Quinn Fabray - The Queen of Cups

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.