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"Miss Fabray?" A timid knock on the door jolted Quinn out of her daydream. She didn't often daydream, she was far too busy for that, but sometimes the lives of the people on the ground were far more interesting than the stack of paperwork on her desk. She looked up in surprise, brushing a strand of hair back. She regarded the anxious-looking young woman stood by her office door, and raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, Stephanie?"
"Paperwork." Stephanie replied, looking down as she crossed the room to place the stack of crisp sheets on her desk. Quinn forced a smile, thanking her politely. However, as soon as Stephanie was out of her office, she groaned out loud and let her head fall into her hands.
"Mmmm," She whined, her sounds muffled by her hands. She sighed deeply and sat up, balling up her hands and rubbing her eyes with them till she saw red stars. She loved her job, don't get me wrong, she adored it. Simply adored it. It was the reason she got up in the morning. She literally breathed Fabray Cosmetics. But lately, she hadn't gotten more and more bored of sitting in her same old office, doing the same old things, drinking the same old caramel macchiato from the same old Starbucks just down the street. It didn't help that she hadn't got laid for six months.
"Stephanie?" Quinn spoke clearly into the intercom sat on her desk. "Can you come to my office quickly?"
Maybe Quinn couldn't spice up her boring day-to-day life, but she could at least get Stephanie to find her a goddamn man to date. This was New York City, for God's sake, finding a handsome, wealthy, successful man shouldn't be too hard, right?
"Okay, listen, even the greatest authors, Dickens, Shakespeare, Twain, didn't immediately sit down and write a full length novel, complete with complex yet loveable characters and engaging plots. They all needed inspiration, and, frankly, Santana, that is what you are lacking." Rachel emphasized the last few words with a sharp jab to Santana's shoulder. Santana sighed dramatically and flopped into a lying position. At the moment, they were both sat on Santana's double bed, Rachel at the headboard, Santana at the foot, with the taller girl's laptop sat waiting between them.
"Well, how do I get inspired, huh? I mean, I'm in the big city, for crying out loud, and I can't even start this book." Santana exclaimed, frowning at Rachel through her dark hair. Rachel tutted, stood up, and dragged Santana to her feet. At first the miserable girl protested but she let herself be guided by Rachel.
"Where are we going?" She mumbled as her friend pulled her coat on for her.
"Not we. You. You never get out anymore; you just sit in your bed, waiting for a sudden strike of inspiration to hit you. Well, Santana, I've got news for you. You're never going to finish a chapter, never mind a best selling novel, if you stay cooped up all day. Now go." Rachel pushed Santana out of the apartment firmly, and stood, guarding the door. Santana grumbled and buttoned her coat up.
"Rachel Berry, I swear to God, it is minus fifteen degrees out there, let me in."
"Stop being so overdramatic. You're giving me a bad name." Rachel chided, slipping inside and shutting the door. She still stood by it, looking through the keyhole.
"Where do I go?" Santana asked after a while, huffing in annoyance.
"Anywhere. Go explore. Like you said, this is the big city, so you won't run out of places to go. Just keep your phone on at all times, and don't wander too far. Oh! And be home by 8pm sharp, I'm cooking for you."
When did Rachel morph into the constantly nagging mother I never had? Santana thought to herself as she trudged down the endless stairs. She braced herself for the cold, before pushing through the doors, grimacing as a cold blast of icy wind slapped her in the face. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked determinedly, even though she had no idea where she was headed.
Before she knew it, her feet had blindly got her to Central Park. In all her years of living in New York, she had only been there once before. Then again, she only moved to Manhattan after graduating from Cornell.
"Stupid Rachel making me leave my lovely warm apartment…" Santana muttered under her breath as she flopped down onto the closest bench she could find. She breathed out, a large cloud of fog escaping her lips and drifting into the freezing afternoon air. "How the fuck am I meant to be inspired by this?"
"You don't think it's beautiful?" A voice suddenly piped up and Santana whipped round, clutching her chest to calm her racing heart. She was met with the sight of a blonde girl, about an inch taller than herself. Her eyes were what stunned her though. They were hazel, light yet dark at the same time. In one word, she was stunning.
"Of course I do," Santana replied, nodding slightly. "It's just…it's not very inspiring, you know? It's very pretty, a great tourist spot. But…there's no excitement. It's just a very large, pretty park, in short." She shrugged as she finished her explanation, watching the girl sat down next to her.
"Sorry. I hope you don't mind if I sit here. It's been a long day." The blonde smiled warmly at Santana, crossing her legs elegantly. Santana shrugged again, the corners of her mouth upturning slightly.
"Hey…I know you, don't I?" Santana suddenly said, pointing at the girl, her eyes narrowed as she studied her face. She did recognize her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on where she had seen her before.
"Maybe you have." The stranger smirked in such a way that Santana knew she had definitely seen her before. She was hiding something.
"I'm Quinn, by the way."
"Santana. You have a last name, Quinn?"
Quinn chuckled, looking away to stare out at the passing people. "Maybe I do. But my last name doesn't matter. It's just a name. It's not me." She looked back at Santana, blinking slowly before continuing. "A last name doesn't define a person. Neither does sexuality, or fashion sense, or who that person hangs out with. What counts is the inside. The personality, the character, of the person." Quinn shrugged, her smile lopsided. "I don't know."
Santana giggled, looking down at her boots. She swung her legs back and forth, absentmindedly scratching the bench with one of her nails.
"I better go." Quinn sighed, standing up and smoothing out her (already creaseless) dress. "Maybe I'll see you again." She smirked again, before turning on her heel and practically gliding. She only paused to turn and wave one last time before she disappeared.
And that's when Santana was suddenly hit, smack bang in the face, by inspiration.