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xp_logsMarie-Ange requests a favor from Quentin, who is all to happy to assist, but as distressed by a sudden powers malfunction.
The past few days had been exhausting, and Quentin was just periphery to all the action. So he was finishing his fourth coffee of the morning when Marie-Ange stepped into his office.
"Jesus fuck, what did I do wrong now?" he lamented, leaning back in his chair as he contemplated the feasibility of a caffeine IV drip. "Half the time one of you people comes here, it's not good news for me."
"Nothing? Unless this is a request, do you want to be in trouble? Not my kink, but I do have good boots on today." Marie-Ange lingered in the doorway before sitting in the visitor's chair. "I was actually here to ask a favour, I need your telepathy."
"Lend them to Gabriel and I'll think about it," he retorted and visibly relaxed. He flicked his wrist and the door closed to give them privacy. "It's nice to be wanted. What can I do for you, then?"
"Marius Laverne." Marie-Ange started. "He was brainwashed by a cult after reaching out to a doctor for medical help. I want you to understand I would be asking you even without that information, but your recent adventures make it an easier sell, yes? I am making sure his identity remains unknown." She looked weary - despite the boots, she was in fleece yoga pants, a sweater and hair in a messy ponytail. "We came very close to District X being annihilated and Marius did not choose to be there. What would you need to make sure the NYPD and any other law enforcement never know his name or face."
Quentin let her finish speaking, then sat in silence for a moment before he leaned forward, resting his chin on steepled fingers. "Marie-Ange. Angie. Can I call you Angie? Christmas was weeks ago and yet you're still giving out presents? Bitch, all you had to say was ACAB and I'd do anything for you." He leaned back in his seat again, pondering her request. "Okay, I'm familiar with the precinct that covers DX plus the nearby ones. If you can confirm which ones responded, I'll do the grand rounds of mindwiping. If there's the possibility of electronic surveillance to modify, I can get Sue and Hope in. Assuming Ramsey isn't all over it himself already."
"Oh, Hope. I should reach out to her." Marie-Ange said, agreeingly. "She knows politicians, I also might need some of them to forget they ever knew the name Marius Laverne." She took out her phone, tapped out a reminder to herself. "Merci. I hoped you were to be agreeable, it seemed up your alley, and the local police are ... detestable. I would not be adverse if you gave some of them phobias, or shameful hygiene habits."
There was that beat cop whom he and Hope had terrorized a few months ago; he could always do with a good haunting. Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, right? "Just give me a couple days and no pig will remember that name or that face. I . . . what's wrong? Is there something on my face?" He raised his hand to his nose and did a double-take. Why was it so long and pointy? And why was his hand so pale?
"Why are you white?" Marie-Ange pushed the chair and herself backwards. "Why? Why are you him, he was white, why are you white? Why did you change, why are you him?!' She had been weary before, but composed. Now she was visibly shaken, eye wide and hands white-knuckled on the arms of the chair.
Quentin examined his hand in horror before pulling out his phone and opening the camera on selfie mode. He dropped it the instant the screen turned to him. It's a cliche to say someone does not recognize themselves in the mirror, but this was literally true. The man looking back at Quentin was white with unkempt blond hair and a shit-eating grin that made him look like the kind of person who was torching District X on Sunday.
"I . . . I don't know what's happening! Is this a prank? Because it's really fucking shitty!"
"I cannot do this!" Marie-Ange couldn't force herself to let go of the chair. "Who else is here? Who could do..." She winced as Quentin yelled. "Who else is here? Someone has to be doing this, who would prank you like this?" She finally let the chair go, and was up standing, a knife in one hand. "How would they know what he looked like? He died with the rest of the old universe, it has to be someone who knew before..."
"Jesus fuck!" Quentin bent over in pain as his stomach lurched, but the cramp vanished as quickly as it came on. When he rightened himself, the illusion was gone. He was simply the Quentin Quire whom Marie-Ange had known for the last almost decade. "You can put the knife away, please," he urged her, fighting to catch his breath. "Why the hell are you carrying a knife around?"
Marie-Ange slumped into her chair, unsettled and limp and the knife was gone as fast as it had appeared. "I always have a knife. It came from my..." She stopped, and stared dumbly at the fine knit sweater covering her tattoo. "I.. made it but I cannot do that without the tattoo visible. The only thing I can do without pictures is a spear and that is Magic nonsense." She flicked her fingers, and knife, and then it was gone, dismissed into a paff of mist, and then she flicked again - knife, pearl handled and sharp. She remained silent, but a sharp profanity flicked over her thoughts.
Quentin collapsed back into his chair. How had a pleasant, amiable conversation about conspiracy to undermine the NYPD turned into this? "You should probably go. I'll . . . I'll take care of this problem. Both problems."
"Artie. Artie had powers problems too." Marie-Ange said, abruptly. "I think... fuck, I do not have time for powers nonsense right now. I have a Marius to keep from being sent to the Raft or wherever else they put us now." She rubbed at her face, ignoring the eyepatch as it dislodged and showed the scarred socket. "We need to talk about this later, not just you and I, but Artie, and anyone else whose powers are being affected. Next week, or the week after. I thought I was burning precognition but..."
"It's been a long week, I'm sure everyone's powers are on the fritz a little now," Quentin dismissively offered, forcing his characteristic insouciance that he very much did not feel at the moment. But not only was the tone off, the words he spoke felt weird, too. He almost did not understand what he was saying. He tried to ignore that disoriented feeling, too. "I told you, I'll take care of it."
"It has been at least..." Marie-Ange caught herself. "No, you just said j'en prendrai soin, and you once said French was for... " She fussed, realizing the eyepatch was loose, her hair was coming out of the bun, her scars showing. "I do not remember what you said. No, there is something happening, and once all of this.." She swung an arm out behind her, indicating the entire city and damage to District X and her job and Quentin's new task all in one gesture. "Is done, we are going to compare notes, you, I, Artie, anyone else. Dr Grey, Topaz, whoever else has a mental power."
"Fine, sure, whatever. Now, if you want me to take care of this Death-shaped problem for you, then leave me to it. I'll let you know when I'm done." He waited until she left before he smacked his head on his desk and let it rest there. Just when he thought he was getting above water again, something came to push him back in.
The past few days had been exhausting, and Quentin was just periphery to all the action. So he was finishing his fourth coffee of the morning when Marie-Ange stepped into his office.
"Jesus fuck, what did I do wrong now?" he lamented, leaning back in his chair as he contemplated the feasibility of a caffeine IV drip. "Half the time one of you people comes here, it's not good news for me."
"Nothing? Unless this is a request, do you want to be in trouble? Not my kink, but I do have good boots on today." Marie-Ange lingered in the doorway before sitting in the visitor's chair. "I was actually here to ask a favour, I need your telepathy."
"Lend them to Gabriel and I'll think about it," he retorted and visibly relaxed. He flicked his wrist and the door closed to give them privacy. "It's nice to be wanted. What can I do for you, then?"
"Marius Laverne." Marie-Ange started. "He was brainwashed by a cult after reaching out to a doctor for medical help. I want you to understand I would be asking you even without that information, but your recent adventures make it an easier sell, yes? I am making sure his identity remains unknown." She looked weary - despite the boots, she was in fleece yoga pants, a sweater and hair in a messy ponytail. "We came very close to District X being annihilated and Marius did not choose to be there. What would you need to make sure the NYPD and any other law enforcement never know his name or face."
Quentin let her finish speaking, then sat in silence for a moment before he leaned forward, resting his chin on steepled fingers. "Marie-Ange. Angie. Can I call you Angie? Christmas was weeks ago and yet you're still giving out presents? Bitch, all you had to say was ACAB and I'd do anything for you." He leaned back in his seat again, pondering her request. "Okay, I'm familiar with the precinct that covers DX plus the nearby ones. If you can confirm which ones responded, I'll do the grand rounds of mindwiping. If there's the possibility of electronic surveillance to modify, I can get Sue and Hope in. Assuming Ramsey isn't all over it himself already."
"Oh, Hope. I should reach out to her." Marie-Ange said, agreeingly. "She knows politicians, I also might need some of them to forget they ever knew the name Marius Laverne." She took out her phone, tapped out a reminder to herself. "Merci. I hoped you were to be agreeable, it seemed up your alley, and the local police are ... detestable. I would not be adverse if you gave some of them phobias, or shameful hygiene habits."
There was that beat cop whom he and Hope had terrorized a few months ago; he could always do with a good haunting. Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, right? "Just give me a couple days and no pig will remember that name or that face. I . . . what's wrong? Is there something on my face?" He raised his hand to his nose and did a double-take. Why was it so long and pointy? And why was his hand so pale?
"Why are you white?" Marie-Ange pushed the chair and herself backwards. "Why? Why are you him, he was white, why are you white? Why did you change, why are you him?!' She had been weary before, but composed. Now she was visibly shaken, eye wide and hands white-knuckled on the arms of the chair.
Quentin examined his hand in horror before pulling out his phone and opening the camera on selfie mode. He dropped it the instant the screen turned to him. It's a cliche to say someone does not recognize themselves in the mirror, but this was literally true. The man looking back at Quentin was white with unkempt blond hair and a shit-eating grin that made him look like the kind of person who was torching District X on Sunday.
"I . . . I don't know what's happening! Is this a prank? Because it's really fucking shitty!"
"I cannot do this!" Marie-Ange couldn't force herself to let go of the chair. "Who else is here? Who could do..." She winced as Quentin yelled. "Who else is here? Someone has to be doing this, who would prank you like this?" She finally let the chair go, and was up standing, a knife in one hand. "How would they know what he looked like? He died with the rest of the old universe, it has to be someone who knew before..."
"Jesus fuck!" Quentin bent over in pain as his stomach lurched, but the cramp vanished as quickly as it came on. When he rightened himself, the illusion was gone. He was simply the Quentin Quire whom Marie-Ange had known for the last almost decade. "You can put the knife away, please," he urged her, fighting to catch his breath. "Why the hell are you carrying a knife around?"
Marie-Ange slumped into her chair, unsettled and limp and the knife was gone as fast as it had appeared. "I always have a knife. It came from my..." She stopped, and stared dumbly at the fine knit sweater covering her tattoo. "I.. made it but I cannot do that without the tattoo visible. The only thing I can do without pictures is a spear and that is Magic nonsense." She flicked her fingers, and knife, and then it was gone, dismissed into a paff of mist, and then she flicked again - knife, pearl handled and sharp. She remained silent, but a sharp profanity flicked over her thoughts.
Quentin collapsed back into his chair. How had a pleasant, amiable conversation about conspiracy to undermine the NYPD turned into this? "You should probably go. I'll . . . I'll take care of this problem. Both problems."
"Artie. Artie had powers problems too." Marie-Ange said, abruptly. "I think... fuck, I do not have time for powers nonsense right now. I have a Marius to keep from being sent to the Raft or wherever else they put us now." She rubbed at her face, ignoring the eyepatch as it dislodged and showed the scarred socket. "We need to talk about this later, not just you and I, but Artie, and anyone else whose powers are being affected. Next week, or the week after. I thought I was burning precognition but..."
"It's been a long week, I'm sure everyone's powers are on the fritz a little now," Quentin dismissively offered, forcing his characteristic insouciance that he very much did not feel at the moment. But not only was the tone off, the words he spoke felt weird, too. He almost did not understand what he was saying. He tried to ignore that disoriented feeling, too. "I told you, I'll take care of it."
"It has been at least..." Marie-Ange caught herself. "No, you just said j'en prendrai soin, and you once said French was for... " She fussed, realizing the eyepatch was loose, her hair was coming out of the bun, her scars showing. "I do not remember what you said. No, there is something happening, and once all of this.." She swung an arm out behind her, indicating the entire city and damage to District X and her job and Quentin's new task all in one gesture. "Is done, we are going to compare notes, you, I, Artie, anyone else. Dr Grey, Topaz, whoever else has a mental power."
"Fine, sure, whatever. Now, if you want me to take care of this Death-shaped problem for you, then leave me to it. I'll let you know when I'm done." He waited until she left before he smacked his head on his desk and let it rest there. Just when he thought he was getting above water again, something came to push him back in.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-06 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-06 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-12 07:55 pm (UTC)Stand-out line:
"Christmas was weeks ago and yet you're still giving out presents? Bitch, all you had to say was ACAB and I'd do anything for you."
Lines I wish had featured: Jubilee coming to say "Oh my god, Angie, you can't just ask someone why they're white."