Quinn Fabray - The Queen of Cups

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.”