[The first reaction is continued confusion. Then shock, betrayal, embarrassment, bitterness, resignation. A whole tangled knot of feelings threatens to burst out of him, but instead just curdles in his chest along with the renewed grief of losing Krakoa—and all the complicated bullshit that goes along with that—from the whole fucking mess yesterday.
Quentin doesn't typically express his anger through his powers. Telepathy at his scale is far, far too dangerous to be thrown around as a weapon for every scuffle and argument. And TK? Well, TK is just messy. See: Julian's stupid crater that Quentin had to fix yesterday. No, no, Quentin doesn't get the luxury of full-blown meltdowns. He needs to have control, and he's damn good at it. There's no outward sign of his foul mood other than a mild telekinetic static growing around him and his face making the subtle shift from stunned hurt to restrained fury. His mind, meanwhile, shuts down fully to her. He knows she hates feeling alone, but he's going to be selfish for a minute.
She's glad he "can be" mad at her. She's glad. Like she didn't respond to his anger with vicious comments about the riot and about Phoebe and then badger him into bringing her champagne and talking about this shit when he made it very clearly he didn't want to. For precisely this reason. If there's one thing Quentin's learned it's this: a Cuckoo's first priority is always a Cuckoo.
Quentin looks away from Sophie and sips his champagne coldly.]
/Good to know torturing me is a source of entertainment for you. Always kinda assumed, but, well. You know what they say about assumptions./
no subject
Quentin doesn't typically express his anger through his powers. Telepathy at his scale is far, far too dangerous to be thrown around as a weapon for every scuffle and argument. And TK? Well, TK is just messy. See: Julian's stupid crater that Quentin had to fix yesterday. No, no, Quentin doesn't get the luxury of full-blown meltdowns. He needs to have control, and he's damn good at it. There's no outward sign of his foul mood other than a mild telekinetic static growing around him and his face making the subtle shift from stunned hurt to restrained fury. His mind, meanwhile, shuts down fully to her. He knows she hates feeling alone, but he's going to be selfish for a minute.
She's glad he "can be" mad at her. She's glad. Like she didn't respond to his anger with vicious comments about the riot and about Phoebe and then badger him into bringing her champagne and talking about this shit when he made it very clearly he didn't want to. For precisely this reason. If there's one thing Quentin's learned it's this: a Cuckoo's first priority is always a Cuckoo.
Quentin looks away from Sophie and sips his champagne coldly.]
/Good to know torturing me is a source of entertainment for you. Always kinda assumed, but, well. You know what they say about assumptions./