Quentin & Xavin, Thursday evening
Mar. 15th, 2018 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJust a night of Netflix and chill for two drunk young mutants.
Xavin knocked on Quentin's door, six pack of vodka mixers hidden in a grocery bag. "Hey, Quire! You in there?"
Most people would not have gotten a response. Quentin was much too comfortable lying on his couch, listening to Kele Okereke and Olly Alexander grieving a lost love while the remnants of a finished joint smoldered in an ash tray on the side table. But Xavin was one of maybe two people who did not make him want to shrivel up, so he waved a hand, messy telekinesis rattling the door but not actually managing to turn the knob. He hoped Xavin would get the message.
"Like, seriously, bro, you're a telekinetic and you can't even open a door?" Xavin asked, entering. "That's really .... yeaaaah."
"Hey, I tried," Quentin protested. "You try doing things with just your mind." He stretched on the couch, his raised arms lifting up his shirt a bit. He did not do anything to readjust when he got back into a comfortable position. "What's going on?"
"I do things with my mind all the time." One arm stretched and wiggled. "And, well," Xavin shrugged. "You've been a bit ... absent lately, you know?"
The corners of Quentin's lips ticked upwards in what could have been a smile, but he settled for the mildest of grins. "I've been busy. The grass of the world won't all smoke itself. Gotta put in my effort, you know."
"I guess..." Xavin settled on the couch and handed over a drink. "You want one?"
As if Quentin were ever one to pass up such an offer. He made a beckoning motion with his hand and accepted the offered bottle. "So, what've you been doing? That whole school thing?" He waved his free hand. His thoughts on academia were well known and did not need to be restated right now.
Xavin shrugged. "School. Being a mutant in public, more school. I'm transferring to NYU in the fall, when I get my associate's. I need more hobbies, though."
Quentin lifted himself up on his elbows, interest piqued. "In public? Going green instead of black? Or taking one body to morning classes and the other after lunch? Either way, bold move."
Xavin tilted their head slightly and looked at Quentin for long moment. "You know, I can never figure this out - are you a - I don't know - do you have some kind of hard on for visible mutants because you're not? Or are you just trolling everyone, because it doesn't matter to you since you pass?"
The psychic returned the gaze with bloodshot eyes, taking even longer to respond to the question. "I make it a point not to 'pass' as anything but myself," he said evenly, tapping the tip of the bottle against his lips. "No one should have to. I know it's not always safe, so when someone decides it is, then it's a good thing."
"When someone decides to look like a mutant? Bro, are you serious?"
"Decides it's safe, sis. I got the shit beat out of me enough times in high school — and middle school and elementary school — to know not everyone can do it. Come on."
Xavin took a long drink and held up two fingers. "One: don't ever call me that again. Two: I really don't know that you get it."
Quentin shrugged and lay back down. "Maybe not. I just suck dick like it's my living, and I look like this, so what would I know about living in constant fear that the white cis-hetero-patriarchy will hunt me down for sport? So what are you studying?" he asked, neatly changing the subject.
"Asshole." Xavin stretched out one arm and picked up a second drink. Maybe they were going too fast. Whatever. "Comp sci, mostly. Figure I can get a decent job out of that and maybe the -- this - won't count as much."
The remark just earned Xavin another grin. That was a label Quentin wore proudly and never tired of. "I swear, if you become one of those Reddit tech bro hashtag-gamergate types, I'll pay Colbert to murder you. Do you actually like doing that shit, though? I mean, if you're just in it for the money, then respect."
"Well, a bit of column A, a bit of column B. I mean, of course I miss being rich."
"All the proletariat wants to be the bourgeoisie," Quentin lamented dramatically, blindly reaching behind him to set down his now-empty bottle. He motioned for a second one, and waited for Xavin to hand it over rather than risk shattering it with a too-strong or too-slippery telekinetic grip. "What's the, uh, 'dating' scene like there?"
Shrug. "Well, that depends."
Quentin rolled his eyes at the non-answer. "On what? How quickly you can swipe right?"
"Have you met the people at Westchester Community? Also, which closets I want to be in."
"I have not. Not up to your standards? Kinda lame. They must already be pretty low 'cuz you fucked me," Quentin teased. "You able to bust through any closets, at least?"
"What do you think, Quire?" Xavin asked tiredly. "And you know, bro, you're hot at least."
"I'm sorry you've had such a dry year. I'd say maybe a university would get you the D, but let's be real, you'll be stuck with a ton of queerphobic flatscans there, too."
Xavin groaned and flopped back on the couch. "Guess I'm stuck with people from the mansion for now. So... you busy tonight?"
"Gee, I don't know. I'd hate for you to feel stuck." The words came out with his characteristic vitriol, but his lips quirked upward in what might have been a grin.
"Well, yeah. I mean, that would suck so hard."
Lying on the couch, Quentin spread his legs, kicking one up onto the back of the furniture and letting the other dangle off the edge. "I bet it would."
Xavin knocked on Quentin's door, six pack of vodka mixers hidden in a grocery bag. "Hey, Quire! You in there?"
Most people would not have gotten a response. Quentin was much too comfortable lying on his couch, listening to Kele Okereke and Olly Alexander grieving a lost love while the remnants of a finished joint smoldered in an ash tray on the side table. But Xavin was one of maybe two people who did not make him want to shrivel up, so he waved a hand, messy telekinesis rattling the door but not actually managing to turn the knob. He hoped Xavin would get the message.
"Like, seriously, bro, you're a telekinetic and you can't even open a door?" Xavin asked, entering. "That's really .... yeaaaah."
"Hey, I tried," Quentin protested. "You try doing things with just your mind." He stretched on the couch, his raised arms lifting up his shirt a bit. He did not do anything to readjust when he got back into a comfortable position. "What's going on?"
"I do things with my mind all the time." One arm stretched and wiggled. "And, well," Xavin shrugged. "You've been a bit ... absent lately, you know?"
The corners of Quentin's lips ticked upwards in what could have been a smile, but he settled for the mildest of grins. "I've been busy. The grass of the world won't all smoke itself. Gotta put in my effort, you know."
"I guess..." Xavin settled on the couch and handed over a drink. "You want one?"
As if Quentin were ever one to pass up such an offer. He made a beckoning motion with his hand and accepted the offered bottle. "So, what've you been doing? That whole school thing?" He waved his free hand. His thoughts on academia were well known and did not need to be restated right now.
Xavin shrugged. "School. Being a mutant in public, more school. I'm transferring to NYU in the fall, when I get my associate's. I need more hobbies, though."
Quentin lifted himself up on his elbows, interest piqued. "In public? Going green instead of black? Or taking one body to morning classes and the other after lunch? Either way, bold move."
Xavin tilted their head slightly and looked at Quentin for long moment. "You know, I can never figure this out - are you a - I don't know - do you have some kind of hard on for visible mutants because you're not? Or are you just trolling everyone, because it doesn't matter to you since you pass?"
The psychic returned the gaze with bloodshot eyes, taking even longer to respond to the question. "I make it a point not to 'pass' as anything but myself," he said evenly, tapping the tip of the bottle against his lips. "No one should have to. I know it's not always safe, so when someone decides it is, then it's a good thing."
"When someone decides to look like a mutant? Bro, are you serious?"
"Decides it's safe, sis. I got the shit beat out of me enough times in high school — and middle school and elementary school — to know not everyone can do it. Come on."
Xavin took a long drink and held up two fingers. "One: don't ever call me that again. Two: I really don't know that you get it."
Quentin shrugged and lay back down. "Maybe not. I just suck dick like it's my living, and I look like this, so what would I know about living in constant fear that the white cis-hetero-patriarchy will hunt me down for sport? So what are you studying?" he asked, neatly changing the subject.
"Asshole." Xavin stretched out one arm and picked up a second drink. Maybe they were going too fast. Whatever. "Comp sci, mostly. Figure I can get a decent job out of that and maybe the -- this - won't count as much."
The remark just earned Xavin another grin. That was a label Quentin wore proudly and never tired of. "I swear, if you become one of those Reddit tech bro hashtag-gamergate types, I'll pay Colbert to murder you. Do you actually like doing that shit, though? I mean, if you're just in it for the money, then respect."
"Well, a bit of column A, a bit of column B. I mean, of course I miss being rich."
"All the proletariat wants to be the bourgeoisie," Quentin lamented dramatically, blindly reaching behind him to set down his now-empty bottle. He motioned for a second one, and waited for Xavin to hand it over rather than risk shattering it with a too-strong or too-slippery telekinetic grip. "What's the, uh, 'dating' scene like there?"
Shrug. "Well, that depends."
Quentin rolled his eyes at the non-answer. "On what? How quickly you can swipe right?"
"Have you met the people at Westchester Community? Also, which closets I want to be in."
"I have not. Not up to your standards? Kinda lame. They must already be pretty low 'cuz you fucked me," Quentin teased. "You able to bust through any closets, at least?"
"What do you think, Quire?" Xavin asked tiredly. "And you know, bro, you're hot at least."
"I'm sorry you've had such a dry year. I'd say maybe a university would get you the D, but let's be real, you'll be stuck with a ton of queerphobic flatscans there, too."
Xavin groaned and flopped back on the couch. "Guess I'm stuck with people from the mansion for now. So... you busy tonight?"
"Gee, I don't know. I'd hate for you to feel stuck." The words came out with his characteristic vitriol, but his lips quirked upward in what might have been a grin.
"Well, yeah. I mean, that would suck so hard."
Lying on the couch, Quentin spread his legs, kicking one up onto the back of the furniture and letting the other dangle off the edge. "I bet it would."
