Quentin & Arthur | Changes
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xp_logs(Backdated) Quentin and Arthur meet to discuss his recovery, powers, and Arthur’s return to work after his leave of absence.
"What's the difference between acting and lying?"
It was a random question, true, but the way Arthur led straight into it spoke to both rehearsal and what had to have been the lack of a good answer. The blond was clearly bored, despite being out of the mansion. It should have been novel. Instead, he was a man who clenched his hands and asked bigger questions than usual. A man with a lot on a usually clear mind.
Still, the stare that met Quentin's was Arthur Centino's and not some eldritch creature from the void. Normal Arthur might have been a man usually set on being simultaneously dopey and glossy, the epitome of good vibes, but this version both lacked the usual vacuousness without the bite of their previous encounters. He was searching.
"You get paid for one of them," Quentin quipped in response, though there was no humor in his expression. Maybe there was no monster hiding within Arthur this time, waiting for the right moment to pounce on Quentin, but the telepath remained on the defensive in any case. Even his trigger finger itched. "Both if you're good. Is this a college admissions essay prompt or something?"
This got a thin smile. "As it turns out, I had a lot of time to think between the medication and the healing. It was," and he was trying to keep his tone light here, "pretty horrible. Would not recommend. But, I also got some very pointed advice about how my acting and lying aren't that good to begin with."
As Arthur dropped his smile, a nearby fire detector screamed loudly to announce that its battery had died.
"I've been lying more than acting these days," he admitted.
Quentin raised an eyebrow and glanced out the hallway. "You're gonna fix that. So, what's your take on the difference and why is it relevant?"
"I think it is perspective," Arthur continued without fully acknowledging the alarm. He did, however, steady his breathing to maintain control. "Both need an audience: a lie isn't a lie until someone believes it. An act requires a stage, but both sides know the game."
He closed his eyes. "Acting like I wasn't broken — have been breaking myself — that's been me lying. I can't keep it up."
There was a moment of silence as Quentin mulled over what Arthur said, the telepath's gaze never wavering from the other man. "I see," Quentin said eventually. "And Laverne's attack on District X and your ensuing powers fallout triggered this epiphany? How do you intend to move forward?"
Arthur sucked on his teeth, and the fire alarm beeped again. "Let's say it was more of an intervention? Giving away my luck made things clearer, but I've been broken since my mind was first wiped clean years ago." He tilted his head backward to inhale deeply. "Have you ever felt like your powers were shackles?"
"Never," Quentin responded without even having to think it over. "People hate telepathy, and it's one of many reasons I'm not popular among Chuckles's acolytes, but for the grief it's gotten me, it's me. When I lost it after the Shadow King incident, I was nobody. Might as well have cut off my hands and gouged out my eyes. Telepathy's never held me back, only not having it. Sorry if that's not what you needed to hear."
"Are you?" An honest question. "Q, I spent eight years having my mind repeatedly wiped so my powers wouldn't go out of control. Used. Lucky. Then I got here, free, and I was told that I probably couldn't control it even if I wanted to." His eyes didn't leave Quentin's during this confession, but there wasn't any judgement or expectation there. Time to come clean. "So I became who I thought I needed to be. Made myself useful, but by choice this time. Lucky, again. Then," and he gave a sad chuckle, "I find I can read the past on objects. Where was that bit of me when I needed it?"
Arthur blew out a deep breath. "I made myself into someone afraid to feel anything but good vibes. I'm moving forward by stopping, though — the pretending, the lying, the telling myself what I can and can't know. The lockboxes." That last point was matched with a knowing look.
Quentin snorted at that remark. "Yeah yeah," he said dismissively, "I'll give you back your passwords. Have fun with that. But." Now Quentin's expression hardened, mirroring Arthur's earlier. "No more lying, no more self-delusions, working on becoming an actual person now . . . great, love that for you. So what can I expect from you? What can the mutants of this city who've come to rely on you expect?" A beat. "How can I help you?"
Arthur idly drew a circle on the table with one finger while looking anywhere else. "I had to practice that little speech, you know?" He deflated a little, and his earlier gusto fell away to exhaustion. "I want to get back to my life. Back to DX. Back to people. I've got therapy checked off, and these dramatic monologues are helping. I think. Good, since I'm terrible at being a hermit." His eyes met Quentin's. "I have to figure out my luck, but what I want is friends who will let me know when I'm going backward."
He waited for a second. Nothing. Nodding, Arthur withdrew a pad and pen to make a short notation on an already covered page that seemed to cover these bouts of bad luck. "Oh, and don't let Haller know about this. He's got this new supportive face he makes when he feels I'm growing, and I'm afraid it is going to stick."
"If you're looking for a selfishness guru, then you've come to the right place." Would Arthur's new fully formed humanity break the universe or make it his bitch? Quentin could not possibly know the future, but he very much wanted front-row seats. "I won't tell Haller shit, don't worry. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction of . . . anything, really."
That actually got a chuckle. "Warren also volunteered, because of course he did. So, your elevator pitch has to beat hookers and blow."
Fight it as he might, Arthur's reaction brought the ghost of a smile to Quentin's face, too. "I hardly think either of those things would appeal to you, even in your new era, so I could offer you nothing and I'd still win. How about you start easy and spend your savings recklessly on some dumb shit you don't need, you just want."
Arthur's expression was suddenly serious. He folded his hands on the table, all business. "What I want is to get back to work. I don't need things or stuff. I want something to do that isn't sitting around and people looking at me like I'm going to fall apart."
"Well, that's inevitable, considering you live in a never-ending ocean of compassion and empathy," Quentin shot back with a bitterness usually reserved for Warren or critics of Kim Petras. "But, fine. I get it, you have a pathologic need to be useful and prove your worth. Been there. So, welcome back. Don't fuck it up."
"Ah," Arthur said in a relieved tone. "There he is. There's the Quentin I know. You're right — turns out years of being nice and kind means that everyone's super ready to forgive me." His eyes were a little wild now, and the smile he gave was a touch chaotic. "What I need is a friend that will let me know if I'm going backward, and I want to count on you for that. Can I?"
"The things people let you get away with when you're hot and kind. I wouldn't know," Quentin said wryly. "And that's the second time you've used that word to describe me. We both know I don't have fr . . ." He stopped himself before he said something too bitter, either to Arthur or himself. "You can count on me to tell you when you need to be a massive bitch and not a pushover, yes."
"I can't promise it won't be messy."
"Who do you think I am, Centino? I live, laugh, love mess."
"Good," and the blond's smile hardened, "Drugs and the TBI and all of that, but I meant what I said in the medlab. I'm going to hold you to being better."
"Then I look forward to disappointing us both.”
"What's the difference between acting and lying?"
It was a random question, true, but the way Arthur led straight into it spoke to both rehearsal and what had to have been the lack of a good answer. The blond was clearly bored, despite being out of the mansion. It should have been novel. Instead, he was a man who clenched his hands and asked bigger questions than usual. A man with a lot on a usually clear mind.
Still, the stare that met Quentin's was Arthur Centino's and not some eldritch creature from the void. Normal Arthur might have been a man usually set on being simultaneously dopey and glossy, the epitome of good vibes, but this version both lacked the usual vacuousness without the bite of their previous encounters. He was searching.
"You get paid for one of them," Quentin quipped in response, though there was no humor in his expression. Maybe there was no monster hiding within Arthur this time, waiting for the right moment to pounce on Quentin, but the telepath remained on the defensive in any case. Even his trigger finger itched. "Both if you're good. Is this a college admissions essay prompt or something?"
This got a thin smile. "As it turns out, I had a lot of time to think between the medication and the healing. It was," and he was trying to keep his tone light here, "pretty horrible. Would not recommend. But, I also got some very pointed advice about how my acting and lying aren't that good to begin with."
As Arthur dropped his smile, a nearby fire detector screamed loudly to announce that its battery had died.
"I've been lying more than acting these days," he admitted.
Quentin raised an eyebrow and glanced out the hallway. "You're gonna fix that. So, what's your take on the difference and why is it relevant?"
"I think it is perspective," Arthur continued without fully acknowledging the alarm. He did, however, steady his breathing to maintain control. "Both need an audience: a lie isn't a lie until someone believes it. An act requires a stage, but both sides know the game."
He closed his eyes. "Acting like I wasn't broken — have been breaking myself — that's been me lying. I can't keep it up."
There was a moment of silence as Quentin mulled over what Arthur said, the telepath's gaze never wavering from the other man. "I see," Quentin said eventually. "And Laverne's attack on District X and your ensuing powers fallout triggered this epiphany? How do you intend to move forward?"
Arthur sucked on his teeth, and the fire alarm beeped again. "Let's say it was more of an intervention? Giving away my luck made things clearer, but I've been broken since my mind was first wiped clean years ago." He tilted his head backward to inhale deeply. "Have you ever felt like your powers were shackles?"
"Never," Quentin responded without even having to think it over. "People hate telepathy, and it's one of many reasons I'm not popular among Chuckles's acolytes, but for the grief it's gotten me, it's me. When I lost it after the Shadow King incident, I was nobody. Might as well have cut off my hands and gouged out my eyes. Telepathy's never held me back, only not having it. Sorry if that's not what you needed to hear."
"Are you?" An honest question. "Q, I spent eight years having my mind repeatedly wiped so my powers wouldn't go out of control. Used. Lucky. Then I got here, free, and I was told that I probably couldn't control it even if I wanted to." His eyes didn't leave Quentin's during this confession, but there wasn't any judgement or expectation there. Time to come clean. "So I became who I thought I needed to be. Made myself useful, but by choice this time. Lucky, again. Then," and he gave a sad chuckle, "I find I can read the past on objects. Where was that bit of me when I needed it?"
Arthur blew out a deep breath. "I made myself into someone afraid to feel anything but good vibes. I'm moving forward by stopping, though — the pretending, the lying, the telling myself what I can and can't know. The lockboxes." That last point was matched with a knowing look.
Quentin snorted at that remark. "Yeah yeah," he said dismissively, "I'll give you back your passwords. Have fun with that. But." Now Quentin's expression hardened, mirroring Arthur's earlier. "No more lying, no more self-delusions, working on becoming an actual person now . . . great, love that for you. So what can I expect from you? What can the mutants of this city who've come to rely on you expect?" A beat. "How can I help you?"
Arthur idly drew a circle on the table with one finger while looking anywhere else. "I had to practice that little speech, you know?" He deflated a little, and his earlier gusto fell away to exhaustion. "I want to get back to my life. Back to DX. Back to people. I've got therapy checked off, and these dramatic monologues are helping. I think. Good, since I'm terrible at being a hermit." His eyes met Quentin's. "I have to figure out my luck, but what I want is friends who will let me know when I'm going backward."
He waited for a second. Nothing. Nodding, Arthur withdrew a pad and pen to make a short notation on an already covered page that seemed to cover these bouts of bad luck. "Oh, and don't let Haller know about this. He's got this new supportive face he makes when he feels I'm growing, and I'm afraid it is going to stick."
"If you're looking for a selfishness guru, then you've come to the right place." Would Arthur's new fully formed humanity break the universe or make it his bitch? Quentin could not possibly know the future, but he very much wanted front-row seats. "I won't tell Haller shit, don't worry. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction of . . . anything, really."
That actually got a chuckle. "Warren also volunteered, because of course he did. So, your elevator pitch has to beat hookers and blow."
Fight it as he might, Arthur's reaction brought the ghost of a smile to Quentin's face, too. "I hardly think either of those things would appeal to you, even in your new era, so I could offer you nothing and I'd still win. How about you start easy and spend your savings recklessly on some dumb shit you don't need, you just want."
Arthur's expression was suddenly serious. He folded his hands on the table, all business. "What I want is to get back to work. I don't need things or stuff. I want something to do that isn't sitting around and people looking at me like I'm going to fall apart."
"Well, that's inevitable, considering you live in a never-ending ocean of compassion and empathy," Quentin shot back with a bitterness usually reserved for Warren or critics of Kim Petras. "But, fine. I get it, you have a pathologic need to be useful and prove your worth. Been there. So, welcome back. Don't fuck it up."
"Ah," Arthur said in a relieved tone. "There he is. There's the Quentin I know. You're right — turns out years of being nice and kind means that everyone's super ready to forgive me." His eyes were a little wild now, and the smile he gave was a touch chaotic. "What I need is a friend that will let me know if I'm going backward, and I want to count on you for that. Can I?"
"The things people let you get away with when you're hot and kind. I wouldn't know," Quentin said wryly. "And that's the second time you've used that word to describe me. We both know I don't have fr . . ." He stopped himself before he said something too bitter, either to Arthur or himself. "You can count on me to tell you when you need to be a massive bitch and not a pushover, yes."
"I can't promise it won't be messy."
"Who do you think I am, Centino? I live, laugh, love mess."
"Good," and the blond's smile hardened, "Drugs and the TBI and all of that, but I meant what I said in the medlab. I'm going to hold you to being better."
"Then I look forward to disappointing us both.”
no subject
Date: 2024-02-27 04:12 pm (UTC)"Have you ever felt like your powers were shackles?"
"Fuck no."
And this is why we love Quentin.
I always enjoy reading the vast array of attitudes characters carry towards their mutations. It isn't only that Arthur's power comes with a commensurate cost, because even the various telepaths fall into different categories across the blessing/curse spectrum. Here the contrast is really less about powers than the opposing attitudes of "I just want to be a guy" and "fuck, I don't want to be just some guy."
Would Arthur's new fully formed humanity break the universe or make it his bitch? Quentin could not possibly know the future, but he very much wanted front-row seats.
oh god
no subject
Date: 2024-02-28 12:03 am (UTC)a very good detail