Doug, Jean, Haller | Statements (4/4)
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xp_logsArthur concludes his interviews of mansion psionics to discover the scope of what's happening.
***
Doug hasn’t noticed any issues with his powers.
“I really appreciate your time.” Another interview, another statement.
“First, I want to let you know that I’m going to be taking notes.” Arthur drew a circle in the air with a ready pencil. “There’s no wrong answers here — all I’m doing is a little fact finding.” A polite smile. “Let’s start there. Easy questions. How do your powers normally work?”
Doug nodded at Arthur. This was the first time he'd really worked with Marie-Ange's 'favorite fake husband', but the man had a way of putting people at ease while still being professional that Doug very much liked. The way he laid out and explained how he was approaching things was akin to the way he himself would have.
Arthur hadn't vocalized the part about looking for a pattern, but the universe was clearly not without a sense of irony. "The best theory I or anyone can determine is that it's an advanced, almost instinctive form of pattern recognition. The primary way it expresses itself is in my ability to speak and read languages without having to learn them." Arthur's pedagogic style was maybe rubbing off a bit. "Though it also expresses in 'intuitive' deductive leaps, the ability to 'read' body language, and so on."
There was a scribble scrabble as Doug talked, and Arthur tapped his pen again in thought. "What I'm hearing is that only you really know when your powers are working as expected? They're always on?" He met Doug's eyes with an apologetic nod. "Like how I can't turn my luck off."
"It's one of those really fuzzy borders," Doug agreed. "Like, most of the things I accomplish with my powers might be able to be done by a person without them, but it would take years of study and practice." He considered briefly. "I think there was a person that Guinness found who spoke around 60 languages fluently. But I can also translate things that other people can't because there's no frame of reference. Like . . . imagine if Pierre Bouchard had never discovered the Rosetta Stone, but was trying to translate hieroglyphics." He shrugged. "Like I said, very fuzzy."
This got an honest belly laugh. "I know about fuzzy answers, although I get to simply shrug since no one asks for the math — which is perfect since I'm horrible at it. Sounds like you get to skip the middle portion of some problems. Got it." Arthur adjusted the grip of his pen, then, ready to move to the next issue. "Have your powers been off in the past few months? If so, how?"
Doug cast his mind back over the time Arthur mentioned, giving the question a deep amount of thought. "I wouldn't have thought so," he said after consideration. "But perhaps my interactions with . . ." He raised his nanite hand and wiggled the fingers. ". . . the 'friendos' might have been a bit more sluggish than usual. Again, difficult to quantify," he added apologetically.
"Hey now," Arthur said with a sympathetic smile. "All that means is that you've been spared from whatever is happening. There doesn't seem to be a through-line to the plot right now, but I get to talk to everyone. Small wins."
A page was turned in the notepad to what looked like a marked up calendar. "One more thing, then. Have you been out of the mansion for more than a day in the last three months, Doug?"
The interview went very much the same from there — no noticeable effects, no significant time away from the mansion to create an easy connection. This made only a handful of folks not hit: a receptive empath, a gaggle of telepaths, and now a man who had intuition on his side.
Arthur moved his pen in tight, contemplative circles long after Doug got up and left.
***
Jean makes a confession and intends to take action.
“I really appreciate your time, Dr. Grey,” Arthur began. “First, I want to let you know that I’m going to be taking notes.” He tapped his pad in hand, the routine now natural. “There’s no wrong answers here — all I’m doing is a little fact finding. This should be easy, and quick. Just questions. How do your powers normally work?”
Jean shifted, eying the notepad and pencil. She felt a little uneasy, like she had been arrested for something.
"It's...complicated."
"This is meant to be quick and comfortable," Arthur said with his best assuring smile. He set the notepad down, spreading his hands as if to clear any bad vibes. Disarmed. "I'm just trying to understand what's normal for you. You see,” and this was an obvious try to cut the tension, “we've got a mystery."
Jean leaned back in the chair. The ticking of the clock in the room marked the silence. She rubbed her forehead. "I have telepathy and telekinesis . . . And I occasionally manifest a psionic firebird that has helped to both destroy and repair reality." She awkwardly folded her arms.
"I don't usually torment myself and others with nightmare illusions when I'm awake, though."
Arthur didn't even flinch. He’d heard a lot lately. "I don't usually leave my memories on objects for others to enjoy at their leisure either. A mystery." He opened the notepad wide so that she could clearly see the notes he was taking. "But since you mentioned it — what happened? I don't need the details or anything you don't want to share, but it sounds like it wasn't something you chose to do. Were you stressed?"
Attention flickering to Arthur's notes before flickering away, Jean nodded. "Not initially . . . I was . . . on a date. With Garrison. And then I started seeing and hearing visions of an old enemy. Smell too . . . a fire and brimstone kind of scent. He's a demon. Literally. We thought it might have been him returning but there was no indication of magic breaking the mansion's wards. So Garrison stayed with me overnight but when we woke up . . . he saw me as the demon. And I did too. The demon was an enemy for him as well. He saw him too before."
She shrugged. "I dream about him . . . but that's normal. Seeing him outside of my dreams though . . . that's not."
"Lucky guy, that Garrison," the other man said with a sympathetic smile. The notepad was forgotten and he folded his hands. "Jean, real talk? That's a lot for anyone, and I can't imagine how that must have felt. All I know is that you're not the only one something is happening to. You aren't alone." He perked up then. "You're an X-Man. How would you deal with this problem? A puzzle where there's no clear big bad."
"Get on the offensive as much as we can rather than defensive. Protect our people until we can determine the best way to get the upper hand," Jean said. She was silent a moment.
"Shake the tree until something falls out. Find a way to eliminate the threat."
His blue eyes went wide with her statement, and Arthur held up his hands as he grinned. "Whoa, cowboy," and this was amused, "The tree here happens to be fifteen-some friends I happen to like. What might work that's softer than shaking?"
Jean shook her head. "Sorry, it's been . . . a very eventful year or two on the X-Man front. Lately the threat's been evil people. Perhaps you should ask me what I'd do as a doctor?" she mused.
She then shrugged. "And you're already doing it. Plus a little scientific method."
"I'll happily take a little science here," Arthur said with a half-laugh. "But before we go there, one more question for the PI legwork: were you away from the mansion for more than a day in the last three months?"
"Yes. I was in France in January fighting Laurie, Wade, and some Marauders. But it was only about a day or two," Jean said. She squinted. Time was a blur for that day, crossing international datelines.
His blue eyes didn't leave Jean's as he made a notation. "Now, question for the doctor. How might that go? A method to this all? I'll happily admit what's happening doesn't seem to be predictable or consistent."
"My plan was to try to mentally scan those who reported things out of the ordinary. See if I happen to notice anything out of the ordinary. Like I said...almost the same as you," Jean said.
"I'm only vaguely in this psi-club," Arthur said as he twirled his pen in thought. "What's a 'mental scan' take?” His eyes snapped to her’s, intent. “What would you need from me to make it happen?"
***
Haller and Arthur discuss the investigation as a whole, and Arthur gets details on how Jim has been feeling.
“One more time then,” Arthur said with a wry smile to the man across from him. The blond sat on his couch, elbows on knees, perched over the scattered and collected notes; spread out like a minefield. Protocol was protocol. “I appreciate your time. How do your powers normally work?”
Like many people questioned about something that had become so basic to them it had been years since they'd needed to employ any conscious thought to the execution, Jim's mind instantly went blank.
"I . . . I'm a telepath," he replied. "That's how it normally works."
Arthur danced a pen through his fingers. "What does normal usually mean for you?"
Parameters. That was easier. "For me specifically, usually fairly insensitive," Jim said, unconsciously slipping into the cadence of a quasi-lecture. "Limited range, almost never any ambient surface thoughts unless I know a person well or I'm in direct physical contact with them."
"Fantastic," Arthur said as he wrote. Felix lay, bored, at his feet. The word 'ambient' was circled for good measure. "So, a baseline. Is that only when your shields are doing their thing?"
"Yes. Although when it comes to day-to-day living I'm not sure 'shields' is the right term — it's more like scar tissue. My telepathy warped back on me after my manifestation. Most telepaths have to learn how to close themselves off. I had to learn how to open myself up."
"And how would you say that was different after you woke up? My usual next question here is about the where of it all, but I think we can skip that one and jump straight into it."
One long index finger tapped thoughtfully. "I'm catching stray thoughts and feelings for the first time in my life," Jim said. "It hits hard and without warning. It's bad enough that I can't drive safely. The professor said it was a consequence of my psychic reconstruction. Different expressions of my power are linked to different ego states, so when I splintered after Radha had fused them all together the natural segregation was disrupted. For a while the TK was bleeding over enough that I could use it, too, but that sometimes happens when my system is in flux. It's resolved now."
"Do you mean that the TK or the flux is resolved?" Arthur's eyes were sympathetic, but he had slipped into his "on the job" demeanor — voice a little firmer, tone a little more even. "Is anything off from normal about the TK?"
"I haven't noticed anything off. Everyone's pretty much settled back to how we were. No poltergeist activity, random fires, anything like that. It's just my telepathy. It doesn't really . . ." Jim paused. A slight frown crossed his face.
Arthur cocked his head to the side. His notes now had scribbles with lines through them: an angry ghost, a fire, swirls. "What is it?"
"Back when I was first coming out of it Jack could see Shatterstar's self-image, like I'd just seen Benjamin's without trying. That's an aspect of telepathy. Until now I've only ever experienced bleed from Jack and Cyndi's powers, not them from mine. David always rejected that power entirely." The gentle tap of Jim's finger had stilled as the frown spread across his features like a blot of ink. "I thought it was because so much of what the system had been through was artificially induced, so even settling wasn't happening in a normal way, but that was before Hope said she was starting to see auras without ghosting."
"Too many folks having issues," Arthur said with a heavy sigh. He stuck his pen behind his ear and lounged backward. "That's the problem. No real through-line, just 'unusual psychic phenomena, stay tuned.' You haven't been secretly vacationing away from the mansion when I was asleep, right? Because that's my only other question."
Jim snorted. "The closest I get is a couple hours in The Box when I'm having a flare. Or Jack fronting." He slouched back in the chair and gave Arthur a thoughtful look. "Weren't you the first one to be affected? Even last summer . . . what if the issues you had with your readings weren't just growing pains?"
"How can we even know? The guys in the chapel basement promised that the wormhole bug was taken care of." Arthur found a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling. "That's just as bad as my luck, or the mutant plague. Have I always been able to read objects? Would have been handy." He tried to steady his breathing. Slow and even. There were no obvious signs of misfortune this time. "Hope doesn't think it is me."
That got a raised eyebrow. "Why not? And also, why would it be you in the first place?"
This got a grimace. "Main charactering again, huh? I . . . " It took a minute for him to find any words. A confession would do. "My luck hurting people is just always top of mind, but Hope and I tossed the theory away just as easily. Too many psychic red flags."
Jim pressed a knuckle to his lips in thought before shaking his head. "I'm inclined to agree. Obviously I can't say for sure, but if it was your luck causing people's powers to misfire somehow, why only psis? It sounds like some of these things started happening before the lucksnaps started. Maybe even during that period when your powers weren't working at all. The timing doesn't seem to match up."
"As early as late December. At least."
"So after the psychometry flared, but prior to the time your luck started acting up." The telepath folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the tabletop, turning over possibilities in his mind. What he concluded made his mouth twist. "If I had to guess . . . it's between some entity like Xorn or the Shadow King, or something's going on with the astral plane. Neither's a great option, but if there's a consciousness behind it I'd lean towards whatever it is being incidental. Something malicious could've caused much worse than a few glitches by now. But something on the astral plane . . . that's happened before. Back when the universe broke the debris ended up free-floating; parts of it became parasitized and tried to latch onto Topaz and Meggan. The rest of the psis were drawn in after them."
Arthur had reclaimed his pen during Jim's grim musing, and was now thoughtfully drawing scribbles into the margins of his notes. Endless, formless circles in the astral void. "So," and the fact he hated this idea was clear, "Radha Dastoor is a threat too, then? I had hoped she'd take up gardening or knitting stuck out there. Is there any way to find a psychic smoking gun? Can we dust for telepathic fingerprints?"
"It depends on the kind of influence and how deep it's buried. I did a comprehensive scan on Parker Matthews, and I still missed the Shadow King. If it's the astral plane . . . you know the phrase 'missed the forest for the trees'? It can be like that." Jim's eyes flicked back up to meet Arthur's gaze again. "The next step may be to put our heads together and figure out an approach to do just that. Just because I don't think it's malicious doesn't mean it won't be. Having some kind of backup plan is the smart play."
"Putting our heads together," Arthur's idle scribbles were beginning to form into something resembling looping symbols, "What if we did that, like when we link up? Literally? More minds on the problem?”
Jim nodded. "With as many people as this has hit, I think it's a good idea to get as many eyes on this as possible. We might need to be careful about potential powers interactions, but most of us have a pretty good working relationship by now. We should be able to work around any complications."
"Power interactions?" Arthur's attention perked in curiosity. He scooted closer to the tabletop, and worked to move some of the looser notes to reveal a series of charts. The names and little scribbles were familiar — small stick figures displaying scribbles of various psychic powers. Grouped by their similarities, surrounded by buzzing notation. "Like how?"
"Right now, could be anything or nothing. Maybe just minor things, like Topaz bleeding empathy setting off someone else, like what happened to me. But off the top of my head, Quentin's reactive to other people now, right? Actively poking at him might elicit a more extreme response. It's something to think about."
On that note, Arthur squinted at the diagram before rummaging in the pile for a set of stickers. A very cross looking scribble with pink hair got a red star. "You're right, he doesn't need anymore stress right now." He got another second sticker, but his fingers hovered over a circle marked with 'Empathy' that contained a figure holding a black blob that could generously be called a cat. She had a sharp line connecting over to 'Telepathy'. The other figure had short blonde hair and only two notes — 'receiver' and 'nothing?'.
Arthur wasn’t sure, and the sticker stayed on his fingertip. "Maybe someone who hasn't noticed anything different?"
"Who does that leave?" asked Jim, suppressing both a smile and the urge to ask if stickers were a regular feature in X-Factor investigations. It wasn't as if Arthur came into his workplace and questioned his methods.
Jim received a brief, considering look before Arthur unfolded the folded sides of what turned out to be butcher paper, revealing a mansion’s worth of psionics. Sixteen individuals. "Meggan, Jono, Beatrice, the Cuckoo sisters.”
"If nothing else they might be a good control group," Jim agreed. He leaned forward to study the butcher paper from across the table. "The Cuckoos I know, but I admit we’ve never had a lot of contact. Beatrice is still so new I'm not sure what her baseline is. Given my patchy shielding and the trauma of his manifestation I've been afraid to interact with Jono so far, but it sounds as if he's still getting used to his powers. I am surprised about Meggan, though. Her empathy makes her sensitive by nature." He pulled back, forehead creasing. "No clear pattern."
"Jono doesn't think he's a telepath, but Q's sure. Kid seems terrified." Arthur cocked his head at the assembled diagram. "Meggan called her powers receptive. Maybe it has to be a power you have to choose to use, but who can even define that?" He gestured at a lonely group of figures with a big ??? over them. "Artie is the first case who isn't me, and I didn't use to even think what he does is psychic."
"The mechanism for his projection is probably similar to Marie-Ange's. He does have to visualize the image he wants to create." Jim rubbed his forehead. The low-grade headache that had been a constant presence since December was beginning to express its displeasure with his attempts at complex thought. He'd been able to avoid a full shield collapse for a few days, but he could feel foreign thoughts scratching against his shields like a dog pawing at the door. After this he was either going to need either a few tylenol or a few hours with one of the others in the driver's seat. Possibly both.
"My only other idea is a consult with Charles and Moira," the telepath concluded. "They're both experts. Might help narrow things down. Other than that . . . I'm not sure what else to offer."
During that exchange, Arthur's attention had fully settled on Haller. Each word made his brow furrow just a tiny bit more. "Hey," he offered carefully, "I think I might need some time alone to consider this all. Hash it out."
The blond bent over and ruffled Felix's scruff. "Want to spend the night with Haller? Keep him company? Dad's got to work." The dog's tail thumped happily.
"Huh? Oh, that's okay . . ." Despite Jim's protestations Felix had already lumbered to his feet and, wagging, placed his head on the telepath's thigh for pets. Jim relented.
"Well, I guess Davey will appreciate it," he said as he stroked the golden's head.
"Well worth it then," Arthur said. His smile was radiant with fondness as he fished through his bag under the table. "Here you go," and Jim was handed the aforementioned tylenol, "go and get some rest."
***
Doug hasn’t noticed any issues with his powers.
“I really appreciate your time.” Another interview, another statement.
“First, I want to let you know that I’m going to be taking notes.” Arthur drew a circle in the air with a ready pencil. “There’s no wrong answers here — all I’m doing is a little fact finding.” A polite smile. “Let’s start there. Easy questions. How do your powers normally work?”
Doug nodded at Arthur. This was the first time he'd really worked with Marie-Ange's 'favorite fake husband', but the man had a way of putting people at ease while still being professional that Doug very much liked. The way he laid out and explained how he was approaching things was akin to the way he himself would have.
Arthur hadn't vocalized the part about looking for a pattern, but the universe was clearly not without a sense of irony. "The best theory I or anyone can determine is that it's an advanced, almost instinctive form of pattern recognition. The primary way it expresses itself is in my ability to speak and read languages without having to learn them." Arthur's pedagogic style was maybe rubbing off a bit. "Though it also expresses in 'intuitive' deductive leaps, the ability to 'read' body language, and so on."
There was a scribble scrabble as Doug talked, and Arthur tapped his pen again in thought. "What I'm hearing is that only you really know when your powers are working as expected? They're always on?" He met Doug's eyes with an apologetic nod. "Like how I can't turn my luck off."
"It's one of those really fuzzy borders," Doug agreed. "Like, most of the things I accomplish with my powers might be able to be done by a person without them, but it would take years of study and practice." He considered briefly. "I think there was a person that Guinness found who spoke around 60 languages fluently. But I can also translate things that other people can't because there's no frame of reference. Like . . . imagine if Pierre Bouchard had never discovered the Rosetta Stone, but was trying to translate hieroglyphics." He shrugged. "Like I said, very fuzzy."
This got an honest belly laugh. "I know about fuzzy answers, although I get to simply shrug since no one asks for the math — which is perfect since I'm horrible at it. Sounds like you get to skip the middle portion of some problems. Got it." Arthur adjusted the grip of his pen, then, ready to move to the next issue. "Have your powers been off in the past few months? If so, how?"
Doug cast his mind back over the time Arthur mentioned, giving the question a deep amount of thought. "I wouldn't have thought so," he said after consideration. "But perhaps my interactions with . . ." He raised his nanite hand and wiggled the fingers. ". . . the 'friendos' might have been a bit more sluggish than usual. Again, difficult to quantify," he added apologetically.
"Hey now," Arthur said with a sympathetic smile. "All that means is that you've been spared from whatever is happening. There doesn't seem to be a through-line to the plot right now, but I get to talk to everyone. Small wins."
A page was turned in the notepad to what looked like a marked up calendar. "One more thing, then. Have you been out of the mansion for more than a day in the last three months, Doug?"
The interview went very much the same from there — no noticeable effects, no significant time away from the mansion to create an easy connection. This made only a handful of folks not hit: a receptive empath, a gaggle of telepaths, and now a man who had intuition on his side.
Arthur moved his pen in tight, contemplative circles long after Doug got up and left.
***
Jean makes a confession and intends to take action.
“I really appreciate your time, Dr. Grey,” Arthur began. “First, I want to let you know that I’m going to be taking notes.” He tapped his pad in hand, the routine now natural. “There’s no wrong answers here — all I’m doing is a little fact finding. This should be easy, and quick. Just questions. How do your powers normally work?”
Jean shifted, eying the notepad and pencil. She felt a little uneasy, like she had been arrested for something.
"It's...complicated."
"This is meant to be quick and comfortable," Arthur said with his best assuring smile. He set the notepad down, spreading his hands as if to clear any bad vibes. Disarmed. "I'm just trying to understand what's normal for you. You see,” and this was an obvious try to cut the tension, “we've got a mystery."
Jean leaned back in the chair. The ticking of the clock in the room marked the silence. She rubbed her forehead. "I have telepathy and telekinesis . . . And I occasionally manifest a psionic firebird that has helped to both destroy and repair reality." She awkwardly folded her arms.
"I don't usually torment myself and others with nightmare illusions when I'm awake, though."
Arthur didn't even flinch. He’d heard a lot lately. "I don't usually leave my memories on objects for others to enjoy at their leisure either. A mystery." He opened the notepad wide so that she could clearly see the notes he was taking. "But since you mentioned it — what happened? I don't need the details or anything you don't want to share, but it sounds like it wasn't something you chose to do. Were you stressed?"
Attention flickering to Arthur's notes before flickering away, Jean nodded. "Not initially . . . I was . . . on a date. With Garrison. And then I started seeing and hearing visions of an old enemy. Smell too . . . a fire and brimstone kind of scent. He's a demon. Literally. We thought it might have been him returning but there was no indication of magic breaking the mansion's wards. So Garrison stayed with me overnight but when we woke up . . . he saw me as the demon. And I did too. The demon was an enemy for him as well. He saw him too before."
She shrugged. "I dream about him . . . but that's normal. Seeing him outside of my dreams though . . . that's not."
"Lucky guy, that Garrison," the other man said with a sympathetic smile. The notepad was forgotten and he folded his hands. "Jean, real talk? That's a lot for anyone, and I can't imagine how that must have felt. All I know is that you're not the only one something is happening to. You aren't alone." He perked up then. "You're an X-Man. How would you deal with this problem? A puzzle where there's no clear big bad."
"Get on the offensive as much as we can rather than defensive. Protect our people until we can determine the best way to get the upper hand," Jean said. She was silent a moment.
"Shake the tree until something falls out. Find a way to eliminate the threat."
His blue eyes went wide with her statement, and Arthur held up his hands as he grinned. "Whoa, cowboy," and this was amused, "The tree here happens to be fifteen-some friends I happen to like. What might work that's softer than shaking?"
Jean shook her head. "Sorry, it's been . . . a very eventful year or two on the X-Man front. Lately the threat's been evil people. Perhaps you should ask me what I'd do as a doctor?" she mused.
She then shrugged. "And you're already doing it. Plus a little scientific method."
"I'll happily take a little science here," Arthur said with a half-laugh. "But before we go there, one more question for the PI legwork: were you away from the mansion for more than a day in the last three months?"
"Yes. I was in France in January fighting Laurie, Wade, and some Marauders. But it was only about a day or two," Jean said. She squinted. Time was a blur for that day, crossing international datelines.
His blue eyes didn't leave Jean's as he made a notation. "Now, question for the doctor. How might that go? A method to this all? I'll happily admit what's happening doesn't seem to be predictable or consistent."
"My plan was to try to mentally scan those who reported things out of the ordinary. See if I happen to notice anything out of the ordinary. Like I said...almost the same as you," Jean said.
"I'm only vaguely in this psi-club," Arthur said as he twirled his pen in thought. "What's a 'mental scan' take?” His eyes snapped to her’s, intent. “What would you need from me to make it happen?"
***
Haller and Arthur discuss the investigation as a whole, and Arthur gets details on how Jim has been feeling.
“One more time then,” Arthur said with a wry smile to the man across from him. The blond sat on his couch, elbows on knees, perched over the scattered and collected notes; spread out like a minefield. Protocol was protocol. “I appreciate your time. How do your powers normally work?”
Like many people questioned about something that had become so basic to them it had been years since they'd needed to employ any conscious thought to the execution, Jim's mind instantly went blank.
"I . . . I'm a telepath," he replied. "That's how it normally works."
Arthur danced a pen through his fingers. "What does normal usually mean for you?"
Parameters. That was easier. "For me specifically, usually fairly insensitive," Jim said, unconsciously slipping into the cadence of a quasi-lecture. "Limited range, almost never any ambient surface thoughts unless I know a person well or I'm in direct physical contact with them."
"Fantastic," Arthur said as he wrote. Felix lay, bored, at his feet. The word 'ambient' was circled for good measure. "So, a baseline. Is that only when your shields are doing their thing?"
"Yes. Although when it comes to day-to-day living I'm not sure 'shields' is the right term — it's more like scar tissue. My telepathy warped back on me after my manifestation. Most telepaths have to learn how to close themselves off. I had to learn how to open myself up."
"And how would you say that was different after you woke up? My usual next question here is about the where of it all, but I think we can skip that one and jump straight into it."
One long index finger tapped thoughtfully. "I'm catching stray thoughts and feelings for the first time in my life," Jim said. "It hits hard and without warning. It's bad enough that I can't drive safely. The professor said it was a consequence of my psychic reconstruction. Different expressions of my power are linked to different ego states, so when I splintered after Radha had fused them all together the natural segregation was disrupted. For a while the TK was bleeding over enough that I could use it, too, but that sometimes happens when my system is in flux. It's resolved now."
"Do you mean that the TK or the flux is resolved?" Arthur's eyes were sympathetic, but he had slipped into his "on the job" demeanor — voice a little firmer, tone a little more even. "Is anything off from normal about the TK?"
"I haven't noticed anything off. Everyone's pretty much settled back to how we were. No poltergeist activity, random fires, anything like that. It's just my telepathy. It doesn't really . . ." Jim paused. A slight frown crossed his face.
Arthur cocked his head to the side. His notes now had scribbles with lines through them: an angry ghost, a fire, swirls. "What is it?"
"Back when I was first coming out of it Jack could see Shatterstar's self-image, like I'd just seen Benjamin's without trying. That's an aspect of telepathy. Until now I've only ever experienced bleed from Jack and Cyndi's powers, not them from mine. David always rejected that power entirely." The gentle tap of Jim's finger had stilled as the frown spread across his features like a blot of ink. "I thought it was because so much of what the system had been through was artificially induced, so even settling wasn't happening in a normal way, but that was before Hope said she was starting to see auras without ghosting."
"Too many folks having issues," Arthur said with a heavy sigh. He stuck his pen behind his ear and lounged backward. "That's the problem. No real through-line, just 'unusual psychic phenomena, stay tuned.' You haven't been secretly vacationing away from the mansion when I was asleep, right? Because that's my only other question."
Jim snorted. "The closest I get is a couple hours in The Box when I'm having a flare. Or Jack fronting." He slouched back in the chair and gave Arthur a thoughtful look. "Weren't you the first one to be affected? Even last summer . . . what if the issues you had with your readings weren't just growing pains?"
"How can we even know? The guys in the chapel basement promised that the wormhole bug was taken care of." Arthur found a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling. "That's just as bad as my luck, or the mutant plague. Have I always been able to read objects? Would have been handy." He tried to steady his breathing. Slow and even. There were no obvious signs of misfortune this time. "Hope doesn't think it is me."
That got a raised eyebrow. "Why not? And also, why would it be you in the first place?"
This got a grimace. "Main charactering again, huh? I . . . " It took a minute for him to find any words. A confession would do. "My luck hurting people is just always top of mind, but Hope and I tossed the theory away just as easily. Too many psychic red flags."
Jim pressed a knuckle to his lips in thought before shaking his head. "I'm inclined to agree. Obviously I can't say for sure, but if it was your luck causing people's powers to misfire somehow, why only psis? It sounds like some of these things started happening before the lucksnaps started. Maybe even during that period when your powers weren't working at all. The timing doesn't seem to match up."
"As early as late December. At least."
"So after the psychometry flared, but prior to the time your luck started acting up." The telepath folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the tabletop, turning over possibilities in his mind. What he concluded made his mouth twist. "If I had to guess . . . it's between some entity like Xorn or the Shadow King, or something's going on with the astral plane. Neither's a great option, but if there's a consciousness behind it I'd lean towards whatever it is being incidental. Something malicious could've caused much worse than a few glitches by now. But something on the astral plane . . . that's happened before. Back when the universe broke the debris ended up free-floating; parts of it became parasitized and tried to latch onto Topaz and Meggan. The rest of the psis were drawn in after them."
Arthur had reclaimed his pen during Jim's grim musing, and was now thoughtfully drawing scribbles into the margins of his notes. Endless, formless circles in the astral void. "So," and the fact he hated this idea was clear, "Radha Dastoor is a threat too, then? I had hoped she'd take up gardening or knitting stuck out there. Is there any way to find a psychic smoking gun? Can we dust for telepathic fingerprints?"
"It depends on the kind of influence and how deep it's buried. I did a comprehensive scan on Parker Matthews, and I still missed the Shadow King. If it's the astral plane . . . you know the phrase 'missed the forest for the trees'? It can be like that." Jim's eyes flicked back up to meet Arthur's gaze again. "The next step may be to put our heads together and figure out an approach to do just that. Just because I don't think it's malicious doesn't mean it won't be. Having some kind of backup plan is the smart play."
"Putting our heads together," Arthur's idle scribbles were beginning to form into something resembling looping symbols, "What if we did that, like when we link up? Literally? More minds on the problem?”
Jim nodded. "With as many people as this has hit, I think it's a good idea to get as many eyes on this as possible. We might need to be careful about potential powers interactions, but most of us have a pretty good working relationship by now. We should be able to work around any complications."
"Power interactions?" Arthur's attention perked in curiosity. He scooted closer to the tabletop, and worked to move some of the looser notes to reveal a series of charts. The names and little scribbles were familiar — small stick figures displaying scribbles of various psychic powers. Grouped by their similarities, surrounded by buzzing notation. "Like how?"
"Right now, could be anything or nothing. Maybe just minor things, like Topaz bleeding empathy setting off someone else, like what happened to me. But off the top of my head, Quentin's reactive to other people now, right? Actively poking at him might elicit a more extreme response. It's something to think about."
On that note, Arthur squinted at the diagram before rummaging in the pile for a set of stickers. A very cross looking scribble with pink hair got a red star. "You're right, he doesn't need anymore stress right now." He got another second sticker, but his fingers hovered over a circle marked with 'Empathy' that contained a figure holding a black blob that could generously be called a cat. She had a sharp line connecting over to 'Telepathy'. The other figure had short blonde hair and only two notes — 'receiver' and 'nothing?'.
Arthur wasn’t sure, and the sticker stayed on his fingertip. "Maybe someone who hasn't noticed anything different?"
"Who does that leave?" asked Jim, suppressing both a smile and the urge to ask if stickers were a regular feature in X-Factor investigations. It wasn't as if Arthur came into his workplace and questioned his methods.
Jim received a brief, considering look before Arthur unfolded the folded sides of what turned out to be butcher paper, revealing a mansion’s worth of psionics. Sixteen individuals. "Meggan, Jono, Beatrice, the Cuckoo sisters.”
"If nothing else they might be a good control group," Jim agreed. He leaned forward to study the butcher paper from across the table. "The Cuckoos I know, but I admit we’ve never had a lot of contact. Beatrice is still so new I'm not sure what her baseline is. Given my patchy shielding and the trauma of his manifestation I've been afraid to interact with Jono so far, but it sounds as if he's still getting used to his powers. I am surprised about Meggan, though. Her empathy makes her sensitive by nature." He pulled back, forehead creasing. "No clear pattern."
"Jono doesn't think he's a telepath, but Q's sure. Kid seems terrified." Arthur cocked his head at the assembled diagram. "Meggan called her powers receptive. Maybe it has to be a power you have to choose to use, but who can even define that?" He gestured at a lonely group of figures with a big ??? over them. "Artie is the first case who isn't me, and I didn't use to even think what he does is psychic."
"The mechanism for his projection is probably similar to Marie-Ange's. He does have to visualize the image he wants to create." Jim rubbed his forehead. The low-grade headache that had been a constant presence since December was beginning to express its displeasure with his attempts at complex thought. He'd been able to avoid a full shield collapse for a few days, but he could feel foreign thoughts scratching against his shields like a dog pawing at the door. After this he was either going to need either a few tylenol or a few hours with one of the others in the driver's seat. Possibly both.
"My only other idea is a consult with Charles and Moira," the telepath concluded. "They're both experts. Might help narrow things down. Other than that . . . I'm not sure what else to offer."
During that exchange, Arthur's attention had fully settled on Haller. Each word made his brow furrow just a tiny bit more. "Hey," he offered carefully, "I think I might need some time alone to consider this all. Hash it out."
The blond bent over and ruffled Felix's scruff. "Want to spend the night with Haller? Keep him company? Dad's got to work." The dog's tail thumped happily.
"Huh? Oh, that's okay . . ." Despite Jim's protestations Felix had already lumbered to his feet and, wagging, placed his head on the telepath's thigh for pets. Jim relented.
"Well, I guess Davey will appreciate it," he said as he stroked the golden's head.
"Well worth it then," Arthur said. His smile was radiant with fondness as he fished through his bag under the table. "Here you go," and Jim was handed the aforementioned tylenol, "go and get some rest."
