Ugh. Fucking finally! I'm so sorry it took aeons to complete. But well, here it is. I'm trying to write for Covered in Rain again instead of the oneshots because I do miss this verse. Also, I've been playing Assassin's Creed II so... I might lag on the updates. Sorry! But I'll try, I swear!
The heels of Quinn's flats tapped against the swirled marble floor as she made her way down the hallway of the posh building. Truth be told, she had no idea where she was, except that she should be in Room 529 before ten-thirty. She pressed the elevator button to head to the fifth floor, only to meet Anna in the commodious elevator shaft. Her editor slash agent beamed at Quinn and pulled her in so they could head to the conference room together.
"How have you been these past few weeks?" Anna asked, voice brimming with interest. "You have no idea how proud I am to hear that you are a part of Time 100!"
"I do have an idea," Quinn grinned at the woman she saw as her mentor. Anna was the only one who encouraged her craft, the only one to be there for her when the words seemed to be congested in some faraway artery in Quinn's heart. Anna was more supportive the past two years than Quinn's own mother of twenty something. Quinn always remembered to send Anna chocolates and a personally-written card every Mother's Day. "But you do know that I won't be here without you, right?"
"Oh hush," Anna beamed, squeezing Quinn's hand in hers. "You're talented. You would've made it in some way or another. I just got lucky that I found you."
Quinn shook her head in disbelief. When the elevator bell rang, Anna pulled Quinn out of the shaft and headed towards the end of the hallway. Judging from the editor/agent's pace and gait, she was excited. This only caused Quinn to become more and more curious about what was about to happen.
"Quinn, remember when I told you that World of Glass is having a movie?" Anna stopped in front of Room 529, where a white piece of paper was taped to the door. It read: 'Executive Meeting: World of Glass'. "Well…"
"Oh no way…" Quinn murmured, her eyes widening "No way!"
"Yes!" Anna trilled as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "This is your first—but definitely not the last—executive meeting!"
Quinn took a deep breath and palmed her forehead. "Wow, okay. I-I need to calm down."
Anna chuckled and patted her on the back. "Well, hurry up! We can't be late!"
"I'm calm."
"Already?"
"Anna, please!" Quinn whined, causing the elderly woman to laugh. With a flourish, Anna pulled the door open and ushered the bewildered Quinn inside. The room held a handful of people, the desks and the chairs were pushed to one end. A short man with small spectacles stood up and approached Anna and Quinn.
"So you're Quinn, eh?" He demanded his voice gruff. He toyed with is bare chin as he stared at Quinn up and down. "Huh, definitely more attractive in person than in those writer magazines you forced me to read." He told Anna. "My name's Marcus and I am your chief director, eh? I dunno if Anna told'cha this but we've already worked out the general idea of what the movie's gonna be. Just need you around for formalities' sake, ya know? It might be your book, but this is my movie. I get the final say in everythin'."
Quinn's eyebrow twitched in mild annoyance but said nothing. He led Anna and Quinn to the table where they met the rest of the 'important people' as Marcus dubbed them. He shuffled around a bunch of papers and pushed a high stack of thick photo papers to the middle of the desk.
"'kay, now…" Marcus cleared his throat and shot a glare towards Quinn. "The angel character in your book… She's a brunette, eh?" Quinn nodded. "Righto, so. These women right here," he slammed his palm against the heap of photos. "They're the ones who want to audition cuz their manager said so, or they just want to for kicks. Doesn't matter to me. Anyways. I want to see your approval for the appearance first, then we'll call 'em in for their audition eh?"
"Sure," Quinn said, and Marcus began to hold up headshots of famous actresses, and some not so famous ones. Discussions sparked between the casting directors and Marcus and Quinn, who both can't seem to agree with the directors' decisions.
"Her eyes are too light," Quinn complained.
"Them cheek bones are too damn high." Marcus grumbled.
The casting director was prepared to throw in the towel when Marcus' fingers hesitated in picking up the next candidate. "Smite me with the Hand of God Quinn, if we don't agree on this one right here." Marcus held up the headshot and Quinn almost choked while she sipped her apple juice.
"We definitely agree on this one." Quinn said firmly. She turned to the directors who nodded their head in understanding. The writer reached for the headshot and placed it in front of her, fingertips ghosting against the girl's features.
"Rachel Berry is definitely a great choice, Fabray." One of the casting directors said.
"I know…" Quinn murmured with a ghost of a smile.
"Great, that's all of 'em and we have…" Marcus looked at the pile of 'yes' and spread them out before him. "We have twelve girls lined up for the role of the angel, eh? That's a pretty good count."
"Seeing as you two wouldn't agree with us," one of the casting people hissed. "We have more experience than you two combined! We can spot talent light years away, you know!"
"How, when these are just damn pictures?" Marcus rolled his eyes as he rubbed his naked chin. "'sides, this is my movie."
"And it's my book." Quinn threw in.
Marcus guffawed and slapped Quinn's shoulder blades. "Atta girl! Now, for the protagonist. I don't recall her physical features ever being described."
"That's because it wasn't." Quinn said with a smile. She was relieved to find an ally in Marcus, if only to help her combat against the casting directors' horrible and sleazy choices. Because, excuse me, World of Glass is no romance novel-turned-flick, thank you very much!
"Hmm, that makes things a wee bit difficult then," the chief director sighed. "Got any ideas for her general appearance? How about hair colour?"
"She could be anything, I guess." Quinn shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it much."
"The protagonist could have black hair!"
"Or-or a redhead?"
"Long hair or short hair?"
"Definitely long hair."
"What about body type? Ever decide on a body type?"
"Shut up, eh?" Marcus yelled over the hubbub of voices that didn't belong to him or to Quinn. "I'm thinkin' of makin' the protagonist a bit blonde, like you. So that she and the angel can be contrastin' ya know? And seeing as the angel was described as elegant and poised and similar to some woodland queen, I'm thinking of making the blonde have short hair." He glared pointedly at the directors who had their mouths gapped open. "A bookish sort of blonde. Can you see it?"
"Definitely!" Quinn beamed. "That would be perfect, I think!"
"Great!" Marcus leaned back against her leather seat and rubbed her bare chin. "Right, so hunt about for blondes who have short hair or are willing to chop it off by next week, ya hear? Auditions for the angel will be two weeks from now." He held out his hand and Quinn immediately took it. "Looks like we're gettin' along well aren't we, Quinn?" Marcus said with a boyish grin that caused his face to light up, making him look ten years younger.
"So it seems," Quinn replied with a smile of her own.
They bade their goodbyes and Anna walked with Quinn towards the elevator again. "Is it just me or did Marcus described you when we were talking about blondes as the main character?" Anna whispered into Quinn's ear as they waited for the doors to open. "Bookish blonde with short hair?"
"I didn't realize that…" Quinn hummed and stepped into the elevator. "Is this me projecting myself or something?"
"Don't be silly!" Anna declared. "It just made a lot of sense, I suppose. Anyway, it is time for me to take on my role as annoying agent and pester you for a novel." She looked expectantly at Quinn who reflected her expression. "So?"
"I may or may not be working on something right now…" Quinn trailed off as she rubbed the back of her neck. "But it's totally leaning into the 'not' though…"
"Quinn!" Anna admonished her. "You can't call yourself a writer like this!"
"I know…" Quinn muttered as they exited the elevator. Her heart sank immediately, knowing that Anna was right. How can she call herself a writer when she's not writing? "I'll try to write tonight."
"Not 'try', you will." Anna said, squeezing Quinn's shoulders. "Do some writing exercises. Get the blood pumping. You know how it's detrimental to keep both your body and mind fit."
Quinn nodded her head and hugged Anna, who returned her hug with equal enthusiasm. "I'll do just that. Thank you, Anna."
"I'll be waiting!"
/
Books and journals were strewn all over the floor as Quinn rummaged through her shelves for some fragment of inspiration to assault her senses. Right now, she would settle writing about anything, may it be the mess she was making or the way New York looked in the back of her eyelids. She wiped the dust from the stack of books that she arranged in a neat pile. She was about to pull out Catching Fire when a small black Moleskine fell from between the Hunger Games trilogy.
Quinn sat on the floor and leaned her back against the wall, taking the journal with her. The spine was still crisp and the headband wasn't frayed. Unsnapping the elastic, Quinn ran her fingers against the leaves before stopping at the first page. It read:
'These Words Are For You'
Her head thudded against the dry wall when the emotions from long ago filled her. It was her journal from when she and Rachel became official; from that night, when she found Rachel sitting across the lake, patiently waiting, until Quinn reached her. Metaphorically, of course. Quinn still recalled the day she met Rachel Berry, singing her lungs on the off-Broadway stage for her audition.
Quinn dreaded to flip the pages, but she knew that she should. Taking a deep breath, she turned the endpaper and was instantly met with black and white and pale yellow. Words. Words about Rachel, of Rachel, for Rachel. Words that Quinn always wanted to say; messages to the world that applied to her emotional bond with the singer. She tried to fight back the tears as she read from the beginning. Their story. Theirs. Rachel and Quinn's.
She bolted up from the floor and straight to her desk, where her Royal Arrow sat. Old school, she knew, but it helped her simulate black nights and candlelit rooms that reflected her loneliness. With the Moleskine on her lap and a specific brunette in mind, down to the very atom and molecule, Quinn wrote.