Quinn rolled back the metal door, her biceps and shoulder straining with the weight, despite the wheels of the door being well oiled. That in itself was a relief; in the months since she'd been in this part of town, anything might have happened - the people she sought could have left. But stepping into the sunlight streaming through the open door and facing the faces with tight knit eyebrows as they looked with a mixture of curiosity and fear at the unannounced presence, she saw that no, they were definitely still there. And after a heartbeat of no recognition, their faces broke into white tooth smiles and a welcoming cheer.
"Well, if it isn't our errant little ray of pink sunshine," one of the young men exclaimed, putting a pain stained arm around her shoulders and leading her into the room and the greetings of the other people lounging on well worn couches picked up off the side of the road during clean outs. Almost everyone wore a smile and held a can of beer. Someone immediately pushed one into Quinn's hands but she was engulfed in a hug before she had a chance to thank them.
"I missed you!" squealed a high pitched female voice into her neck. Quinn patted the girl's back, echoing the sentiment.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry Arianna, it's been a while," she said, pulling back from the blonde haired girl. Green eyes stared back forgivingly.
"A while? Yeah could say that, I guess. Five months counts as 'a while' I suppose," laughed a man in his early thirties with a two day beard.
"Well things don't pay for themselves you know. I had to get a job," teased Quinn, sitting down on the couch where someone had made room for her.
"Ah, feeding the ever hungry beast of capitalism, I understand," the man nodded solemnly, and then laughed again.
"Oh, shut up Ginger," shot Arianna, though not with venom. Ginger put his hands up in surrender, sitting himself back down on his stolen bar stool. How one stole a bar stool, Quinn had never found out, but he had managed it - according to his story, anyway. She looked around the warehouse, familiar to her, but it had been so long that it also looked foreign. There was the usual paint smell lingering in the air. On the wall to her right a huge piece took up the wall, a face, in black and white, dripping white paint from the eyes, and surrounded in blue wisps of energy, as though she were some kind of mythical sylph. It was beautiful and eerie at the same time; a source of fear as well as an idol for admiration. With a jolt, Quinn realised that it was Arianna, staring out from the wall with blank eyes. She shot the girl a look, and she, having watched Quinn's face dawn with comprehension, wiggled her eyebrows at her. Ginger too, had noticed.
"She finally agreed to let me paint her," he said, a tint of pride colouring his voice. Arianna shrugged.
"Bound to happen eventually, with all his wheedling away at me," she muttered. Laughs fluttered around the small group. She blushed. Quinn laughed too, some part of her happy that the two of them had started to get themselves together and move in the direction they both wanted but neither of them had wanted to admit.
She looked around again, at the other side, where the entire wall was covered with photographs of different sizes, some polaroids, some regular sized photos, some bigger, some framed, some torn in places. All were photos of graffiti and street art. Quinn knew that if she was to pick any of them up, there would be a date neatly written on the back, and a location, as specific as possible. Her heart fluttered. This was her element, this is what she missed, what she had longed for in her heart, the emptiness which beat next to her longing for Rachel. Working forty hours a week in a run down, grubby supermarket downtown wasn't fulfilling her soul's desires, though it only just filled her pockets with much needed money.
Pushing herself up off the couch, she wandered over to the wall, sipping out of her beer can, drinking in the images more than the bitter liquid. There were some she'd seen hundreds of times before, and she greeted them with a faint smile, like old friends, and the new ones which had appeared during her absence she appraised with her eyes and welcomed to the family of photos on the wall. There were pieces she recognised, pieces she had never seen, and pieces which had been there, but were now erased, either by the cold clinical hand of the government, or by the colourful artwork of another. A sadness rolled through her insides, and she smiled a sad smile, because that was the only way it could be expressed. Mentally she shrugged. This was the nature of street art, of life - its transience - there only for a short while before never existing again but as vague memories and full colour photographs.
Someone walked up and stood beside her, also looking at the wall. "It's scary, isn't it? how fast they come and they go," he said, scratching as his blonde stubble. Quinn nodded. "I miss seeing your new ones up there, you know," he continued, smiling at her.
"I've been feeling a lack of inspiration lately," she murmured. His forehead creased, eyes softened by pity.
"I hope being back here means you've arrived as some kind of inspiration," he smiled, "although, I had hoped you'd come back to accept my proposal of a date," he nudged her with his shoulder.
"Still gay, D," Quinn rolled her eyes at the young man. He made a show of looking disappointed.
"Ah, my wounded heart. Alas, I shall find someone else."
"Yep, you will. Once you give up being a jerk, I'm sure all the ladies will fall at your feet," Quinn punched him playfully in the shoulder.
"Dean, quit bugging Quinn!" called Arianna from the couches. He turned to her, all innocence. She poked her tongue out at him. Quinn laughed, heartily this time. These guys were her family, and she'd almost forgotten what it was like to be around them. She missed it. She was glad she was back. And she was mighty sorry that she hadn't been around in five months. She and Dean walked back to the couch, collapsing next to each other.
"So, what's up, Quinnie? Decided to start work on some big project that you need your bros for? Or just popping in for a visit for old time's sake?" Ginger asked. She took another swig from her can.
"A bit of both," she replied after swallowing. "Remember that girl I was in love with in high school and we broke up, and I've been pining for ever since? I've decided it's time to win her back."
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Dean, raising his beer and clinking it against Quinn's. "Congratulations. If I can't have you, at least some lucky lady will."
"Yeah, well, she doesn't want me at the moment," she answered sullenly, "which is why I have to win her back. I want to do it as a street art project. If I dedicate beautiful art around the city to her, surely she can't refuse me again?"
Ginger inclined his head and shrugged one shoulder, as if to say 'it's worth a shot'. Arianna smiled in compassion and Dean nodded vigorously. Relief flooded Quinn. She knew she would have their support, but it was nice to see them confirm it, like a weight was lifted off her chest, and she could breathe a little easier. She still didn't know the whole plan, despite the fact she'd lain awake for a couple of nights thinking about it, over and over, the thoughts spiralling out of control in her foggy mind. Nothing came, but vague ideas that she tried to grab hold of, which melted into the back of her mind as soon as her consciousness brushed against them.
"So, what's the plan, my dear?" asked Dean.
"I don't know yet, D. I was hoping you guys would have some ideas," she said hopefully. Ginger chuckled.
"Yeah, maybe, but it depends on what you want us to say or do. It has to come from your heart, or else she's never going to buy it. If you love this girl, you gotta show her, Quinnie. There's no use in us doing it for you."
"You're right," she sighed. She looked across the warehouse, it's vast emptiness smelling like paint and beer and sweat, curtained off into little areas for where Ginger slept and bathed and lived when he wasn't painting. The sweet familiarity of it all sent her reeling, like somebody had peeled back a curtain in her mind, to reveal the inner sanctum where her soul lived. Maybe there really was something about the warehouse which channelled creativity, because half formed images and tendrils of ideas because to flood her mind. She skipped over the workstation, where lay a cluster of paints and brushes, where Ginger and his crew planned their large scale works. Quinn pulled the tiny moleskine she always carried around with her from her back pocket and threw it onto the paint stained desk. Flipping to a blank page, she grabbed a pen and started etching a drawing with ink into the paper. Quick and rough, it began to take shape across the whiteness. Her hands, going so long without holding a pen over the small notebook, settled into the process as if she had never stopped.
The other three stalked up behind her and stared with curiosity over her shoulder as she worked. They remained quiet, and Quinn, so entranced in her work, didn't even notice their bated breath as they watched. Quickly, she flipped the top off a marker and began colouring the outline of her creation. Lines were formed, then gone over, again and again, layers on top of layers of colour, creating a marvel of a work in miniature, rough though it was. When she was done, Quinn cocked her head to the side, as if considering whether it really was finished. With an almost imperceptible movement, she nodded, and signed the bottom right corner with a flourish - but not with her name, no, Errant was back.
She stepped back, ignoring the ache in her shoulders from being hunched over the workstation. Her three friends filled the gap, staring at the finished piece. Ginger took the small notebook in his hand, and cradled the sketch of the piece, as though it were a bar of gold. Arianna ran a finger over the double page spread. Dean grinned. All three turned back to her.
"Nice to see you back, Errant," Ginger murmured. She grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
"I wasn't really gone. Just hibernating."
"And this is amazing!" Dean proclaimed, grabbing the notebook and holding up so that it was framed against the wall which hung the photographs. Quinn smiled in pride. It wasn't as good as it would look when it was splayed across a massive brick wall, but it was good.
Arianna pulled an expensive camera from where it was lying on the couch and snapped a photo of Dean holding the moleskine up, the sunlight streaming down so it caught the book in the light and cast him in shadow, though it reflected hot pink and bright off Quinn's hair.
She put the camera down and ran the tip of her finger down the drawing again. It was of a woman's torso in black and white, strands of pink hair hanging over the shoulders, with a deep gash in her chest, bleeding colours left and right, which formed the faces of another. What was remarkable was that they were all the same person, from different angles, displaying different emotions, some in shadow, some as a front on portrait - but all the same woman. All of them Rachel Berry.
It was in that moment that the three street artists looked at their long absent friend and realised just how much the girl bleeding from her chest meant to her. Not only could she draw Rachel from memory, but she could show her expressing various emotions. No one with a passing fancy could have paid enough attention to be able to imitate such nuances of expression. Rachel really was bleeding from Quinn's chest; the only different between the proposed piece and reality was that in reality, she bled out as beautiful art.
A/N: it's been a hell of a long time, but I hope this didn't disappoint. It's slow going, but it's going. Reviews or suggestions are more than welcome :)