[ttd] everybody wants to be famous [emma]

london | december 2002

“I’ve been practicing,” Quinn said, reassuring her friend (and herself, a little). She wouldn’t attempt it if she was totally sure of herself, of course, especially not with Lula in tow. Her daughter -- practically as big as she was -- was strapped firmly to her back and piped up with a sharp squeak that could only be a word of encouragement. Quinn strode forward with ease -- more or less -- approaching it head on. It was only a revolving door, automatic, just like if it were magic or something. Easy.

It was the same revolving door Quinn and Emma had an experience with the year prior, though Quinn was beyond determined to not be bested by it again (nor was she going to stop from using magic to get out in case it did happen again). She shouldn’t have worried, of course, as she soon found herself outside the hotel where they had just had lunch. “See?” She turned around (another squeak from Lula) and threw up her hands in victory, almost as proud as she had been at her quidditch match a few days ago.

”It’s Linnaea,” she heard from her right, but it didn’t register that the words were directed at her. She was too busy watching Emma come through the door now, too preoccupied to notice that the voice was now more excitedly spotting, “INGRID!” A few girls taller than her -- who wasn’t -- made a mad dash for Emma, one elbowing Quinn out of the way in her pursuit.

This had only ever happened to her once, and it was a memorable once. It had also happened here, with Emma, with the same amount of snubbing from folks. Of course last time, there had been at least a little interest in her -- in who they thought she was, anyway -- so naturally Quinn was doubly offended. “Ingrid,” she said over (or to the backs of) the girls, “We can’t miss our appointment.” Their appointment to go somewhere she could be properly recognized, that is.

@Emma Hennings

“Oh? Let’s see then, go on.”

Emma hung back, arms folded casually across her chest and a grin on her face as Quinn strode confidently towards their ex-nemesis: an automatic revolving door. Fortunately – unlike last time – she was the only occupant and was already more likely to be successful. It was hard to believe it had been over a year already; the first and only other time they’d been here, it had been for business. Today they’d met for lunch, as friends, with Quinn’s impossibly cute daughter in tow (who was, incidentally, a few weeks shy of a year old).

As the Falmouth Seeker emerged on the other side and raised her arms triumphantly in the air, Emma laughed as she took her own turn, obnoxiously throwing a peace sign up as she, too, made it through successfully and moved to join her friend.

“Did you give Mummy a hint? Hmm?” she cooed to the happily-babbling girl as she approached. “You should have seen us last time, Lu, it did not go so well…”
Emma was so hopelessly drawn into the adorable-baby-vortex that she initially didn’t hear the shouts of names she hadn’t heard in – again – a year. But the small stampede of teenage girls that suddenly appeared on either side of Quinn did get her to at least briefly look up from Lula before paper and pens were being thrust into her hands, a cacophony of excited high-pitched voices clamoring various things she couldn’t make out, punctuated by the occasional squeak or squeal.

‘Merlin was I ever this mad?’ she wondered faintly, putting on her best Hollywood smile to buy a few seconds.

And then she heard rather than saw Quinn, in a tone that sounded almost bored. Emma bit back a laugh.

“Right. Ah… sorry girls, we’re on a bit of a time crunch…”

Fortunately there wasn’t anyone else around at the moment, but Emma suspected their high-pitched chatter would undoubtedly serve as some sort of a siren call, signaling other crazed teenage girls to the area to devour them. She seized the closest pen and hastily scrawled her supposed name on various pieces of paper in the hopes of quieting them, before ducking quickly between them to rejoin Quinn.

“We have got to stop coming here,” she chuckled under her breath as the pair made an attempt to power-walk away.

“Mummy did it all by herself,” Quinn protested, rolling her eyes. But it was no match to the eye roll she afforded her (lack of) adoring fans. Emma was signing autographs before she had a chance to blink; hopefully she remembered to at least sign the right name, the one they were calling her. Quinn was still standing by herself, pointedly not signing anything; never mind that no one had asked her yet. How did she manage to be recognized for the loser of the pair?

She’d have to take Carla out after this, thrust the loser feeling onto her.

Quinn tried (and failed) not to look smug as Emma attempted to make her way out of the steadily growing crowd; she might not be the popular one of the two, but she still called the shots. “No, I love being ignored,” she lied, shrugging her shoulders as they walked quickly down the sidewalk. Lula laughed -- that was her best skill -- and Quinn shrugged again.  “Or, you just start charging for autographs, for photos, whatever. You could probably get enough for a couple rounds of drinks.”

“Or,” she started again, assuming Emma wouldn’t charge for fake autographs, “You can just come to mine. My brother’s,” she corrected herself, still squatting in her Alex’s flat. “Still free drinks.” She shrugged. “Free enough.” Lula agreed, more or less, making another noise of approval as she tugged at Quinn’s hair, reminding her of another thing about herself (as if she ever ran out of those). “Y’know I had thought about staying with my parents but I’m glad I didn’t-- Alex has more hair potions than all my sisters combined.” She tousled the ends of her hair with her fingers, showing it off and getting it away from her daughter’s hands. “It’s never looked better,” she finished, stating the obvious.