CHAPTER 163: CBC’S QUINN

The girl giggled. "Now, my question."

She breathed out a shaky breath.

"Are you afraid of relationships?"

Averie deliberated.

"What kind?" he asked.

"The romantic kind, of course."

"Does it look like I am afraid to you?"

"It feels like you don’t want to commit to anything."

"Well, I do hate being tied down. And love is a hypocrite. Unlike lust, it isn’t straightforward. It’s extremely emotionally exhausting."

"You don’t find yourself lonely?"

"Loneliness isn’t that bad when you have things to do."

"Like?"

"Trolling people."

The night was getting colder.

Ellie shivered and leaned against her friend.

"You’ve learned to be shameless," the diabolical actor said.

She smirked. "You don’t seem to mind."

He didn’t.

He had always been a sinful man, and if anything, he liked this Ellie than the one who always seemed unsure.

"You can ask now."

Averie turned his head to her.

"What do you want from me?"

"I don’t know."

***

The stage was swathed in lights. Large, loud speakers boomed music. Sweat danced on the drums.

The sweaty, half-naked man with long hair screamed into the mic.

He called it singing.

And from her location in the crowd, a woman in her early 30s was watching. Silently, like a leopard hunting its prey, she was observing.

There was something on her mind, something that kept her from enjoying the show that thousands of others were screaming for.

Their hands danced in the air, jumping and singing along mindlessly.

They liked the ear-numbing volume. They liked the screeching guitar. They liked the enthusiastic vocalist. They liked the sweat, the smoke, and the lights.

The air was booming, yet she managed to feel her vibrating phone.

Through the waves of dancing crowd, she made her way out of the venue and onto the road outside.

It had stopped ringing, so she called back.

"Yes, I’m here," she said.

Her voice sounded odd, at least to her. Her ears were still ringing, so perhaps it was just an illusion.

"Where are you?" asked the voice from the other end.

It sounded particularly stiff.

"Rio."

"Rio? Rio, what?"

"Rio de Janeiro"

"You went all the way to Brazil?"

The woman looked around and hailed a cab.

"Yes."

"How was it?"

"Fell short of expectations. I am thinking of visiting Chile, Mexico, Spain, the Netherlands, and Germany."

"Is that all?"

"How many more countries could I possibly visit? My funds are running low."

"Well, best of luck."

As the cab arrived, the woman took a look at her reflection in the window.

She looked younger than she was, with piercings covering her ears, nose, and lips.

"I will call if I find anything worth looking at."

She entered the cab and instructed the driver to take her to her hotel.

As the cab sped away, she took notice of her hands.

They were rough, like those of a musician.

Yet it was the black nail paint that reminded her of her career.

The stage, the band—it reminded her of a time long past.

She closed her eyes.

Averie opened his eyes and sat up in his bed.

’It has been a while since I had one of these dreams.’

His tattoo was flaring.

’Rock concert, was it?’

***

A month passed.

And on a sunny day, Averie surprised Hyerin and Min-Ha by showing them something he did not have—generosity.

"What is that?" asked Min-Ha, pointing at the slips of paper her employer was fanning himself with.

Hyerin was on her knees, praying to the gods, hoping that it wasn’t a dream.

Averie looked smug.

"Tickets for a cruise," he said.

Hyerin bawled, muttering something about vacation and good days.

So, after a week of shopping and packing, which was encouraged by Averie’s bank account, the three departed for the airport.

On their way, Min-Ha discreetly turned to her actor. "So, did you invite someone else?"

"No." He looked a bit confused. "Why?"

She shirked. "Just asking."

’It’s not about the handkerchief, is it?’

"You can talk to me about it, you know?"

"There’s nothing to talk about. And I wouldn’t even if there was anything."

"So, it’s not serious?"

"Exactly."

"What is it, then?"

"Have you heard about none-of-your-business? That’s what it is."

The girl made a face and changed the topic. "How much did you spend on those tickets?"

"Nothing." Averie snickered. "They are from the higher-ups of Heresy of the Fallen World. The poor bastards made so much money, they wanted to reward their key staff and actors."

Once at the airport, they took a flight straight to the UK. And after a long day of travelling, they finally arrived at the port.

While boarding, Averie’s eyes wandered off to a familiar figure.

"Is that Celli?"

Hyerin tried to call for her, but Averie shut her up.

"It’s evening, my dear. We can talk to her at dinner."

Staring into his scary eyes, Hyerin reluctantly agreed.

While she appreciated the chance to unwind, it was Averie she was happier for. No matter how many times she tried to convince him before, he refused to take a vacation.

’Finally,’ she thought. ’He can rest now, before the movie starts filming.’

She hadn’t forgotten his crazy behaviour, and it was stressing her out.

"Have fun, okay?" she said to him. "Enjoy yourself."

***

It was Sunday evening.

In a London flat tucked away in the corner of a brown building, a blonde lady dressed in a suit entered.

"What a tiring day," she muttered as she locked the door behind her.

She took a warm bath, changed into comfortable clothes, and served herself the takeaway she had bought on the way.

Lifelessly, she circled through the channels on her TV.

"Nothing’s good."

Not exactly. There were plenty of good shows, but she wasn’t in the mood for any of them.

She didn’t know what she wanted, but she knew it wasn’t what was on.

"Can’t be bothered with football."

Her ex-boyfriend’s team was playing, and watching them reminded her of him. It always infuriated her.

"He’s shit, and his team’s shit."

Finally, she dropped the remote and focused on eating. Her food was getting cold.

Coincidentally, she had ended up on CBC.

The ads had just ended, and a voice fell on her ears.

"A friend once asked me, ’What is zoology?’"

She looked up, her legs curled up on the sofa.

A man, who gave off both modern and vintage vibes, stood at the back entrance of a zoo.

"He died before I could answer. It wasn’t a smart thing to ask in the middle of the road."

He cleared his throat.

"Well, zoology is the scientific study of animals. A famous online archive describes a zoo as ’a facility where animals are kept within enclosures for public exhibition and often bred for conservation purposes.’"

He took a leisurely step towards the entrance.

"What are these conservation purposes?" he asked with a solemn face. "Is breeding animals a pastime of conservatives?"

Struggling with the mic in his hand, he took off his coat.

"The panda population is in decline. It is known that they rarely breed." His brows furrowed. "They climb up high; they don’t drink. Are pandas ascetics?"

He took off his turtleneck and stood there half-naked.

"Why do my friends tell me that I belong in a zoo?"

He picked up the black t-shirt hanging from the knob of the back door, waved it in the air, and wore it.

The Quinn was printed on it.

"Are Hyenas evil? Why do they hate lions?"

With a serious expression, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Am I gay?"

He opened the door and took a step in.

"We will find the answers to these profound questions in this episode of Long Live the Quinn."

He was The Quinn.

’Who is that? Never seen him,’ the woman thought. ’What show is it? It looks a bit off.’

Regardless, it looked entertaining.

Quinn walked through the zoo’s corridors, the camera following him from behind.

He stopped in front of a wooden door.

Director Keith Taylor.

Quinn rapped on the door.

A moment later, the door opened, and an older gentleman greeted him.

"Welcome," he said laughingly. "I have been eagerly awaiting you."

"Why?" Quinn asked.

"I’m sorry?"

"Why were you eagerly waiting for me?"

The man’s gaze jumped back and forth, a bit confused. "Well, I was expecting you, so..."

"Yes, but you could have expected me without waiting for me. I don’t want to cause inconvenience. And why eagerly?"

"Well, it’s just an expression—"

"Was it because you are a fan?"

His mustache quivered. "Pardon?"

"Do you know me? Did you like my acting in BSPH?"

’BSPH?’ the woman wondered. ’Where have I heard it?’

"Yes, of course. I enjoyed it."

The man was beckoning him in, but Quinn would not budge.

"What was the name of my character, then?"

"I, um..."

An awkward silence settled in the room.

’Oh God.’ The woman fanned herself. ’The second-hand embarrassment is strong.’

"So, it is my knowledge that you are the head of this place."

He laughed. "You could say that."

"You are the main man here, captain of the ship, leader of the syndicate."

The man silently nodded, chewing on his lip.

"Do the beasts inside call you Boss?"

"I... don’t know how that would be possible."

"Do they not?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "That’s an utter lack of respect for the man who runs the place."

Suddenly, he snickered like a schoolboy.

"I suppose that’s why they are locked in there, and we are not. Humans are just superior, right?"

The man faintly smiled as a reply.

’What is this show?’ the woman wondered. ’It makes no sense.’

Yet she kept watching.