Drew here! Below is a oneshot inspired by Dianna Agron's reading of "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish". Isn't her voice just heavenly? :)
disclaimer: Approximately 510 of the words in this one-shot are from the brilliant pen of Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Obviously, his text of The Little Prince and the lyrics to On My Own are not mine.
Insomnia Tales
Rachel can't fall asleep. So Quinn reads her a story.
All the lights,
Are misty in the river…
The seminal melody from Les Mis echoed off small, white walls, drifting from an elegant, black upright piano where a pajama-clad girl sat at. Her head was nodding in sync to the simple, dancing rhythm of her fingers tapping the smooth, ivory keys. Her eyes were closed and her face relaxed, giving off the appearance that she was effortlessly reciting the lyrics in her head, of the song she had memorized a thousand times and more.
And I know it's only in my mind,
That I'm talking to myself and not to him…
Rachel Berry's head, crowned with a white headband, gave a violent thrust as she reached a crescendo, her piano recital of the tune remaining perfect. She smiled and softly lifted her eyelids, seeing the empty space where sheet music would normally sit. Her bare feet lightly pressed on the shiny gold pedals as her left hand repeatedly tapped three spaced keys gracefully, her right traveling to the higher octaves as the song neared its conclusion.
A world that's full of happiness,
That I have never known…
On a leather loveseat sat Quinn Fabray, also dressed in pajamas, her choice headband color red. She hummed along with the music quietly, letting the masterful playing of her roommate surround the living room space. A school-assigned book sat in her hands, the words neglected with the beautiful song playing stealing her attention.
When the final note calmly faded to end the piece, Rachel turned to Quinn, grinning.
"I did it!"
"You did," Quinn smiled back, closing the text in her hands.
"I play much better when you're with me," Rachel stated. "That's the first time I have done On My Own perfectly on piano!"
"It's the practice," Quinn said. "I've heard you play it dozens of times just as well."
"But not perfect."
"Your description of perfect is awfully high."
"It is not my description. It is the bar set by my extremely competitive classmates," Rachel insisted.
"Okay, Rachel," Quinn conceded, knowing her competitiveness.
"And tomorrow I will need to play and sing for this part. High school was so much easier," Rachel reminisced.
Quinn smiled warmly, imagining a lineup of Rachel Berrys waiting to audition. "Let's get to bed and not hurt your voice any longer."
Rachel nodded, closing the piano and they went off to their shared bedroom. Quinn stuffed the book into her bag, reminding herself to read it on the bus tomorrow.
"I think I'm ready, Quinn," Rachel said nervously.
"You'll be great, Rachel. Just be you, and they'll love you."
"This is the biggest part I've ever auditioned for. Headlining an original NYADA play!"
"You'll call me the moment you finish?" Quinn asked, as they slipped under their sheets.
"Of course." Rachel took a deep breath, and smiled confidently, feeling ready. "Good night, Quinn."
"Night, Rach." She shut off the lamp between their beds, leaving the only light coming from the gleaming moon through the window.
They fell silent, each left to their own thoughts. The lyrics to On My Own remained, flowing around in Rachel's head, the respective music score vivid from memorization. Tomorrow, she would perform in front of a hundred challenging students just like her, with the same hungry desire for the lead role. And she would be judged, hopefully applauded.
The applause that would culminate amazing, Rachel Berry performances.
Nervousness dug in a little deeper and she recalled the time she choked on Don't Rain on My Parade while auditioning for NYADA. That couldn't happen here; this was her chance to vault to the top of the fame mountain in the prestigious school. She had worked hard to win the nomination for this upcoming audition and she couldn't – she wouldn't – fail. This was her chance to become the leading lady.
She closed her eyes, trying to shake off the high school memory…
Quinn turned on her side, trying to stop herself from mentally writing an essay due next week. The professor had criticized her previous piece for being too argumentative and unfocused on critical analysis, a review that didn't sit well with Quinn, who never had teachers disagree with her essays. To be fair, or unfair, this professor seemed to have an aggressive predilection for intense criticism of all the students. Classmates that Quinn knew, but weren't friends with, weren't fond of their feedback either.
Quinn didn't have many Yale friends. Her class was abundant with rich kids that dressed too preppy. And she hated them. They were the worst clique, carrying the most expensive coffee, undying in their social elitism and disregarding of the working class. They were boxed in and unimaginative. Quinn wanted to be free of constraints and soar with her adventurous independence and esprit de joie.
Rachel though, was all Quinn needed, completely unlike her classmates. She was the perfect roommate and companion, always able to infuse cheer and happiness through her love of music. Rachel's melodies had the transcendent quality of communicating heart to heart, and Quinn's heart swelled whenever Rachel sang. She often forgot they were disturbing their neighbors, the persistent complainers.
"Quinn?"
Rachel's small, unsleeping voice floated to Quinn, both drowned in thoughts.
"Hm?"
"I'm really nervous."
Quinn shifted, turning her body around to face her roommate's bed directly. Rachel was staring back over, her appearance mildly distinctive in the dark.
"I can't sleep," she said.
"Me neither," Quinn half-heartedly said. She knew she usually fell asleep after Rachel, and she could always tell whether Rachel had fallen asleep yet.
Quinn's side was facing the window, and Rachel could see the glint of reflecting moonlight dancing in Quinn's hazel eyes. They stared at each other for a while, masked by the darkness.
"Quinn?"
She could see Rachel's mouth moving.
"Yea?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Will you read to me?"
"Wha – why?" Quinn asked, caught off guard by the request.
Rachel hesitated longer this time. "I like listening to your voice," she said timidly. She internally saluted the darkness for being able to hide her blushing.
Quinn blushed too, not knowing how to respond to hearing such a compliment for the first time.
"Okay," she nodded.
She rose from the bed, walking to a tall bookcase of four levels, too dark to see. Beside it, a dresser stood. She opened one of the shelves and retrieved two glass candle holders, each decaled respectively with a calligraphic "Q" and "F", and a pink lighter.
Placing the holders onto the dresser, she lit the candles, engulfing the room with a glowing orange light. Rachel watched Quinn bend her knees to scan the lowest level of the bookcase, and pull out what looked like a thin blue book.
She sat at the foot of Rachel's bed. "Have you ever read this one?"
"Come closer," Rachel said simply, shifting to make space for her.
Quinn obliged, sitting in proximity to Rachel's covered, laying hips. The candles flickered.
"What's it called?"
"The Little Prince," Quinn said sweetly. "Or Le Petit Prince, in French."
"Are you going to read in French?" Rachel asked, giggling a little.
"Only if you've already heard it in English," Quinn countered smartly, seeing that Rachel hadn't. "The author was French."
"Is it a kid's book?"
"Sort of. But it's timeless," Quinn said dreamily.
"Is it about Prince William?"
"No," Quinn laughed. "It's about a little prince!"
"Okay," Rachel smiled, out of questions. She shifted under the covers, trying to find a comfortable listening position.
Quinn opened the cover and flipped through the dedication page.
"Once when I was six years old, I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories of Nature, about the primeval forest," Quinn began, narrating. "It was a picture of boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing."
She turned the book to show Rachel the colored illustration, the boa constrictor wrapped six times around a fur-tailed animal.
"In the book, it said 'Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion.' I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked like this."
She turned the book again, showing Rachel what looked like a brown, irregularly shaped hat.
"I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.
But they answered: 'Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?'"
"My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of the boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this."
Quinn turned the book to Rachel a third time, watching the thoughtful, curious expression on Rachel's illuminated face turn into an understanding one.
Quinn continued, the candle light beginning to fade.
"The grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two."
Rachel watched Quinn as she read the text, admiring how her lips moved, and how her voice fluttered into a quick, high pitch and smoothly back down at various words.
"Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them. So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable."
Rachel grinned at the narration, careful to not interrupt Quinn.
"In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them."
Quinn brushed a strand of blonde hair away as she read, and Rachel observed a happy smile behind the pleasant, unwavering reading voice.
"Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say: 'That is a hat.'"
Quinn punctuated hat with a slight exclamation, her voice rising cheerfully again. Rachel was endeared by how Quinn narrated with pristine clarity but also a moderate, innocent childlike exuberance. Her reading was paced and even, the words flowing from one to the next with the small, gradual shifts in volume.
Rachel could feel a musical quality to it.
"Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man."
And Quinn closed the book with a satisfied smile.
"Is that it?" Rachel asked, a little shocked by the sudden ending.
"That's the end of chapter one."
"Oh. It went by so fast," Rachel said, feeling guilty for watching Quinn's expressions and closely listening to her voice for most of it.
"Did you like it?"
"Yes," Rachel said much too quickly, truthfully having not fully followed the easy narration.
"Good. I'm glad," Quinn said, beaming at her roommate.
Rachel paused.
"Will you read me chapter two tomorrow?"
Quinn laughed, loving to please Rachel, like how she did with her singing for her. "Of course I will."
"Thanks, Quinn," Rachel smiled. She felt a strange but comforting intimacy, like she never had before with her roommate.
Quinn smiled back, patting Rachel's shoulder gently. "You're welcome."
She slid off the bed and placed the book on the dresser, tilted against the mirror. The candles were now only providing a dim flame. Quinn blew them out, restoring darkness to the room.
As she got back into her own bed, she heard Rachel's voice speak again. "Q?"
"Rach?"
"You have a beautiful voice."
Quinn blushed again, feeling the new intimacy between them too.
"Thank you, Rachel. So do you."
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