"Amy to my heart"
Chapter One
A part time job such as this
There are different types of jobs in this world.
You can be eighteen and get yourself a job at walmart, stacking articles in the correct order and place for the clients' easy handling.
A part time job at Mcdonals also works to help pay that college tuition, even if you have to stand that idiotic fourty year old single man that you have for a boss.
Or if the administration of your scholar institution finds you poor enough, you might be able to get a work/study type of job right within the premises of your college. Perhaps in the library or at the cafeteria.
Simple enough right? A simple job for a simple life. Because really, no matter what undergrads say, being a college student isn't that arduous. Get up, go to class, eat, go to class, go to your part time job (if you are that responsible or lack loaded parents), go party, get to bed and in between all of that find some time to actually study. It may be somewhat hard in certain circumstances, like with three or four exams on the same week, but it's not complicated.
Unless, of course, your part time job is being a sniper.
If that is the case then well, your life is probably both hard and complicated.
How the hell though, does an undergrad student end up with the title of sniper? And how can you manage that while keeping one foot in college and another out of jail?
Quinn Fabray knows how. Well, not exactly, she mostly plays her cards on a whim that she calls instinct. That's not to say that she's irresponsible. She's responsible enough to get out of bed in time (usually) to go to her Yale drama classes and to blow up a few heads (always in the head, faster and cleaner), also, in time, without alerting the police...or without leaving a trace, whichever happens to be the best choice at the moment.
Because if there are three words with which you could describe Quinn Fabray, those are swift, smooth and efficient.
She is other things too of course, like beautiful, mature and currently late to her first class of her second semester.
This will not look well with her professor.
Quinn ran up the stairs -the long, endless, dangerous stairs where people are usually mugged - that would take her directly to the Music Department. Her first class, however, is named something that she can not remember, something related to diction and it is definitely not in the Band and Orquestra building. No, it is actually all the way on the other side of campus. But her car decided that today was a good day to break down (not that she would have found parking at this time anyway) and the closest entrance to her college was right beside her apartment, but extremely far from her target.
So she opted to test all those days at the gym and hoped they payed up without charging her extra later on by sprinting through the halls, yards, tables and a few classrooms in a blind search for a shortcut to her destination.
Tired and uncertain if going through that hole in the fence had been a good idea, she makes it to her class with nothing more than extreme tirst and a few scratches that will probably need desinfectant.
"...and tardiness will not be accepted - " The professor, a tall woman with red hair and prominent cheekbones, halted her so very welcoming speech as she saw Quinn enter the classroom. She raised an eyebrow to the blond, clearly unimpressed. Quinn was sure the woman had not moved her lips, yet her voice carried to the end of the room where she was still standing by the door. - "Name?"
Quinn took a silent breath, she was used to this type of person, she used to be one of them. Arrogant, over confident knows it all who usually don't really know anything at all? (Unless we are speaking of Rachel, of course). Yeah she had all that cover as the Head Bitch in Charge of Mckinley High. She may have come from a small town like Lima, but if her experiences had thought her something, that was that bigshots were bigshots no matter where they were or where they came from. And when you were, or had been, part of something you knew how to destroy it from inside out. There's nothing that this type of person hates most than finding their targets unfazed by their attacks. Believe her, she knew, Rachel had thought her that.
"Quinn Lucy Fabray." Her voice was steady, her head raised enough to show that she was not overwhelemed, but not too high up to look snobish. She was no longer that highschool bitch after all.
"Miss Fabray, do you know what's the interrelation between diction and time?"
Quinn frowned, perplexed. Diction and time? What was this woman talking about?
"Uh, no".
"Of course." - The professor said as if she expected this, but was still dissapointed. - "If diction is not pronounced in accordance to a specific period, if by chance we are a few seconds late to deliver our lines, the effects could be catastrophic to our performance. The atmosphere of the scene would shift in a different direction from what the director inicially wanted, which would alter the whole story. This is important students, for the sake of the script and for the sake of your own jobs. Wouldn't you agree miss Fabray?" She looked at the blond expectantly.
No, Quinn would not agree. She was sure she would change a scripts' lines and momentums based on what she thought would fit better to the role she was portraying. She was also sure this was bout to get her in a lot of trouble with her future directors, so she went with "Perhaps."
The red head raised her right eyebrow again.
"Then perhaps you will sit here, right before me, so I can instruct you on why I am correct. And perhaps you will never be late to class again, or perhaps I'll have to banish you from my class." She finsihed with a patronizing tilt of the head.
Quinn nodded mutely and made her way to the chair at the front of the class thinking that it would do her no good to get into an argument with her professor so early in the semester.
0-0
"Hahaha! Are you serious? A professor already picked on you on the first day?" An auburn haired girl yelled to be heard over the music. She took a second to down her tequila shot before continuing to laugh.
"Yes Sara, I'm serious." Quinn rolled her eyes, while drinking her girly concoction. It was Pasoa with orange and cranberry juice, one of her favorites. A girly drink for a girly girl. She watched as her friend drank another tequila shot and continued to laugh as if nothing. It was as if the burn was barely a tickle to her.
"Who told you to be late?" A black haired young man said to her left. He had sunglasses on his face, although it was way past nine in the evening, and he held a Heneiken tightly to his chest. It was his third, but he's a lightweight.
"Shut up Macy". - Her tone was full of mockery. - "My alarm didn't sound." It sounded like a poor excuse, perhaps even a lie, but it was not. She just had a very special type of alarm, and it definitely had made no noise that morning. The reasons as to why this was had been nagging at the back of her mind for the whole day.
"It's Mace! Not macy, Mace!" He gruffed.
Quinn chuckled, her friends sure were entretaining; Mace was amusing while Sara was hilarious. She had met these two on different classes on her first semester.
Mace was studying to become a lawyer, which fits him more or less. She met him in her humanities class. He always wears his clean dress shirts and pants to everywhere he goes and his black hair is always perfectly trimmed. The only odd thing about him is his fixation with those old dark glasses that remind her of the movie 'The Matrix'. Seriously, Sara had once hidden them from him and he missed all his morning classes searching for the damn thing. But besides his sometimes strange behavior, he gives off a sense of professionalism that he can't completely turn off even when he's hanging out with his two female friends at a bar.
On the other hand, Sara was taking a bunch of classes that she swears will end her up with a degree, or a couple of degrees, on Administration, Advertisment and Finance; she also swears she will graduate at the same time that they will. Quinn had met her on Pre-calculus one, which was simply awesome for her because Sara is a wiz at math, and Quinn... Quinn had been a mere mortal burning her eyelasshes every night and praying every morning to the Christian, Greek and Nordic gods for help; they answered with a calculater a.k.a. Sara. Saras' picture is probably right beside the word boisterious in the dictionary. Not the type of person Quinn could imagine with a finance degree working in an office from nine to five, but she guessed that's where advertisment came in. The girl was more hyper and random than Rachel, Kurt, Brittany and Sugar put together. You were certainly never bored with her, you could be a little psycologically traumatized though.
In general the blond thought they made a good team. They are like a scale, going from awkward introvert (Mace) to psycotic extrovert (Sara). Quinn is in the middle, 'normal' or 'perfect neutral' as she likes to say. Her companions always disagree with her on that. She has to be some kind of weirdo too, especially if she is friends with them. They often allow her to keep believing in her sanity though, but remind her that she is going to need a lawyer to get her out of jail (or the madhouse) and a manager to take care of her career and finances so she will still have money and a job after escaping imprisionment, and when that moment comes they will be there for her, to collect, and to indulge her in countless variants of "I told you so".
"Well, it was nice meeting you guys, but I have to go." Quinn stood, leaving her empty glass on the table.
"What? But is only eleven thirty! Where the hell are you going?" Sara shouted.
"Yeah I know, but I have to get up early tomorrow." She explained, trying to look as sorry as she could.
"Tell us the truth Quinn, how old are you? Eight or eighty five?" Mace smirked.
"Har, har Macy. You know how old I am, and that is much younger than you." She countered, vanishing his smirk. She picked up her purse with a smug smile of her own.
"You owe us Cinderella!" Sara shouted after her, right before the blond exited the bar. She recieved a wave for her effort but nothing more.
Quinn kept an unhurried pace on the sidewalk of New Heaven. It's eleven thirty five, she has to be at the spot at one twenty five sharp, she has time. She could have stayed with her friends a while longer, but she likes to prepare mentally for this type of thing. Most people probably think this is something done on a whim, without thinking, posthaste. They are not completely wrong. There are around five seconds in which you could not, or should not, think. Thinking could get you to hesitate, which could get you to miss. Missing is not an option in this job. But during the rest of the time, the before it was all about pondering, while the after it was already pondered.
However, Quinn has physically prepared for this weeks ago. Right now she is preparing mentally. She likes to stroll around right before a task and observe people, things. She has always been a grateful person, to God, to life. She watched as people around her bury themselves deep in their coats or into the arms of their significant others because it is the middle of February and it is still rather cold. There are smiling women and smirking men, children pulling on their mothers' hand to look through the windows of candy stores, dogs with wagging tails walking beside their owners and groups of friend going in and out of bars, having a good time, enjoying life, just like she had been doing a few minutes ago.
And Quinn smiled, because there was so much but if at any moment she were to loose sight of the why, she had only to look around and it would come to her like a shooting star, that this was what she is protecting.
0-0
Quinn got to the roof at one fifteen, she was early. It is not something she likes. She likes to be punctual, literally. Both good and bad things can happen if you are early or late, although in this kind of job these things are usually bad. There were reasons why she was given a specific time, and experience had thought her it was good to obey them. So she took to hiding behind an antenna and waited ten more minutes.
Time transcurred with no incident. She left her spot and located all her tools on the floor, along with her body, by the right side of the building. By tools I mean her L 115 Sniper Riffle. Her baby, which she named Amy, in tribute to that labrador she never had. Amy was black and yellow. She was beautiful, deadly and british! With optional optics for day and night, an 8.59 mm caliber cartridge, a magnifiying scope up till x25 and even a shoulder pad, for the comfort of her feminine shoulders; although she mostly used the bipod for stability. Dearest Amy was simply glorious. She hadn't failed her yet, not that she had been in this for more than a few months, but still!
Across the street in an expensive apartment complex lights begin to turn on in the twelfth floor. Through a huge window that serves as the wall for the whole left side, Quinn can see a robust man descending the stairs to the room below. He goes into the kitchen and takes what looks like a beer and a big piece of cake out of the fridge. Quinn never lost sight of him as he opened the crystal door that leads to the pool and parked himself on a chair resting his beer on the small table beside him and the cake on his enormous belly. The blond shook her head, this was too easy.
She pulled the trigger in one second, and in the other the cake fell to the ground.
"What a waste". She thought picking Emmy from the floor, that cake looked migthy delicious.
0-0
It was five fifty-nine in the morning - if it could be called morning, the sun was not even up yet - when her alarm went off. She answered the phone without checking the caller id, she knew who it was.
"I said six am Rachel! I still had one more minute of wonderful sleep!" She whined into the reciever. She was pressing the phone to her left ear hoping to not drop it, and her head into the pillow, hoping to not drop that either. Who knew what could happen in her state, she was awfully tired.
"It's six am over here Quinn!" Rachel admonished.
"You lie." Why had she agreed to let Rachel call her every morning? Oh right, to make sure their friendship stayed as strong and bright as the morning sun...or...something like that the dramaqueen had said. Quinn was sure she had to have been already asleep when she assented to that, Rachel had totally taken advantage of her.
"No I do not! Besides, it's better to be early than late." She stated. That had always been her motto and she was sticking to it. Quinn would do best to stick to it too.
"Says you."
"Yes I do! Now get up!"
Quinn frowned and made some unintelligible noise that sounded something like 'whatever' but probably wasn't. How was it possible for this woman to be so perky so early in the morning? Rachel needed to share some of whatever she was inhalling, she thought as she sat on the bed.
"Hey remember I'm coming over this weekend." Rachel said, her tone going from shrill to shy on a whim. The blond smiled, she had only been reminded every day since they made the plans two weeks ago.
"Of course. I won't forget." Her voice still sounded groggy.
There was silence on the line for a few minutes.
"Really I won't forget!" Rachel giggled, which made Quinn smile once more.
"Right. I'll send you a text with the time of my arrival."
"Whatever, just bring me cake, a big chunk of chocolate cake." The blond said, her eyes closed recalling that man's cake. Yes, she had been left with a craving.
"Chocolate cake?" Rachel inquired, amused. A sleepy Quinn said the weirdest things.
"Yes, chocolate cake." She repeated. Was that a hard notion? She had not asked for pistachio or amarreto or anything like that, just simple chocolate cake. Quinn forgot a lot of things in this condition, like how she was not really a fan of sweets.
"Well alright then."
"Great. Well, I'm going to leave you now to go take a shower. I'll call you later, or tomorrow."
"Okay, have a great day Quinn!"
"I will now. So do you. Bye."
"Bye!"
Quinn threw the phone on the bed before walking to her apartments' bathroom. She had a smile on her face from the moment she stood into the shower to the moment she walked out of her home. It was the same every morning, there was a star that brighted up her day like her own personal alarm clock. She hates it and she loves it, both, at the same time. Yes such a thing it's possible for her. She is an undergrad student and a sniper if you remember.