Quentin and Madin: Post Haven
Nov. 12th, 2023 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to Sunday, outside the Box.
The Box was fucking BORING. Quentin had books, he had a laptop with Internet access, but being stuck in a room with padded walls and no sunlight was soul-crushing and terrible. He could only beat it so many times in a day before it became unpleasant. And he did not even have any drugs to help pass the time, because he actually had to be sober to rebuild his shields that were knocked down in Haven.
"Should've let her explode me, too, so I wouldn't have to be here," he lamented to nobody in particular.
Madin still wasn't sure about coming back but, well, what options were there beyond this? Join another terrorist group? Another actually it's a secret murder cult commune? So, yeah, New York. At least they'd kept their coat from last winter in Chicago but honestly, Miami still seemed like a viable option. Warm weather, bikinis... They knocked on the door to the Box, skin crawling slightly. It looked different after their stay in it. More menacing.
Meal time already? Quentin was losing his Circadian rhythm being cooped up in here. He got up to accept whatever gruel was coming his way (that was an unfair assessment, he knew, but he had no charitable thoughts to spare in his current mood), and was taken aback by the shock of purple on the other side of the window.
"How the tables turn," he quipped over the intercom to the visitor. "Hi."
Never good with words, Madin just shrugged. "Hi." A moment passed and they asked "You need anything?"
"I need a lot of things, Madin. Like my brains to stop leaking." He looked out at them through the window, and his wry expression vanished. "Do you need anything? Maybe not my advice anymore. See how well that turned out for everyone . . .
Madin laughed. It was nearly a sob. "Eh. They seemed legit, you know?"
"They did. I really did think I was doing a good thing, helping them. Bringing you to them. I thought they were on the path to making a better world."
"Me too." It was a whisper. "So. You know when you're allowed out?" The topic change was abrupt.
Quentin almost felt guilty for his answer, given what Madin had gone through just over a month ago. "I'm in here voluntarily," he explained, "Until I can get my telepathy back under control again. I kind of short-circuited after I . . . after everything. I'd be in everyone's heads if I was out right now. No one wants that."
"You mean, people don't want their secrets blowing up their fucking lives?"
"Yeah. About that." He had to tell them the truth. There was no point keeping secrets any longer. This was going to suck, though. "I'm sorry. I owe you an apology. At least two, really. For sending you to Haven and then taking it away, and also . . . fuck. I knew all along. About you. When you first came here and we had drinks that night? You were thinking so loudly. I didn't go looking, I promise you. But you might as well have been screaming at me."
"You knew?" Madin sagged. "You could have said something."
Quentin mirrored their countenance. "Because it wasn't my place. It was your secret, and you kept that secret for a reason. I figured you'd tell the truth when you were ready, and all I could do was help you be ready. I should've expected Canadian Bacon would have meddled and fuck things up for you."
"I mean. I did join a terrorist group. And do field ops. I kinda knew it wasn't something that I could hide forever." Madin shrugged.
"Regardless, I wasn't going to out you. The X-Men have at least two ex-Brotherhood among their number, one of Magneto's daughters is in X-Force, and the other used to be my boss. Guess it was wrong of me to assume they'd offer you more grace than locking you up here while they played superheroes a few rooms away." That wasn't a mistake Quentin would make again.
"You could have mentioned that!" Madin stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't yell. I think maybe that spy chick with the eye patch hinted but." They sagged against the wall. "You could have told me that."
There was no arguing that, so for once, Quentin did not even try. "Look, if anyone deserves to beat the shit out of me for fucking them over, it's you. But tell me what I can do to at least start to make up for it. Please."
"I don't blame you for all this," Madin replied softly. "And uh. I'll let you know. Apparently Hope wants to talk to me. I don't know what that's about. But seriously, it's not your fault. They seemed good. Oh Jesus, who joins a bloody murder cult?"
Quentin leaned against the door and sighed. "Some day, we'll look back on this and laugh. Probably when we're being marched off to the death camps by flatscans, and this will seem so quaint in comparison."
The Box was fucking BORING. Quentin had books, he had a laptop with Internet access, but being stuck in a room with padded walls and no sunlight was soul-crushing and terrible. He could only beat it so many times in a day before it became unpleasant. And he did not even have any drugs to help pass the time, because he actually had to be sober to rebuild his shields that were knocked down in Haven.
"Should've let her explode me, too, so I wouldn't have to be here," he lamented to nobody in particular.
Madin still wasn't sure about coming back but, well, what options were there beyond this? Join another terrorist group? Another actually it's a secret murder cult commune? So, yeah, New York. At least they'd kept their coat from last winter in Chicago but honestly, Miami still seemed like a viable option. Warm weather, bikinis... They knocked on the door to the Box, skin crawling slightly. It looked different after their stay in it. More menacing.
Meal time already? Quentin was losing his Circadian rhythm being cooped up in here. He got up to accept whatever gruel was coming his way (that was an unfair assessment, he knew, but he had no charitable thoughts to spare in his current mood), and was taken aback by the shock of purple on the other side of the window.
"How the tables turn," he quipped over the intercom to the visitor. "Hi."
Never good with words, Madin just shrugged. "Hi." A moment passed and they asked "You need anything?"
"I need a lot of things, Madin. Like my brains to stop leaking." He looked out at them through the window, and his wry expression vanished. "Do you need anything? Maybe not my advice anymore. See how well that turned out for everyone . . .
Madin laughed. It was nearly a sob. "Eh. They seemed legit, you know?"
"They did. I really did think I was doing a good thing, helping them. Bringing you to them. I thought they were on the path to making a better world."
"Me too." It was a whisper. "So. You know when you're allowed out?" The topic change was abrupt.
Quentin almost felt guilty for his answer, given what Madin had gone through just over a month ago. "I'm in here voluntarily," he explained, "Until I can get my telepathy back under control again. I kind of short-circuited after I . . . after everything. I'd be in everyone's heads if I was out right now. No one wants that."
"You mean, people don't want their secrets blowing up their fucking lives?"
"Yeah. About that." He had to tell them the truth. There was no point keeping secrets any longer. This was going to suck, though. "I'm sorry. I owe you an apology. At least two, really. For sending you to Haven and then taking it away, and also . . . fuck. I knew all along. About you. When you first came here and we had drinks that night? You were thinking so loudly. I didn't go looking, I promise you. But you might as well have been screaming at me."
"You knew?" Madin sagged. "You could have said something."
Quentin mirrored their countenance. "Because it wasn't my place. It was your secret, and you kept that secret for a reason. I figured you'd tell the truth when you were ready, and all I could do was help you be ready. I should've expected Canadian Bacon would have meddled and fuck things up for you."
"I mean. I did join a terrorist group. And do field ops. I kinda knew it wasn't something that I could hide forever." Madin shrugged.
"Regardless, I wasn't going to out you. The X-Men have at least two ex-Brotherhood among their number, one of Magneto's daughters is in X-Force, and the other used to be my boss. Guess it was wrong of me to assume they'd offer you more grace than locking you up here while they played superheroes a few rooms away." That wasn't a mistake Quentin would make again.
"You could have mentioned that!" Madin stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't yell. I think maybe that spy chick with the eye patch hinted but." They sagged against the wall. "You could have told me that."
There was no arguing that, so for once, Quentin did not even try. "Look, if anyone deserves to beat the shit out of me for fucking them over, it's you. But tell me what I can do to at least start to make up for it. Please."
"I don't blame you for all this," Madin replied softly. "And uh. I'll let you know. Apparently Hope wants to talk to me. I don't know what that's about. But seriously, it's not your fault. They seemed good. Oh Jesus, who joins a bloody murder cult?"
Quentin leaned against the door and sighed. "Some day, we'll look back on this and laugh. Probably when we're being marched off to the death camps by flatscans, and this will seem so quaint in comparison."
