Do I Know You? — What is Human?

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Jean-Paul gets a chance to traverse through Quentin's psiscape.


Gabriel seemed to have everything in order, and there was no sign they were being followed anymore, so Quentin allowed himself to relax as much as he could as they continued their trip to Montreal. He could not sit still in the passenger seat, metaphorically speaking, and with another two-ish hours left, he needed something to do to occupy himself and not distract the others. So while they were focused on the road, he allowed himself to retreat down the psychic link again and recreate the psiscape from the previous.

He was getting good at this, he thought proudly to himself, as the vast emptiness of the Astral Plane transformed into a tranquil moonlit lake shore. Quentin sat down at the end of the short dock and sighed with something approaching contentment as he closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

Jean-Paul felt the pull of something almost like calm and let himself be tugged in that direction. It wasn't insistent, but he was bored and tired and -

He fell into the psiscape, a startled sound escaping him before he began muttering in French. It seemed he'd been muttering curses nonstop since this whole fiasco had begun. His voice trailed off, though, as he took in the scene. Whatever this was, wherever it was, he liked it. It was quiet.

Quentin tried very hard not to curse at the intrusion. He partially succeeded, too; while no words passed the lips of his mental self-image, the psiscape shook momentarily in response to his irritation. "Welcome," Quentin greeted unwelcomingly. He dipped his bare feet into the cool lake water, disturbing the reflection of the starlit sky.

Jean-Paul grunted in response, frowning slightly. Then he sighed. "Bon nuit," he said, tilting his head from side to side to crack his neck before rolling his shoulders. "What is this place?"

"A little pocket of the Astral Plane. Place for telepaths to congregate and manipulate," Quentin explained. "Try not to think of anything bad. It reacts to your thoughts and I don't want to be caught in the middle of, like, Anaconda."

"You cannot tell me not to think of anacondas," Jean-Paul said, smirking just a little. "Of course I am thinking of anacondas now." In truth, though, he was more than happy to sit beside the water and think of nothing. He still wasn't sure how he felt about this entire episode. Perhaps he would know what to think of it later, once they weren't being chased by crazy fanatics.

"Whose anaconda?" It was always the right time for a dick joke, Quentin told himself. At least he could keep up some normalcy. "How long's it been since we left? Easy to lose track in here."

Snorting, Jean-Paul said, "Any anaconda right now." Then he shrugged. "Since we escaped the hospital? I do not know. Two days? Three?"

"I mean since our last grand theft auto. It's only been one day since we came here. Sorry 'bout that, by the way." Quentin sounded mostly sincere about that, although the breeze seemed to chortle at him. He just rolled his eyes in response. "Whatever. Soon as we get to your whatever he is, we can get back and fix all this."

Bringing his knees to his chest, Jean-Paul wrapped his arms around them. "Accidents happen," he said. "It is... not the best, oui? But it could be worse. At least you were not trapped inside Daniella alone. I do not like to think of what would have happened without Wanda and Gabriel to get us out of that situation." Which... Jean-Paul found he actually believed. And, if he was going to be pulled into someone else's body, he supposed there were worse reasons than helping them.

Quentin snorted. No lies detected there. He had little doubt that the child of Magneto could have gotten them out of this trouble, but he was surprised by Gabriel's resilience. He was mildly turned on by that. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone, especially not Jean-Paul. "Whatever. No big loss to the rest of you, I'm sure."

Tilting his head to the side, Jean-Paul looked at Quentin and asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Quentin asked, eyes fixed on the water beneath them.

"I would say 'fish for compliments,' but I think you genuinely do not think people would care if you were gone," Jean-Paul answered.

An orb of water rose from the lake to Quentin's outstretched hand, reflecting the starlight like he was holding the heavens in his palm. "Would they?" he asked. "I haven't particularly made myself, you know, missable."

Jean-Paul shrugged. "If nothing else, someone would notice your absence. Which is more than some people can say."

"Notice is different from care. I notice, for instance, when my roommate forgets to leave the lab and ends up spending his night down there. I just don't give a shit."

"Do you care that they do not care?"

"Doesn't matter either way. I'm not suicidal, if that's what you're asking."

Arching an eyebrow, Jean-Paul said, "I did not think this of you. It is that... for someone who seems very much to wish that people believe you do not care, you spend a large amount of time telling them they do not care about you."

"It's all part of my master plan to kill everyone and take over the world. You don't think it's going well, then?"

Jean-Paul hummed as he considered that. "It is not a good plan," he finally offered. "It does not have minions."

Quentin made a similar thoughtful sound and fought the unbidden smile coming to his lips. "Well, I'm a telepath so that part is only a matter of time. We're not all international sports stars who can entice impressionable young minds with their fappable photoshoots. Which, PS, I know at least three people in the mansion do that."

Snorting softly, Jean-Paul attempted to feign innocence. "They entice young people with... fappable photoshoots?" Then he smiled a little and said, "But you miss the point of minions. It is much nicer when they do what you want because they want to do it than because you have made them want to. Also, I imagine it takes much focus to do those things, yes?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never tried controlling someone's mind. On purpose." Whatever smile had been there faded completely now, and Quentin dropped the glittering orb of water back into the lake. After a quick moment, he shook his head. "Wow, that was very drama queen of me. Sorry."

"Eh," Jean-Paul said. "But you see now why killing everyone to take over the world would not be such a good plan?"

"I just don't have a good strategy yet. But soon. We're all here to learn, aren't we? I'm sure I couldn't have done all this just a few months ago."

Jean-Paul hummed again, then said, "I would not make a good minion. For reference purposes."

Quentin considered the young man sitting next to him, and offered him a wicked grin. "I wouldn't have you as a minion. Too . . . uppity. Also you're partially responsible for saving my life, so you're owed better than that. I could find better use for you."

Giving Quentin an unsubtle once-over, Jean-Paul quirked an eyebrow. "Oui, I believe you could."

Well, now Quentin really couldn't wait to get this all over with.

~*~

Quentin, Gabriel, Jean-Paul, and Wanda finally arrive in Montreal, and a resolution is in sight.


They couldn't have arrived in Montreal soon enough. They were exhausted, hungry, and dirty, and they knew they could not take much more of being trapped together in a single body. So Quentin did not broker any argument as Jean-Paul navigated them through the city to his guardian's whatever it was. It might have been the first time in days that he was so quiet.

Jean-Paul checked the time on the clock when they approached an intersection, frowned slightly, and then turned right. He parked a few minutes later outside a large and obviously well-liked restaurant. The sun was close to setting, orange-red light spilling over everything as he cut the ignition, climbed out of the truck, and rubbed at their eyes before heading toward the door.

It was obvious from the expression the maître d' adopted as soon as he got a good look at them that they were about two seconds away from being tossed out on their ear. Jean-Paul walked directly up to the man and, lips turned down at the corners, had a very brief conversation with the man in rapid-fire French. The man looked appropriately taken aback at having received a certain set of key phrases from a scrawny, unwashed girl in clothing that had obviously seen better days.

He did, however, follow the appropriate protocols and escorted them to a quiet side room. Hopefully, Raymonde would arrive to investigate the source of the code phrases himself.

Excusing himself from his dinner guests when the maître d' murmured in his ear, Raymonde followed him to the little side room where....that wasn't JP. "And who are you?" he asked the young girl. She knew the code phrases. The ones only Jean-Paul would know or use if he was in trouble, but....he had no idea who this girl was.

Tension visibly bleeding out of their shoulders, Jean-Paul took a slow breath and briefly considered not explaining the situation to Raymonde. It was all very ridiculous. But, in the end, he thought honesty might get them the best, fastest reactions. "Bonjour, Raymonde," he said, the voice in which he spoke still very odd. And then began the explanation of what had happened.

Quentin maintained his silence throughout Jean-Paul's explanation, not bothering to fill in the details about the nature of telepathy and possession. This hot daddy wouldn't understand them, anyway. "So we drove five hours to ask you to make a phone call for us," he summarized once Jean-Paul had finished.

Wanda shrugged at the look on Raymonde's face. "Again, we have tried to make the calls on our own but there have been set backs." The truth was all well and good but she wasn't about to muddy the waters with an explanation of what her powers were doing and why she might be the only one to still have them. "Jean-Paul said you were to be trusted, even with a situation as ... unusual as this one."

Raymonde nodded slowly. This was most certainly an unusual situation indeed. "I think I can," he said finally, trying to reconcile everything in his mind. The world was a much stranger place than he had ever imagined and that was saying something given his life. "Give me a few minutes," he said, getting up.

"Food would be great too," Gabriel piped up. He'd sat silent, mostly taking in the decor of this restaurant and speculating on what it said about Jean-Paul's childhood. "We're starving."

Jean-Paul raised their hand and rubbed at their forehead. He had a headache, which he assumed meant they had a headache. "Oui, food," he said. Sticking their head out the door while Raymonde disappeared to take care of their request. Catching the maître d's attention, he rattled off a rapid order.

Returning after a longer time than he anticipated, Raymonde took a seat, unsurprised to see that this....man, woman, them, he had no idea what to use, was eating. "I've made some calls," he said without preamble, "they should be able to help you."

"Bless," Quentin thanked him between bites. He hadn't paid attention to what Jean-Paul ordered, and maybe it was the starvation talking, but this might have been the best food he'd ever had and he literally wanted to live in whatever pot or pan had been used to cook it.

"The thanks is for the food and the help," Wanda said with a quirked smile. "Not so many people would take this as calmly as you have. Maybe Jean-Paul got into more trouble than he let on while he was growing up..."

"Jean-Paul would be dead in a gutter," Jean-Paul said, rolling his eyes, "Were it not for Raymonde's..." He paused to think for a moment. "Fortitude? This is the correct word, yes?" Then he waved their free hand. "I have missed poutine and I would like very much to stop at a Tim Horton's before we leave. I need a maple shortbread cookie."

Gabriel was quiet, preferring to retreat into his own corner of Daniella's mind while the others chatted. He was exhausted, and he felt untethered. Now that they were still, in one place, the last few days were catching up to him. He missed his body, and the first things he'd be doing when he got back to it were pizza and sex. And not in that order.

It did not occur to him that he might have accidentally said this thought aloud.

"Pssh," Jean-Paul said. "After this meal and at least three cookies, my priorities will be only 'sex.' I wonder if the man who believes he is a king would react more to an in-person proposition than a journal proposition."

"If you find out something that works, then you've gotta share your secret," Quentin requested.

"Jean-Paul always brings me the most interesting problems," Raymonde replied, giving the....body? Girl? Whatever, a look, "But you are all on your own for sex. With or without a king."

A purple portal began to appear a few feet away, starting as a small dot and then growing until a matching purple girl emerged wearing a large, floppy hat and huge sunglasses that screamed 'celebrity: do not recognize.' "I'm here for all the wayward sons. "

Quentin never thought he could be so relieved to see anyone from the hellhole that was Westchester. "Finally!" he exclaimed, shoving another handful of curd-and-gravy-slathered fries into their mouth. "Get us the hell out of here and back to the real world. No offense," he offered Raymonde. "But for real, let's get the fuck out."

"What? No poutine for my troubles?" Clarice mock-pouted. Her powers graced her with a fantastic metabolism. "Fine. I'll be back for some later. Let's go! Yeesh."