Quinn Fabray - The Queen of Cups

There was one thing that working in a carnival taught you, and that was that everything had to be a show. Maybe there were no customers around yet, but that didn’t mean it was okay for Quinn to walk out of her caravan in yoga pants and the t-shirt she’d stolen from Dave last time she’d spent the night at his trailer. Before she set a foot outside the door, she made sure that her hair was laying smoothly around her face, her makeup was perfect, and that the combination of white prairie skirt and tight yellow sleeveless shirt didn’t make her look fat.

Shoulders back, chin up, stomach sucked firmly in, Quinn walked across the grounds, barely sparing a glance for the rousties setting up for the coming day. Her destination? Nowhere in particular, but she’d spent more than enough time holed up in her caravan and she was getting just a little stir crazy. Surely, somewhere in this busy place, there was someone worth spending time with. She just had to hope that they’d notice her, because there was no way in hell she was going to look desperate by making that first move. If nothing else, she’d sit down and eat lunch by herself, just to prove that being alone didn’t bother her at all.

just—dave:

thequeenofcups:

just—dave:

“Oh, you’re on your own, honey. Shit’s all for me.” Dave smirked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I swear to god if I have to listen to the same instrumental for the same goddamn number one more time I’m gonna dismantle every single amp and speaker in the camp.” he muttered, holding up the Tupperware containers. “Got some’a that soup Figgins’ old lady made. Some sandwich shit, too.”

They were long past the polite visitor standards at this point, so Dave just settled in at the table and started unpacking everything, glancing at the deck on the table. God, he hated those. And the readings. He didn’t know why, really. It was all crap, mostly. Crap or no, it always gave him an uneasy feeling.

Quinn shuddered theatrically at the mention of the music. “Ugh, please, do it. While you’re at it, you could tell the performers that even if they have to have their music at earsplitting volumes for the shows, which I don’t believe anyway, they really don’t need it on to practice with.” Honestly, what was so hard to understand about not annoying everyone else? Shaking her head, she started assembling sandwiches from the supplies Dave had brought, careful to move around him without actually touching.

If she touched him, she could get a better idea of what was actually bothering him. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t eyeing him to see if she could sneak in a glimpse. Still, it was a breach of privacy, and she wouldn’t like it if he poked into her business instead of asking. Of course, she was a lot more willing to actually talk about it than he was. Mind made up, she laid a hand on his arm, very carefully thinking about things other than figuring out what he was thinking about. “I could make some coffee, if you want any.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dave nodded slightly, pulling the lid off of the Tupperware bowl full of still-warm soup. “You had this shit yet? Fucking good.” he mentioned, digging into the plastic store bag that had been filled with Styrofoam plates and bowls and plastic-ware.

Dave liked being around Quinn. Generally she didn’t pry, and she definitely didn’t do it to the extent that some other people did. It was probably an added bonus that she only did it because she gave a shit, rather than out of sheer nosiness. “Mn, laundry had a schedule change. You’re with me on Wednesday now, swapped out for the Monday you had.”

“I hadn’t tried it.” Actually, Quinn hadn’t eaten yet that day, but she wasn’t about to tell Dave that. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be pleased if she did… the truth was she hadn’t left her caravan at all, opting instead for as quiet a day as possible. “I’ll take your word for it, though. It smells good.”

She dumped some coffee grounds into her smallest teapot, then poured in water from the pitcher on the counter. Onto the burner it went, and she got out a cup for Dave while she waited for it to whistle. It wasn’t one of the cups she usually gave him, but one of her special ones. “The others are all dirty,” she told him as she placed it on its saucer at his usual seat. “If you break it, you will be finding me a replacement.”

As for the laundry… she sighed. “I wonder who threw a fit about it this time. Probably Berry.” Quinn didn’t know that Rachel cared one bit about when she did her laundry. She just liked to blame the other young woman for as many things as possible. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do about it, though, and she was fairly certain she had enough clothes to last her until Wednesday without having to wear anything twice.

just—dave:

thequeenofcups:

just—dave:

Day in and day out, it was generally all the same. It was yet another reason on the long list of them as to way Dave drank. Sometimes, though, the repetitiveness was too much even for Jack to handle. He was pretty sure it got like that for a lot of people, both in the carnival and in the “regular” world. Not that Dave knew much about how the regular word worked first-hand. 

He found himself at Quinn’s door, balancing a bottle and a late lunch for the both of them under one arm as he knocked loudly on the door. “‘Bout to lose my shit, lady,” he called. “Lemme hole up in here for a while.” 

It had been a long time since Dave showing up on her doorstep had been a surprise for Quinn; in fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t half expected him to come knocking any minute. The reason never exactly shocked her, either - she often dropped by his trailer for the same purpose. As much as she really loved the carnival life, the little things did start getting to you. That was why she kept coffee alongside her tea, and sturdier mugs than the small, delicate set her mother had taken from her childhood home and left with her daughter as some sort of blessing.

At the sound of his voice, Quinn put aside the deck she’d been straightening and swept the various things spread across the surface of the kitchen table into one more compact heap. It would drive her crazy to have it all jumbled up, but it was better than leaving it to Dave’s mercy. She considered putting something on over the tanktop and athletic style shorts she preferred for hanging out at home, then decided against it. It wasn’t as though Dave would care… and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before. Tucking the hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears, she took the few steps to the door.

Once there, she opened it with a smile. “Hi, stranger.” Gesturing at the food, she teased, “If some of that isn’t for me, you can just turn around and find somewhere else to hide out.” She was already stepping out of the way, though, giving him room to enter.

“Oh, you’re on your own, honey. Shit’s all for me.” Dave smirked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I swear to god if I have to listen to the same instrumental for the same goddamn number one more time I’m gonna dismantle every single amp and speaker in the camp.” he muttered, holding up the Tupperware containers. “Got some’a that soup Figgins’ old lady made. Some sandwich shit, too.”

They were long past the polite visitor standards at this point, so Dave just settled in at the table and started unpacking everything, glancing at the deck on the table. God, he hated those. And the readings. He didn’t know why, really. It was all crap, mostly. Crap or no, it always gave him an uneasy feeling.

Quinn shuddered theatrically at the mention of the music. “Ugh, please, do it. While you’re at it, you could tell the performers that even if they have to have their music at earsplitting volumes for the shows, which I don’t believe anyway, they really don’t need it on to practice with.” Honestly, what was so hard to understand about not annoying everyone else? Shaking her head, she started assembling sandwiches from the supplies Dave had brought, careful to move around him without actually touching.

If she touched him, she could get a better idea of what was actually bothering him. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t eyeing him to see if she could sneak in a glimpse. Still, it was a breach of privacy, and she wouldn’t like it if he poked into her business instead of asking. Of course, she was a lot more willing to actually talk about it than he was. Mind made up, she laid a hand on his arm, very carefully thinking about things other than figuring out what he was thinking about. “I could make some coffee, if you want any.”

just—dave:

Day in and day out, it was generally all the same. It was yet another reason on the long list of them as to way Dave drank. Sometimes, though, the repetitiveness was too much even for Jack to handle. He was pretty sure it got like that for a lot of people, both in the carnival and in the “regular” world. Not that Dave knew much about how the regular word worked first-hand. 

He found himself at Quinn’s door, balancing a bottle and a late lunch for the both of them under one arm as he knocked loudly on the door. “‘Bout to lose my shit, lady,” he called. “Lemme hole up in here for a while.” 

It had been a long time since Dave showing up on her doorstep had been a surprise for Quinn; in fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t half expected him to come knocking any minute. The reason never exactly shocked her, either - she often dropped by his trailer for the same purpose. As much as she really loved the carnival life, the little things did start getting to you. That was why she kept coffee alongside her tea, and sturdier mugs than the small, delicate set her mother had taken from her childhood home and left with her daughter as some sort of blessing.

At the sound of his voice, Quinn put aside the deck she’d been straightening and swept the various things spread across the surface of the kitchen table into one more compact heap. It would drive her crazy to have it all jumbled up, but it was better than leaving it to Dave’s mercy. She considered putting something on over the tanktop and athletic style shorts she preferred for hanging out at home, then decided against it. It wasn’t as though Dave would care… and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before. Tucking the hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears, she took the few steps to the door.

Once there, she opened it with a smile. “Hi, stranger.” Gesturing at the food, she teased, “If some of that isn’t for me, you can just turn around and find somewhere else to hide out.” She was already stepping out of the way, though, giving him room to enter.

just—dave:

thequeenofcups replied to your post: Quinn.

They’re beautiful, Dave. Of course I’m going to make a big deal, I can’t show off if no one knows. You’d think you would have realized this by now, silly boy.

I don’t think you’re allowed to call me a silly boy if I’m older than you, lady. 

But good. If you didn’t like ‘em I’d have to keep them. And personally I think I’d look terrible in them, so. 

I don’t think you’re allowed to tell me what I’m allowed to do, little boy. You might be just butch enough to pull it off, but you’re not getting them back now unless you pry them off my fingers.

freakshowberry:

…on how to appropriately use my sex appeal. I realize it goes unnoticed by most of you, but it is there. I’m not just a pretty voice. I am also a beautiful face and a nice pair of legs. I may be able to better utilize my assets to bring in a larger crowd.

I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, Berry, but the goal is to keep the audience there after they’ve been drawn by your dog whistle voice, not terrify them into running the other way.

finnthewolfman:

Shaving it all off would be such a shame, unless you have the head to pull the look off. I’m sure you could find people around here who’d be willing to help you cut it… I might even be one of them.

Your Ships: Open to any. I guess the top ones would be Quinn/Rachel, Finn/Quinn, Puck/Quinn, Sam/Quinn - or hell, just throw them all together into a giant poly relationship and be done with it, that’s practically canon anyway.
About Your Character: Here
Relationships You’re Looking to Form:
Friendly: Dave, Mercedes, any of the other acrobats.
Romantic: See ships list above and bring on the inevitable relationship drama.
Problematic: Santana, Rachel… basically any of the girls who would have problems with Quinn’s tendency to want to be Queen Bitch.
Storylines You’re Interested In Pursuing: Again, Quinn thrives on relationship drama, so that is welcome. Childhood friends with Dave would be wonderful, if mun is still interested? Competition with other women - possible mutual hatred with burlesque girls. Quinn is a budding clairvoyant, which she can strengthen and control with use of her Tarot cards to make it more useful and less of a headache. I’d love a chance to get to use that for plot, if at all possible… and I’m always open to random “what if” scenarios, so please throw them at me!
How Often & When You’re Around to Play: CST. Until June 3rd, weekdays are restricted to evenings. Saturdays and Sundays I’m usually off and on all day, on as much as possible. After June 3rd my schedule will be opening up a bit until some time in August, I will be around most of the day.
Last Resort Contact: AIM - theclothmother; Gmail - theclothmother. And I don’t consider it a last resort, you can hit me up at either place any time at all for plotting purposes.

I know being part of a traveling carnivale doesn’t seem like it would provide the kind of stability a girl needs, but you really should try it before you decide. There’s something comforting about the way that everyone knows their place, and what’s expected of them. I’m Quinn Fabray, and I’m your resident fortune teller. Come see what the cards have to say.

About Quinn: Quinn’s parents’ divorce wasn’t quite settled when her mother decided that joining the carnivale going through town was the best way to get out before things got unpleasant. By the time it had gone through (contested all the way by her father), they had simply gotten too comfortable to leave. Her mother mostly worked the concession stands, Quinn alongside her as much as possible. As she grew up, no matter how at home she felt, her mother never stopped reminding her that they weren’t like these carnies, these people without a home. They were just going through a rough time, they were better than this. Quinn was never quite sure whether she believed it, especially once she found herself sneaking away from food preparation to go watch the fortune teller work. When her mother finally left, Quinn didn’t go with her. Instead, she settled into her place as the new fortune teller, a job she has been pretending isn’t something she really enjoys for three years. (21 years old)