fandomhighdorms | The Roof, Wednesday Afternoon

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The Roof, Wednesday Afternoon

Wes wasn't really an outdoorsy kind of guy, but his roommate frankly kind of freaked him out, so he'd gone around looking for places to be instead of his dorm whenever possible. When he discovered the door that led to the roof, he settled on that, and went up the stairs with a book under his arm.

Settling down on the ledge, he opened his book and began reading. Yes, this was much nicer than having to check around his room every few minutes to make sure his things weren't being stolen.

[For Quinn, but also open, I guess! I have class for a couple hours, but after that, whoo Meet Cute!]

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Quinn was only vaguely paying attention to what he was saying. So he didn't have a cell phone because he failed some tests. The world's tiniest violin no doubt was playing an entire concerto somewhere over that.

Right then, she was stuck on a roof, hot, with no cell phone in sight. "That's too bad," she said vaguely. "Wesley? How far down do you think it is to the first set of windows?"

"Oh, two meters, at least," Wes replied, not aware that this inforation was not likely to be very helpful to an American.

Quinn leaned over the edge of the roof, looking down. She knew prefectly well what a meter was, but she was too annoyed to do even minor mental math. "What's that in feet?" she asked. "Maybe you could lower me down and ..."

And do what? Even if a window was open, it wasn't that much of a slip that it would take to mean death on the cement below.

[OOC: Being called away for a bit!]

"I... I suppose," Wes said hesitantly. Truth be told, he doubted that he even could, but it was either agree or risk offending Quinn by implying that he couldn't lift her. And yes, skinny cheerleaders likely lifted her on a daily basis, but they exercised, while Wes' upper body strength left something to be desired.

"And I'm not certain how many feet are in a meter, but in any event the drop seems rather precarious," he warned her.

"And even if we could reach, I'd have to open a window upside down from the outside," Quinn sighed, stepping back. "I'm not that much of a ninja. I'm guessing you aren't either."

"Certainly not," Wesley answered, laughing weakly. "So I suppose we're stuck with each other, then."

That was a terrifying thought.

"Fantastic," Quinn said, but slumped to sit on the roof. "Got any ideas for ways to pass the time? I spy? Sing-alongs?"

Quinn was not really much good at doing nothing. She considered yelling and trying to make enough noise to attract someone, but she couldn't see that working.

"I can't say I know very many games of that nature," Wes admitted. "At home, my father's response to boredom was to have me practice my fencing, but clearly this is the wrong setting." Mostly because as good as he was with a sword, Wesley had a strong suspicion that Quinn could kick his ass.

"Do you know of any?"

"I'd try it if we had swords," Quinn said.

Mostly because she had a strong suspicion that she could kick his ass, yes.

"I know I Spy and 20 Questions. Or we could try to pick the lock." Enjoying the day and relaxing was clearly not on her menu.

"All right... twenty questions, then," said Wesley. "Would you like to start?"

Being bored sucked.

She would like to get off the roof, but she'd play along. Wes wasn't that bad.

"All right," Quinn said. "I'm thinking of something."

"Is it a place?"

Then, thinking, he wondered, "Perhaps you could jump to the roof of the next building?" Which was impossible, but he really did not want to be here.

She'd been thinking of a key, actually.

"No. It is not a place," Quinn said, and glanced over to the next building. "What, do I look like some superhero? I don't fly. You can try it if you want."

"A person, then?"

This was the worst experience ever.

"Nope." Quinn had gone back over to the door and was kicking at it to no effect, save a mild therapeutic one. "Don't they teach you how to pick locks in your fancy school?"

Actually, they'd relied largely on Slayers' ability to kick doors down. "Unfortunately not," Wes replied. "Why? Would you consider that standard educational practice at your school?"

Quinn would have been the best Slayer ever. Stupid living in the wrong universe.

"No," Quinn admitted, glancing over at him. (Picking locks was a bit extreme even for Sue Sylvester.) "But I know a guy I bet could do it."

Not that Puck was on the roof, or anything. Naturally. She frowned at that and kicked it again, harder.

Wesley slumped against the wall. "Yes, tell me about yourself, Quinn," he said sarcastically. "Your friends and their abilities fascinate me."

"I didn't ask to get locked out on the roof with you," Quinn says, after a few seconds of sputtering. She was not used to being spoken to that way, and she briefly wondered what was with people here that they thought they could get away with it. "You could maybe try to be a little bit nice."

Because she'd been doing such an excellent job at that.

"... or at least help me kick the door."

"As the probability that a high-security school such as this one would have doors that could be broken by an ordinary human cheerleader is extremely unlikely, I'm actually electing not to kick the door," he replied, now so annoyed that he forgot he was trying to make friends with this girl. "In fact, it would only exacerbate the migraine I've already developed from being in your presence."

Quinn clenched her hands into fists and counted to ten before speaking again. Not. Losing. Her. Cool.

"And I'm going to go blind from having to look at you," she said levelly. "So that will make two of us with major health problems. Idiot."

And she kicked the door again. It wasn't going anywhere, but it was the most productive solution she had at the moment.

"Got any better ideas?"

Edited 2010-07-08 20:06 (UTC)

"Idiot?" Wes repeated. "That's rich, coming from you. 'Oh, vampires aren't real, I'll just rabidly deny this blatant fact until I'm proven erroneous,'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"And truly, Quinn, let's try lowering you down to the top-story window. One of your more brilliant ideas, that. Let's see where it takes us."

Quinn laughed to show how very much she wasn't bothered. It was just ... a little strained.

Or a lot.

"Okay, fine, but your brilliant idea is getting off the roof through sitting here and playing 20 Questions until someone shows up," she pointed out. "At least I'm trying. And it's not my fault I didn't grow up inside some lame horror movie."

Wes took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten in four different demon languages. "Yes, yes, you're quite right," he said finally. In a very rehearsed tone, he recited, "I'm sincerely sorry for being rude to you, Quinn." Because Wes is not very forthcoming as far as real apologies go. But he's trying.

He gave her an expectant look, clearly awaiting a similar apology.

Damn it. Quinn really hated apologizing, especially when she didn't mean them. As far as she was concerned, her behvior had been completely understandable.

On the other hand, they might be stuck here a while, and having a shouting match wasn't going to do anything except dehydrate her. Better not to make things worse.

"It's all right," she muttered, not sounding incredibly sincere. (though she was, in fact, trying.) "I shouldn't have called you an idiot, Wesley. How do you think we could get down?"

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