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etrayamemes2025-03-28 09:16 am
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2025-03-28 09:16 am
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TDM 007
content warnings for this TDM include: violence, potential death, body horror, physical transformation, loss of senses, loss of autonomy  ⏵ arrival⏴ Arrival does not happen as Aurora usually plans for it. New characters are introduced to the AI, then informed of a mission that they are required to participate in before they can return to their home base of Etraya. A world called Aphaia is falling apart, and while there is nothing they can do to resolve this broken world, they can participate in the Gamerunner's Stratagem. Their mission is simple: step through the glowing purple portal that Aurora creates once they've had time to listen to her, and survive until a similar portal reopens in front of them, allowing them to return to Etraya. The Gamerunner's Stratagem is something they have been working on building for quite some time. She informs all newcomers that they will not be present on this world that long: their exit will appear to them exactly when it's meant to, allowing them to meet the others who have been recruited to save their worlds. She provides each and every arrival with an earpiece, allowing them to communicate with the other Etrayans. Aurora suggests taking a bag full of supplies along with them, which she will fill with a few generic items as well as any specific items they may need: synthetic blood for vampires, protein bars for those who may burn through calories faster, medication for anyone who requires it.  ⏵ aphaia ⏴ Aphaia is a neon-lit, chaotic planet. Cameras are everywhere, every action and inaction is judged by the 'audience'. Towering holograms advertise upcoming events while flashing leader boards track the most "popular" players. Contestants are thrown into challenges, many of which are games of skill, survival, and deception all to keep the viewers entertained. Not participating is an option! However, avoiding playing along and not putting on a show will quickly cause participants' score to go down, and scores that reach zero? Well. Unfortunately, there are only so many resources left on Aphaia. Their wildlife has died off, their planet is falling apart, and most others in this galaxy were either destroyed from the inside out, or warring planets trying to gain control of remaining resources destroyed them to avoid others getting involved. Their natural resources are depleted, and only those who manage to keep their scores up are given the luxury of having any supplies. As soon as one steps foot on Aphaia, as soon as they breathe, they intake nanotechnology which tracks their oxygen consumption, their food, everything they do or need. As soon as their scores reach zero? They disappear. There one moment, and completely gone the next. Their communicators go offline, and while everything they were carrying will be left behind, no one will be able to find them. They are simply--gone, erased from existence. This is a death and counts as a death as outlined in the game FAQ! Please keep this in mind. "Points" that go towards their total score will be assigned to contestants from the moment they drop down on planet. This will be visible using the HUD on their earpiece, and will be randomized at the beginning. For the sake of the TDM, we ask that no one be assigned Paragon initially, but you're free to use other ranks! The possible rankings are: 100: PARAGON 99-80: LUMINARY 79-70: CHAMPION 69-50: CONTENDER 49-30: UNDERLING 30-0: SHADE Ranks may change daily, or even hourly depending on the kind of situation one has found themselves in. Are they having a very public break up in which it comes out that they wronged their ex? They may go from a Champion to a Shade before they can even blink. Did they save a defenseless reporter from the big bad villain of the week? They may find themselves quickly elevated up to Luminary and given all the benefits that comes with being upper class. The world is their oyster, they only need to figure out how they'd like to utilize it! Aphaia is broken up into four districts. The Colosseum is a dynamic battle arena where combatants fight for entertainment, with shifting environments controlled by the audience. Victories earn points, while losses depend on performance. The Symposium is a lavish social hub for top contestants, where alliances and betrayals are made under the audience’s watchful eye. The Agora is the public center of Aphaia, where contestants engage with the audience through polls, interviews, and challenges to maintain popularity. It also houses the contestants in high-rise apartments. And Backalleys provide hidden spaces with intentional blind spots for secret dealings, though the Gamerunner is always aware of what happens there.  ⏵ st★rlight soirée ⏴ Something special is happening in the Colosseum. Lights flicker as the arena shifts, rearranging itself into a grand, glittering ballroom - if a ballroom had stadium seating, paparazzi drones, and an ever-changing floor plan designed to disorient those within it. Silver chandeliers pulse with artificial starlight, their glow refracted through the crystalline floors. Music swells, but it sounds - unnatural. It thrums through your veins, setting your blood alight with the urge to dance. Why is the ballroom designed as if intentionally put together to throw off one's balance? Well, it's time for the Panopticon Prom, of course! The Panopticon Prom isn't just an adventure in dancing and impressing your most recent crush. It's a test of endurance, cunning, grace, and charm. The floor beneath your feet moves as if it has a mind of it's own, shifting to the beat like a living creature all of it's own. It tilts, undulates, even vanishing in sections to keep dancers on edge. After all, it's difficult to keep up one's pace if they're falling through a hole in the floor to the foam pit below. Drones zip through the air, catching every stumble, every misstep, and every attempt to throw off others on the dance floor. This is a competition, after all; and what fun is a dance battle without having the freedom to thwart someone else on their road to victory? The rules are simple:
 ⏵ casino royale ⏴ Out in the Agora, another popular quarterly event is being set up! The Casino Royale has been destroyed countless times, but it seems as if the Gamerunner just can't let it go - every time it gets knocked down, it gets rebuilt. There is one rule. One must take a turn at the revolving wheel just inside the door as their entry fee, and whatever the wheel lands on, they must maintain until they exit the building for the night. Sometimes, this is easier: an effect they have no control over and cannot undo even if they wanted to. Sometimes, this is more difficult: an assigned task they must complete. Failure to abide by the wheel once means receiving a penalty. Twice? Certain death if caught by any employee. The wheel's effects are as follows:
The casino is alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the steady whirl of the roulette wheels. Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over velvet-lined tables, where fortunes are made and lost with the flick of a wrist. But something feels. . . off. The dealers never blink. The cards never seem random. And the house always wins - always. Maybe it's just paranoia, or maybe this casino is something more than just a den of chance. Tonight, you're not here just to play; you're here on a mission. You've arrived dressed to kill, blending into the sea of bodies filling the casino's floors. But you're not here to win points or boost your social standing - you're here to win intel. Somewhere in this casino is a single flash drive containing information on just how Aphaia maintains their system. The only problem? The House knows someone is coming for it. After all, they're well-aware of the game: whoever retrieves the flash drive will obtain information on how to flip the script, to change the rules of the game to fit their wants and needs, rather than following the current Gamerunner. After all, this is the Gamerunner's Stratagem that Aurora has sent them out on! Many apply for 'employment' within the Casino Royale in hopes of getting insider information on where the flash drive is hidden and what it looks like. However, it seems that even the employees have no clue where it has been hidden. This is an extension of our Aphaia Mission! We have included enough information in this post that catching up to current in game logs isn't necessary to play with it, but you are welcome to use any part of the Aphaia setting in your prompts as you'd like. Current players are also welcome to bring the events from this TDM into their in-game threads. This mission can happen outside of time as needed! Incoming characters will find themselves introduced to Aphaia as they arrive. Current characters may find Aurora calling on them to visit Aphaia after the current mission for the Gamerunner's Stratagem. Characters already in game are welcome to post to the TDM, too! Please mark them as current characters in your header. Threads can be kept as game canon as long as both characters get into the game! Please direct all questions relating to this log to our mod queries comment! All other questions can be directed to our FAQ. |
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( for a moment, he considers just. not answering the second half of that. if quentin's going to be a nosy bitch and sus out that he's on the move, he can figure out where julian is going on his own too.
but that's less satisfying than, )
/I'm coming for you./
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And dude, cut it out with the Dirty Harry routine. I'm the one who said the whole "cut the chase" thing and blah blah blah. You're not a master goddamn tracker who's gonna catch me unawares. Look, here, I'll prove it./
[A small pink dot labeled QQ that's not unlike a video game waypoint appears abruptly in Julian's vision, along with some smaller text indicating distance from said waypoint. Handy!
It's at this point that Quentin pauses to briefly consider why he is inviting Julian Keller to come kick the shit out of him for a thing that literally doesn't seem to have been a problem before Quentin brought it up. And then he immediately decides he doesn't want to think about it.
Quentin Quire? Sabotaging himself to dull the hollow pain of guilt, grief, and self-loathing? It's more likely than you think!]
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unfortunately, quentin takes all the fun out of tracking him down by providing julian with a telepathic gps locator, which. takes the wind out of his sails for a moment. his lips purse, more annoyed than anything else, but also, )
/Fine. Be that way./
( because look, julian's not even going to go towards quentin now. in fact: he's turning around on his heels, and heading in the opposite direction. )
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/Are you kidding me? You are fucking impossible, you know that?/
[Impossible how? Not important.]
/What even is the point of you if you don't even do the one thing you're good at?/
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/The one thing I'm good at, is it? And what's that supposed to be?/
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And what was the plan, exactly? For Keller to be justifiably pissed off, come scream at Quentin for a bit, maybe push him around some—which, no, Quentin does not in fact want—and then...? What? Quentin gets to not feel like shit about lying? About the fact that he knows what Sophie told Julian wasn't the whole truth? About all the bullshit he did and saw on X-Force? Just so he can indulge in a little therapeutic self-destruction after Sophie dug up a big chunk of grief, and that fucking hurts? None of which is even remotely Julian's problem?? Man, this plan sucks. Quentin's had some stinkers before, but... this? This is a doozie even by his standards.]
/Fuck. You know what? Forget it. Do over.
There's no easy-breezy way to say this, so, uh. Look. I didn't tell you about Krakoa because it's complicated. Like really complicated. More than Sophie knows. More than you've gotta know, considering the cringe "Krakoan" act.
Now here's the moral quandary: do I tell you? Dunno. I kinda planned on you never finding out at all, and the whole damn business is a big pile of suck, sooo... But hey, now you can make an informed decision on whether not to be pissed at me. I'll leave my waypoint up for now. You want it gone, I dunno, blink twice or whatever. Have fun. QQ over and out./
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Fuck it. This isn't working.
( it's grumbled out loud, more to himself than anything else, before julian turns himself back around and doesn't bother with the whole i'm coming for you slow walking around routine, because neither of them are limited to crap like that. he's walking through aphaia one moment, and flying at an almost concerning speed straight for quentin, fully intending on just ramming straight into him to grab hold of his collar and shove him back against the closest wall.
because that's what quentin was after, right? the bully routine. )
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But here's the thing he's realized: he wants to talk about it. At least, some small part of him does. A lot of him doesn't. Emotions run high when talking anything Krakoa back home, understandably so, and this place offers a rare opportunity to talk about what he experienced with someone who doesn't (yet) have a mountain of their own trauma related to the Fall. Everything he had doubts about, choices he wasn't happy about but doesn't know if he regrets. Would Julian have been his first—or second (or third)— choice for that conversation? Nope. But thanks to a certain blonde beauty queen, that ship has sailed. And since Quentin has no intention of telling anyone else, Julian's who he'll have to make do with.
... Unless the guy completely obliterates him first. He sure is moving awfully fast... And not... slowing down...]
Oh—
[Quentin pulls up enough of a TK shield around his body to tank it when Julian hits him, though the back of his skull still smacks the wall uncomfortably, and he makes the ungraceful "guhh" noise of someone getting the wind knocked out of him. Quentin barks out a humorless breathy laugh and wheezes a reply that sounds way, way more cocky than he actually feels.]
Guess you decided.
[God. Why did he invite this again? Oh right, because he's mentally unstable. That.]
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Yeah, I did. ( avoidance isn't getting him anywhere. not doing what quentin wants isn't, even if his frustration at julian's unwillingness to bend was hilarious. but it wasn't solving anything, just putting them straight back into where they'd been in the library: biting at each other's throats in a back and forth cycle that solved nothing. so, now? julian's leaning right into quentin, putting his weight on that forearm he's got shoved right up against him, pushing his way into quentin's space until their faces are so close, he can feel quentin breathing. )
Because I am sick of your attitude. You're too busy projecting all of your own problems onto everyone else that you can't fucking see what's right in front of you. You think I'm pissed at you, for not telling me about our goddamn home getting decimated, again? I get it, idiot. You think I would have done any different, if our positions had been reversed?
( julian lets that sit. not long enough for quentin to bark out a response, just long enough for him to have a moment to really think about it. )
For someone who claims to be a genius, you spend an awful lot of time proving you're the most exhausting person in every room. And I. Don't. Have the time or energy to bother with it. ( his arm shoves into quentin even harder, as julian takes another step closer. there's no space between them, no room for quentin to breathe without julian feeling the rise and fall of his chest. ) I don't get pissed at you for basic bullshit. I get pissed at you for being the stupidest, most self-destructive asshole on the block. Hell, Quire. If you were half as smart as you think you are, you might've been dangerous. Instead, you're just a self-absorbed, would-be punk.
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It takes longer than he would like to admit to reclaim control over his brain, no thanks at all to Keller progressively giving him less and less space to breathe let alone think, and even more time to try and halfway process anything he's actually saying. Quentin projecting his problems onto others? Sure, believable. Most exhausting person in the room? Sounds legit. Self-destructive asshole? Guilty as charged, your honor. And he'd love to give his input on all this whole fascinating character study-slash-roast Julian's decided to give him, but you see the problem is he can't. Fucking. Breathe.]
Let me go!!
[There's no telepathic command behind the words, but Quentin's voice echoes in Julian's brain as much as his hoarse yelling does in the outside world. His "freeze" response of stiffly keeping balled fists at his side abruptly switches to "flight," and he furiously grabs at Julian's forearm and stupid non-existent wrist. His voice, on the other hand, is too shaky to sound truly angry or threatening, with just a slight edge of desperation. Between the adrenaline throwing his breathing a curveball and the pressure on his chest, he can't exactly manage the kind of clear, confident tone he'd prefer.]
Come on, man, I can't—you win, okay? Uncle! I don't want to use my powers on you again, but you've gotta let me go.
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well. he doesn't do that. his grip loosens some; pressure against quentin's collar significantly less hard than it had been, but it's still there. he's not letting him move away, not giving him a clear out, because this back and forth has to stop. there's no telekinetic force holding him up anymore, it's just julian. even the metal prosthetics are keeping off of him. )
No. I need you to listen.
( quire's voice is shaky, but julian's is firm. confident. unwavering. )
Look at me. Breathe. You want to take a look in my head? Go for it. But if you try to manipulate me physically in any way, you'll regret it.
( it's giving quire permission to snoop. to learn that julian? doesn't mean to harm him any. this isn't him using his physical presence to intimidate him - or not by julian's definition at least. this is him getting into quire's face, to make sure he understands. he was angry about quentin knowing krakoa was gone and letting julian think everything was just dandy. but with that anger comes the understanding that julian would have done the same thing. there's no point in making someone suffer through something twice, is there? and he - gets it. it was a bid to keep julian from kicking the shit out of quentin or whatever - as if that's what he would have done with that knowledge. maybe he would have. maybe he would have taken out his anger on quentin just because he's an easy and conveniently located target, but the point is that quentin hadn't told him, and maybe, just maybe, buried keep in that stupid skull of his - quentin meant it as a way to protect julian.
doesn't matter what quentin's intentions were. what matters is julian's: he's here to correct a misunderstanding, to prevent this back and forth - or reruns as quentin calls them. neither of them need to be wasting their energy like this. )
And when you're ready to calm down, shut up, and listen, we'll finish this so I can fuck off and leave you to your moping.
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Quentin ignores the instruction to look at Keller and instead squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to take four deep (if uneven) breaths and move his hands off of Julian's arm to press his fingers to both sides of his head.]
It's not you, asshole. I'm not—this isn't happening because of you, it's... It's—shit, I'll just show you.
[What he dumps into Julian's head isn't so much complete memories, but rather snapshots, sharp pangs of feelings connected to images and brief moments. Waking up from eggs over and over and over. Someone nonchalantly telling him the grisly way he died this time. Weeks and weeks worth of memories, thoughts, experiences gone forever because they happened between his last backup and his latest death. The spike of anxiety every time he's in danger, because dying would mean that everything he's done and felt in the past however many days would never matter, and a new Quentin Quire will come out of his egg none the wiser. And then the death he remembers: teeth and claws tearing his body to pieces after a Wolverine imposter stabs him in the throat.]
Learned, uh—learned fear response. Conditioned. I know you're not out to kill me, it's my brain that doesn't.
[His pulse is still pounding in his ears, and his voice and breathing aren't nearly as solid as he'd like, but Quentin does manage to center himself enough to open his eyes and look at Julian wearily. One hand goes to Julian's upper arm just above his elbow, and Quentin lightly pushes his arm away, not enough to be a serious attempt, just a suggestion.]
Give me space, let me get my head on straight, okay? I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not gonna be, you know. Me. The usual me. The me you're used to.
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julian tenses. just enough that it's noticeable, that same fuckshitcrapowfucknonononono- mirroring back as claws pierce straight through him, shredding julian's midsection, ripping into a lung, destroying his diaphragm, the burning sensation in his lower arms as nimrod just fucking - )
I know it's not me.
( quentin's smart. clever enough to read between the lines, to know julian's clever, strong, dangerous in his own way but never that same kind of dangerous the assholes who'd throw quentin to the wolves countless times are. he's got an edge to him, but he'll avoid the killing blow every damn time there's another way out. and the same thing that pisses julian off about quentin is the same damn problem summers had with julian: he doesn't listen. not out of a hatred for people telling him what to do, but because he doesn't trust most the older crew not to feed him through a meat grinder, or fuck off and abandon him the moment he's more of an inconvenience than anything else.
and he gets - this. the stress response. the one wrong movement, one wrong noise setting off every warning bell in his head, telling him to fight back, get out, leave before this turns worse despite knowing damn well he's not in any real danger. julian's voice softens, loses the edge. )
Just like I know you're not gonna let some asshole fuck you up by making you freak out every time someone pins you down.
( because, see, he's managing. somewhat. he considers intentionally tipping quentin closer to that edge, just to prove a point. ultimately decides that's a shit idea, except he also doesn't, you know, have the hands to manage this how he'd prefer to.
julian sucks in a deep breath through his nose, but doesn't give quentin the space he's asking for. stays close, even if the pressure is gone. he grabs for quentin's own hand with his tk, rather than using cold metal, so he can try to guide it up to the pulsepoint at the curve of his jaw. his own heart is racing, especially after that fun trip down memory lane. )
Count it.
( significantly less helpful than simply fucking off, but look, he's trying something else. julian takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, too, slowly calming himself down off of that panicked high. )
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Second point he wins is that whole thing about letting some asshole fuck him up and blah blah blah. Because that? That appeals to the contrarian in Quentin, which, well. Let's be honest here, is one of the strongest, most deeply ingrained, bone-deep traits in Quentin's whole dumpster fire of a psyche. Petulance doesn't quite override the anxiety racing through his veins, but it helps, and he does reflexively wrinkle his nose in a brief flicker of defiance. Did Julian have any idea that was the right button to push, or was he just blindly mashing until something worked? Who knows. Regardless, that's two points. And a deficit of like a billion.
Still, those two points are why Quentin goes along with whatever Julian's up to that doesn't involve giving Quentin the space he asked for multiple times. He instinctively resists Julian's attempt to telekinetically move his hand, but a glance at his mind—how many times is Quentin going to have to tell this jerk to use his words—fills Quentin in on Julian's intentions. Well... if he's not going to go away, why not? Quentin makes a skeptical expression but moves his hand, partly on his own and partly with some TK assistance, to put two fingers at Julian's pulse, which is now racing as much as Quentin's after some telepathy trauma-dumping. Oops. It's weird, but it's not like Julian has wrists to feel his pulse the normal way. And hey, speaking of missing hands and making it weird, Quentin couldn't help but notice that hesitation about "cold metal" when he was poking around just now, so he helpfully... patches Keller into his own nervous system. Specifically, the nervous system for the hand at his pulsepoint. Been a while since the guy's felt a real hand, right? Might as well.
Also if they can both feel it, that means Quentin doesn't have to actually count.]
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the direct line of sensation from quentin's hand to his own head? throws him off for a moment. because outside of phantom pains, it has been a significant amount of time since julian has experienced what it feels like to actually be able to touch people with his hands. he can pick crap up, move things, do a lot of crap most people with flesh and blood hands can but he can't feel it. the sensation of his own heartbeat, pressed against quire's fingertips? is fucking weird. but not - unwanted.
but julian keeps the commentary to a minimum. takes a few more deep, slow breaths, letting himself calm down. feeling through quire as his heartbeat goes from too fast, too hard, to something significantly more comfortable. keeps himself quiet, too, while they both calm down a little. and once julian feels a little less like jumping out of his own shoes, he does open his mouth and speak up, )
Better?
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"Would've been better if you'd given me the space I asked for."
"Don't expect me to thank you for helping with the panic attack you gave me, jackass."
"I didn't ask for your help."
"You're a rotten therapist, Keller."
He doesn't say any of them. There isn't a single "typical Quentin" thing he could say that wouldn't set this whole mess off again. So he just... nods and replies, his voice soft and lacking in his usual acidity.]
Yeah.
[As loath as he is to admit it, Quentin doesn't... fully regret letting Keller help ground him. Sure, he would have preferred to be given space to let him work out his own shit without anyone's assistance—he's a telepath for Christ's sake, a little brain glitch would be a piece of cake even if he wasn't, you know, entirely too used to handling the fucked up mess in his head—but relying on someone else? Not awful. Kinda nice, actually. Shame it was Keller and not, uh. Um. Okay, well, he can't think of anyone he would prefer, actually. Because his preference is QQ or Bust. And honestly, Julian Keller is probably the only asshole with the right paradoxical combination of bullish empathy and altruistic ego to pull this kind of stunt. Quentin also keeps his hand where it is for now, with Julian's brain still connected, until whenever it is that he decides to move his arm. Why? Because well, if Quentin was stuck with stupid metal hands, he sure wouldn't be complaining about being able to feel actual fingers for a bit longer, and it doesn't seem like Julian's complaining either.
There's a whole second list of Things He Definitely Shouldn't Say here, including but not limited to "hell of a trust exercise there, squad captain," "you're really bad at listening," or the classic "you gonna start yelling at me about how much I suck again?" Quentin thinks them, imagines a world where he says them, and Julian is shooketh, and everyone (there's nobody around in front of this random building, and Quentin made sure they were hidden from all organic eyes ages ago) claps. And then he throws them in the garbage. Where they belong. And instead of all that he just says:]
You good?
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it's not fair.
it's never fair.
none of this is. there's so many levels to how fucked up their entire lives are, to quentin dying, over and over again, and for what. julian's gotten fucked up, been left behind, brought back into the fold only to go out on the front lines and get himself fucked up again and for what? peace was never an option, not when fear is why people hate them so much. violence does nothing but make it worse. telling humanity to fuck off and leave them alone while they went off to live on their own terms didn't work. and look how badly they fucked up quentin's head while trying to do that. jesus. )
No, jackass. I'm not good. ( but he will give an extra hard shove against quentin's chest, before he's taking a step back and away. breaks the contact, because he's going to try to claw his way out of his own skin if that keeps up. it hadn't been all that long ago since he told jay he was pretty sure they were all just waiting around for their turn to die after m-day. that they'd finally, finally gotten a place they could just - be safe. and now look at them. )
Don't act like you know me, because you clearly don't. Don't act like I'm here to be your personal punishment dispenser, because I'm not going to hit you. You want someone to fuck you over because you can't do it yourself? Find someone else.
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He's quiet for a moment, but this time he's not deciding what snarky jabs would be a stupid idea to say. He's... weighing options. Quentin side-steps away from the wall, straightening his clothing as he gets his thoughts in order. He glances at Julian briefly when he starts going off about being a "personal punishment dispenser," but otherwise just looks at the ground. Thinking.
There's the straightforward option: admitting that yeah, he self-sabotages. Quentin's well aware of that particular vice. He knows he tried to weaponize Keller, because again, self-sabotage, and he knows what a dick move that is. Manipulation is manipulation, regardless of whether or not telepathy is involved. He was just... well, hurting. Not an excuse, but it's the truth. All the guilt and grief and baggage, not to mention being suddenly surrounded by the people who've known him at his worst, it all just dredged up so much wretched putrid bullshit inside him, and he couldn't stop himself. Quentin Quire doesn't lose control of his powers. Nope, that would be simple. A semi-decent excuse. He just loses control of himself. He's thinking more clearly now, at least. Nothing like a good pushed-to-the-brink douchebag-induced panic attack to clear the ole noggin.
So yeah, that's the most direct option. Simple. Addresses the immediate issues. Potentially leaves an open door for Quentin to ease into the trickier stuff, like the whole hot complicated mess that was Krakoa. Or at least stall. Give himself more time to consider what Julian has a right to know and what's cruel to tell him. His island paradise is already dead. What if it's worse to know who actually killed it?
Julian's right that Quentin doesn't know him. Not really. But Quentin knows what he would want. And thanks to Sophie, he knows what Julian will do when he doesn't all the information. So he straightens up, looks Julian in the eye, and says in a clear, if slightly hurried, voice:]
The humans didn't take Krakoa from us. We did. Mutants. I was... closer than most. Saw it happen.
[And there it is. Not a good option. There are no good options. But it's the truth. Quentin continues before Julian has time to reply, waving his hand to cut off any further (understandable) accusations of self-sabotage.]
I'm not saying this so you'll get mad, be my "punishment dispenser" or whatever. You said you'd do the same as me, right? Means you probably oughta know what I actually did.
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julian gives an irritated little sigh and pinches his nose between his index finger and thumb, taking a few steps off to the side of quentin so he can turn around and shove his back against the wall, using it to sink down to the ground beside him. )
Sure. Okay. ( christ. this just keeps getting worse, doesn't it. but the sooner they get this over with, the sooner it can be done and over with. so julian lower a hand to the ground and pats at it, gesturing for quire to follow him down to the ground. ) Let's just get this over with. You've got the floor, I'm listening.
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... And now he has to figure out what to actually say. Quentin plops himself on the ground, and as soon as he does he just. Deflates. God, he's fucking tired. Okay, here goes. Quentin takes a heavy breath and pulls his legs up, resting his forearms on his knees.]
There was an X-Force squad. Krakoan CIA. Working in the shadows, protecting Krakoa's interests no matter the cost, blah blah blah. Real spook shit, you know? I'm not gonna—[He gestures at his head to indicate the usual telepathy-assisted exposition]—I don't even want half this shit in my head, and I don't fucking remember the other half. Logan was on the team, all you need to know.
[Quentin pulls his glasses off and rubs one eye uncomfortably with the back of his wrist.]
And that's not even talking about the crap I just, I dunno. Ignored? Looked the other way? Beast went crazy. Watched that go down. Helped arrest Nature Girl. And Idie... Fuck, man, they put Idie in the Pit, and I let it happen. Didn't say a damn word.
[He grimaces. Idie has been in no hurry to let any of them forget that last bit. He looks at Julian and raises his shoulders and arms in a desperate shrug.]
I mean, you saw how good shit was. The kids, mutants coming back to life, getting their powers back. Donut plants. Fuckin' paradise. Seemed, I dunno... worth all the bullshit.
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It's all their fault. ( not humans, just, ) The original X-Men. They do this over and over again. Make promises, say they're looking out for our best interests, only to turn around and fuck us up even more than we already had been.
( it's then that he looks over to quentin, pulling his own leg up so he can rest his forearm against it. )
Was that bullshit necessary to keep Krakoa in one piece? Or was it pushing crap several steps too far?
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Depends who you ask. I searched every mind on the damn island trying to figure that one out.
[Quentin chooses to ignore the bit about the original X-Men. He can't imagine the big reveal of "hey Cyclops is my team leader, and he's actually not that bad" will pair all that well in this particular conversation and to this particular audience. That nugget will have to wait for another day. At least Quentin doesn't feel any crushing guilt around keeping that a secret. Just crushing desire-to-not-have-more-of-a-headache-than-he-already-does.]
All I know is we all had doubts. All of us. [He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly in Julian's direction to indicate "yes, even you."] We just... I don't know, wanted it to work so badly we didn't care.
[Which... brings him to something that's been sticking in the back of his mental craw. For a while, actually. Well, ever since he got to the library and noticed Julian's lack of hands. It was what Julian said that bothered him.
Whatever, might as well go for it. Quentin turns his upper body part-way towards Julian to address him more directly, gesturing at his metal hands.]
Look. You're in line for the Crucible, right? You don't think that's a little fucked up? You toss yourself into about a dozen wood chippers for mutantkind, and they can't do you a solid? I mean, shit, I died a lot, but at least I never had to grovel for some kind of "honorable death" malarkey in front of everyone.
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granted, it's not like the five couldn't just fix crap. they're building entire bodies from scratch, how hard could it be to regenerate a pair of hands on someone already living? all the technological and medical advantages krakoa has given them, and for some reason, they still all have to suffer to be made whole again. quentin's case is a little different, but at the same time, )
I put mine off on purpose. I'm no X-Force member or whatever, but I'm still combat-trained. ( which doesn't necessarily push julian up to the top of the list or whatever, but it's enough that he could have gone earlier, had he wanted to. but he didn't. krakoa is about renewal, and julian didn't want it until tag, wallflower, wither, until the rest of the kids who didn't make it through m-day were brought back. because quentin isn't wrong: he's been fucked to hell and back for mutantkind, julian doesn't even want to know the extent of all the scar tissue inside of him, he's had supplies of emergency antibiotics to cover for his lack of a spleen. but it's not worth it, if they can't all have it. julian's lived through all of the bullshit the x-men have shoved them through, but so many of them never had the opportunity to grow up.
eyes focus on his prosthetics for a moment, before he's refocusing on quentin himself. )
But you're not wrong. Crucible is - stupid. And I don't know why the hell Foley's gone along with it. Or Hope. I don't know the rest of them well enough to call it, but. ( a loose roll of his shoulders, less to shrug off the statement and more to give julian a moment to finagle how he wants to word this. ) Hope's always had the whole damn world on her shoulders, you think she'd approve of murdering mutants to get them back up to one hundred percent, instead of just using the resources we have to fix them? And Foley - that idiot has enough of a complex as is. Even back when we were kids, he was capable of regenerating entire organs, why's he bothering to keep within pre-drawn lines? It doesn't sound like either of them.
( how many people do they have around who can fuck with someone's head? more importantly, how many can fuck with hope and josh's heads? proteus'? xavier is right there. quire's. well. right here. )
And why were we all just letting it happen?
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Quentin frowns and glances away briefly, mouth pressing into a thin line.]
Same reason you and the Cuckoos tried to bring it back. Or... will try, I guess, in your case.
[He's assuming Sophie caught Julian up on that whole mess same as she did for Quentin. Otherwise how did Krakoa's destruction even come up? Quentin sighs and leans back, resting the back of his head against the wall.]
You know that's why I didn't tell you at first? Thought you finally lost your shit. But it turns out you said "welcome to die" so, you know. False alarm there. Gotta say, it's a relief to not be stuck here with a future psycho.
[One side of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile, and he rolls his head to the side to look at Julian. Hopefully he'll take that as the joke it was, but who knows. Quentin turns his head forward again, eyes moving upward toward the sky.]
Just... felt good to win for once. Good enough to say "fuck it" about any collateral damage.
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( there's a snort, the slight upcurl to the corner of his lips, which is indication enough julian understood it as a joke rather than an insult. besides, it's not as if most of them haven't gone through some kind of psychotic break. julian's gone through depressive episodes, times when he was sure the anger was going to have him lashing out at everyone, even if he did manage to keep himself mostly contained. maybe it's just his turn to have a breakdown.
he wasn't there for the fall. hasn't experienced any of it first-hand yet. julian's at an odd place of knowing everything will fall to shit without having had to go through it himself and he still hasn't had the time to process it. to come to terms with all the bullshit they've gone through, are going through, and will apparently. the small grin fades, eyes focused down on the ground in front of them. )
We should have done better. All of us. ( it's then his gaze shifts, looking back toward quentin. ) Which includes you. Stop letting them tell you what to do. You recognized it was wrong, and you still let it happen. Logan's separated all of us because he didn't think it was right to fuck us up more, yet he got you killed how many times? You've got a voice, Quire. Use it.
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