(no subject)

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Set last week, soon after Manny comes out of his zombie state (wednesday-ish or so). Posted late cause I'm a dunce. Geh.

The faint tapping of keys was the only sound in the library, or at least the only sound most would notice - to Alison, there was the faint creaking of bookshelves, the wind brushing by the windows outside now and then, the rustling of the leaves through the glass, the faint hum of the air conditioning in the background. All reassuring things, the very lifeblood of her power, something she was becoming more aware of as time passed - an awareness the constant training with various team members made even more acute.

"Sound amplifiers, wave dynamics, resonance," she murmured to herself, going through the library's research engine over and over again, cross-referencing key words. Looking for something, though she hadn't found what just yet.

Manuel, for his part, is reading a Psychology textbook. Or, rather, trying to, judging by his expression. He's using a forefinger to track his place on the page, and that finger does a lot of back-and-forth tracking over the same line of text. He then sighs loudly, and slams the book closed. ~Stupid piece of monkey crap.~ he mutters in Castillian, eyeing the book like it has personally offended him.

There isn't even the faintest flinch at the sudden sound from Alison, who keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the screen before clicking on a link, skimming through the description of the book before smiling faintly to herself. "Gotcha." She notes down the name and Dewey number of the book, then looks up at the direction of the aggrieved muttering. "Swearing at the book or calling it names won't change anything," she offers mildly.

Manuel looks over at Alison. "Why can't we get Psych textbooks in Spanish, so that they make sense? No, forget that - can we get a Psych text written by someone who has the faintest clue what he is talking about?" he whines. "This is just bullshit."

"Is it bullshit because you can't understand it," she asks after a moment's pause, "or bullshit because you're finding it hard to decipher it in another language?" Of course, neither option means the book is actually bullshit, but then again Alison's read that book and admits to being biased, herself.

"It's bullshit because my English isn't that good, but from what I have been able to figure out this guy is just wrong! I've seen what he's talking about in a way he cannot, and he's just ... wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong." Manuel sputters. "And I cannot ask for a translation, so here I am trying to do it myself."

"How can you be sure what you're figuring out is accurate enough to make that judgment?" Neutral enough, she hopes. "Or that your own viewpoint isn't biased on that matter itself?" She doesn't say he could ask for a translation on the finer points, from either herself, Doug or any number of people.

Actually, no, he can't. Doug won't talk to him beyond what he absolutely needs to do. "Because Doug did translate the required text for this assignment. I'm reading this because Professor Xavier told me to. Because this is supplemental material, Doug will not translate it for me. I know better than to ask. And yes, my viewpoint is biased. I'm an empathy. I can SEE what this cornholed academic can only guess about." he says angrily. "I've translated some of the text already."

"What are you taking issue with, then?" Because damn, Alison can't think of anything more interesting than to get a viewpoint into how Manuel thinks right now, and if he's willing to go on about it then she'd be insane to pass up the chance. Because understanding is half the battle, right?

Manuel flips open the book, and motions for Alison to come closer. "Come here, look at this. See this? This emotional crap he's trying to sell us? " His finger stabs at the offending block of text. "He is trying to tell us that addiction is purely a physiological process! This is absurd. I've seen the mind of addicts. There's a strong emotional component outside of the structural changes brought about by the addiction itself."

"Point," she concedes, looking down at the textbook. "But there's also the self-deception involved in that aspect of the addiction," she tilts her head, thinking. "There's a few manuals on that too... although perhaps the professor wanted you to read that book for just that purpose?" She hooks a chair, bringing it closer to sit down in. "What about the emotional component?"

"Self-deception - well, people can't lie to me, not emotionally. People develop addictions for a reason. Because it makes them feel good, because it makes them feel powerful, because it eases some pain or another - or because it fits a skewed internal self-image. All of those are emotions." he says, looking sideways at Alison.

"Yes, but when you think about it... if people are lying to themselves, does that mean the emotions they are satisfying thought the quick high of the addiction are in fact they ones they actually need to satisfy? Especially though addictions, which are in fact harmful, in the short and long term." There's a sadness about her for a moment that is bone deep, though she shakes it off, focusing on Manuel instead. "And if the internal self-image is skewed, can't their own emotions be as well?"

"This is where things get subjective. I'm not a telepath ..." and oh, the resentment in his voice on that little statement "... but I do know that the addiction feeds an emotion that seems to subjectively solve some perceived internal problem? Want to be popular? Drink to loosen up, to be popular. Feel like you don't have any control over your body, or over your life? Punish it with needles or scars or starvation." And now he looks at Alison sideways again. "No matter how twisted, there's always a reason that makes sense to the underlying structures."

Sidelong looks which Alison seems to be ignoring, whether on purpose or not she isn't letting on, of course. "You're not a telepath." She repeats that quietly, oh so not pushing the point further while making sure it's... present. "So someone lies to themselves, seeking emotional satisfaction through a quick fix, without ever truly approaching the real underlying issue and resolving it, whatever it might be. And they lie to themselves through it. Manufacturing false emotions in the process." And she looks at him directly, this time. "So someone lying to themselves emotionally, might be lying to you as well? Just wondering."

Manuel scowls at the idea. "I doubt that's possible. I'm very good at what I do. And people can't usually fake feelings - thoughts, now those get faked all the time. But feelings? Rare. Most people don't have that kind of self-discipline. People usually repress the feelings they don't want to admit they feel - but that doesn't mean that the color goes away. Too much repression, and it always finds a way to bubble up to the surface. Emotional discipline is not generally in the human makeup." he sneers.

"Emotional discipline, Manuel, would be people always facing up to what they really feel and want. Self-deception is a grand old human tradition," she smiles a bit at that, a touch bitterly so. "We're experts at hiding things from ourselves, both intellectually and emotionally. We shy away from what we think will hurt us and convince ourselves we want something else. It's a lovely mess, really." She raises an eyebrow, aware that the fact that emotions may not reveal what people truly want to him would be a... disturbing concept to Manuel, to say the least. "And then again, what we want or feel isn't always what we need. Nice little tangle to sort out, isn't it."

Manuel smiles cruelly. "Easy enough to do - or, at least, it used to be. Not anymore. So what do you want, Alison?"

"Yes. I know one thing I want." She smiles a bit and it's not entirely pleasant, more like anticipation. "But you don't get to know it."

Manuel stares through Alison, like she's a bug on a board. "You want ... crap, I can't see it. Stupid filter fuzzes out my vision. I have no idea what you want, unless it's to interrogate me."

At which point Alison laughs quietly, shaking her head, rising to her feet slowly. "What do you want, Manuel? Truly? You can read everyone else, but can you read yourself?" She shakes her head. "Don't need to answer that one. Mostly a question for you, really."

"There are lots of things I want. Women, cash, influence, to be free. Doesn't mean I'll be getting any of it." he leers. "So I play the game."

"Honest respect. Admiration from your peers. Trust, not blind or generated by yourself, but well earned and unshakable." A pause. "But then again, maybe you've told yourself you don't need any of that, mmm?" she suggests, neatly pushing the chair back in place.

Manuel laughs at Alison. "Nice try, Devil Woman. You want truth from me, you have to pay me in kind. I'm no puppet to dance on your strings."

"Ask me again when you know the answer, then," she responds affably enough, walking back to her own table to pick up her notes. "But right now, I want to see a lovely blue furred gentleman about a book or ten." A list of things for a list of things is fair enough, really.

"I know what the answer is. I answered it a long time ago." he sneers. "Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you. Why should I? Who are you to me, other than another pretty face? Nothing right now. You want to change that, get inside my head and figure me out, then you're gonna have to make it worth my while."

"People change, Manuel. What they need changes with time too. If you stay stuck on one thing," she finishes gathering her things, hugging them closer to her, "you might be doing yourself a disservice. Or not." She shrugs, shaking her head a bit, amused at the pretty face comment which normally would have irked her - but perhaps it's because Manuel is saying it that she can't take it seriously. "Never said I wanted you to tell me what you wanted now, did I?" she adds as a parting comment, before exiting the room. Or maybe you just need me to want that?

"You'd like to think so, Dazzler." he smirks at her retreating posterior. He then takes a deep breath and reopens the Psych textbook, to take another stab at the translation.