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xp_logsPink and purple finally meet. Be afraid for trouble is surely brewing.
Summer was way over and even with climate change, winter would soon be upon New York. That meant what warm weather remained needed to be enjoyed now while there was still time. So Quentin had called a telework day for himself, delegating people work to his people, while he sat by the empty pool in shorts and an unbuttoned floral print shirt. The remains of a joint smoldered in a nearby ashtray while he perused paperwork on his laptop. A trio of fruit (apple, pear, banana) danced in a slow circle nearby, the telekinetic equivalent of a fidget spinner.
There was a brief sensation of resistance at the end of Quentin's telekinetic line, something like the tug of an insect in the web of a spider. Some outside force had interrupted the banana in its orbit, and a moment later the same fate befell the pear.
Sharon, currently in human form, had somehow manifested without notice. She appeared entranced by the spinning fruit, and as Quentin watched she stretched out a hand to bat gently at the passing apple. A half-empty Churu tube packet dangled from between her lips.
"Can I help you?" Though they had not exchanged words in person yet, Quentin knew the girl from reputation, primarily her outspokenness on the journals. The feline urge to play with his fruits seemed in character from what he knew.
"Was indicated to me you were a telepath only. This is inaccurate?" The words were mumbled around the Churu wrapper; the girl's yellow eyes hadn't left the fruit. The tip of her tail twitched avidly as she tracked their rotation.
Quentin smirked and flicked his wrist, directing the fruits into a more complicated dance. "You were lied to. These two powers very commonly come hand-in-hand."
Sharon's tail began to flick more quickly. Sharon crouched, Churu falling from her mouth.
"Psionics," she remarked, working her claws against the no-slip concrete, "this is useful, but not so interesting. No obvious physical adaptations. Easy to hide."
The girl's skin flowed beneath her dark jumpsuit, and suddenly she was a human-sized hybrid cat, head down, hips in the air, and ready to pounce.
"Is a cheater power," Sharon declared, and leapt for the apple.
"To my great chagrin, I have not yet mutated to a giant floating brain." Nonplussed by the transformation, Quentin pulled the fruits out of her reach, then playfully booped her snout with the banana. "But maybe next time I die, that's the physical construct I can build for myself."
Sharon didn't hesitate. The great cat grabbed the banana in both paws and rolled playfully onto her back.
"This is literal, or hyperbole?" she asked, words slightly muffled as she mouthed delicately at the peel with one outsized canine. "To reconfigure one's body to need, this is interesting. I have met only Kevin Sydney with this power. Jessie also, to a lesser extent. Disappointing. Standard human physiology is uncreative. Inefficient also."
"Literal, mostly." Quentin plucked the pear from its erratic orbit and bit into it. "Got possessed, killed myself, psyche saved by some other telepaths, then I took over a vessel of ectoplasm that turned into real matter except for a few months ago when David Haller had his freakout that he made everyone else's problem. You know how it is here."
Something between a leonine rumble and a contemplative "hmm" issued from Sharon's throat. "Physical reconstruction as collaborative effort? This I shall remember. Previous judgement is retracted: your body is of sufficient interest. I look forward to any reconfigurations that occur as a result of future resurrections." She regarded Quentin through slitted eyes as she rubbed her whiskered cheek against the banana. "I am content as I am. Already I am superior."
"Rarely do women find my body interesting," he quipped through another mouthful of pear. "And of course you're superior. You're a mutant. It's in the damn name."
"I am Cat. I am superior in yet more ways." Sharon's tail flicked again, thoughtful now. "You do not insist on sapien conformity. This is refreshing."
"I can't think of many things that would make me want to actually kill myself more than that. Why should I have to conform myself to anyone, especially people who are worse than me by every measure?"
"Yes. This is logic. An impossibility also. Such gifts are inextricable to us. Out of politeness I am to remain in one shape when another is more convenient, or refrain from noting the scent of recent intercourse due to societal constructions around natural function? I have been like this always. If my body offends, is for others to acclimate. Shower with greater frequency also."
If Quentin still had Maddicks's power now, he would have thrown up an enormous 💯 emoji to signify his agreement. "Mutants grow up in a flatscan world, so we inherited their prejudices. Some people never grew out of them. But moving onto a post-sapiens mindset isn't as hard as they all think."
"Is the fault of the parents. My mother saw I was Cat, and Cat I was permitted to be. Human expectations did not attach, as is proper. Because of this I have Self Esteem." A clawed finger began to pick at the banana peel even as Sharon's unerring yellow gaze remained fixed on Quentin. "Why do you not simply change the minds of others? You speak of mutants' difficulties in rejecting the dominant worldview. Would it not be easier to prevent the perpetuation of prejudice by eliminating it yourself?"
Quentin snorted. What a question to ask. "That treats the symptoms, it doesn't cure the disease." A pause. "If you were a sinner, I could make you believe," he sang softly off-key, briefly pulled into the inescapable gravity of Lady Gaga before snapping out of it. "Aside from the general impracticality of mind-wiping seven billion people, any telepathic intrusion only lasts as long as the next generation, when the old hatred will inevitably resurface. Trust me, though, I've considered the option."
"Then we are to win hearts and minds? To express patience and understanding for those who hunt would hunt us?" Sharon stopped fiddling and held the fruit to her muzzle. The banana's flesh bulged through its unpeeled skin as Sharon's teeth sank through it like butter.
Casually, the great cat removed the fruit and regarded the thumb-sized hole created by one incisor.
"Decline," she scoffed.
"There are several other options between Chuckles' philosophy of compliance in our own destruction and Magneto's 'kill them all before they kill us.' We don't have to take shit lying down but we also don't have to take their tools and become them ourselves."
"If I am wronged, I shall bite. Is simple." Sharon's pink tongue darted out to lap at an errant chunk of crushed banana. Her expression was sly. "You have changed not even one mind?" she asked. "I would not tell. Some thoughts are too stupid to allow."
Setting aside the bare pear core, Quentin took the apple, tossing it from one hand to another like a ball. "I've modified many minds," he said as if he were simply discussing the weather. "I used to make liquor store clerks and club bouncers look the other way at my obviously fake ID's. I've made cops ignore obviously illegal but not dangerous activity so they don't end up assaulting civilians. And just the other week I helped bring down a coalition of flatscan bigots by making a political aide wear a wire to record his boss. It's all about the opportunity."
"Acceptable actions. Arbitrary rules are not to be respected." The cat's chin lifted proudly. "My talents were engaged against bigots also. Camera work. I am the most sneaky."
"I'm certain you are." How could he argue with that? She had crept up on him without alerting him. Not a thing that would happen again, now that he had her psi signature saved in his memory.
Summer was way over and even with climate change, winter would soon be upon New York. That meant what warm weather remained needed to be enjoyed now while there was still time. So Quentin had called a telework day for himself, delegating people work to his people, while he sat by the empty pool in shorts and an unbuttoned floral print shirt. The remains of a joint smoldered in a nearby ashtray while he perused paperwork on his laptop. A trio of fruit (apple, pear, banana) danced in a slow circle nearby, the telekinetic equivalent of a fidget spinner.
There was a brief sensation of resistance at the end of Quentin's telekinetic line, something like the tug of an insect in the web of a spider. Some outside force had interrupted the banana in its orbit, and a moment later the same fate befell the pear.
Sharon, currently in human form, had somehow manifested without notice. She appeared entranced by the spinning fruit, and as Quentin watched she stretched out a hand to bat gently at the passing apple. A half-empty Churu tube packet dangled from between her lips.
"Can I help you?" Though they had not exchanged words in person yet, Quentin knew the girl from reputation, primarily her outspokenness on the journals. The feline urge to play with his fruits seemed in character from what he knew.
"Was indicated to me you were a telepath only. This is inaccurate?" The words were mumbled around the Churu wrapper; the girl's yellow eyes hadn't left the fruit. The tip of her tail twitched avidly as she tracked their rotation.
Quentin smirked and flicked his wrist, directing the fruits into a more complicated dance. "You were lied to. These two powers very commonly come hand-in-hand."
Sharon's tail began to flick more quickly. Sharon crouched, Churu falling from her mouth.
"Psionics," she remarked, working her claws against the no-slip concrete, "this is useful, but not so interesting. No obvious physical adaptations. Easy to hide."
The girl's skin flowed beneath her dark jumpsuit, and suddenly she was a human-sized hybrid cat, head down, hips in the air, and ready to pounce.
"Is a cheater power," Sharon declared, and leapt for the apple.
"To my great chagrin, I have not yet mutated to a giant floating brain." Nonplussed by the transformation, Quentin pulled the fruits out of her reach, then playfully booped her snout with the banana. "But maybe next time I die, that's the physical construct I can build for myself."
Sharon didn't hesitate. The great cat grabbed the banana in both paws and rolled playfully onto her back.
"This is literal, or hyperbole?" she asked, words slightly muffled as she mouthed delicately at the peel with one outsized canine. "To reconfigure one's body to need, this is interesting. I have met only Kevin Sydney with this power. Jessie also, to a lesser extent. Disappointing. Standard human physiology is uncreative. Inefficient also."
"Literal, mostly." Quentin plucked the pear from its erratic orbit and bit into it. "Got possessed, killed myself, psyche saved by some other telepaths, then I took over a vessel of ectoplasm that turned into real matter except for a few months ago when David Haller had his freakout that he made everyone else's problem. You know how it is here."
Something between a leonine rumble and a contemplative "hmm" issued from Sharon's throat. "Physical reconstruction as collaborative effort? This I shall remember. Previous judgement is retracted: your body is of sufficient interest. I look forward to any reconfigurations that occur as a result of future resurrections." She regarded Quentin through slitted eyes as she rubbed her whiskered cheek against the banana. "I am content as I am. Already I am superior."
"Rarely do women find my body interesting," he quipped through another mouthful of pear. "And of course you're superior. You're a mutant. It's in the damn name."
"I am Cat. I am superior in yet more ways." Sharon's tail flicked again, thoughtful now. "You do not insist on sapien conformity. This is refreshing."
"I can't think of many things that would make me want to actually kill myself more than that. Why should I have to conform myself to anyone, especially people who are worse than me by every measure?"
"Yes. This is logic. An impossibility also. Such gifts are inextricable to us. Out of politeness I am to remain in one shape when another is more convenient, or refrain from noting the scent of recent intercourse due to societal constructions around natural function? I have been like this always. If my body offends, is for others to acclimate. Shower with greater frequency also."
If Quentin still had Maddicks's power now, he would have thrown up an enormous 💯 emoji to signify his agreement. "Mutants grow up in a flatscan world, so we inherited their prejudices. Some people never grew out of them. But moving onto a post-sapiens mindset isn't as hard as they all think."
"Is the fault of the parents. My mother saw I was Cat, and Cat I was permitted to be. Human expectations did not attach, as is proper. Because of this I have Self Esteem." A clawed finger began to pick at the banana peel even as Sharon's unerring yellow gaze remained fixed on Quentin. "Why do you not simply change the minds of others? You speak of mutants' difficulties in rejecting the dominant worldview. Would it not be easier to prevent the perpetuation of prejudice by eliminating it yourself?"
Quentin snorted. What a question to ask. "That treats the symptoms, it doesn't cure the disease." A pause. "If you were a sinner, I could make you believe," he sang softly off-key, briefly pulled into the inescapable gravity of Lady Gaga before snapping out of it. "Aside from the general impracticality of mind-wiping seven billion people, any telepathic intrusion only lasts as long as the next generation, when the old hatred will inevitably resurface. Trust me, though, I've considered the option."
"Then we are to win hearts and minds? To express patience and understanding for those who hunt would hunt us?" Sharon stopped fiddling and held the fruit to her muzzle. The banana's flesh bulged through its unpeeled skin as Sharon's teeth sank through it like butter.
Casually, the great cat removed the fruit and regarded the thumb-sized hole created by one incisor.
"Decline," she scoffed.
"There are several other options between Chuckles' philosophy of compliance in our own destruction and Magneto's 'kill them all before they kill us.' We don't have to take shit lying down but we also don't have to take their tools and become them ourselves."
"If I am wronged, I shall bite. Is simple." Sharon's pink tongue darted out to lap at an errant chunk of crushed banana. Her expression was sly. "You have changed not even one mind?" she asked. "I would not tell. Some thoughts are too stupid to allow."
Setting aside the bare pear core, Quentin took the apple, tossing it from one hand to another like a ball. "I've modified many minds," he said as if he were simply discussing the weather. "I used to make liquor store clerks and club bouncers look the other way at my obviously fake ID's. I've made cops ignore obviously illegal but not dangerous activity so they don't end up assaulting civilians. And just the other week I helped bring down a coalition of flatscan bigots by making a political aide wear a wire to record his boss. It's all about the opportunity."
"Acceptable actions. Arbitrary rules are not to be respected." The cat's chin lifted proudly. "My talents were engaged against bigots also. Camera work. I am the most sneaky."
"I'm certain you are." How could he argue with that? She had crept up on him without alerting him. Not a thing that would happen again, now that he had her psi signature saved in his memory.
