The Faint of Heart (Peregrine x Aine)

Quinn walked to the door of the kitchen, but no further, watching as Sveta vanished around the corner back to her bedroom. Was this impulsiveness going to be a common trait with her? She finally managed to wrestle the queen sized mattress out from the room, around the rather sharp corner that connected it back to the living room, and out into the open. When she dropped it the mattress propped up against the couch, not quite able to fully lay out straight in the rather tight quarters between the couch and the wall.

“Plunder the couch all you want,” Quinn replied with a laugh. “Doesn’t change the fact that the only blanket in the house is the one on your bed. It is going to be a rather tight fit under there for both of us.” He finally forwent his position of leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, and wandered further into the living room. “Unless,” he winked at her playfully, “You are looking to get a little bit snuggly.”

Quinn meant what he said in all honesty, and the smile that followed was both honest and a little bit mischievous. It was the kind of expression that had gotten many girls dropping clothes at his feet before. Quebec, however, understood exactly what kind of pressure both the words and the look were going to put on Sveta. He knew it long enough in advance that he could have interceded if he wanted to, direct the conversation to a more comfortable topic. He chose not to.

Despite what Sveta may speculate, Quebec did not get off on seeing her in an uncomfortable or painful situation. He had no more desire to harm her than he did to make her happy. Every action he took was out of nothing but a belief in its necessity. The whole purpose of having ‘Quinn’ out right now was to firmly establish their relationship before they met anyone else. He would not learn anything about her ability-that-was-not-an-ability to recognize him if he was forced to kill both her and any member of her family that may be present. Far better for her to make a mistake now when there was no one else to see it, than later when it actually mattered.
 
If Sveta held something, she would have likely dropped it at that moment in a dramatic fashion; luckily, her hands were empty, so the slightly startled expression of a deer caught in the headlights was the only manifestation of her discomfort. No, she didn't want to get 'snuggly' with him. In fact, there were only very few desires that rivaled her wish to stay away from the man who had kidnapped her in their intensity, most of them being something along the lines of 'I really, really don't want to be burned alive.' Well, damn. Now what? How do I manage to step in the biggest heap of crap in ten miles radius with embarrassing regularity? His behavior shouldn't have unsettled her - something like that was to be expected when taking into account their roles - but Sveta had to employ every ounce of her self-control in order to suppress shaking. I guess I can't retort that we're not going to shoot porn in front of my aunt so getting accustomed to this kind of closeness is unnecessary, right? That excuse, however, sounded hollow even to her own ears, so she didn't dare to state it aloud. Sharing a mental bond with your sweetheart was practically mandatory unless you participated in a summer fling, but romantic relationships simply didn't work without physical components; having a nice dose of chemistry with your significant other was what made the link unique, what separated lovers from friends.

Humans tended to notice these seemingly small details on almost subconsciously and while her aunt could be so out of touch with reality sometimes it would have earned her a death sentence for practicing witchcraft had she been born in a different era, her observational skills were top-notch. If there was something suspicious going on between her beloved niece and the guy she introduced as her boyfriend, Irina likely wouldn't hold her tongue. Compliant silence just didn't run in their family, especially if it concerned someone close to your heart. Svetlana had been attempting to push this particular thought to the darkest corner of her mind and that mission could be ticked off as 'successful' for the most part, but on some level, she knew that her chances of making it out alive were slim to none. Quinn would continue examining her thought process until her talent of recognizing him ceased to be a mystery, and then he would reward her cooperation by arranging a nice funeral for her. Fates of her relatives weren't set in stone, though. The least she could do for them was to try her hardest in order not to drag them down with her.

"Heh, well, so much for my efforts to feign innocence. You just relish in bringing my ulterior motives to light for everyone to see, don't you, mister Holmes?"
Sveta laughed quietly, hoping she looked shy and flustered rather than utterly mortified. Man up! Sure, you're about to cuddle with a mass murderer, but on the bright side, he's probably not interested in raping you. He could have done that ages ago if he really wanted to and you'd be powerless to stop him... Wow, that didn't come out nearly as comforting as it should. Thanks, brain. No, really, I'm totally fine. Svetlana began working on the couch as she had previously suggested, trying to pry off all the parts that could potentially be used for construction of that damned fort. "Could you be a gentleman and lend me a hand here, Quinn? You wouldn't want your lady to build it all by herself, right?"
 
Once more, just like when Sveta's distaste for him had shown up yesterday in their brief conversation, Quinn remained oblivious to Sveta's hatred and panic. The man wasn't unaware, Quebec simply didn't want him asking Sveta what was wrong. He was very willing to push her, but he also knew that there were boundaries to how far he could safely push before things started to break. He wanted her controllable, not so damaged that she became invaluable. Therefore, Quinn only stood there a moment longer, smiling at his girlfriend, before he joined her in the efforts to pillage the couch. There wasn't really much to obtain, only three cushions and two small pillows that sat against the arms. But he tossed them over to the other side of the couch, where they landed softly on top of the mattress.

The construction turned out to be much simpler than Quinn had expected. On one side they had the couch, on the other the mattress. When they threw the quilt that was on the bed over that, it immediately turned into a tunnel. One quick bit of rearranging later, and they sealed off one end of the tunnel by backing the couch and the mattress up against the wall, so that they could only get in from one side. The remaining cushions went to creating an entrance on the open end of the tunnel. That part in particular was messy, but ultimately very enjoyable, as a nudge in the wrong direction would send things toppling over, leaving the two to start all over again. It would have been frustrating if, at least to Quinn, it hadn't been so fun. He laughed heavily every time they had to start over, once even toppling the entire fort on purpose. But, eventually, they got the thing set up and stable. Quinn crawled in first.

It was a tight space, and surprisingly dark. Inside it was dim, and tinged a morose shade of brown as the light filtered down through the comforter. There was barely even enough room for the two adults to stretch out side by side, and Quinn had to keep his long legs pulled tight to his chest out of fear of tipping everything over again. When Sveta finally came in after him he smiled, beckoning her closer with a friendly wave of the arm and a pat of the carpeted floor. His back was to the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable despite the wood beam that created its frame.

"I really wish we had more pillows." He told her. "This would be a great nest, if only it was a little more comfortable." He shrugged, scooting closer to the back wall to allow Sveta to get further in. "I believe scary stories were the next order of business?"
 
And so they began working on the fort diligently. Well, to be honest, their efforts looked more like battling the laws of physics from time to time, and the force of nature didn't hesitate to kick their asses by demonstrating how powerful domino effect could be. Sveta wasn't a whiner raging every time something didn't go her way and she would have gladly joined Quinn in his merriment if the previous incident hadn't disrupted her confidence, but her current mood wasn't really compatible with laughing. To be perfectly honest, the only activity it could correspond with was curling up and falling asleep to escape this nightmare, yet not even Sveta with her slightly outlandish thought patterns considered this a wise idea. It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay, she repeated her mantra silently, but the words offered her little comfort as the constant repetition stripped them of their meaning really fast. Fine, it probably WON'T be okay, but panicking will accomplish exactly nothing aside from depriving me of common sense and that is a luxury I can't really afford, Sveta reprimanded herself mentally. So, back to pretending everything is fine. I'm young, in love and nothing can possibly ruin my day.

Quinn chose this moment to destroy their half-finished work on purpose, and it finally inspired her to laugh along with him. "You saboteur," she threatened him jokingly, "there was a special place for persons like you in gulags." Yes, Svetlana's politically incorrect remarks were one of the primary reasons she visited her homeland so sporadically; while Russia's political situation had loosened considerably compared with the prior oppressive regime, people still didn't take it kindly when somebody poked fun at its past. Authorities in particular often displayed having absolutely zero sense of humor in such matters and since they often vented their anger through letting the cheeky bastards think about their misdeeds in the privacy of a jail for a few days, Sveta preferred to stay away for preventive reasons.

Even though building the fort took way longer than it should have, Svetlana still didn't feel one hundred percent prepared to share such a cramped space with Quinn. Her heart jumped to her throat, making it difficult to breathe, and for a second, she seriously contemplated forsaking all the consequences and barricading herself in her bedroom. The thought tempted her, even though he'd make her regret that decision instantly. On the other hand, Sveta also wasn't the kind of person to allow her fears to consume her. One of her earliest traumatic memories depicted her brother scaring her to tears with assistance of some overgrown spiders; she had reported it to her father and while he had promptly spanked him for torturing his younger sibling, he had also scolded Sveta for being overly sensitive. The accusation had gotten deep under her skin, and so she had started her own collection of spiders to get rid of the irrational phobia. From that day onwards, destroying fears through willing exposure had become her modus operandi. Why should this situation be any different? I don't know, maybe because unlike with spiders, it's perfectly logical to dread him? Ah, fuck it. It's not like I have a choice here or anything. Not wanting to raise questions like 'why are you taking so long,' Svetlana crawled inside.

"Well, it's far from a Buckingham palace, but considering we built it practically from nothing, I'd say we did a pretty good job," Sveta smiled and sat next to him. Their bodies were touching lightly, but it wasn't as awkward as she had imagined it to be, mainly because he had the decency not to try anything untoward. So far so good. I just hope he isn't giving me some time to get adjusted to his presence to move to another stage. "Yes, good old scary stories," she nodded. "The only thing better at keeping me awake than deadly doses of caffeine. Anyway, I guess it's only fair for me to begin since it was originally my idea, so..." Sveta fell silent for a while as she rummaged her memory for something suitable, but the state of thoughtfulness lasted mere seconds; her mind was practically a storage of short horror stories gathered from all around the world. Urban legends always reflected local people's mentality rather faithfully, and it told her way more about them than a guide book ever could. Certain concepts were, of course, rather universal, just like the one she chose for her first story.

"Alright, I think I've got a good one," Sveta started, her voice suddenly calmer and quieter, yet there was a certain ominous undertone to it. "Long before the golden age of technology, there was a happily married pair. Unlike many couples of today, they fully intended on fulfilling the 'until death do us part' bit of their promise, and that devotion didn't fade even with quickly passing years. Unfortunately, the woman got ill and passed away. Her husband was devastated by the loss and refused to accept the reality; once the doctor pronounced her dead, the man protested, claiming his wife was somehow still alive. They had to wrestle him away from her dead body so they could prepare it for a burial. The procedure then went as usual except from the fact that each night, the man had a horrible nightmare of his wife trying to claw her way out of the coffin. He contacted the doctor immediately with request of digging her grave, but he didn't believe him. The man was persistent, though, and so he finally gave up, if only to satisfy his paranoia. Along with the local authorities, the doctor dug the grave and pried the coffin open... Only to discover there were scratches on the insides on the coffin and the woman's nails were bent back."
 
Quinn listened seriously to Sveta's story, his face intent. At the end of it he shuddered slightly, but followed it up with a friendly smile afterwords. "I've heard that one before. Being buried alive is a pretty recurring fear, the world wide. I remember this one city had a really old grave with a bell attached to it. Apparently the person buried in there was supposed to ring it if he was still alive. They left it there as some sort of historical symbol. The wind would occasionally blow hard enough to ring it, and it would freak all the neighborhood kids out. One time they rigged it on Halloween to ring if someone walked near it it would go off. The caretaker said it got some great screams." Quinn laughed again, faintly, before shivering again.

"It's always scarier when the light is funky. I'm never scared of things during the day. I guess it is my turn now? Ummm.... Okay.

"A young boy is sleeping in his bed on a usual night. He hears footsteps outside his door, and peeks out of his eyes to see what is happening. His door swings open quietly to reveal a murderer carrying the corpses of his parents. After silently propping them up on a chair, he writes something on the wall in the blood of the dead bodies. He then hides under the child's bed. The child is scared beyond belief. He can’t read the writing on the wall and he knows the man is under his bed. Like any child, he pretends that he slept through the whole thing and hasn’t awoken yet. He lays as still as the bodies, quietly hearing the breathes from under his bed. An hour passes, and his eyes are adjusting more and more to the darkness. He tries to make out the words, but it’s a struggle. He gasps when he finally makes out the sentence. “I know you’re awake”. He feels something shift underneath his bed."
 
Svetlana's lips stretched into an amused smirk. "That must have been rich. Anyway, fear of getting buried alive isn't a thing of past, at least not entirely. I have no idea if you know about it, but it's a tradition in some countries - and among Polish people especially - to bury their dead with a cellphone so they could call help in case of a wrong diagnosis. It's silly considering how fast the coffin starts to break under the earth's pressure and that there would probably be no signal in the grave, but... Yeah. They still do it, and on some level, it isn't that hard to see why. Being squished like a bug by tons of soil isn't the most pleasant way to go. I think I'm getting claustrophobic just thinking about it," Sveta laughed silently, brought her knees to her chin and hugged them to get into a more comfortable position. In a sense, she was almost glad he had ransacked her mind to steal every single thought that had ever passed through her mind; at least that act removed the necessity of guarding information that could potentially hurt her, so she could speak without weighing every word carefully. Yes, him having a free access to her entire database of memories admittedly wasn't too encouraging, but Svetlana chose to see the bright side of her predicament for now. There would be enough time for moping later.

Just as he had listened to her courteously, Sveta also gave Quinn her full attention, practically hanging on his every word. The revelation at the end sent a chill down her spine, yet she reacted with a mild smile. "Yeah, I've heard that one, too, and from multiple sources. I guess it's to be expected as fear of hopelessness is pretty wide-spread." And for a fucking good reason, as I can attest from a personal experience. "Anyway, let's see if I manage to find a story you don't know yet. Something less mainstream. Hmmm.... How about borrowing it from Japanese folklore?" Sveta thought out loud, her gaze slightly vacant as she searched for a worthy candidate. "Japanese may not look like it, but trust me, they're the true masters of everything bizarre and gross. Okay, how about this one?"

"There was a little girl who lived with her parents in a small apartment. She went out to play one day with her friends, but when her mother came down to call her for the dinner, she was nowhere to be found. The mother asked all the children from the apartment building whether they had seen her, but nobody was able to shed some light on the matter. They searched for her everywhere, but in the end, they had to accept the horrible truth. Their daughter was lost. Police officers were called to the case, but they couldn't find her even though they had the best technology at their disposal. Three months later, some of the tenants started to complain about quality of their drinking water; it smelled strange, and the taste was odd as well. Since the complaints were growing in numbers rapidly, the apartment manager told the janitor to check the storage tanks on the roof. And so the man began removing the lids from the tanks to check their contents. When he got to the last one, the stench almost made him want to vomit and the water was too murky to see anything, but he still recognized shape of something floating inside. It was a decomposing body of that little girl who must have fallen there when the lid was temporarily removed."
 
Quinn shuddered, before gagging slightly. “Ugh,” was all he finally managed to say. He opened his mouth a couple of times, trying to respond, before finally being forced to just shake his head. “I’ve never heard that one. And I probably could have done without hearing it. Now, whenever the water starts tasting funny...” He shuddered again. “Ugh.”

Eventually managing to shake the unpleasant mental images from his head and stomach, Quinn turned back to Sveta. “I guess this makes it my turn again. It sounds like you have me well beat in the realm of horror stories, so I doubt I know one that you don’t, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

He was silent for a moment, sorting through various stories, before finally settling on one. “There was once a rich noble lady, proud of her status and her position. To her great shame, however, she gave birth to a heavily deformed child. Desperate to keep the world from finding out about this embarrassment, she pretended that the child died at birth, and hid it away deep in the basement of her mansion. As the child grew he became even more deformed, and also more uncontrollable. Terrified that one of the servants would find out hers secret, the woman convinced the young child to come with her late one night, so that they could go stargazing while everyone else slept.

“The child agreed, and they left the house quietly, heading deep into the forest. There, in a beautiful clearing, the two lay for a time, before the woman reached over and smothered her child to death with her shawl. She returned to her great house, burned the shawl, and swore that no one would ever know.

“Nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. He was sweet as an angel, and his mother loved him dearly. One day, the boy begged his mother to take him for a picnic in the wood. The woman agreed, and they packed a basket and left the house, heading deep into the forest. To her great fear, the woman realized that somehow she and her beautiful baby boy had wound up at the same clearing where lay the bones of her last child.

“Desperately, she called her son over, begging him to come back. The child was a good boy, and quickly came to his mother, but he stopped just beyond arms reach. When the woman once more asked her son to come to her, he tilted his head to the side and asked ‘Why? Are you going to kill me again, mommy?’

“Neither the woman nor her son were ever seen again.”
 
Sveta couldn't help but giggle slightly at Quinn's obvious disgust. It was strangely funny how one little story could inspire such a strong revolt within him; she knew this personality served solely as a facade and his true self who engaged in various lovely activities such as mass execution probably wouldn't even blink upon hearing it, but discovering he had a sensitive spot of sorts almost made her happy in a gleeful way. This was how nerds must have felt upon finding out the biggest bully in the entire school suffered from an uncontrollable phobia of trees. "Squeamish about things you put in your mouth, eh? You might want to avoid reading labels on foods altogether, then. They're not a good reading material for the faint of heart, at least once you know what those small, innocent looking bits of code actually mean. Of course, none of the things are quite as horrible as decomposing body of a child, but did you know they actually add milled rocks into potato chips to make them more crispy? And that eggs of certain type of bug are a completely legit ingredient approved by all the norms? Seriously, one of my friends studied hygiene and it traumatized him so much he only eats what he grows in his garden now."

Svetlana then stopped the waterfall of comments to enjoy his next story; she gazed at him intently, once again hungry for his every word. There was a curiosity apparent in her expression, but as the story progressed, it quickly turned into a pained smirk. "Ouch. You were right that I've heard this one before, albeit in a different variation when the mother pushed her kid down the well. Still, it never seems to fail to scare the crap out of me. I don't know, something about the concept of twisting motherly love into a vile parody just... gets to me. Okay, it's my turn again, isn't it? Fine, have you ever heard about events surrounding invention of lobotomy? Let me tell you, most horror movies are just fairy tales for kids in comparison with this one." And so they kept exchanging the stories; Sveta introduced Quinn to many anecdotes from all around the world including her own experience with slightly illegal exploration of unused parts of Moscow subway which almost ended up with her and her friends getting arrested by few policemen who took their job way too seriously to understand some students' passion for cool and creepy environments.

It was tempting to forget the bitter reality in favor of the narrative, if only for a few moments, and Svetlana allowed herself to relax; after all, she rationalized, pretending to feel good in his company would be much simpler with some actual pleasant memories connected to Quinn's persona. Human brain was an awesome tool, yet it also relied on past experiences a little too much and thus it could be deceived with relative ease. If Sveta convinced herself she liked Quinn, her brain would likely release endorphins purely out of habit, making it true in a certain sense. Yes, brainwashing myself willingly is JUST what I need. That would surely do wonders for my mental balance. It's almost impressive how I always manage to be my own worst enemy. Not even Quinn can beat me at this game! Time flew by quickly and even Sveta's seemingly bottomless arsenal of stories was eventually depleted.

"Alright, Quinn, as much as I'd like to continue, I believe I'm officially done here. The only horror stories I have left depict teaching methods of my former professors and as Lovecraft famously said, there are things man was not meant to know. I wouldn't want to rob you of your ability to fall asleep tonight," Svetlana smiled and crawled out of the fort. "Ugh, I'm getting too old for this shit," she grimaced as she began to stretch her numb limbs. "I propose we return this room to its original state later, namely as soon as I gather enough willpower to actually tidy up without crying in the process. Anyway, isn't it almost time to prepare the lunch? Because I'm fucking ready to become your apprentice. Or at least as ready as I'll ever be," Sveta conceded with a hint of a smile on her face.
 
“Why do you think I cook all my food from scratch?” Quinn replied with a slightly laugh. “It takes quite a while to become a really good cook, and a lot of dedication. Most people don’t do that on a whim. I certainly didn’t.”

They passed an enjoyable couple of hours in that fort, trading scary stories back and forth. Were there a trophy for it, Sveta certainly would have claimed it, but Quinn did manage to hold his own surprisingly well, and even was able to present one story that she did not yet know. That earned a couple of minutes of well deserved self-congratulation, before Sveta completely trumped it by telling a story that nearly caused Quinn to puke.

But he still nodded agreeably as Sveta proposed a conclusion to their storytelling experience, and waited for her to get out first. Rather than crawling through the little opening after her Quinn knocked over the wall blocking the entrance with a well placed kick and an enthusiastic “Hulk Smash!” He crawled out from the wreckage, a self-satisfied grin plastered over his face. He quickly scooped up Sveta’s comforter, which had been pulled halfway off the fort, and balled it up.

“Cleaning up later sounds just fine to me,” he replied, before glancing down at the blanket in his arms. He shrugged, before tossing it into the air behind him, where it came to rest in an ungainly lump on top of the ruin of couch cushions.

“I was planning to make mozzarella, tomato, and basil panini. Sound alright to you?”
 
"Now that sounds absolutely mouth-watering," Sveta exclaimed enthusiastically, apparently honestly excited at the prospect of learning to cook such a delicious meal. The previous statements about possibly ending up in a hospital because of her utter incompetence had been hilariously exaggerated; while she could be the very definition of the phrase 'magnet for catastrophes' sometimes, Svetlana actually had some experience with cooking and how to avoid setting the kitchen on fire accidentally. Her father had ensured she would leave his house with a complete skill-set of every housewife, but he also wasn't an exceptional cook, so the recipes he had passed to his daughter were incredibly boring and basic. Perceiving it as a chore rather than fun, Sveta had stayed away from the kitchen experiments and neglected her health by eating in cheap fast foods, but opportunity to study under someone who had truly mastered this art still pleased her. A great part of her dislike of cooking stemmed from her low tolerance of mediocrity, and Quinn could help eliminate that particular problem. Only if he doesn't eliminate me first, Svetlana thought grimly.

"Actually, judging from my past experiences with your cooking, I'm pretty sure you're physically incapable of producing something that isn't mouth-watering," she said in a light, amused tone, her thoughts safely locked behind a cheerful smile. "Except maybe for food containing venison or caviar. I bet not even your magic can fix the inherent grossness," Sveta shuddered slightly just thinking about the taste. She couldn't comprehend why everyone put caviar on pedestal and hailed it as some kind of a culinary miracle; as far as Svetlana was concerned, she'd rather buy a hoard of deliciously unhealthy hamburgers for the same price as a single pack of caviar. "Aside from that, I'm not picky with food, so I'll probably gladly devour anything you throw at me. Well, okay, my stomach also can't handle the rabbit chow some people try to pass of as 'healthy nutrition'," she emphasized her disdain by indicating quotes in the air with her fingers, "but I promise that's all."

Sveta went to kitchen and began pulling out the ingredients from the fridge; at least the ones even she as a culinary dilettante could deduce belonged to this dish, like tomatoes and mozzarella. "So? I'm awaiting your orders, master. What task shall you entrust me with?" she grinned at him, genuine amusement burning in her chestnut eyes. "Oh yeah, and before I forget, I also wanted to ask you one thing. How did you become such a phenomenal cook in the first place? I mean, it's an amazing luck to stumble upon a man who knows how to prepare a pancake without completely screwing up in the process, not to mention finding a person with your level of skill. I thought your job would make you too busy to pick up something like that?" she asked, her eyebrow slightly raised in wonder. Now let's see if he can justify it without admitting he simply stole it from some poor guy.
 
“We’ll need to make the pesto first,” Quinn replied, following a couple of steps behind Sveta to the fridge, where he pulled out the remaining items. “Cooking was a pretty consistent theme in my childhood. My mom was a pretty good cook, but she was also busy, which meant any help she could receive from... anyone was a pretty welcome relief.” A loaf of soft italian bread, a leafy pack of fresh basil, a chunk of hard romano cheese, garlic, and a small bag of pine nuts piled up from the fridge.

“There’s a blender underneath the silverware drawer. Could you wash it out for me?” He opened up a spice cabinet, pulling out a bottle of olive oil. “Anyways. I was the only one out of my siblings who did not actively object to helping out. For the most part we rotated chores, but I always wound up trading when someone else got set on cooking duty. It worked for me, because then I almost never had to do dishes or vacuum.”

Quinn pulled a measuring cup out of a cabinet, and ran a finger along the inside of the cup. The finger came away coated in a small layer of pale dust, and Quinn wrinkled his nose. He moved over to the sink, and washed out the measuring cup as Sveta finished up the blender. “You might think I would have gotten tired of it, but i didn’t. I actually started to really enjoy getting to help my mom at dinner. She would let me pick out the recipe, and I’d go shopping with her to get the ingredients.”

He began setting up the blender, plugging the rather frayed cable into the outlet. “Go ahead and measure out about two cups of basil leaves, packed rather than loose, and a tird cup of pine nuts. Blend it until it becomes... chopped. It won’t be a paste yet.”

As Sveta went to work on the basil and pine nuts, Quinn dug out the cheese grater and began to grate the romano. “It became a bit of a game. Every morning I’d look up a recipe for dinner, and my siblings would try and guess it before the meal was finished. Most of the time they’d get it right, simply because there was no rule that could keep them from smelling the food as it was cooking, but it became my job to pick out more and more exotic and unique dishes to keep up. My mom was surprisingly willing to let me experiment, so long as the ingredients weren’t expensive. I still remember the first time I tried to make pineapple enchiladas... I stuck the pineapple in a blender with the juice instead of mashing it up dry like the recipe said, wound up turning the whole thing into mush when I cooked it in the oven. We had pizza for dinner that night.” Quinn laughed warmly, before moving over and dropping the grated cheese in the blender. Moving back he pulled out a knife, and began quickly and efficiently mincing the garlic.

“Anyways, cooking dinner became such a habit that I just... never really stopped. All through high school, no matter what homework I had or how busy I was with clubs and activities, when it came time to make dinner I would lay down what I was doing and... go do it. With or without my mom, in the later years of my cooking experience.” He finished the garlic, and dropped it in the blender as well. Once that was done he quickly scraped down the sides of the blender with a spatula, before handing the container of olive oil to Sveta.

“Go ahead and turn the blender back on, and slowly pour in somewhere around a half cup. We want this pretty runny so that it will soak into the bread, but not a liquid. Make sure to pour the olive oil slowly, don’t dump it in all at once. If you do, you’ll get pockets of pure oil in your pesto, and that just sucks. Once the oil is blended in scrape down the sides with the spatula, add some salt and pepper, and then run the blender again briefly.”

Quinn moved back over to the cutting board, opened up the bread and cut off the heel, before slicing off eight thick slices with a serrated knife. “For about the first two weeks after I left home I lived off of freezer food. It was a relief, and it was freeing. But, ultimately, I was someone who enjoyed cooking meals, just like some people always make the bed. I simply... made time. And as you practice anything you naturally get better.” He handed the slices over to Sveta and pointed to the spatula. “Smear one side of each slice with the pesto. Just enough so that it soaks in and isn’t dripping, but it isn’t an exact science.”

Next in line was the cheese and the tomatoes, which he sliced into quarter inch wide pieces with a long, straight knife. “I’m pretty lucky, because most of the places I travel I’m in a place like... this. It’s part of a network the world wide where people like me can stay. For the most part they’re old company houses that people don’t live in anymore. All it takes then is a shopping trip, because the kitchen is provided. Of course, there’s always some nights where I just can’t make dinner, but they tend to be more the exception than the rule.”

Once the pieces of bread were smeared with pesto Quinn beckoned Sveta over and showed her how to lay out the final ingredients. Three or four slices of tomato depending on their size, two pieces of cheese, a couple leaves of fresh basil, and then topping it off with the other slice of bread. He then moved away, pulling a pan from another cabinet and setting it on the stove with a small smear of olive oil to heat up.

“Most of the time when you are frying something you’ll want to use canola oil, or the like. Olive oil has a very specific flavor that it will impart to the food, and a lot of the time it doesn’t really go with the rest of the meal. But since there’s olive oil in the pesto, it is a good choice this time.” He lay the first two sandwiches out on the hot pan, side by side, before turning his back on the stove.

“This is the point where most people begin to believe they ‘can’t cook’. People tend to get distracted when things are frying or cooking, and forget about the meal, but half a minute can make a massive difference in things. Until you get a really good internal clock for how long something needs to fry you need to keep a close eye on it, and most people don’t truly have the patience for that. Then they get this notion that they ‘can’t cook’, and they stop practicing. Me on the other hand...” he grinned cheekily, “I’ve figured out quite well how long it takes for a sandwich to turn golden brown.”

He pulled out a flat spatula, and used it to flip over the sandwiches. True to his word, each one was just starting to turn a rich, almost buttery yellow. “And that timing,” he said, pointing the spatulat at Sveta like a strict schoolteacher, “is what distinguishes a good cook from a great cook.”

When the panini came off the stove the cheese was just starting to melt, and was running down the edges of the sandwiches. The basil was limp but not dry, the tomatoes sweet and gooey. He slid the two sandwiches on a plate, before presenting it to Sveta with a flourish. “Your lunch, madam. I’ve got two others to fry up. I’ve found that one of these is never really enough.”
 
Sveta nodded, apparently not bothered by the fact she was stuck on dish-washing duty again at all, and pulled out the blender from its hiding place. "But of course, sir. I'll get to it immediately," she saluted jokingly and put the mixer under stream of hot water, cleaning it from the dust and other assorted grossness nobody would want on their plate. Meanwhile, Quinn continued telling her the story behind his culinary prowess, painting himself as the son of the year. "Aww, you were such a darling. You know, this almost makes me re-consider my decision about never, ever having kids. I could use a little minion with no entitlement to salary who would do all the annoying chores for me," she stated, smile once again gracing her features. "Then again, my child would probably inherit my unfortunate tendencies to slack off, which means they would probably feign complete and utter incompetence until I learned making them do anything would be pretty pointless," Sveta laughed, remembering her own attempts to sabotage her participation in household duties in this manner. Slowly attacking her father's sanity through horrible performance would have likely worked if it was anybody else, but his stubbornness had made the plan backfire on her as he had turned curing his daughter out of her clumsiness his personal holy mission. Ah, good old times.

She handed the now clean blender to Quinn and received a new set of instructions in exchange. "Okay. Let's hope my guardian angel will ensure I'll get out of this adventure with my fingers intact." Which is, judging by his behavioral patterns so far, extremely improbable. Svetlana didn't believe in god, but she also wasn't arrogant enough to claim nothing like that could possibly exist with absolute certainty and that small part of her which hypothetically admitted possibility of god's existence hoped he was currently busy screaming at his underling for neglecting his duties. Seriously, how unprofessional do you have to be to screw up on such grand scale? Sveta thought as she put the mix of pine nuts and basil in the blender. Yeah, it would be pretty boring if you watched over me 24/7, but would it kill you to, I don't know, pay attention to your task when I was being kidnapped by an organic version of Terminator? I'm sure you had a good excuse, like lying on a pavement in a pool of your own vomit after an intense party with your angelic friends, but still. You had one job. One!

Deciding it was way too early for her to go crazy from her imprisonment, Svetlana interrupted her inner monologue and focused on blending the mixture according to Quinn's recommendation. The story about ruined enchiladas elicited yet another fit of laughter from Sveta. "Well, at least you get points for trying. It's still better than my brother's culinary experiments; once, he tried to make a soup out of tomatoes. Now, that may seem like a pretty normal concept to you, but the recipe he invented - and calling it 'recipe' may be an exaggeration - basically involved putting the tomatoes into water and boiling it. You can probably imagine the results," the Russian smirked painfully at the unpleasant memory. "Though to his defense, it probably wasn't meant as a serious shot at cooking as much as it was an attempt to poison me for breaking his favorite toy earlier that day. Even so, his efforts were pretty half-assed as he apparently forgot he could use the rat poison we had in the cellar for maximum effectiveness, but he certainly did succeed in making me wish I was dead." Sveta didn't really trust in her ability to gauge the amount of olive oil by guesswork - her hand to eye coordination tended to suck in similar situations - so she pulled out a cup from the cupboard and poured it inside first, carefully measuring the desired volume before putting the liquid into the blender. Wearing expression of an alchemist who was about to discover the secret of turning worthless metal into gold, Svetlana then added some salt along with pepper and turned the device on briefly.

"So, essentially, you've been doing this for so long you brainwashed yourself into believing you actually liked cooking," Sveta exclaimed while smearing each slice with pesto thoroughly. "Well, as long as you're happy in servitude, I have no reason to try and bring you out of your delusions." Laying out the ingredients on the slices truly wasn't anything even remotely close to rocket science in terms of difficulty, so she was done with it pretty fast. A delicious smell of fried sandwiches filled the air soon and Sveta realized she was actually quite hungry. "Okay, noted. I've always thought olive oil was primarily associated with healthy but inedible food that's so fashionable nowadays, but I guess this only shows how much of a barbarian I am." The lecture about timing only deepened her grin. "Ah ha! And there we have it! This is the reason I can never be a better cook than merely 'passable.' I've got concentration of an empty cola can; you know, the type that gets distracted by a passing balloon," she stated and accepted the plate with her lunch. "Thanks! I have to say, I can't wait to taste it. Not only it smells like heaven, but I've actually been a part of its creation process which is kinda... exciting on some level." Svetlana just wanted to sit down with her meal, but fate chose this the exact moment to demonstrate just how true her declaration about attention deficit had been; she grabbed a knife to cut it in half, but the edge sank into her thumb instead. "Shit," Sveta cursed in her mother tongue, her eyes widening in surprise, and placed the injured finger into her mouth to stop the bloody flood. "Do you have a first aid kit in here or something?" she mumbled almost incomprehensibly.
 
“Oh, Sveta,” Quinn replied, voice trapped in the somewhat hazy area between amusement, exasperation, and concern. “I’m sure there’s a kit somewhere in the house, but it’s got to be nearly seven years old at this point, if not older. Let me take a look.” He came over to her, leaving the second set of sandwiches on the stove, and tenderly took her hand.

The cut was not superficial, and was bleeding freely. All the same, it would not require any sort of emergency attention, either. “At least you won’t need stitches,” he told her a smile flickering across his lips, but the humor sounded somewhat strained. Unfortunately, Quebec knew full well that there were no proper first aid kits in the house. He had never needed them before, and had never expected to be in a situation where he was expected to take care of a wounded asset. His general opinion before this point had always been if anyone was stupid enough to get themselves hurt, they were responsible for the consequences. Such an attitude would not hold with his “girlfriend”.

Luckily, being a doctor was not an unfamiliar state for Quebec. Many targets of an initial failed assassination fled to secure hospitals, and the best way to get into them was as another doctor. Since the knife was clean, the best bet was to wash the thing with soap and clean water, and wrap it with a strip of clean linen until it had a chance to scab over.

“Come on,” he told her. “Let’s clean that up.” He moved over to the sink, turning on the tap and getting a small stream of lukewarm water. He helped Sveta rinse it off, before going over to a drawer from which he extracted a clean washcloth. This was the point where his internal clock suddenly went off, reminding him he had to remove the sandwiches from the stove, but he quickly dismissed the thought. There were far more important concerns at the moment than a little bit of burnt bread. He quickly tore off a small strip, and used it to neatly bandage her finger, tucking away the loose end so that the whole thing wouldn’t unravel when he let it go.

“Feel alright?” he asked, indicating the bandage. It was only at this point that he went to go get the sandwiches off the stove. The bottoms of the two slices of bread had been turned into something remarkably reminiscent of charcoal, but Quinn slid them onto his plate anyways. No sense in throwing them away.

He sat down at the table, snagging the knife and waving it with a mock menacing expression in Sveta’s direction. “Should I be doing everything in my power to keep you as far away from these as is humanly possible?”
 
Sveta was almost inclined to refuse and keep sucking on her thumb stubbornly instead; no, she didn't plan to join some obscure goth subculture of would-be vampires, but even that would be more natural reaction for her than sharing the sight of her injury. As a rational being, Svetlana realized it was rather silly, yet she simply didn't like showing her wounds to anyone unless the person in question possessed a medical degree and the situation seemed grave enough for her to call an ambulance. Being raised in a typically Russian mindset of treating everything in the spirit of the famous Monty Python quote 'It's just a flesh wound!' and ignoring the problem until it either disappeared or became truly unbearable, this didn't happen often. The nonsensical pride, however, lost its battle with reason soon and Sveta obeyed Quinn, even though there was obvious reluctance encoded in her movements. To her credit, she watched the blood flowing from the slash with almost unnerving calmness; not even her greatest enemy could possibly accuse her of acting like a panicky idiot. "Yeah, stitches would be a little unnecessary. It seems I can't even cut myself properly. I guess I can forget my dreams of becoming a star in a local emo community," she chuckled quietly, her voice slightly shaky, but there was an amused glow in her eyes. If she were to cry over every instance of her clumsiness causing a minor accident, she would have spent her entire life buried in napkins.

The contact with water made her wince a little, but it didn't last long and Quinn worked swiftly, bandaging her thumb with finesse of a seasoned medic. Sveta wiggled her finger tentatively a few times; the sharp pain immediately reminded her the cut was still very fresh, yet the bandage passed the test successfully. "Feels spectacular, thanks," she smiled and joined him at the table, grabbing her sandwich to finally savor it. The metallic aftertaste of blood in her mouth got beaten by flavor of crispy pastry; it improved her mood immediately. "While I appreciate your sentiments, I've only got two words for you in that regard, Quinn. Futile effort! If you hide knives from me, you can safely bet I'll just manage to gouge my eye out with a fork or something. There are approximately two hundred objects in this room alone I'm capable of injuring myself with including the room itself, and you'd probably have to lock me in a cage to keep me safe from it all. Which, no matter how noble your intentions are, doesn't really sound that enticing," Sveta stuck out her tongue at him playfully, ignoring the fact he had already done similar thing in a certain sense. She was definitely getting better at that whole play-acting thing; there wasn't a hint of anxiety in her features, just warm amusement.

"Wait,"
Svetlana said once she noticed the contents of Quinn's plate, "you're actually going to eat that? No offense, but by the looks of it, the best place for your meal would be a bin, not a human stomach. Wanna share mine with me? After all, it's my fault yours ended up in this... less-than-desirable state."
 
“Very well,” Quinn replied with a faint laugh,standing up with plate in hand to drop the two crisped sandwiches into the trash. “Never let it be said that I am one to turn away generosity when it is honestly offered.” He returned to his seat, set down the plate, and promptly reached over, taking Sveta’s other, untouched sandwich. He smiled once before taking a bite, allowing his eyes to flutter closed as he chewed with great relish.

“Mmmm...” he finally said, once his mouth was clear again. “Good job on the pesto. If this isn’t going to be enough lunch for you, the last of the quiche is in the fridge. I was planning on saving it for breakfast tomorrow, but this seems to be an emergency.” He laughed, before taking another bite of his sandwich.

While Quinn contemplated the pleasure of bread and cheese his eyes remained fixated on Sveta. Quebec had to admit that this training experiment was going a lot better than he had anticipated. Most experiences taught him that few people could be relied upon to put forth the correct effort in life or death situations, most often simply because some part of their brain honestly didn’t believe they were going to die. Sveta, however, seemed to be adapting well to the pressures that were going to be placed on her. This might give Quebec a bit of time to plan in advance, and make sure that things were not falling apart in his temporary absence. It was starting to look like he would be able to bring this test run to a halt sooner than anticipated.

“Honestly, though, I wouldn’t have minded eating those sandwiches. It wouldn’t have even occurred to me if you hadn’t mentioned it.” Quinn continued, unaware of the second set of thoughts within his head, assessing everything. “You have no idea how many loaves of bread I burned learning to fry things well. It probably would have been a bit nostalgic.”

Quebec would give Sveta until the end of lunch with Quinn. He knew that she was not as comfortable and calm as she was letting on, but he also knew she felt a certain amount of stability when her “boyfriend” was present. He wasn’t doing this out of any sort of sympathy for her wants and needs, but rather because the longer he could keep her calm and well behaved the better things would go. It wouldn’t last much longer, he had too much to do to waste time on unnecessary endeavors, but Quinn did rather want to finish his lunch.

“Would you like a slice of quiche?” He asked, standing up and moving towards the fridge. “Like I said, one of those sandwiches really isn’t that much food.”
 
"Well, what can I say?" Sveta showed her pearl white teeth in a smile, looking as if she wanted to win an audition for a TV presenter. It wasn't exactly a glowing picture of genuine happiness, but people empathetic enough to spot the difference could be counted on fingers of one hand. "My generosity knows no bounds. Mother Teresa would look like a greedy corporate company owner next to me. Now eat before I change my mind," she threw in a friendly wink and began paying her attention to the sandwich, enjoying each bite. A small part of her focus was dedicated to maintaining air of normalcy, but that didn't take too much effort when eating kept her busy, so the remaining part of her brain decided to evaluate her performance so far. Not bad. As far as I know, there weren't any major hiccups and I'm pretty sure I could talk my way out of the few mistakes I've committed in the unlikely case someone cared enough to inquire. Considering the circumstances, I guess I could say I'm pretty awesome. Actually, this is probably the most harmonious relationship I've never had. Or it would be, if it wasn't a facade to let a mass murderer spy on my family. I wonder what does that say about me as a person. Svetlana didn't know and she had a lingering suspicion it was better that way, yet the realization still left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

"Ha, my first culinary success!" she made a victorious gesture as Quinn interrupted her grim thoughts and smirked. "Give me few years and the world is mine. Seriously, though, thanks. Listening to compliments is definitely a welcome change from the eternal complaints." Criticism was certainly one of the time-tested methods of improving yourself, but years studying under professors who used to chastise her for bagatelles like 'You translated this love confession in an awkward manner because there are too many consonants and now it sounds too rough' had made Sveta fairly allergic to any fault-finding unless it was truly relevant. Of course, more often than not, her definition of word 'relevant' didn't really overlap with definition of the same word for the rest of the population, but that was another story.

Sveta shook her head in response to Quinn's next offer, simultaneously standing up from the chair. "No, thanks. Don't take me wrong, I'm no diet freak, but I never really eat that much for lunch. How does that old proverb go? Oh yeah. Eat your breakfast alone, share lunch with your best friend and give dinner to your enemy. Yeah, that's pretty much my motto... And since it doesn't say anything about snacking in between the main three meals, I'm not even cheating," Sveta exclaimed with amusement practically dripping from her voice and moved to the cupboard; after few seconds of searching, she pulled out a glass and poured some water in the glass. The hunger had been quenched, but her mouth was dry from all that talking and her body demanded replenishing its reserves of fluids. "Aren't you thirsty as well, Quinn?"
 
That was that. Lunch was over. Their little experiment was concluded. Quebec carefully asserted himself back into control of the body, displacing Quinn delicately, like a piece of expensive art. He would be brought out to use again later, at a point where it would once more be more profitable to test Sveta’s acting skills than keep her firmly under his thumb.

“I think that marks a good point for the conclusion of our little practice in acting,” Quebec said quietly, closing the fridge he had opened only moments before. “You were satisfactory.”

It would be possible, at least for the first several worlds, for Sveta to think that it was still Quinn speaking to her. It was Quinn’s voice, Quinn’s unique tone that separated him from all the other voices in the world, but it was, all the same, not Quinn’s voice. Perhaps it had something to do with the inflections, the sudden tight feeling similar to the drop in the gut after stepping off an unexpected curb. Perhaps a stranger, unfamiliar with the situation, wouldn’t have been able to pick up the subtle differences, but to Sveta these tiny shifts were a matter of life and death. When Quebec came out, she was once more walking on broken glass.

“I have business to attend to today,” Quebec continued, turning to face Sveta, every line in his body straight and hard, “and I don’t want you accidentally doing something to screw it up.” His hand clasped tightly around her shoulder, and he led her out of the kitchen, through the living room, past the ruins of the fort, and to the door of her room like an ass on the lead. “You can come back out when it is time for dinner. Behave yourself. Don’t make too much noise, don’t make a nuisance of yourself. If you choose to disobey me in this, your mattress may not be the only thing not returning to your bed by nightfall.”

He closed the door behind her once she entered, ignoring anything she might have to say on the matter, but did not lock the door. It was as much a test as it was a reward for her good behavior for the day. He would give her the opportunity to break his rule, to go against his wishes, because otherwise the threat was meaningless. Most likely she wouldn’t notice until she got bored enough in her room to test the door,. Of course, that only gave Quebec approximately ten minutes. The only way he could really spend it was returning the living room to some semblance of normal.

He returned to the living room, plucking the couch cushions from the mess and putting them back on the sofa, before adding the few other plundered pillows they had found. He dragged it back into position casually, tipped the mattress up against the wall, and quickly began to fold the blankets into neat squares. All though that more than a small part of his attention was focused on the door to Sveta’s room. He could not deny a small measure of curiosity as to what she would actually choose to do.
 
Even though she couldn't quite put her finger on it, there was an obvious change in the atmosphere, not dissimilar to sensing an electric charge in the air right before the lightning struck. Few seconds later, Quinn retreated back into the depths of her kidnapper's likely vast arsenal of stolen personalities, awaiting another opportunity to be used patiently. The initial fear from unknown had already subsided, at least as much as was actually possible in this cursed situation, and replaced by something equally typical for human beings: curiosity. Hmmm. Now that I think of it, how exactly does he handle his personalities?

Svetlana tried to imagine sharing her brain with numerous roommates, each of them as real as any other person she knew, and it felt terribly confusing. Hell, controlling one mind could be an ordeal sometimes; keeping in check so many of them at once probably demanded organizational skills of such caliber it would make any manager choke with envy. For example, how did he prevent them from leaking into each other and mutating into something entirely different? How did he keep the stronger personalities from taking over? Perhaps they simply didn't fight for supremacy, but Sveta couldn't bring herself to agree with this convenient conclusion; after all, her kidnapper himself had confirmed there were theoretically speaking real people stored in his head, and wasn't the need of self-realization practically ingrained in human DNA? And didn't he get overwhelmed by it all from time to time? Sveta knew not caring would have been infinitely wiser - hell, it didn't matter even if each of his personalities required its own psychologist - yet this knowledge couldn't really quench her thirst after information. It was ultimately Quinn and his decision to send her back to her room as if she was nothing but a naughty child that pushed the nascent questions aside. Screw something up accidentally? Hey, I may not look like that, but I actually can behave myself. I used to work with the most stuck-up snobs available without getting fired, remember? The only way I'd screw it up for you would be if I specifically aimed for it. Do you think I'd spit on his business partner and run away giggling or what? The idea did sound vaguely amusing, if only for the high factor of randomness, but Svetlana valued her skin a little too much to lose it in such a blatant display of suicidal stupidity.

Of course, voicing her opinion on the matter wouldn't have been any smarter, so Sveta just nodded and followed him obediently. "Okay, okay, understood." And I would have understood it even without you threatening me every five minutes. I don't have memory of a goldfish; I know you could probably snap me in half if you wanted to. That kind of thing is pretty hard to forget. Before she could come up with some additional comment, Quinn closed the door behind her, sentencing her to few hours of painful boredom. Sveta sighed; to be perfectly honest, leaving her alone with her thoughts was probably the worst punishment he could have devised for her at the moment, even though that probably hadn't been his intention. His company kept her in perpetual state of worry, yet it also forced her to play her role which occupied a great part of her focus. Without any activity to pursue, she would inevitably slip into grim fantasies depicting her probably-soon-to-follow death in a graphic manner. Possessing a vivid imagination really sucked sometimes. Sveta stared at the door for a few moments, her gaze blank, when a wave of resistance suddenly building up in her chest. Why the hell was she being so hopelessly passive about this mess? Fate may have dealt her really bad cards, but for Christ's sake, this wasn't a game of poker where she could fold them to avoid unnecessary losses and wait for her luck to get better. Her life was at stake here, and even though her chances of surviving were miniature, there had to be something to do.

Wait. He... didn't lock the door, did he? Yes, Svetlana was pretty sure she hadn't heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock this time. Did he simply forget? Her brain immediately evaluated the deduction as 'unlikely'; he had already committed one blunder with the key, and something told her a perfectionist like him learned from his mistakes. So, what is this supposed to mean? Is it some sort of a trial or have I simply convinced him I'm actually a good girl that deserves some form of freedom? Sveta narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but then an idea was born in her head; maybe she could actually use this set-up. Expecting a successful shot at an escape attempt would have been about as realistic as hoping a politician would actually fulfill his election promises, yet there were different, more subtle goals to achieve. One thing she had noticed about Quinn was his practicality; despite the fact he had kidnapped her and Sveta cultivated absolutely no illusions about his kindness, he had never gone out of his way to be truly cruel. He could have locked her up in a cage like some wild animal, but instead, he had provided her with a room. He could have fed her old bread and stale water, yet he cooked for her as if she was a royalty. Perhaps he wouldn't punish her if she had a legitimate reason to leave her room. And to be honest, even if he would, Svetlana didn't believe he'd actually go the extreme route and kill her; not when things had been going so smoothly with their little acting performance. He wouldn't sacrifice his likely only chance to figure out the secret behind her ability unless she did something mind-bogglingly idiotic, and that wasn't on her schedule. No, she only wished to find out to which extent she could bypass his orders...

Gathering the courage, Sveta inhaled deeply and opened the door, making the first few careful steps outside. "I'm just... going to get myself some ice for my leg, okay? You know, to speed up the recovery," the girl added and hoped she hadn't just given him an excuse to cause her more injuries to convalesce from.
 
Apparently he had underestimated her just a bit. It took her less than five minutes to wander her way out of the room. It was more than enough time for him to finish cleaning up the room, though. Or, as much as it was possible without returning the blankets or mattress to Sveta’s room, that was. When her door opened he let out a small, tired sigh. He hadn’t even bothered to hope that she might stay in her room, and let him do his work. Fine. If she wasn’t going to respect the rules, it was time for the next step in their relationship.

For a moment, he let her think she was going to get away with it. She took a few steps, before looking at him for any kind of reaction. A few more steps, and a few more. He waited until he felt the almost palpable sense of relief flood the room, and then he was moving.

He was up from the couch and across the room in an instant, moving at a speed he normally reserved for multiple person assassinations. He grabbed Sveta and spun her, slamming her harshly against the wall and causing the back of her head to bounce off the drywall.

“Sveta, do you really think I don’t know exactly what you are doing?” There was no emotion in his voice as he spoke to her. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t disappointed. It was a simple situation. His rules had been broken, and now he was going to have to enforce them.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but obviously you haven’t figured out yet that you don’t get to push me.” Once more a hand closed around her throat, holding her in place without completely cutting off her ability to breathe. His eyes closed briefly, and a sheen began to form on the palm of his other hand. It wasn’t something Quebec bothered to use often, simply because it was unnecessary, but his ability to shift was not limited to humanity alone. Any living creature, in part or in whole, was at his disposal. The palm of his hand ran along Sveta’s face uncomfortably, before coming to settle on her forehead, his fingers twining among her hair. With the stress of the situation, it was highly improbable that Sveta would notice the light, milky liquid that now clung to her skin in misty droplets.

He hushed her, ignoring her muttered apologies and pleas, and watched as the droplets were absorbed into her skin. The world began to spin around Sveta, bending and distorting, and as this happened, he reached into her mind, ruffling through her memories to get a sense of the way the world looked to her in the present moment.

There was a type of toad in the US called the Colorado River Toad, and when put into a dangerous situation the toad would secrete a milky fluid that, when tasted, would cause a predator to start hallucinating. The fluid he had smeared across Sveta’s face was nearly identical to that hallucinogenic, with a few other potent poisons thrown into the mix, to enhance the effects. Right now it wasn’t bad, but soon enough Sveta wouldn’t be able to distinguish reality from the fantasies created by her own mind.

But Sveta didn’t know about the toad, and she certainly didn’t know everything of which Quebec was capable. She had already figured out what the feeling of him inside her mind was like, and as the effects grew stronger he increased the weight of his presence in her mind. The conclusion she would draw was only logical. Quebec could not only get into her mind, but he could also change what was there, whether she willed it or not.

He let go of her neck, and without that one undeniable support she crumpled to the ground, wide eyed. He kneeled down in front of her, and took her head in both hands, forcing her to look at him even as her eyes flitted wildly about the room. “You gave me no choice, Sveta,” he intoned clearly. “You brought this on yourself.” Then he stood and walked away, leaving Sveta crumpled against the wall, to deal with whatever her brain would conjure against her.
 
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Back in the days of her childhood when her greatest problem had been forging her father's signature on her report cards in a way that wouldn't alert teacher something was wrong, Sveta had dreamed of becoming a professional mountaineer. Of course, it was but one article in an endless row of abandoned potential careers, but for approximately two weeks, little Svetlana had been convinced she'd conquer mountains for living. That hope was shattered after discovering that crippling fear of heights would probably be an issue, but the short period of time spent preparing for the future profession had left some lingering questions in her mind. For example, Sveta had always wondered how climbing must have felt to the pioneers who weren't lucky enough to be born in an era with oxygen bottles easily available on every corner. Now she could tick that particular question off as 'answered'; sure, her respiratory problems were caused by stress, but it couldn't have been that much more different. Nervousness squeezed air out of her lungs and for a few seconds, Sveta considered abandoning her intentions and retreating back to her room. Yeah, because that would make sense. And it wouldn't be suspicious at all, either. There's no going back now.

Stealing few hopefully inconspicuous glances in Quinn's direction, Svetlana took few careful steps towards the kitchen. He didn't seem to mind her little trip outside of the allowed zone; in fact, even an average statue would have probably exhibited more passionate reaction in response to her blatant disobedience. It looked like her theory had been right. Relying on his compassion would have been about as intelligent as letting a hungry wolf guard your pet rabbit, but it appeared that appealing to his logical side could get her much farther. Something suspiciously similar to satisfaction began growing somewhere in her stomach, and the feeling was completely overwhelming after such long period of despair; sure, her victory may have have been so small you needed a microscope to see it, but it existed and the taste of hope felt so sweet... At least until it turned into ashes in her mouth when she ended up pressed against the cold wall with his hand clenched around her neck. Sveta's eyes widened in shock; it probably should have been obvious in hindsight that someone who had read her mind could predict the course of her thoughts to an extent, yet certain part of her still foolishly believed optimism wasn't always rewarded by disappointment. Disappointment and, in this particular case, possibly receiving one-way ticket to oblivion.

"I'm sorry," she switched to defense immediately, "I'm sorry, I-I won't do it again. Please, leave me alone." A new wave of panic flooded her insides as he strengthened the grip around her neck as she fought for every breath. Reasoning that had led her to this small act of rebellion seemed so fragile right now. How could she be stupid enough to destroy every single benefit earned for good behavior by betting on his common sense? For god's sake, his reality was likely so detached from hers they could as well live in different dimensions; what seemed to be a minor offense in her world was apparently a horrible crime in his, and now she had to pay for being so quick to assume. His mind, sharp like a dagger, dug deep beneath her skull, making her shiver as if an electric current ran through her body. It was almost depressing this particular brand of pain almost felt like meeting an old friend, yet Sveta also registered a new ingredient in the usual cocktail of disorientation and crushing pressure in her brain; Quinn had been a passive observer so far, but now she could swear she sensed him slip something alien into her head. Something that sure as hell had nothing to do in there.

Terrified to the point of forgetting any form of resistance tended to make everything worse for her, Svetlana began fighting back weakly, but the damage was apparently done already since he released her. Standing without his gentle assistance suddenly demanded a disproportionate amount of effort, so her knees gave up and before she could comprehend what was happening, Sveta was sitting on the ground. She wanted to stand up, more out of habit than any real desire, but then the world around her broke. A mist distorted her perception - something similar to blurry eyesight you receive when you overdo it with alcohol, except this state was completely devoid of any pleasant feelings - and colors started leaking into each other as if a mad artist had used reality as his canvas. That part actually could have been rather entertaining, particularly to those who experimented with lighter drugs, if it wasn't accompanied by horrible crawling. She could feel thousands of small legs marching under her skin and mandibles sinking into her flesh; on some level, Svetlana knew this simply couldn't be true, but that didn't matter much considering her brain kindly provided her with simulation so believable it contained all the fancy special effects. Moreover, it was fairly impossible to construct a logical argument that would allow her to defy the craziness around her when her cognitive abilities had turned into jelly in the course of past few minutes. All her thoughts were reduced into one plain thought: Please, make it end. Hot tears were streaming down her face as she scratched herself in order to get rid of it, but her actions only seemed to fuel the mysterious parasite's greed.