Quentin & Haller, Sunday morning
Jul. 2nd, 2023 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_erverse posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsHaller continues his nosy streak by checking in with Quentin, who is unusually upfront this time around.
If you happened to be the sort of person inclined to the activity, it was the perfect sort of hot, lazy day to lounge around a swimming pool. Jim himself wasn't, especially since his skin was still struggling to remember how it was meant to handle full sun, but he was happy to see the pool's other occupant didn't have the same issue. Jim had been hoping for an opportunity to get him alone because god forbid you mind your own business and have to deal with your own shit for once yes thanks Cyndi got it.
Tucking that stray thought into the back of his brain where it belonged, Jim headed for the pool's only occupied lounge chair.
"Hey, Quentin."
After all the everything, the younger telepath needed time and space to reflect inwards and plan how to move forward in a healthy manner that would promote robust self-actualization. To do so, he shed his clothes for a simple black briefs swimsuit, popped a 20-mg edible, and planted himself by the pool. He'd had about an hour of solitude, enough time to start feeling the effects, when his meditation was interrupted.
"David Jim Haller Xavier. Hi."
Quentin sounded aggravated, but Jim wasn't deterred. He found he often had that effect on people. Besides, he'd been in Quentin's head. There was no reason to waste time feeling this out.
The older telepath didn't bother asking for an invitation. "I see you're in a great mood," he said, removing a silver cigarette case from his pocket and shaking one out. "I'm not interested in chewing you out, by the way. I figure that's already been covered."
Stretching on his lounge chair, he glanced sideways at Haller before shutting his eyes. "So are you here to blow that cancer stick in my face instead? Am I going to have to report you for making a death threat against me by damaging my lungs?" Quentin spoke slowly, fighting to ensure he spoke clearly and loudly enough to be heard.
"Oh, don't be a prick." The cadence of Haller's voice changed, suddenly higher, more expressive. Cyndi made a face at the unlit cigarette in her hand, then repurposed it as a tool to punctuate her irritation. She jabbed it in Quentin's direction. "Y'know, this is why people think you're the worst. 'Hey Quentin, are you okay? Oh, what's that, I should go fuck myself for asking? Sure, nice talking to you too.'"
Quentin opened his eyes again and raised an eyebrow at her from behind his sunglasses. "Did someone kick you in the nuts when I wasn't looking? What happened to your voice?"
The alter gave him an incredulous look. "God, I know we've never talked before, but aren't you a telepath? I thought you people knew how to look with your brains."
"People don't like it when you look into their heads, and let's be real, your head isn't one worth it to me to peek at." But taking the question as an invitation, Quentin languidly extended a tendril of telepathy to the other psi, and looked quizzically at Haller when he made contact. "Oh, you're one of the other ones? Hmm. So if you're not Jimothy Hallxavier, who are you?"
The alter saluted with the cigarette. "Cyndi. I've been around since before Sadboy was in charge. I'm stealing Jimothy, by the way. He's gonna hate it."
"Enjoy. That one's free." Quentin settled back into his seat and shut his eyes again. "And yes, I am the worst. That's the burden I've accepted so no one else has to be the worst. It's a sacrifice. I'm basically Jesus. I did even die and come back to life three days later, and I fucking love sex workers."
"Tragic. Misunderstood in your own lifetime, a martyr to your people." Cyndi tucked the cigarette behind her ear and crouched by the water's edge. She stretched out a hand and began to levitate droplets of water, chasing them after one another across the surface. "Want me to part the waters for you, give you a nice path to lead your people to the Promised Land?" she asked.
Quentin snickered. "You're mixing Biblical heroes. That was Moses. I can't call down plagues. Can you imagine if I could, though? Everyone's coffee turns to blood, wild beasts roam around, I call down hail. Do you think Moses was a mutant to be able to do all that?"
"Do I look like a theologian? Haller's a Jew with a New Testament codename. Clearly we only know the cliff notes." Cyndi lifted her hand to her lips and blew, scattering orbiting drops of liquid like dandelion seeds. "So tell me, O Prophet, what do you actually believe? 'Cuz I don't think you're Hitler-lite, but I only ever hear you talking about what you don't want, not what you do."
"Oh, I want so many things," he answered wistfully, swinging his legs over the side of his chair so he could get up and join Cyndi at the edge of the pool. "A new Rihanna album, a fatter dick, Gabriel to tell me he l . . ." Nope, too high to ponder that. He changed gears. "What do I believe? I think your father is an idealistic fool. We'll never ever live in peace with flatscans, not if we have to prove ourselves to them. I don't owe them shit, and definitely not that I have a right to live. But then you've got his messy ex, right? I know everyone thinks I'd drop everything and run to Magneto if he had open-call auditions for the Brotherhood but why would I? His whole grand plan is to use the tools of the oppressor to overthrow them and become the oppressor himself. That's not liberation, that's slavery. Can you imagine such a boring world?"
Somewhere, back where Jim had conceded it was better he stayed, he noted Gabriel's name -- largely because he realized it wasn't the first time he'd heard it from Quentin. Back in their body, Cyndi drew her arms up in surprisingly graceful arcs, pulling threads of water from the pool and sending them crawling into the air.
"No kumbaya, but no foot soldiers either," she mused. "Okay, sure. So what's the secret third thing you got in mind?"
"I don't know," Quentin admitted with a self-deprecating laugh after a moment's consideration. "How fucked is that? I know what's wrong, what I don't want. But what's right? I don't know. I don't fucking know. Sometimes I think Madin's on the right track. If I could live in a world without humans, like if I could command to the world 'no more humans!' It'd be great. But I don't want to kill them, you know? I want them to just not exist. There's a key difference. But that's not an option unless eXcalibur's got a portal to a totally mutant world. I should ask Barton about that. Assuming he'll even talk to me anymore. That's a bridge I probably nuked." He was rambling, he realized, and shut himself up before he said anything else.
"Nah, it's not that fucked." Cyndi swept her arms outward and the threads of water disintegrated into mist. The vapor caught the sunlight, throwing rainbows across the sky. "Chuck's got a brain the size of a planet and he's been trying for what, like a hundred years now? Same with Mags. Shit's not easy to figure out, and there's nothing bad about knowing what doesn't work. You just gotta remember 'nah, not that' that only gets you so far. Life philosophy's a lot like deciding what to order for dinner that way." The alter finally drew herself up from her crouch and pressed her hands to the small of her back, stretching. "Anyway, here's a free one from me: if you and Barton were boning on the regular, I assume he's got a high tolerance for bullshit. If you're sorry for how shit went down, just tell him. If you're not and he's not cool with that, well, then you got nothing to talk about anyway, right?"
Quentin's gaze was glued to where the rainbow was shimmering out of existence. A beautiful act that took a deft, controlled hand. Applying any more force and Cyndi would have just splashed them both. Was that a subtle message? He sighed. "I am so tired of talking. It just gets me into trouble because everyone's too dumb to understand me. Except for you. Maybe Jean, maybe Hope. I do tend to get on better with other psis, come to think of it."
Cyndi scythed her arms back and forth, stretching the muscled in her shoulders with adolescent carelessness. "That's because we are simply better than most people," the alter quipped in a matter-of-fact tone. "Plus, y'know, we've been in your head and know your deal. Outside of it, sometimes the more you talk the less we can tell what you really think. Not saying watching you go scorched earth isn't hilarious, but I bet it makes reading you hard for the headblind. You should put more of what's in your head out there when there's not an active clusterfuck happening. There's some interesting shit in there." She turned to him and grinned. "Good talk, right? Like I said: simply better than most people."
If you happened to be the sort of person inclined to the activity, it was the perfect sort of hot, lazy day to lounge around a swimming pool. Jim himself wasn't, especially since his skin was still struggling to remember how it was meant to handle full sun, but he was happy to see the pool's other occupant didn't have the same issue. Jim had been hoping for an opportunity to get him alone because god forbid you mind your own business and have to deal with your own shit for once yes thanks Cyndi got it.
Tucking that stray thought into the back of his brain where it belonged, Jim headed for the pool's only occupied lounge chair.
"Hey, Quentin."
After all the everything, the younger telepath needed time and space to reflect inwards and plan how to move forward in a healthy manner that would promote robust self-actualization. To do so, he shed his clothes for a simple black briefs swimsuit, popped a 20-mg edible, and planted himself by the pool. He'd had about an hour of solitude, enough time to start feeling the effects, when his meditation was interrupted.
"David Jim Haller Xavier. Hi."
Quentin sounded aggravated, but Jim wasn't deterred. He found he often had that effect on people. Besides, he'd been in Quentin's head. There was no reason to waste time feeling this out.
The older telepath didn't bother asking for an invitation. "I see you're in a great mood," he said, removing a silver cigarette case from his pocket and shaking one out. "I'm not interested in chewing you out, by the way. I figure that's already been covered."
Stretching on his lounge chair, he glanced sideways at Haller before shutting his eyes. "So are you here to blow that cancer stick in my face instead? Am I going to have to report you for making a death threat against me by damaging my lungs?" Quentin spoke slowly, fighting to ensure he spoke clearly and loudly enough to be heard.
"Oh, don't be a prick." The cadence of Haller's voice changed, suddenly higher, more expressive. Cyndi made a face at the unlit cigarette in her hand, then repurposed it as a tool to punctuate her irritation. She jabbed it in Quentin's direction. "Y'know, this is why people think you're the worst. 'Hey Quentin, are you okay? Oh, what's that, I should go fuck myself for asking? Sure, nice talking to you too.'"
Quentin opened his eyes again and raised an eyebrow at her from behind his sunglasses. "Did someone kick you in the nuts when I wasn't looking? What happened to your voice?"
The alter gave him an incredulous look. "God, I know we've never talked before, but aren't you a telepath? I thought you people knew how to look with your brains."
"People don't like it when you look into their heads, and let's be real, your head isn't one worth it to me to peek at." But taking the question as an invitation, Quentin languidly extended a tendril of telepathy to the other psi, and looked quizzically at Haller when he made contact. "Oh, you're one of the other ones? Hmm. So if you're not Jimothy Hallxavier, who are you?"
The alter saluted with the cigarette. "Cyndi. I've been around since before Sadboy was in charge. I'm stealing Jimothy, by the way. He's gonna hate it."
"Enjoy. That one's free." Quentin settled back into his seat and shut his eyes again. "And yes, I am the worst. That's the burden I've accepted so no one else has to be the worst. It's a sacrifice. I'm basically Jesus. I did even die and come back to life three days later, and I fucking love sex workers."
"Tragic. Misunderstood in your own lifetime, a martyr to your people." Cyndi tucked the cigarette behind her ear and crouched by the water's edge. She stretched out a hand and began to levitate droplets of water, chasing them after one another across the surface. "Want me to part the waters for you, give you a nice path to lead your people to the Promised Land?" she asked.
Quentin snickered. "You're mixing Biblical heroes. That was Moses. I can't call down plagues. Can you imagine if I could, though? Everyone's coffee turns to blood, wild beasts roam around, I call down hail. Do you think Moses was a mutant to be able to do all that?"
"Do I look like a theologian? Haller's a Jew with a New Testament codename. Clearly we only know the cliff notes." Cyndi lifted her hand to her lips and blew, scattering orbiting drops of liquid like dandelion seeds. "So tell me, O Prophet, what do you actually believe? 'Cuz I don't think you're Hitler-lite, but I only ever hear you talking about what you don't want, not what you do."
"Oh, I want so many things," he answered wistfully, swinging his legs over the side of his chair so he could get up and join Cyndi at the edge of the pool. "A new Rihanna album, a fatter dick, Gabriel to tell me he l . . ." Nope, too high to ponder that. He changed gears. "What do I believe? I think your father is an idealistic fool. We'll never ever live in peace with flatscans, not if we have to prove ourselves to them. I don't owe them shit, and definitely not that I have a right to live. But then you've got his messy ex, right? I know everyone thinks I'd drop everything and run to Magneto if he had open-call auditions for the Brotherhood but why would I? His whole grand plan is to use the tools of the oppressor to overthrow them and become the oppressor himself. That's not liberation, that's slavery. Can you imagine such a boring world?"
Somewhere, back where Jim had conceded it was better he stayed, he noted Gabriel's name -- largely because he realized it wasn't the first time he'd heard it from Quentin. Back in their body, Cyndi drew her arms up in surprisingly graceful arcs, pulling threads of water from the pool and sending them crawling into the air.
"No kumbaya, but no foot soldiers either," she mused. "Okay, sure. So what's the secret third thing you got in mind?"
"I don't know," Quentin admitted with a self-deprecating laugh after a moment's consideration. "How fucked is that? I know what's wrong, what I don't want. But what's right? I don't know. I don't fucking know. Sometimes I think Madin's on the right track. If I could live in a world without humans, like if I could command to the world 'no more humans!' It'd be great. But I don't want to kill them, you know? I want them to just not exist. There's a key difference. But that's not an option unless eXcalibur's got a portal to a totally mutant world. I should ask Barton about that. Assuming he'll even talk to me anymore. That's a bridge I probably nuked." He was rambling, he realized, and shut himself up before he said anything else.
"Nah, it's not that fucked." Cyndi swept her arms outward and the threads of water disintegrated into mist. The vapor caught the sunlight, throwing rainbows across the sky. "Chuck's got a brain the size of a planet and he's been trying for what, like a hundred years now? Same with Mags. Shit's not easy to figure out, and there's nothing bad about knowing what doesn't work. You just gotta remember 'nah, not that' that only gets you so far. Life philosophy's a lot like deciding what to order for dinner that way." The alter finally drew herself up from her crouch and pressed her hands to the small of her back, stretching. "Anyway, here's a free one from me: if you and Barton were boning on the regular, I assume he's got a high tolerance for bullshit. If you're sorry for how shit went down, just tell him. If you're not and he's not cool with that, well, then you got nothing to talk about anyway, right?"
Quentin's gaze was glued to where the rainbow was shimmering out of existence. A beautiful act that took a deft, controlled hand. Applying any more force and Cyndi would have just splashed them both. Was that a subtle message? He sighed. "I am so tired of talking. It just gets me into trouble because everyone's too dumb to understand me. Except for you. Maybe Jean, maybe Hope. I do tend to get on better with other psis, come to think of it."
Cyndi scythed her arms back and forth, stretching the muscled in her shoulders with adolescent carelessness. "That's because we are simply better than most people," the alter quipped in a matter-of-fact tone. "Plus, y'know, we've been in your head and know your deal. Outside of it, sometimes the more you talk the less we can tell what you really think. Not saying watching you go scorched earth isn't hilarious, but I bet it makes reading you hard for the headblind. You should put more of what's in your head out there when there's not an active clusterfuck happening. There's some interesting shit in there." She turned to him and grinned. "Good talk, right? Like I said: simply better than most people."
