The Faint of Heart (Peregrine x Aine)

"Alright," Quinn replied, nodding slightly. He was apparently oblivious to Sveta's sudden change in attitude, although Quebec certainly noticed it, and filed it away under other valuable pieces of information about her. "I guess I'll go in order then.

"Have you ever been to Nepal? The whole country is in the Himalayan mountains, and nothing there is flat. It is exhausting to get anywhere on foot. But, at the same time, no matter where you go, you can always see the mountains. And, once you get a little way outside the cities, it is like you enter into a whole new world." Quinn's eyes seemed to glaze over slightly, and once more there was no hint of Quebec within him. Quebec politely receded from the surface, gently pulling memories together and weaving them into an intricate quilt of experience. And Quinn read the patterns of that quilt like an artist, and they sung in his heart.

"Even in the summer the tops of the mountains are white, and they glow so bright in the sunshine that sometimes I would swear that they must have been the pathway to heaven. In some places it is so completely silent that you can hear the sound of your own heartbeat. It was peaceful there in a way that most Americans can never truly understand, and I didn't need to... think so much. Think all the time about where I was going and what I was doing and what I should be doing and what I shouldn't be doing. All that just... vanished. And all that was left was me.

"That is the only time I've ever almost given up my job. In that space, in that moment, I honestly considered giving it all up and just... living there." He paused, and refocused on Sveta, before letting out a self-mocking laugh. "Of course, I didn't stay. On the one hand I was living on company funds at the time, and I would have been left destitute had I quit. On the other hand, the next story was waiting over in India. I ran out of time, I got on a plane, and I left. Sometimes I still consider going back, and just staying there for a while, but the stories never wait that long. Shame."

There was another moment of silence before Quinn seemed to remember that he was supposed to be talking. "What was the second question again? Oh, right. Religion. I certainly can't call myself a religious man. I was raised Catholic, but it never really meant anything to me, and my parent's weren't strict enough to force it on me. I've wandered all over the world and have been exposed to countless different religions, and I've seen the good and the bad of all of them. It would really be impossible for me to adhere to any one. I've kind of assembled the pieces of each that speak to me, but that doesn't really make me religious. I'm not against a higher power, but nor am I convinced of its existence. So I guess I just sit somewhere in the middle in a religion that isn't really a religion. At this point I'd normally ask what about you, since that can often be very important, but I think I'll just go ahead and answer your last question.

"I have an absolute mess of family. And I mean that in the most positive way possible, but I've got so many relatives I can't even really keep track of them all. I guess on the direct connection you've got mom and dad, still married, still living in Ohio in the same house they raised me and my siblings. As for siblings; older brother Kevin, in pediatrics, I guess he never got tired of having to care for younger siblings, younger sister Enya, who is a professional horse trainer, younger brother Nevan, who is a glassblower, I guess odd jobs run in the family, and then younger brother Torin, who is a chef for a high class restaurant. My mom was Irish, and very proud of her ancestry, so all of our names trace back to Ireland. Dad... was probably Irish, but he had so many nations in his bloodstream that even he couldn't keep track of them all. Anyways, he was perfectly happy to let my mother name us whatever she wanted, so long as it couldn't be used as a weapon against us in our childhood.

"My mom has three siblings, my dad... had four, now only has three, and all of them had at least two children, if not more. My grandparents on both sides all had a lot of siblings, and only my Great Aunt Gertrude on my father's side didn't have any children. Even a three generation get together could probably pull in nearly eighty people. If the families of spouses could come as well, it would be an even larger number. All things considered, there hasn't been that much pressure on me to get married. Kevin is the one who really likes children, and he has given mom and dad enough grandchildren that I can easily be passed over and not put a dent in the ever-growing family tree.

"My family and I get on pretty well. They've never entirely understood my instinct against settling down, but they are all supportive. I mean, Nevan is a glassblower, for Christs sake. They aren't about to complain about my choice in profession. We talk whenever I'm in America, but there are months at a time when none of them hear from me. Even mom has gotten used to it at this point." Quinn shrugged, changing the line of the conversation. "I don't know if you want me to keep going. I've got enough anecdotes and stories to fill a small library. You might have to give me a bit more direction than "what are they like," though."
 
Svetlana listened to his description of Nepal carefully, her facial muscles still frozen in a mask of neutral politeness reserved specifically for him, though her eyes didn't look like those of an ice queen anymore. A careful observer would notice a glint of understanding. Frankly, she considered herself to be more of a city girl; the desire to flee from the heart of civilization was usually the domain of people who couldn't take the hectic lifestyle anymore and unlike them, Sveta knew very well that residing in the wilderness didn't consist of meditating over purpose of life and enjoying the scenery. The untamed nature could be a fierce opponent when it chose to demonstrate its power and Russian weather especially was notorious for consistently imposing the survival of the fittest philosophy on anyone who dared to stick their nose out of the town. Dancing according to erratic melody of the city, navigating herself in the concrete jungle and getting to know many colorful personalities in the process seemed much more preferable to her than the joyous prospect of chopping wood all day to avoid freezing to death. All the same, memories of gorgeous white plains and trees decorated with what Sveta had thought to be a stardust in her childhood years remained locked in her heart as the very definition of beauty, so his motivations weren't completely alien to her.

"No, I've never been there," she shook her head vehemently. "I tend to work for guys in suits so expensive that selling them could probably feed an average family for month, and those people usually aren't that keen on hiking. You're doing fine job of advertising the hell out of Nepal, though. It does sound wonderful, I'm not gonna deny that, but living there probably wouldn't be as awesome as you think. Cultural shock in conjunction with isolation usually kill the romantic aspect of remote wilderness pretty fast and then you find out there's not really anything to do. Speaking from personal experience here. On the other hand, who knows. We could visit it together sometime and maybe it'll cure me out of my cynicism," Svetlana smiled and touched his shoulder lightly, attempting to smuggle as much honesty into her tone as possible. The last subtle reminder of her situation may not have improved her mood, but it had helped her to realize something; they were chatting out of necessity, not to chase away boredom. Moreover, this exercise didn't serve as a means of developing Quinn only, it was also an opportunity for her to get used to his presence so they could work as a pair in front of her aunt. Treating him like a carrier of some incurable disease wouldn't exactly simulate a loving relationship and Sveta figured it would be wise to get rid of her perfectly justified reluctance to touch him. She had to put herself in the shoes of Svetlana who wasn't afraid of Quinn - no, Svetlana who loved Quinn - and portraying that accurately would take some practice.

Her 'boyfriend' then went on to answer questions about faith and his own family. His stances on religion were pretty typical for a young man of this era, yet the same couldn't be said about his family. Well, he may not be the nicest guy I've ever met, but he certainly isn't lacking in the fantasy department. A glassblower? Can't say I've ever heard this one before. Putting aside the fact that none of what he had told her was true, Sveta would actually love to meet this bunch of misfits; their household was probably brimming over with the kind of chaos that would be right up her alley.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm gonna give you some specifics soon. I should likely explain my own outlook on religion first, though, since as you said, it usually is important. Honestly, I'm quite surprised you haven't torn it out of my mind when you were visiting. Anyway, my father tried to raise me to be a true follower of The Russian Orthodox Church. Tried is the key word here," Sveta revealed her pearl-white teeth in a smirk. "You see, for some unfathomable reason, he thought that scaring me with eternal damnation and flames consuming my sould would somehow inspire me to adore God, which... Didn't happen. So yeah, I've been baptized, but I'm actually a proud atheist. The world of spirituality in its entirety doesn't speak to me much as I don't think about it that often. Actually, the most 'spiritual' thing I've done in the last few years was watching those ridiculous late-night shows with fake fortune-tellers and laughing my ass off, so there's that.'"

"Now, for the questions about your family... We all know relationship between siblings can be like a rollercoaster ride sometimes, so what's the worst and best thing they've done to you? Do you know how your parents met? Also, do you have some black sheep in your family, someone you generally don't like to talk about?"
 
When Sveta placed her hand on his shoulder Quinn reached up automatically, gently covering her hand with his own. He stroked it fondly, before allowing his hand to fall back into his lap as she withdrew her own hand. At the very least, Quebec noted, she could act as well. She could hide her distaste for him as though he was simply another annoying customer with whom she had to deal in order to get her next paycheck. But he could see in her face that Sveta had not forgotten exactly who Quinn was, and that brought Quebec a small measure of satisfaction. Their relationship right now, for both of them, was a delicate balancing act, and one mistake could send Sveta plunging down into a certain bottomless abyss. As long as she remembered who she was and what she was doing, Sveta would not accidentally bring about her own demise.

"Best and worse they've done to me? Ok. The best is easy. My parent's weren't, and aren't, rich. They had a limited amount of money each year to spend on Christmas, and it was divided equally among each of us. On my fifteenth Christmas, all of my siblings gave up nearly two thirds of their own money, and used it to buy me a server domain for my blog. At the time I was, naturally, very excited, because I'd already settled on becoming a travel journalist. But that blog is what kick-launched my career when I actually was old enough to start looking for a job, and it never would have happened without them. Torin still holds that over my head, which isn't really fair because he was the only one of my siblings at the time who was not willing to give up his money, and he had to be pressured into it by the rest of my sibs.

"As for the worst they've done... It'd be so much easier to go the other way. I was a bit of a tyrannical older brother, especially in my pre-teenage years. I once convinced Nevan that there was a magic portal underneath the sink, and then when he crawled in I locked him in there. He forgave me eventually. But that isn't what you asked... I guess the worst would have to be the time that Enya thought I sabotaged her date, which I didn't, for your information, and she broke into my room in the middle of the night and superglued me to my sheets. It would have been a harmless prank, except I nearly choked when I rolled over and the sheet got tangled around my neck. I passed out, and my parents had to take me to the hospital the next morning to check for brain damage. Not to mention I had to rip off about three layers of skin to get the sheets off." Quinn laughed slightly, before letting out a faint shudder.

"Believe it or not, my parents met through a dating site. They had a first date and didn't really hit it off, but when they got paired up again through a different site, they decided it might be worthwhile to try again, and see what the dating sites knew that they didn't. It was a very... slow romance, to say the most, but perhaps those are the best kind. They are the ones that usually last.

"In the immediate family, I'm probably the closest it comes to a real black sheep. Not everyone, my grandparents especially, are as understanding about my decision not to get married as my parents are. Because of that, my family normally avoids bringing me up in social situations. But I know they aren't really ignoring me, so I don't mind. I'm sure there are real black sheep somewhere in my family, but as no one actually talks about them, I can't name any off the top of my head.

"What next?"
 
Sveta changed her position to get more comfortable - she was sitting with knees bent, legs crossed and feet resting against her thighs now - and once again listened to Quinn narrate his anecdotes. She should have been used to her kidnapper's mastery of improvisation at this point, yet it never ceased to amaze her. Just how did he manage to cook up a completely believable story every single time she asked him something within blink of an eye? Human fantasy truly knew no bounds, but the record speed in which he worked boggled her mind. Could it be that he perhaps used his own experiences as a template and edited some minor details that didn't fit in with overall theme of Quinn's character? Likely not; this was the man who had freaking kidnapped her just because she had the nerve to recognize him on a subconscious level. He guarded his precious privacy with ferocity of a rabies infected dog, and it would be remarkably weird for him to just dictate his entire CV to her so Svetlana could get familiar with her beloved boyfriend. Moreover, this glowing picture of a happy, carefree childhood like straight out of an Astrid Lindgren's book wasn't really compatible with his career of a seasoned criminal. Sveta didn't have any illusions about about humans being inherently good persons yearning to spread love, understanding and tolerance, yet she sincerely doubted anyone would turn to such a violent profession without tasting the darkness first.

It's probably either a recycled personality he had developed earlier for some nefarious purposes like espionage or it's modeled after someone he knows really well, she concluded, deciding not to dedicate so much of her brainpower to this issue anymore. Ultimately, the origins of Quinn didn't matter at all; for all Svetlana cared, he could have been a completely separate entity implanted into his brain thanks to alien technology from Area 51 and it wouldn't have made a difference. The only important thing was that the charismatic journalist seemed more genuine than some actual, flavorless people that were just going with the flow - surviving rather than living - and that Irina would adore him to pieces. Well, at least one person is going to be happy from our pseudo-relationship.

"Wow, that's actually pretty awesome they didn't see your dream job as a childish whim. You were insanely lucky to receive such support, and from siblings no less; when I told my brother I wanted to translate for a living, he laughed at me and said that by the time I get my degree, online translators will be so advanced my job will be nothing but a relic of a distant past. Needless to say, he severely overestimated the magic that is the Google translate." The description of the Enya incident brought an amused smile to her lips. "Well, I guess I should consider this story a warning; getting on your sister's bad side just isn't worth it," she smirked and put away a stray strand of hair that was blocking her view.

"Wait, are you trying to suggest that there are real people on dating sites who hunt for their soulmates as opposed to old, overweight guys pretending to be attractive blondes in order to scam the hell out of their unsuspecting victims? Now that's a revelation of the century." Svetlana refrained from commenting on his next answer; she just nodded to indicate a polite interest in the conversation, her eyes never leaving his face.

"To be honest, I'm starting to run out of questions to ask here. Sure, I could devise plenty of them, but I'm not sure whether I want to cross the point of no return, become an overly attached girlfriend and ask you what's your favorite brand of toilet paper. There are things even I don't want to know, and I could probably compete for a title of the most curious person in the world. Let's keep this relevant, shall we? I do have few closing questions, though. First, is there something you wish to achieve in your life that doesn't revolve around your work? And second, what do you love about me?"
 
What did he love about her? But he didn't love her. Why would he love her? Quinn's hesitation and uncertainty was instantly sealed behind a mask of abstract attentiveness that Quebec placed on his face. Quebec, however, was stuck in a moment of uncertainty. Never before had a mission required an individual who was in love with one of the targets. It was something that would need working on. What made Quebec Quebec was the ability to create any individual, and that individual would be perfect for any scenario. But Sveta had asked Quinn two questions. That would give Quebec time to sort through everything that had been stored away over the years and find something that could work.

"Honestly, I don't really have any goals," Quinn replied. He hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head in shame. "That sounds bad, doesn't it? I'm not really a workaholic. It isn't though I have no life outside of my job. I simply mean... I'm not aiming for one thing in life. I don't have a goal in mind, and some notion that, when I finish it, my life will suddenly feel 'complete'." His fingers flicked up in the air, scratching out the air quotes.

"All I really want is to be happy. To wake up in the morning and always be glad to be alive, and always be excited for the next day. I always want to have something that I want to be doing, and never feel like I've seen everything there is to see and that there is nothing new waiting for me in the world. Life is all about new experiences, and if I don't have those new experiences anymore my life wouldn't really be my life anymore.

"Does that even count as a goal?" He looked at Sveta, head tilting slightly to the side almost as though he was actually expecting her to give an answer. But he shrugged a moment later. "I dunno. But I get the impression that is what most people truly want in life. To be happy. So trivial, yet it is ultimately so hard to reach."

Quebec was out of time. It wasn't as though there weren't plenty of examples of love. Everyone passed by them every day, even if they did not fully recognize what they were seeing at the moment. Quebec had experienced more love than most people in the world. But none of it would work for Sveta, because none of the people who had been loved were Sveta. It was such a fickle, unique thing, the emotion called love. For the first time in a very, very long time, Quebec was going to have to make something up.

But Quebec was not an individual. Quebec did not know anything. Quebec absorbed facts and personalities and perspectives, assimilated them, and then revealed them in the appropriate moments. Quebec did not make things up.

Quebec had no choice at that moment but to make something up.

"I'm not quite sure if it is possible to say why I love you. Love is an incredibly tricky emotion, and sometimes trying to articulate it is like trying to articulate a color. It just doesn't work. But I guess that is a cop-out, so... I'll try."

He was silent for a moment, staring at her face quietly, waiting for inspiration to strike. Quebec was already anticipating the possibility of failure, and began to adapt something from a long ago acquaintance, when, to his great surprise, his mouth opened and words began to come out.

"When I first met you, I thought there was something special about you. I believed that there was one key fact that made you exceptional, and I needed that thing. That belief was enough to get us to meet up after that first encounter. But I've gradually begun to realize, it wasn't something about you at all. It was just... you. All of you, all at once. I didn't need something about you, I just needed you."

The room echoed with a moment of silence, and Quebec couldn't speak. Quinn, however, had found his love, and something glowed deep within his eyes as he looked at Sveta. Finally, however, the silence was broken, and the spell his words had created broke with it.

"Why do you love me?"
 
Was it just her mind leaping to nonsensical conclusions or did her last question really throw him off balance for a moment? To be frank, Sveta didn't even know what on earth had possessed her to ask him something like this; she had never gathered enough courage to interrogate her real love interests in this manner, partially out of fear of getting a stupid answer and partially because it seemed like such an awkward thing to talk about. Discussing similar matters didn't come easily to her. Svetlana wasn't particularly romantic to begin with, and being raised by a distant father and an auntie whose idea of romance consisted of telling her spooky stories about suffering ghosts of star-crossed lovers didn't really support those tendencies either. Love as described in poetry typically used to get into naive girls' pants didn't exist according to Sveta. Romantic affection, at least in her opinion, stemmed from mix of two equally important components; physical attraction and compatible personalities. It was practically an upgraded friendship and waxing lyrical about it with big, pretentious words served as a guaranteed way of eliciting few sarcastic comments from her rather than making her swoon. So why did I ask him? Was it some sort of desire after insincere compliments or... what? Her attempts to solve this mystery were, however, interrupted by Quinn talking about his goals, or specifically, lack of thereafter.

"No, reaching happiness isn't a bad goal at all," Sveta disagreed, her lips curled up in tiniest of smiles. "People usually set higher goals for themselves to achieve happiness in the first place, so I guess you could say you refused to waste time with a detour. Nothing wrong about it being efficient. Besides, I don't really have anything I want to do before I die, either. Okay, that's not entirely true; I wish to devise my own fictional yet entirely functional language Tolkien-style because that's a damn cool thing to do and I certainly have the skills needed to pull it off, but if doctors were to tell me I have a week left to live and I still wouldn't be done with it, it wouldn't be the end of world for me. I'd be too busy crying over my impeding death to even notice my dream would never come true," she giggled, yet her laughter sounded somewhat hollow; pretending affection via faking lovey-dovey gaze and touching him in a way that would seem intimate to anyone ignorant of their true relationship was definitely easier than trying to laugh out-loud when nothing about this situation looked even remotely amusing to her. Good job, Sveta. Real smooth. Either she would have to stay away from expressing joy through laughing in front of Irina altogether which would be the equivalent of holding an elephant-sized banner with inscription 'Something is wrong', or she would have to become a better actress really fast. Well, I guess the good thing about captivity is that I'll have plenty of time to practice AND I'll probably be stressed enough about my performance to actually do it.

Quinn's confusion on how to define his love for her was practically tangible and Svetlana almost felt sorry for him in that moment. Almost. Oh come on, you don't have to compose sonnets about my perfection. Just massage my ego by saying I look like a Russian Scarlett Johansson so we can move along. Then he finally broke the uncomfortable silence surrounding them like a poisonous gas, and every single word he uttered got deep under her skin. They bypassed all her resistances effortlessly and Sveta - the same Sveta who regularly mocked movies like Titanic - could suddenly feel her heartbeat speeding up. She had always thought that phrase 'to disarm someone with words' was just a figure of speech, yet this proved its meaning could be much more literal. Svetlana stared at her companion in genuine surprise, unable to speak and think clearly. Her common sense would normally scream at her those were nothing but shameless lies designed to mess with her, yet her common sense was currently tied up and gagged somewhere in unused corners of her mind. The only thing that mattered to her at the moment was the warm, pleasant feeling spreading from her chest to her fingertips, creating impression of her very own lazy summer day. Nobody had ever made her feel so special... Which is pretty sad, considering the fact he's a freaking psychopath! Seriously, what's up with me? Little bit of craziness is cute and all, but I should really get my head checked!

Before she could begin to question her sanity any further, Quinn seized her attention once again. Ugh. Something tells me that saying 'I don't' or 'Because I have to' isn't going to qualify for a good answer, is it? Sveta took a deep breath as if preparing for some physically challenging feat, visibly displeased with this turn of events. "Alright, I'll try to give you a satisfying response as well, but I'm not particularly good at articulating these things and I have a feeling anything I'm going to say will pale in comparison with your answer, so bear with me, please." Grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently to stall for time, Sveta searched through her woefully small repertoire of suitable phrases, but everything present there seemed so hopelessly cheesy she would rather cut her own tongue out than to say it aloud in serious, non-sarcastic tone. Ah, fuck it. Love isn't rocket science. I'm gonna improvise and if I fail to impress him, well, I'm certainly not going to cry into my pillow at night.

"I guess that, apart from your contagious thirst for life, I love how you're the only one who can tell me such romantic nonsense and still make it sound believable. I love that you're able to overpower my pragmatic side and show me the world's full of miracles, even if only for a while before my skepticism kicks in again. Sorry, it's an automatic process. Can't do anything about it. And, most of all, I love you for being yourself." Led solely by instinct, Sveta leaned in to give him a soft, innocent peck on the lips. It seemed to be an appropriate finale to her little speech. Moreover, weren't they supposed to be practicing how to act like a real couple?
 
Quinn's eyes fluttered closed, and he accepted her kiss like it was an exotic fruit, bestowed to him by the fingers of a gentle goddess. For one moment, and one moment alone, he relished in the sweet sensation of love. But then their lips separated, and the moment was over. Quebec had gathered the needed information, and if such a situation were ever to arise again that information would now be available for use.

Their little experiment into romance and affection was over; Quinn was displaced and carefully tucked away for the next time he would be needed. In that moment, something in his face changed. The few, indefinable, but somehow instinctively known things that marked Quinn as Quinn vanished from his face. His lips seemed to thin, his brows knit together slightly, but, most importantly, the glow of laughter and joy that somehow seemed to infuse his eyes vanished, to be replaced by a cold, hard calculation.

"That will suffice for now," Quebec said, straightening back into perfect posture. He stood fluidly and took a couple of steps away from the couch before turning to look back at Sveta. "I am going to prepare dinner. You may join me in the kitchen, if you wish, or you may return to your room."

It was clear from the moment that Quebec stepped into the kitchen that his mastery of the culinary arts was as complete as any skill he possessed. The kitchen submitted quietly to his mastery, and it did so without a fight.

He started with the potatoes, pulling them out from in the fridge and setting them in the oven to start baking. They would be extracted just as the potatoes were starting to soften, sliced, and then fried in a mixture of butter, onion, garlic, and oregano.

The pork loin was carefully sliced ribbon thin, before being lightly coated with olive oil and then completed with a peppering of mixed salt, pepper, sage, and fresh cut thyme, finely minced. Each slice was individually fried to exacting standards, so that they were removed just as the center was starting to lose its pinkish tinge. Once each slice was done they were carefully laid out on a plate and slid into the oven, warmed to a degree that the meat would not cool, but would cook no further before the rest of the meal could be completed.

In a separate bowl he combined fresh raspberries with orange juice and just a splash of vinegar. He placed a few more sprigs of fresh time in the mixture, and left it to soak.

From deep within a cupboard he extracted a steamer, quickly washed it to remove the dust and then filled it with a finger's worth of water. To that he added quickly chopped broccoli, and left the whole assortment to steam.

Once everything was complete he removed the pork from the oven, and created the two plates. To one side, the broccoli. To the other, the golden fried potatoes. In the center he artfully laid out the pork, before covering the slices with a drizzle of the raspberry sauce.

By this point the whole house was filled with the aromatic smells of Quebec's cooking. The entire dish was perfection through smell, sight, and taste. The pork would be soft, practically melting away on the tongue, the potatoes crisp without being over-cooked, and the broccoli flavorful but mild.

He set the two plates on the table, accompanied by silverware rolled into a cloth napkin which smelled only faintly of dust.
 
Their lips parted and for a second, Sveta was robbed of her ability to speak. Running on a certain twisted logic, her actions made perfect sense, yet it still baffled her she had voluntarily kissed the man who would gladly murder her on spot if it wouldn't destroy his only chance of figuring out the secret of her enhanced cognitive abilities. He may have treated her with relative kindness, but Svetlana harbored absolutely no illusions about purity of his intentions; she was fairly sure that if he were to find out he could get the desired information through good old vivisection, his only dilemma would be something along the lines 'Which tool do I use for maximum efficiency?' Kissing him without warning could turn her into a solid candidate for Darwin Award and yet she had went for it with little to no thought pertaining to consequences. In the end, he didn't seem to mind, but it was crystal clear she would need to work on her self-control and use the lump of meat in her head more often. Modern society valued spontaneity as it could open various doors, yet Svetlana seriously doubted it would do her much good ten feet underground.

Quinn's return to his reserved self didn't exactly cause her to dance in joy, but it was probably for the best. At least his old persona who possessed about as much charisma as wet towel on the bathroom's floor couldn't bring any ambiguity into their relationship. The happy, permanently smiling travel journalist that practically radiated good mood hadn't proved to be the ideal person when it came to keeping a healthy distance. This is absurd. I've essentially passed the test of my acting skills, so why am I freaking out as if I've overstepped some sacred boundary? No satisfying answer emerged on the surface of her consciousness, yet deep down, Sveta was painfully aware of the reason behind her uneasiness; the intimate contact simply hadn't disgusted her as much as it logically should have. It had felt... normal, somewhat endearing even. Alright, if I try really hard, maybe I can sweep this thought under rug and pretend it has been injected into my mind by some sort of brain parasite, which is... actually kinda feasible as I don't know full extent of Quinn's powers.

The decision whether to stay in his lovely company or retreat into her room was easy; her growing hatred of isolation would have prevented her from choosing the second option even if it had magically transformed into Disneyland in the meantime. Svetlana also couldn't suppress her curiosity. 'I am going to prepare dinner' didn't sound as if he planned to serve her week old bread along with stale water, and she wished to see what he was up to. Her more spiteful side also hoped in some hilarious kitchen accident, even though she wouldn't bet a single penny on this outcome. The higher power that controlled this universe seemed to favor him for some unfathomable reason, so it probably wouldn't let him fail for her amusement like that. Standing up from the couch shakily, Sveta limped to the kitchen wordlessly and took a seat again. One glance in Quinn's direction told her that her assumption had been correct and no funny catastrophe would brighten her day; once again, the man was almost scarily effective. Svetlana watched watched him with astonishment projected into her features. What's next? Will he knit a sweater for me? Because it really wouldn't surprise me anymore. A seductive scent began permeating the air soon, and her stomach growled in response; she was actually quite hungry, though concerns like fear of her entire family getting massacred had momentarily pushed it down on her list of priorities.

Sveta grabbed the fork and knife the moment Quinn prepared her plate, apparently quite eager to sample the meal. "Bon appetite," she said mostly out of habit and then proceeded to take the first bite. A symphony of tastes exploded on her tongue instantly, almost overwhelming her for a moment. "Damn, that's a four-star restaurant material, and I should know what I'm talking about considering I've eaten in some of them when I wasn't surviving on instant noodles. You know, you'd actually make a really good boyfriend if it wasn't for your... slightly violent tendencies," she delivered what was probably the greatest euphemism in all history of creation and didn't even blush. "Anyway, may I ask you something just for peace of my mind? Is there something you truly, genuinely suck at? Something that would degrade you to the status of an ordinary human? Honestly, at this point, I almost hope that you at least have a terrible singing voice because this is unreal."
 
For a moment Quebec stared at her silently, every muscle in his body perfectly still as he assessed her question. A fork was positioned in one hand, almost forgotten. In that moment, if he hadn't been waiting for her to heal, he might have hit her again.

It was never a good idea to ask a person in a position of authority about his weaknesses. Especially not if the whole reason for the imprisonment was because you had exposed a potential weakness once already.

Quebec was not an unreasonable individual. In fact, he was probably the complete opposite. Quebec did things that were the most efficient and practical as every situation demanded in their moment. But that did not mean that he was opposed to a little bit of dramatic flare when the situation demanded it. It was time to teach Sveta another valuable lesson. He fully understood that her question had been innocent to the extreme. She had been looking for some form of reassurance, a taste of humanity in him. She was not going to get it.

In one blinding moment of speed Quebec slammed the fork into the table, driving the prongs half an inch into the wood. Just as quickly he was standing, reaching over to Sveta and cupping her face in his hand. "So," he said, voice flat. "Sveta wants more show and tell, does she? Very well." Once more, and for the final time where it would be necessary, Quebec entered Sveta's mind. This time, as he had done with Jan all those weeks ago, Quebec took everything. Every memory, every tiny quirk, everything that made Svetlana herself. She became another one of the individuals stored away within his head.

Hand still locked tightly around Sveta's chin, Quebec gently slid her into place within his head. Moments later his body followed suit, and although the clothes were not the same, in that moment Sveta was staring back at herself. And herself was smiling coldly, showing the kind of perfectly cruel derision that a person could only ever give to themselves.

"Honestly, Sveta, you still haven't figured it out? There's no need for weeping producers because there is no acting. Get it together. Use that lump of meat in your head and look at me." Now she let go of her face, stepping back from the table and spreading her arms wide. And it was true. Other than the men's clothes that hung loosely on Sveta's small figure the two were completely indistinguishable, and not only physically. The tilt to her head and shoulders, the way her hands hung by her sides, even the way she balanced on her feet, spoke of Sveta. The line of her mouth, the sarcastic glow in her eyes, the slight quirk to her eyebrows, all the same. It was like looking in a mirror, except her reflection was moving independently.

'Sveta' moved back into the table, and took a seat, setting her elbows on the table and cradling her chin. "At this point, even dad couldn't tell the two of us apart. There would be nothing he could ask, nothing he could try and do, to figure out which of us was actually the daughter he raised for eighteen years. All those delightful axe skills you demonstrated earlier this afternoon? They are mine now too."

A humor-filled smile spread over 'Sveta's' face, the one that always appeared whenever an innocent bystander fell prey to one of her tricks. Except this time Sveta was falling to 'her' own trick. "Now she starts to get it." 'Sveta' clapped twice, leaning lazily back into the seat. And, for an instant, Quebec flashed through. "There is nothing I cannot do. No one I cannot be. Chefs, snipers, martial arts experts, even" a small smile tugged at her lips "opera singers."

In that moment, no one in the whole world knew more about Quebec than Sveta. The few people who had ever understood the full truth, back before Quebec had fully became Quebec, were dead. As far as Quebec was concerned, Sveta would soon be joining them. It was almost amusing to watch how she reacted to the truth. It had been so long since anyone had fully understood it that she had almost forgotten the flavor of that particular brand astonishment. The latent, unconscious disgust that such a thing could exist. The reason that Quebec could never, ever be anyone. The reason Quinn did not exist.
 
Most people possessed an innate mental filter in their heads; a handy tool that whispered to them it might not be a good idea to tell your boss his wife looked fat and other little things that allowed them to go on with their day without having an intimate conversation with someone's fist. Sveta's detector was apparently somewhat defective and since repair shops for such gadgets had yet to be established, she had to deal with consequences of this disability. It actually didn't impact her life that much as everyone was usually quick to forgive to a slightly eccentric woman who clearly meant no harm, but it quickly turned out Quinn didn't suffer from such foolish tendencies. Svetlana flinched at the suddenness of his movements, dropping her own fork in the process. At the moment, there was nothing she wished more than to run away, but she didn't even dare to stand up from her chair; hoping he wouldn't be able to outrun her would be just about as intelligent as letting an alligator watch after a group of freshly hatched ducklings. How? How did this even happen? I should write a book called 'How to Fuck up Everything in Three Simple Steps.' Actually, no, scratch that. One step - opening my mouth - has always been more than enough!

"I-I think I'd understand it even without the 'show' part," Sveta protested weakly, yet her pursuit of stopping him was ultimately futile. He slipped into her mind again, this time with no regard for her comfort; the previous mind-reading sessions were horrifically intrusive, yet she almost remembered with fondness when compared with this one. It felt almost as if he was drilling a hole into her skull, complete with audio effects. The buzzing in her ears intensified and she moaned slightly, her face frozen in a grimace of agony. When the pain finally subsided, Svetlana opened her eyes only to be greeted by her evil twin grinning at her wickedly. Her jaw almost fell to the floor. Quinn's uncanny power of wearing different faces like normal people wore clothes had already ceased to be a novelty for her, but seeing her own clone - perfect to the last hair - just felt so eerie. It scared her on the most fundamental level, yet it also awakened a certain kind of a morbid curiosity within her. For a split second, Sveta even contemplated jumping at her and confirming whether her extreme ticklishness applied to her double as well, but her often neglected sense of self-preservation discouraged her from the suicide mission.

Then the second 'Sveta' spoke and the various pieces of puzzle Quinn had given her during their interactions finally began forming a complete picture. It was a picture that chilled her to the core. So that's how it is. It's so glaringly obvious in retrospect. He is no master of improvisation; his mind is like water, assuming shape of whatever container it happens to be in at the moment. A human chameleon with significantly more advanced technique. The magnitude of this revelation blew her mind. If he wanted to, he could chain her up in some dungeon, steal her entire life and nobody would even notice. Not her strict father, not her beloved aunt, not her best friend. The theft of her abilities didn't upset her so much as that was an equivalent of turning on a game, deciding you couldn't be bothered with normal progression and setting your skills absurdly high via command console; one could even say it was slightly pathetic. Sveta took great pride in her relatively wide arsenal of talents, yet only because she had worked hard to develop them, to stretch them to their limits and perhaps a little further. He may have been able to paint like Leonardo da Vinci, but how could he derive any joy from someone else's accomplishment? No, the only thing that disturbed her about this was his claim that he could easily replace her, mainly because she couldn't find any way to logically disprove it. Hell, even Svetlana herself couldn't tell there was any difference between her and this weird doppelganger! Wait, that's... not entirely true.

"You're wrong," Svetlana exclaimed after a moment of deliberation, her voice tainted with fear but not lacking in resolve. Once again, her common sense was urging her to shut up, but she simply couldn't; it felt as if the words would suffocate her if they had no way of getting out. "Yes, you do have access to every skill imaginable. I'm not gonna argue with that. Yes, you most certainly can copy my appearance and my memory with frighteningly accurate results; that is also apparent. The problem is you can never be me. The Sveta you have here," Svetlana tapped on her forehead with her finger, "is just like a photograph. A very good photograph, granted, but it's still just a memory. And you know what? Memories are static. Even in this very moment, new ideas are flowing into my head; I'm changing, just like every living organism, and you can not predict course of that change because I'm not a computer program with a pre-determined algorithm. That's why you can never be me. You can never be anyone aside from yourself."
 
Congratulations, Sveta," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've discovered the truth of the universe, and you did it in just one sentence. You are you." Once more, Quebec receded from the surface. There was no need to influence the direction of this conversation, to watch what 'Sveta' was saying. After all, this was an argument, and there was no one better in the world to play off of Sveta's every doubt than herself. It didn't really matter to Quebec how this conversation came to conclude. This was just another game, another attempt to keep Sveta firmly under control and influence. She would not change her belief, and she would continue to fight against the belief that she was ultimately nothing but a collection of cells and neural impulses that formed into an identity it considered self. She would fight to believe that there was something more to the human being. And Quebec would let her. But that didn't mean there wasn't a reason to try and crush her a bit first.

"It's almost admirable how hard you are trying to convince yourself that is really all you believe, when we both know that there are two sides to everything. At the moment we are identical, down to the last nucleotide in our DNA. Maybe once that wouldn't have mattered, but science has already placed the doubt in every mind but the most zealous religionist. It has certainly touched us." 'Sveta's' voice had softened, becoming logical and almost irresistible. Sveta could interrupt, could continue to protest her individual identity, but 'Sveta' would simply continue to talk in that same soft, collected voice that she always used when reasoning with those who wouldn't listen, and she would have no choice but to hear every word.

"Experience is no longer everything. Of course, it can have an impact. You could go chop off your hand right now, and my hand wouldn't suddenly turn into a bloody stump. But then who would be the 'real' Sveta? The one trying desperately to prove a self-identity that she's never had any reason to prove before, or the one who continues to be the Sveta that has always been? I am viewing the world the same way that 'I' have always been viewing it. It is colored by the same memories, traumas, loves, dreams, and basic psychological beliefs that have influenced every choice you've made in your whole life. Do you suddenly believe that those things are going to stop, just because I'm now sitting on the other side of the table?

"Yes, Sveta. You are you. Congratulations. But why on earth does that mean that I can't be 'me' as well?" Sveta's hand closed around the fork in the table, and she gently wiggled it out of the wood, running a thumb over the four holes they left in the table. "You should eat. The loin is getting cold."
 
Back in her school days, Svetlana had been one of the few kids who actually enjoyed class debates. Her friends had joked it was because she needed her daily portion of verbal bullying to survive, but that wasn't the whole truth; finding holes in their arguments and convincing them of her own truth could be very satisfying. It was a compelling mental exercise unless, of course, you were effectively arguing with yourself. Sveta opened her mouth to protest against his view of the world, but no suitable comeback occurred to her on such short notice, mainly because her opinions had always been on the more cynical side of spectrum and what he said made sense. In fact, it made more sense than she liked to admit, even to herself.

Sure, Svetlana could always generate some lackluster speech about how science didn't hold answers to everything and likely never would, but that explanation would ring hollow to anyone who activated their brain from time to time. While it certainly was true to some extent, science approached to its goal by leaps and bounds; not so long ago, people had believed the lightning to be a punishment from enraged gods and now they commanded electricity. Was it so unreasonable to assume that someday, the secret behind complicated human psyche would be unlocked? That it would turn out humans truly were like robots, programmed by the nature to follow specific patterns without ever deviating from the schema? If they separated now and Quinn kept her form for some reason, would their decisions end up mirroring each other? Did free will actually mean anything or was it just an empty term from philosophy books? Well, this topic escalated quickly. I shouldn't take it so seriously, especially since he's probably just trying to unsettle me and he knows exactly how to achieve that considering the fact he has free access to my mind. Besides, he's still wrong. Maybe she was clinging to this conclusion because the whole concept of losing her identity terrified her, but Svetlana felt she deserved some sort of comfort. Since Quinn obviously wouldn't provide it, she might as well look for solace inside of her own head.

"I don't think I'm quite desperate enough to mutilate myself solely to prove my point," she finally said, old stubbornness returning back into her eyes. "You're free to make use of my memories to imitate my manners as I can't really sue you for copyright infringement, but ultimately, you are still just copying me. That's not the same as being your own person and definitely not the same as being me." Realizing that nothing fruitful would arise from this discussion, Svetlana decided to follow Quinn's recommendation and paid attention to her food. Every single bite felt like private celebration for her taste buds, yet she couldn't really savor it due to previous unpleasant discoveries. Obtrusive thoughts were lingering on the edge of her mind, trying to force themselves in, and Sveta didn't really want to deal with them right now. With levels of adrenaline in her blood decreasing steadily, she could feel fatigue taking over her; after all, this day had been fairly exhausting with all those kidnappings, changes in her perception of reality and continuous fear for her life. "I think I'm going to rest in my room for now if you don't mind," Sveta exclaimed after finishing her dinner, feeling slightly depressed at how naturally the words 'my room' left her lips. She should have followed her usual policy of calling a spade a spade; it was basically a prison cell, not her damned room. Quinn didn't have any objections, so she left for her bedroom and lay down on the bed. Soon enough, her eyes fluttered closed and sleep came for her, taking her away from her worries for now.

No nightmares plagued her slumber and when she woke up, Svetlana was full of new energy and in relatively good mood; her mood would have been even better if the police had raided this house to liberate her in the meantime, but that obviously hadn't happened. Well, can't have everything, I guess. The sun rays forcing their way through sun-blinds told her that she had slept through entire night. That was slightly surprising. Sleeping in foreign locations had never bothered her - her job would have turned into an insomniac zombie a long time ago if such small concerns threw her off balance - yet it still felt a little weird not even being kidnapped could mess with her internal clock. Yawning quietly, Svetlana attempted to exit the room only to find out it was locked. Of course. Did I seriously expect anything else? A more patient person might have waited for an explicit permission to leave their prison, but to her defense, she had never pretended forbearance belonged among her virtues. Sveta knocked on the door, determined to continue until she got a proper response. "Ummm... Could you let me out? I'd like to use the bathroom."
 
They finished the meal in silence, which was perfectly alright with Quebec. Already she was starting to weary of having to deal with Sveta, but she was also no closer to discovering anything about her apparently unique ability to see through Quebec's various forms. The layers of finely sliced pork slowly got cut up and eaten, the potatoes and the broccoli quickly following in suit. She had not finished her plate by the time Sveta left the room, but briefly she abandoned her plate to follow along quietly behind Sveta. As soon as she was in her room, 'Sveta' locked the door behind her. That would be sufficient for now. Later she would make sure that Sveta was truly trapped in her room for the night. Quebec did not want to have to deal with any unpleasant interruptions in the middle of the night.

Once Sveta was locked away Quebec returned to the neutral Polish male form. There was no reason to remain in Sveta's form once she was not present. He then returned to the kitchen, and ate the remainder of his meal, as well as the leftovers on the potatoes and broccoli. It was a meal that would normally be sufficient for multiple men, but Quebec worked his way through it easily and methodically. Once the meal was finished he picked up his own and Sveta's plate, grabbed the remainder of the dishes, and hand washed them in almost scalding hot water. A slightly moldy rag was extracted from a drawer, briefly washed, and then used to wipe down every surface in the room. By the time he was done, other than a collection of scraps in the trash can, there was no sign that Quebec had cooked a meal.

Despite Sveta's weariness, it was not truly all that late in the evening. The sun had set, but only just. He had no objection to this, it would be an ideal stretch of time for him to thoroughly go over the house and make sure everything was in place. Normally a large part of this inspection would go into the bedroom, and make sure that he was secure but not entrapped. Sveta's presence complicated things, which was perhaps only to be expected, but he would have to make the necessary adjustments.

Over the course of the evening Quebec went over every inch of the house. He was in part making sure that the house now looked occupied and well cared for, and was in part checking the various caches hidden in case of a wide variety of emergencies. Quebec never left a place unprepared, even if he hadn't visited it in seven years.

It was late in the night when he finished his final inspection, but he was now satisfied that the place was perfect. Everything was in place, easily accessible but hard to spot, and the easy exits were well-prepared for any escape attempt Sveta might try and make. Upon remembering that Sveta was sleeping in the one bedroom he let out a small sigh, before glancing around the living room. Eventually he grabbed onto an armrest of the couch, and dragged it over to block the door to Sveta's room. He would sleep there for the night, and would be easily able to tell if his young captive tried to do anything untoward.

But the remainder of the night passed silently, and Quebec woke shortly before dawn, just as the first rays of light were starting to color the sky. He dragged the couch back into position before double checking that Sveta's door was locked and heading outside. In the backyard was an old but functional shed, locked with a partially rusted padlock. He pulled the key out from an unobtrusive crack in the wood and opened up the door, before bringing a small, old box TV into the house. It took him nearly an hour to get the thing working again, but by the time Sveta woke he was almost finished. He would turn it on once he started cooking breakfast, and spend a good portion of the morning listening to the news. Quebec had lines of informants in place, designed to get him information from all over the world, but the most reliable way to find anything out would always be to hear it himself.

When he heard Sveta's knocking Quebec paused briefly, before turning away from the TV. On his way over to her room his face changed once more, returning to the bold but handsome features of Quinn, Sveta's boyfriend. They had more practice today, after all.

"Good morning," Quinn told her, a bright smile playing over his face as he unlocked and opened the door. "I hope you slept well. Breakfast will be ready in about an hour, maybe less; join me in the kitchen when you are ready."

He let the door swing fully open, before returning to the kitchen. It only took him another five minutes to get the TV up and running, and he promptly switched it on. It was doubtful that there would be anything of value, but a portion of his attention would be devoted to everything that was said as long as the news was running.

Breakfast that morning was bacon, spinach, and Swiss cheese quiche, cooked to a golden brown. The crust was thin and flaky, the filling rich and savory. As with last night, long before he was done cooking, the smells of Quebec's meal filled the house.
 
Quinn's smiling face was a welcome sight, and for multiple reasons. Svetlana didn't suffer from such high degree of narcissism that could enable her to admire her replica and she had been secretly dreading spending another day in her strange presence, so abandonment of her form definitely counted as a plus in her book. What was even better, the recently acquired insight into how his powers worked helped her to understand she wouldn't have to walk on eggshells around him just to avoid sending him into violent rage with a completely innocent remark; after all, this guy was her beloved boyfriend, not the maniac who had kidnapped her. Of course, there were absolutely zero doubts in her mind the latter would hesitate to strike if she decided to try something funny, but bringing out her inner hero wasn't on her schedule today anyway. At least not unless he committed a blunder of epochal dimensions, which seemed less and less likely with every new thing she learned about him.

"Morning," Sveta returned his smile, pouring every ounce of sincerity she could gather into her expression. It was blatantly obvious he hadn't transformed into Quinn to make her feel more comfortable. No, this was another training session, and she intended to practice until they would look like one of those disgustingly happy couples from pregnancy test commercials. "And yeah, slept like a log. I can't complain, though it would have been even better if you kept me company." Well, shoot. That was a work of pure genius. I just hope it didn't give him any ideas, Sveta thought as she cursed her syndrome of always trying too much. It had been useful in college since it had gotten her through the tons of required reading - number one reason why so many of her classmates had failed the course - but it certainly wasn't doing her any favors here. Not when cost for a single mistake could be her life. "Sounds good. Where is the bathroom, anyway? I'm fairly sure my very existence is beginning to violate some hygienic norms," she chuckled quietly, not even a shadow of anxiety reflecting in her features. After receiving the instructions, Sveta left Quinn to his own devices for now and went to enjoy a long, thorough shower.

The drops of freezing water felt like millions of tiny needles against her sensitive skin, but it was a pleasant kind of pain. Intimate experience with a lot of different cultures had re-shaped her habits in many ways - more than her conservative father would have liked - yet the custom of bathing exclusively in cold water stuck with her. She wouldn't trade that almost cathartic feeling after her body got adjusted to the temperature for anything, much less for the hellish flames other people seemed to prefer. As far as she was concerned, boiling alive should be reserved for lobsters, not upstanding citizens yearning after some form of relaxation. That's what massages are for, geez. Not wanting to evoke an impression she had chosen death over captivity and resolved to drown herself, Sveta washed her hair quickly and stepped out of the shower. Putting on the old clothes seemed a little counterproductive, so she opted for a blue bathrobe that was hanging on a peg along with some towels. When Svetlana finally made her way to the kitchen to eat her breakfast, there was a fragrance of a strawberry shower gel surrounding her. "Nothing like a cold shower in the morning. Do you have something I could wear or should I just wash my old clothes?" She didn't even bother to comment the sudden appearance of the television; he could probably rebuild the whole house overnight and she wouldn't bat her eye at this point. Besides, having that small connection to the outside world, no matter how insignificant, felt nice. It could also give them something to talk about.

Interrogating him hadn't been hard, but simulating a natural conversation would add another layer of difficulty to their interactions. Yesterday's questions had revealed a lot about Quinn as a person, yet it had also taken the wind out of her sails. The entire process of figuring him out had been too quick, too alienated from her experience with people in general that Sveta felt she knew him like one could know an engaging book, not a fellow human being. True bonds formed over time and he had thrown so much information at her in such rapid succession it confused her a little now that she had had some time to digest it. Just what am I supposed to say now? Ugh, this is getting slightly awkward, Sveta thought as she cut her quiche and put the first piece in her mouth. Fortunately, the broadcast was very stimulating when it came to stirring a discussion; she usually ignored the news for the most part, mainly because grim predictions of collapsing economy and political scandals blown out of proportions bored her to tears, but today's reportages caught her attention. The fork remained hanging in the air halfway to her lips, her chestnut eyes were practically glued on the screen. Mysterious mass murders committed in their general vicinity usually had that effect on people, especially if they were sitting in the same room with the murderer.

Svetlana didn't doubt for a second her dear 'boyfriend' was involved. One didn't have to be a detective genius to put one and one together. Poland wasn't known for being a favorite touristic resort and Quinn didn't look like the type to enjoy sightseeing anyway; work must have brought him here. Suppressing a shudder, Sveta looked up to him, her expression suddenly serious. "Well, so much for a pleasant morning. That's horrible. Why do you think people do this to each other?" The true question was, of course, 'why do you do this,' but she couldn't exactly ask him something like that without risking yet another slap.
 
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"Yeah, there are clothes," Quinn agreed. "I bought us both some when I went out for food, it's in a bag in the closet next to the bathroom. There's also some other clothes hanging in there. They are probably a little bit dusty and out of fashion since they've been in storage for seven years, but if you find anything in there that would fit you and you like, feel free to take it. The clothes in the bag are pretty boring." Part of the necessity of being Quebec was making sure that there was always a wardrobe available, no matter what person was present at the house. The closet was full of an impossibly wide variety of clothes, and while some would be highly inappropriate for the situation there would also be some that would fit Sveta. "We can go shopping before we visit your aunt as well, if you like."

Before Sveta had arrived, Quebec had been scrolling through the various channels available to the TV, and all of them had been discussing the exact same thing. Of course, it shouldn't have surprised him. Quebec hadn't tried to be stealthy during the execution. After all, news was one of the best way to report back to an employer that the job had been completed. Judging by the mess at the various scenes of crime, it would not be unreasonable to conclude that some sort of mass execution had taken place, most likely organized by some particularly nasty and influential gang. The police would come out in strength all over the country, looking for any sort of evidence related to the crime. Within five hours the news would be all over the country. By the end of the day, it would be international.

Of course, the downside to such a method of news distribution was that it quickly became impossible to get information on anything else. By the end of the day, all of his various connections would also have reported this to him, choosing to forgo potentially less significant news in the light of this mass execution. None of them would know that Quebec was behind it, and so they would have no reason to filter it out of their reports. But things, at least for Quebec, would be back to normal by tomorrow. If anything else truly significant happened, it would get reported to him as well, and he could go a day without hearing about the petty squabbles of the various crime lords scattered across the world.

To Quinn, however, none of this particularly poignant and relevant information was available. He was left with no option but to take Sveta's question at face value. Almost.

"I don't know," he said with a sigh, flipping to a couple of new stations, where the same message was being repeated over and over again, albeit in various wordings. "Someone must have done something, or tried to do something, really stupid to get that harsh of a retaliation. I'm glad we aren't living in a city for the next couple of days. It is going to be pandemonium."

Having scrolled through all of the available channels, and gotten nothing but the same report and a couple of kids television shows, he pressed the power button, and the TV shut off. Moments later he had his own plate in hand, and was sitting down at the table. "Sorry for ruining your breakfast," he said with a small smile. "and I'm glad you had a good shower. I'm afraid today is probably going to be rather boring, since we don't have anywhere to go. I guess we'll just have to entertain ourselves."
 
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Sveta didn't know what she had expected from asking him this question. Had she contracted a serious case of naivety and thought he would give her a long-winded monologue explaining his motives like b-grade villains from Saturday morning cartoons before they inevitably got their asses kicked? Certainly not. Deterioration of her cognitive abilities couldn't have progressed so fast. The question could probably be excused with her merely trying to participate in a small talk - there weren't many people who would merrily continue stuffing their face without a single comment concerning the horrific event - yet that didn't explain certain disappointment lurking in the depths of her mind. She shook hear head almost imperceptibly; now wasn't the right time for sorting out her scattered thoughts and ponder over the meaning of life. She had a role to play and being intimately familiar with her character in this farce called 'Happy Life of Svetlana and Quinn,' she knew that pressing the issue would go against her usual mindset. After all, Sveta wasn't emotionally invested in the poor victims; she definitely could pity the lost lives to some extent, but in the end, they were just anonymous faces in the crowd. Crying over every single death on the TV was the fastest way to a mental asylum.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I really doubt this is a work of some random psychopath who suddenly decided Earth was suffering from overpopulation and humanity could use some reduction. I'm not trying to feign my expertise on murders, but this seems more like... a spectacle than anything else. I mean, the killer certainly wasn't trying to cover up his mess, now was he? Either he wanted to be seen, or he had a very unorthodox definition of the word 'subtlety'," Sveta forced out a small smile and took another bite. "And don't apologize for events beyond your control, silly. I can hardly blame you for the heinous crime of turning on a television." Her brother had always jokingly blamed her of being a bottomless pit when it came to food and his accusations weren't entirely unfounded; Sveta was cleaning her plate in speed almost bizarre for someone of her stature and it apparently cost her practically zero effort to keep conversing simultaneously without looking like an uncultured pig. Years of living in a constant time crisis had taught her to utilize every minute to maximum, and times reserved for meals were no exception. "Nonsense," Svetlana reacted to Quinn's last statement, "only boring people allow themselves to be bored and I categorically refuse to belong to that group. Well, I am going to choose my outfit for today," Sveta said as she stood up. "I'll be back in few minutes!"

Quinn hadn't been lying in his not-so-flattering description of the clothes; their manufacturer had obviously placed emphasis on comfort rather than on adherence to the cruel dictate of fashion. Some women wouldn't touch them with ten feet long pole, but Svetlana actually enjoyed dressing somewhat sloppily while not at work. She had to look representative in front of her clients, which meant having to suffer in stupidly expensive pantsuits that seemed to be designed solely as luxurious versions of straitjackets. Wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt from time to time felt nearly liberating, so she put it on along with generic blue trousers without complaining. Alright, time to return to the love of my life. Wonderful. Sveta had no plan in works and literally no idea how to spend the rest of the day without it being awkward as hell, but she believed in her ability to improvise.

Svetlana went back to the kitchen, still limping slightly, and smiled at Quinn. A skillful observer would notice certain tension in her features, but her discomfort would stay a closely guarded secret to a vast majority of people. "Let me wash the dishes this time, Quinn. I know I should be happy you're spoiling me like that, but the fact you do everything around here actually makes me feel a little guilty." The sad thing is it's not even that much of a lie. Damn you, dad. Do you see what your upbringing has done to me? You made me want to contribute to the household of someone who wouldn't hesitate to slit my throat if he came to the conclusion I've outlived my purpose. Collecting the plates from the table, Sveta moved to the sink and submerged the dirty dishes into hot water. Then an inspiration suddenly flashed through her mind. "And while we're talking about me being more useful, I think I've got an idea how to kill a good chunk of our time. Granted, it could also land me into hospital with my famed affinity for accidents, but that's beside the point. Anyways, I've never really learned to cook aside from very basic meals like spaghetti, but I guess I'm old enough to stop fooling around and become a proper housewife. Would you take me under your wing and teach me how to handle kitchen?"
 
By the time Quinn actually managed to sit down at the table, Sveta had somehow succeeded in already clearing her plate. He was about to offer her seconds when she was up from the table and off again, going to raid the wardrobe. He smiled at her retreating back, shaking his head slightly at her rapid-fire antics. As soon as she rounded the corner Quinn turned to his own slice of quiche, cutting off a piece with his fork and eating it slowly. Unlike Sveta, he was in no particular hurry to eat, and while he could undoubtedly have worked through the dish equally as quickly as his companion there was no need at the moment. He willingly savored every bite, and while Quinn was able to purely enjoy the food, the Cook analyzed every mouthful, correcting and editing it for the next time he made the dish.

Quinn was scraping the last fragments of egg off his plate when Sveta returned to the kitchen. He quickly placed the fork in his mouth, and smiled at Sveta around the handle. Moments later, once he had sucked every last scrap of flavor from his fork, he handed over the plate, and then put the fork on top. "Thanks," he replied. "There's dish soap underneath the sink, and the drain plug should be in the basin." For a moment they sat in silence to the sound of running water and the clink of plates as they hit the metal bottom of the kitchen sink. But Sveta quickly broke the silence with her next question.

Quinn stood, walking up behind her, and placed a hand lightly on her hip. "Gladly," he replied, his voice a warm whisper next to her ear. Playfully, he reached around her, and dumped a bit more soap into the hot water. "The dishes are a wonderful place to start." He laughed slightly, warm and comfortable, before stepping away from her and over to the various bowls, whisks, and the tray he had used to make the quiche. He picked them up, bringing them over to the sink and stacking them up for Sveta to start on.

More serious now, he continued. "I'll teach you, although there isn't that much to it. Cooking isn't really that hard, especially in basic preparation. Anyone can learn enough to make a good meal." He dipped a rag into the hot water, before starting a wipe down of the kitchen. "You can help with both lunch and dinner, although I doubt we really want to start now."
 
The unexpected intrusion in her personal space didn't make her all too happy; she got touchy-feely in her interactions with other people on frequent basis, but it just felt weird when someone unfamiliar initiated contact without her permission. Still, Sveta concluded her boyfriend kinda owned the relevant authorization by default and shoving him away as if he was a creepy old man who got too daring in public transport wouldn't be an appropriate reaction, so she suppressed her instincts and even leaned against him slightly. "The dishes are a good start? Does that mean that cooking is similar to being knighted in the sense that you have to spend years in humiliating service to your master before you get to the good stuff? Neat. When I was a little girl - long before this cruel world crushed my ambitions - I wanted to be a knight, so I appreciate this association no matter how loose it is," Svetlana giggled quietly and started scrubbing the plates diligently. A certain impatience reflected in practically everything she did, and not even something as simple as washing the dishes was an exception; her mind entered the 'work' mode, which meant she pursued her goal with almost robot-like devotion.

Quinn's comment about anyone being able to learn to cook brought a smile to her lips. "You're saying that only because you haven't had the honor of meeting Natasha. She was one of my roommates - a nice girl, bless her heart - but we all learned to retreat very fast whenever she turned on the oven out of fear of food poisoning. Trust me, becoming a test subject of her creations is a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I don't really know what she does for living now, but if the army didn't recruit her in order to utilize her food as a cheap weapon of mass destruction, her potential was thoroughly wasted. Seriously, the only thing she could cook properly was the bread treat. Do you know the recipe? You just put one thin slice of bread between two thick slices of bread," Sveta laughed at the memory of a meal that had sustained her during her student years.

"And yeah, we should probably start with the lecture later so I actually have some time to prepare myself psychically for the inevitable failure," she said and put one of the pans into a draining board. "That doesn't really solve our problem with not having anything to do, though." Her voice changed from sarcastic to slightly thoughtful; if her friends were present, they'd probably start backing away slowly at this point for this kind of tone usually heralded arrival of something very random and in nine cases out of ten, it also wasn't anything particularly pleasant. Just for the record, sentences like 'Let's found our very own sect' or 'I wonder how much it hurts being attacked by a pepper spray' had been spoken in a distressingly analogous way. "So... Wanna get in touch with your inner kid, build a blanket fort and tell each other scary stories?" she asked, her expression dead serious. What? A little bit of childishness had never killed anyone and Svetlana believed she deserved some release after all that recent stress. If we're stuck here together, we may as well do something amusing.
 
Quinn laughed, wiping up the last section of counter and dropping the rag back into the sink. "Fine," he replied, voice stained with a smile. "I amend my statement. Anyone who pays attention and can follow a recipe can cook." In that moment, without Quebec hovering near the surface, watching, waiting, and assessing, Quinn was truly and desperately in love with Sveta. And he actually knew what that meant. For one brief moment, Quinn, the real Quinn rather than the "Quinn" created as Sveta's boyfriend, was truly happy to be someone.

But, as was the nature of all of Quinn's rare moments, the moment was quickly shattered by Quebec. He could pretend to be someone all he wanted, but that was all it would ever be. Pretend. Being able to fill the role was for the best, but there was no truth in this sensation of enjoyment, of being someone and having someone know him. All personality was just a role, a facade, and while that facade could bring enjoyment, coming to believe it actually meant something would be the quickest route to disaster.

And, just like that, Sveta's boyfriend was back in place, unmarred by some strange stain from any other partial personalities residual within Quebec. None of this strange internal conflict was present on his face as the man devoted himself to her every word. But Quebec watched Sveta with a critical eye. He did not like this woman, or the strange disturbances she brought. He would need to finish this up soon, and get rid of her.

"I don't think we have enough blankets in the house for that," Quinn replied with a laugh. "Or furniture for that matter. Although I suppose we could use the mattress as a substitute for a wall..." He laughed again, scooping up a small pile of soap suds from the kitchen sink. "But it would be a very" reaching out quickly, he dabbed some of the suds onto Sveta's nose, "pathetic fort."
 
Sveta pursed her lips disapprovingly, creating a stern expression of a kindergarden teacher explaining to her students that yellow snow shouldn't be eaten, but there were mischievous sparks dancing in her chestnut eyes. "Hey, I take offense to that one," she exclaimed and wiped her nose with one swift motion. "I used to build magnificent forts solely from chairs and blankets - I swear they were true wonders of architecture - and now you have the nerve to imply all low budget buildings suck? Ah, you poor, poor child of materialism; your values are all over the place." The flow of their silly conversation had carried her away from her fears, if only momentarily, and it showed; a real smile brightened her face and comparing it with the fake ones she had conjured up in the past just because situation demanded it would be like insisting that green fruits tasted exactly the same as the ripe ones. The nature of her position in relation to him still remained burned in her mind - only a patient with Alzheimer's could possibly forget it with the psychological warfare he constantly conducted against her - but she had reached a certain form of very fragile composure around Quinn.

It made no sense to stress herself out to the point of exhaustion. As long as she behaved according to the unspoken rules, he wouldn't punish her. Svetlana could probably write an essay on his personality flaws and it would likely be several pages long, but 'stupidity' wouldn't be present on the list. Her kidnapper understood that unnecessary cruelty would only bring out her rebellious side, so he kept actual violence to minimum unless she provoked him somehow. Avoiding insulting him accidentally sounded very simple in theory, but the fact that he tended to flip out at every other innocent comment that left her lips almost made her want to tape her own mouth for her safety. Quinn, her boyfriend, was thankfully much less neurotic; overstepping his boundaries of tolerance would likely take some drastic action such as repeating that stunt with an axe, so she could relax with him around.

"You're just lucky it's you because I would have taken it as an official declaration of war from anyone else," Sveta smiled and slapped him across chest with the rag playfully. "Anyway, yes, I approve of your idea with the mattress. It seems like a fine architectonic move. I'll go fetch mine." She threw in a small wink before hurrying back to the bedroom and extricating the mattress from her bed's embrace; when Sveta returned to the living room, she threw it on the floor unceremoniously. "Now that I look around, though, we really don't have much to work with in terms of building material." Svetlana, however, wasn't the one to give up once she set her mind on something and it didn't matter whether it was her education or affair as pointless as constructing a fort, so her gaze landed on the couch soon. "Hmmm... Quinn, do you think we could possibly disassemble the couch?"
 
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