cece made a face like she couldn't believe her ears . “ heavens , no ! ” she promised , whisking the statuesque beauty that had fallen into her lap toward her salon chair . “ here you are , doll . sit ! i'll grab a smock , ” she insisted , helping her get settled before disappearing for a moment to retrieve a pastel pink number that she fastened around the woman's neck .
“ i'm christine , but everyone calls me cece . can i have the pleasure of attaining your name , in return ? ” she asked , staring kindly into her eyes through the mirror . the eyes were the window to the soul , as the old saying went , and her coffee-colored pools were deep and observant . as they should be for any cosmetologist worth their weight .
she draped the flowing , blonde locks across her shoulders and held up the ends . “ tell me , are you averse to a big chop ? ” she asked , her own head tilting in inquiry . “ i am sensing some restraint in your beautiful aura . are you afraid of anything , or simply wary to change ? we've all been there . ”
Fuck it, she was a tired mom of two, and she'd been married to her husband for so long, things admittedly got stale from time to time... Some days, Quinn forgot she even was a woman and it seemed like Phil did the same, so if this strange (respectfully) woman wanted to help her get some mojo back, who was she to fight fate?
"Quinn," she replied, and it was a sign of respect that she didn't comment on Cece's flowery language by adding a sarcastic 'madame' at the end. Despite the ridiculousness, she sensed the act was entirely authentic and while Quinn had no problem being a bitch, she drew the line at being mean.
She tired not to let her panic show at the idea of a dramatic haircut. "I'm not-" She wasn't opposed, it was just... she'd kept her hair the same for so long. "I've always just thought long hair was easier. Like, you can just throw it up in a ponytail, y'know? And I had some hair loss after I stopped breastfeeding and..." Oh god, she was totally restraining...
the mention of spaghetti earned her an immediate, heavy drag of his eyelids; the ultimate silent evaluation of her kids' uncultured palates. he didn't drop his hands from the catering bag, but his mouth twisted into a hard, sour line that clearly communicated his disgust for box pasta and jarred sauce. "he's getting iron," noah muttered, tone cutting flatly through the distant drone of the living room television. "spaghetti is flour and water. it's empty. he eats this or he stays small."
he watched her manicured hands move toward the heat radiating glass, his eyes tracking her fingers with the automatic vigilance of a man who spent three years watching his perimeter over a stainless steel prison counter. he didn't pull the containers away from her, which was as close to total compliance as he ever got with another human being. but the moment she set one down, his fingers automatically reached out to correct the angle, aligning the edge perfectly parallel to the granite seam of the island.
her swear and the sharp question about his face barely registered as a surprise. he knew the dark, bruised craters under his eyes were impossible to hide; the pinehaven gray had a way of bleeding right into his skin, and the relentless weight in his skull wasn't something he had the vocabulary to unpack with a licensed therapist, even if they shared the same parents. he just let out a dry, dismissive puff of air through his nose, his default blank stare locking onto her forehead to avoid eye contact.
"the line starts at five," he said, the roughness in his throat scraping against the words as he deflected. "the prep doesn't do itself." he turned back to the insulated bag, thumbs working the heavy zipper with a sudden, tense efficiency, eager to seal the fabric up and put a physical barrier between his own exhaustion and her scanning, professional gaze before she could start digging around in his head. he looked around the room, his eyes dropping to the second barstool where his brother in law normally perched. "phil still at the office?"
Quinn had to physically restrain herself from smacking her brother upside the head as it looked like his soul briefly left his body when she mentioned something as plebeian as spaghetti. Like he didn't grow up in the same fucking household as her, one paper-thin piece of drywall separating their headboards so she could practically pick up his dreams by osmosis, the little shit... Next time, she'd mention dino nuggets, just to give him a fucking aneurysm. "You speaking from experience?" she quipped instead, because if her son turned out small, it would likely come from her side of the family...
When he looked at her — no, not at her, through her — it did absolutely nothing to ease her concern, which considering that had likely been his intention, made it almost as pathetic as it did absolutely fucking infuriating. Because getting answers from Noah had always been like pulling teeth, but Quinn's nerves were just a little too raw right now to deal with such a flagrant non-answer. "Sure, fine, whatever. Pretend that has anything to do with what I'm talking about..." She was too tired to deal with the fact her brother could never be straightforward with her, that he viewed everyone with an air of suspicion and she wasn't immune.
"Yeah," she sighed, almost relenting, but also nudging the perfectly flush container Noah had just fixed. On accident, of course, though she didn't try hard to make it convincing. "He's got some sort of account due tomorrow, or... fuck, I don't know. You know I tune out every time he talks." (About work, but over the years, the shorthand had become a joke in itself.)
3 negative traits: emotionally fragile, fanciful, and naive
You can be the mad king, I'll still be your frontline pawn
Marital Status: Single
Family: Mother and Father (both deceased), Aunt (on her mother's side), cousins??
I'll be chasing red flags til I'm gone
TW: abuse, murder, infidelity
Azra was raised on contradictions. She loved fairytales and happily-ever-afters, but every day she saw proof of how it could go wrong. She was her father's Little Princess, but every time he drank, he laid hands on her mother. When he was good, he was her hero and no knight could shine brighter, but when things were bad (and it seemed, as the years wore on, things were only ever bad,) he was the fire-breathing dragon she and her mother needed saving from.
Her mother only shrank, becoming a shell of herself, so as she got older, Azra often sought refuge at her aunt's house. At her teyze's house, Azra no longer felt like she had to retreat inside herself, and the more time she spent there, the more she blossomed. She would always be more on the reserved side, but in a peaceful environment, she had the freedom to explore.
By the time she was 16, she was doing almost everything in her power to stay out of her own home. She joined clubs, went to parties, and slept at aunt's house most nights, all the while turning a blind eye as her father's anger escalated. And then it was too late — her father killed her mother in a murder-suicide. It absolutely shattered her, and a part of her is still trying to pick up the pieces...
She studied journalism at Northwestern in Chicago, and after graduation eventually landed a job as a news correspondent for a local station in St. Louis, MI. It was there that she met Hank, the charming star weatherman and they immediately hit it off. They dated for three years before getting engaged, but Azra soon discovered he had never been faithful. It all came to light when a woman showed up at the station with a newborn baby she claimed belonged to Hank...
Humiliated and heartbroken, Azra retreated back to Pinehaven, to the familiar embrace of her beloved teyze, who had always been able to hold the fragile pieces of her heart together.
a gasp sounded out as cece walked into the lobby of her salon . “ stop right there ! ” she insisted , pointing directly at the person standing by the front desk . they were flipping through a hairstyle magazine , most likely trying to decide , but she was certain they didn't need that old thing . “ you . are . divine , ” she nodded , rushing up to them and framing ( but not touching ) their face with her hands . “ the bone structure you have - to die for ! you would look so amazing with the hairstyle i have in mind for you , do you trust me ? ” she blinked innocently . if there was anything she knew , it was hair . how to do it , but also how to make people feel like a million dollars simply by changing it up . “ come , come . sit in my chair , i have already decided you're my latest muse , darling . ”
Long gone were the days of teenage rebellion when Quinn would dye her hair jet black in hopes of getting some sort of rise out of her mother. Now, she preferred to stay closer to her natural blonde — though the grays that had started sprinkling her crown threatened what she was willing to call 'natural'...
She knew she should've called ahead for an appointment, but she had an unexpected afternoon free and considering her office wasn't far from the salon, she figured it wouldn't hurt to walk by and check if they had an opening.
It appeared they did — if the enthusiastic pixie-esque woman who seemed to be practically shaking from physically restraining herself was anything to go by. "You're not gonna, like, use my hair to stick pins in little dolls, are you?" she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Quinn didn't mind a little flamboyance, though her own style tended much towards droll. She was going to choose to view this woman's excitement almost akin to a fairy godmother's, and Quinn could lean in to a dose of whimsy... "Never been a muse before... Sounds fun."
the engine of noah’s beat up truck cut out with a wet, heavy cough, leaving only the sound of the pinehaven rain drumming against the rusted roof. he sat there for a long minute in the dark driveway, his callused hands lingering on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the warm, yellow light spilling from the windows of quinn’s house. on the passenger seat sat a heavy, insulated catering bag, packed with the only kind of care package he knew how to assemble. he took a slow breath, forcing the baseline knot of anxiety down into his stomach, before he grabbed the handles and stepped out into the damp pacific northwest air.
noah didn't knock. he pushed through the front door, the heavy thump of his boots instantly announcing him to a house that always felt a little too bright and a little too cluttered compared to his own walls. his counters were bleached, his knives were magnetized to the wall in descending order of size, and the silence was total. quinn’s place was an entirely different beast. almost immediately, the frantic scuffle of small feet echoed from the hallway, followed by his niece yelling a greeting before she bolted back toward the living room.
noah didn't try to follow or offer a loud shout back; his social battery was already running on fumes just from making the drive. instead, he carried the bag straight into the kitchen, his large frame crowding the space as he set it down on the countertop. he could hear quinn somewhere down the hall, her voice carrying the sharp brooklyn cadence they shared. by the time she walked into the kitchen, noah was already unzipping the bag, his movements methodical and efficient.
he didn't look up, reaching into the bag and pulling out three heavy glass containers, still radiating a deep, comforting heat in lieu of a greeting. "braised short ribs," he nodded towards the containers. "polenta. the greens have vinegar in them so the kid might spit them out, but they're good for him."
Phil had called to say he'd be home late — some last minute work emergency that had sounded so ungodly boring she'd tuned out the entire explanation. It was hardly relevant, anyway; the headline was she and the kids were on their own, so it seemed like the perfect night to call out for delivery...
"He was hoping for spaghetti," she replied, a hand on her hip and not an ounce of gratefulness in her tone. Because while Quinn had long since learned it was pointless to complain about the way her brother cropped up in her house without even so much as announcing his arrival like some sort of chronically depressed leprechaun, she could act like enough of a brat he'd have to acknowledge her annoyance.
She gave her brother a once-over before finally relenting and coming over to help him unpack. "Jesus, No, you look like shit. Have you slept in the last, like, year?"
Family: Mother and Father (Ezra and Lydia Grayson; alive), three brothers (Wes, Mason, and Noah), Husband (Phil TBD), Daughter (Chloe, 9), Son (Sam, 2)
Education: B.A. in English from Kingsborough Community College (Brooklyn, NY); M.A. in Marriage and Family Therapy from Antioch University
I've learned to hate symbolic limits...
Trigger warnings: domestic abuse
Quinn Grayson was born the only girl in the loud and rowdy Grayson clan. Rather than allow herself to be typecast as a princess (although, let's be honest, she absolutely exploited it whenever it suited her...) she prided herself on her ability to be just as tough as the boys.
In high school, her rebellion took the form of getting involved in the underground music scene, which was where she landed herself a dirtbag wannabe musician all of her very own. She got swept up in the fantasy, giving her heart over to Gavin completely, and soon after she graduated, the two eloped.
It wasn't a happy marriage, and it didn't take long before he started getting violent. But rather than admit defeat, Quinn chose to put her head in the sand, believing that once he got his big break, things would be better. In the end, it took her little brother Noah nearly beating Gavin to death to wake her up to her reality. She filed for divorce and moved back home with her parents, just as her little brother was moving out for his first stint behind bars...
She was 26 and still trying to put her life together when she first met, Phil. The absolute opposite of her first husband, he was sweet, and safe, and honestly... kinda boring. But Quinn was absolutely mad about him, and when he wanted to move back to his hometown of Pinehaven, WA, she was happy to follow him.
The two are now married, with a 9 year old daughter and a 2 year old son. Quinn still has a heavy dose of Brooklyn edge that doesn't quite fit with Northwest sensibilities, and most people are completely flummoxed as to why she would choose to uproot her whole life for Phil of all people. But she's happy, and honestly, everyone else can go fuck themselves...
"I suppose that's what I get for putting my foot in my mouth with wanting a snowball fight." The man found himself uttering, though he was laughing as his fingers ran through his hair from being pelted with a snowball. Though, props to the one who threw it. Perfect aim and a perfect shot.
Fine, sure. The opportunity presented itself and she couldn't not take it. One vaguely spherical snow clump and... "I played intramural softball in college," Bridget explained innocently, jogging over to meet him. "You gotta watch what you say around me. I'll straight up Monkey Paw your life." A weird joke, maybe, but she was full of them.
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