xp_logs | Haller and Warren - Haller wishes he had Clarice's powers...

xp_angel posting in

...and could just portal the eff away from Warren.

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Jim stood in his office doorway, every muscle locked. He had simply been minding his own business when he'd answered a knock, and now he was looking at Warren Worthington. Why was he looking at Warren Worthington?

Why does he have baked goods? Jim wondered, trying to figure out whether this was some sort of stress-induced hallucination. oh god, what's happening

It had taken some snooping and dedicated looking into things but Warren wasn't a pseudo private investigator for nothing. He found out who Haller was, learned that the man's profession and now he was even more intrigued with getting to know this golden player in the Mansion.

It had also taken some serious self-awareness and thought processing for Warren to be alright with no longer being the head penis around but that was fine. He was new and improved and not that person anymore. He wasn't allowed to fuck where he lived, and he was fine with that. Mostly. The problem was Warren had a serious case of FOMO and was dying to know how the hell had this guy found his way into Jean's pants. Obviously that relationship had died a long time ago, and Jean and Warren were friendly enough with no real hard feelings (he hoped) but it still filled him with curiousity to know who Jean found appropriate for her. It wasn't Warren, and Warren was fine with it. Was it this dude?

As was proper in his incredibly WASP-y upbringing, there was no way Warren was going to have a heart-to-heart with a complete stranger empty-handed. Oh no. No no. That would not do. Thankfully, Warren was well verse in these kinds of niceties.

"Hello," he said, "I'm Warren Worthington the Third. I've never met you before. Please, have a scone. They're white chocolate and raspberry."

"Thanks?" the counselor said, and there was a definite question to the word. Unfortunately for Jim, the same social mores that had inspired Warren to arrive bearing gifts also triggered the corresponding social lever. "Um, I'm David Haller. Do you . . . want to come in . . ?" I still have no idea what's happening.

"I absolutely do, thank you so much for the invitation," Warren said, breezing in past the confused man. Warren took a look around. If there was any way to describe this office as 'interesting', Warren couldn't find it. It was generic and boring, a typical office. All that was missing was a painting of a sailboat for the wall to go with the beige vibes. He was understanding why Jean took a shine to this guy. Setting the tray down on the desk, Warren helped himself to a chair, and crossed a leg over his knee.

"So. Tell me. Who are you? Are you a man of mystery? A man of terror? Or a man of seduction? There are only so many paths to take, and I'm open to hearing it."

For a handful of seconds the telepath's face took on the particular blank look it did when his least restrained alter had suddenly burst into gales of hysterical laughter.

"I'm . . . a counselor." are you a man of WHAT oh my god does this man have functioning eyes shut up shut up shut up I can't think Jim wondered if he could throw the tray of scones as a distraction and run for it. This was clearly not an interaction he was prepared for.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, trying to focus, "is there something I can help you with? "

"You know, this, right here? This is the problem with society. Why can't two men simply meet to chat, get to know one another, without there being some type of agenda? Maybe I have recently returned home, the very prodigal son if you will, and have realized that I don't know as many people as I used to. This can't stand -- I must know everyone, it's kind of my thing. And knowing that you're a counselor, well -- isn't that an important first step in our newly formed friendship? Mental health. Fantastic. What a passion!" Warren was more relaxed than he had been in a while. This was fun. Clearly, this person knew of Warren's reputation and was obviously overwhelmed by it. A very common thing. "And in the Mansion? Who are you tied to? What should I know about you?"

"I'm honestly not sure. I was an old patient of the Professor's, if that tells you anything." Oh no. Warren was an extrovert-extrovert. Searching for a stalling tactic, Jim took a seat and picked up one of the scones. Against all expectation, it smelled incredible. Now that he thought about it Jim recalled Cecilia had mentioned something about his baking once. He ventured a bite.

"This is good," Jim said with honest surprise. "Uh, sorry -- would you like some coffee? Sorry, nothing fancy, all I have are Keurig pods."

Warren knew his baking was good but there was one thing the man loved more than anything else -- a compliment. "Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Eat more. There's plenty in the kitchen as well, and some cookies. I like to bake. It's very ordered and with my chaotic life, I appreciate there being one place where things turn out exactly as intended. And no thank you on the coffee -- it's not that I'm too good for Keurig, it's that I don't want any. I'm planning on getting high later, I don't want the caffeine to counteract it."

Jim, who was seriously considering asking Quentin if that offer to get fucked up was still open, decided this was fair enough. Fortunately he now had an excuse to set up the coffee maker, and thus momentarily escape the other man's photogenically piercing blue eyes.

"So you've been gone for a while too, right?" Jim asked, making an awkward grab for the conversation's rudder. "What brings you back?"

"Money and power," Warren responded bluntly. "The crux of all motivations, no? Well. Money, power and sex but I have all three so I don't need to chase it really. Just accept it when it comes and go towards the glory that is women and money. Do you have either?"

Jim froze. Then, pod still clutched in one hand, he turned back to Warren and stared him dead in the eye.

"Do I look like the kind of person who has either?"

Without flinching, Warren responded with: "Word around the Mansion is you're drowning in pussy."

This time Jim didn't even have Cyndi's cackling to distract him. She, along with the rest of his system, had totally short-circuited. For a few moments his brainwaves displayed only the equivalent of a Page Loading icon.

When he finally found his voice again all he could manage was, "You know you're talking to David Haller, right?"

That was not the response Warren was expecting. He cocked his head and gave him a curious look. "Yes. Haller. I know. And I'm telling you what I am hearing. This is literally the only piece of information I know about you, and so I can go on believing only that, or I can do what I came here to do -- get to know who the fuck you are. I think that's fair, don't you?"

Jim had been struggling with whether or not to disclose his conversation with Jean, but he couldn't take much more of this. He tossed the pod back into the basket beside the Keurig before he panicked and tried to throw it like a smoke bomb. "Okay, I think there's been some kind of miscommunication. I don't know what you think you heard, but I'm not sleeping with anyone. I am" and he could not believe these words were coming out of his mouth "whatever the hell the opposite of drowning in pussy is. Wading in puppies. Whatever. I don't date."

Warren watched the pod get thrown and had to admit -- he was very amused that he had clearly touched a nerve. "Dating is stupid. No one dates. People just find another person and end up attached if their parts like each other enough. Wading in puppies sounds more like what you do in a rom com than sitting around being celibate. You'll need to find a better analogy." The man's very visceral reaction though had at least confirmed one thing -- if there wasn't a connection yet with Jean, there probably would be eventually. Haller definitely seemed her type. "I wonder why you're being touted as a great casanova then. You either have the luck of a God or an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'm somehow a part of this conversation, so it's definitely not the first one." Jim rubbed his temples. He was starting to get a headache, which was probably a common reaction for people trying to match Warren in a battle of wits while empty handed. "Anyway, there's nothing wrong with dating or rom coms, it just never . . . wait, aren't you married?"

Warren nodded approvingly. "Excellent rebuttal, one that actually makes me slightly nauseated to say soon to be. Thankfully, I've had six years to reoncile myself to the fact that the words 'I do' will be in my near future. And not 'I do want to stick up your butt' but the other, less important I do."

He paused for a moment before sighing. "Yes, in all honesty, Bobbi and I are engaged and I've really worked on recognizing I should be semi monogamous. So really, this conversation is one out of slight envy. A more visceral envy than rational....don't tell Bobbi."

"So you're having a mid-life crisis and taking it out on me," Jim observed. He wasn't sure which corner of his brain had decided sarcasm was a viable option, but it was helping, or at least, helping Jim -- it was hard to tell if Warren would even notice. Still, the other man's admission made him feel a little more sure-footed. Warren Worthington, soon-to-be-ex-bachelor, was a concept much easier to grasp than Warren Worthington, stranger-convinced-he-was-talking-to-someone-who-fucked.

Now it was Warren's turn to be confused. "Taking what out on you? What's wrong with our conversation? I thought it was pleasant."

He frowned a little. "I don't have cold feet if that's what your implying. I'm simply vain as fuck and fascinated how you got into Jean's promised land." A beat. "Her vagina, in case that's too vague."

Jim gave Warren another long stare. "No," he said, "I managed to puzzle it out from context clues. And like I said, we're not seeing each other. Who told you that, anyway?" There was no way any reasonable person could have jumped to this conclusion based solely on a throwaway comment from Quentin.

Then again, the more time he spent in Warren's presence the less likely "reasonable person" seemed to apply. Jim was starting to understand why Warren had become Jean's ex-boyfriend.

Warren rolled his eyes and sighed. "And I already told you -- no one said anything, it is Mansion gossip and I wanted to seè how much was true."

He raised a brow. "You can be very frustrating to speak with."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Jim dragged a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. Thanks for the scones, but I'm still not seeing Jean. Neither of us is seeing anyone. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either extremely misinformed or actively hallucinating."

Warren waved a hand dismissively. "We already established that. I've moved on. Now I'm more interested in WHY everyone thinks you're God's gift to women. And maybe men. I'm telling you, the rumours are wild right now. I'm incredibly interested in being your friend now. You seem entertaining."

oh dear god "Thanks, but I'm not sure I need any more friends," Jim lied, trying to ignore Cyndi's brays of what are you talking about this guy is AMAZING. Cyndi had an affinity for people who spoke their mind, even when the contents of that mind were absolutely unhinged. Jim strode purposefully towards the office door and held it open in the universal sign for "you need to go now". "I'm sorry," he told Warren in the same firm tones one would use to tell a child their bedtime curfew would be extended no further, "but if you don't mind, I have some work to do."

That was a cue that Warren wasn't going to ignore. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he grinned and stood up. "Yes, work. That is a universal we can't escape. I actually have a meeting with London in an hour or so that I should prepare. It's exhausting dealing with millions some days." He extended a hand to shake. "I'm sure we'll be bumping into each other again now that I'm back. I look forward to it."

The telepath accepted the man's hand with a growing sense of dread. "Yeah," Jim said, "I'm sure we will."

Help.