former_cheerio: ([neu] what do we have here?)
Anyone in the halls before classes today might hear strange sounds coming from behind the door of locker 327.

"No, pull, don't --"

"I'm trying. The feathers tickle."

"Great. Do you know how to play the didgeridoo?"

"Hang on, almost..."

And then Christian and Quinn tumbled out onto the floor. She had feathers in her hair; he had paint streaked across his face and had lost his shirt somewhere. They blinked, then looked at each other slowly as smiles spread across their faces.

"Let's not tell anybody what happened back there," Christian urged.

"Done," Quinn agreed firmly.

[OOC: Open, sure. Why not?]
former_cheerio: ([neu] school stuff)
Quinn rested her back against a wall of lockers and closed her eyes, just for a moment. She told herself she shouldn't be this tired; all she had was two classes.

Well, two classes and glee club.

Two classes, glee club, and student council.

Two classes, glee club, student council, her exercise routine, her online coursework, keeping up with Santana, trying to figure out Finn, and all she'd had to eat today was half a packet of peanut butter crackers.

So maybe she had a reason to be a little tired.

Unfortunately, the locker she picked to lean against was next to 327. And, more unfortunately, it was hungry. It creaked open, and Quinn was inside before she had much to say about it -- but not before Christian, on a minor errand of his own, spotted the disappearing flash of pink skirt and blond hair. It wasn't time for him to think; it was time for him to act.

"I'm coming," he cried out chivalrously, and jumped into the locker just before the door slammed shut.

Inside, Quinn and Christian found a long hallway lined with doors that seemed to go on forever. Christian turned to Quinn optimistically. "I don't suppose you know which one is out, do you?"

Quinn rolled her eyes at Cute British Guy. "Sure," she drawled. "I always pack a map when I'm getting tugged into random lockers."

It took a long, long, long moment for Christian to realize Quinn was being sarcastic; by the time he did, she was kicking at her third door.

This ... probably wasn't the beginning of anything like a beautiful friendship.

[OOC: For broadcast, NFI. OOC = love.]

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Quinn Fabray

June 2015

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