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gooseberryhigh2017-07-26 01:11 pm
quinning) wrote in gooseberryhigh2017-07-26 01:11 pm
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Who: Chris Park, Quinn Cunningham, and Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey. (This was before Jesse and Mercy existed so they WEREN'T TECHNICALLY GOD-MODDED, TYVM!)
When: October 23, after Coppertale's Quidditch defeat.
Where: The Sorting Cave!
What: Chris and Quinn drink shitty booze and talk about sports at the first Coppertale Quid pity party. They were so young. We were so naĂŻve. :') :'(
Warnings: Idiots swearing.
When: October 23, after Coppertale's Quidditch defeat.
Where: The Sorting Cave!
What: Chris and Quinn drink shitty booze and talk about sports at the first Coppertale Quid pity party. They were so young. We were so naĂŻve. :') :'(
Warnings: Idiots swearing.
Chris was still furious. If he were older and less controlled, he would probably have some kind of anger issue that he would probably ignore for the rest of his life, as that issue in question deteriorated everything he touched. But since he wasn't older, and he was here on scholarship, and he wanted very much to not be the asshole that punched random people he passed, he was showing some semblance of control. He hadn't even trashed their cabin, and it was for more reasons than just Rafael's stupid lists.
So the next logical choice was to get drunk with a prefect. So yeah, he headed out to meet Quinn at the sorting cave, and he didn't use a buddy, and he wasn't great at pretending he did, because he still simmering in his own anger to do something remotely silly, like wave at his imaginary buddy.
"Hey," he said when he met her.
As soon as Mercedes and Jesse saw Chris, they waved to Quinn and immediately turned back to walk to Azurcrest's camp. They'd been debating about some historical trade agreement for the entire time, and Quinn hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. ... Not that she'd had anything to contribute; it had been over a year since she'd taken History of Magic, and she was maybe just a little salty about feeling intellectually inferior for once. Just... a little.
"Hey yourself," Quinn replied, nodding toward the tiered bleachers in an indication for Chris to follow. She still had her Flyers hat on, of course, because she was no stranger to her (hockey) team losing and she knew better than to jump ship after one mediocre score. She led him up to one of the backmost rows and sat down. This wasn't her first rodeo, either; not only was there heavy tree cover behind them, but she'd charmed the reusable coffee cups in her hands to both emit a vapor-like substance, and to keep scents from escaping for a few hours. She had gum in her pocket and nowhere to be until dinner, which was in less than two hours. If she was going to break the rules once in a blue moon, the least she could do was break them responsibly.
She handed Chris one of the cups. "Anybody finds out, you're dead." She said matter-of-factly.
Chris followed Quinn's lead to bleachers and sat down beside her. He took the cup and made a face. "I'll be sure not to tell any honor bound prefects that I was out here drinking with you," he said sarcastically because who was he gonna tell. "Wouldn't want to tarnish your responsible reputation." He eyed his coffee cup but chose not to comment on the level of thought Quinn had put into breaking the rules.
She gave him a sidelong glance as she tapped her cup against his in a half-hearted cheers. "I'm not bringing you all the way out here to drink the last of my Jack just so I can get detention."
That earned a begrudging smile from Chris but he somehow managed to not look happy about the smile. "I'm not Sy. If I get caught, I don't throw my accomplices under the bus. Besides. I'm a very low key drunk. I play it off good. Probably the best." He lifted his cup in cheers and took a drink. There was something very satisfying about the burn of alcohol.
Quinn scoffed quietly. She didn't know how long she could discuss Chris' drunken antics without spilling the beans that half the school probably knew about his affectionate side. She leaned her elbows back against the row of seats behind them, and after taking a sip, remarked in a hoarse voice, "It was still a fucking exciting game." The sidelong glance returned, gauging how well he took her bringing up the all-too-recent defeat.
Chris pretty much already knew half the school knew he could be affectionate but his logic was that if he completely ignored that then it completely did not exist. At like, all.
Chris returned her side eye. Even though he was aggressive and partially explosive, he could read people too. He wasn't completely oblivious. He knew she was hedging. He was still pissed about it but if anybody understood why, it was Quinn. She was as invested in sports as he was. They watched sports together, they got invested together. Her bringing up the game didn't feel like a slight because he could imagine what it looked like to an observer.
"Casper was fucking relentless. That kid should play hockey," Chris agreed, exhaling. "I was half expecting Sy to take a bludger to the head. It get inevitable."
Quinn threw back her head and laughed, "I'd kill for Kim on my team. When the lake freezes over, he's one of the first I'm hitting up." And then she nodded. "And I'd love to smack Stoker with a bludger once in awhile—off the record." Another sip and she looked thoughtful, "It's got to hurt, losing your first game as captain. Especially after... everything." Sip. "Shit. That really sucks for him."
Chris took a long slow sip. "Off the record, I'd kill to have that kid on my quidditch team. We would have a blood bath every game and it would be beautiful." That did actually manage to lift his spirits, just imagining the wreckage they could cause together.
He had his differences with Sy. He could understand why anyone would target him, especially with a bludger, when they could legally cause him bodily harm. But he'd gotten good at ignoring that since it was basically his job to make sure that didn't actually happen.
"He didn't just lose his first game. Reid played like shit. He played like shit. Our keeper got knocked out and we basically just proved to the entire school that all they gotta do is knock one of us out of the game and we fall to shit because our reserves are shit. We showed all our cards in that shit game," Chris griped before taking another long sip. He could feel the warmth from the alcohol as he drank it slowly. "But I'm not salty about it. Totally cool."
Quinn remained quiet while Chris spoke and leaned over to bump shoulders affectionately once he finished, before leaning back onto the seat behind them. "Cool as a cucumber." She shook her head, though, and pointed a finger at him. "Don't go blaming the reserves from the start, Park. When they're thrown into a game, they only know half of the rhythm the team's playing at. I'm not saying it's on par with an entire match on the field, but it isn't just a Fun-day Sunday activity for them, either."
She softened up immediately after her miniature lecture and sat quietly for a few moments, swishing the (very cheap) whiskey around in her coffee cup. "It showed how strong your Keeper is, and it was her first game." She shook her head again. "I always said the first two matches should be exhibition rules since they're such a crapshoot as far as the feel goes." For somebody that got bumped down to reserve after freshman year, she certainly spoke with quite the authority about Quidditch.
Chris rolled his eyes. Of course Quinn would cut the reserves some slack - she was a reserve. Chris had been a reserve his sophomore year and he'd nearly been cut from the team that year when he'd had to fill in for his first game. When he panicked and broke her arm by blocking a bludger with it instead of actually hitting the bludger. He knew how terrifying filling in was for reserves.
"Hey, I'm not shitting on the reserves," he assured her. "Some of them are fresh. It's our fault for not training them hard enough during practice. We kinda ignore them. We need to start playing pick up games with them. Just so they get what it feels like to play in an actual game before they have to. And so we get how to play with them before we have to."
"So the reserves aren't shit," she replied sagely, "it's your teamwork that's 'shit' because you haven't done 'shit' about it." She shrugged the comment off. "Or Stoker hasn't done 'shit' about it. Whatever."
But Quinn was right. He could make a list of who played well in the game. Faye was obviously at the top. She was a seasoned chaser and she'd brought her A game and no distractions. Chris knew he was up there too. He knew he was in some part responsible for the blood bath the game had turned into but he'd played hard and had brought no distractions. Beneath them though, Susana was up there. For her first game, Susana had a pretty damn important job and she'd kept them afloat the entire time. It was something Chris hadn't expected from a sophomore. It was impressive. "It's probably supposed to be a crap shoot. You're not really part of the team until you go through the shit show of your first two games. After that, you're bonded to us through sheer trauma," he said sagely, before taking a drink.
Quinn nodded and, equally as sagely, turned her hat bill-forwards to block out the lowering sun. (Because apparently that's just something that you can do sagely when you're Quinn Cunningham.) "Exactly why the season should start with exhibition games. You've got two weeks until the next one, anyway. Stoker's going to work you guys raw. You'll be good for it. Exhausted, absolutely. Aching? Sure. And probably even humiliated." (Knowing his captain's style.) "But you'll be better."
She took a slow drink. The cold was starting to bite at her but the whiskey, however shitty it was, helped warm her up. Yawning, she stretched her limbs out; her arms reached up then folded behind her head, her feet pointed toward the Sorting Cave (hey, check it out! Barre workouts have benefits!) then rested on the row of seats below them. She crossed her ankles and wiggled her toes around a bit in their neon green runners. "So, Christopher, my dear." Quinn rolled her head over to face her companion because she knew she was about to get a reaction she would want to cherish for a while. "Got a date for the dance? A spooky boo, a darling bae?"
Chris knew how Sy would play this and he was looking forward to it because fuck did he need a distraction right now. Quinn could only distract him for so long.
Talking about the dance was not the preferred way of distraction. Chris made a face and occupied himself with taking several small, clearly stalling drinks. "I actually feel like killing whatever asshole invented Halloween at this point. Why? You need a date, Quinnifer?"
Quinn snorted and chose not to humour the death threat with a response. "Yeah, no, I'm set, thanks." As she spoke, she looked at her watch to gauge how long they had before dinner and decided she wouldn't finish in time, so she grabbed Chris' cup out of his hands without asking, swished it to test the amount left, swished hers, and handed him the fuller cup. She shook her head and pointed her new cup at Chris, "Couldn't help but notice you glowering during Cricket's costume thing. Seems to me like you should bring some poor, unwitting junior to distract you."
Chris watched her switch the cups, but he seemed completely okay with it. He wasn't drunk enough to protest her taking his alcohol from his hand yet. So he shrugged, and took a drink from his new cup. Clearly he'd already drank more than her at this point. "I don't know what you're talking about, there's nothing for me to glower about. Definitely not cute shit happening in front of me that'd require a distraction of any kind. I don't even know if I'm going to this dance." Which was a lie. He'd already agreed to. Trixie was already creating a costume. That was as good as a signed contract at this point. She'd kill him if he stayed home. Chris took a very leisurely drink from his cup.
"Mmhmm," Quinn murmured through a sip. "Zero 'cute shit' going around. Absolutely not happening anywhere near you, nothing to see here." She glanced up at Chris knowingly and, with a raised eyebrow, added, "I can tell when you're bullshitting me, Park. I can feel it in my booones." She wiggled her fingers in her face spookily on the last sentence.
Chris rolled his eyes. Quinn always had to be dramatic, and know shit. That knowing shit bastard. He took a much longer drink. He could feel the alcohol warming him up at this point. It didn't burn going down anymore. He felt nice, warm and fuzzy. He shifted just enough to bump her. "So hockey season's coming up," he said abruptly. He wasn't even trying to change the subject. He was just so busy mentally shit talking Quinn that he actually forgot what led her to being so dramatic and knowing shit. He forgot what they were talking about.
She mimed his eye-rolling as the subject changed. Nice one. "Hell yeah it is." She sat up and downed a hefty portion of her drink. "Except this time I'm responsible for keeping the contact to 'reasonable levels,' as though Quidditch isn't a deathtrap."
Chris smiled sweetly at Quinn but nodded emphatically. "Lots of broken bones going on," he agreed, drawing out the middle of the word lots. "I'm so fucking ready to knock some fucking skulls together," which was the exactly opposite of what she'd just said about reasonable levels of violence but Chris played hockey with Quinn. They were both the same level of violent when it came to contact sports. Chris always played like a bomb waiting to explode to the degree that it was intimidating.
"Wait a few weeks, padawan, and you can knock together as many skulls together as you desire." Quinn replied in a sarcastically wise tone. "You'll never master the Force without meditation on the virtues of patience."
"You think I should apologize to Fiori for breaking his ribs?" He asked, bringing his cup up to his mouth. That question alone made it very obvious that the alcohol had finally kicked it. "Or at least for enjoying the look on his face when I did. It feels a little mean spirited in hindsight. It was a good face, at least. A good solid hobble as he left the field afterwards." Chris nodded, finally taking his drink. He seemed satisfied with that assessment.
She tilted her head left and right as though weighing the options. A dismissive shrug indicated that she thought the apology was unnecessary. "He knew it was a good hit; it's part of the fun. Although," she spoke into her coffee cup as she took what would be one of her last sips. "You're getting Beater etiquette advice from probably the only one to have ever been bumped down to reserve. I'm obviously a stellar moral compass."
Chris perked up when Quinn veered dangerously close to insulting literally anything that had anything to do with her. "No, don't say that," he said quickly. "I loved beater you. It was the hottest version of you. You were like an angry chihuahua. That could break peoples' faces." He wrapped an arm around Quinn and pulled her close. Chris hadn't really thought that motion through all the way, because he didn't seem to have an actual action he was trying to do. He mostly just ended up pulling Quinn close to nuzzle his cheek against hers. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. "It was the first time I noticed you. Our entire relationship is built on the magnificent foundation of you being a badass bitch as a beater. If you ever want some go time? I will paralyze a bitch for you, I don't give a fuck. Bludger right to the fucking spine. Whatever you need. Bitch'll be in a wheelchair for life for your twenty minutes of retribution, I'm okay with it."
Ohhh, drunk Chris. "Please don't paralyze anyone." She didn't intend to get self-depreciating but did appreciate the support—even if he spoke about her as a Beater in the past tense. She leaned back into Chris and settled into the crook of his arm; the familiarity was nice. "Chihuahuas are the tiny, yipping ones, right? I think I'm a little bigger than those things."
Chris settled back against Quinn and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You're not bigger than a chihuahua," he told her gently but firmly and stroked her cheek as if she might require comforting after that cruel fact. "I might paralyze a bitch just so you can play in the February game though," he added thoughtfully. "Against me. It's like the best foreplay."
"You're only three inches taller than me, genius." She replied in a fond, if also somewhat sardonic, tone. It was rare for Chris to be this affectionate when sober (there were ways, of course, but they usually involved pastimes that would earn them so many mosquito bites right now), which meant that Quinn was aware of exactly how much Jack Chris had drunk. She traced the zipper of his jacket, half flirting and half looking for something to occupy herself with in her own tipsy state. Her mind drifted back to the Quidditch match. "You could incapacitate one of them." It felt like ages since she'd been able to play an actual match — mostly because it had been ages. "Just put her out of the running for the day."
Chris grinned at Quinn. He had a probably unhealthy reaction to insults. They just seemed to make him fonder really. This was actually probably the most dangerous version of Chris. The version that was like the second hand to a mob boss - whatever you need boss, I'll make that happen. "I'll break her face," he assured Quinn, and while it was a threat, there was nothing malicious about it. "Temporarily," he added helpfully.
"Try to stay away from their faces, they're assets; they distract. Otherwise, you're on." She went quiet for a couple of minutes as she her mind wandered into the realms of 'what would it be like to play against Chris again,' fiddling idly with the zipper pull, until the movement made her notice her watch again. And the time. Namely, dinner time.
Quinn dropped the pull with a sigh and straightened. "Soup's on." Chris got a very judgmental once-over, "I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you when we get to the lodge, aren't I? Or else you'll be telling Noble how much you appreciate all of her hard work, and trying to give Youngblood hugs."
Chris made a very affronted face. Well - he tried to make a very affronted face. It didn't work out great because he got distracted by considering how right Quinn was and wasn't it great that she could actually predict him? What a good friend. "No man, I'm good," he said despite his own thoughts. "But I appreciate the concern, you're such a good friend," he said emphatically, which also probably greatly negated his previous answer. "I have no idea what I'd of done without you. For like ever," he clarified.
Chris didn't go in for a hug, but he did speak with a genuine honesty that he never used while sober. "I'm good," he repeated. "Because you're in my life." Some part of him must've realized how cheesy that sounded - there's no way he could honestly be that cheesy without meaning to be.
Quinn heaved another sigh, this one melodramatic. Yes, this was one drunk skunk and she only had herself to blame. "And for this very good friend's next trick, she's going to make sure you get some food in you." As she spoke, she knocked back the remainder of her drink and extricated herself from Chris' arm to stand up. "Up and at 'em, tiger."
Chris stood up too, a whole lot less graceful than Quinn, and only then did he remember to empty the remainder of his own mug, while he was already in the process of standing up. "Okay," he said decisively. "Okay, I'm good. I'm good. Let's go fucking eat." He slung an arm around Quinn's shoulders, to show her just how ready he was to go smash some food.
Oh, great. This would go swimmingly. She slipped her arm around his waist, more to provide him with extra balance than to show affection, and motioned for him to hand her the cup. "Once more, just in case you forgot, which I'm sure you didn't: if you tell anyone that I got you drunk at the Cave on a Sunday afternoon, I'll fucking kill you." Because that's how friends communicate.
Chris clearly read that arm as affection and tightened his arm around her shoulder in a weird half hug. "I love you too, Quinnifer."
So the next logical choice was to get drunk with a prefect. So yeah, he headed out to meet Quinn at the sorting cave, and he didn't use a buddy, and he wasn't great at pretending he did, because he still simmering in his own anger to do something remotely silly, like wave at his imaginary buddy.
"Hey," he said when he met her.
As soon as Mercedes and Jesse saw Chris, they waved to Quinn and immediately turned back to walk to Azurcrest's camp. They'd been debating about some historical trade agreement for the entire time, and Quinn hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. ... Not that she'd had anything to contribute; it had been over a year since she'd taken History of Magic, and she was maybe just a little salty about feeling intellectually inferior for once. Just... a little.
"Hey yourself," Quinn replied, nodding toward the tiered bleachers in an indication for Chris to follow. She still had her Flyers hat on, of course, because she was no stranger to her (hockey) team losing and she knew better than to jump ship after one mediocre score. She led him up to one of the backmost rows and sat down. This wasn't her first rodeo, either; not only was there heavy tree cover behind them, but she'd charmed the reusable coffee cups in her hands to both emit a vapor-like substance, and to keep scents from escaping for a few hours. She had gum in her pocket and nowhere to be until dinner, which was in less than two hours. If she was going to break the rules once in a blue moon, the least she could do was break them responsibly.
She handed Chris one of the cups. "Anybody finds out, you're dead." She said matter-of-factly.
Chris followed Quinn's lead to bleachers and sat down beside her. He took the cup and made a face. "I'll be sure not to tell any honor bound prefects that I was out here drinking with you," he said sarcastically because who was he gonna tell. "Wouldn't want to tarnish your responsible reputation." He eyed his coffee cup but chose not to comment on the level of thought Quinn had put into breaking the rules.
She gave him a sidelong glance as she tapped her cup against his in a half-hearted cheers. "I'm not bringing you all the way out here to drink the last of my Jack just so I can get detention."
That earned a begrudging smile from Chris but he somehow managed to not look happy about the smile. "I'm not Sy. If I get caught, I don't throw my accomplices under the bus. Besides. I'm a very low key drunk. I play it off good. Probably the best." He lifted his cup in cheers and took a drink. There was something very satisfying about the burn of alcohol.
Quinn scoffed quietly. She didn't know how long she could discuss Chris' drunken antics without spilling the beans that half the school probably knew about his affectionate side. She leaned her elbows back against the row of seats behind them, and after taking a sip, remarked in a hoarse voice, "It was still a fucking exciting game." The sidelong glance returned, gauging how well he took her bringing up the all-too-recent defeat.
Chris pretty much already knew half the school knew he could be affectionate but his logic was that if he completely ignored that then it completely did not exist. At like, all.
Chris returned her side eye. Even though he was aggressive and partially explosive, he could read people too. He wasn't completely oblivious. He knew she was hedging. He was still pissed about it but if anybody understood why, it was Quinn. She was as invested in sports as he was. They watched sports together, they got invested together. Her bringing up the game didn't feel like a slight because he could imagine what it looked like to an observer.
"Casper was fucking relentless. That kid should play hockey," Chris agreed, exhaling. "I was half expecting Sy to take a bludger to the head. It get inevitable."
Quinn threw back her head and laughed, "I'd kill for Kim on my team. When the lake freezes over, he's one of the first I'm hitting up." And then she nodded. "And I'd love to smack Stoker with a bludger once in awhile—off the record." Another sip and she looked thoughtful, "It's got to hurt, losing your first game as captain. Especially after... everything." Sip. "Shit. That really sucks for him."
Chris took a long slow sip. "Off the record, I'd kill to have that kid on my quidditch team. We would have a blood bath every game and it would be beautiful." That did actually manage to lift his spirits, just imagining the wreckage they could cause together.
He had his differences with Sy. He could understand why anyone would target him, especially with a bludger, when they could legally cause him bodily harm. But he'd gotten good at ignoring that since it was basically his job to make sure that didn't actually happen.
"He didn't just lose his first game. Reid played like shit. He played like shit. Our keeper got knocked out and we basically just proved to the entire school that all they gotta do is knock one of us out of the game and we fall to shit because our reserves are shit. We showed all our cards in that shit game," Chris griped before taking another long sip. He could feel the warmth from the alcohol as he drank it slowly. "But I'm not salty about it. Totally cool."
Quinn remained quiet while Chris spoke and leaned over to bump shoulders affectionately once he finished, before leaning back onto the seat behind them. "Cool as a cucumber." She shook her head, though, and pointed a finger at him. "Don't go blaming the reserves from the start, Park. When they're thrown into a game, they only know half of the rhythm the team's playing at. I'm not saying it's on par with an entire match on the field, but it isn't just a Fun-day Sunday activity for them, either."
She softened up immediately after her miniature lecture and sat quietly for a few moments, swishing the (very cheap) whiskey around in her coffee cup. "It showed how strong your Keeper is, and it was her first game." She shook her head again. "I always said the first two matches should be exhibition rules since they're such a crapshoot as far as the feel goes." For somebody that got bumped down to reserve after freshman year, she certainly spoke with quite the authority about Quidditch.
Chris rolled his eyes. Of course Quinn would cut the reserves some slack - she was a reserve. Chris had been a reserve his sophomore year and he'd nearly been cut from the team that year when he'd had to fill in for his first game. When he panicked and broke her arm by blocking a bludger with it instead of actually hitting the bludger. He knew how terrifying filling in was for reserves.
"Hey, I'm not shitting on the reserves," he assured her. "Some of them are fresh. It's our fault for not training them hard enough during practice. We kinda ignore them. We need to start playing pick up games with them. Just so they get what it feels like to play in an actual game before they have to. And so we get how to play with them before we have to."
"So the reserves aren't shit," she replied sagely, "it's your teamwork that's 'shit' because you haven't done 'shit' about it." She shrugged the comment off. "Or Stoker hasn't done 'shit' about it. Whatever."
But Quinn was right. He could make a list of who played well in the game. Faye was obviously at the top. She was a seasoned chaser and she'd brought her A game and no distractions. Chris knew he was up there too. He knew he was in some part responsible for the blood bath the game had turned into but he'd played hard and had brought no distractions. Beneath them though, Susana was up there. For her first game, Susana had a pretty damn important job and she'd kept them afloat the entire time. It was something Chris hadn't expected from a sophomore. It was impressive. "It's probably supposed to be a crap shoot. You're not really part of the team until you go through the shit show of your first two games. After that, you're bonded to us through sheer trauma," he said sagely, before taking a drink.
Quinn nodded and, equally as sagely, turned her hat bill-forwards to block out the lowering sun. (Because apparently that's just something that you can do sagely when you're Quinn Cunningham.) "Exactly why the season should start with exhibition games. You've got two weeks until the next one, anyway. Stoker's going to work you guys raw. You'll be good for it. Exhausted, absolutely. Aching? Sure. And probably even humiliated." (Knowing his captain's style.) "But you'll be better."
She took a slow drink. The cold was starting to bite at her but the whiskey, however shitty it was, helped warm her up. Yawning, she stretched her limbs out; her arms reached up then folded behind her head, her feet pointed toward the Sorting Cave (hey, check it out! Barre workouts have benefits!) then rested on the row of seats below them. She crossed her ankles and wiggled her toes around a bit in their neon green runners. "So, Christopher, my dear." Quinn rolled her head over to face her companion because she knew she was about to get a reaction she would want to cherish for a while. "Got a date for the dance? A spooky boo, a darling bae?"
Chris knew how Sy would play this and he was looking forward to it because fuck did he need a distraction right now. Quinn could only distract him for so long.
Talking about the dance was not the preferred way of distraction. Chris made a face and occupied himself with taking several small, clearly stalling drinks. "I actually feel like killing whatever asshole invented Halloween at this point. Why? You need a date, Quinnifer?"
Quinn snorted and chose not to humour the death threat with a response. "Yeah, no, I'm set, thanks." As she spoke, she looked at her watch to gauge how long they had before dinner and decided she wouldn't finish in time, so she grabbed Chris' cup out of his hands without asking, swished it to test the amount left, swished hers, and handed him the fuller cup. She shook her head and pointed her new cup at Chris, "Couldn't help but notice you glowering during Cricket's costume thing. Seems to me like you should bring some poor, unwitting junior to distract you."
Chris watched her switch the cups, but he seemed completely okay with it. He wasn't drunk enough to protest her taking his alcohol from his hand yet. So he shrugged, and took a drink from his new cup. Clearly he'd already drank more than her at this point. "I don't know what you're talking about, there's nothing for me to glower about. Definitely not cute shit happening in front of me that'd require a distraction of any kind. I don't even know if I'm going to this dance." Which was a lie. He'd already agreed to. Trixie was already creating a costume. That was as good as a signed contract at this point. She'd kill him if he stayed home. Chris took a very leisurely drink from his cup.
"Mmhmm," Quinn murmured through a sip. "Zero 'cute shit' going around. Absolutely not happening anywhere near you, nothing to see here." She glanced up at Chris knowingly and, with a raised eyebrow, added, "I can tell when you're bullshitting me, Park. I can feel it in my booones." She wiggled her fingers in her face spookily on the last sentence.
Chris rolled his eyes. Quinn always had to be dramatic, and know shit. That knowing shit bastard. He took a much longer drink. He could feel the alcohol warming him up at this point. It didn't burn going down anymore. He felt nice, warm and fuzzy. He shifted just enough to bump her. "So hockey season's coming up," he said abruptly. He wasn't even trying to change the subject. He was just so busy mentally shit talking Quinn that he actually forgot what led her to being so dramatic and knowing shit. He forgot what they were talking about.
She mimed his eye-rolling as the subject changed. Nice one. "Hell yeah it is." She sat up and downed a hefty portion of her drink. "Except this time I'm responsible for keeping the contact to 'reasonable levels,' as though Quidditch isn't a deathtrap."
Chris smiled sweetly at Quinn but nodded emphatically. "Lots of broken bones going on," he agreed, drawing out the middle of the word lots. "I'm so fucking ready to knock some fucking skulls together," which was the exactly opposite of what she'd just said about reasonable levels of violence but Chris played hockey with Quinn. They were both the same level of violent when it came to contact sports. Chris always played like a bomb waiting to explode to the degree that it was intimidating.
"Wait a few weeks, padawan, and you can knock together as many skulls together as you desire." Quinn replied in a sarcastically wise tone. "You'll never master the Force without meditation on the virtues of patience."
"You think I should apologize to Fiori for breaking his ribs?" He asked, bringing his cup up to his mouth. That question alone made it very obvious that the alcohol had finally kicked it. "Or at least for enjoying the look on his face when I did. It feels a little mean spirited in hindsight. It was a good face, at least. A good solid hobble as he left the field afterwards." Chris nodded, finally taking his drink. He seemed satisfied with that assessment.
She tilted her head left and right as though weighing the options. A dismissive shrug indicated that she thought the apology was unnecessary. "He knew it was a good hit; it's part of the fun. Although," she spoke into her coffee cup as she took what would be one of her last sips. "You're getting Beater etiquette advice from probably the only one to have ever been bumped down to reserve. I'm obviously a stellar moral compass."
Chris perked up when Quinn veered dangerously close to insulting literally anything that had anything to do with her. "No, don't say that," he said quickly. "I loved beater you. It was the hottest version of you. You were like an angry chihuahua. That could break peoples' faces." He wrapped an arm around Quinn and pulled her close. Chris hadn't really thought that motion through all the way, because he didn't seem to have an actual action he was trying to do. He mostly just ended up pulling Quinn close to nuzzle his cheek against hers. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. "It was the first time I noticed you. Our entire relationship is built on the magnificent foundation of you being a badass bitch as a beater. If you ever want some go time? I will paralyze a bitch for you, I don't give a fuck. Bludger right to the fucking spine. Whatever you need. Bitch'll be in a wheelchair for life for your twenty minutes of retribution, I'm okay with it."
Ohhh, drunk Chris. "Please don't paralyze anyone." She didn't intend to get self-depreciating but did appreciate the support—even if he spoke about her as a Beater in the past tense. She leaned back into Chris and settled into the crook of his arm; the familiarity was nice. "Chihuahuas are the tiny, yipping ones, right? I think I'm a little bigger than those things."
Chris settled back against Quinn and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You're not bigger than a chihuahua," he told her gently but firmly and stroked her cheek as if she might require comforting after that cruel fact. "I might paralyze a bitch just so you can play in the February game though," he added thoughtfully. "Against me. It's like the best foreplay."
"You're only three inches taller than me, genius." She replied in a fond, if also somewhat sardonic, tone. It was rare for Chris to be this affectionate when sober (there were ways, of course, but they usually involved pastimes that would earn them so many mosquito bites right now), which meant that Quinn was aware of exactly how much Jack Chris had drunk. She traced the zipper of his jacket, half flirting and half looking for something to occupy herself with in her own tipsy state. Her mind drifted back to the Quidditch match. "You could incapacitate one of them." It felt like ages since she'd been able to play an actual match — mostly because it had been ages. "Just put her out of the running for the day."
Chris grinned at Quinn. He had a probably unhealthy reaction to insults. They just seemed to make him fonder really. This was actually probably the most dangerous version of Chris. The version that was like the second hand to a mob boss - whatever you need boss, I'll make that happen. "I'll break her face," he assured Quinn, and while it was a threat, there was nothing malicious about it. "Temporarily," he added helpfully.
"Try to stay away from their faces, they're assets; they distract. Otherwise, you're on." She went quiet for a couple of minutes as she her mind wandered into the realms of 'what would it be like to play against Chris again,' fiddling idly with the zipper pull, until the movement made her notice her watch again. And the time. Namely, dinner time.
Quinn dropped the pull with a sigh and straightened. "Soup's on." Chris got a very judgmental once-over, "I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you when we get to the lodge, aren't I? Or else you'll be telling Noble how much you appreciate all of her hard work, and trying to give Youngblood hugs."
Chris made a very affronted face. Well - he tried to make a very affronted face. It didn't work out great because he got distracted by considering how right Quinn was and wasn't it great that she could actually predict him? What a good friend. "No man, I'm good," he said despite his own thoughts. "But I appreciate the concern, you're such a good friend," he said emphatically, which also probably greatly negated his previous answer. "I have no idea what I'd of done without you. For like ever," he clarified.
Chris didn't go in for a hug, but he did speak with a genuine honesty that he never used while sober. "I'm good," he repeated. "Because you're in my life." Some part of him must've realized how cheesy that sounded - there's no way he could honestly be that cheesy without meaning to be.
Quinn heaved another sigh, this one melodramatic. Yes, this was one drunk skunk and she only had herself to blame. "And for this very good friend's next trick, she's going to make sure you get some food in you." As she spoke, she knocked back the remainder of her drink and extricated herself from Chris' arm to stand up. "Up and at 'em, tiger."
Chris stood up too, a whole lot less graceful than Quinn, and only then did he remember to empty the remainder of his own mug, while he was already in the process of standing up. "Okay," he said decisively. "Okay, I'm good. I'm good. Let's go fucking eat." He slung an arm around Quinn's shoulders, to show her just how ready he was to go smash some food.
Oh, great. This would go swimmingly. She slipped her arm around his waist, more to provide him with extra balance than to show affection, and motioned for him to hand her the cup. "Once more, just in case you forgot, which I'm sure you didn't: if you tell anyone that I got you drunk at the Cave on a Sunday afternoon, I'll fucking kill you." Because that's how friends communicate.
Chris clearly read that arm as affection and tightened his arm around her shoulder in a weird half hug. "I love you too, Quinnifer."
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it was just an entire week of present tense.
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lol
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tl;dr: chris and quinn should have been in div this whole time
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