The long, slow breaths that Quinn was taking as she wended through the crowd were doing a remarkable job in keeping her...well, not exactly [i]calm,[/i] she could still feel the fear bubbling just beneath the surface, like a pot of boiling water only barely covered. But calm [i]enough.[/i] She could practically feel the eyes boring into her from all sides, and managed to lift her hand in a wave that she hoped didn't look as halfhearted as it felt.

Then she saw a sign for the community center, and some force compelled her to seek it out. Perhaps it was because the Hovvi community center was the first place she ever met Besca, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was just because it was a bit more off the main drag, so it wouldn't be quite as crowded. But as she passed behind it, she was met with the welcome sight of Cyril, who urged her into the community center proper--past some crowds of people who were doing who knew what--and into a staff entrance, where Quinn finally felt a bit at ease--

And then Cyril reached out and closed the door behind them.

A sudden sharp intake of breath jolted into Quinn, and with more haste than she'd demonstrated that day--or, debatably, more haste than she'd demonstrated at the CSC as a whole--she jerked back to the door, cracked it ajar, and kicked a doorstop into place just to make sure that it didn't swing closed again. She immediately felt better, and a little foolish. The instinctual horror bubbling beneath her was still there, though it had receded a bit once she was off the street.

Luckily, it didn't seem like it had caused much, other than Cyril flinching out of the way. She took a stabilizing breath, then walked over and tossed herself down into a chair, unwrapping the burger that Sybil slid at her and taking a tentative bite. It was good. Better than CB Dane's, at any rate, and Quinn didn't have much other context for burgers. She left the fries for the siblings, walking over and slinging herself over the arm of the couch Sybil was splayed out on as she ate.

Huh. Strict diets, huh? A little grin came to Quinn's face as she remembered the brief exchange that she'd just had with Dahlia, then gave a little shrug. "[color=ffe63d]Our schedule is stricter. Working out, sparring, simming, mandatory therapy once weekly...I almost feel like I have too much time on my hands here and I don't really know what to do with it.[/color]" She took another bite, pondering as she chewed, then swallowed. "[color=ffe63d]Food is pretty free, though. We can eat mostly whatever we want, as long as we don't exceed a certain amount of calories. Except a nutrient shake every morning.[/color]"

She made a face. "[color=ffe63d]They taste like chalk at the best of times. But...[/color]" Another bite, bigger this time as she really realized how hungry she was, and then another. The 'but' hung there in the air as she scarfed another good chunk of her burger down, and only once another half of it was gone did she swallow the last bite and finish. "[color=ffe63d]...even if they're pretty gross, I'm still kind of missing them. Mornings feel weird without my chalk drink.[/color]" She paused again, looking up at the ceiling and frowning lightly as, at Cyril's prompt, she thought back to the pilot of Dragon, and the "strict schedule" that she was holding herself to. She would call her again that night. 

And the thought of that call pulled the fear closer to the surface, and she did her best to hide her suddenly tensed muscles and tightened teeth as she fought it back down.

Once she'd forced it back into the box in her head and shaken her head lightly to try to banish the thoughts--nearly-finished burger held half forgotten in her hand--she glanced down at Sybil on the couch beneath her. She hadn't spoken with the older girl much, and she'd nearly forgotten that Casoban put a great emphasis on art, even--perhaps [i]especially[/i]--on pilots. Maybe that had something to do with the more lax schedule? Time needed for art? A part of her knew that she was thinking about it to avoid more unpleasant thoughts, but she shoved that part back into the box too. She could deal with it again once she was outside. She was safe here. Safe.

"[color=ffe63d]Can I see one of your paintings, Sybil? It doesn't have to be an apple, I promise.[/color]"