AN: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you all enjoy it. So as always, read. enjoy. review!
As usual Quinn's weekend comes and goes within the blink of an eye.
She hadn't expected it to go down any differently, but come Monday morning she still can't help feeling cheated. Saturday was of course Halloween so that left no time for relaxation and while she did spend all of Sunday recovering from the night before, she hardly considered it a free day when she felt like total crap.
Heading toward the exit leading out to the student parking lot, Quinn pushes the door open and automatically balks at the blinding sunlight she's met with. Grimacing with distaste, she quickly throws on her sunglasses and reluctantly heads down the front steps.
Yesterday was spent curled up in bed, curtains drawn, (with her own personal heater, aka Jacob, and the AC cranked on high so his insane body temperature wouldn't give her heatstroke) until the late evening when she forced herself to finally get up - after the whole murder incident she wasn't about to skip another patrol.
And this morning when she came to school for training the sun wasn't even up, so really right now was the first time in 48 hours that she's had to deal with such harsh light. And needless to say at the moment she was a little sensitive to it.
It's nearly time for school to start so the student parking lot is pretty much filled at this point.
She walks down a few spaces, over to the only black Escalade McKinley has, and waits patiently by the side of it while its owner gathers his designer school bag from the passenger seat.
Kurt gets out of his car and immediately rears back at the unexpected sight of her standing behind him.
"Jesus." he swears, a hand flying over his startled heart. "Quinn, where did you come from?"
"My mother." she says easily enough. "Just as all babies do." She pauses, then amends, "Though I'm pretty sure Santana was hatched."
Kurt nods. "That would explain her freakishly long tongue."
She smiles for a split second then shakes her head of it. She was here on business.
"Anyways, here." She tosses him the small drawstring backpack she had brought with her. She ignores his confused brow and looks on with disinterest as he pulls the bag open and peers inside.
Kurt's brow furrows. "Uh, thank you…?" he says in a rather questioning tone, holding up one of the many wooden stakes she had given him.
"If you insist on hanging around a vampire you'll need to be able to defend yourself in the case of an emergency." she explains. "I've seen you during a game of dodge ball and it is by far the most pathetic display of attempted athleticism I've ever seen. If you can't handle a rubber ball being thrown at you how are you supposed to handle a vampire trying to rip out your throat?"
"I really don't think this is necessary…"
Ignoring him, she unfolds the piece of paper she had also brought him. "Here's my phone number as well as Santana's. I assume you already have Brittany's but considering how spacey she is with her cell phone sometimes, I figured it best that you have ours should you need us for anything."
She hands over the paper to him. "Also enclosed is your schedule. You are required to take self-defense classes with me twice a week. These sessions are not optional so if you think I'm joking or that you can just blow me off I can promise you that when you come home you will find your precious designer clothing doused in bleach and possibly aflame." She lifts her gaze, brow raised. "Do I make myself clear?"
Apparently stunned silent, Kurt wordlessly nods his head, his eyes still wide.
"Good." She flashes him a sweet unthreatening smile. She moves to turn around but pauses as a thought comes to her.
Glancing back at him, she adds, "By the way Karofsky won't be a problem for you anymore."
She'd paid a personal visit to that Neanderthal after patrol last night and made sure of it.
"And why is that?" he asks, wary but intrigued.
Smiling knowingly to herself, she just says, "See you in glee, Kurt."
And continues on her way.
—
By the time second period rolls around word had spread that the entire hockey team died on Halloween in some drug related freak accident.
Quinn had already heard the cover story during training from Sue - who'd had to do damage control on the situation (obviously they couldn't just act like a dozen students vanishing into thin air was normal) - but every time she overheard someone else recounting the insanely absurd story, she found it increasingly difficult not to roll her eyes.
It was so ridiculous. Within a matter of hours the whole school was in this weird state of mourning, even though most of the student body either hated or feared those hockey stick wielding, mullet wearing morons.
Everyone was quickly starting to drive her patience, especially those teachers who insisted on dedicating their class time to making sympathy cards for the grieving families.
In English, Quinn's teacher tasks her students with just that and Quinn spends most of the period idly tapping her pen against the table, alternating staring up at the clock to staring down at the blank piece of paper she has in front of her.
Sighing from exasperation, she glances over at Santana in time to see the Latina hand her the card she had made.
Intrigued, Quinn plucks the paper from her extended hand and reads it over.
Sorry the funeral home will be giving your family an urn filled with cow ashes because I already incinerated your stupid puckhead of a son myself. Love, Peace, & Chicken Grease - Rosario Cruz.
Quinn smiles in spite of herself. "You are not turning that in." she sighs, handing the folded paper back to the other girl.
"What? Why not?" Santana scowls. "I used my go-to alias and changed up my handwriting. It's not like they'd ever be able to trace it back to me."
Quinn merely shakes her head and returns to the painful task of writing down her non-existent condolences. In spite of her writer's block though, she's eventually able to come up with something of her own.
But, admittedly, it doesn't fare any better than Santana's.
Not sorry I decapitated your son. Sincerely, Emily Stark.
—
"What I want to know is who on earth would want to turn those Neanderthal puckheads in the first place." Quinn huffs, glaring daggers back at two underclassmen girls who had gotten in her way.
Had she realized that the hockey team's lockers were down this particular hallway she would have used an alternate route to get to class. Everyone and their mother was crowding the narrow hallway, contributing candles, flowers, homemade signs, and other cluttering crap to the growing mass on the floor by their lockers.
Quinn was just thankful her locker was on the other side of the school, far from this hectic scene.
"Who knows. Who cares." Santana grunts, roughly shoving her way through the crowd. She rolls her eyes at the sight of a couple students crying unabashedly. "Jesus Christ. People are acting like Ryan Gosling died or something. Those Lima Losers were just that: losers. So society loses a dozen future fast food fry cooks and 7-eleven cashiers. Big freakin' deal."
"Honestly." Quinn smoothes out her uniform once they've made it to the end of the hallway, still peeved.
Shaking her head, she leads the way into their Home Ec classroom.
The three of them take to their usual table in the back and pull up three stools. They have a few minutes before the bell rings so while Santana and Brittany start chatting about this week's uber boring glee assignment - adult contemporary - Quinn pulls out her phone to check for any new text messages from Jacob.
She exhales softly when she sees that she has nothing new in her inbox.
She's been a little self-conscious about her relationship with Jacob ever since the Halloween slip-up. While she had apologized for the whole "I'll scratch your eyes out" comment, she hasn't been able to bring herself to address the whole "I love you" part of it.
She hadn't meant to say it obviously but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't true. She knew without question that she loved Jacob. She just wasn't ready to say it out loud. It wasn't like she was worried Jacob wouldn't say it back - because she know he would - she just wasn't ready to open up that can of worms yet.
Mainly because she never really had a good experience with being told "I love you." When Finn first said it to her, they'd been in a middle of a fight and he figured that that was what she wanted to hear from him. And Puck, he only said those words to her on the days that he really wanted her to put out.
Sam - he basically told her he loved her right after she allowed him to kiss her for the first time and told her of his intention to marry her someday.
Going in she didn't expect a boy who previously went to an all boys school to know much about girls and dating, but seriously, who does that?
In short when boys tell her they love her, it usually just ruins things for her. And to be honest she's scared that if she opens up that can of worms with Jacob they won't ever be able to get back to this comfortable, easy as breathing, place they're in.
The best thing to do is simply stop worrying and brush it under the rug like nothing happened. Jacob hasn't brought it up and he hasn't been acting weird so he's probably taken to just doing that.
Which is just fine with her.
The bell rings. She's more than grateful for the distraction.
Pushing aside those heavy thoughts, Quinn straightens her posture and patiently waits for class to begin. Mrs. Hagberg hasn't arrived yet, which isn't typical of her, but isn't unheard of either. The few latecomers that come bustling in breathe sighs of relief once they realize they had made it to class before their teacher did.
Brittany glances around the room questioningly. "Do you think something happened?" she wonders.
The minutes are starting to tick by and by now the entire class was in their seats, even the stragglers who usually took their sweet time getting to class were present.
"Maybe she got stuck in that crowd." Santana suggests, not bothering to look up from her nail file. "People probably mistook her for a beach ball and started throwing her around like they do at concerts."
Quinn sighs. "She's probably just being held up at a meeting or something." she assures, unconcerned by the absence.
"If she's not here in fifteen minutes then we get to leave." Santana brings up casually. "It's like a legit rule. So if she does end up bailing I say we go score us some frozen yogurt." she adds as an afterthought.
"Fine by me." Quinn agrees - though she knows that an unsupervised classroom would not go unnoticed long enough for that to happen. Regardless of the reason Mrs. Hagberg was MIA, Figgins was probably in the process of sending someone over right now to baby-sit.
Knowing her luck they'd probably get Coach Sylvester.
Five minutes after the bell and Santana's just about ready to bolt - cause apparently she really wants some froyo.
Those that are sitting at the front of the class are the first ones to pick up on the heels clicking against the linoleum floor outside in the empty corridor.
Quinn promptly yanks Santana back down to her seat when whispers of "someone's coming" pass along the tables.
Her attention falls back to the front of the room just as their substitute strides on in.
"Hola clase." the woman greets.
—
By the time glee rehearsal rolls around, the tragedy that is the McKinley hockey team is old news and now all anyone can talk about is the quirky substitute who's been popping up in multiple classrooms throughout the day.
Unsurprisingly Rachel seems to be the only one unimpressed by the so-called Holly Holliday.
Quinn wasn't quite sure what to make of the free spirited substitute with a serious case of crazy eyes - considering how she'd caught sight of the woman laughing it up with Coach Sylvester like their were old chums in her office (anyone who could make friends with that woman that fast was certifiably crazy without a doubt) - but after bearing witness to Rachel's tirade denouncing Ms. Holliday for all that she's worth, Quinn decides that anyone who can make Berry that miserable after just one day is a friend of hers.
It's just like that one saying. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Wait, or is it, My enemy's enemy is my friend?
God. Now she's said "enemy" so many times she feels like Nemo when he's trying to say "Anemone."
Whatever. Point is Rachel hates Ms. Holliday so therefore Quinn is a-okay with the quirky sub.
While they're waiting around for Mr. Schuester to arrive - that man never seems to be on time - Kurt announces his intention of getting Ms. Holliday to act as their sub whenever Mr. Schue is out sick, which leads almost everyone in the room to start hoping their teacher would, for whatever reason, fall ill soon just so they could have a little break from him.
Not that they didn't love him as a teacher or anything, but if Mr. Schue had them sing one more Journey song, Quinn swears she was going to snap and just stake him for the hell of it.
Oddly enough, that night she receives an email from Mr. Schuester, forwarded to all his glee students, stating that he's come down with the flu and will be out sick for the next couple days.
When she breaks the news to Santana and Brittany, the former doesn't seem the least bit surprised. In fact she has that mischievous smirk playing on her lips. The smirk Quinn knows all too well.
She sighs heavily. "Santana what did you do?"
Not bothering to tear her gaze away from the television in front of her, Santana states casually, "I've had mono so many times it turned into stereo."
Quinn doesn't know what the hell that has to do with anything - especially Mr. Schuester - but decides to just leave it be. (Knowing Santana she's better off not knowing anyways).
But, unfortunately, her brain pieces it together before she can stop herself.
Her eyes wide with realization, she sharply turns around in front of the Latina, blocking her view, and exclaims, "Santana tell me you didn't."
"I did it for the sake of the club." Santana defends easily. "If we didn't get a vacation from him soon he would have driven us all to nearest sanatorium. I can only take so much of the '80's, Q."
That may be true for all of them but still. "How did you even…?"
"Wes Fahey. That boy's always contracting diseases."
Quinn shakes her head, her nose crinkled with revulsion. "Santana you're disgusting."
Santana shrugs. "I did what I had to. But I will say, Mr. Schue has surprisingly soft lips. He must use that margarine he puts in his hair as a lip balm too."
Quinn just walks out of the room, cause...ew.
—
The next day at school the reason behind Mrs. Hagberg's continuous absences surfaces. Apparently the sweet, albeit forgetful, old lady who somehow manages to teach every subject their school has to offer is also a pill popping packrat in negotiations to make an appearance on both Hoarders and Intervention.
This time when Ms. Holliday shows up to their Home Ec class, she's dressed as Julia Child.
Quinn stands by her first impression that the woman was all kinds of crazy.
Good crazy, of course. Not demonic crazy (she'd already looked into that - and told Rachel as much when the brunette approached her after glee rehearsal and insisted that Ms. Holliday was pure evil and needed to be stopped).
Quinn hasn't seen Berry so threatened by another person since Sunshine Corazon.
Who, coincidentally, was pure evil.
"I don't know why no one ever thought to make gangsta rap musical chairs before." Brittany brings up after glee, still reeling from their surprisingly awesome rehearsal. The three of them were now on their way to the cheerio's locker room for practice. "It's so much fun."
"It was also priceless watching Berry get injured." Santana agrees, grinning at the memory.
They've just passed Coach Sylvester's office when the woman herself suddenly ducks her head out the doorway and yells.
"Dances with wolves!"
Glancing over their shoulders, the three of them come to a collective stop - even though they all knew it was Quinn she had been directly addressing with that oh-so clever moniker.
Sighing, Quinn slowly turns around to fully regard the woman. "Yes, coach?" she says, with an air of reluctance.
"My office. Now." Sue commands; her gaze shifts to address Santana and Brittany. "Bi-racial Siamese twins on your way."
Quinn waits until Coach Sylvester stalks back into her office before releasing a deep exhale. Santana glares back at the spot where the woman had last stood, then glances back at Quinn, both curious and confused. "Whatyado, Q?"
"Nothing." she sighs, grudgingly breaking away from them. She rolls her eyes briefly on the way. "Or at least that I know of."
She strolls into Coach Sylvester's office with her chin held high. Calm and collected, she takes to the chair directly across from Coach's own behind her desk.
Quinn folds her hands neatly in her lap and waits with feigned patience for the woman to divulge the reason behind this summons.
"I have a new assignment for you, Q."
Quinn's brow lifts of its own accord, intrigued. She straightens her posture. "What-" She stops herself, then backtracks. Her brow furrows in confusion. "Wait if we're getting a new assignment why aren't Santana and Brittany…?"
Sue rolls her eyes. "Did you not just hear what I said?" she snaps. "I said a new assignment for you. Good God you might want to think about distancing yourself from Ellen and Portia from time to time. Portia especially. Being around her is turning your brain to mush."
By now Quinn knows that she'll get out of here much faster if she just nods and agrees to everything Coach says. So she does. "Yes, coach."
"I don't know if you are aware of this, Q, but your days at McKinley are numbered. Half your high school career is already over and before you know it you'll find yourself being fitted for that god awful cap and gown that never looks good on anybody. Well, except for one Sue Sylvester."
Quinn just stares at her.
"My point is that one day in the near future you will get accepted to some prestigious ivy league college, you'll pack your bags, probably go on to have an affair with one of your pipe-smoking professors and attend a clambake thrown by a former child star/celebrity alumnus - that is if you don't get killed before graduation."
"What exactly is your point?"
"When you leave this god forsaken town and never look back I will need someone to take over the reigns here."
"You mean a new head cheerio?" Quinn questions, brow still furrowed. "Because Santana and I have been grooming Jordan to take over…"
Sue's eyes fit to the ceiling. "You used to be so smart, Q. So smart…" she trails off with a shake of her head. "I meant a new hunter." She snaps. "The time has come for us to induct a new ingénue into the fold. For you to find yourself a protégé. Just as I did with you."
She stares at the older woman, unblinking. "You're joking."
At Coach Sylvester's raised brow, Quinn amends. "I mean…is that really necessary? Santana, Brittany and I are doing just fine on our own and graduation isn't for another year and a half. We really don't need-"
"This has nothing to do with you needing reinforcements. God knows you don't need it which is why it still baffles me why you insist on keeping those trained puppies around. You're dragging the Sue Sylvester name down with that incestuous canine relationship of yours. But I digress. Hunters take time to train." she explains. "If I'm to have a competent hunter by the time you and the Bobbsey Twins depart, the time to find your replacement is now."
Quinn feels a multitude of emotions swirling about inside her, but finds it hard to distinguish the most prominent one.
Only Coach Sylvester could make a seventeen year old girl feel like she was over the hill.
But Quinn knows better than to let Sue get to her. She doesn't care what the woman says, she's seen All About Eve before (it's a favorite) and she has no intention of playing the role of Margo Channing to some young thing's Eve Harrington.
"Why can't you just find someone to train like you did with us?" she wonders aloud. "We didn't learn from a predecessor, we learned from you."
"Only because the one before you three got herself killed." Sue stands suddenly. "Look, Q. Hunters come and go. Evil doesn't." She walks over to her window, peering out into the courtyard through the slats of the blinds. "It's always there, always lurking. And I need someone to fight the battle against it." She turns her attention back to Quinn.
"So unless you plan on staying in Lima for the rest of your life, dedicating your every waking moment to fighting the good fight, I suggest you do as I say and start trolling the middle schools. Find yourself a 'young Quinn Fabray' or a 'young, young Sue Sylvester' who you can take under your wing, train and mold, so that by the time you're ready to go onto doing bigger and better things, you can leave this place knowing you've left it in capable hands."
Quinn shakes her head. Aside from not wanting to have to worry about a future replacement trying to one-up her and take over every aspect of her life (a la All About Eve) or trailing her around like a puppy all the time, she doesn't want Sue digging her claws into some hapless girl.
"No disrespect coach, but I'm not going to derail some poor girl's life like you did mine." she says, standing to leave. "No one deserves to have this world forced on them."
"Hunters have been around long before you or I were born and they'll be around long after we're gone. Whether you like it or not, this will never stop. Just as evil never stops. The cycle is continuous. Old hunter goes out, new hunter comes in. I'm merely affording you the chance to offer your tutelage. You're a smart girl, Q. And a damn fine hunter - that is when you're not playing den mother to a pack of inbred pups. But… if you're not interested I have no problem going back to my previous methods."
"You mean snatching up a fourteen year-old, shipping her off to a foreign country, and ripping out every shred of human decency until you're left with nothing but a psychotic killing machine?"
How this woman's never been arrested is beyond her.
Sue smirks. "It worked for you, didn't it?"
Quinn blinks. "I'll probably be needing extensive therapy later in life."
Sue waves a glib hand. "A small price to pay if you ask me."
Quinn just rolls her eyes and turns on her heel.
"I expect a name by next week!" Coach calls after her.
—
For cheerios, the likelihood of Coach Sylvester ending practice early - for whatever reason - was about the same as a sudden meteor striking the earth and wiping out the entire human race.
So when Coach announces that she will indeed be ending practice early, everyone on the team is thrown for a loop, to say the least.
Granted on the inside they were all relieved, but at the same time for some of the girls (mainly the younger ones) getting home before dark was such a foreign concept that they didn't know how to process it.
Coach walks off the field and disappears from sight (apparently she has more important things to do, i.e. make an audition tape with Holly Holliday for The Amazing Race - that unforeseen friendship was proving to be a real blessing in disguise) leaving Quinn to deal with the fast moving hysteria sweeping through her team.
Practice usually went on for another two hours which meant the cheerios still had two full hours of pent up energy raring to go and Sue canceling the rest of practice, well that's like pouring a gallon of water over an electrical unit.
System shortages everywhere.
Fortunately for the cheerios their captain is a level headed girl who is able to keep her squad from falling apart entirely.
Now if she had really wanted to, she could have easily overseen the rest of practice (she is Head Cheerio) but since Coach didn't specifically assign her task of doing so, well…Quinn isn't about to spend another two hours practicing when she could put that time to better use.
Plus Santana's giving her the evil eye, practically daring her to keep practice going, and she's smart enough to know to never evoke the wrath of that one.
—
"The hell?" Santana scoots forward so that she's perched on the very edge of the backseat. She leans in and rests her elbows on the backs of the front seats.
Quinn's just told her and Brittany about the whole protégée nonsense and she figures since they have the time, they might as well stop by the local middle school. Quinn's still not gung ho about the idea but as per usual, she'll humor her Coach if only for the sake of keeping her own limbs intact.
"Why didn't she ask me and Britt to find her some mini-me's of our own to train?"
Brittany, sitting in the passenger's seat, speaks up before Quinn can. "Because she only really needs one?" she answers, her tone only slightly questioning. "I mean the only reason she took all three of us is because we made it clear from the very beginning that we're a packaged deal."
Brittany can be surprisingly rational when she wants to be.
Santana snorts. "Puh-lease. I refuse to believe that Sue settled for us in order to get Quinny here." She glances back at the blonde in the driver's seat. "You're skilled I give you that, but you're not that skilled. Without me and Britts you would have died ages ago."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Santana." she says dryly. Shaking her head, she continues, "I'm sure the reason Sue only approached me is due to the fact that she knows she would be pushing her luck by trying to find acceptable replacements for all three of us. It would be a miracle if she found one girl with a third of our talent, let alone a new Unholy Trinity."
"It would be highly unlikely." Brittany concurs matter-of-factly. "Our kind of awesomeness only comes around once in a lifetime."
"True that." Santana agrees, grinning. She falls back against her seat and crosses her arms behind her head.
"So why even bother, Q? You know you aren't gonna find a girl worth a damn, let alone one worth training. I mean, kids these days…" She drifts off with a dramatic eye roll that Quinn catches in the rearview mirror.
"Cause Sue was quite adamant that she wanted this done."
Santana scoffs. "So just tell her did and say you came up empty-handed. Aside from being a genius slapper, you are also a genius liar so it's not like you won't get away with it."
Her brow quirked, Quinn glances back at the Latina through the rearview mirror, a smile playing across her lips. "Did you just compliment me, Santana?"
"You wish, Fabray." the Latina snorts, her arms folded across her chest. "I'd sooner gouge out my eyes and wear them as earrings than say a kind word to someone of your bare minimum mediocrity."
Quinn rolls her eyes but smiles nevertheless.
—
"Thank God school's out." Santana says, arms still folded with a grimace as she walks alongside Brittany and Quinn through Belleville Middle School, their alma mater. Because of its close proximity to McKinley, most of all Belleville students went on to become Titans.
"Middle school is just like high school except everyone is flat chested, hobbit sized, and have annoying high squeaky voices." the Latina continues, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And you know those qualities gross me out big time."
Walking out onto the blacktop, they pass by the boy's basketball team (and inadvertently cause a few gawkers to run into each other) and walk over to the other side where the spirit squad - aka the "Belleville Belles" - was practicing on the open field.
If a girl even wanted to be considered for Cheerios in high school, being a Belle was the go-to starting point.
"Ah, to be young again." Brittany sighs wistfully. She chuckles to herself and lightly bumps shoulders with Santana as they near the group of girls wearing matching shirts and short shorts.
It only takes one girl to catch a glimpse of their infamous red and white uniforms for the whole squad to stop what they're doing, turn their heads, and go bug-eyed.
Some even looked like they were on the verge of fainting.
Cheerios were revered but the Unholy Trinity was worshipped.
Smiling at this fact, Quinn leads the way, striding along with her hands on her hips just like she does in the hallways of McKinley.
The "Belles" coach turns around when she realizes her squad wasn't paying attention to a word she was saying. "Well, well, well," the woman starts, smiling good-humouredly, "If it isn't my favorite former Belles."
"Hey, coach." The three of them greet with a smile and an embrace.
Miss Hannigan - yes, like from Annie - a woman in her early fifties, was a strict hard ass who toughened her girls up in preparation for what was to come later in high school. But, compared to Coach Sylvester, the woman was practically a saint.
"I take it Sylvester sent you three here." Coach Hannigan figures. "It seems like every year she sends you lot earlier and earlier to start scouting for possible recruits."
Quinn raises her shoulders briefly. "Yeah well you know Coach…she doesn't like having her time wasted. She wants only the absolute best for her squad."
Coach Hannigan glances back at her own squad, who quickly averts their attention elsewhere to make it seem like they weren't hanging on every word of the conversation. "Well we've got a great group of girls this year." She nods. "One of our best in a while."
Quinn turns and regards them with a cool glance. "I'm sure they are." She sends a small encouraging smile their way before allowing her gaze to fall back to her former Coach. "Mind if we stay and watch for a while?"
Coach Hannigan laughs. "Do I ever?" Turning, she blows her whistle and yells, "Alright, ladies. From the top. And give it all you've got!"
Quinn steps off to the side with her hands still resting naturally on her hips. Santana and Brittany stand beside her, their faces expressing varying levels of interest (or disinterest in Santana's case).
The music starts. Quinn regards every girl, as well as the squad in their entirety, with a critical eye. She immediately writes off those that had no chance in hell of being cheerios (which, unsurprisingly, was more than half the team) and makes mental notes for the rest.
Their set consists of three routines - complex for middle school standards but boring for Sue Sylvester standards. And by the end of it, none to her surprise, Quinn finds herself as close to finding a suitable trainee as Brittany is to winning the Nobel Peace Prize.
Maybe she just has insanely high expectations. Maybe she went into this with a less than positive attitude. Maybe it's both.
Okay, she knows it's both.
Either way, whether she'll admit it out loud or not, Sue has a point. Someone needs to continue on with this insane age old tradition of making sure the world doesn't implode and its human population doesn't get compromised.
Sure she loves her job but she's not going to stick with it in lieu of having an normal adult life. She's screwed up enough as it is and she has no intention of running around slaying monsters while trying to obtain her college degree or after when she starts thinking about starting a family…
Before her thoughts regarding her future drift any further (she really doesn't like to think about it because, in the back of the mind there's that voice that reminds her that she might not even get a future) Quinn gets brought back to reality by the piercing, unmistakable sound of a whistle being blown.
Refocusing her attention, she looks up in time to see Coach Hannigan storm up to the school's track coach whose team was cutting it awfully close to her practice space.
With their coach is distracted, the Belles disperse from their formation. Some take a break to gossip while others go to grab a quick drink of water. A few just lie down on the grass, exhausted.
There was only one exception.
A blonde who continued to do cartwheels, handsprings, and layouts in the middle of the field. Recalling the girl's performance, Quinn easily assessed that the girl was the best one on the team.
Beside her, Santana comments, "She's like a smaller, less attractive version of you."
So very true.
Still observing the young girl, Quinn nods. "She has dedication." she agrees.
She has also obviously seen videos of Quinn performing because something that Quinn had noticed during the Belles' routine was that this girl in particular incorporated little moves that were Quinn Fabray signatures into her performance.
Whether this girl was simply paying homage to her or being a copycat, Quinn would soon find out.
Santana rolls her eyes. "She's just showing off." she counters. "And anyways the girl's too short. Like Rachel short. Good luck trying to sprint after the big bads with stubby little legs like that." she snorts.
"Regardless I'd like to meet her."
Santana grudgingly follows her as she makes her way over to the middle of the field. "Of course you'd pick her." the Latina mutters under her breath.
"Shut up, Santana."
When they're close enough, Quinn stops and clears her throat. The small blonde lifts her gaze and simultaneously her hazel orbs widen twice their normal size. Quickly though she's able to stifle whatever feelings of elation had bubbled to the surface and pass them off as mild intrigue.
"Hey." the girl greets.
Her smile was casual but Quinn was able to see right through it. This girl was about ten seconds from bursting like a soap bubble.
"What's your name?" Quinn politely asks.
The girl straightens up a little and proudly introduces herself. "Kitty. Kitty Wilde."
Behind Quinn, Santana guffaws. "Sorry," the Latina feebly apologizes, holding up a hand and still chuckling. "But you do realize that you totally have the name of a porn star, right?"
Quinn throws Santana a withering glare over her shoulder, one that Kitty isn't able to catch, before slowly reverting her attention to the smaller blonde. "What Santana means to say is that you have a cute name."
For a porn star, that is.
"Thanks." Kitty says rather breathlessly.
Brittany tilts her head to the side, her brow furrowed. "What does your bracelet mean?" she asks Kitty, pointing to the girl's side.
Kitty looks down at her left wrist and exhales deeply. She lifts her head. "Okay, what I'm about to say is gonna make me sound like a major fangirl but…oh, fuck it." She lights up again. "Who knows if I'll ever get this chance again."
She holds up her arm, her smile Cheshire cat wide, and shows the three of them her Cheerio red bracelet with the letters WWQFD printed on it.
"Every day I ask myself 'What would Quinn Fabray do?'"
"Wow." Though initially taken aback, Quinn smiles politely at the young girl. "It's really nice to know that people here still remember me."
"Remember you?" Kitty echoes; she starts shaking her head profusely. "Oh no, we aspire to be you. Me especially."
"Kissass, much?" A dark-haired girl sneers, shoving past Kitty on her way to the opposite side of the field.
At first glance the girl looks alarmingly like a young Santana Lopez.
"Who's that?" Quinn asks, out of curiosity. The girl in question saunters over to the track boys nearby and turns around, before starting to stretch right in front of them.
"The most vile human being on this planet." Kitty retorts, glaring back at the brunette. "A stone cold bitch who's out to get me."
God she is a young Santana.
"Wait." Brittany speaks up. She studies Kitty for a quiet moment, looks briefly to Quinn, then glances back at the mini-Santana whoring herself out before settling her attention on her girlfriend.
Her expression is that of utter bewilderment as her gaze flickers between Quinn and Santana.
"Did you guys procreate without me?"
—
"The girl is a crazy evil leprechaun."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "She is not, Santana."
Sure Kitty's bossy, arrogant, and a grade A bitch with the potential to be McKinley's next HBIC when the time comes, but she's not evil. For the most part the girl seems to be harmless, even if she has that same God given talent of clever verbal abuse that Santana has.
And like the Latina, Kitty owns up to all of it.
"You see I have a very low tolerance for nice. I may seem really cool and loving for a week or two but then my body rejects it like a virus and I move back into my natural state of cruel selfish insensitivity. And I'm okay with that."
"The girl is totally batshit crazy." Santana persists. "Like Terri Schuester and Rachel Berry combined crazy. And her eyes? Jesus. They're crazy too! Crazy eyes!"
"I think she's sweet." Quinn dismisses. She glances around. They've been waiting around in the girl's locker room while Coach Hannigan gives her girls some last minute notes for the past ten minutes now.
Santana rolls her eyes and yanks open Kitty's locker (which she'd picked it open with her nail file). "This," She taps the inside of door. It's basically a shrine dedicated to Quinn. With cutout yearbook pictures of her, newspaper clippings - every picture of her had a halo sticker above her head. "Is borderline psychotic. Like Swimfan."
Quinn sighs tiredly, leaning back against the row of lockers. "That's a bit of an over exaggeration don't you think, Santana?"
"She fawns over you like you're the second coming of Jesus or something."
That may or may not be true. Quinn shrugs. "So she looks up to me…is that such a bad thing?"
"You're so enjoying this!" Santana accuses, slamming the metal door shut.
"If I was her, I would." Brittany speaks up, sitting on the wooden bench dividing the aisle. "I'd love to have a young Brittany S. Pierce to follow me around. We'd be like Shaggy and Scooby-Doo."
"More like Dumber and Dumbest."
The three of them turn their heads. Coach Hannigan had just released her girls and they were now making their way towards their lockers to change.
And standing before them now was mini-Santana, also known as Bree.
She rolls her eyes and Quinn swears that she could actually give Santana a run for her money in the dramatic eye roll department.
Bree steps forward and has the gall to try to usher them out of her way. "Excuse me, Pussy eater Pierce, Lezpez, Fabgay, but I'd like to get to my locker. Try to keep your hands to yourself, Orgy Trinity. Sorry to disappoint but this hotness does not play for your team."
Quinn, Santana, and Brittany all exchange incredulous glances.
The hell?
"If you don't want me to smack you down like the hand of god I suggest you shut your pie hole, little girl." Santana nearly snarls.
Bree is unfazed and continues with taking out her casual clothes from her locker. She stops, then turns back toward them, and sneers. "Do you mind taking your pervy selves elsewhere? Your predatory vibe is making me uber uncomfortable. And I'm a minor so I could easily report you three to the authorities if you try to cop a feel while I'm trying to change."
Kitty walks over to her own locker and, having heard the conversation, rolls her eyes. "We're all minors you dumb penis flytrap." she retorts.
Santana strolls over to Bree's locker and puts her hand on the door, forcefully closing it and nearly taking out Bree's nose in the process.
"Here's a piece of advice, little bitchlet. Sew them coco lips shut until your juevos drop. 'Cause your high as fuck voice is like nails on a goddamn chalkboard. I'm sure whoever made the mistake of teaching you to speak is borderline suicidal by this point. These poor girls here must all be tone deaf if they can tolerate being within a fifty mile radius of your obnoxious ass. If Urkel had a baby with Fran Drescher, you'd be that baby."
"This day could seriously not get any better." Kitty sighs, folding her arms across her chest. "First I get to meet my idol, the glorious Quinn Fabray, and now I get to watch my sworn enemy get her ass handed to her by her older, wiser, and more badass counterpart. It's like Christmas and Easter all at once."
Standing beside her, Quinn smirks. "Wait for it, it gets better."
—
Twenty minutes later, Quinn and Brittany are designated with the oh-so delightful task of escorting Santana off school grounds before the local authorities are called in.
"I so look forward to the day we get to induct you into our squad! It'll be so much fun!" Santana yells over her shoulder, laughing like a maniacal Disney villain. "You'll have wished I ended you right here and right now, you little punta!"
Brittany closes the back door once they've managed to get Santana strapped into Quinn's car. "She's gonna sleep well tonight."
She glances back at the Latina who was currently in the process of getting her opponent's hair out from under her nails. "Going all Lima Heights has the same effect that warm milk has on Lord Tubbington."
Quinn walks around to the driver's side, brow furrowed. "You mean in a few hours Santana will be curled up on your lap, purring away?"
Brittany nods, beaming brightly. "Precisely."
On the drive home, Quinn ponders what her next move will be. Aside from being a Quinn Fabray wannabe and being blessed with a sharp tongue, there isn't anything particularly special about Kitty. But that's not to say there couldn't be. She's still so young and with a little guidance from Quinn, Kitty could definitely go on to become a proper hunter.
And she's not just saying that because Kitty reminds her of her younger self and just so happens to worship the ground she walks on. Sue needs someone who won't break easily, who can withstand the insults, the near death experiences, who can take whatever she throws and learn from it. Among about another million things…
Quinn doesn't know for sure if Kitty will have what it takes but she has a good feeling about that little psychopath.
But of course she has no intention of taking on a protégée right this minute. (Sue will just have to deal with that). She doesn't have the time to dedicate for now and if she wants to ensure her successor doesn't get killed off during her first patrol, she has to devote to it.
After all, a Fabray never does anything half-assed.
—
They've nearly reached the house when Quinn remembers that she had scheduled a training session with Kurt today and risked being late for it. Swearing under her breath, she kicks Santana and Brittany out of her car, and speeds back to McKinley.
Luckily she makes it to the gym right on time - so Kurt can't give her any flack for being late. But because he's already waiting for her, warmed up and ready to go when she arrives, he does so anyways.
She rolls her eyes at him and takes in his workout clothes (McKinley colors, of course) with a raised brow. They were by far the most stylish workout clothes she has ever seen.
But she's not about to tell him that.
She's so distracted by his clothes that she doesn't even notice Kurt holding out a small bag to her until he's standing right in front of her.
"Here."
She cautiously takes the bag, watching his facial expression closely. With Kurt god only knows what could be in it.
"Relax, it's not a bomb." he sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. "It's a bacon cheeseburger."
She peers inside - just to be sure - then glances back up at him, confused by the meaning behind the gesture. "If you think this will make me go easy on you…"
"No." Kurt assures, shaking his head. "It's just a thank you."
Because she doesn't want to get into talking about her act of kindness and risk getting overtly sentimental, Quinn shrugs it off as nothing.
"Don't think that this means that you can give me a make-over now."
Like she needs one anyways, she scoffs.
Kurt sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. "You are so stubborn."
She smiles a little as she turns to set the bag down on the bleachers. She walks back out onto the court.
Kurt claps his hands gamely. "Okay, Buffy. Let's do this! Show me what you got!"
Her smile promptly fades.
She spends the next hour happily eating her bacon cheeseburger while Kurt spends it tied up in a volleyball net hanging down from the rafters.
AN: Please review! It'd mean a lot!
