𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄. || 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝟎𝟐 ➻ quinn needs color

♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ QUINN WHITAKER V. ORIENTATION ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 of the doors, she was thrown into a hall drearier than what she'd seen outdoors. Which was really saying something. Everything was dull and modern, the epitome of wealth and class within New York. The firm's name was nailed into the dark gray wall behind her, silver letters glinting in the light from the windows.

Everyone was well dressed in dark hues – receptionists working the desk, lawyers passing back and forth in the hallways behind them, suited and skirted figures drafting papers in their glass offices behind even that. If she didn't know better, she'd think she stepped straight into a monochromatic movie from the eighties, and she was the tenacious new lawyer about to come across a shadowy conspiracy that could tear the firm apart.

She waved the thought off with a small flutter of her hand. There wasn't any time to get caught up in a whimsy screenwriter wonderland. She had to save those sentiments for whenever she retired from this firm with enough cash and connections to do whatever she wanted with her life. For now, she was a legal associate in a world of briefs and loopholes.

She was happy to be here.

Quinn approached the receptionist, placing one jittery hand on the table. "Good morning, I'm —"

"Have a seat," the brunette secretary said abruptly, one hand on her telephone and the other punching numbers, almost of its own accord.

She hastily scanned the room for a place to go and found several people – equally well-dressed and equally bleak-looking – sitting on taupe leather chairs before a black glass coffee table. Unbothered and not nearly as twitchy as she was. They were potential clients, or perhaps lawyers or partners on break time. Not associates.

"Right," she exhaled, her hand retreating from the counter. "Thanks."

She took long strides over to the waiting area, her mind abuzz. Why was she the only one here? Was she late? Her watch said otherwise, but... where was everyone else? Were they supposed to come today, or did she get the date wrong?

Quinn was frozen, staring at the couch before her as her fingers continued to tap relentlessly, a repetitive pattern that only she knew the origin of. Her eyes traced its details, an almost invisible pile of crumbs that had fallen into its creases, an indent where someone else had been sitting...

"Ah, sir?" The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, her head swiveling to face one of the men reading newspapers. "I'm sorry to bother, but I'm new here... am I in the right place?"

The dark-skinned man looked at her over his paper, and he gave her a one-bounce shrug. Then, he fluffed the paper, shifted in his seat, and got back to reading like she didn't even exist.

"Quinn Whitaker?"

She spun around at the sound of her name and found herself staring at a young woman about her age, with light brown skin, shining curls of dark hair, and a spray of freckles across her nose. Clutched in her arms was a navy binder, a pen between her fingers. She offered Quinn a manicured hand, which she shook three times, her other hand still fidgeting.

"I'm Rachel Zane," she said curtly. "I'll be giving you your orientation."

Quinn nodded carefully. "I like your shirt." Finally, some color.

Rachel looked down at it – a pale green sweater with knitted ridges, and was probably softer than one of the many clouds peppering the sky. "Thank you," she said, producing a legal pad from her binder and handing it to Quinn along with the pen. "I advise you take notes."