Quentin & Jono, Thursday evening
Jan. 11th, 2024 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin helps Jono unlock a new feature of his mutation and tries to browbeat persuade him to let Quentin mentor him. But the interaction leaves them both uneasy.
Jono kept his head down as he walked the halls, he wasn’t used to walking them during most of the mansion’s waking hours. His nighttime walks had ensured that he knew the passages well enough that he could navigate them blind- the issue now was just avoiding the other residents.
Don’t draw attention to yourself. He thought. It’s bad enough the few people you’ve met have commented on the scarf.
"It's definitely a fashion statement," called a bored voice from behind him. "Though what is that statement? 'Patch the holes in the wall already so it's not goddamn freezing all the time?' Or maybe 'I like my face to be scratched at all times,' because, seriously, have you thought about cashmere?"
Quentin stepped into view, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his peacoat while he telekinetically unraveled his own scarf. "For a psychic, you think awfully loudly. Which I get, trust me, I also do sometimes, but you've got to learn to lock that shit up."
Jono blinked at him and then frowned, pulling a notebook out of his pocket and scribbling. I’m a WHAT?!
Psychic? All he had was a nuclear reactor currently experiencing meltdown in his chest. He could barely shower without setting off smoke alarms. None of his shit indicated mind powers, unless depression counted. Which really would be just his luck that his secondary superpower was depression.
Quentin cocked his head to the side, looking a bit like a curious poodle examining a new human. "You don't know? Hmm. I don't know what you do, that's beyond me, but the psychic mind is very distinctive. Probably astral plane stuff. Hmm," he repeated, lifting his head. "I'm Quentin. Telepath. One of the best."
Jono’s brow furrowed and he once again picked up the notebook scribbling down a response. Bad nuclear reactor. No scarf = boom. He wrote first, not really sure how else to communicate his particular brand of assured destruction. Then as an afterthought. Jono. Uh Frankenstein’s atomic bomb?
"Hmm," Quentin repeated. "Come with me." Without waiting for a response, he stepped past the other man and waved at him to follow to one of the nearby rooms. A former classroom from the Institute's older days, now unused but thankfully undamaged from Hope Summers' recent misadventure. He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it over one of the chairs, taking one for himself and telekinetically pulling another one directly across from him for Jono. "We can do a little test, if you don't mind. I'm not going to pry into your memories or thoughts, promise. But if you're a telepath or empath or any-path, we can find out."
Good. Jono wrote as he followed the other man. How do you even test this shit?
He paused, looking Quentin over in consideration before adding more. I am not taking off my shirt or the bandages. Nobody needs to see my internal organs and you will die. It’s a bad look.
Quentin rolled his eyes but smirked with uncharacteristic good humor. "Honey, if I wanted to get you undressed, I'd at least have taken you out to dinner first. Sit and don't think about anything. Just breathe . . . never mind. Try to relax. You can't hurt me, I already died once." He followed his own advice, sitting tall and straight, and breathing rhythmically just as Jean had taught him nearly a decade ago.
Tenderly, he extended a tendril of thought to Jono's mind. It was predictably chaotic, a psychic inferno to be expected from what little bit Quentin had observed of him so far. But he knew energy projectors; he'd been in Alex's mind often enough during X-Factor cases, after all. But there was something different but familiar about this fire. It reached out to him. Perhaps wisely, Quentin did not reach back. Yet.
Jono flinched at the feel of another mind within his own, it felt both uncomfortable and familiar. He wondered if maybe Quentin was right and he was psychic...had he felt another mind like this before without realizing it? Was that why it felt familiar to have another thought pressed against his own? Just as quickly as he felt the thought, he felt its absence as Quentin pulled back.
Jono stared at the other man for a long moment before finally gesturing for the other man to speak. He hoped that Quentin would be forthright with an account of what he'd learned.
"Admittedly, light touches are not my specialty. You've got a nuclear reactor in your chest? Well, that's my brain." Sure, it was a boastful proclamation, but there was no pride in his voice. To Quentin, it was just a statement of fact, like the sky being blue or Xavier being bald. "But I'm gonna try. There's definitely something there. Just warn me if you feel . . . off. Got it?"
I always feel off, there's a nuclear bomb in my chest. Jono thought bitterly, but nodded anyway. He may have been a bit slow on the uptake on the whole telepathy thing.
Quentin's psychic probe reached out to Jono again. It was easy to think of his mind as an actual power reactor and Quentin as the safety inspector, examining it for stability, power output, and anomalies. It seemed secure for now, Jono's mind holding it all in, but pressure was building. It would have to be relieved before Jono's novice safeguards failed. He really should call Jean or Jim for this, but who knew where they were, and besides, hadn't Quentin just said he's one of the best?
Taking the safety inspector metaphor further, Quentin imagined a control panel. Turn this knob to vent the gases, pull that level to flow the coolant. Yet that something that Quentin detected earlier was still there, reaching back to the probe. This time, with his hand ready over the red shutdown button to immediately break their bond, he reached back. Like called to like.
Quentin's sight, both mundane and psychic, went white for a moment. When it cleared, they were back in the empty classroom.
"You are a telepath," he haughtily proclaimed, not keeping the pride out of his voice this time. Although his voice sounded weird. Why did he speak like an Englishman?
Jono backed away from the other man in a panic. Why does he have my face? and then a moment later the anger hit.
He hadn’t let himself feel angry in a year, too afraid of what he could do to the people around him. Too afraid of letting the fire consume him. But now his dark brown eyes darkened as he fixed his own face with a glare. The inferno within him was blazing. If left unchecked it might burn through the bandages. He didn’t care.
WHY DO YOU GET TO WEAR MY FACE AND I DON’T?!
"Be quiet," Quentin snapped, switching to telepathy. "Something's wrong. I . . . Hey, you're doing it! You weren't just thinking, you 'spoke' to me. There's a very clear distinction between telepathic conversation with psis and non-psis." He took out his phone and opened the selfie cam to see what Jono was losing his shit about, and nearly dropped it when his visage appeared.
"Wait, what did you . . ." But before he could finish the question, he just saw himself again. Pink hair, ear piercings, the DSL he was so proud of, not a fun-house mirror image of the brunette white boy sitting across from him.
Jono stared at Quentin, some of the anger subsiding as the other man’s visage returned to normal. But the dragon had been set free, and its fire no longer wanted to be contained. If one looked carefully they would see barely perceptible sparks flickering at the topmost edge of the scarf. Jono wasn’t being careful.
What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.
"Maybe you have some kind of illusion ability? Alter people's perceptions. I . . . Do you need to go to the Danger Room?" Quentin doubted he could fully shield himself from a blast if Jono went nuclear, but he readied his telekinesis just in case. "Look. I'm sorry or whatever for upsetting you. I don't know what just happened. But forget that and think about what you just did. We've unlocked something major."
Jono had briefly skimmed the welcome packet Amanda had sent him and knew of the Danger Room but had never seen it. Still, he could feel the power bubbling up inside of him and as angry as he was at the other man for stealing his face, he was far more scared of hurting someone again so he nodded vigorously, trying to pull the bandages tighter around his face. Whatever he’d supposedly done he was no longer focused enough on Quentin to repeat.
All he could see was himself, playing awkwardly with the set of keys in his pocket, preparing to ask Gayle to move in with him.Maybe it would fix their relationship? Maybe she’d actually appreciate him for more than just pissing off her parents if he could show her how good he could be? And then what he’d thought was just anxiety building in his chest before everything went wrong….
As if the medical staff and X-Men weren't occupied enough with the last horseman, they had an impending fiery shitfit on their hands. "Kid, I swear to God if I get stuck in another memory loop of an explosive powers manifestation . . ." Quentin felt like he was a child at the beach again, unable to move away as a wave crested over him. All he could do was brace himself, hold his breath, and swim through it.
The first thing that hit was the pain, starting around his stomach and building upwards, eating through his organs, the layers of tendon and ligament and muscle, and practically melting his skin as the heat burst forth from his chest. All the air was sucked out of his lungs and he couldn't get any more in, and then, as if gasoline had been poured on the flame, one more burst of energy pushed outward and Jono saw his jaw go with it. The column of flame hit Gayle and using the last of his strength Jono tried to reach out to her, to help her, but then everything went white and he fell forward.
When Quentin came up for air, he was graciously unscathed. The rest of the room, too, for that matter. It was all just a terrible terrible memory. Letting his shields down a little, he approached Jono and put a hand on his shoulder. "You good now that you've got that out?" he asked, trying his best to sound concerned even though empathy was not one of his psychic skills.
Jono glared at him, unshed tears welled in his eyes as if to say, what do you think?. His hands were shaking but the fire within him had subsided some.
Rather than giving Quentin a real answer Jono shoved his arm off of him and flipped him off.
Quentin held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Chill. Look, telepathy is never pleasant at first. I was in the middle of getting my ass kicked by a guy named Chad and ended up pulling my entire fucking high school into the astral plane. Imagine being trapped in a timeless, formless void. We would've been stuck there forever without Jean's help. So, I'm sorry you went through that shit, too. But now that you're past the worst part, I can help."
Yeah, some help you've been. Jono thought bitterly, continuing to glare at the other man. He vaguely remembered that he was still holding onto his pen and notebook and lifted them up so he could write. And how exactly are you supposed to help me? My life is over.
"There's a place where you can do that too. We can teach you how to use your powers, how to understand them. And you'll be with people who know what you're going through too. Who've been there, and made it through. You're not alone anymore. Please. Let us help you."
Quentin's first encounter with Jean and Jennie was a crystal clear memory and though it came up unbidden, Quentin shared it with Jono without reservation. He had been lost, too, imprisoned in a hell of his own making, cursing what he saw as the inevitable end of his life. And though he had fought every step of the way, Jean and Jennie had been correct. Revenge was unfulfilling. Wallowing in self-pity was meaningless. But coming into his own power, understanding it, making it a key part of his sense of self, that had saved him.
"Yeah, it fucking sucks," he commiserated, "But it doesn't have to forever."
They forgot about me once I got dropped off here. Jono wrote. Three fucking weeks before I got an "oh shite, I thought someone else was handling it." How is this better? My mates don't want me around anymore, my own parents haven't spoken to me in over a year, I'm a fucking liability.
"Put that away," Quentin coached him, "Just think it. And yo, I don't know the answers to getting back with friends or family. I'm the last person who can give any advice about that. But what I can do is pick up where you got dropped off. You're not a liability, you're a mutant. I'll show you what that means."
You saw what I did to Gayle. Jono wrote, pointedly refusing to listen to the other man. How is that not a liability?
"If you don't make it your bitch and take control, then you will be a liability."
There was this guy, who thought that nuclear codes should be inside of some volunteer who would have to get murdered so that bombs could launch. I'm the volunteer AND the bomb. And I'm already dead so what's the point? Jono wrote, not really putting in the effort to make his handwriting more legible. How exactly do you stop a nuclear bomb?
"No, you're not dead." Quentin spoke verbally and telepathically to emphasize the point. Goddamn this child. Had he been this obstinate and self-piteous and downright pissed off at the world at the beginning? No, never mind, he knew the answer to that. Jean was going to laugh her ass off when he told her about this. "Okay, think of it this way. You meet a newly manifested mutant who's hurt other people, who's convinced they're a blight upon the world and should go fuck themselves. Are you gonna tell them they're right? Do you think that's how you should talk, one mutant to another?"
Of course not. Jono thought harshly, writing down the same words on his notepad, completely unaware he was thinking towards the other man. I'm depressed not a fucking asshole.
Then the meaning of the other man's words hit him and he paused, pen nib held to paper. Oh. Jono glanced between the notepad and Quentin several times before writing down, I'll think about it. Another pause, then more writing. Happy now?
It was a little win, but Quentin would take it. He nodded. "Good. I'll text you. You can go back to whatever you were doing before. But seriously, cashmere. Or at least alpaca. Have some respect for your skin!"
Jono kept his head down as he walked the halls, he wasn’t used to walking them during most of the mansion’s waking hours. His nighttime walks had ensured that he knew the passages well enough that he could navigate them blind- the issue now was just avoiding the other residents.
Don’t draw attention to yourself. He thought. It’s bad enough the few people you’ve met have commented on the scarf.
"It's definitely a fashion statement," called a bored voice from behind him. "Though what is that statement? 'Patch the holes in the wall already so it's not goddamn freezing all the time?' Or maybe 'I like my face to be scratched at all times,' because, seriously, have you thought about cashmere?"
Quentin stepped into view, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his peacoat while he telekinetically unraveled his own scarf. "For a psychic, you think awfully loudly. Which I get, trust me, I also do sometimes, but you've got to learn to lock that shit up."
Jono blinked at him and then frowned, pulling a notebook out of his pocket and scribbling. I’m a WHAT?!
Psychic? All he had was a nuclear reactor currently experiencing meltdown in his chest. He could barely shower without setting off smoke alarms. None of his shit indicated mind powers, unless depression counted. Which really would be just his luck that his secondary superpower was depression.
Quentin cocked his head to the side, looking a bit like a curious poodle examining a new human. "You don't know? Hmm. I don't know what you do, that's beyond me, but the psychic mind is very distinctive. Probably astral plane stuff. Hmm," he repeated, lifting his head. "I'm Quentin. Telepath. One of the best."
Jono’s brow furrowed and he once again picked up the notebook scribbling down a response. Bad nuclear reactor. No scarf = boom. He wrote first, not really sure how else to communicate his particular brand of assured destruction. Then as an afterthought. Jono. Uh Frankenstein’s atomic bomb?
"Hmm," Quentin repeated. "Come with me." Without waiting for a response, he stepped past the other man and waved at him to follow to one of the nearby rooms. A former classroom from the Institute's older days, now unused but thankfully undamaged from Hope Summers' recent misadventure. He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it over one of the chairs, taking one for himself and telekinetically pulling another one directly across from him for Jono. "We can do a little test, if you don't mind. I'm not going to pry into your memories or thoughts, promise. But if you're a telepath or empath or any-path, we can find out."
Good. Jono wrote as he followed the other man. How do you even test this shit?
He paused, looking Quentin over in consideration before adding more. I am not taking off my shirt or the bandages. Nobody needs to see my internal organs and you will die. It’s a bad look.
Quentin rolled his eyes but smirked with uncharacteristic good humor. "Honey, if I wanted to get you undressed, I'd at least have taken you out to dinner first. Sit and don't think about anything. Just breathe . . . never mind. Try to relax. You can't hurt me, I already died once." He followed his own advice, sitting tall and straight, and breathing rhythmically just as Jean had taught him nearly a decade ago.
Tenderly, he extended a tendril of thought to Jono's mind. It was predictably chaotic, a psychic inferno to be expected from what little bit Quentin had observed of him so far. But he knew energy projectors; he'd been in Alex's mind often enough during X-Factor cases, after all. But there was something different but familiar about this fire. It reached out to him. Perhaps wisely, Quentin did not reach back. Yet.
Jono flinched at the feel of another mind within his own, it felt both uncomfortable and familiar. He wondered if maybe Quentin was right and he was psychic...had he felt another mind like this before without realizing it? Was that why it felt familiar to have another thought pressed against his own? Just as quickly as he felt the thought, he felt its absence as Quentin pulled back.
Jono stared at the other man for a long moment before finally gesturing for the other man to speak. He hoped that Quentin would be forthright with an account of what he'd learned.
"Admittedly, light touches are not my specialty. You've got a nuclear reactor in your chest? Well, that's my brain." Sure, it was a boastful proclamation, but there was no pride in his voice. To Quentin, it was just a statement of fact, like the sky being blue or Xavier being bald. "But I'm gonna try. There's definitely something there. Just warn me if you feel . . . off. Got it?"
I always feel off, there's a nuclear bomb in my chest. Jono thought bitterly, but nodded anyway. He may have been a bit slow on the uptake on the whole telepathy thing.
Quentin's psychic probe reached out to Jono again. It was easy to think of his mind as an actual power reactor and Quentin as the safety inspector, examining it for stability, power output, and anomalies. It seemed secure for now, Jono's mind holding it all in, but pressure was building. It would have to be relieved before Jono's novice safeguards failed. He really should call Jean or Jim for this, but who knew where they were, and besides, hadn't Quentin just said he's one of the best?
Taking the safety inspector metaphor further, Quentin imagined a control panel. Turn this knob to vent the gases, pull that level to flow the coolant. Yet that something that Quentin detected earlier was still there, reaching back to the probe. This time, with his hand ready over the red shutdown button to immediately break their bond, he reached back. Like called to like.
Quentin's sight, both mundane and psychic, went white for a moment. When it cleared, they were back in the empty classroom.
"You are a telepath," he haughtily proclaimed, not keeping the pride out of his voice this time. Although his voice sounded weird. Why did he speak like an Englishman?
Jono backed away from the other man in a panic. Why does he have my face? and then a moment later the anger hit.
He hadn’t let himself feel angry in a year, too afraid of what he could do to the people around him. Too afraid of letting the fire consume him. But now his dark brown eyes darkened as he fixed his own face with a glare. The inferno within him was blazing. If left unchecked it might burn through the bandages. He didn’t care.
WHY DO YOU GET TO WEAR MY FACE AND I DON’T?!
"Be quiet," Quentin snapped, switching to telepathy. "Something's wrong. I . . . Hey, you're doing it! You weren't just thinking, you 'spoke' to me. There's a very clear distinction between telepathic conversation with psis and non-psis." He took out his phone and opened the selfie cam to see what Jono was losing his shit about, and nearly dropped it when his visage appeared.
"Wait, what did you . . ." But before he could finish the question, he just saw himself again. Pink hair, ear piercings, the DSL he was so proud of, not a fun-house mirror image of the brunette white boy sitting across from him.
Jono stared at Quentin, some of the anger subsiding as the other man’s visage returned to normal. But the dragon had been set free, and its fire no longer wanted to be contained. If one looked carefully they would see barely perceptible sparks flickering at the topmost edge of the scarf. Jono wasn’t being careful.
What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.
"Maybe you have some kind of illusion ability? Alter people's perceptions. I . . . Do you need to go to the Danger Room?" Quentin doubted he could fully shield himself from a blast if Jono went nuclear, but he readied his telekinesis just in case. "Look. I'm sorry or whatever for upsetting you. I don't know what just happened. But forget that and think about what you just did. We've unlocked something major."
Jono had briefly skimmed the welcome packet Amanda had sent him and knew of the Danger Room but had never seen it. Still, he could feel the power bubbling up inside of him and as angry as he was at the other man for stealing his face, he was far more scared of hurting someone again so he nodded vigorously, trying to pull the bandages tighter around his face. Whatever he’d supposedly done he was no longer focused enough on Quentin to repeat.
All he could see was himself, playing awkwardly with the set of keys in his pocket, preparing to ask Gayle to move in with him.
As if the medical staff and X-Men weren't occupied enough with the last horseman, they had an impending fiery shitfit on their hands. "Kid, I swear to God if I get stuck in another memory loop of an explosive powers manifestation . . ." Quentin felt like he was a child at the beach again, unable to move away as a wave crested over him. All he could do was brace himself, hold his breath, and swim through it.
The first thing that hit was the pain, starting around his stomach and building upwards, eating through his organs, the layers of tendon and ligament and muscle, and practically melting his skin as the heat burst forth from his chest. All the air was sucked out of his lungs and he couldn't get any more in, and then, as if gasoline had been poured on the flame, one more burst of energy pushed outward and Jono saw his jaw go with it. The column of flame hit Gayle and using the last of his strength Jono tried to reach out to her, to help her, but then everything went white and he fell forward.
When Quentin came up for air, he was graciously unscathed. The rest of the room, too, for that matter. It was all just a terrible terrible memory. Letting his shields down a little, he approached Jono and put a hand on his shoulder. "You good now that you've got that out?" he asked, trying his best to sound concerned even though empathy was not one of his psychic skills.
Jono glared at him, unshed tears welled in his eyes as if to say, what do you think?. His hands were shaking but the fire within him had subsided some.
Rather than giving Quentin a real answer Jono shoved his arm off of him and flipped him off.
Quentin held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Chill. Look, telepathy is never pleasant at first. I was in the middle of getting my ass kicked by a guy named Chad and ended up pulling my entire fucking high school into the astral plane. Imagine being trapped in a timeless, formless void. We would've been stuck there forever without Jean's help. So, I'm sorry you went through that shit, too. But now that you're past the worst part, I can help."
Yeah, some help you've been. Jono thought bitterly, continuing to glare at the other man. He vaguely remembered that he was still holding onto his pen and notebook and lifted them up so he could write. And how exactly are you supposed to help me? My life is over.
"There's a place where you can do that too. We can teach you how to use your powers, how to understand them. And you'll be with people who know what you're going through too. Who've been there, and made it through. You're not alone anymore. Please. Let us help you."
Quentin's first encounter with Jean and Jennie was a crystal clear memory and though it came up unbidden, Quentin shared it with Jono without reservation. He had been lost, too, imprisoned in a hell of his own making, cursing what he saw as the inevitable end of his life. And though he had fought every step of the way, Jean and Jennie had been correct. Revenge was unfulfilling. Wallowing in self-pity was meaningless. But coming into his own power, understanding it, making it a key part of his sense of self, that had saved him.
"Yeah, it fucking sucks," he commiserated, "But it doesn't have to forever."
They forgot about me once I got dropped off here. Jono wrote. Three fucking weeks before I got an "oh shite, I thought someone else was handling it." How is this better? My mates don't want me around anymore, my own parents haven't spoken to me in over a year, I'm a fucking liability.
"Put that away," Quentin coached him, "Just think it. And yo, I don't know the answers to getting back with friends or family. I'm the last person who can give any advice about that. But what I can do is pick up where you got dropped off. You're not a liability, you're a mutant. I'll show you what that means."
You saw what I did to Gayle. Jono wrote, pointedly refusing to listen to the other man. How is that not a liability?
"If you don't make it your bitch and take control, then you will be a liability."
There was this guy, who thought that nuclear codes should be inside of some volunteer who would have to get murdered so that bombs could launch. I'm the volunteer AND the bomb. And I'm already dead so what's the point? Jono wrote, not really putting in the effort to make his handwriting more legible. How exactly do you stop a nuclear bomb?
"No, you're not dead." Quentin spoke verbally and telepathically to emphasize the point. Goddamn this child. Had he been this obstinate and self-piteous and downright pissed off at the world at the beginning? No, never mind, he knew the answer to that. Jean was going to laugh her ass off when he told her about this. "Okay, think of it this way. You meet a newly manifested mutant who's hurt other people, who's convinced they're a blight upon the world and should go fuck themselves. Are you gonna tell them they're right? Do you think that's how you should talk, one mutant to another?"
Of course not. Jono thought harshly, writing down the same words on his notepad, completely unaware he was thinking towards the other man. I'm depressed not a fucking asshole.
Then the meaning of the other man's words hit him and he paused, pen nib held to paper. Oh. Jono glanced between the notepad and Quentin several times before writing down, I'll think about it. Another pause, then more writing. Happy now?
It was a little win, but Quentin would take it. He nodded. "Good. I'll text you. You can go back to whatever you were doing before. But seriously, cashmere. Or at least alpaca. Have some respect for your skin!"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-12 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-12 03:59 am (UTC)OUCH
Really good log, guys. Can't wait to see how this dynamic plays out. (Although lol, "Goddamn this child," thought Quentin, older by two entire years.)