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Quentin Smith, 23

letters ◇ thoughts ◇ dreams

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[ It's easy to imagine Quentin rubbing his forehead. ]

Cesare. We have a thing, he's from ancient Rome, it's--complicated. But if you ignore him, he usually goes away.

Why do you have a thing with a creep from ancient Rome? Why does he think you need a protector?

He--likes me. He likes me and he's straight, he gets weird about it!

Quentin!

I--! He--!

You ever watch those movies as a kid, like a little kid, and you go to your cousin's house, and they want you to watch some stupid movie about a horse than no one likes, so they're gonna shoot it and send it off for glue, but then it meets the right plucky kid and they're like--

Like the fucking wind together?

Quentin!

[ is this the most normal conversation they have ever had ]

He's like a cave man, did you hear him? He's not going to be like the wind with anyone!

[ this is possibly the most normal conversation they've ever had, down to his unsated sigh and helpless admission: ]

Yeah. Yeah, he sounds like a caveman, which is why I'm not usually mad if he gets thumped. He deserves sometimes. But. He's. He cares about me.

I care about him. Maybe a lot.

Oh, Quentin.

[ Maybe if she keeps saying his name he'll stop saying these things. ]

Did you even ask him to be a protector? Does he even get that you don't need one?

Sometimes I do. I did in January. After Ghostface--Cesare would come stay nights with me. Just...reading. Talking to me. At the moot hall Thursday, we might need it.

I think we can do better than a cave man. I think you can do better than a cave man.

[ leaving ghostface untouched, for the moment, to ask: ]

Do you think it's going to go badly at the moot hall?