wrapped in plastic

Quinn takes a wine cooler from the pack absentmindedly, glancing over her shoulder at the shots lined up on the counter. She bites her lip, flashing a grin at Kick. “Do a shot with me,” she says. Shots are fun. It’s not like they taste any better than beer, but there’s an actual payoff. She has to watch herself, of course; she’s generally an angry drunk, but as long as it doesn’t reach that point, things will be good. She’s aching for a nice buzz, and she wouldn’t mind a shortcut.

“Hey, can I steal two of these?” she says to the girl pouring them, grinning when she gets the go-ahead. “Thanks!” Quinn sets the wine cooler on the counter and takes two shots from the line, offering one to Kick. She yanks it back suddenly, frowning. “Wait, what’s the…beer before liquor, something…sicker?”

Kick takes the shot out of Quinn’s hand with a spectacular eyeroll and a half-amused sort of grin. “Old wives tales. Drink a ton of water before you go to bed, and you’ll be fine.” 

She doesn’t try to police Quinn too much at these parties. Everyone here is trustworthy, and Quinn’s a big girl. They’ve both needed and appreciated the room to grow -- including the room to make blackout mistakes once or twice -- since they got here. And if Quinn wants to start taking shots before 10:30, that’s definitely her prerogative. 

Quinn rolls her eyes as she’s literally pulled to her feet by Kick. “’Cause I was looking for you,” she says. “You should be flattered about my priorities here. Sister first, alcohol second.”

The kitchen is kind of a mess, packed with people cheering as a new keg is tapped. Quinn glances around dubiously. “Do you see anything besides beer?” she says to Kick. Beer is gross. She still thinks everyone who claims to enjoy the taste is lying. “Hard cider or lemonade or something?”

Quinn is a priss. Such. A. Priss.

Kick rolls her eyes -- again -- and keeps grip on Quinn’s hand as she ducks around Kelly and Ortiz doing shots to yank the fridge open. It’s full of, unsurprisingly, quality food. They’re athletes, after all. They can’t just keep crap around and expect to be any good. The fridge is also supposed to be off limits to anyone who doesn’t live in the house. But Kick likes to live dangerously. Besides, Maura lives here.

Reaching in behind a couple cartons of eggs, Kick emerges with a six pack of wine coolers and holds them up for Quinn’s inspection.

It’s crystal clear that Kick did, in fact, notice. “Nice to meet you,” Quinn offers lamely as Maura leaves. She sits back and sighs, trying to come up with a believable excuse for her going from zero to bitch in two seconds. “Nothing,” she says. “It’s just…school. I’m stressed.” She can’t exactly tell the truth. She’s not even sure of the truth herself. She’s seen Kick with plenty of girls. Kick with a girl in her lap didn’t even bother her until that girl turned out to be…her. She runs a hand through her hair, avoiding her sister’s withering gaze. “Didn’t you promise me a drink?”

Kick pulls a face as she continues to stare at her sister. “Uh, yeah, and you walked right past a kitchen full of them.”

After swinging by their dorm to drop off her backpack and freshen up, Quinn heads over to Roth House. From her own perspective it’s been a long time coming, but she can’t blame Kick for wanting to make a big deal out of her dropping the whole church thing. As long as Judy never finds out her sweet, perfect, Christian daughter is slowly turning into a heathen like her sister, all will be well.

There was a certain tongue in cheek aspect to Quinn’s texts to her twin, though. Considering the impure thoughts she’s been having about Kick, she kind of is diving headfirst into a life of sin. It all feels wrong but that’s part of why Quinn likes it, and isn’t that what college is all about? Experimenting and discovering yourself? Maybe that’s not supposed to apply to incestuous urges, but then again, college is about breaking the rules, too.

Kick called it a “little party”, but when Quinn arrives she finds that description a bit off. The house is full of people, way more than make up the women’s soccer and lacrosse teams. It’s not the wildest party they’ve been too, either, though, by far. Quinn strikes out in search of her sister, turning down two drink offers before she catches a glance of long, pink hair across the room. When she gets closer, she finds Kick sprawled across a couch tucked into a dimly lit corner of the room with a girl on her lap. Figures.

“You’re hard to find,” Quinn says loudly over the noise, plopping down on the couch beside her twin. “Who’s—”

Holy shit. The girl in Kick’s lap—the first glance Quinn catches of her face, she recognizes her instantly. It’s Mystery Girl from the porn video. Quinn feels a lot of things at once, and none of them are pleasant. Don’t be weird, Quinn tells herself. Don’t be weird. She clears her throat, forcing a fake smile on her face. “Who’s your friend?” she says to Kick.

She figures it must be a Fabray thing that keeps her from ever getting totally blitzed out of her mind. The need for control, that is. She guesses there are definitely worse things from her dad. In the grands scheme of things, the self-awareness to stop herself from getting drunk off her ass is actually a blessing.

But Maura’s drunk. Most everybody is drunk, but Maura is drunk and in her lap, laughing and recounting a locker room horror story from her first semester way back when, and Kick is just buzzed enough to find it funny even if it isn’t. The most important thing here is that Maura is one of the prettiest girls on the team, and she’s seen Kick’s cock and she still wants to sit in her lap. Win, win, win.

She tips the beer bottle back against her lips and takes a swig just in time to hear her sister practically spit fire at her, and the beer almost comes back up in surprise. Quinn hasn’t sounded like that since high school. It gets both eyebrows up, and Kick leans forward to look at her twin around Maura.

Even as she speaks, she stares at Quinn with a clear expression of ‘wtf is wrong with you.’ “Quinn, this is Maura. Maura, this is my sister, Quinn. Sorry she’s a bit crabby. She’s cutting back on Jesus these days.”

After a second, she taps the other player’s butt, urging her up. “Why don’t you go see if A.J.’s got the new keg ready?”