((Unassigned Personal Quarters, Skarbek))
MacFarlane: Everythin’ is so… ::she gestured around the room; fierce, staccato movements that made Quinn a little nervous, even as she studiously maintained her passive expression,:: ...yeh know! Why must it all be this way! I cannae stand th’ sight o’ blood, why am I in a war!?!? Violence doesn't solve problems!!!! GAHHHH!!!
::And then her fists came down on the table with a crash far louder than a pair of human hands should have created, the legs creaking under the sudden violence inflicted on them. There was a crater in the metal where one of her fists resided, and the woman was quiet, staring at her balled hands. As she breathed a low growl, Quinn said nothing, letting the woman gather her wits.::
MacFarlane: Tell anybody I did this an’ I will use yer own tongue t’ hang yeh.
::Colourful as the threat was, Quinn let it slide off the proverbial duck's back. She'd heard so many of them now, they were becoming background noise.::
Reynolds: The talk, or the dent in the table? Because I'm afraid I'll need some help coming up with an explanation for the latter.
::Skinny as she was, it would be hard to convince anyone she was responsible.::
MacFarlane: Uhhh...All o’ it? I can fix th’ table, hang on.
::Tasha placed her flesh hand on a still flat piece of the table, while she reached underneath with her prosthetic. She easily located the dent, and with a couple of well aimed and steady thumps she more or less smoothed out the crater.::
Reynolds: ::Sincerely,:: Then my lips are sealed.
::So long as it was to her advantage, anyway. She felt no need to keep promises to people who were complicit in her captivity, even if they hadn't kidnapped her themselves. Besides, it was her duty to try and escape, and if breaking a trust with a member of the Maquis was a part of that, so be it.::
MacFarlane: Thank yeh, I do nae want m’ friends t’ think I’m mentally unstable.
::Oh, Quinn was quite sure that cat was already out of the bag on that one. She looked at Tasha for a long moment, feeling the need to try and bring their strange conversation to a close.::
Reynolds: ::Mildly,:: Wasn't there something you needed isolinear chips for?
MacFarlane: Isolinear chips...urgh...ol’ Skarbek is a bruised an’ battered ol’ bird. ::Tasha stroked the nearby wall fondly:: Always somethin’ needin’ fixin’ or replacin’. I doubt I ‘ave enough isolinear chips.
::Quinn nodded. It was hard to see how else it could be, out here. There was no quick stop at an allied planet, or quick jaunt to a a starbase to resupply. Everything out here had to be traded for, or stolen. Tasha rose from her seat, and her captive felt the cool balm of relief wash through her chest. She would be glad to be out of the volatile woman's company, and hopefully get a few minutes to herself.::
MacFarlane: Engineering is probably fallin’ apart without me. It was nice t’ meet yeh Starfleet Erin, please, tell nobody about m’...incident...I’d be most grateful.
::"Starfleet Erin". She wasn't sure how she felt about that particular nickname.::
Reynolds: I can't imagine I'd have much reason to, anyway.
::And then, almost as swiftly as she'd entered the room, Tasha was gone. Quinn stared at the closed door for a few short moments, then her gaze flicked over to the replicator in the wall.::
Reynolds: ::Murmured,:: Well, hello.
::It was past time they got acquainted.::
::The doors to the quarters opened again, and Quinn looked over to see who was paying her a visit *this* time. She wasn't too surprised to see the tall, broad form of the Skarbek's captain walking inside, and she fought to keep the frown off her face. This was the man who had dragged her off her ship and brought her to Schulman, and she still wasn't entirely sure why. Or rather, she knew why, but not how that why fitted into the overall scheme of things.::
Reynolds: I was wondering when you'd stop by.
::The German scowled at her, crossing the short distance in long, purposeful strides, snapping out an order as he moved. He cut quite a dashing figure in the earth tones of his duster and leathers, his thick-soled boots thudding along the deck::
Brunsig: On your feet.
::There was no point in refusing to comply and Quinn did so. He stepped forward, continuing the crew's tradition of deliberately violating her personal space, and reached for the rigid cuffs separating her hands. A soft series of beeps, and she was granted the relief of freedom, her wrists released from their bindings. She flexed her fingers, feeling the blood flow back into them, and waited for him to step back and reveal what was to come next.
::He didn't. He remained there, close enough that she could see his heartbeat pulsing at the side of his neck, feel the warmth emanating from his body, smell the fresh, woodsy soap he had recently washed with. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she braced for a shove, a drag, or any other kind of wordless and unnecessarily rough direction that she was to move.
::None came. This was some new kind of game, she was sure of it, and she lifted her chin to meet his steel-blue gaze. There was an unexpected softness in his expression, a warmth in his normally glacial eyes. It took all the harsh edges off his face, and she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach.::
Reynolds: Wh— What are you doing?
::Walter gave her an odd look, and held up a PADD a few centimetres from her face. She was momentarily distracted by the maroon piping around the cuff of his black sleeve, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what was so interesting about his uniform.::
Brunsig: I said you need to approve these transfers.
Reynolds: Oh. ::His words were met with an odd sense of disappointment.:: Now? Does it have to be now?
Brunsig: Am I interrupting your busy schedule of doing nothing?
::She paused, using one skinny finger to push the PADD from out between them, barely noticing the maroon piping on her own cuff, and then tapped his chest, close to the fastening of his uniform jacket. He looked back at her, and there was a rare, delightful flash of mischief in those electric blue eyes.::
Reynolds: ...I was just thinking that it's you, and me, alone in my quarters…
::Large and luxurious, her quarters were a pleasant place to be. Thick carpets, comfortable furnishings, and a few tasteful pieces of art that she'd been given, because heavens knew she had barely any taste in the subject. With a quick flick of her head, she indicated the large, king-size bed that lurked behind the partition.::
Reynolds: ...and maybe we should—
::There was a clatter as the PADD was discarded on the coffee table, and his arms were around her, his lips pressed against hers. His kiss was familiar and knowing in all the right ways, and of course she too knew exactly how to set his skin on fire.::
Brunsig: Maybe we should.
::He grinned, and she laughed, as he slipped his hands under her thighs and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Stealing kisses, he walked them both into her bedroom and they fell together onto the soft blankets and thick mattress of her bed. Pulling and tugging at one another's uniforms, hands and lips roaming bare skin, they both took delight in eliciting sighs and groans from the other, until—
::Quinn hit the deck with a thump, and laid there in a daze for a few moments. The bare metal of the Skarbek's deck was cold against her cheek, and she couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed to have woken from the intense dream. Her heart was still pounding, and she could almost swear his scent still lingered on her skin, her lips still tingling from his kiss. Relieved. Surely she was relieved. Walter Brunsig was a traitor and a terrorist, and not a man she wanted running through her thoughts in *any* capacity if she could avoid it. What was her brain even doing, conjuring up a scenario like that?
::With a groan of an entirely different sort, she tried to bury her face in her hands, only to be reminded that she was still in cuffs.::
???: If you're quite finished.
::Quinn began to move, her head turning toward the source of the voice. Caught entirely unawares, she wasn't quick enough, and the toe of a booted foot slammed into her midriff, leaving her in pain while gasping for air.::
???: No, no. Stay down. You and I need to have a conversation. Or rather, you need to talk, and I want to listen.
::Quinn had started to think that maybe they'd all been telling her the truth, that they weren't as bad as she thought they were, that they really did have no intention of trying to torture the information out of her. Foolish. Gullible. Normally, she wasn't so naïve.::
Reynolds: I'm not… ::she wheezed, still struggling to catch her breath,:: giving you… those codes.
???: Oh, Commander. As they say in your line of work, "trust, but verify". We really need to be sure, don't you think?
::Quinn almost answered with a no, and perhaps her interrogator realised that, as her intake of breath was immediately followed by another swift kick to her torso and crack that sounded uncomfortably — and felt painfully — like the snap of a rib. It was entirely deliberate, she was certain, that she was being left to lie there on the floor, feeling every bit as vulnerable as she was.::
???: So. One more time. The codes?