Chapter Text
Stories offered her an escape.
Whether it was through the looking glass, off to NeverNeverland, Narnia, or Mordor, there always was some adventure or excitement waiting in the pages of a book. And for a long time, she was okay with that. Until she wasn’t.
She put the stories away with Lucy, not because she wanted to give them up, but because she needed to never be reminded of the person she was, if she ever was going to get out of there. So, away went the glasses and books, on went the blond ponytail and tight uniform. Lucy was dead. So it goes. Quinn was born.
Life went great for her for a while, like she was living a mild adventure (though she would never admit to that). She got the boy (such as he was, and he certainly wasn’t much), the power, and the respect. She was going to make something of herself, even if it had to be on the dreams of everyone else. She’d get out of this town on a cheerleading scholarship and educational ones too. She would be okay. Until she wasn’t.
A fat day, a day of when she stared a little too long at a girl she bullied, a day of sniping semi-best friend, and everything collided. Nine months later, her story-book dreams fell apart in some bad parody of a soap opera. No friends, no family, no Beth. No stories.
It took her years to stabilize enough, to pick up the pieces of her shattered mild adventure to handle her mistakes, and would take more to forgive herself. Until then, she found the stories she put away, and realized Lucy wasn’t so much dead as just sleeping, waiting for a prince (or princess) to wake her up. The old stories were there, sitting silently in the box she stored and hidden under her bed (a box her father never found, thank you very much), waiting for her to come back to them. Even with years apart, with fingers aching for the feel of paper underneath them. And she did, because stories never die. They start up, they go forward, backward, sideways, leftways, rightways, up, down, hereto and therego, flashing to the best scenes, rewinding the heartbreaks and triumphs to live again. So maybe, if the mistakes the heroes and heroines make can turn out okay, she can too. Thus, Lucy was not dead, but neither was Quinn. So it goes.
Which brought her to Yale, and her to building her own stories. These stories were filled with dashing heroines and damsels who managed to find themselves saving themselves more often than not. When asked by her friends what she now did, it was easier to lie and say she slept with a professor than to admit to the geekery she enjoyed on a bi-weekly basis, though definitely more occurred in a less structured fashion.
Her weekend was supposed to be simple, and filled with new sort-of-friends because her old friends didn’t contact her that much (and she desperately wanted to talk to them, but all forty-two saved drafts of emails said something about her ability to open up). Instead, she clung to creating and being other people for a few hours every other week in worlds where adventures still existed. This was her weekend and she was semi-happy about it, much better than the ambivalence she felt earlier in the year to life in general.
Quinn stuffed the handbook and manuals into her backpack, her tablet, notebooks and pens already set. She began to search for her bag of dice when someone came a tapping at her door. “One minute,” she said, crawling out from underneath her bed where the bag had fallen.
“What’s…” Her question trailed off as she opened the door.
Somehow, a tiny brunette appeared before her. She held a shoulder bag protectively in front of her, with one arm holding it in place while the other brushed the long hair out of her face. She kept her eyes on the floor, not meeting Quinn’s, as a smile struggled to make its way on her face.
“Rachel?”
“Hi Quinn.” The brunette she hadn’t seen since Mister Schue’s wedding, and even then it was only a ‘hey, how are you, we should catch up’ before they both went their separate ways. “I’m…I’m not interrupting anything.” Her eyes seemed to be locked onto the backpack.
“No, well, kind of, but nothing I can’t miss,” Quinn said, stumbling over the words a little bit. Missing her bi-monthly game night to comfort a friend remained an option, but another more palatable idea sprung up as Rachel shuffled in front of her. An awful, wonderful idea. “Unless…” She let her voice trail off, building suspense.
“Unless what?” Rachel asked.
“You’d like to hang out with my friends for a bit,” Quinn said.
“Oh, you weren’t going out?”
“No, what? No,” Quinn said. “Well, yes, and no.” She hadn’t been ‘out’ since the wedding, not even drinking on New Year’s Eve. “We’re…promise you won’t laugh?”
“What? Quinn, I assure you, I would never,” Rachel said. She at least lost the sad puppy-dog eyes, gaining some of the old light in them.
“Promise,” Quinn repeated.
“Fine,” Rachel said with a huff. “I, Rachel Barbra Berry, promise not to laugh at whatever Lucy Quinn Fabray shares with me in this instance.” Quinn couldn’t help the giggle escaping her pursed lips. The sincerity of her statement and the absurdity to it rolled together in the tiny form of Rachel Berry only served as a reminder of the friendship she desired in high school.
“Just wanted a promise, not your soul, although…” She let her voice trail off again, letting Rachel see her smile. “We’re going to a game night.” She checked her supplies, mentally scratching off a list. Once done, she grabbed the shoulderbag Rachel held and tossed it onto her bed before locking her door. “Ready?” She bounced on her toes as she locked her door. Turning back, she grabbed Rachel’s hand, pulling them along at a quick pace.
“You’re not going to ask why I’m here?” Rachel followed her down the hallway to the elevator.
“Would it help?” In all honesty, Quinn bit her cheek and schooled her features. Getting to the train station, riding for two hours in the middle of winter to New Haven, then taking a cab (if she walked here, Quinn would kill her) to her dorm presented no evidence of sanity. Something provoked the singer into fleeing the city, especially if she was the option. But trying to be a friend meant sometimes not asking was more important.
“I…thank you,” Rachel said. “I’m going to hug you now.” Her arms surrounded Quinn, wrapped around her neck and pulling her down ever so slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to force Rachel closer. It took a moment to respond, directing her arms around her. Most of the people she hugged or interacted were taller than her, but this…this was nice too. They rode the elevator down in a hug, with Rachel’s tiny sniffles reaching her ears.
“Feel better?” Quinn asked. No one else entered and Rachel’s sniffle trailed off into silence. She nodded, stepping off the elevator first as if to guide Quinn to their location.
“Where are we going?”
“Student union.” Quinn took Rachel’s hand again, giving it a gentle tug to follow. They walked in silence, though Rachel seemed to be brimming with energy. A contrast to how she appeared at her doorway. She spun around, though never letting go of Quinn’s hand, trying to take everything the campus had to show in the dimming light.
Once at the union, Quinn dragged Rachel toward a set of stairs at the back, ignoring the magic show going on, ostensibly put on by a pro. Up the stairs they went, through a corridor, to reach a conference room.
“Now, remember what I said about laughing?”
“Don’t?” Rachel glanced at the door before turning to look at Quinn.
“No, I was going to say forget it. We’re here to have fun.” She opened the door, and felt her own excitement bubble over.
Inside, her gaming group sat discussing something or another. On the table a mat with a large grid was spread out, several smaller maps and drawings placed around the edges. Character sheets were set up though most were still blank besides the names on them. Sets of multicolored die lay out with figurines.
“Quinn! Wondering when you’d show up,” a slightly older boy said from the head of the table.
“Wade,” she nodded to him, motioning Rachel to take a seat next to her. Her glee-friend seemed to be taking in everything, even as her game-friends were watching her. “This is Rachel. She’s going to sit in tonight. That okay?”
“Always welcoming new people,” he said. “We’ll explain the rules shortly, but I bet Quinn will be more than happy to answer any questions.” He clapped his hands loudly, gathering the attention of the others. “Now, introductions first, then we’ll get started.”
“Gary,” boy with pimples said, holding out his hand. Rachel shook it, giving her stage smile.
“Ally.” A rail-thin girl said, reaching over to shake their hands. “And this lug is Fox.” She slugged the boy with a patchwork beard. “So, you’re the friend from New York?” Leave it to another girl to break the ice.
“Oh, yes,” Rachel said. She glanced at Quinn, a silent question in her eyes before turning back to Ally. She started to explain her freshman year so far, explaining her drama (literally) of a semester. She glossed over Finn’s death, but as she did, Quinn squeezed her hand reassuringly before letting her continue talking about one of her favorite subjects.
Quinn was just thankful Jake hadn’t arrived yet. He’d be openly ogling Rachel all night, or at least rotating between her and Rachel. More than once she’d ‘accidently’ killed his character in friendly fire. Wade never objected to it, and Ally definitely encouraged it. Still, when he kept his hormones in check, he wasn’t too bad of a guy.
“Now, have you ever played before?” Rachel shook her head at the question. Quinn quietly removed her tablet (containing pdfs of the handbooks and srds), her books, and a folder. “Wanna try tonight?”
“Another newbie?” Jack’s voice cut the excitement she was feeling, but only a little bit. He must have just arrived.
“Yes, I’d like to but…”she trailed off, glancing at everything. “I’m not sure.”
“Bard,” Quinn said, removing two blank character sheets. “I’ll help her set everything up.”
“Who’s this?” Jack asked, interrupting the conversation again. He had taken the seat across from Rachel, openly staring at her.
“You missed introductions. We’ve started.” Gary hadn’t even looked up from the book he was reading, scribbling on a pad of paper.
“Bard?” Rachel asked. She had shifted in her seat to face Quinn, her tiny legs curling up underneath her. “Like Shakespeare?” She smiled, both at the question and the implied
“Something like that,” Quinn said. She grabbed her player’s handbook, flipping the pages left then right until landing on the desired description. “Here, read this,” she pointed out the description, “and let me roll real quick.” Rachel glanced at the page, then at Quinn, then the page again. She settled in with a huff, letting the playbook rest on her legs and held up by the table.
Six six-sided die later (17, 10, 10, 14, 14, 16) she was ready for her character. Now it just meant starting Rachel with hers. Looking at her glee-friend, Rachel’s smile spread across her face, genuine and real. Quinn ignored Jack’s stares as she nonverbally asked a question.
“One, that’s still hot,” Rachel said, motioning toward Quinn’s raised eyebrow, “and two, does this mean I get to sing?”
“Wade encourages us to roleplay,” Quinn said, not answering the question.
First rule of Dungeons and Dragons: play the game how you want to play. Yes, the Dungeon Master (DM) instruct you, guides you on the adventure, but really, it comes down to the players, and the choices they make throughout the entire course. Quinn grasped onto that rule tightly, holding as she swung about learning everything and anything there was to know about the game. Because the stories were boundless and timeless, spreading forth from the conversations and discussions as all the players gathered round, rolled the die, and did something. The choices everyone made began with character creation. She never played clerics or bards before, and certainly didn’t plan on ever playing the first ones. Clerics were the religious ties to the game, prayers and confidence in their gods was not something she could fake. At least for now. Being a bard didn’t necessarily mean she sang for her spells, but not singing felt wrong if she did play it, and singing felt wrong for most of her time her, especially if it meant singing alone.
“So I get to sing?” Rachel asked Wade to make sure it was okay. The older boy laughed, nodding as he set things up behind a board. “Okay, what’s next? What do I get to sing?”
“Well, first…” Quinn showed Rachel how to fill out her character sheet, starting with naming her character (Barbra) and going from there. She rolled her dice, getting one hell of a starting roll (18, 18, 16, 16, 12, 9). Jack started to complain since he seemed to always roll for shit (so many nat 1s), but Wade cut him off before he said anything too offensive.
Rachel quickly filled out parts of her character sheet, putting the 18s in both CHA (Charisma, the primary stat for Bards) and DEX (Dexterity, a useful stat) without much prompting or direction from Quinn. She then filled in the rest, INT (Intelligence) with 16, CON (Constitution) with 16, WIS (Wisdom) with 12, and STR (Strength) with 9. Next, came the skills. For expedience, Quinn filled them in, picking the ones Rachel would need and want, like putting enough points in perform and concentration, because even in fantasy, her glee-friend excels at both. She did the same with the feats, picking extra musical performances and persuasions for Rachel to have fun with while they played.
After that it was a matter of simply ‘buying’ equipment and picking her spells, leaving Quinn enough time to finish her rogue. Given they were starting a new adventure tonight, she could have picked something a little more fun (she’d been eying the psion for a while now), but with Rachel here, maybe falling back on a classic limit the explanations about the game. She felt a smile grow as Rachel’s eyes sped over the character sheet. Her glee-friend designed herself into the game, why couldn’t she? Someone who needs to be in control of everything and can control everything, on and off the battlefield – like the Black Widow.
But it was more than just being in control. It was having control, taking it and using her control to inflict misfortune upon others. Deep down, she still possessed the single minded ability to pinpoint a person’s flaws and execute a terrible attack on them. The only difference now was Quinn molded herself to be better, to do better. “Wade?” She caught the attention of the dungeon master. Flicking through her tablet, she drew up a pdf she saved only a few days before. “This okay?” She slid the tablet across the table, knocking a giant and kobold miniatures. Wade caught it, reading over the entry.
“That’s fine, especially for now. Send me it, and I’ll make any changes for later levels.” Wade slid back her tablet. Rachel tried to reach out, grasping at the tablet but swifter hands caught it first.
“You’ll see,” she said, winking at her. Rachel’s cheeks flamed, quickly hidden behind a curtain of her hair.
Quinn began to fill in the pertinent information, assigning more points to her charisma, then strength, constitution, dexterity, intelligence, then wisdom. Her skills came next, followed by feats. Already, the story began to form as she wrote down numbers and some words here and there. Once finished, she closed out of the pdf, preventing Rachel’s roaming eyes from spying any more information.
Looking around the table, the others were about done, though Gary remained focused on the book in front of him, probably his spells since he almost always played a spell-caster. Ally and Fox chatted idly in low tones. They leaned toward each other, whispering something or another, presumably about the game, but every now and then, their sex lives wandered into the conversation/game, make the story a little awkward if not more entertaining. Jack’s nearly-illegible handwriting prevented her from identifying his class, but given past choices, he chose something with a sword.
“Everyone ready?” Wade asked. The question broke up the conversation between Ally and Fox, brought Gary back to the table, and snapped Jack out of his lustful staring. Rachel bounced in her seat, her smile growing wider. “Let’s begin…”