quid pro quo.

QUINN ADLER. 35. Human. Disappointing daughter. Courtroom killer. Deputy District Attorney. Lifelong Astoria resident. I am not a creature that was born. I am a fire that was set.

[quinnadler]

set: during the event  location: a wall in the sculpture gallery  closed with @jameshorton​

She hasn’t even truly noticed he’s beside her until... well, now. Quinn looks up from her phone and yet another email (her last, she’s promised herself, likely lying) to see her friend, somewhat neighbor, and coincidentally mayor of the town beside her. Her lips curve into something like a smile and she holds up her own phone, guilty as charged. “Never do know how to stop working, do we?” Or maybe it’s just her. She’s been told that before. “Unless your messages are the personal sort.” Quinn isn’t privy to too many of those. “I won’t pry.” She dismisses quickly, shaking her head. “But, congratulations, Mr. Mayor,” the tone could be joking with anyone else but isn’t with her, still formal as ever as Quinn gestures toward the art she’s taken no time to observe. “The night seems to be going swimmingly. How is it treating you?”

[quinnadler]

set: during the event location: sculpture gallery closed with @zakary-prashad​

She should be perusing the art, and so Quinn does, wandering amongst sculptures and scenic paintings now that she’s got some alcohol in her bloodstream. Art’s just fine – but not a talent of hers, not by far, and so she doesn’t really know what to do with it. That much is emulated now as she stands in front of a bust of an apparently historic vampire, tilting her head and sipping another cocktail. “Eerie bastard.” She mutters in the direction of the marble, then jumps at the sensation of someone nearby. “Shit. Um...” It’s a familiar face, though one that it still makes her skittish to see on a good day, let alone when she’s just done a good enough job of embarrassing herself. “I’ll trust that you won’t tell the dead people I said that.” Quinn mutters, technically toward Zakary but more so toward the rim of her cup. After another moment of contemplation, though, another question comes tumbling out. Blame the alcohol. “How does it feel? To be born into... something like that, I mean.” Her gesture this time is toward a painting on the nearest wall, some scene of a witch casting who-knows-what. She’s not exactly well versed in the art of witchcraft. “Is it a blessing or a curse?” She’s showing her own humanity and she knows it. And therefore arguably showing a weakness, but it’s an honest question.

[quinnadler]

@deanbailleres​

event: harvest moon location: the back exit of the exhibition @astoriastarter​

A feeling of distress churned in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Eyes bounced around the lobby of the exhibition as though he’d been scoping for a threat. The thing that was different, though, was that he didn’t know who the threat was. Or if there was one. Sipping his glass of scotch, he rounded the high circular table he’d been leaning on for the past ten minutes, quietly excusing himself. Inching towards a skittish individual who seemed to slither past nooks and crannies like it was nothing, he found himself in a light jog as he stepped outside. Unclenching his fists, he inhaled sharply, cold air enveloping his throat. “Going insane,” Dean muttered under his breath. He could’ve sworn… Turning on the balls of his feet, he looked up at the base of the stairs to a bystander. “Happen to see some creep run outta here, by any chance?”

-

So the reception area obviously hadn’t been a good choice. But the back exit – that’ll do. Pinned up against a wall, Quinn is in the midst of heatedly and rather unpleasantly replying to an email when a voice interrupts her train of thought. The lawyer raises a brow, looking either way. “Uh, quite a few,” she replies sardonically, looking down to finish the message she’d been composing before she looks up again. As her arms fold across her chest, her head tilts. “Do you have a physical description or am I just supposed to go off of intuition here? Because I’m not one of those types. As human as they come, actually. Not that that makes me any lesser...” The final comment is muttered as the phone is slipped into her back pocket. “Did something happen?”

[quinnadler]

set: during the event  location: reception closed with @sbodden​

It’s not as if she’s hiding... except that she arguably is. But everyone needs a moment of respite, right? Or maybe she’s just not a social butterfly. That wouldn’t be news to anyone. Still, hiding near the reception area may be a new low. She’s been sitting in the same seat for a while, tucked well into her phone. Don’t answer work emails on a weekend, many a friend has chided, but what else is she going to do? Make small talk? Much more compelling to look over the case studies she’d just been forwarded. And maybe fix her makeup... Quinn’s hand wanders behind her to the back of the chair and comes up short. She stands, craning her neck, her frown only growing deeper by the second. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” This is just great. Plenty of foot traffic passes through here – it could’ve been anyone. After muttering quite a few expletives and checking under the chair (to no luck), Quinn turns just in time to see a familiar face. “Bodden,” she tosses out, looking more exasperated than she likes to ever reveal. “Don’t imagine you’d be up for some sleuthing while you’re off the clock? It seems someone stole my purse.”

[quinnadler]

set: during the event location: gemini art gallery closed with @maliahorton​

“Shit.” Her mother would accuse Quinn of being unladylike – which is exactly what she didn’t want right now. Her parents had claimed they wouldn’t be at the event. So why is her mother on the threshold right now? Before she can be noticed and likely chastised (for her outfit, for her state of semi-tipsiness, for the call she missed earlier that day), Quinn ducks behind someone and puts her head on a swivel. A distraction. She needs a distraction, someone to talk to, something to do so she’s not just standing here, waiting to be seen... “Oh.” She practically sighs in relief at the sight of a familiar face and slides into Malia’s view quickly. “Hello. Sorry, this is – not my most graceful. But I, um...” Quinn cranes her neck then, displeased at her mother’s trajectory, pivots both herself and Malia around to get out of the woman’s line of sight. “Hi. How’s your night? Are you willing to talk to me for five minutes? I just need a hiding place for five minutes. Ten, maximum.”

[quinnadler]

@nincdams​

—

“Oh?” Nina arched one brow at the woman’s words. “So you come here often, then?” Because in Nina’s mind, that was the only reason why she shouldn’t be surprised to find Quinn sitting there, looking all beautifully annoyed, as she often did. Nina knew there was a cheap pick-up line that sounded exactly like her previous words, but she hadn’t meant it like that and in the vampire’s world, her intentions were all that mattered. Her truth was all that mattered. 

Her eyes followed Quinn’s motions, watching as the human drank the dark liquid in her glass far too quickly, but says nothing about it. She was a grown woman and Nina couldn’t afford gaining interest in yet another mortal. It’s been enough as it is. “I can’t say no to a good burlesque show. I’m all for women supporting women.” Not to mention, she could use a distraction. “Plus, their imported vodka is actually good. Why would anyone choose to stay home?”

-

Quinn’s brow quirks at the question, and she shrugs, looking down at the drink rather than the probing gaze of her company. “Well, no.” She mutters, all insinuations of pick-up lines missed entirely. Flirting is a foreign concept. “I just mean I’m not entirely without a social life, you know.” Arguably untrue, especially given that she’s here to scope out a job. But she’s not going to admit that.

The next statement does turn her head, though, and Quinn looks bewildered. Skittish, even, though she tries to rein it in. “There’s – it’s – that’s what sort of show it is?” She’d seen the sign by the door but had hardly thought burlesque. It’d seemed innocuous enough. Shit. Not the right place to be, then. Of course fate would put her in front of a burlesque. Fantastic. “Staying home means avoiding unwanted circumstances,” the lawyer fires back, ever the contrarian and missing the potential insinuation. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want Nina’s company... but really, did she want anyone’s? “Though their vodka is admittedly better than the bottle in my freezer.” Quinn allows that much, clearing her throat before taking another sip of the drink in hand. “No, I don’t come here often. It’s not... my scene.” Blue eyes dart nervously toward the stage. Empty, for now. “Is it yours?”

[quinnadler]

@maliahorton​

“It’s a cute face though,” she complimented. Lia chuckled and pointed at the other woman. “Hey, that’s a smart idea though. Maybe I should consider that–it’ll be easier than having to walk to the break room.” Especially when she preferred staying in her office to keep working and couldn’t afford to lose her train of thought. “Thanks,” she grinned and grabbed a spare pair of chopsticks. Her stomach was happy about having some food after working without it for the last couple of hours. 

She doubted that was true. Quinn was brilliant at her job, and even if she considered the woman her rival sometimes, Lia had no problems with pointing out what was obviously true. Before she could attempt to reassure the woman of just that, she’s asking for her opinion on what to do. Lia thought over what she would do for a second before proceeding. “Okay, so a flashy closing… Since I’m not much for theatrics either, I think the way to go would be to play up the emotional appeal. We’re already providing the concrete evidence, so just make sure the jury knows exactly how the plaintiff felt and what exactly the defendant did that caused them to feel that way. I don’t think showing the crime scene photos are necessarily bad, but I think it’d need to be done in a way that the defense can’t claim it’s being used as a simple scare tactic.” Lia took another bite of food before settling back in her seat. “I just think if the defense is the one reaching with all of these ‘My client has never hurt a fly’ and all that shit, then it’ll be apparent to them. Flashy or not. You’ll do fine. I know it. Don’t feel the need to stoop to their level if you can avoid it. Play to your strengths, not theirs.” 

Quinn can only guffaw at the compliment for a moment, but she’s quick to scoff and wave it away no matter how much it startles her. “You’re just saying that because you want to steal my caseload.” Likely untrue – Lia has work enough of her own, Quinn knows that. But hell if she can take a compliment at face value. Especially not one like that. Regaining her composure, she simply hums in recognition to thanks. “Some would call it the habits of a workaholic.” She mutters belatedly in regards to the dishes stored in the office, the comment forgotten almost as quickly as it was made while she looks back to her work at hand.

Her gaze only raises when she looks to Lia for an opinion, sitting back in the desk chair for a moment wearing an expression similar to exasperation. After all, she can argue and refute all day. But emotional appeal? Well, that’s a different game entirely. “Right,” she still mutters, hardly heartened by the response but allowing Lia to continue all the same. It’s worthwhile advice. She’s just not sure she can manage it. “Their sense of justice, maybe,” Quinn offers, seeking something more in her arena of expertise. After a moment of contemplation, she nods, leaning forward to scrawl a few sentences whilst muttering something about ‘due diligence.’ “I guess I worry that people won’t want to be monologued at by me when the defense is doing a whole song and dance,” she murmurs, her wavering confidence showing through for only a second. Quickly, though, Quinn shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I’ll figure it out.” She rises to her feet, stretching and allowing herself to cross to the window and away from the work for just a moment. After looking out at the city, her blue eyes look back to her coworker. Her friend, maybe, though she’s not sure she really has any of those. “What are you still doing here, anyway, besides being my sounding board?”

[quinnadler]

@sbodden​

—

Somehow, even before looking at the newspaper page Quinn was sliding towards him, Santiago could guess what was written, after all, it was written pretty much everywhere: newspapers, news websites, news broadcasting programs. Turning the newspaper back towards Quinn, Santiago slide it closer to the woman, before taking a seat across from her at the table. “Not my precinct. I’m not involved in the case.” Although he wished he were, there was a small smirk playing across his lips, because this time, he wouldn’t have his chief breathing down his neck and watching his every move–which, in retrospect, Santiago could swear it had a lot to do with the fact that he didn’t want some things to be found, but hey… he wasn’t going to say anything out loud. “Camila is the one you should look for with this.” He explained with a wink, and before Quinn could ask why, since these two were partners and therefore, should be together, he continued. “She’s covering Matthew’s maternity leave down CBD’s 12th precinct.”

From what he had heard, though–there seemed to be little to few leads. No one at the coven was speaking, but he could be wrong. That only meant he should do some following up with Cami over the weekend. Plus, he missed her… not to mention, there were some things he needed to talk to her about, that were unrelated to any case of theirs. “I heard the guy’s coven is being very hush-hush about it.” He shrugged, noticing someone approaching their table and then shifting his attention to the other person and ordering his food. “How are you planning on build the case?”

-

“Damn.” The rejection makes Quinn sigh, crossing her arms as she leans back in her seat. “Didn’t think it was, but still...” Couldn’t anything come easily? Of course not. But really, where was the fun otherwise? Her chewing on the onion ring that she grabs could be described as angry at best and grumpy at worst, but she brightens some at the mention of Camila. “Oh, you’re kidding. Well, you could’ve led with that,” she chides, impatient as always. “Didn’t realize Matthew was out.” But she’s never been much good at keeping up with these things. “Don’t imagine she’s told you anything. Not that I’m supposed to ask, you know, confidentiality matters and whatnot...” But here she is, asking. Could anyone blame her, really? Ambition could be blinding, or so she’s been told, but this seems like something worthy of being ambitious for. Delivering due justice through this case would make her the name on everyone’s lips. She’d be good – no, she’d be great.

But first she needs information and Santi’s, unfortunately, doesn’t help much. “So I’ve heard.” As she stalked through the precinct and nearly run smack into Zakary. Not that she intends to mention that. “Well, depends if they assign it to me.” Quinn approaches modesty but skirts it quickly as she elaborates: “I’m digging in and seeing what I can find myself at this rate. Which is nothing, currently, but I won’t be so easily put off. I mean, how the hell does someone toss a head onto the hood of a car – and not just anyone’s car, may I add – and walk away whistling a tune? No, it’s horrifying. And double-edged, considering who received it. I’m shocked by it, and I’m sure others are, too. That’s case enough.” A beat and she deflates some. “The issue will be finding a decent jury. I’m sure everyone’s been reading the headlines.” Her head tilts. “Have you, actually? Or are you the noble sort who doesn’t stick their nose where it doesn’t belong?”

[quinnadler]

@minxsara​

—

“I mean… I think it’s fun.” Sara replied with a shrug, although, most of the time, she already had something in mind as to what she wanted to buy, which, didn’t seem to be Quinn’s case. “What? To a wedding? Cmon, Quinn… no! Even I can’t let you do that.” Not that Sara was all about dressing up, but she was all about dressing up with the occasion required. Weddings held a special place in her heart, so of course she wanted Quinn to look amazing. “Have you seen yourself? You’re a gorgeous woman… with a pair of big blue eyes that are going to simply disappear if you wear gray.” Taking Quinn by her hand, Sara dragged her to a more colorful section of dresses. First, she pulled out a light blue dress and held it close to the older woman. “How do you feel about this one? I think it’d make your eyes pop… not to mention, the naked back would definitely make a few heads turn.”

-

“Well, sorry,” Quinn offers to the scolding about the wedding, clearly disgruntled. “Can’t exactly claim I’ve been to many.” Two weddings, maybe? And she’d been scarce at those. Not hard to tell when your invitation comes from a place of politeness, after all, which most of hers seem to. The compliments should elicit a smile, maybe, but Quinn gives something more akin to a grimace. “Um... right. Thanks. Guess I don’t know too much about color theory – oh. Alright.” Her hand is grabbed and she’s led, blinking. Most people would be viciously snapped at for that sort of thing, but snapping at Sara would feel like kicking a puppy. So Quinn grins (or, well, scowls) and bears it, simply shrugging at the dress. “Well, I can’t say I’m used to striving for nakedness.” She mutters, turning the dress around on its hanger using only two fingers, as if touching it might burn. “But I guess I’ll try. Oh, what about this?” She wanders toward a pantsuit and wilts slightly as she looks back for approval. The look on Sara’s face says enough. “No? Am I courtroom shopping again?” Quinn sighs. “How the hell did you learn how to do this? I must’ve missed this class in school, which really doesn’t add up, considering I had near-perfect attendance.” A social life, however? Clearly she lacked in that department.

[quinnadler]

 @raine-morgan​

Location: Lyons @quinnadler

It was really easy to make an enemy of Raine, they carried grudges like nobody’s business. Anyone saying something about their gender could await the most terrible of punishments: Raine’s eternal mockery. Among them was a woman named Quinn, who had caught Raine in the act of trying to steal a traffic sign one late night on a dare. Not their usual, since stealing traffic signs was such a bother, and what were they going to do with it anyway? But she had managed to stop them before they could’ve actually taken it off the pole, and not by sheer presence, but because she addressed them as man, referring to them as a him to the bystanders. Raine had jumped off and said some dumb things unrelated to what had actually made them angry, and a pact was forged. 

So when Quinn walked into Lyons about two weeks after the incident, Raine knew they couldn’t let her walk out without at least getting onto her nerves. They walked up to her with a glass of beer in their hands and did the classic ‘oops didn’t see you there’ trick, because it was petty, so perfect. “Sorry, such a waste of beer.” 

-

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ever eloquent, the reply comes tumbling from Quinn’s frowning mouth the second the beer sloshes against her shirt. And maybe she should be the bigger person. She had apologized after the incident – even if she’d caught them in the act of stealing, and one could argue no wannabe criminal deserves an apology. Still: she’d apologized for her words. And now she gets this. “It is. Waste of your money, too, and from what I’ve seen of your actions, you’re probably pinching pennies. A true waste.” It’s a barbed comment if she’s ever delivered one, and a faint voice that could be a conscience warns her that she sounds like her mother. But the litany continues: “I’d insist that you pay for my dry cleaning, but knowing you, you’d just up and steal my shirt, hang it from a flag pole or something.” She swats at the shirt in question as if that’ll make even the vaguest difference. It doesn’t. “Are you pleased with your revenge now? Or do you really want to make me regret not seeking petty theft charges? Because I’m sure that could be amended.”

[quinnadler]

@maliahorton​

—

Her eyes stung and she rubbed her eyes. She needed a break from poring over files she’d looked into and so she got up to walk around and stretch her legs. It was while Lia was walking around that she noticed another light on in the building. Heading towards the office she held her hand up, about to knock, but paused watching the other woman work before she was caught doing so. Quinn’s reaction had her chuckling. “Sorry, you just looked so focus there,” she teased. 

“Nope. Guess I should’ve known you’d still be here though.” She can’t quite recall when she had eaten last and so she nods at the invitation and steps further into the attorney’s office. “Sure. I don’t mind. Better than eating snacks from the vending machine anyway.” An occurrence that had happened loads of time when she stayed late and realized too late that most to-go places were closed for the night. She grinned, taking a seat opposite of her and making herself comfortable. “Yeah? Want to go over with me? Maybe I can help,” she offers. The idea of taking her mind off the events surrounding her brother during the full moon was what she needed anyway. 

-

“I think that’s just my face,” Quinn replies half-heartedly, her eyes quickly drawn to the pad of paper before her once more rather than her company. Not that Lia isn’t good company – she is, of course she is. It’s just... she huffs a sigh, though it turns into a weak laugh at the mention of vending machine snacks. “You know I only caved and got a mini fridge this year? Can only eat so many bags of those damn Sun Chips before you cave, I guess.” The food is pushed forward then, though Quinn’s eyes remain steadily on her own paper. “Help yourself.”

"I’m not sure I’ve got anything worth reading,” the woman mutters, absently scratching her chin with her pen and unknowingly leaving a line of ink in its wake. “I... well, it’s...” She sighs once more, shaking her head. “I’m head to head with defense that’s as theatrical as they come. And we both know that’s not my style. But I... well, I guess I’m afraid if I don’t make some big song and dance, the jury will just look at the shiniest thing rather than what’s right. But maybe I just have too little faith for my own good...” Sounds like the advice her friend would give, anyway. Before Lia can start on that spiel, though, Quinn redirects: “If you had to start a flashy closing, what would you do? Wave around crime scene photos? Because that’s about all I’ve got right now.”

[quinnadler]

@laurelgavaris​

It took her awhile to notice that the other woman was speaking to her, it took the beat of the song taking a drop for her to firstly notice the woman approaching and then, finally, her words. “Oh.” That wasn’t exactly how Laurel wanted her night to be, because she really wanted to let go of thoughts while allowing the music to control her body but still, maybe being helpful would also do the trick. She wasn’t completely sober to aid others like she usually did, but she’d try to be, at least, attentive, while attempting on being focused at the other woman. “Okay, let’s head back to the bar. We can get a few drinks and you can tell me more about this person you’re looking for,” she was also leaning closer so the other woman was able to hear Laurel’s words.

She kept holding the woman’s hand however, so they could easily navigate through the crowd and reach for the bar. The song was still somewhat loud but not enough that would cause them engaging in a conversation to be too uncomfortable. “Okay, what can I help you with?” Laurel finally questioned, calling the bardender and asking for tequila for herself while waiting for the other’s order. 

-

It’s not the first time someone’s been disappointed by her. Her general tipsiness makes Quinn take it a bit harder than she normally would, swallowing hard, but still nodding. “Sorry,” she utters. “I think you picked the wrong company for partying. But I won’t hold you long.” The words are likely lost to the music, but she’s not about to apologize twice. Just get it over with and get out of here, right? Makes everything easier.

They’re at the bar by then, Quinn’s rush of thoughts a helpful distraction to the sensation of hands held together. “I’m looking for a man,” Quinn begins, unhelpful. She’s no investigator, but she works with enough of them to be better at this than she currently is. Damn. “Ah, tall. Over six foot, and blonde, and... oh.” Quinn had barely noticed the other woman ordering until the bartender pointedly looked her way. “I’ll... have whatever she’s having.” No idea what exactly her company had ordered, but she’d learn the hard way. “Right. Um, anyway – I won’t keep you from your dancing. But have you seen anyone like that? Probably dressed fairly nicely.” Or maybe she’d only seen him on the courtroom floor. Remained to be seen. Their drinks are slid over then, in a form much smaller than Quinn had anticipated. Shots. Of course. “Shit,” she grimaces, then clears her throat. “Guess you just... cut to the chase.”

[quinnadler]

@zakary-prashad​

While Zakary didn’t quickly admit to it, one-night-stands weren’t very out of character for him. He enjoyed them, he felt to a point that he needed them, some temptations to physical touch, to intimacy, that he didn’t have when it came to actual relationships. But he could sense from her reaction that she wasn’t so okay with what had happened between them. He even thought he sensed some shame, an emotion he wasn’t quick to feel. Not about this anyway. He didn’t like hearing she worked close though, perhaps he should’ve asked her what she did that night, instead of looking solely for a physical connection. 

“Having a good time?” he asked, there was a small smile, one that didn’t last. He didn’t like how she went from awkwardness to determination so quickly. He had felt superior in the conversation for but a minute, and now his heart rate was once again speeding up. “No, uhm, I don’t work here,” he said. “I uhm,” he paused. “I am… was a friend of…” Would she know who Paul was if he said his name. It didn’t feel right to say the person the severed head had belonged to. “The man that got killed,” he said instead. “We were in a coven together.” 

“Uhm, they called me in to give a statement.” Was his grief louder than his guilt?

-

If she put it frankly: the night was a blur. It’s becoming more familiar these days, this near-forgetting of events. Maybe she should be troubled by it. Not now, though, when the situation at hand is so immediate, the two of them so far apart and rigid now. Still, Quinn snorts at the joke, merely shaking her head. She’s not one for snark, never has been. So she doesn’t humor it. Does notice his change in demeanor, though. Funny, how obvious it is when you’ve suddenly got an upper hand. What does he know? What doesn’t he want her to know – or anyone at all?

“I didn’t think you were the type,” Quinn replies coolly, raising a brow as he stammers. The upper hand falls flat as Zakary elaborates. “Oh.” Shit. God, sometimes she really is a bad person... “I’m sorry.” For what? She didn’t decapitate the guy. But still... “For your loss, I mean. I’m sorry for your loss.” Right. That’s the way to put it. “That’s a, um... That’s a terrible way to lose a friend.” As if he didn’t know that already. “Have they told you anything? The police, I mean.” Is she asking out of self interest or concern? The former, probably. But sometimes you’ve got to pretend you’re decent until you actually become it. She’s been pretending for a while. “There must be suspects. You all deserve justice. Paul does, too.”

[quinnadler]

@elizabethzhu​

Somehow as big as Astoria was, it still somehow felt small. The fact that she was running into people she would’ve otherwise kept on avoiding spoke volumes to that. But then again, maybe this was the universe’s way of telling her to stop running away from her problems… If that were the case, she definitely was going to hold some ill-will towards it.  

“Quinn. Hi…” she greets awkwardly after righting herself from their run in. Seeing Quinn after not speaking to her the last few years was odd. A sense of shame washed over her knowing that Quinn was another casualty of her own shortcomings. Even with the shared history they had together and an understanding of the kind of families they came from, it still hadn’t made much of a difference to Elizabeth when she decided to just cut people out of her life. “I’ve been… Okay. How about you? How’s, uh, work going?”   

-

How long has it been? Quinn finds herself counting the days in some absent space. She can take a hint, after all – after enough ignored texts and calls, a person learns not to bother. And maybe she shouldn’t have been so shocked, what with how her last interaction with Liz had went. But did the years before it mean nothing at all? These are the questions she bites back. For now, at least. 

“Fine. I’m fine, work’s fine,” the woman replies, tone curt and unforgiving. She shifts then and the weight of the bag on her arm serves as a reminder. Her laugh is short and bitter as she gestures toward the takeout. “You know, you and I would’ve indulged in this together not so long ago. I guess it’s not exactly your ideal nowadays...” An unnecessary barb, but it’s out before she can stop it. Not that she wants to stop it. “How long has it been, actually? Two years? Three?” Here she goes, indulging indeed. What does she expect from this? Hurt is all she’ll get. Still, Quinn presses on. “Is my number still blocked in your phone? Or did you let it be once I stopped trying to call?”

[quinnadler]

⌚

⌚ : Is your muse good with keeping on schedule for meetings, appointments, or events, or are they always late? Or, are they always a bit early?

The saying goes that early is on time, on time is late, and lateness is unacceptable. It’s a principle that Quinn believes, so fifteen minutes early is her norm, sometimes to the chagrin of other attorneys or clients. But it works for her.

[quinnadler]

ツ ☘❤

☘ : Does your muse believe in luck? How about fate?

Not at all. In Quinn’s mind, a person makes their own luck. If you’ve suffered something, it’s more likely thanks to your own shortcomings than some easily blamed twist of fate. In her opinion, those who blame their woes on bad luck or fate just don’t want to take ownership of them.

(ツ + ❤ already answered.)

[quinnadler]

☼

☼ : Does your muse like daytime or nighttime more?

Quinn is a morning person – she sometimes rises before the sun and is immediately productive. It’s her time for herself, mainly, and though she does often stray toward work, she does sometimes take time for morning exercise or a quiet moment before the hustle of the day. By nighttime, she’s often worn out or straggling to keep up with work left over from the day. So the morning is certainly preferable.