blind faith // storm & quinn, 91st vt.

[[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨]

↳ QUINN EMBERSTATT

Fifteen, and here comes that rebellious streak again. Careering back around the bend of maturity, Quinn is always in a foul mood and a foul mood is all she knows. Last year's victory tour was all but a total embarrassment and she's been cut off from her allowance for the rest of the year for slamming her bedroom door so hard it came off of its hinges - but Mom has promised they will call the Capitolite recruiters desperate for her to film a Quick And Easy Makeup Routine with Quinn Emberstatt for some silly show if she's good today.

Plus she has to make a dollar now that The Bank of Dad has been closed off. What is she - poor? Not on her watch.

So she sucks down a sour smile when Storm Adroxis rolls into town, close enough to her age and location to know how to have a good time. Kids from Nine have a reputation that the ones in Ten just don't stack up to. And Quinn has to hand it to him - the kid had balls. That was Quinn's plan, once - to volunteer. Prove that she could do it, too. That she was worth of her surname, of her red hair, of her legacy.

But then again - it could have been Texas from Twelve stepping off that train just as easily. And Quinn won't admit it, but her mother has instilled the deepest sense of fear that she has nightmares of dying in those arenas. That's the one thing she's terrified of more than volunteering: dying without a story. Dying just to be replaced the following year. Dying just to be another grave in the earth, left behind in the dirt as the never-ending entity that is Games, Tribute, Victor carries on without her.

Storm Adroxis is her kind of person - and she's in the mood to be terrible today. Besides, they've been good enough. Posing for photographs and sampling every last which way you can cook the same three meats and cheeses, smiling until their cheeks hurt. What's one last bit of fun as the sun sets before dinner?

"Psssst," a wink in the back seat, elbow nudge as they trundle along the dirt roads of Ten.

"We're not actually going to a sheep shearing farm, by the way." Tongue in her cheek, in-between teeth - Quinn slips her last $100 bill of birthday money to the driver and he nods, reigns shifting tact. The horse-drawn cart lurches a sharp left, cutting down a side-road across toward her brother's farm.

Grandma will sneak her a twenty later, she's sure of it. And Storm's gonna love this - a great review, a phone call to Wally the Capitol escort, twenty minutes tops in front of a camera and a big ol' cheque to follow. Spend now, reap the reward later. Quinn's eyes glisten, green dollar signs amidst the grey.

"You ever been cow-tipping before?"

[ coding by griffin ]

[lance]

It's not as awkward as Twelve was, at least. Here, even though he'd killed one of their own, Ten's royal family at least seems to be making the effort to show him that he's not unequivocally hated.

Oh, sure, it's still far from the picnic that Eleven had been - at least there, he could breathe easy knowing that he hadn't contributed towards Cain or Andrew's deaths one bit - but compared to how suffocating Twelve had been, well, Ten's somewhere in the middle. Mace and Saffron are polite throughout the entire thing if not outright friendly, and the deliciousness of the food had outweighed the weariness of the dozen photos and downright mortification of giving his speech.

(Three times in, two of his kills acknowledged, and privately, he's pretty sure he's going to go insane before he'll ever make it back to Nine).

But if the elder Emberstatts are polite (and can he really ask more from victors older than his own parents?), Quinn is another story entirely. Even from afar, he could sense the same restless spirit within her that he'd had once upon a time, and as the hours had dragged by some sort of admiration had developed as well. One year older than her, yet her ability to stand strong against her own legacy (no doubt being the daughter of two victors was many times more exhausting than being the great-grandson of one) had been, well, inspiring.

So when she asks her parents if she can take him to some sort of farm to remove the wool off of sheep, it's surprisingly easy for him to make the decision to accept instead of politely decline like he'd been leaning towards earlier. Maybe in Quinn, he can find a kindred spirit - a kid just like him who'd suffered under the weight of those who'd come before her, just one that happened to be a little older, a little wiser, and somewhat less traumatized overall.

What he does not expect is for Quinn to plaster a knowing smirk on her face once they've left the Emberstatt residence, nor does he expect her to quite literally bribe the driver (is that the correct thing to call someone who's piloting a horse-drawn cart?) into abruptly switching directions.

And no, he's never even heard of cow-tipping before, let alone done it, but the idea sounds more interesting than watching the equivalent of a sheep stripping show, so, well, who is he to complain?

"I've never even seen a cow before today," he admits, nerves momentarily bleeding into his chuckle before he can reclaim a lid on his calm. "But I'm guessing it's, er, not something your parents should know about, right?"

Okay, maybe this will be exciting after all. He grins a mischievous grin of his own, albeit a shy one (he's out of practice, okay?)

"Count me in."