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xp_logsQuentin meets the resident catboy while searching for his reluctant student.
The new cat tree in the Rec Room meant that Liam could lounge blissfully in the sun from a hammock and play MarioKart on the TV. He might've designed it that way. It was his current favorite spot, but that tended to change every week or so based on whatever he deemed most important. And, he could nap on it too, which he loved. Sleeping in his bed was.... fine. But sleeping in the middle of the action was infinitely better.
Quentin had near-perfect avoidance of the rec rooms for the near decade he had been living in the house that Xavier('s old old money) built. But he was occasionally called to them, particularly when he was searching for someone who did not want to be found and was doing a good job at avoidance. "Are all other telepaths such babies?" he muttered to himself as he entered what looked like a Petco installation in the mansion.
"Hmmm?" Liam didn't so much ask as make a noise, one ear swiveling in Quentin's direction. "Which one's a baby?"
Quentin and Liam had not been properly introduced, but Quentin knew the kid by reputation. Here not even a year and already been thrown into the deep end of mutant weirdness. He and this whole crop of newbies. Quentin's own cohort seemed so tame by comparison.
"You seen Starsmore around?" he asked. "Angry Brit who dresses like he lives at a Clash concert?"
"No," Liam knew Jono, but he's any seen him. "Haven't met you though...." and he was blanking on a name. "That colour must be a pain to keep up."
"Used to be, before my Christy resurrection." At least Quentin had had the sense to not engage in the fantasy insanity until after he had joined a team. "Now I save a fortune on bleaching and hair dyes. I'm Quentin, by the way."
Magical mutant hair was a thing? Okay then. Sure. Why not given everything else weird here, "Liam," he replied, pausing his game and hopping down gracefully. Which meant now he could see Quentin's shirt clearly. "Dude. Your shirt."
Quentin looked down and smirked. Three smiling bipedal cats walking hand in hand. My personality is like pussy . . . was written in a bold serif font arched above the cats; You wouldn't get it under their feet. One of his many ridiculous t-shirts he only wore at home or when he wanted to shock a boomer in public.
"This one does kind of look like you," he said, pointing at the orange cat clad in a red and white striped t-shirt and black shorts.
Okay, yeah, sure, he was kind of orange, he'd heard all the one brain cell jokes but..."Good thing I get it, then," he retorted with a grin.
The older man (Jesus fuck, when had Quentin become the older man in comparison to the other residents here?) laughed softly. The exact sort of thing we would have asserted at Liam's age, even if it were untrue. (At that age? Fucking shoot Quentin in the head now.)
"Do you, though?"
Liam raised an eyebrow, "Are you seriously questioning my game?" he asked. How old was this guy? "I'm a catboy. I'm a chick magnet."
"That is . . . a valid point," Quentin conceded after brief consideration. Although he could sense the kid was exaggerating; the unjustified hubris practically radiated off Liam. But far be it from Quentin to call him out. In a couple years once he was legal, the JustMutants money would practically roll in for him. He'd probably get richer than Worthington. "Well, if you see Starsmore before I hunt him down, let him know I'm looking for him, yeah?"
Liam was almost 17. Exaggeration was part and parcel. He thought that Q was the kind of guy that would understand though. "Will do," he agreed easily, unpausing his game and turning his attention back to the TV.
~*~
Jono finds Quentin after his unfortunate incident with Mel Guthrie.
Jono probably shouldn’t have left the library unattended but he was fairly certain that power emergencies were a good reason to run away from your new job.
Frantically he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Quentin. ‘HELP.’
That should get the message across.
Then as an afterthought. ‘WHERE ARE YOU? POWERS SHITE.”
"Speak of the devil," Quentin muttered as he read the two frantic texts. After bumping into Liam in the second floor rec room, he had continued his search for the walking furnace on the rooftop, hoping he was out for fresh air. When that failed to turn him up, Quentin decided he had worked hard enough and Jono would show up eventually. So it was vape time while he waited. And how right he had been. He was about to fire off a reply when a wave of panic washed over him, so he instead got his head above water and answered telepathically.
"Rooftop. You're okay, sis. Just come up here, we'll be good."
Jono’s frantic trip to the rooftop probably looked a lot like what he imagined it might be like to watch a drunk man follow a laser pointer. Which is to say, it wasn’t at all organized. He lurched into multiple walls and then finally made it out onto the rooftop.
HELP.
That was the panicked expression of a newly manifested psi, Quentin thought wryly. He had seen a few down in District X, and he imagined that's the last thing his high school tormentors saw, too, as he dragged them and a hundred other people into his domain on the astral plane.
"You're good, Jonothon, it's all right, I got you." Not an empath by any means, Quentin still tried to instill some calm into the other man, or at least psychically share a contact high to chill him out. He helped Jono out the doorway and sat him down. "What happened?"
Jono instinctively reached for his light writer and then realized he’d left it in the library. He then realized that he hasn’t needed it to talk to Quentin. He hated this so much.
Heard a voice in my head. Wasn’t mine.
"And it wasn't me or Jean or any of the other telepaths talking to you, either?" It was a rhetorical questions, of course, but Jono was so close to finally admitting what Quentin had realized months ago, he just needed to actually say it.
Of course it fucking wasn’t. Jono shot back, glaring at him. I hate it when you’re right.
To his credit, Quentin did not sit back and gloat. He was maybe too stoned for that. Instead, he nodded and smiled sympathetically. "I hear that all the time. I'm sure you're feeling some kind of way about all this, but I'll show you how to handle it. I was taught by the best and now I am the best. Okay?"
I feel angry. Jono replied. Fully capable of naming his emotions. And also like a fucking creep over something I can’t control and don’t want.
Quentin took another hit from his vape pen before responding, sending relaxing vibes along with the message. "Maybe we should address the self-hatred first, at least with the teep. You're not a creep because you have the ability to read people's minds. No more than a shapeshifter is for being able to turn into other people, or precogs for viewing others' destinies. That's flatscan talk, and we're all better than that."
I think being upset that I can’t respect the basic right to privacy is incredibly fucking reasonable. Jono fired back. How do I control it?
"The first step is shielding," Quentin explained, "To keep your mind separate from others. I'll show you how to build them, but it takes practice to be able to keep them up at all times. So yeah, you're gonna slip up, but anyone who gives you shit about it? They can go fuck themselves. Literally not a single person here could fully keep a handle on their powers at first. They can fucking deal."
I can’t hear everything. Jono thought, calming down some. At least I don’t think I can. How do I talk to people?
"That's the easy part. You basically just focus on the person or people and think loudly at them. You kind of tunnel your thoughts from yourself to the recipient, with your shields keeping other people from eavesdropping."
So mental yelling? Jono hated that, but so far he had only been able to do it when angry or freaking out so maybe Quentin had a point. He fucking hated when Quentin was right.
The new cat tree in the Rec Room meant that Liam could lounge blissfully in the sun from a hammock and play MarioKart on the TV. He might've designed it that way. It was his current favorite spot, but that tended to change every week or so based on whatever he deemed most important. And, he could nap on it too, which he loved. Sleeping in his bed was.... fine. But sleeping in the middle of the action was infinitely better.
Quentin had near-perfect avoidance of the rec rooms for the near decade he had been living in the house that Xavier('s old old money) built. But he was occasionally called to them, particularly when he was searching for someone who did not want to be found and was doing a good job at avoidance. "Are all other telepaths such babies?" he muttered to himself as he entered what looked like a Petco installation in the mansion.
"Hmmm?" Liam didn't so much ask as make a noise, one ear swiveling in Quentin's direction. "Which one's a baby?"
Quentin and Liam had not been properly introduced, but Quentin knew the kid by reputation. Here not even a year and already been thrown into the deep end of mutant weirdness. He and this whole crop of newbies. Quentin's own cohort seemed so tame by comparison.
"You seen Starsmore around?" he asked. "Angry Brit who dresses like he lives at a Clash concert?"
"No," Liam knew Jono, but he's any seen him. "Haven't met you though...." and he was blanking on a name. "That colour must be a pain to keep up."
"Used to be, before my Christy resurrection." At least Quentin had had the sense to not engage in the fantasy insanity until after he had joined a team. "Now I save a fortune on bleaching and hair dyes. I'm Quentin, by the way."
Magical mutant hair was a thing? Okay then. Sure. Why not given everything else weird here, "Liam," he replied, pausing his game and hopping down gracefully. Which meant now he could see Quentin's shirt clearly. "Dude. Your shirt."
Quentin looked down and smirked. Three smiling bipedal cats walking hand in hand. My personality is like pussy . . . was written in a bold serif font arched above the cats; You wouldn't get it under their feet. One of his many ridiculous t-shirts he only wore at home or when he wanted to shock a boomer in public.
"This one does kind of look like you," he said, pointing at the orange cat clad in a red and white striped t-shirt and black shorts.
Okay, yeah, sure, he was kind of orange, he'd heard all the one brain cell jokes but..."Good thing I get it, then," he retorted with a grin.
The older man (Jesus fuck, when had Quentin become the older man in comparison to the other residents here?) laughed softly. The exact sort of thing we would have asserted at Liam's age, even if it were untrue. (At that age? Fucking shoot Quentin in the head now.)
"Do you, though?"
Liam raised an eyebrow, "Are you seriously questioning my game?" he asked. How old was this guy? "I'm a catboy. I'm a chick magnet."
"That is . . . a valid point," Quentin conceded after brief consideration. Although he could sense the kid was exaggerating; the unjustified hubris practically radiated off Liam. But far be it from Quentin to call him out. In a couple years once he was legal, the JustMutants money would practically roll in for him. He'd probably get richer than Worthington. "Well, if you see Starsmore before I hunt him down, let him know I'm looking for him, yeah?"
Liam was almost 17. Exaggeration was part and parcel. He thought that Q was the kind of guy that would understand though. "Will do," he agreed easily, unpausing his game and turning his attention back to the TV.
~*~
Jono finds Quentin after his unfortunate incident with Mel Guthrie.
Jono probably shouldn’t have left the library unattended but he was fairly certain that power emergencies were a good reason to run away from your new job.
Frantically he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Quentin. ‘HELP.’
That should get the message across.
Then as an afterthought. ‘WHERE ARE YOU? POWERS SHITE.”
"Speak of the devil," Quentin muttered as he read the two frantic texts. After bumping into Liam in the second floor rec room, he had continued his search for the walking furnace on the rooftop, hoping he was out for fresh air. When that failed to turn him up, Quentin decided he had worked hard enough and Jono would show up eventually. So it was vape time while he waited. And how right he had been. He was about to fire off a reply when a wave of panic washed over him, so he instead got his head above water and answered telepathically.
"Rooftop. You're okay, sis. Just come up here, we'll be good."
Jono’s frantic trip to the rooftop probably looked a lot like what he imagined it might be like to watch a drunk man follow a laser pointer. Which is to say, it wasn’t at all organized. He lurched into multiple walls and then finally made it out onto the rooftop.
HELP.
That was the panicked expression of a newly manifested psi, Quentin thought wryly. He had seen a few down in District X, and he imagined that's the last thing his high school tormentors saw, too, as he dragged them and a hundred other people into his domain on the astral plane.
"You're good, Jonothon, it's all right, I got you." Not an empath by any means, Quentin still tried to instill some calm into the other man, or at least psychically share a contact high to chill him out. He helped Jono out the doorway and sat him down. "What happened?"
Jono instinctively reached for his light writer and then realized he’d left it in the library. He then realized that he hasn’t needed it to talk to Quentin. He hated this so much.
Heard a voice in my head. Wasn’t mine.
"And it wasn't me or Jean or any of the other telepaths talking to you, either?" It was a rhetorical questions, of course, but Jono was so close to finally admitting what Quentin had realized months ago, he just needed to actually say it.
Of course it fucking wasn’t. Jono shot back, glaring at him. I hate it when you’re right.
To his credit, Quentin did not sit back and gloat. He was maybe too stoned for that. Instead, he nodded and smiled sympathetically. "I hear that all the time. I'm sure you're feeling some kind of way about all this, but I'll show you how to handle it. I was taught by the best and now I am the best. Okay?"
I feel angry. Jono replied. Fully capable of naming his emotions. And also like a fucking creep over something I can’t control and don’t want.
Quentin took another hit from his vape pen before responding, sending relaxing vibes along with the message. "Maybe we should address the self-hatred first, at least with the teep. You're not a creep because you have the ability to read people's minds. No more than a shapeshifter is for being able to turn into other people, or precogs for viewing others' destinies. That's flatscan talk, and we're all better than that."
I think being upset that I can’t respect the basic right to privacy is incredibly fucking reasonable. Jono fired back. How do I control it?
"The first step is shielding," Quentin explained, "To keep your mind separate from others. I'll show you how to build them, but it takes practice to be able to keep them up at all times. So yeah, you're gonna slip up, but anyone who gives you shit about it? They can go fuck themselves. Literally not a single person here could fully keep a handle on their powers at first. They can fucking deal."
I can’t hear everything. Jono thought, calming down some. At least I don’t think I can. How do I talk to people?
"That's the easy part. You basically just focus on the person or people and think loudly at them. You kind of tunnel your thoughts from yourself to the recipient, with your shields keeping other people from eavesdropping."
So mental yelling? Jono hated that, but so far he had only been able to do it when angry or freaking out so maybe Quentin had a point. He fucking hated when Quentin was right.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-10 04:52 pm (UTC)Okay, yeah, sure, he was kind of orange, he'd heard all the one brain cell jokes but..."Good thing I get it, then," he retorted with a grin.
Sharon: I think this is lies.
Disappointed Quentin doesn't refer to Jesus as "The Nazarene mutant" like Exodus.
Jono’s frantic trip to the rooftop probably looked a lot like what he imagined it might be like to watch a drunk man follow a laser pointer.
Now imagining a telepathic laser pointer in action.
or at least psychically share a contact high to chill him out
loool
He then realized that he hasn't needed it to talk to Quentin. He hated this so much.
looooool
"Maybe we should address the self-hatred first, at least with the teep. You're not a creep because you have the ability to read people's minds. No more than a shapeshifter is for being able to turn into other people, or precogs for viewing others' destinies. That's flatscan talk, and we're all better than that."
I love therapy time with Dr. Quire.
He fucking hated when Quentin was right.
So do we all, Jono. So do we all.