#wingedfabray

The flurry of the night caught up to Quinn, who watched the others file away as though in a dream. Another dream. There was no way she was standing at Sciron. There was no way she stayed at Sciron. Her shaking hands stilled in the fabric of her shirt, and her eyes screwed shut. Too much was happening all at once. But the memories of the night didn't disappear when she closed her eyes, they only painted themselves against the darkness. Her own figure, smiling maniacally over her father's desk, Santana motionless yet crying, Elliott. Elliott, unglamoured face colored with concern. Her eyes flew open, her breath caught. It was too much. She tuned in to the world around her just in time to watch now-familiar horns disappear around a corner, and she followed quietly behind, until the voices of others disappeared entirely, until it was just the two of them. "Hey. Hey! We need to talk."

Elliott is trying to process whatever just happened. He thinks to himself and rolls his eyes wondering when they would just enjoy a normal day, just one, it wasn't hard, was it? He sighs lost on his mind, though gladly not literally again, when he suddenly hears a voice calling him. He turns around to discover Quinn and he can't hide an expression of surprise "Do we?" he asks confused and about to say a sentence he never thought he would direct to Quinn Fabray "Do you want to go to my room?"

Quinn is taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought farther than 'I have to talk to him.' There had been enough leftover common sense to wait until they were alone, but not enough to think about whether or not anyone could intrude. Alone in a room with Elliott Gilbert. More than that, alone in Elliott's room. A sick feeling crawled up her throat, but something a little more desperate had her swallowing against it. She pressed her lips together, jaw clenched, and gave a small nod. "Yes." Came the impossible answer.

Elliott looked at Quinn in surprise for a few more seconds, did she just say yes? he asked himself "This must be important" he says with a small smirk "follow me" he walks before her, guiding her to the stairs where he usually when up and down if he wanted to visit Santana, though teleportation was easier and quicker these days, but he also liked to respect her privacy. In a matter of minutes he was opening his door, still not processing that Quinn was actually there behind him. He looks over his shoulder for a moment to answer his own question, and then finally opened the door "Come in" he says as he steps in, he sees Ziggy poking her head out of her tank and he pets her "so?" he asks turning around to Quinn again "What do you want from me?"

Quinn looks around, breath shallow against her tight chest. A moment of silence falls between them as she takes the room in without actually seeing anything. The art supplies, the Queen posters, Ziggy. It's there, and it sticks somewhere, but Quinn's mind is turning too quickly to hold onto any of it, to see past the fact that she's there in the first place, or why. "I don't..." She starts, and pauses, a far cry from the girl who'd first confronted Elliott years ago. She finally looks to him directly, squaring her shoulders. "You're not supposed to care about people. You're not. But tonight, with Santana, the way you looked at her. Like you honestly care for her, love her even, and that's not the first time I've seen it." There's a pause, and her next words sound smaller somehow. Somewhere, distantly, she knows this isn't a responsibility to put on Elliott's shoulders. "How? How do you care? Why do you care so much? I don't understand."

Elliott looks at her with a frown "I'm not suppose to care?" he chuckles partially annoyed "Who says so? Why are you so sure?" he asks though he can already think what the answer could be "It's not your imagination, I do love her, she is my friend, and I care" he says surprised that he has to explain that  "Why and how? I just... feel! I can hate and love people, I make bonds and connections, and I feel deeply for them just like anyone else... just like you" he makes a confused expression "Why do you care? How do you care?" he asks back at her "Would your answer be any different? Is that hard to understand?"

"Yes." The answer comes quickly, vehemently. Quinn feels like she can't quite catch her breath, this just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. How many nights had she spent sitting at a desk next to her father, reading the bible; next to her grandmother, listening to tales of her ancestors banishing demons in spirals of righteous, holy fire. If none of it was true, if none of it even mattered, then, then... "You can't! You..." But he could. That was the thing, he absolutely could. The evidence had been laying itself out before her for years, starting with an argument, and a crushed camera. "If you can, then it's all been a lie, hasn't it? It's all been for..." The word 'nothing' catches harshly in her throat. Something closer to 'I'm sorry' takes its place, but rather than let it escape, she turns away. Her eyes find the walls, the posters, the supplies, anything but Elliott. There'd always been a hard line drawn in the sand: what was holy (right), and what was unholy (wrong). The line, already blurry, washes away with the waves, and Quinn feels as though so much more is washed away with it. It doesn't feel better, just empty. The tense set of her shoulders shakes, and she pulls in a breath. "You were never supposed to care, but you do. I see that. I'm...sorry, nothing makes sense."

Elliott looks at Quinn, her nervousness so unlike what he normally saw of her, he wondered what was going on with her, on her mind. He couldn't read her, he never tried before either, his concept of Quinn was one of those churchy people who would quote the bible to him to excuse their shittiness, though it was true lately it has been easier to look at her in a different light, and the fact that she was close with Blaine always made him wonder if he was judging her wrong. "Why is so hard? Because it is easier to condemn me if you don't think of me as a person?" But even if he had a bad concept of her, sometimes she had even surprised him with a small gesture of decency, and that very moment could be classified as one of those. He doesn't know what to say, maybe because at this point he was ready for anything except someone like her apologizing to him. He keeps looking at her in silence for a while unsure "Breathe" it's the only thing that comes out of his lips when he sees her questioning herself, he would normally accompany his calm voice with a soft touch, but he avoided that wondering if it would make things worst "Nothing makes sense? What do you mean? That what you thought was not the absolute truth?" he can't stop himself from being a little sarcastic.

The moment feels surreal to Quinn. Elliott almost sounds gentle in his instruction, and it doesn't help the roiling confusion, or the way the ground seemed to fall away beneath her. Eventually, the process of questioning everything she'd ever been taught would be too much, and  every time she wondered is this it. It's not, she pulls in a breath like he'd instructed, slow and steady, and pivots to face him once more. "It's not easier to condemn you. You've always made that very hard." She releases the breath slowly. "It just doesn't make sense. My whole life I've been told what you should be, and how I should feel about that. It's...it's obviously not exactly true...so, what are you, exactly? How do you fit into religion, belief?"

Elliott chuckles bitterly looking at the ceiling for a moment to take a breath in himself and let out a sigh as he looks at her again "I am a demon" he says, what did she want for him to tell her that he was magically not a demon anymore? that she could just breathe and move on? He touches his hair moving it around a little "There are bad and good people everywhere, you know?" he says calmly "but the thing is no one cared to write about the good ones in your book, no one told the stories of my people helping yours, no one told you about kind demons who would give humans strength and power, it was always about the sinful ones, or Satan whose sin was to want free will...that bastard, but you all are so smart, always drawing the line in the perfect place so the image of demons would always be monstrous" he crosses his arms "some of us may be bad but that doesn't make us all that way" he looks at her very seriously "Do you want me to judge you for all the sins of the human race?" there is a long silence "I don't fit in your religion because those who are said to be talking in the name of god won't let me fit in" he pauses again "I always though his message was about love and acceptance, but I guess it depends on the person reading"

Quinn stood quietly, watching, listening. Her father's library was full of selected texts, NYADA's full of many of the same plus texts that would never be found in Russell's. She wasn't new to selective history, of guiding beliefs through omission. She'd been stupid enough to believe she was learned, looking beyond what was purposefully placed right in front of her. As seemed to be the case so often, she'd been wrong. And it wasn't Elliott's fault, it wasn't his responsibility to correct her. "Right. Right, you're...okay. It is about...many things. The messages aren't always clear, sometimes contradictory. I've never believed the bible is perfect, but this never just about the bible." Normally elegant and articulate to a fault, Quinn felt at a loss. The empty feeling didn't lessen as Elliott spoke, it only grew. "You were doing research, and I'm sure you're more...well-versed in your own people than I could ever hope to be. Is there any reading you would recommend?"

Elliott observes Quinn body language and realizes something, she is actually listening and thinking about it, isn't she? He feels a weird sensation on his chest. He walks by her to his desk and takes a piece of paper writing down some books titles. "I'm very aware just a book is not the only reason why my kind is seen one way or the other, but it does insist on certain ideas that only hurt us more" he gives her the paper "I don't want the bad things to be forgotten, but I wish the good things could be seen as well" he shrugs "again I don't blame everything on the bible, I blame God too, Satan even, I blame people who take things out of context or interpret things to divide instead of uniting" he sighs "but then again I'm not free of sin I guess" he touches his hair again nervously.

Quinn reaches out, taking the paper almost tenderly, unsure even while she'd asked for it. But she takes it, holding it gently between shaking fingers. "A whole and accurate history isn't a bad thing to aspire to. Nor is it unfair to ask." She offers quietly, accepting at least that much, taking a step that shocked even her. "We should..." She started, trailing off in a frustrated breath. "We should talk, after I've had time to research, when I'm not..." Falling apart? Questioning her existence, family, beliefs? "This." She gestures at herself uselessly, hoping he would understand, then wondering at the fact that she cared about his understanding at all. She steps away from the space he'd filled when he offered the paper, putting distance between the two of them once more. "It's been a long night."

Elliott nods looking down awkwardly for a moment "Yes, we should" he isn't sure what she is going through, though he can imagine is confusing as fuck, and he doesn't want to overwhelm her with his thought on religion right now, as much as he wishes to discuss more things with her, it can wait for now "Yes, it was, you must need to sleep" he says showing her a more friendly expression "Let me know when you are ready, and we can have that conversation" he nods again.

Quinn wonders if she has his number (she does), or if that's even a concern (somehow it is). Instead of voicing it, she nods, backing up until her back hits his door, and her hands fumble briefly with the doorknob. "I'll let you know, I'll text." Aether, she actually means it. It's too much, Elliott caring, Elliott treating her with something like kindness; although, it's not the first time. She's always been the one to lead with hate, hasn't she? "Good night, Elliott." She says in a rush, pivoting to leave the room in a rush.