to move behind her. Her caramel skin flickered in and out of sight as she walked through the thin ribbons of light. She prowled like a lion through the room and back again, almost restless on her feet, and yet, showing no signs of distress.
Quinn turned in her chair, almost speaking out to her friend as she disappeared through the door. But if she was getting in a fight, there really wasn't anything Quinn could do to stop her. There was very little people who really could.
Fortunatley, she didn't have to worry for long, because sure enough Santana had swiftly reappeared through the dangling beads and reaffirmed her grating presence with a sharp tug on Quinn's pink hair.
"Where did you go off to?" Quinn said irritably, still ducking down to avoid any future trauma from Santana's fingers. Santana only rolled her eyes again.
"To get proper sunglasses," In a swift movement, Santana pushed the darkly tinted lens up the bridge of Quinn's nose, "I realize that you're eyes are like some kind of gay billboard that flashes your name in bright rainbow colors, so sunglasses should do the trick for a little while." Quinn frowned, but by some unholy force of nature, was able to ignore the barb.
"So you think this will work?" Quinn asked; somehow, she still needed reassurance, despite the four hours of torture that created a different her. And even more surprisingly, Santana didn't make fun of her. Instead, she smiled through the mirror and clasped Quinn's shoulder tightly.
"Don't worry Dara, you'll get your Berry."
Rachel Berry sighed as she slid from her car's leather seats. Her fathers were becoming rather gluttonous. This was the second time this month she was sent out to retrieve goodies from the local store, and for some reason, her vegan ice cream kept disappearing. She had her suspicions, of course, but its become all too clear now who were the conspirators of it all. The name of her delicious vegan treat was written on her fathers' "Must Get" list.
Rachel shook her head and briskly stepped up onto th side walk. She would have to talk to her parents later about possessions and ownership, and how they aren't usually shared just because a marathon of Greys Anatomy is on. With a huff, Rachel stepped up into the widened entrance of the store.
As she reached for a cart, however, her eyes caught a singular movement that dragged her attention to the lone figure across from her. In a corner where some of the most haggard of men loomed about, stood a more pronounced figure against the wall.
She was a woman, a fact quickly assured by the snug clothes that clung to her body in a number of appealing ways, broadcasting the attractive curves underneath the metals and chains looped into her loose dark t-shirt.
It wasn't just her strange attire that kept her apart from the ambiguous men around her, there was something else that separated her pale skin from the pasty flesh of her surroundings. Rachel couldn't quite put a finger to it, but it caught her attention like a meat hook and kept her dangling. Smoldering pink hair framed her face and brought Rachel's eyes to the defined lines of her bone structure.
She was distinguished in ways that were almost familiar, but she couldn't place a name on that face. Just the simple fact that she was beautiful.
As fate would have it, the woman abruptly turned her head away from the man blundering in front of , perhaps to escape the drunkard's obvious moves on her with a silencing cold shoulder. But te movement that was meant to block something opened up a tunnel of vision for Rachel. And when their eyes met, even with those dark eyeglasses, she could feel the sharpness of her eyes.
She nearly stepped closer, the curiosity getting the better of her, but as the woman turned her attention completely towards her, her feet rooted to the cement. Rachel watched with a hint of surprise as the woman's lips slowly spread into a smirk, a pink tongue peeking out from behind her perfect row of white teeth and slowly wet her lips. What surprised Rachel even more is how her eyes seemed adamant to follow this swift movement.
With an imperceptible swallow, Rachel willed herself to move on. She had to get her vegan cheese, a very important factor for her father's adored vegan lasagna recipe. And staring at this stranger had already delayed her greatly.
But as she slowly removed herself to retrieve her abandoned cart, she cast another look behind her shoulder to the unknown girl and felt her cheeks heat up; a predatory smirk curled across the stranger's lips.
With another swallow, Rachel tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and briskly continued her walk towards the entrance. Before she could completely venture into the Supermarket, she caught a movement as quick as a knife in the corner of her eye; the stranger raised a hand to her and slowly waved it in the air. She wasn't beckoning her closer, but something in the way her lips curled made it seem like she didn't have to.
In a frazzled mood, Rachel stiffly continued walking. That smirk stuck with her through the Supermarket, all the way home, through dinner, and until her absentmindedness brought a fork full of burning cheese to her lips and properly scolded her tongue. Irony worked in wonderous ways.