🏒 quinn cunningplan, puncher of doors 🏒 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gooseberryhigh2017-05-06 12:45 am
quinning) wrote in gooseberryhigh2017-05-06 12:45 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Ty Hawkeswood & Quinn Cunningham.
What: Quinn's been keeping a lot of Feelings and Thoughts in for awhile, and when she's drunk, guess who gets to hear all of them??? (SPOILERS: IT'S TY!!!)
When: Friday, May 5th, after the beer pong championship.
Where: Grotto party.
Warnings: Uh, swearing?
What: Quinn's been keeping a lot of Feelings and Thoughts in for awhile, and when she's drunk, guess who gets to hear all of them??? (SPOILERS: IT'S TY!!!)
When: Friday, May 5th, after the beer pong championship.
Where: Grotto party.
Warnings: Uh, swearing?
Returning to the fire with three cups—two full of drinks, one full of chips—Quinn looks... bewildered. Where did Ty go? She can't see the tell-tale hair anywhere, and the log they were sitting on is now occupied by some freshmen who desperately needed a room. Was he... ah-ha! She makes a beeline for a log around the other side, where Ty's gone Squirrel Scout in a new locale. "Hydration and sustenance," she announces as she lowers herself to rest against the seat. It isn't an easy feat because once in awhile the party begins to spin, but she steadies herself and it passes. She grabs a chip for herself and balances the chip-cup in front of Ty, leaning back against the log. "Two of the four major food groups."
She swirls her drink, marvellous and revolting, around in its cup and thinks about what they were talking about before she announced mid-sentence that she needed a drink and stalked away into the night: graduation. Ugh.
Ty seems content in his squirrel form, creeping up slowly on the now-giant (to him) solo filled with snacks multitudes larger than his head.
"Look, I didn't mean to– I just didn't know what–" Quinn sighs and takes a drink. She can hear the tiny, quiet crunches beside her head as she thinks about what to say—but her mind is muddled, and the world feels like it's threatening to spin again, and why did she decide to try and explain any of this after a beer pong tournament? Finally, she does what she does best: she just goes for it. She unloads. Really, she rambles.
"I just don't know where I'll be." Quinn draws her knees into her chest and rests her head on top. Ah, that feels a little less precarious. "I've got to accept an offer soon, real soon, but every time that I sit down and I look at my letters, and my pros lists and my cons lists and everything else, it becomes this giant fucking thing. It means graduation's really fucking soon, and I'm going to–" Ty begins to climb his drink but she swats him away, "–not when you're a squirrel, you'll fucking die–" he chitters and returns to the chips. Better. Back to business, "I think I'm used to seeing everyone everyday. Like you and Jesse and Tess. And when I go home for the summers, I like home—I love home—but I'm... not as happy without you guys, I guess."
She shrugs and picks a leaf off her tights. When she continues, her voice is smaller and she's obviously worried, been worrying for quite some time. "Or... what if I go to training and it sucks? Like my classmates, or the school, or the city. What if everyone there's just... really fucking lame?" Pause for drink. "Or if I'm shit at it. It's the only thing I've been working for for fucking years and I don't know if I'll actually be any fucking good at it. Maybe it ends up being a fucking shitshow and there's nothing I can do about it because I didn't plan for anything else and–" Pause for chip. Yes, mid-sentence. She's wasted, people. "And what if I'm so busy—we're both so busy—that we never get to see each other? Or if you don't start working for Sabi until the fall, or even next spring?" She breaks the drought of eye contact to look over at Ty, who's tail-up in the chip cup. Charming. "Like... would you actually go ho– go back to Oregon if you had to?" There are unspoken ends to that sentence: because you'd be miserable, and because I'd never be able to see you, and because that's the worst case scenario.
Quinn suddenly feels uncomfortable, even antsy. Thankfully, it's not alcohol-induced indigestion; but that doesn't mean it's any more fun. The thought of Ty having to go back and live with his parents (parent???) is unsettling. She crosses her legs and looks for something to do with her hands—ummmm... hair. Fine. As she goes on, she separates it and begins to braid because at least she's doing something vaguely productive. "I just... I dunno. I'm fucking happy here, even though there's a goddamn entity in our goddamn woods. I'm happy with my friends, and I'm happy with you, and every time I think about training or Prom or my senior project or your senior project or finals or motherfucking graduation, I think about how everything I have here's just going to fucking disappear in two months and maybe I'll just be really fucking lonely and really fucking unhappy and everything's going to really fucking suck, and it's, I don't know." While the familiar rhythm of over-under-over-under gives her something to focus on, it also means that she's less focused on what she's saying and how, those particular floodgates that had become more strained with each round of disgusting beer and sugary cocktails. Finally, almost unconsciously, she mutters the anticlimactic summary of her speech, staring at her hair instead of Ty.. "I'm just... scared about next year, I guess. Even about this summer. I don't know what to do, but asking you isn't fair."
Even when Quinn looks back at the squirrel, still half-buried in the cup full of chips, she isn't looking at Ty. Because Ty is just returning from the other side of the fire where he'd been having a conversation with Chris, his crutches making his arrival slow and loud because he's still not very adept at moving on the stupid things. Eyebrows raised at the revelation that his girlfriend apparently talks to herself sometimes (maybe only when she's drunk?), he thinks this might be sort of cute if she didn't sound so...distressed.
Once he's close enough to interrupt, he offers her a hesitant smile. "Monologuing without me, huh? ...Everything okay, Quinn?"
The voice makes Quinn jump. Eyes wide, she turns to where Ty had been sitting on the log, happily munching away on deep fried goodness. He's still there. What the fuck? Slowly, her eyes continue to move right until they hit... a pair of legs flanked by crutches, one bandaged. Back to Ty, still eating a chip. Back to the legs, then slowly, slowly, up, and up, and... "Ty? But you're–" back to Ty. Ty the Squirrel, not Ty the Boy. But Ty the Boy is there, in front of her, and Ty the Squirrel is...
Hesitantly, she extends a finger toward Ty the Squirrel. He jumps back with a squeak, then off the log (but still with his prize—the potato chip). Ty the Squirrel wouldn't react that way. She looks back up, free hand tugging on her braid. "I wasn't monologuing, I– you were here." Watching the squirrel bound off toward the treeline, pieces of the puzzle slowly fall into place. The small voice returns, "You weren't here?"
The perplexed look on the girl's face and the scene with the squirrel is enough to connect the dots for Ty. He isn't nearly as drunk as Quinn. And he's not the one that spent the last five minutes talking to a squirrel. His lips twitch and he holds on for about ten seconds before he starts to laugh, shaking his head and gesturing across the fire. "I was talking to Chris. And you were talking to...oh wow. Should we change your prom name? Snow White instead of Princess Pear?"
He wobbles (maybe he deserves to fall over just a little bit), steadies himself, and smiles at her apologetically. "Sorry. Sorry. Totally reasonable mistake..."
"Oh my God." The realization hits Quinn like a wave of nausea. "Oh, my, God." You were only talking to a squirrel, it's not the end of the world? But apparently it is—blood rushes to her face as she covers it with her hands. Talk about liquid-fucking-courage. She peeks out at Ty from behind her fingers, shaking her head. "I was... oh, fuck."
After a little while of this very obvious and very dramatic shame, her hands drop, her face drops, and she looks disgusted. With herself?
No, with the food.
She chucks the chip-cup into the fire.
Who even fucking knows what kinds of germs regular squirrels carry. Probably bad ones, and gross ones, and she was sharing their snacks with one.
"I need to brush my fucking teeth."
She swirls her drink, marvellous and revolting, around in its cup and thinks about what they were talking about before she announced mid-sentence that she needed a drink and stalked away into the night: graduation. Ugh.
Ty seems content in his squirrel form, creeping up slowly on the now-giant (to him) solo filled with snacks multitudes larger than his head.
"Look, I didn't mean to– I just didn't know what–" Quinn sighs and takes a drink. She can hear the tiny, quiet crunches beside her head as she thinks about what to say—but her mind is muddled, and the world feels like it's threatening to spin again, and why did she decide to try and explain any of this after a beer pong tournament? Finally, she does what she does best: she just goes for it. She unloads. Really, she rambles.
"I just don't know where I'll be." Quinn draws her knees into her chest and rests her head on top. Ah, that feels a little less precarious. "I've got to accept an offer soon, real soon, but every time that I sit down and I look at my letters, and my pros lists and my cons lists and everything else, it becomes this giant fucking thing. It means graduation's really fucking soon, and I'm going to–" Ty begins to climb his drink but she swats him away, "–not when you're a squirrel, you'll fucking die–" he chitters and returns to the chips. Better. Back to business, "I think I'm used to seeing everyone everyday. Like you and Jesse and Tess. And when I go home for the summers, I like home—I love home—but I'm... not as happy without you guys, I guess."
She shrugs and picks a leaf off her tights. When she continues, her voice is smaller and she's obviously worried, been worrying for quite some time. "Or... what if I go to training and it sucks? Like my classmates, or the school, or the city. What if everyone there's just... really fucking lame?" Pause for drink. "Or if I'm shit at it. It's the only thing I've been working for for fucking years and I don't know if I'll actually be any fucking good at it. Maybe it ends up being a fucking shitshow and there's nothing I can do about it because I didn't plan for anything else and–" Pause for chip. Yes, mid-sentence. She's wasted, people. "And what if I'm so busy—we're both so busy—that we never get to see each other? Or if you don't start working for Sabi until the fall, or even next spring?" She breaks the drought of eye contact to look over at Ty, who's tail-up in the chip cup. Charming. "Like... would you actually go ho– go back to Oregon if you had to?" There are unspoken ends to that sentence: because you'd be miserable, and because I'd never be able to see you, and because that's the worst case scenario.
Quinn suddenly feels uncomfortable, even antsy. Thankfully, it's not alcohol-induced indigestion; but that doesn't mean it's any more fun. The thought of Ty having to go back and live with his parents (parent???) is unsettling. She crosses her legs and looks for something to do with her hands—ummmm... hair. Fine. As she goes on, she separates it and begins to braid because at least she's doing something vaguely productive. "I just... I dunno. I'm fucking happy here, even though there's a goddamn entity in our goddamn woods. I'm happy with my friends, and I'm happy with you, and every time I think about training or Prom or my senior project or your senior project or finals or motherfucking graduation, I think about how everything I have here's just going to fucking disappear in two months and maybe I'll just be really fucking lonely and really fucking unhappy and everything's going to really fucking suck, and it's, I don't know." While the familiar rhythm of over-under-over-under gives her something to focus on, it also means that she's less focused on what she's saying and how, those particular floodgates that had become more strained with each round of disgusting beer and sugary cocktails. Finally, almost unconsciously, she mutters the anticlimactic summary of her speech, staring at her hair instead of Ty.. "I'm just... scared about next year, I guess. Even about this summer. I don't know what to do, but asking you isn't fair."
Even when Quinn looks back at the squirrel, still half-buried in the cup full of chips, she isn't looking at Ty. Because Ty is just returning from the other side of the fire where he'd been having a conversation with Chris, his crutches making his arrival slow and loud because he's still not very adept at moving on the stupid things. Eyebrows raised at the revelation that his girlfriend apparently talks to herself sometimes (maybe only when she's drunk?), he thinks this might be sort of cute if she didn't sound so...distressed.
Once he's close enough to interrupt, he offers her a hesitant smile. "Monologuing without me, huh? ...Everything okay, Quinn?"
The voice makes Quinn jump. Eyes wide, she turns to where Ty had been sitting on the log, happily munching away on deep fried goodness. He's still there. What the fuck? Slowly, her eyes continue to move right until they hit... a pair of legs flanked by crutches, one bandaged. Back to Ty, still eating a chip. Back to the legs, then slowly, slowly, up, and up, and... "Ty? But you're–" back to Ty. Ty the Squirrel, not Ty the Boy. But Ty the Boy is there, in front of her, and Ty the Squirrel is...
Hesitantly, she extends a finger toward Ty the Squirrel. He jumps back with a squeak, then off the log (but still with his prize—the potato chip). Ty the Squirrel wouldn't react that way. She looks back up, free hand tugging on her braid. "I wasn't monologuing, I– you were here." Watching the squirrel bound off toward the treeline, pieces of the puzzle slowly fall into place. The small voice returns, "You weren't here?"
The perplexed look on the girl's face and the scene with the squirrel is enough to connect the dots for Ty. He isn't nearly as drunk as Quinn. And he's not the one that spent the last five minutes talking to a squirrel. His lips twitch and he holds on for about ten seconds before he starts to laugh, shaking his head and gesturing across the fire. "I was talking to Chris. And you were talking to...oh wow. Should we change your prom name? Snow White instead of Princess Pear?"
He wobbles (maybe he deserves to fall over just a little bit), steadies himself, and smiles at her apologetically. "Sorry. Sorry. Totally reasonable mistake..."
"Oh my God." The realization hits Quinn like a wave of nausea. "Oh, my, God." You were only talking to a squirrel, it's not the end of the world? But apparently it is—blood rushes to her face as she covers it with her hands. Talk about liquid-fucking-courage. She peeks out at Ty from behind her fingers, shaking her head. "I was... oh, fuck."
After a little while of this very obvious and very dramatic shame, her hands drop, her face drops, and she looks disgusted. With herself?
No, with the food.
She chucks the chip-cup into the fire.
Who even fucking knows what kinds of germs regular squirrels carry. Probably bad ones, and gross ones, and she was sharing their snacks with one.
"I need to brush my fucking teeth."