Right The Ship


lynette4_icon.gif quinn5_icon.gif

Scene Title Right The Ship
Synopsis Quinn and Lynette discuss any number of problems looming over the Ferry. And themselves.
Date December 15, 2011

Pollepel Island

Finding Quinn these days has becomes increasingly easy, even in these tension filled times since the forcefield went up around the island - just tilt your ear up, and listen for where you hear singing or a guitar, and you'll likely ttrack her down eventually. Following the incident in the graveyard the previous day, it's even easier to find her - in the hours since she was patched up by Megan, Robyn Quinn has made absolutely no effort to leave her room unless she absolutely has to.

She can't sing right now. Not without risking damage to her stitched face. So instead, she's working on just writing music, no lyrics. The sounds of an acoustic guitar reverberage tthrough the lower halls of Bannerman's Castle, slow and mournful in sound and tempo. At least, until there's a snapping sound, a twang, and a yelp of pain. Some cursing - French - follows as Quinn reaches down to her guitar case she had brought to the island in search of a bandaid and replacement string for her guitar.

The last thing she wants to do right now is face the world, and that's what she'll have to do if she can't play music.

Lynette is at her best when she has a mission, it keeps her focused and keeps her steady. Emotionally speaking. And since she just gave herself one, she walks through the castle with purpose. She hasn't thought about Refrain more than once or twice. It's progress. And following the sound of the music, Lynette ends up at Quinn's door.

Her knock is sharp. Offical.

"Quinn? It's Lynette. Can we talk?"

The musician's eyes widen behind her sunglasses as she sucks on the finger that now has a small, thin cut on it - nothing serious, typical hazard of a guitarist. But hearing Lynette's voice makes her shake. Someone from the council is the last person she wants to see. Even Lynette - she trusted Eileen, after all. Who knows about the rest of them.

"C-Come in," comes quietly from Quinn, maybe more quietly than she intended. She tries not to talk too loud, or too much - even beyond the stitches, it still hurts like a bitch now that she doesn't have to try and hide it anymore. At least she wasn't crying not, like she had most of the previous night after she'd finally made it back to her room. "I'm just- well… I was playin' some music," she adds, setting aside the guitar and it's broken string.

"So I heard," Lynette says as she steps in. She might sense Quinn's hesitation, because she leaves the door open some behind her. "It sounded good, what I heard of it." She doesn't sit, either. All in all, she looks like someone who knows she's not entirely welcome.

"I want to help Rue," she says, a bit out of the blue. "I heard about what happened. I went to see her. And I figure, of everyone on this island, you know her well enough to know she didn't stab Kaylee." The way she says it, she seems to find the idea a little ridiculous. But she also stops there, to gauge Quinn's reaction.

Quinn purses her lips, almost immediately taking them off of Lynette and angling her gaze down at the floor. "Does it matter?" It's an honest question, but she sounds defeated. Straightening her sunglasses, she settles her hands into her lap. "She didn't do it," she states flatly, as if that's obvious. "But Eileen's already made up her mind." She rolls her shoulders, looking over towards her guitar. "Her, Barbara, everyone else out there."

She lets her shoulders slump a bit, letting out a long sigh. "How're you gonna help her?" she asks, hoping for an honest response. "I tried an' it got me this." She turns her head, motioning to the stitches. "I mean, I tried t' help in the stupidest way I could, so maybe don't do that. Remember your knife when you go t' the knife f-" she stops there. Talking so quickly makes her wince, shaking her head as she leans back a bit.

"It does matter. She's in there and she shouldn't be. Megan has some trustworthy people guarding her cell. To keep her safe. She's going to talk to Ryans about what happened and I'm going to find out who really did this. Or, at least, find out enough to prove she didn't. The court of public opinion is against her. We need it not to be." Lynette doesn't sound defeated. In fact, she sounds pretty sure of herself. It might be an act, but it's a good one.

At the question, she tilts her head, considering her answer. But Quinn's wince makes her straighten up. "I'm going to talk to people. I need to know what was going on around here around the time of the stabbing. And then when I figure it all out, I'm going to point out to everyone that if Rue was a traitor living among us, she was incredibly stealthy about it until just a few days ago, when she — apparently — lost her mind and forgot how to hide her tracks. And, in fact, left very deliberate tracks that lead right to her."

Well, Lynette certainly does make a very good point. One that makes Quinn let out another long sigh. But this time, her lips curl up in a smile. "Thank you, Lynette," she quietly, taking a moment suck on her finger again, before retrieving out a band-aid to cover up yet another cut. "I dunno how much I can help, but I'll tell y' one thing." She peels the band-aid off, wrapping it around her finger. "I've known February Lancaster for years. This isn't somethin' she could do. Not the woman who took me t' task for how awful I was bein' to her. She doesn't hate like that." Quinn rises up form her see, looking in Lynette's direction. "An' I figure you'd have t' hate like that t' do this t' Kaylee."

It's still unimaginable to her, the condition Kaylee is in. "But I- haven't really been around Rue much lately. I've kind… kept t' my room since we got back from Cambridge. I was kind- depressed." Lynette can surely guess why. "She saw me the night after I woke up, but it's been mostly passing by her in the hall an' bumpin' int' each other when we go t' eat since then."

"For what?" Lynette asks, like she can't tell what she means. But it's a question that's easy for her to leave behind as Quinn goes on. Maybe eager to. "Hate or desperation. But I don't see either from her. And I am wondering if someone is setting her up. And the others are going for it to try to keep some of the panic down around here. But I think it's just going to turn panic into something else. Maybe something worse." Megan called it mob mentality. She can't help but agree. There was a shovel taken to her face.

"Cambridge — " Lynette pauses. She hasn't spoken to anyone about Cambridge. Hell, she's done her best not to think about it, even. "I understand. You lost a lot." Sympathy colors her voice, but she rolls a shoulder and skips them past the difficult subject. "I just need you to think back and try to remember if anything strange happened. Anything out of the ordinary. Or anything that you remember at all. I'm working on a timeline first. So anything you can think of, write it down for me. And just be ready to stand up for her. And for me, if you feel so inclined. I plan on kicking up some dust around here."

Lynette has a suspicion in mind. Something from a precog's troubled vision. Someone she saw behind the dark.

Quinn crosses her legs, leaning back in her chair. "I mean, like I said. Last time I talked to her at length was 'bout a month ago. We see each other all the time, obviously, not many long sit down discussions." There's a slight chuckle from the Irishwoman. "She seemed fine then, t' be sure." Though, she does frown though, after that. "I- I have seen her, like- skulkin' around, kinda? But I always figured she was just bein' nervous ol' Rue, tryin' t' duck out on Raith, or slip away from Avi." She offers a small shrug.

"But here's the thing." There's a bit more confidence in Quinn's voice now. "She's never seemed less than herself. An' she isn't like you an' me, you know? An' she hasn't left the island. Why now? Rue, of all people coulda done somethin' like this when we were at our weakest if she was goin' t'. It doesn't make sense." Quinn folds her arms. "Who has been off the island?"

"Those are very good questions. Here's another. Who's new? I have a hard time believing anyone who has been here with us in the trenches would turn and do this." Lynette gestures upward, then outward. This whole situation. "Unless they were being coerced. But like you said, she hasn't been off the island. Unfortunately, a lot of us have been." It isn't going to be easy to narrow down. But she's going to try. "I might need some help. If you're willing to ask around, see if we can answer some of those questions."

Quinn certainly hasn't been off the island, which her hopes absolves her of any suspicion now or previous. "I have no idea who's new," she admits. "I just kinda- do what I'm asked to. I always did. Until all a' this." She motions all around them, as Lynette did just a moment before. "I can try t' help, but I dunno how much good it'll do. You know me an' Rue. We used t' date. People know that. An' beyond that, people just…"

She trails off, pursing her lips. "People haven't been treatin' me the same since Cambridge. I dunno if it's cause a' my sight or something I did, I can't remember shit frm from that day as it is, but…" She shakes her head. "If I deserved this," she motions to her face, "is apparently a topic of discussion. I dunno how much I can get outta people. But I'll try."

As Lynette listens to Quinn, she folds her arms and cocks out a hip. Her brow furrows. "Deserved your sight or your face sliced open?" A beat. "Nevermind, either way, it's awful. Are people really treating you like that?" Her hands move to rest on her hips. "Well. No pressure from me. But if you remember anything that stands out to you about all this, just let me know."

She stops, like maybe she's going to walk out on that note. But she doesn't. Instead, she lingers. Indecisive. "How… much don't you remember? From Cambridge."

Lynette says "Nevermind," but Quinn clarifies anyway, because she thinks it's important. "The latter," she says. "There was a pretty large crowd in the courtyard, Lynette. That was what pissed me off the most. They made a spectacle out a' it . Outta her. For everyone t' see." She lets that sit for a moment, before she starts to close the distance between them. "If I had the chance t' go for that knife again, just t' put an end t' it? I'd do it." The words are practically hissed out. "Because I have had enough of this horseshit, Lynette." She tries to capture the councilwoman's attention as she turns to leave. "After all a this, if we get out? I'm done," she states flatly.

But all the fervor delates a bit at Lynette's question. "I-" Now there's noticable hesitance in Quinn's voice. "Don't. Really. Me an' Eve, goin' t' find Else… Runnin' int' Broome in the gallery, an' it gets… kinda hazy from there." She frowns, looking down towards the floor again. "Next thing I remember is Doyle yellin' something at me. I dunno what. I think we were on the way out an' I was just kinda- shellshocked. An' then E-Else.." Her breath hitches a bit, and she closes her eyes. "Sorry, I-" She shakes her head. "It still hurts."

"I've also had enough of it. If the Ferry is going to continue… assuming Heller doesn't just bomb us all to bits, if we're going to continue it can't be like this. I don't know what has happened to us, but I don't like it. I plan on letting Eileen and Barbara both know it. And any jackels who would partake in such a spectacle. Even if she had done it, that's no way to handle this." Lynette lets out a sigh, her head tilting back for a moment. And then she looks back to Quinn. "I can understand this being the final straw. For you, for anyone."

When Quinn answers her question — when it ends in an apology — Lynette hesitates a moment, but them comes over to sit next to her. And puts a hand on her shoulder. "I imagine it'll hurt for a while. Pain like that always seems to. Unfortunately, I remember every moment. If you ever feel like you need to put some of the pieces together. I was with you for a while, in there."

Jackels. "Just-" Quinn wrinkles her nose. "The only other jackels were the speedster an' the who started this whole mess with Rue. Ryans was there, but…" A hand reaches up, scratching at the back of her head. "He was trying t' help. Like, actually help. The others just… let it happen. Or egged it on." She gives a small nod. "But I trust Ryans." With that said, she takes a deep breath.

"Of course I'd like t' know. I'd love t' know why I woke up barely able t' see Lynette. Or why I can't-" She holds a hadn out, palm up in the air like she's trying to summon up some light, but nothing happens. "Why I can't do anything I used t' be able to. But…" Quinn closes her eyes, letting out the held breath. "There's more important things right now, Lynette. Let's get outta here alive first."

"I… trust him, too, damnit." Why that's such a rough thing to admit, Lynette doesn't elaborate on. She just lets it sit there. "I'm sorry the others weren't better. We should be. No one should have let it turn into that. And no one should be letting anyone imply that you deserved this," she says. There's a gesture toward the wound, but her hand comes back to Quinn's shoulder in short order.

"I'd love to get out of here alive. Got any ideas on how we could take on a small army?" Lynette smirks, because she's being flippant. "That project has a lot of moving parts." And that is to say, solving a few riddles has far fewer. "You were amped. Gillian amped you, Jolene amped Gillian. You made some sort of laser whip. It was amazing. And it probably saved our lives." A beat. "Oh, there were a bunch of evil clones trying to kill us. But I figure… you burnt out. Temporarily, I'm sure."

Double amped. Quinn remembers a scream - her own, shrill and terrorfied - gunfire, and an explosion, just like before. But her eyes widen as she sees light in the back of her mind, vauge but bright, for just a moment. A glimmering remnant of the memory Lynette speaks of. That explains so much to her, even without the grisley details surrounding the rest of the madness they'd enured. Her breath hitches. Double amped. And then when the horror settles in of what Colette told her happened the first time she did something like that, and she was carrying multitudes more power than that, she was almost certain.

And she hadn't been able to handle it.

There's a long moment of silence before Quinn lets out a rueful laugh. "I always though Colette would be th' first a' us t' burn out. I even wrote a song about it." Which is the first time she's ever actually admitted that to anyone. "Well…" she says quietly, closing her eyes. "If you all are safe, it was worth it, then," she decides, giving a small nod. That doesn't make the loss less painful, it doesn't temper the sadness welling up in her each day. But at least it gives her a sense of purpose in this whole thing. She cracks a small smile. "Sound like a laser whip would do the trick," she notes. "Got any idea where we can find one?"

"If I knew that, we wouldn't be stuck behind this forcefield. But, I'll keep an eye out." Lynette doesn't laugh, but she smiles a little easier. Which is something, given all the givens. "You were magnificent, truly, Quinn. There was a lot going on down there and without you, we would have been much worse off. If we made it out at all." Her tone is gentler, there. She knows it won't fix everything, but she does hope it'll help. "Which song?" she asks after a moment, an eyebrow lifting curiously.

"Thanks," Quinn says in a low voice - It does make her feel better, in the end, that she did something so incredible. And she had to make sure that Colette never, ever found out she did something so reckless. She wasn't Quinn's teacher anymore, and Quinn wasn't sure they were really friends, but that earful was not something she really needed. And then Lynette asks a question. Which song, oh God she's going to have to cop to this. "Firefly," she remarks with a half grin. Quinn turns away on her heel, starting to hum a tune outloud. Taking a step away from Lynette, Quinn starts to sing - low, as to not risk too much with her stitches. But still, she does it.


My tiny, little firefly

Never stop to wonder why

Burn as bright as you can

And rise to the sky

Burning bright

Riding on a wave of light

Little firefly

Dance on the wind tonight

Stay up with all your might

But nobody knows what's waiting for

Such a little one not ready to

Step out the door into the world

You're running out on your light

Soldier on

And fly on through the night

But don't be surprised

When you burn out that light

She stops, turning back to Lynette with a smile. "It's on Glass Wonderland. Track 2. Please don't tell her, maybe?" Despite the request there's a bit of a mischevious smile on Quinn's face.

"Sure," Lynette says to the thanks, a casual reply. She doesn't note that she left a lot out, but maybe she's hoping someone who was there can live free of those particular memories. When Quinn answers her question, though, she smiles crookedly. Last time she went to see Quinn singing, she had to slip out to keep from getting caught. She missed that particular song. So when the singing starts, she settles back to listen. Probably, Quinn shouldn't be singing for the sake of her face, but Lynette's no doctor, so no admonishment comes from her direction.

And when it ends, she even claps. And the request gets a chuckle from her. "She won't hear it from me, darling. I love to be the only one in on a secret."

"Good, because you really are." Lynette's right, she shouldn't be singing, but she kept her voice low, moved her mouth just as much as she need to. Doesn't change the fact that it hurts a little, though - there's a reason she didn't do the whole song. Still, she turns back to Lynette, her smile slowly becoming more serious. "Thank you for telling me," she repeats. "It means a lot t' know that I helped out. I came outta that whole thing- not even sure what I was doin' there, t' be honest. Like I didn't belong." Quinn raises up a hand, tacit sign of but enough of that. "So now, we're gonna help Rue. Pay it forward an' all that. Yeah?"

"I feel the same way. A lot of the time. I remember last year, standing in Gun Hill with a gun and wondering what the fuck." Lynette laughs there, too, dryly. "But we were there. And we are here. And we do what we can." At her last words, Lynette nods firmly. "That's right. We're going to keep her safe. And maybe right this ship." The Ferry, that is. "How well do you think a mutiny would go?" she asks, but it's hard to tell how serious she is or isn't.

"Depends," Quinn says, an uncharacteristically dark smile on her face. "Do I get t' return the favour?" she asks with a motion to her face. It's unusually hard to tell if Quinn is joking too, something her an Lynette share in the moment. "I used t' not imagine I could be a person with a gun, who need t' be shootin' people. Back when we first started havin' those dreams." She motions her hands out in front of her. "And here we are." Her expression is flat as she speaks, fingers curling back in as she lets her arms fall to her side. "It's funny. I left Gun Hill t' avoid all that shit. An' yet." She shakes her head. "I'll help right the ship, if I can." But I'm still not sticking around sits on the tip of Quinn's tongue. It never makes it out.

"We'll see if we can fit it in," Lynette says, her smile turning crooked. When the dreams come up, she lets out a sigh, but nods in understanding. "They certainly did show us very strange possibilities, didn't they? Whatever they showed you, this doesn't have to be your life. If you have a chance for something else, if you can create a chance for something else, I'd take it." It's here that Lynette sounds defeated, her smile turning more solemn. But she visibly shakes off the foul mood and looks over at Quinn with a lighter expression. "In Cambridge, you also promised me you'd teach me about something called… darkwave synth."

Another low chuckle, this one more strained. "I'll cut some things loose," Quinn says, tilting her head slightly to side. "Make some time for it." Her sunglasses are pulled off, the Irishwoman gently rubbing at her eyes. "You told me that once before, y' know. Somethin' like… that I was lucky t' get something good outta this life. That I could have somethin' good." Quinn rolls her shoulders. "I don't even think I care about that anymore," in part because a facial scar like the one she's likely to be left with can be a real turn off in most of the mainstream media markets. "I'm just tired of the insanity."

I should write a song about this echoes in the back of her mind for a moment, brow furrowing. "Darkwave! It's like modern sythwaves took a dip back int' the 80s, but also threw in some industrial. Always surprisingly melodic, but with darker soundscapes an' tones." She reaches down to a pocket, frowning. "Oh right. I lost my iPod at somepoint in Cambridge." She thinks for a second. "I still have a keyboard here, somewhere. Never took it home after…" That night many months ago that her, Eileen, and others playing music for everyone to enjoy, and then brings a slightly bitter expression to her face. "Well, either way. I was once in a weird kinda almost darkwave/gothy sythrock kind band, I still have a lotta that stuff programmed int' my keyboard. God help us, Lynette, if somehow we find the time…"

Quinn smirks. "I'm going t' give you the worlds shittiest crash course in some a' the worlds best music."

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