Faberry fic attempt number one. I don't think I'm that great at Faberry, but meh. These are all plot requests, so. If anyone happens to have a plot request (Brittana or Faberry), feel free.
Description: What on Earth had Quinn done to her hair? Rachel Berry wanted to know.
Rachel Berry had once declared (drunkenly, mind you) that wine coolers taste like pink. It wasn't a declaration she regretted, necessarily - if pink had a taste, maybe it did in fact taste like wine coolers - but she had always hated stating a thesis without having viable data to back it up. After all, how does one tastepink? The question has haunted her since that night. Rachel Berry was a performer, not a scientist, but it was always best to have proof of one's hypotheses if one is to take it from question form to statement form. Honesty was the sincerest form of avoiding bad publicity, after all. Yet it seemed she would unfortunately have to forgo her research, writing off 'it tastes like pink' as nothing more than a drunken, silly phrase of little to no logical value. Annoying, but Rachel believed it the only option.
Until she saw Quinn Fabray's triumphant return to William McKinley High School's hallowed halls.
The blonde - once-blonde - walked as if she owned every chipped tile of the school's narrow hallways. The new look she sported was not at all like her, and yet the black suited her incredibly well. Especially paired with the vibrant pink of her hair. She wore a single, long earring and an abundance of necklaces (was that an inverted cross?), heeled boots, and a blackskirt that highlighted every glorious (wait, glorious? Did she just think the word 'glorious' in connection to Quinn Fabray?) inch of her legs. It was a shock, to say the least, seeing the wholesome Quinn Fabray dressed like some sort of… some sort of hooligan (however lovely the style made her appear). It wasn't the Quinn she knew and Rachel was not certain if she approved. As the slightly taller girl moved to pass her, Rachel reached out a hand. "Quinn," she mumbled uncertainly, head cocking slightly as she moved closer. Her dark eyes couldn't help but skim down and up the length of her black-clad frame before meeting amused hazel eyes. Not the good kind of amused, either- the kind that took Rachel Berry back to the days of her torment.
"Do you mind, hobbit?" she sneered with a smirk, taking a step forward, and another, until she stood toe to toe with the brunette. She stared down into Rachel's nervous eyes and the brunette couldn't help but notice the smell of smoke that clung to her new wardrobe. It didn't smell like cigarettes- rather, it was the scent of campfires as she recalled from her early years at her Jewish sleep-away camps. Rachel prided herself on her excellent sensory recall. She would know that smell anywhere. Still, she couldn't bring herself to say anything with Quinn standing so close, with her eyes so hard and callous as they bore into hers. Beneath it all, she caught a whiff of perfume, something light and flowery and very much suited to the old Quinn, but so far buried beneath the layers of unfamiliar scent that she didn't know if she'd imagined it or not. "You're in my way. I'dhateto be late for homeroom." She stared for another minute down at the shaking diva before spinning on her heel, sauntering off with that same hip-swaying gait of before. Rachel watched, confused by (and perhaps a bit fascinated with) Quinn's abrupt transformation.
Throughout the day, she only caught glimpses of the other girl. It wasn't until glee that a flash of pink caught her attention again. The once wholesome ex-Cheerio sauntered with that same lazy gait through the door of the choir room, moving to take a seat near the back. Rachel opened her mouth to speak to her, to ask her about the changes she'd undergone, but Schue came racing in moments after looking distraught. "I'm sorry to tell you this, kids, but we're going to have to sing a capella for a while. It seems some prankster stole our piano and lit it on fire in the courtyard. There was a collective gasp from the group, followed by murmurs of confusion and speculation. Rachel sat speechless, her mouth agape. On fire? But… She looked over her shoulder, studied the still, calm features of one Quinn Fabray. Of the group, she was the one who seemed least surprised- that is to say, not surprised at all. She didn't make any accusations (because she didn't like unproved theories, Rachel tried to tell herself), but she suspected. After Glee, she tried to stop Quinn to ask, but Finn delayed her with some inane question about the assignment. Couldn't he see she was in a hurry? God, he could be so selfish sometimes. Eventually she excused herself, tearing out of the choir room in the direction of the exit.
And outside of the double doors was Quinn Fabray in all of her pink-haired glory… but she wasn't alone. And she didn't look lonely. Her hands were on the waist of an unfamiliar brunette girl clad in leather straddling a rather aggressive looking motorcycle. The other girl's hair was just a bit longer than Quinn's, cut in a shaggy style and highlighted in electric blue. Rachel would have been generous enough to call her pretty, had she been able to see much of her face. As it was, however, their lips were fused together and their hands were wandering and Rachel couldn't see much except the green haze of jealousy, which faded quickly into red fury when the strange girl's hands squeezed the rounded buttocks of one very cat-that-got-the-canary looking Q. Fabray. They pulled back with an audible smack of lips and it was then that the new girl (who was, damn her, quite beautiful) noticed the shaking brunette stood about twenty feet from them looking on. Quinn followed her gaze, surprise morphing her features before the bitchy smirk returned. Slowly she moved towards Rachel, walking closer and closer until she invaded her personal space once more.
"Like what you see, RuPaul?" she breathed, leaning in so close to Rachel's face that the heat of her breath was felt along the shorter girl's lips. She shuddered and remained mute, eyes glued to cruel hazel. "Well that's too damned bad. I gave you your chance before - this summer, a freaking month ago - and you blew me off for Finn." Something like hurt flashed in her eyes before it was masked again. "You're missing out." She leaned down suddenly, forced her lips onto Rachel's in a punishing kiss that overloaded the brunette's sensory memory. There were so many feelings and flavors and… She didn't know what to do. Before she could even respond, Quinn was pulling away again, laughing with the blue-haired biker whose bike she then straddled. Her arms wrapped around her waist - hands sliding under the other girl's shirt instead of over it, Rachel noted numbly - and then they were off, disappearing. Rachel stared after them for a long moment before whirling back towards the school to find some place to hide for a while so she could cry. A yelp of surprise escaped when she turned to find Brittany almost directly behind her, blue eyes curious as they studied the tiny, trembling diva.
"Did she taste like pink?" the taller girl asked, and slowly Rachel nodded. Her eyes filled and Brittany took her hand, fingers squeezing in gentle support. "What does pink taste like then, Rachel?"
"Missed opportunities," Rachel replied brokenly. "Broken dreams." The dancer drew her into a hug.
"Santana tasted like pink," she claimed quietly, and Rachel didn't even have the energy to be surprised that Brittany knew what Santana tasted like at all. "But then she told me she loved me and she tasted more like… like blue."
"What does blue taste like?" Rachel whispered, her face pressed to Brittany's front. The blonde girl ran a hand down Rachel's hair and smiled faintly, eyes distant as she thought it over.
"Like hope."