"Aren't we all," Asher drawls sarcastically, eyes locked on the badge. Well, Ray had told him that he did have one of those, too bad it was only of any use in Chicago. "What's the matter? You can't be looking for whoever gave you the bad haircut, what with the lack of hair to actually... you know, cut."
Quinn stares at the guy for a while, mostly because he looks familiar, kind of like that nice guy who feels sorry for her pregnant self. Oh god, her kid. She's going to hurl.
Don't hurl, Fabray.
"Shut up, smartass," she snaps. "This is important. There's been... a crime. And it's not just whatever lawnmower attack your head."
Okay, thinking over her role models for masculinity, Quinn comes up with her father, the two idiots she's had and not had for boyfriends, someone who loves Vanilla Ice, and Coach Sylvester.
...Coach Sylvester it is.
She puts a good scowl on and scoffs. She scoffs like it's her new motherfucking job. "Stop thinking about my nuts and tell me if you know a Quinn Fabray. Blond, teenager, pregnant. She's been kidnapped."
The expression on Hellstrom's face can only be described as slightly taken aback and, in increasing amounts, somewhat amused. He squints at the badge, one eyebrow rising as he tries to make out the words on it.
"I don't know that that badge will be of any use to you," he says idly, accent as present in his voice as it was the first day he arrived. "Not unless it is island-issue, at any rate."
"Are you like, from Germany?" asks Quinn, and knows she's fucked it up right off the bat. "I mean, shit." She tries to run a hand over the back of her head and it's bald. She's BALD.
For a moment, his brow creases in mild bafflement. A blink of an eye later, he's smiling again - still unsure but at least less concerned about it. There's something distinctly off about how the other man (er, for now) is acting; he hasn't, as it happens, yet had to deal with anyone else facing the island's antics.
"Originally," he says, waving a hand. "But my English is -- at least passable, if that is your concern."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "That is so not my concern," she says, figuring she doesn't need to worry herself too deeply with the guy understanding the intricacies of American accents. "I'm looking for someone, actually. She's blond, about seventeen, and really pregnant. Seen her?"
Rizzo had never the perkiest bud on the branch, but this was something else altogether. Over the course of the morning she'd been on the verge of tears, screaming, and jumping unsuspecting guys' bones, but mostly she'd just been mad. Angry, uncomfortable, and needing to pee every four goddamn seconds. Pregnancy hormones, Paul the baby doc had said, but Rizzo maintained that this fucking ridiculous island gave her a goddamn reason to be cranky all the damn time.
So, naturally, when some guy flashes a badge, she is just not inclined to be impressed. She'd never really taken to the fuzz anyway. She stuck a hand on one yellow sundress-covered hip - and she couldn't for the life of her understand why she'd suddenly taken to pastels - the other curved around her huge belly, and she glared. "Unless it's Sandra Dee, you're outta luck." Her voice sounds far too sweet, but thank god for the edge that takes easily to it.
"Looks like you're in luck after all." Rizzo said dryly, and felt like she was playing one of those terrible parlour games that she'd been forced into at company picnics. Find the person who's got the matching slip of paper to yours, only by asking questions.
Oh look, it was the June to her Ward Cleaver.
"Ginormous." She agreed bluntly, because she'd been carrying this extra weight around all morning and her feet and ankles were killing her. "The jellybean's peachy keen, I already got it checked out. I had a false alarm when I first got here, found out booze and smokes ain't hunky dory, so I didn't do none of that either." She didn't usually start the day off like her mother, with something a little stronger in the coffee, but she wasn't opposed to it, either.
"Why are you talking like that?" Quinn says, her own Valley-flavored sharpness lost in Vecchio's voice. "Who are you, and where are you from, and do you understand that I will cut you open if something happens to my baby."
Yep, that raging bitch was still present even in this far more patient body.
Ray spotted it from across the room and shot over, eyebrows climbing so far up his forehead they were halfway into his hair.
His lovely full head of hair.
"Hey, schmuck, give that back," he demanded, pointing at the badge but keeping a firm gaze on himself. Man, Asher had been right, he really did have pretty eyes. "You do realize impersonating an officer of the law is a felony? I could have you arrested. In fact!" Ray stepped forward and patted his own body down, determined look in his eyes. "Where are my handcuffs? Where have you hidden them?"
"I will pistol-whip your ass so fast," Quinn spits, turning to face him. "Are you the Guido I'm covering for in here? Your closet is horrifying, and while I'm doing this, those are my handcuffs and I will thank you to not touch me again before I arrest you."
Ray gaped for a moment, collecting his wits. "You're gonna arrest me? Need I remind you which one of us is the cop around here?!" He paused for a second, gaze traveling sideways. "You're not a cop, right?" Oh God, did he just feel up Vimes?
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Don't hurl, Fabray.
"Shut up, smartass," she snaps. "This is important. There's been... a crime. And it's not just whatever lawnmower attack your head."
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Okay, thinking over her role models for masculinity, Quinn comes up with her father, the two idiots she's had and not had for boyfriends, someone who loves Vanilla Ice, and Coach Sylvester.
...Coach Sylvester it is.
She puts a good scowl on and scoffs. She scoffs like it's her new motherfucking job. "Stop thinking about my nuts and tell me if you know a Quinn Fabray. Blond, teenager, pregnant. She's been kidnapped."
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She glances over her shoulder. "You don't hear ABBA, do you?"
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"I don't know that that badge will be of any use to you," he says idly, accent as present in his voice as it was the first day he arrived. "Not unless it is island-issue, at any rate."
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"Yo," she says. "Are you from Germany? ...bro."
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"Originally," he says, waving a hand. "But my English is -- at least passable, if that is your concern."
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So, naturally, when some guy flashes a badge, she is just not inclined to be impressed. She'd never really taken to the fuzz anyway. She stuck a hand on one yellow sundress-covered hip - and she couldn't for the life of her understand why she'd suddenly taken to pastels - the other curved around her huge belly, and she glared. "Unless it's Sandra Dee, you're outta luck." Her voice sounds far too sweet, but thank god for the edge that takes easily to it.
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But then her eyes widen as she makes a horrible, deeply awful realization. "Oh my god, I'm so fat. I'm huge. I'm a whale."
And of course, the realization that pregnancy hormones are in the eye of the beholder. "Oh my god, my baby. You're taking care of it, right?"
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Oh look, it was the June to her Ward Cleaver.
"Ginormous." She agreed bluntly, because she'd been carrying this extra weight around all morning and her feet and ankles were killing her. "The jellybean's peachy keen, I already got it checked out. I had a false alarm when I first got here, found out booze and smokes ain't hunky dory, so I didn't do none of that either." She didn't usually start the day off like her mother, with something a little stronger in the coffee, but she wasn't opposed to it, either.
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Yep, that raging bitch was still present even in this far more patient body.
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Ray spotted it from across the room and shot over, eyebrows climbing so far up his forehead they were halfway into his hair.
His lovely full head of hair.
"Hey, schmuck, give that back," he demanded, pointing at the badge but keeping a firm gaze on himself. Man, Asher had been right, he really did have pretty eyes. "You do realize impersonating an officer of the law is a felony? I could have you arrested. In fact!" Ray stepped forward and patted his own body down, determined look in his eyes. "Where are my handcuffs? Where have you hidden them?"
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She's one pissed off lady.
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