Beauty in the Tragic Magic

Iron and Wine - Such Great Heights (Cover - Live)

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 23:30:18 -0400

Iron and Wine - Such Great Heights (Cover - Live)

Family Matters || Faberry || (2/2)

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 23:00:00 -0400

Title: Family Matters
Tagging: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Time: Monday, October 15th, 2012
Location: Quinn’s apartment
Notes: Rachel hasn’t seen much of her girlfriend, lately, and it seems like Quinn left out a very important reason why.

Part 1

Rachel:
It’s immensely entertaining to watch the emotion play out across Quinn’s features, her brain too tired to keep any sort of semblance of a mask in place as she tries to work through her thoughts. Rachel just wants to kiss away the wrinkle of her brow, the frown pouting against her lips.

“No, baby. I’m not mad.” Rachel pushes back stray, blonde strands falling into Quinn’s eyes and she sighs, heavy, at the feeling against her fingertips. Quinn’s hair is silky soft and she’s missed it since her hands have tangled in Eric’s short, coarse locks more these past few weeks in rehearsal and now on stage than her girlfriend’s. She weaves her hand in Quinn’s hair, gripping loosely but tight enough to still direct Quinn’s lips to her own.

“I’m not mad,” Rachel repeats, reiterates as she presses herself as close to Quinn as she can get. “You’re obviously exhausted and I just… I feel helpless, because I could have helped if I had known.”

Rachel’s smile is soft as her thumb traces Quinn’s full, bottom lip. So often they’ve live in a bubble of just them: Quinn and Rachel. From the beginning, they emphasized that it was always just about them, the “us”. But at some point as days turn to weeks turn to months – maybe eventually years – some sort of evolution will need to take place. Because their worlds will continue to fold in on each other and overlap until yours becomes ours and personal problems that extend beyond the me, myself, and I, problems of the familial variety like a sister and her young son seeking refuge in a too tiny apartment, are just begging to be shared so the burden is shared, too.

“You’re sleeping on a couch that’s not even a pullout when I’m sleeping in my queen-sized bed each night. Alone. With an empty, second bedroom.” Rachel shrugs. “I might have been able to help, Quinn.”

Quinn:
She blinks, surprised even though, really, she shouldn’t be. It’s not that she expects Rachel to want to help it’s just that the thought hadn’t even entered into her conscious. She’s been so busy making sure that her idiot sister is alright and okay that she feels like she’s been living upside down for the past couple of days and the fact that Rachel is (not really subtly) offering what she could have done—what she obviously would have done without a second thought—is…it feels a little overwhelming and foreign. Maybe she’s never really…lived here all that much (and she doesn’t have much longer on her lease, anyways) but it’s still…hers. And to have asked so much from Rachel—to show up on her doorstep with a ‘Hey, Sweetie, I’m sorry but here’s my emotionally fragile, broken, bawling sister and her kid that I’m pretty sure has ADHD and, you know, here’s their luggage’ just feels…a thousand metres of wrong. It’s impossible to actually judge the distance on how…impolite and burdening and against every ounce of ‘proper upbringing’ she has how wrong that feels.

She doesn’t want to dump her family woes and baggage on Rachel’s doorstep. It just…it’s not…everything in Quinn tells her that it’s just not…nice. It’s just not nice. Rachel would politely smile through all of it and there’s no longer a sliver of doubt in any of the blonde’s being that her girlfriend would genuinely care and she would accept Quinn’s extended family into her apartment without a single complaint, but that just feels like she’s…taking advantage of her, or something. The moment Quinn drops Frannie on her doorstep is the moment that Quinn drops Hunter—drops her…mother—drops her…Russell. Everything. And there’s no doubt that Rachel’s here to stay, for awhile, but there’s a very clear point of no return in that.

“I already feel bad enough exposing you to Jay.” She tries to tease, catching Rachel’s lips before she pulls away and brushes them higher—over her nose—over her forehead, sighing against the skin. “Thank you.” She shakes her head, “But I don’t really think that I could leave Fran alone.” Her eyes roll back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, “And I don’t know how comfortable she’d be somewhere else, right now.” That much is honest. Her sister’s like a skittish little chihuahua sometimes when it comes to change. Then again…that’s kind of a family trait. “I think she sort of…needs the stability. Right now, anyways.” There’s a reason why Fran didn’t go to a hotel, Quinn’s pretty sure, and came here, instead. They might not talk much…but Quinn’s still her sister.

It’s a weird thought, really, imagining that… “My family’s kind of a handful.”

Rachel:
Rachel nods, her smile tight, as Quinn’s lips ghost over her face. It’s funny, because she’s used to this, used to rejection, since she’s spent the past three years of her life dealing with it in varying levels and capacities, but none have pinched, twisted in her chest, hurt the way this one does.

She fights the growing constriction in her chest because she gets it. Rachel honestly does understand Quinn’s position and she knows there’s nothing simple about what she offered aside from it being a completely logical solution to the fact that her girlfriend’s eyes’ dark circles have dark circles. It’s just frustrating, because this is still one of Quinn’s walls she’s yet to be able to scale and all she can do is pick away at the mortar, hoping she can find a weak enough spot just to be let in a little bit.

Her grips loosens and Rachel squirms out of Quinn’s hold, rolling until her legs dangle over the mattress before they carry her over where she dropped her change of clothes when they entered the bedroom. Rachel thinks she actually has the jeans up around her hips before Quinn even realizes she’s no longer in the bed. She explains, “The banana I ate earlier wore off somewhere between mile six and seven, and since I haven’t heard your sister banging her way through the kitchen in the past ten minutes, I’m going to assume that your original assumption was indeed correct and that any hope for breakfast in this apartment aside from the bagels I brought is futile. So… Hopefully there’s at least one left and then… I think I might head out.”

Rachel turns as she folds Quinn’s sweatshirt and moves to place it back in the drawer, trying to make it as if she hadn’t entered the fray of chaos that is her girlfriend’s life at the moment where she’s just an extra body in apartment that seems to be shrinking in size.

Quinn:
Quinn’s eyes blink, widening in surprise when the soft, warm weight of her girlfriend is on her one second and then gone the next in the smallest rustle of air. It’s not just her delayed mind that’s making it impossible to keep up with the smaller woman’s movements—it’s the fact that she’s apparently trying to bolt out of the door. “Hey, no—Rachel.” Quinn, in a fit of graceful glory, rolls and stumbles out of bed, because she really doesn’t think that the banana Rachel ate earlier is really all that important and maybe it’s a bit of a narcissistic, selfish thought, but Quinn doesn’t really think Rachel has anywhere else to be other than right here—right now—with her. “Rachel, don’t do that.” It’s obvious that she’s upset or mad or…something not good and Quinn wraps her arms around a tight, tense middle before the now-professional performer can squirm away and out the door.

Quinn’s tired, yes, but she’s not stupid, “You’re not heading anywhere and I’m…too tired to do anything but the honesty pact card.” It’s a card that’s actually played more often than not, really. She hates that goddamn thing just as much as it’s entirely saved her ass, and she knows that something, obviously, about not…crossing that particular bridge with her family is bothering Rachel, but she never thought it would bother her so much that she’d bolt right out the door. “What’s wrong?” She kisses Rachel’s temple, twisting her around so that they’re eye to eye. “Talk to me, don’t just bolt out the door.”

Rachel:
The way Quinn grabs her around the waist, Rachel almost struggles on instinct alone, the muscle memory from hours of dance rehearsal and now the show nearly taking over her common sense that these arms aren’t what will hold her back and keep her down. No. They are her haven. Quinn isn’t here to hurt her and it’s that thought alone that allows the stiffness to release and Rachel’s muscles to go slack as she leans into Quinn, her forehead resting against the ridge of her collarbone, her own arms snaking up to wrap around, anchoring them in place.

The most she’s been let in was with Beth and even that was a struggle and ultimately resulted from a fight. And a fight aided Quinn’s drinking for two days straight over issues that also had to do with her father, and she still doesn’t know the whole story there. So she can’t help. Rachel can’t help when she’s kept in the dark or at arm’s length away, but she’s never been good at just standing by and watching when she could bedoing …something. Anything. Helping in some way, especially when Quinn, the girl she’s in love with, so obviously needs it.

With a press of her lips to the exposed bone, Rachel lets out a sigh and turns her head so her cheek is pressed against Quinn’s chest and she can hear the steady beat of heart, which in turn steadies her. “If today wasn’t Monday, Quinn, or if I had to go to campus or had a weird rehearsal or meeting since we’re moving to Broadway, would I even know? If I didn’t show up on your doorstep and if your sister didn’t answer the door, would I know? Because these are the things I should know about, Quinn. The things that make you sleep on your couch and become the walking dead. The things that mean I don’t see you for a full week and a weekend. And as we’ve established, because of the residual effects of being an only child still running strong through my veins, I can be selfish and needy. But I probably would have sulked less these past few days had I known why I wasn’t seeing your pretty face. Because right now, I just feel sort of helpless and in the way.”

Quinn:
“You’re not in the way.” It’s an instant retort and Quinn, even in her admittedly disjointed state of mind, can see, when phrased like that, how absolutely…shitty of a girlfriend the blonde is, sometimes. It’s not just about her sister—anyone with half a mind or has even been in a room with Quinn for more than five minutes knows that it’s not just about her sister—and the insinuation, still, even after all of this time, shakes her a little. Because still, the insinuation that she’s done something wrong is sure to make her hair stand on end. Part of her—the basest part, rattling against her ribcage and tightening the muscles in her arms—wants to argue that it’s not really any of Rachel’s business. She still has a right to her privacy, regardless of what that entails, but every other inch of Quinn—every single piece that’s slowly started to settle into Rachel’s smile and her hands and the way she’s endlessly, perfectly patient, feels…like an asshole. She just feels like an asshole. Maybe it’s not the fact that Rachel has a right to know, but that Quinn should…want her to. Or should make an exception. Or should…something. She should do something. Quinn doesn’t know how—she doesn’t even know how to start—but this…she should at least try.

“Okay.” It’s a mumble, eyebrows knit as she thinks it over—thinks it through—arms tightening around Rachel’s waist. She drops her head, brow pressing into Rachel’s neck in a momentary way of hiding from as much of the world as she possibly can because, despite the conversation, every muscle in her body is tight and tense and her head is killing her and there’s still a sister out there pantsless and hurting that Quinn has to find a way to deal with. Right after she figures out how to fix something she didn’t even know was broken. “Okay,” She repeats, nodding. Her voice is quiet, ground from lack of sleep and a bit of pride, “You’re right.” She sighs. “I…should have told you.” Because maybe Quinn…wouldn’t have. Maybe Rachel’s right. It would have been some sort of misguided attempt to keep Rachel away from her crazy family or keep Rachel….

Quinn doesn’t know. She honestly doesn’t. And she doesn’t really want to dwell on it—she never really does. “I just…” Maybe it’s the fact that she’s so tired that makes it come out so obvious and blunt, “Don’t know how to do that.” Her back tenses, so she pulls away enough to focus on Rachel’s eyes, “I…” A hand comes up to pinch between her eyebrows, pulling away entirely to sit on the bed, “Am I supposed to just…tell you everything right away?” What makes something important? “I mean, what’s the line between ‘I added mayo to my sandwich, today, and feel guilty’ and ‘my sister’s in town’.” Her jaw sets, head shaking, “Because I’ve been so busy trying to actually keep her together that I haven’t had time to even think that maybe it was something you’d even want to know.” She’s frustrated, more at herself and this whole situation she’s wound up in, this past weekend, than Rachel, but she still can’t help that it’s found its way into her voice.

Rachel:
Rachel uses the breadth of space between them at Quinn’s retreat to shrug into the bra and tee still lying at her feet on the floor before she closes the distance, ignoring the slight sting Quinn’s tone has left. If she’s not allowed to run, neither is Quinn and Rachel’s jean-clad knees nudge against Quinn’s pale skin until legs fall open enough to allow them back into each other’s space, Rachel’s hands immediately seeking out the warmth of soft skin and hair.

She’s tried to not ask for too much along the way in their months long relationship because these were new waters they were navigating together as they relearned who they were in their past and figured out who they were both apart and together in the present. And they’ll figure this out the same way, too. Together.

“Baby…” Rachel’s lips are pressed to the crown of Quinn’s head, her voice softened by bedhead. “I just want you to talk to me. Especially about the things that affect…us. Not seeing you for days affects me, even when I know and understand the reasons. I want you to talk to me about the things that matter, but I want you to talk, to tell me these things because you want to. Not because I’m asking you to. So if it’s important that you put mayo on your sandwich, whether it was regular or lite or out of jar, made from scratch or spiced with chipotle… If that’s important to you, I want to know, Quinn.

“And I want to know these things because I love you.” She pauses then, her hands cupping cheeks so she can tilt Quinn’s eyes to meet her own. Rachel sometimes wonders if Quinn, if the tiniest part, still doesn’t believe her when she says those three simple words that are anything but, so Rachel tries not to say them too often to begin with and tries to continue to show Quinn just how much she loves her. Because Rachel never wants those words to lose their weight and meaning, and she holds Quinn’s gaze, her eyes darting back and forth to let the ‘I’ and the ‘love’ and the ‘you’ really sink in. “You are this huge part of my life. But you’re not the only part, right? I share those other parts with you, too. I call and bitch about the show. About how Eric forgot to take the product out of his hair so the sex scene was just…sticky. Or how Josh bruised my hip yet again with a misplaced grab during the death dance.

“We share our successes and failures, Quinn. We share…each other.” Rachel’s hands are skirting the curves of Quinn’s body now, fingers plucking at swells and ribs and warm skin. “So I want to know about the simple insignificant parts of your life, and I want to know about the big things, too. Just…talk to me. Contrary to popular belief I’m an exceptional listener.”

Quinn:
There’s something so humbling about the soft, beautiful sincerity in Rachel’s voice—rarely anything but honest—and Quinn’s eyes all but fold into the brown depth above her. The storm in her chest eased the moment Rachel sought her out, pressing them together, but it’s started, again, kindling off of the tethered splintered edges holding Quinn’s exhausted frame upright. Rachel loves her. Rachel’s looking at her—straight, head-on, unwavering and beautiful and genuine—and Quinn’s hands shake, for a moment, before long fingers snake under and around covered, strong thighs and she pulls the brunette up onto the bed with her, fully pressing their bodies together. Her muscles protest, initially, but then ease without a second thought.

“You are an exceptional listener.” Quinn agrees, tone quiet, hands slowly trailing up every inch of Rachel she can reach—up the back of her shirt to press her fingers into her shoulders, not caring the she’s dragging the shirt up with her when they go as high as they can, slipping out only to curl around the nape of Rachel’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. Her heart is pounding away in her chest—a knife cutting the fraying ends of the dynamite’s fuse shorter and shorter before it’s lit, only a matter of time—and Quinn takes in a slow, simmering breath through her nose. It takes everything in her not to duck her head or turn, but she’s learning. Quinn’s slowly learning how to let herself actually be with Rachel the way every inch and fiber of her being both craves and maybe even fears, one hand falling down to tilt her girlfriend’s chin to steal a soft, thankful kiss.

It’s easier said than done and Quinn idly wonders how many fights they’re going to wind up getting into over this—how many times she’s going to shut Rachel out before she even realizes what she’s doing—and she honestly prays it isn’t many. She hopes she gets better at this before Rachel gets worse at being patient or slowly starts to realize she’s a chisel chipping away at the wrong rock. If there’s one miraculous thing that Rachel’s managed to achieve, it’s make Quinn believe that she isn’t a hopeless cause, but Quinn also knows she isn’t easy. She’s not hopeless, but she’s still a cause. So maybe she should stop trying and just start…talking.

“This weekend my sister left her husband and showed up on my front door with her son.“ She pulls back a tad so Rachel can see her eyes. “We’re not really that close and I’ve…” She swallows, eyes finally darting down and away, “I’ve been worried about her, and I feel horrible because I’m glad she left him.” It makes her feel horrible even thinking it, because…because she… “I shouldn’t be happy there’s a chance Hunter might grow up without a father.“ Her lips purse and her chest tightens and her voice quiets, “But I am. Because they both deserve so much more.” Because she wants Fran to have someone who brings her coffee and bagels and slips their arms around her middle for no reason other than to be close—who deals with her bitchiness in the morning and her hectic schedule—someone who…loves her enough to be patient and kind and understanding. Maybe Quinn doesn’t deserve Rachel, but Fran deserves someone she doesn’t feel like she deserves, too.

She looks back up, raising one of Rachel’s wrists to her lips to press her lips to her pulse. “But I also spent this entire weekend working what’s starting to feel like pointless double shifts wishing my talented, successful, beautiful girlfriend wasn’t as busy as I am. And that my sister wasn’t sleeping in my bed.” She kisses Rachel’s palm before she leans up and kisses her neck, trailing up to her jaw, turning into the exposed skin, eyes closing. “I haven’t seen my girlfriend in what feels like years and I missed her.” She sighs, eyebrows knitting and expression dropping for a moment. “I missed her…a lot.” She pauses, fingers curling into Rachel. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Fran.”

Rachel:
Leave it to Quinn to want to undress her the moment she actually has on all of her clothes. And because of this, it takes Rachel a moment to actually do what she claimed she could – listen – since the press of Quinn’s fingertips, the warmth of her palms, threatens to pull Rachel’s attention to anything but the words and explanations Quinn’s offering. But Rachel gets it. She understands the need for closeness, the simple connection of heated skin, the soft touch.

There was a time when Rachel didn’t even think she’d have that, which right now is basically laughable since she’s straddling atop Quinn’s thighs. She wants to know when the physical became easier for them, because even though it’s frustrating at times, Rachel still can’t view this as anything but positive. That even though Quinn’s not verbally being as forthcoming as she could be, she’s not physically distancing herself in anyway.

And the words? The apology? It’s a start. It’s a start to a new aspect of their relationship that needs to be sussed out and strengthened. They’ll get there, Rachel knows because she’s long past the point of turning back.

Rachel just sort of melts in Quinn’s arms, into her hold and her kisses as her head nods. “Missed you, too.” It’s enough for now.

End

Family Matters || Faberry || (1/2)

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 22:59:00 -0400

Rachel:
It feels like summer in the city. Even though it’s early on a Monday, there are already people out on the softball fields and basking in the morning sun on the large lawn in Central Park as Rachel continues to jog at a steady pace. They have the same idea as her. Get out and enjoy the city and air before the heat and humidity gets too oppressive by the afternoon. There are tourists out, too, their wide eyes so similar to her own the first few times her fathers had brought her to see a show. And then again junior year of high school for Nationals. Rachel’s wide eyes were gone when she moved into Hayden her freshman year at NYU, though that had been for a different reason since the city was still very much a magical place. And it still is. But it’s no longer the awe-inspiring, jaw dropping city of bright lights and buildings that stretch to the clouds. It’s just home.

With her schedule as of late, Rachel actually has little time to run the city anymore, and instead the elliptical in the apartment has been taking quite the beating each morning. It’s just that running outside can sometimes be unpredictable in the way she feels. There are times when each stride is effortless, but there are also times when Rachel swears her feet have turned to lead and even getting in three miles is tortuously painful and in the end, hardly worth the sweat and struggle. But today is one of those mornings where she’s already hit the five mile mark yet it feels as if the past thirty or so minutes have only been a warm up. There’s no burn in her lungs and the burn in her thighs and calves is more than welcome.

Hitting a bend in the path, Rachel turns and begins the trek back the way she came, smiling and nodding at people she passes who actually make eye contact. She doesn’t head directly back to her apartment, though. Instead, she maps a route towards Quinn’s and doesn’t slow until she reaches the bagel shop on the corner of her girlfriend’s block. She pulls at the neck of her tank top to wipe the sweat from her brow as the bell above the shop’s door chimes her arrival. Rachel’s a regular by now, having frequented the family run bakery at least once a week after the nights she’s stayed at Quinn’s. Gabe’s behind the counter and he smiles – all teeth – and asks if she wants her usual. She does, but she also adds Quinn’s usual as well – coffee, black and bagel, plain – and Gabe’s faltering smile doesn’t go unnoticed. She thanks him over her shoulder as she balances the brown bag and two cardboard cups in her hands and walks down the block.

A man Rachel’s seen before is actually leaving the building as she approaches and calling out to him, he smiles, obviously recognizing her as well and holds the door open. It’s a quick trip up a couple flights of stairs before Rachel’s using the toes of her right foot to lightly kick at Quinn’s front door. “Babe, it’s me. My hands are full otherwise I’d just use the hide-a-key.” She pauses and listens before playfully whining, “Hurry up!”

As the door opens, “Hello, bay– ” catches in her throat because the blonde bracketed by the doorframe is definitely not Quinn. Rachel actually steps back from the door and takes a moment to look up and down the hallway, briefly thinking she didn’t go up enough flights or went up too many and has now awoken some poor individual with her door kicking and less than quiet voice. But the number on the door and what she can see beyond the unknown blonde’s shoulder indicates that this is very much Quinn’s apartment.

Normally in this situation, Rachel would extend her hand, but her smile is a bit tight-lipped – she’s still a bit confused – as she shrugs and nods to her full hands. “Hi, I’m Rachel.” It’ll have to do for now.

~
Franchesca Marie Fabray kind of hates herself but she assumes it’s kind of okay because everyone else in her life, right now, should probably hate her, too.

It’s the drunken motto that’s been slurred for years, but now she actually means, a hangover splitting through her skull as her fingers wrap around a fridge handle, pressing an ice pack to her forehead because, seriously, isn’t New York not supposed to be hot? It’s been two days, now, since she showed up on her seriously-estranged sister’s doorstep, nowhere else to turn, blubbering her eyes out in a way that would probably make their father turn over in (what she hopes is) his grave and she still has no idea whether she’s more secure or more rattled than when she showed up, here.

It sort of feels like a weird kind of twisted, seriously fucked up vacation if she thinks about it, enough (not that she would ever say anything like that ever with younger ears around…or other people, probably) and no matter how many times she watched Kramer v. Kramer to prepare…it never did. Prepare her. It’s not like her life turned out to be like Kramer v. Kramer, and, despite how much her sister jokes, it’s nothing like Pleasantville, either, but she just…she thought she’d feel different. A little more settled. A little…happier.

So far, though, three gallons of ice cream later, a displaced couch resident, and probably a good bucket of tears, she’s nowhere close to being happy. She’s just getting closer and closer to getting exhausted and, there’s no doubt, her worried little sister who’s obviously just as good at this as she is (which means they’re both as emotionally talented as a bell pepper) doesn’t know what to do with her. Which, well, she guess that’s alright, because she doesn’t exactly know quite what to do with herself, either.

But she has a week to figure out, this weekend solely reserved for crying, and a mountain of paperwork and schools to go through for a little boy who thinks he’s just on summer vacation, and a currently-annoyed and pantless sister to make breakfast for before she decides to throw Fran out of her cute little (nice and well-kept and clean, really) apartment. Her son, precious, is out with Jay at the toy store—and, okay, maybe she feels a little guilty for being glad she didn’t have to wake up this early with a hangover—and her sister is draped on her own couch trying to catch up on sleep from two jobs that Fran didn’t even know she had.

She makes a mental note to give the younger now-blonde a lecture about how it’s not okay to find out she got into one of the best med-schools in the country from her hairdresser who is still friends with Quinn on Facebook.

A sharp noise against the door startles her into remembering that she was opening the fridge to make Quinn breakfast as a bit of an apology for kicking her out of her own bed when a voice breaks through her headache, eyebrows shooting to her hairline in surprise. A woman. Babe.

Babe.

Her eyes flicker towards her quietly snoring, totally knocked out sister on the couch.

Babe?

What the—

It’s the first time the familiar Fabray smirk has curled its way over her lips for…years, if she’s honest with herself, crossing over to the doorway before the heaviness of the situation settles in her chest and her smile drops. She remembers a girl—some girl—that Quinn had talked about when she came up…when was that? Months ago. February, maybe. And she—no. Quinn had said that—but she must have been—

She tosses open the door, eyebrows furrowed when she comes face to face with an obvious startled and…short…brunette. Her eyebrows stay furrowed, idly thinking the girl looks a little familiar. Rachel Berry. Rachel—Rachel—she blinks, wincing when her head ducks from her hangover, reaching forward to actually help the small thing with her stuff, barely restraining the urge from downing what’s obviously her sister’s coffee order.

“Hi?” She repeats, voice gruff and groggy, leading her into the kitchen, pointing towards Quinn’s prone, still-snoring form on the couch with a soft shushing motion on her lips. “I don’t even know when she came in, last night, she—” She shakes her head, “I’m—” She’s about to introduce herself when she realizes that, much like her sister, she’s not wearing any pants. And hungover. “Not wearing any pants.” She grumbles, wincing. “I’m Fran.” She tries again, trying to tug down on Quinn’s nyu—why does she have this?—shirt to cover a bit more leg. “It’s a…pleasure to meet you.”

Rachel:
Rachel knows she can be self-absorbed at times especially when she’s in her own head and extremely busy, and thus she becomes forgetful, but she’s certain Quinn never mentioned her sister visiting. Because even if it had been an off-hand comment, something Quinn tried to slide into conversation like it was no big deal, Rachel would have made it a big deal.

Instead, it’s uncomfortable and awkward and Rachel thinks she should just leave because if Quinn had wanted her to meet her sister, she would have told her she was coming. Or if she had just shown up unannounced, Rachel would like to believe that Quinn would have told her when she texted Friday night that something beyond the fact that she wasn’t free because she was working. Because had Rachel known… She wouldn’t have shown up with one less coffee and bagel, and she wouldn’t be still sweating from her run, and she wouldn’t be standing in Quinn’s kitchen with her half-naked sister, shifting nervously from the balls of her feet to her toes.

She chances a look into the living room to find Quinn still sleeping soundly and some of Rachel’s apprehension settles, she’s able to breathe a little deeper, and her smile is definitely genuine when she turns back to Fran. Her features are more delicate and round where Quinn’s are sharp and defined. Her eyes are light – blue – and her hair’s more white, though Rachel’s not sure if that’s natural or thanks to a bottle and stylist as a salon.

With her own coffee is still clutched tightly in her hand, Rachel gestures to the other large cup and the brown bag now resting on the counter. “There’s plain bagels and black coffee, and you might as well drink the coffee if she’s still sleeping so it doesn’t go waste.” She pulls a drag from her own cup before setting it aside. She had planned to have a simple breakfast on the couch with her girlfriend before retreating to the shower because after nearly eight miles she knows she smells. Rachel had hoped she would have some help getting cleaned but she knows that’s a lost cause since she can still hear Quinn’s light snores plus the fact that Fran Fabray’s still standing pantless in the kitchen.

“If it’s okay, I’m going to pop into Quinn’s room and grab some clothes before grabbing a shower.” She notices the pan out on the stove and the carton of eggs on the counter. “And if you’d like, I’d be happy to make or help assist in the preparation of breakfast once I’m clean.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but offers a small smile before scurrying from the room and into bottom drawer of Quinn’s chest where she’s left an older pair of jeans and sweats along with some underwear and bra. She pulls well-worn hoodie from Quinn’s closet before walking into the bathroom and turning the faucet up and hot as she can stand.

It’s not until she’s under the peppering spray that Rachel realizes what she said before she even entered the apartment and it seems obvious that Fran knows she wasn’t calling Jay “babe”. The thought alone makes her laugh, the sound echoing off the tiles of the stall before she quickly sobers again, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as a knot in her stomach forms.

~
Her whistle is small and a little awkward in response to the smaller woman’s quick departure, staring at the spot that she vacated with a quirked eyebrow. Without hesitating, she walks over to the couch, taking in her sister’s (rarely) peaceful sleeping form for a second. Fran leans down and brushes a quiet hand down her sister’s forehead, surprised when she doesn’t instantly start—when she was a kid she used to be a seriously freaky light sleeper; so maybe she just has a reason to sleep…a little heavier now…or just more restfully (that causes her to eye the bathroom with a knowing look). When Quinn still doesn’t wake up, Fran lovingly leans forward, picks her foot up, and kicks her kind sister in the ass.

“Oww!” That got her up pretty quickly. Frannie sips at the coffee and grimaces, how the hell does anyone drink this black? “What the fuck, Fran—”

“You’ve got ‘babe’ troubles.” Her answer to that cute little question is instantaneous, taking another sip. She doesn’t need Quinn yelling at her when she has a migraine. Her little sister might be letting her sleep here, but niceties only go so far when one is hungover. The look on Quinn’s face is kind of useless, a mop of hair covering her eyes and obviously agitated. Frannie will never know why she smiles, endeared. “Rachel’s in the shower.” She further explains, looking down at her bare legs. She should really put on some pants. Quickly.

“Oh.” Quinn falls back down to the couch seemingly non-plussed for a second and Frannie shrugs, set on turning around and going to find some pants, when that same mop of hair bolts straight up, eyes owlish and wide behind tilted glasses frames. “Oh.” The outburst, having nearly scared Frannie half to death, apparently isn’t verbally interesting. “Was she mad?”

Frannie shrugs. “She didn’t look mad. Just awkward.” Quinn bites her lip in a nervous, rare sort of display, and quietly stands from the couch—groaning but apparently foregoing stretching—hobbling over a little to the bathroom, quietly knocking on the door before she slips inside. The eldest Fabray, eyebrow still quirked to high heavens, goes to go find some pants.

“Rach.” Quinn gently calls, still half asleep and kind of pissed off since she’s pretty sure her sister was drinking her coffee; the last thing she wants to do is scare her girlfriend while she’s in the shower. Like…half of the accidents that occur in the home are in the shower. Or…seventy-five? Was it half deaths—whatever. So not important. She realizes, now that she’s standing in the bathroom, that maybe she should have waited until after to pull her girlfriend aside. But she’s seriously still asleep.

She leans her forearm against the side by the closed curtain, closing her eyes behind still-askew glasses and yawning, cracking her words mid-sentence, “Why—” Another yawn, “—You wake me up?”

Rachel:
She’s long since been clean, having quickly shampooed and scrubbed and washed her face with her own bath products that had slowly reintroduced themselves to Quinn’s apartment over the past three months, yet, Rachel continues to stand, eyes closed, underneath the hot spray. Normally she’d be singing, or at least humming but other thoughts beyond measures of music and lyrics keep her silent and thinking.

Bending at the waist, Rachel braces her palms and forearms against the back of the shower, allowing the heat of the water more access to the muscles. After yesterday’s dance rehearsal, she might have pushed them a little past the brink of their limit this morning. She’s still in the position when she hears the knock, the creak, and the door clicking shut as Quinn’s voice sounds above the steady drumming of the spray against the tub.

Rachel peaks out and her scrunched face and tight brow melts at the sight of Quinn, still sleepy and disheveled and really all kinds of adorable. “I actually don’t know how you slept through me basically attempting to kick down your front your door.” She disappears and then the water shuts off before the noise of metal rings sliding against the curtain rod clatters and Rachel extends her arm for the towel now being held in Quinn’s grasp, just out of reach. “Don’t tease me, Fabray. My original plan was definitely not to shower alone this morning, but you know. Your sister’s in town.”

The statement’s pointed and has more bite than she intends, but it’s hard to stay neutral when she’s not sure how exactly she should feel. She doesn’t want to jump to conclusions and she really knows it’s silly to think that Quinn’s trying to hide their relationship because Quinn has actually never shied away from showing through words or actions – a hand at the small of her back, a possessive arm around her shoulders protective and guiding, a kiss to her cheek or neck or lips – the nature of their relationship in public. But family is an entirely new ball game. Quinn was basically afraid to touch Rachel when her dads were in town and now Fran’s here and for all Rachel knows she just showed up on Quinn’s doorstep and outed her girlfriend.

Quinn:
She’s not trying to hold the towel back consciously, but she can’t help but be glad that she did. The view is definitely something for bleary eyes to start waking up to. She fixes her glasses, finally blinking enough for her vision to clear. It’s a sobering feeling, though—waking her up as effectively as a splash of cold water to the face—when she hears her girlfriend’s tone. She blinks once—then twice—her eyebrows knitting and hand covering her awkwardly-timed yawn. She tries to think, still absolutely exhausted. Maybe Rachel had a pretty bad morning. If Rachel had a bad morning then she—no. Then she wouldn’t have brought coffee. She would have just come over. Right now she just seems….

She sighs, running a hand over her face underneath her glasses and down lower over her tense neck, other hand coming up to pinch at her eyebrows. This feels like the kind of day that’s going to spawn a headache and she still feels like she hasn’t really slept, yet. That’s probably because she hasn’t. Not really. “I wouldn’t mind changing your position on showering alone?” She groggily offers, tired smile slipping across her face as she crosses the large step between them, wrapping the towel she’s grabbed around her girlfriend’s back and tugging it under her arms to cross over her chest, pulling her close and into a loose embrace, chin sleepily falling over her shoulder, nose pressing into her neck.

“Wait, I…” She blinks, not pulling away. “Why are you here? Are you off?” She blinks again. “Is it Monday?” She’s normally not so disjointed. She’s…actually never disjointed. Since Fran’s gotten here the days have sort of blurred together—shifts and crying and alcohol and parks and crying and Hunter and ice cream and crying and work…so much work, it’s all one giant jumbled mess—and she feels like she hasn’t stopped moving. Probably because she hasn’t and being on the couch hasn’t helped. Rachel, whatever kind of mood she’s in, is a welcome sight. She lets out a small breath, pulling back, searching her girlfriend’s face now that she can actually see her. She sounded…not okay. “You’re okay, right?”

Rachel:
There’s a touch of worry evident in Quinn’s tone and the slight crease right above the left side of her nose — a tell-tale sign — is beginning to form. Rachel sighs, heavy, and leans back towards her girlfriend, forcing Quinn’s hands that had settled at her hips when she pulled back to wrap around her once again. Technically, she is okay, especially when Quinn’s so close that her warm breath tickles her cheek. It’s just that, “I suppose I had other expectations for this morning is all. You know… not showering alone. And certainly not meeting your sister for the first time when I’m matted in sweat and kicking your door and calling you ‘babe’. Just…other expectations.”

An audible clang of pots shifting and being positioned on the stove’s burners seeps past the barrier of the bathroom door and Rachel shifts back out of Quinn’s hold, another sigh echoing in the small space because those arms and their protective embrace were one of her other expectations. “I promised Fran I’d help make breakfast,” she offers as explanation, unwrapping the towel from her body and wringing out her still dripping hair.

Quinn:
“You called me babe?” Her nose wrinkles, pushing up her glasses so she can better see, the smallest cloud of foggy condensation on the glass blurring her vision. Her girlfriend definitely likes her shower hot. Quinn’s surprised the wallpaper around the corner mold hasn’t wilted off, yet. A small noise bubbles in her throat as the realization settles through her, voice quiet, grumbling, “That explains the kick in the ass and the comment.” The back of her hand wipes over the rims, smile a little exhausted and lazy is it moves up to meet deep, dark eyes. Thin fingers wrap around her forearm and tug Rachel close, again, this time wrapping her arms around her middle from behind, kissing her cheek—her neck—before she lets go again.

“Don’t worry about helping her.” Her head bobs from side to side as it shakes, fingers moving up to run through still very wet brunette strands, eyes drooping. “She’ll give up in, like, ten minutes since Hunter isn’t here and suggest we all go out to eat. I think she’s kind of tired of the domestic thing for awhile.” That’s what Fran kept calling it anyways. She was sort of drunk, but ‘The Domestic Thing’ fell from her older sister’s mouth so much Quinn started to think it was a more pressing issue than Global Warning. So she’ll definitely give up. Especially if Rachel brought food of any kind and, as sure as her showers are to be hot, Rachel will generally show up half the time with food.

“Also, you probably ended up meeting my sister pantsless for the first time.” Quinn chuckles, realizing that if it’s this early in the morning and she didn’t answer it, the older, slightly-hungover woman probably wouldn’t have bothered with clothes. “So if anyone should be embarrassed, it should probably be her.”

Rachel:
“True, especially since yours are prettier, babe,” it seems to be the morning for channeling Noah Puckerman’s go-to phrase. “And you’re just lucky I decided to yell such a tame term in the middle of your hallway, because you know I could have gone with worse, Quinn.”

Rachel frowns as she pulls up a pair of simple, cotton briefs and they stick to calves, then thighs, her skin still a bit damp. It really is more humid in the bathroom right now than outside on the streets and sidewalks and she’s moments away from sweating and needing to take another shower, though with Quinn now in the bathroom…

There’s another bang – possibly cookware crashing to the floor – followed by a muffled curse and Rachel puffs her cheeks and juts out her lower lip, blowing a steady stream of air towards her drying bangs. She forgoes a bra and t-shirt, instead tugging the borrowed hoodies over her head and then places her jeans on top of the pile of clothes she’ll eventually change into. Everyone else is pantsless and her legs are best specimen currently in the apartment so they might as well be on display.

Since Quinn insists that Fran won’t need help, Rachel opens the bathroom door and tugs Quinn across the hall and into her girlfriend’s bedroom. She didn’t really take time to notice before with her tunnel vision and preoccupied mind, but there are suitcases in the corner and clothes strewn about that definitely aren’t Quinn’s and even though Rachel knows this is Quinn’s room, she still feels like she’s invading someone else’s personal space at the moment. She shakes her head, shakes away the thought and dropping the clothes to the floor, crawls across the mattress to what’s become “her” side, pulling Quinn along. “Lay with me. Please.” She just wanted a quiet morning with her girlfriend, and if that has to be reduced to ten, even just twenty minutes if they’re lucky, she’ll take it.

Rachel’s quiet, enjoying the feeling of her bare legs sliding against Quinn’s calf and the cotton hem of her girlfriend’s worn tee between her fingers, and she’s thinking. “So, there’s a story here. Obviously. Either you’ve gained a third…and a half roommate,” Rachel had momentarily forgotten about Hunter, “your sister’s come for a long, extended visit, or…” She lifts her eyes to meet Quinn’s, still squinty and tired, and waits for her to fill in the blanks.

Quinn:
She blushes—she actually blushes—when her girlfriend comments on her legs. It’s not the fact that it’s a compliment (Quinn, though she didn’t believe the majority of them, not really, got more than used to compliments after freshman year) but it’s the fact that Rachel just compared her to her…sister. It’s like a hardwired fact in Quinn’s brain, somewhere, that her sister is more attractive than her and she can’t…she just can’t help the blush; she might still be blushing, just a little, when Rachel climbs into bed, more than happily crawling in after her.

The question’s expected and she tangles their legs properly before pulling Rachel’s back against her front. “Y’know,” It’s barely a grumble as her arms mindlessly wrap around her girlfriend’s middle, chin dropping to her shoulder, nose turning into a mane of dark hair and letting out a low, sleepy, content noise from the back of her throat. “A wiser woman would have asked me this in the bathroom where I wouldn’t fall ahsl—” A yawn cracks the middle of her word, an ‘e’ becoming an ‘ah’, “-ep.” She nuzzles further into Rachel, knowing that if she hopes to get an ounce of actual sleep for this potentially indefinite rollercoaster ride she’s been kidnapped and strapped to with her sister, her only hope is in wrapping around the girl in front of her.

But she also knows—because she can seriously just feel them burning a hole into the side of her head—that Rachel’s eyes are probably expectantly on her and Quinn, having about half as much tact as she does any other day when she’s tired, simply blurts it out, tone too conversational for the heavy weight of the topic. “Fran left her husband.” Her shoulders tighten just a little when she remembers the look in familiar but distant, older eyes, Fran holding a wet Hunter in her arms as her elbow knocked on Quinn’s door. It’d been raining when she arrived and she’d been too worried that Quinn would say no over the phone—though Quinn unfortunately can’t ever say no to Fran—so she carried him up the stairs.

“She just…showed up because she didn’t know where else to go.” Hazel eyes blink open, a frown pressing into Rachel’s shoulder, “Hunter thinks they’re on vacation because she doesn’t know how to tell him.” One of her hands slips underneath the hem of Rachel’s sweatshirt. She missed the bed. She definitely missed Rachel. Quinn’s pretty sure that having both, now, together, is a fantastic combination. “She wants him to have the rest of the weekend to enjoy the city before she drops the news, I think.”

Rachel:
Fingertips lightly trace over the smooth skin of Quinn’s arm that’s draped securely over her torso as she quietly digests the information presented. From what Quinn’s said as well as the state of her bedroom with clothes scattered about, Rachel assumes Fran’s been in the city for a few days. It makes sense and explains the near zombie-like state of her girlfriend, relegated to sleeping on the couch night after night, and who Rachel actually thinks might have fallen asleep since the light pressure of Quinn’s chest expanding against her back has evened out to a consistent meter.

“Quinn?” Her name’s spoken on the tail-end of Rachel’s own yawn because she’s missed the familiar comfort of this embrace – their respective schedules haven’t been kind as of late, which is one of the reasons why she had been looking forward to spending their morning together – and can feel her own eyes grow heavier with each passing second and puff of warm air breathed against the skin of her neck.

When she doesn’t receive an answer, Rachel turns until she’s fully facing Quinn and connects their lips in a tender kiss – sensitive skin sliding together, small tugs and pulls, a single nip – because she’s certain that will at least help her regain her girlfriend’s attention. Rachel also knows that the tactic she’s further employing isn’t the fairest as her lips trail down Quinn’s jaw before dipping to the column of her neck because she wants answers (and she always has difficulty making her brain function properly when Quinn’s simply just in her near vicinity) but she also just wants to touch the girl she’s missed all week.

“Is there a reason you hadn’t told me about this? That I basically had to walk in on your cohabitation with Fran to learn about this change in your life?” She asks between presses of her lips and swipes of her tongue. Any lingering worry that Quinn didn’t want to tell Fran about their relationship has all but vanished, and now Rachel’s honestly just curious.

Quinn:
Her body hums and arches of its own accord, lazy and tired but definitely there, not exactly needing mental permission to response to Rachel’s lips. It’s a Pavlovian response, if anything, because Rachel’s mouth tends to only spawn very, very good things. Well, in bed it tends to spawn very, very good things. “I…” It’s confused and kind of grumbled, extremely heavy eyelids creaking open just a sliver as long fingers tangle in barely-wet hair. Her shoulders roll into the mattress, body heavy—so heavy—and mind muggy, thoughts dull and undeniably scattered. It takes her mind’s reaction time a great deal longer than her body’s to formulate a response that’s a little more indepth. “No?”

She tries to push further, still, thinking over the question. Is there a reason why she didn’t tell Rachel? No. Not that she can think of. Every waking minute the past couple of days has been spent worrying or coddling—worrying or discussing—worrying or comforting (which is still not exactly one of Quinn’s strong suits, she doesn’t think). It’s…admittedly been nice to spend some time with Hunter when she isn’t working, but other than that she hasn’t even stopped to think, let alone think of….

Rachel.

Quinn thought of Rachel, of course—it’s a little sad, maybe, how little time can go by before the brunette pops into her mind—but she hadn’t thought to…she….

Oh.

Quinn’s eyebrows knit before her eyes open, again—they seemed to have closed of their own accord, again without her permission, as she thought it over—and one of her hands raise to tuck up Rachel’s dipped chin. Quinn’s too tired to be coy and too emotionally exhausted, at the moment, to play the evasive game they’re both experts in. She barely looked at her phone over the weekend, let alone thought that it might be something Rachel wanted to know—honestly hadn’t even thought of it at all—and it still seems like an odd concept to her, but the longer they’re together, the easier it is for Quinn to wrap her head around odd concepts. “Was I supposed to tell you?” She might be getting a little better each day, but she’s still stupidly new at this. “Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”

Part 2

I told my roommate he couldn’t train my dog to grill...

Tue, 18 Sep 2012 17:36:09 -0400

I told my roommate he couldn’t train my dog to grill things.

ticklememikel: dederants: teachingliteracy: shinodita: CAN...

Tue, 18 Sep 2012 17:34:35 -0400

ticklememikel:

dederants:

teachingliteracy:

shinodita:

CAN I HAZ THIS

Sweet Lord! I need this!!!

Text @ Q

Sun, 16 Sep 2012 00:16:23 -0400

Rachel: In between shows and grabbing a quick dinner with some of the cast. Mat went really well. Partial standing o.
Rachel: Just needed to say how much I miss you, your face, your voice, and your body.
Rachel: I hate medical school, even though you look ridiculously sexy in your little scrubs and glasses.
[Hours later]
Quinn: That's because only half of them could stand. The rest of them were probably either too old. Or you made all of them cry into submission.
Quinn: I miss you, too. I'm starting to think that's the only benefit of medical school. Maybe I'll just quit and keep the scrubs. They look better on you, anyways. You've made me rethink the benefits of drawstring pants.
Quinn: I'm officially making it my New Year's resolution to see you before New Year's.

Photo

Sat, 15 Sep 2012 16:54:50 -0400

what's new lucy q?

Tue, 11 Sep 2012 15:09:52 -0400

I no longer wonder why so many doctors wear glasses.

Where are you, friend?!?! I miss you, I need you... On sunday I make my residency exam, (maybe like the step 2?) and I'm absolutely terrified. All of my friends who did it today passed it with good grades and I... I don't know if I'll be able. I hate to think that maybe I won't do good and my parents... They don't trust me already, they think I'm a terrible student and I'd hate to give them a real reason to think soI... don't know, I'm sorry, I'm just under a lot of pressure I guess. How r u?

Tue, 11 Sep 2012 15:07:19 -0400

The best advice I can give is to just be calm and remember what you’ve learned. You’re an intelligent girl, Elms. If you study and stay calm, you’re guaranteed to pass with flying colors. Don’t let the stress get to you—it’s not worth it.

You’ll do fine.

Let me know how it went?

Lucy-Q, Where Are You!

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 16:56:24 -0400

I hate whoever this is for getting the Scooby Doo theme song stuck in my head.

That’s not going to go away for a week.

Have you fallen off the face of the earth? Or just really busy? Haven't seen any music in a while. What are you listening to these days? How is Rachel? How is Barts?

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 16:54:49 -0400

Really, really busy. If this is what falling off the face of the Earth was like, no wonder why no one went anywhere near the edge of the square world—I don’t blame them. All I’ve fallen into are textbooks, textbooks, and more textbooks.

I’ve been meaning to put back up my queue, but I just haven’t gotten around to it. As far as what I’ve been listening to, today, on my study playlist….

The Xx, Sara Bareilles, Starfucker, Grizzly Bear, and, oddly enough, Pat Benatar.

Rachel is fantastic, beautiful, amazing, and very, very talented. There’s talk of moving her show to Broadway—but we really shouldn’t jinx it by talking about it.

Barts is only becoming more handsome with age. Really, I think if he’s any more handsome we’re going to have a problem with the other dogs in the block.

Ha, what can I say. It's an older, wealthy town that loves to draw people in from all over the country! I'm sure Rachel has done very well, just as expected! Mini vacation was good, though I mostly just sat in my cousin's house. He was supposed to have a minor surgery the day I was there, hence why my aunt was going down in the first place. But it was nice to just hang out with him, he was like my best friend before he left and I miss him sometimes. Anyways, how are you doing? ~Silver

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 16:42:40 -0400

I’m good, really. I’ve been swamped with work. Being a med student isn’t exactly easy.

Is everything alright with your cousin?

I’m also sorry for replying so late, Silver. I’m surprised I’m online, at all.

Someone obviously got drunk while watching the Olympics.

Tue, 07 Aug 2012 02:02:36 -0400

veryberrybway replied to your post: Are you a top or a bottom?

block
veryberrybway replied to your post: who is the best person you have ever had sex with?
veryberrybway replied to your post: rachel loves you

I’m tempted to serenade you with Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” now…
veryberrybway replied to your post: rachel loves you

I don’t think any of that needs commentary. At all. Make sure you take a taxi home. Or call me.

Are you a top or a bottom?

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 18:34:09 -0400

I feel like everything I’ve been answering, lately, is just going to boost Rachel’s ego…but I’m an honest girl.

As long as my girlfriend is naked, it doesn’t matter where.

I can be a little…aggressive, but so can she, so it’s just a matter of the day, I guess.

who is the best person you have ever had sex with?

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 18:30:07 -0400

Rachel Barbra Berry, star, performer, actress, singer, and humanitarian, is both the best sex I’ve ever had and is definitely the best person, emotionally, mentally, and physically, that I’ve ever slept with.

I might be a little biased but I think that just means I’m right.

Since it’s about my opinion and everything.

rachel loves you

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 18:25:11 -0400

I know.

I still don’t know why. I think her head’s gotten so big it’s starting to malfunction. <3

That's awesome to hear about Rachel's show. I'm sure she's going to be excellent in it. And I'm sorry everything got crazy after your vacation, but at least it seemed like you two enjoyed yourselves while it lasted! I ended up taking a mini vacation (2 days) to Iowa to visit my cousin, so that was good. We also have another festival going on at the shop, so it's been crazy trying to get ready for the weekend. But so far one successful day! Just have to get through tomorrow... ~Silver

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 18:24:19 -0400

You have a lot of festivals, don’t you, Silver? That tiny town has a lot of events.

Rachel has been absolutely phenomenal and, so far, blown every single critic, viewer, and cast member, I suspect, away.

How was your mini vacation?

Text @ Q

Fri, 03 Aug 2012 02:15:48 -0400

Rachel: And then you can be the Thelma to my Louise (or vice versa, I'm indifferent) and we can drive off into the sunset and evade capture together.
Rachel: Reviews are being published tomorrow in the major papers. There are of course snippets online already. Very positive and...I'm just so happy and beyond thrilled and excited and...this is big, Quinn. I can feel it. My sixth sense is tingling.
Quinn: Romantic. You *aren't* psychic...but I'm inclined to agree with you. It's very big. You couldn't actually watch yourself, Rachel, that show was...powerful. And anyone in their right mind would be able to see it.
Quinn: Tony Award powerful. And that's coming from a (romantic) cynic who, yes, wants you to succeed, but wouldn't fluff you up if I didn't think you would. It is big and you deserve it.
[Five minutes later]
Quinn: Have I told you today how proud I am of you? Because I'm really proud.

Text @ Q

Thu, 02 Aug 2012 16:34:38 -0400

Rachel: Dads just left my dressing room and Daddy's parting words were, "At least we'll have enough kleenex between to the two of us tonight while we watch our only daughter 'die' on stage. Last night your father had to use his sleeve because Quinn stole them all."
Rachel: Also, thank you for spending a lovely morning with me... I hope your work day is uneventful
Quinn: At least I'm a pretty crier. And your dad is lying because I'm pretty sure we all wished we *brought* Kleenex.
Quinn: I bet you killed last night. And you'll kill tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. I'm pretty sure the police are just going to arrest you for slaughter by the time reviews are in.

I've...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 03:06:00 -0400

Never been more impressed and proud of a person in my entire life.

I’m not exactly a theatre connisseur, but tonight’s opening production of The In Between left me sort of a mess…but in a very, very good way. I can’t remember the last time I was so moved by a host of talented performances.

In case the internet world wasn’t aware (and since I definitely haven’t boasted, enough, tonight) I’ve never been more honored and glad to have such a talented, beautiful, phenomenal, and seriously fucking talented girl in my life. I might be a little tipsy thanks to the celebration after and I’m not really sure which of our computers this is, right now, but you are the best I know, Rachel. At everything.

I thank God every day that you’re in my life and now that you’ve officially made me sob like a small child in the middle of a public place—and in front of my girlfriend’s fathers, seriously—with such a ground-breaking performance, good luck getting rid of me.

I’ll be sure to tell you when you wake up, tomorrow. You’re amazing and I’m so proud of you.

All of you followers! Go buy tickets! If you don’t you’re an idiot and you’re missing out on the show and performances of a lifetime. And look away when my girlfriend’s half naked or I’ll…I don’t know. I wouldn’t blame you for looking.

Okay, officially tispy and signing off now.