HELLO AND HAPPY FANFIC WRITER’S APPRECIATION DAY!
i was suddenly reminded by @makicarn’s tags on your post of this OTHER set of tags by @makicarn:
#more importantly#quinn#does mrs. fischer also think sam is a harlot
🤓🎣
what a FANTASTIC question.
the short answer is 'no, mrs. fischer does NOT think sam is a harlot.'
but not because her reckless treatment of clothes doesn't fall under 'harlot activities' because boy oh boy it does.
instead, it's simply because mrs. fischer doesn't know sam exists. unlike kara, sam knows what it's like to live out of her car, to rub pennies together, to hustle. things like paying for tailoring, while totally within her tax bracket now, is still something she can't bring herself to do. when ruby was starving, the last thing on sam's mind was getting a patch fixed or a button replaced. which means she's gotten especially good at repairing her own clothes.
even more of a reason is because sam is freaking the heck out that all of her clothes are magically buttonless. she's... hang on let me just:
- - - - - -
"Ruby, if you aren't ready in the next five minutes I am going to toss that phone in a blender and drop its sad remains over the balcony-"
"I'm up, jeez," called Ruby's sluggish voice from behind the door. "Why choose violence so early?"
Sam shoved her toothbrush back in her mouth, a tiny smirk of victory made less effective by the drool of toothpaste on her chin. She traipsed her way into her bedroom then into her private bathroom then further into her walk-in-closet. It was still so much space to get used to.
Toothbrush hanging idly in her mouth, she whipped through hanger after hanger of blouses. Blacks and greys and creams and off-whites... maybe Ruby was right. Maybe her wardrobe did need a splash of color.
Though What it needed now though were less empty hangers.
Which was... odd.
She looked again. The click of hangers rapping against each other faster this time.
Odd.
Again, faster. Her eyes glanced to her hamper.
Odd.
It was overflowing. It was never overflowing.
She huffed and marched over to the nest of clothes. A yank sent an avalanche of fabric to the ground. Sam held up the first garment.
Odd.
The second, third, and fourth were all the same. All missing buttons. All frayed with broken threads. All in a state Sam certainly would have remembered leaving them in.
She did not have time for this today. She had meetings lined up and lunch with Lena and Ruby's recital and... the list was endless.
It didn't matter. It was a problem for later. She dropped the shirts back onto the ground and reached for the closest blouse on the rack. Disgarding her toothbrush and giving her mouth a quick rinse on the way to her bedroom, she didn't think twice about the ease with which the blouse came off the hanger. Or the way it fell open when she dropped it over her head. It only raised a red flag when her fingers grazed the edges of fabric and felt... nothing.
Sam looked down, a breath caught in her throat.
Odd.
So odd that it sent her tearing through her bathroom cupboard, ripping bottles of moisturizers, make-up, and cleaning supplies onto the floor.
"Mom? Mom we're gonna be late-"
"Just a second," she called from the floor, fingers shaking, thread wavering, needle trembling.
A prick. An instinctive hiss. A quick press to her mouth.
She pulled her finger back; examined; scowled.
There wasn't a mark. There wasn't any pain at all.
Odd.