Quentin & Madin, Friday afternoon
Jul. 28th, 2023 01:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin is undeterred when he tries to help an unreceptive Madin.
In between the boarded up shops and semi-derelict brownstones of the DX were apartments that were clearly inhabited and shops that served the community. Vacant lots stood out against the fabric of the city that would never exist 5 blocks away. A few of them had been repurposed into community gardens, while the rest housed tents shielded by makeshift fences.
Madin wasn't gardening but was hanging out at one of the vacant lots that was partially set up like that. An older man who had some kind of plant powers worked there and he'd brought in chairs and milk crates, stringing up an old blue tarpaulin over them to provide shade. When they saw Quentin walking past, they winced, wondering if they could just up and leave without him noticing. Standing, Madin began to gather their things together and pack them back into a small backpack. Don't look over here. Don't look over here.
Of course, if you thought such things with fervor in the presence of a telepath, there was no way you would not be noticed. Quentin stopped in his path when the desperate thought hit his head and smirked. "Hey, Madin," he called amusedly without turning. That counted as acquiescing to their wish, right? "Someone's got to teach you how to not project so much."
Madin sighed. Ordinarily they'd have fought about it but right now, today, it was too damn hard. "Stay out of my head, you prick," they muttered. "Just cos you can hear something doesn't mean you gotta listen."
"For someone who's dead-set on mutants not holding themselves back just for the comfort of flatscans, you don't get how most powers work do you? This isn't something I can just turn off without a lot of drugs." Now he turned to face Madin and grinned. "You wanna grab a sandwich? I'm fucking starving."
"Right. Sorry. I just." Madin shook their head. "I'll remember that." They stood, grabbing a backpack that was partly hidden behind the milk crates. "Yeah, I'd love some food."
Quentin led Madin down the street to one of the many co-op bodegas in the neighborhood. It was small but as far as Quentin was concerned, the prepared food could not be beat. He had strongly considered becoming a member, but that would require volunteering there, and he would be damned if he would ever take a service job. So paying a little more was worth it to avoid that torture.
He led them to the sandwich counter and gave the staff member his standard order of the vegan Reuben. "Hope you don't mind vegetarian. They make the best sandwiches in the city, though. You ever had tempeh?"
Madin was torn between looking cool - obviously they'd had tempeh, everyone had had that and the need to ... well, be honest around a telepath. Honesty won. "What the fuck's tempeh?" It seemed that they were both getting vegan Reubens, whatever the fuck that was. "Uh, can I get an oat latte too, please?"
"It's some fucking soy patty, I think. Whatever the fuck it is, it's delicious and doesn't contribute to the industrial slaughter of animals or the worsening of climate change." Quentin cracked open his bottle of kombucha and took a swig, giving him a moment to consider what to say next. "I can teach you, you know. How to shield your thoughts so nosy fucknuts like me don't pick up what you're thinking. Everyone thinks I just use my telepathy as a weapon to fuck over other people and I don't know shit about defense, but like lots of things people think they know about me, they're dead wrong."
Madin paused and stared down at their coffee for a long time, shoulders hunched slightly. Everything came back to the same problem - even being at the mansion did - which was that nothing was free and sooner or later any help they accepted was going to come with a price no matter what anyone said and they weren't going to be used as a weapon any more.
"Can I think about that for a bit?"
"Take as long as you need. It's not a limited-time offer. I . . ." Here, Quentin had to be careful. It was always a razor's edge with Madin, and Quentin dedicated himself to keeping his balance. "Let's be real. I just want to make sure you're okay. It's not something I ask often—or at all, really—but you've been through it, and the people who put you through it suck shit. So, you know, wellness check or whatever."
"You and bloody everyone else. I'm fine, okay? So unless you can use your big brain to get me real fucked up for free, can we leave it?"
"I mean, I can. I think. I've never actually tried to share a trip before, but it sounds plausible. But fine, all right, I'll drop it."
"Sorry, I'm just." Madin shrugged. "I'm not trying to be a dick, alright? But every time I turn around someone is threatening me or lying to me or some bullshit about how you just have to accept humans who hate us and it's --- give me one reason why I should stay other than that I don't have a job."
Quentin shrugged. "I don't have one," he answered frankly. "You came in the first place because you needed a place to stay and, for all the respectability politics that Chuckles has implanted in everyone's heads, it is at least good for that. But if you're suffocating under that heap, then who the fuck am I to convince you otherwise? Look, I stayed because I needed to learn to effectively use my scary new powers, and later because of X-Factor." And also the presence of certain people, but he had nearly spilled that to Cyndi and damned if he was going to also to Madin.
Madin sagged in their chair, resting their head in their hands. "I still need a place to stay. I--" Fuck, just say it. "Not everything I did after I left Australia was great and..." Madin closed their eyes and kept talking, quietly. "I was involved with some bad people and after Chicago. They might know where I am. But I don't know if -- the mansion's full of people who'd hate me for it. They promised I'd have... everything if I joined up with them and could leave Australia. But also, if I leave the mansion, I've got nothing and I'm back to being -- I mean, I don't even have a job and I guess I can do sex work but -- I can't just go. I still need somewhere to live."
Every word Madin said reinforced Quentin's conviction that his supposedly ruthless, wicked words were right, and that perhaps he hadn't gone far enough. He had to suppress that renewed contempt in order to get any more words out of his mouth. "Those fuckers accuse me of being a coward for not backing up my posts with lethal action, but the same can be said about them. All bark, no bite, just the most basic enLIghtEneD libERal self-congratulatory drivel." He made a jerkoff motion with his right hand. "Not that it really matters, I guess, when you don't have the baseline for how ugly they all are on the inside."
The cashier called their order, and Quentin telekinetically retrieved the sandwiches. Then, as protection against eavesdropping, he emitted a psychic suggestion to anyone getting within a couple yards of their table to walk away and steer clear. "Look, I'm not trying to white knight for you here. That's Barton's department. But I can try to help, if it's finding a job here or somewhere else in the city or in Salem Center, or wading through the bullshit of the X-Men and especially X-Force to get an actual advocate. You met Jean or Haller yet? They're two of the only decent people there." Telepaths were just better people, he reminded himself.
"Bro. I didn't finish year 8. The only things I know how to do --" Madin shook their head, thinking about standoffs that devolved to shooting over trucks filled with low grade tungsten ore from illegal mines in a national park. "Yeah, I've met him. He's not bad."
Quentin bit into his sandwich to give him a moment to consider what to say next. "I've heard whispers of this other place, too. And this is not a 'you don't belong here, you have to go' thing, so don't start on that," he hastily amended. "Somewhere over on the West Coast, there's supposed to be this experimental mutant-only society, far away from humans. Everything you'd want for a mutant home."
"I don't know." Madin shook their head. "I just don't know. I... " Yes, but. The 'but' was the elephant in the room. "Who are they working with? I -- the people I mentioned -- they're. I don't want to get back involved with them by mistake, you know? It sounds too good to be true. It's probably ...them."
"I don't know," Quentin echoed. Not Magneto and his Brotherhood, as far as he knew, but that would be cold comfort, and he didn't want to scare them off by revealing he knew, or how he knew. "I'm curious about it, too, to be honest. I want to look into it when I have the time. But, whatever. I meant what I said. I know people, and I know people who know people. So hit me up."
"Can I think about that for a bit?" Madin asked quietly.
"Take as long as you need."
In between the boarded up shops and semi-derelict brownstones of the DX were apartments that were clearly inhabited and shops that served the community. Vacant lots stood out against the fabric of the city that would never exist 5 blocks away. A few of them had been repurposed into community gardens, while the rest housed tents shielded by makeshift fences.
Madin wasn't gardening but was hanging out at one of the vacant lots that was partially set up like that. An older man who had some kind of plant powers worked there and he'd brought in chairs and milk crates, stringing up an old blue tarpaulin over them to provide shade. When they saw Quentin walking past, they winced, wondering if they could just up and leave without him noticing. Standing, Madin began to gather their things together and pack them back into a small backpack. Don't look over here. Don't look over here.
Of course, if you thought such things with fervor in the presence of a telepath, there was no way you would not be noticed. Quentin stopped in his path when the desperate thought hit his head and smirked. "Hey, Madin," he called amusedly without turning. That counted as acquiescing to their wish, right? "Someone's got to teach you how to not project so much."
Madin sighed. Ordinarily they'd have fought about it but right now, today, it was too damn hard. "Stay out of my head, you prick," they muttered. "Just cos you can hear something doesn't mean you gotta listen."
"For someone who's dead-set on mutants not holding themselves back just for the comfort of flatscans, you don't get how most powers work do you? This isn't something I can just turn off without a lot of drugs." Now he turned to face Madin and grinned. "You wanna grab a sandwich? I'm fucking starving."
"Right. Sorry. I just." Madin shook their head. "I'll remember that." They stood, grabbing a backpack that was partly hidden behind the milk crates. "Yeah, I'd love some food."
Quentin led Madin down the street to one of the many co-op bodegas in the neighborhood. It was small but as far as Quentin was concerned, the prepared food could not be beat. He had strongly considered becoming a member, but that would require volunteering there, and he would be damned if he would ever take a service job. So paying a little more was worth it to avoid that torture.
He led them to the sandwich counter and gave the staff member his standard order of the vegan Reuben. "Hope you don't mind vegetarian. They make the best sandwiches in the city, though. You ever had tempeh?"
Madin was torn between looking cool - obviously they'd had tempeh, everyone had had that and the need to ... well, be honest around a telepath. Honesty won. "What the fuck's tempeh?" It seemed that they were both getting vegan Reubens, whatever the fuck that was. "Uh, can I get an oat latte too, please?"
"It's some fucking soy patty, I think. Whatever the fuck it is, it's delicious and doesn't contribute to the industrial slaughter of animals or the worsening of climate change." Quentin cracked open his bottle of kombucha and took a swig, giving him a moment to consider what to say next. "I can teach you, you know. How to shield your thoughts so nosy fucknuts like me don't pick up what you're thinking. Everyone thinks I just use my telepathy as a weapon to fuck over other people and I don't know shit about defense, but like lots of things people think they know about me, they're dead wrong."
Madin paused and stared down at their coffee for a long time, shoulders hunched slightly. Everything came back to the same problem - even being at the mansion did - which was that nothing was free and sooner or later any help they accepted was going to come with a price no matter what anyone said and they weren't going to be used as a weapon any more.
"Can I think about that for a bit?"
"Take as long as you need. It's not a limited-time offer. I . . ." Here, Quentin had to be careful. It was always a razor's edge with Madin, and Quentin dedicated himself to keeping his balance. "Let's be real. I just want to make sure you're okay. It's not something I ask often—or at all, really—but you've been through it, and the people who put you through it suck shit. So, you know, wellness check or whatever."
"You and bloody everyone else. I'm fine, okay? So unless you can use your big brain to get me real fucked up for free, can we leave it?"
"I mean, I can. I think. I've never actually tried to share a trip before, but it sounds plausible. But fine, all right, I'll drop it."
"Sorry, I'm just." Madin shrugged. "I'm not trying to be a dick, alright? But every time I turn around someone is threatening me or lying to me or some bullshit about how you just have to accept humans who hate us and it's --- give me one reason why I should stay other than that I don't have a job."
Quentin shrugged. "I don't have one," he answered frankly. "You came in the first place because you needed a place to stay and, for all the respectability politics that Chuckles has implanted in everyone's heads, it is at least good for that. But if you're suffocating under that heap, then who the fuck am I to convince you otherwise? Look, I stayed because I needed to learn to effectively use my scary new powers, and later because of X-Factor." And also the presence of certain people, but he had nearly spilled that to Cyndi and damned if he was going to also to Madin.
Madin sagged in their chair, resting their head in their hands. "I still need a place to stay. I--" Fuck, just say it. "Not everything I did after I left Australia was great and..." Madin closed their eyes and kept talking, quietly. "I was involved with some bad people and after Chicago. They might know where I am. But I don't know if -- the mansion's full of people who'd hate me for it. They promised I'd have... everything if I joined up with them and could leave Australia. But also, if I leave the mansion, I've got nothing and I'm back to being -- I mean, I don't even have a job and I guess I can do sex work but -- I can't just go. I still need somewhere to live."
Every word Madin said reinforced Quentin's conviction that his supposedly ruthless, wicked words were right, and that perhaps he hadn't gone far enough. He had to suppress that renewed contempt in order to get any more words out of his mouth. "Those fuckers accuse me of being a coward for not backing up my posts with lethal action, but the same can be said about them. All bark, no bite, just the most basic enLIghtEneD libERal self-congratulatory drivel." He made a jerkoff motion with his right hand. "Not that it really matters, I guess, when you don't have the baseline for how ugly they all are on the inside."
The cashier called their order, and Quentin telekinetically retrieved the sandwiches. Then, as protection against eavesdropping, he emitted a psychic suggestion to anyone getting within a couple yards of their table to walk away and steer clear. "Look, I'm not trying to white knight for you here. That's Barton's department. But I can try to help, if it's finding a job here or somewhere else in the city or in Salem Center, or wading through the bullshit of the X-Men and especially X-Force to get an actual advocate. You met Jean or Haller yet? They're two of the only decent people there." Telepaths were just better people, he reminded himself.
"Bro. I didn't finish year 8. The only things I know how to do --" Madin shook their head, thinking about standoffs that devolved to shooting over trucks filled with low grade tungsten ore from illegal mines in a national park. "Yeah, I've met him. He's not bad."
Quentin bit into his sandwich to give him a moment to consider what to say next. "I've heard whispers of this other place, too. And this is not a 'you don't belong here, you have to go' thing, so don't start on that," he hastily amended. "Somewhere over on the West Coast, there's supposed to be this experimental mutant-only society, far away from humans. Everything you'd want for a mutant home."
"I don't know." Madin shook their head. "I just don't know. I... " Yes, but. The 'but' was the elephant in the room. "Who are they working with? I -- the people I mentioned -- they're. I don't want to get back involved with them by mistake, you know? It sounds too good to be true. It's probably ...them."
"I don't know," Quentin echoed. Not Magneto and his Brotherhood, as far as he knew, but that would be cold comfort, and he didn't want to scare them off by revealing he knew, or how he knew. "I'm curious about it, too, to be honest. I want to look into it when I have the time. But, whatever. I meant what I said. I know people, and I know people who know people. So hit me up."
"Can I think about that for a bit?" Madin asked quietly.
"Take as long as you need."
