quinnzarek

[quinnzarek]

Location: Tidepool Drive-In (the drive-in is cursed again. Allegedly.) Status: OPEN || @palmviewstarters

There’s a flicker in the projector bulb. Barely noticeable unless you’re paying close attention - which, unfortunately, Quinn always is.

She sighs, muttering something under her breath that probably includes a curse word and definitely includes, "Not again." It’s the third technical glitch this week, and some regulars are already calling it ‘Final Destination-coded,’ like that’s cute. She thinks it’s just outdated wiring. Or ghosts. Hard to say.

She steps away from the concession stand, tugging her hoodie tighter around her and scanning the crowd gathering for tonight’s double feature: The Others and The Babadook. Fitting. Everyone’s in sweaters and moods, the air thick with popcorn and the kind of tension that only happens before a jump scare.

Quinn pops the cap on her soda, glances sideways, and then says - without looking -

"If this place goes full Poltergeist, I’m not saving anyone but myself. Just so we’re clear."

She pauses. Then turns, eyes sharp but half-smiling.

"You look like someone who either believes in ghosts or really wants to argue with someone who does."

Beat.

"So. Which is it?"

[quinnzarek]

“PLOTTING ESCAPES SINCE '98; SURVIVING ONE SCENE AT A TIME”

INTRODUCING…

NAME: Quinn Margery Zarek

GENDER & PREFERRED PRONOUNS: Cis Woman {She/Her}

AGE: 26

BIRTHDAY: December 13, 1998

SEXUALITY & ROMANCE: Bisexual - Biromantic

COUNTERPART: Kirby Reed - Scream

FACE CLAIM: Katie Douglas

OCCUPATION: Attendant at the Tidepool Drive-In, where she handles everything from rewinding reels to scaring off teens making out behind screen three. On the side, she runs Final Lines, a cult-followed horror movie analysis podcast that's half cinematic theory, half post-trauma processing.

HOMETOWN: Bayridge, IL.

CURRENT RESIDENCY: Mango Bay, Palmview (Since June 2024)

CHARACTER PLAYLIST: HERE. (WIP)

UP NEXT: “COTTON CANDY” BY YUNGBLUD

BIOGRAPHY: TW MENTAL ILLNESS, DEATH, DV, DRUG/ALCOHOL USE

Quinn Zarek grew up in a rustbelt town where everything felt a little too close — too many eyes, too few exits. Bayridge, Illinois: the kind of place with a Walmart, a bowling alley, and secrets that never stayed buried. She was raised in a two-bedroom ranch house on the edge of town by her older cousin Justine, a tough-as-nails trauma nurse who became Quinn’s legal guardian when she was just seven, after her parents were killed in what police called a “domestic dispute gone wrong.” Quinn doesn’t talk about it. What she remembers are the sounds - a door slamming, a gunshot, the silence after. Justine never sugarcoated the world for her. Their house was strict but safe, filled with first aid kits, VHS horror flicks, and late-night emergency room stories swapped over microwave ramen. She taught Quinn how to suture a cut, how to scream with purpose, and how to take care of herself without needing anyone to save her. Quinn found her escape in horror. While other kids were scared of monsters under the bed, she was memorizing final girls - the ones who ran, who fought, who lived. Her bedroom walls were plastered with posters of Halloween, The Descent, The Craft, and Suspiria. She’d rewind kills to study the special effects. She found comfort in controlled terror, in knowing when the scream would come and that she'd be okay after. But real horror doesn’t follow rules. When Quinn was seventeen, a string of murders swept through Bayridge. A masked killer targeting people from her high school. One by one. Quinn survived - barely. The last girl standing, drenched in blood and breathing like her lungs weren’t used to it. The media swarmed, true crime junkies called her a “badass,” and the town started whispering. Some blamed her. Some wanted her autograph. None of them really saw her. She fled Bayridge the day after graduation, never once returning. Over the next few years, Quinn lived in five cities across two states, taking odd jobs — bookstore clerk, projectionist, film archive assistant — all while pouring her grief and sharp-eyed genre obsession into Final Lines, the podcast she started under a pseudonym. She never showed her face. Just her voice: smooth, low, haunted and sharp. A year ago, burned out and blinking on the edge of collapse, she drove south until the gas ran low and the sky smelled like salt. Palmview was a coincidence - or fate. She spotted the Tidepool Drive-In off the highway, flickering to life like a ghost’s open eye. She took a job there on impulse. Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was the idea that if fear could live on a screen, so could healing. Now, she’s the girl who threads reels at dusk, who disappears between screenings, who walks home with her keys between her fingers. Most people just think she’s quiet. Some think she’s intense. No one suspects she’s been hunted. Or that she still carries a switchblade in her boot and a voice recorder in her coat pocket - just in case. She still calls Justine once a week. Never for long. They don’t talk about the murders. They talk about deadlines. And dream sequences. And if Quinn’s sleeping through the night yet. She usually lies. But the podcast keeps growing. The Unquiet - her loyal listenership - still don’t know her name. And Palmview doesn’t know what she’s running from. Yet.

EXTRA-EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT HER!

MBTI: ISTP - The Virtuoso

Enneagram: 6w5 - The Guardian (with survivalist instincts)

Temperament: Choleric-melancholic

Astrological Vibe: Sagittarius Sun, Libra Rising, Taurus Moon

Personality:

Quinn Zarek is the kind of person who walks into a room already knowing how to get out of it. Hyper-observant and instinct-driven, she doesn’t miss much - tracking microexpressions, reading the emotional weather, and clocking exits like second nature. It’s not paranoia; it’s pattern recognition, honed by experience and a gut instinct that’s saved her more than once. She’s private to a fault, revealing only what she chooses to - and even then, it’s curated. The version of her you hear on her podcast Final Lines is sharp, compelling, and just intimate enough to feel real, but in person, she’s all half-smiles and evasive wit. That wit, by the way, cuts deep: Quinn’s humor is dark, dry, and surgical, often used to test people rather than entertain them. Beneath the snark lies a profound understanding of grief and absurdity - not that she’d admit it. Loyalty, for Quinn, is sacred but hard-earned; trust even more so. She assumes most people are hiding something, because she is too. Brilliant and incisive when it comes to horror films, cultural commentary, or spotting patterns in chaos, she intellectualizes her own trauma to keep it safely distant. But despite her avoidance, she’s grounded in the physical world - practical, tactile, and always moving. Whether it’s splicing film reels, fixing a busted projector, or flipping open a switchblade with steady hands, Quinn lives through her senses. Flickering light, gravel underfoot, the hum of old machinery - this is where she feels real. She utilizes sarcasm as a defense mechanism. Despite her outward confidence and sharp senses, Quinn is private to a fault - she keeps her true story tightly locked away and is reluctant to let others get close. This tendency to self-isolate can make her seem aloof or guarded, sometimes pushing people away before they can truly connect. Her reliance on instinct and suspicion sometimes borders on mistrust, making it hard for her to fully relax or believe in others’ intentions. This internal barrier can cause loneliness or emotional isolation, even if she doesn’t readily admit it. Quinn navigates social situations with a careful balance of alertness and control. She quickly reads the emotional temperature of a room and adapts accordingly, but she rarely drops her guard entirely. She is selective about whom she lets into her circle, and when she does engage socially, it’s often with a dry sense of humor and an underlying sharpness that can intimidate or intrigue. Quinn is not the type to seek out large groups or be the center of attention; she prefers meaningful one-on-one interactions or small, trusted groups. Among friends, Quinn is loyal and protective, though she may still maintain some emotional boundaries. She’s the kind of friend who notices when something is off before anyone else does and often knows exactly what to say - or not say - in moments of crisis. However, her reserved nature means she doesn’t always share her own struggles openly, which can create a dynamic where she supports others more than she allows herself to be supported. Friends respect her for her reliability and insight, even if they sometimes wish she would let her guard down more. Romantically, Quinn is cautious and deliberate. She doesn’t rush into relationships, preferring to test the waters thoroughly before letting someone in. Once committed, she is intensely loyal but expects trust and honesty in return. Emotional vulnerability is difficult for her, so her partners must be patient and understanding, able to hold space for her without pushing too hard. Quinn tends to protect herself through a veneer of control and independence, so a romantic partner who can meet her on her level - offering steady support without trying to “fix” her - is crucial. Deep connection for Quinn grows from shared trust, mutual respect, and emotional safety.

Headcanons:

Swears she can recite the entirety of Halloween, backwards

Has a survival kit (Red Vines included) stashed in the trunk of her car at all times

Known to chase teenagers away from the drive-in with a prop machete

Loves to pull pranks and scare those she works with or deems as friends

Quinn’s favorite comfort food is microwave popcorn - she says it smells like “safety and suspense.”

Quinn’s handwriting is neat and precise, but she doodles tiny skulls and bats in the margins of her notebooks.

She hums suspenseful melodies from horror films when she's stressed/anxious

SHE CANNOT DRIVE STICK