(3:42AM. It's day two of being back in Etraya, and now that the dust has settled, Sophie hasn't found much motivation to leave the room she claimed as hers, temporary until those renovations Julian promised are in place. It's a mess in there, she didn't unpack as much as she just took whatever she needed out of her bags and let a tornado find homes for them, aside from the snack stash she keeps that has just run out. Today, pretty glitchy, she can't tell who's awake and who's dreaming, but she does need to step out of her room for some actual food, and what better time to do it but at who cares about anything this late o'clock?
She said the kitchen is off-limits to her, but how hard can it be to fry an egg and set it on some bread? Hard, apparently very hard, because while she is preoccupied with the offline game she has on her phone, the egg gradually starts to burn until the smell is so overpowering in the absence of any other strong scent that she finally notices.
Shit, fuck, shit fuck, fuck, shit. Fire off, but the smell... Does fanning make it worse? Shit.)
[Quentin is also struggling to sleep tonight, for a similar yet also fundamentally different reason. Both of their heads are too quiet, but Quentin's powers aren't glitchy. There just aren't nearly as many minds as he's used to hearing. Downside of having a telepathic range that covers modestly about half the planet.
In any case, it makes Sophie's panic nearly impossible to not hear, not when she's clearly one of the few people awake around here.]
/Please tell me the mansion's not on fire. I don't wanna get out of bed./
(It's not on purpose that she sends him the burn she just got from trying to get that pan out of the stove, but her dumbass also burned the handle. It's just — a thoughtless habit, but if he was wondering why the smell has turned from fried egg to melting plastic.)
(Such a wonderful mood she is, and with the points she made in Aphaia, maybe she can ask Aurora to bring some fan favorites. Surely Player 2 would like some as well, and since she's in a wonderful mood, why not a surprise? That's why she isn't asking Quentin, and why she tries to shield herself the best she can as she enters his mindscape. It's... Weirdly cozy, she finds, all the books, the fireplace, and she is choosing to ignore the giant portrait of him on the wall. It's going to take her a long ass time for her to find anything, this place is fucking massive, but she sighs as she gathers courage, pats her white dress, and heels tap with no sound as she moves towards the shelves.
His mindscape is nothing like hers. Hers is a penthouse, the rooftop similar to her room on Krakoa, and all the shit she has are as limited edition DVD sets, as TV show seasons and movies. The one room where she chooses to revisit her things is empty, aside from a TV, a couch, and that's about it. This is a lot.
Sophie hums a song as her fingers move through the titles, waiting until one of them gives her a hint of what she could ask Aurora for, until she freezes in spot. The book has her name, and she frowns, arms crossed as she stares at it.
[Is she serious with this shit? Like actually serious? Sophie really has the nerve to do... all that other bullshit and then try sneaking into Quentin Quire's head?? Absolutely the fuck not. Fuck Sophie, honestly. Fuck her and the non-existent horse she came in on.]
Anyone ever tell you you're very nosy?
[He hasn't kicked her out of his head yet, for who even knows what reason, but he's leaning against a shelf somewhere behind her with his arms crossed. How long has he been there, watching her? Long enough.]
(You know when you're doing something you were definitely not supposed to be doing and you get caught, and your body betrays you by jumping? That's her, absolutely, a little squeak coming out of her lips before she turns with a frown.
Shit, couldn't he have said anything like, before she found the book? She feels like a wife with a questionable, however unrelated and unworrying text notification on her phone. It's not what it looks like.)
/What, psi-comms? You've seriously never—/ [Quire, don't bully the baby telepath. He's doing his best.] /Well, you came to the right guy. I run all comms for my team, and not to toot my own horn but I'm pretty fucking incredible at it./
[... Okay, hold on, he needs to ask something.]
/Sophie suggested you talk to me specifically? Or just another telepath. Generally speaking./
( It's a little after he's arrived on Solmara that he tests the strength of their connection and, surprisingly, it holds. Maybe it's the fact that they're both omegas for telepaths. Or maybe it's because Quentin's little psi-comm is just that good. Whatever the case, he reaches out through the connection, locks onto Quentin's psi-signature, and comes in like a shooting star across the sky. )
[Quentin is going to spare Nate the "are you asking for my help? Use your words" shenanigans he'd pull normally. This is a mission, and that means lives are at stake. No time to fuck around.]
/Send me all the intel you've got./ [And then, because he realizes Nate may not know what all is included in "intel"] /Everything you know about them, all the expositional bullshit. And do a scan of all conscious minds in the relevant area that you can reach and send that to me too. You got that?/
The toll his powers had taken on his body — the lengths he'd pushed himself to with having to rely on his telekinetic abilities over his telepathic ones... he's drained in a way he hasn't been here on Etraya or for a hot minute now, but. He knows the signs — knows how it feels when both his body and mind are about to give out on him and he's glad he'd managed to take down the other telepath prior to all this.
There's a sort of loud WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. going off that he's about to burn out — that he's moments away from losing consciousness and, in doing so, possibly sending a jolt of telepathic fuckery through their connection that's likely to crash into Quentin. A shooting star falling from the sky and slamming straight into the Earth. That's how it's going to feel when it hits him. Everything within him aches, including his mind, and he just barely manages to grab hold of the thread they have for a connection as he tries to navigate back to the portal Aurora left for them. )
Think I'm about to crash. Might want to brace yourself for impact, bud.
[Okay, well, that's not ideal. But at least Nate isn't trying to fry his psi-comms. Appreciate that, buddy.
Quentin doesn't bother wasting too many words, since he's not sure how much longer Nate's gonna be able to talk. Besides, he needs the spare brainpower to prepare himself for whatever psychic explosion the guy is about to unleash. Psychic surge protector, yeah? Can't be that hard to figure out.]
/Consider my loins girded, thanks for the heads up. You got Summers?/
[Quentin can tell Nate's headed for the portal, so no need to arrange a meeting spot, which means the priority is Scott. Sure, it's unlikely that Nate would leave the kid behind, and he may not even be conscious long to answer, but... worth checking. Just to make sure. Nate's not used to having teammates, after all.]
( Blood begins to drip from his nose as he uses what strength he has left in him to get both himself and his young alternate father to the portal. His body feels on fire against the cool air he pushes against, pieces of his conscious mind breaking apart the harder he goes. He's only got a minute or so before he's out. Perks of this having happened a few times before is that he knows the telltale signs of when he's about to crash and an idea of how long he has before he absolutely cannot push any further. )
About the only thing I can carry right now. Heading for the portal. Almost there.
(Being dressed up in his room just feels wrong when he's already seen her a complete mess, and wow, also made her see it, too. That's the reason why as soon as she arrives at his room, it all comes off. Jewelry in her bag, now long hair in a messy bun, and whatever baggier shirt she can snatch from his wardrobe. It's pretty okay lately to be here, very surprisingly — hang out, fuck, sleep (even poorly, considering his sleeping habits include taking up all the bed space, squish to the side and hog all the blankets). It's a huge step up from literally wanting to drown him in the pool whenever he spoke, so.
Right now, however, she's taking a bit of a break with her game in her hands, focus over 9000, which means she tosses, and she turns, and she gasps, and she growls, and she celebrates, and she accidentally disconnects the charger from the plug, and she reaches the final level — and she stares at the screen turning off when the battery depletes.)
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(Betrayal. Betrayal to the last degree. With disbelief slowing her down, she just sits up to stare at Quentin for a second before she can find words to convey the dumb shit she just did.)
[It's been... weird, the pattern Sophie's apparently decided to set lately. Not bad weird, at least not so far. Just... weird.
Look, it's not like they spent a lot of time hanging out the first time she visited his room. It's perfectly reasonable for him to be a little bewildered when she showed up the second time without immediately jumping his bones. Even if she did. Later. But before that it was confusing! And then the same thing happened again. And now a third time. Thus establishing a pattern, wherein Sophie makes herself at home in his room for unknown reasons, sits around for approximately 1-2 hours playing her games, and eventually decides she'd very much like them to fuck each other senseless. Which... well, he doesn't understand why she chooses his room to game any more than he gets why she feels the need to wear his shirts, but he also can't say he has any complaints about the arrangement. She seems perfectly content to let him ignore her, and it's always right around the time—either coincidentally or by design—where he starts feeling a little claustrophobic that she switches gears. It's... nice, strangely enough.
It's 38 minutes into today's gaming session that apparently some kind of disaster strikes. Quentin looks up from his most recent bullshit boredom-delaying activity, which in this case is reading Les Misérables in full. Wait, what the hell is she talking about? She lost something?]
(Look. She has one rule only — having them equal has tons of little meanings behind it, one of which is that if he doesn't want her to do something, he'll tell her, and she won't push, instead dancing to the usual Cuckoo beat of intrusiveness and making him. He didn't tell her no, nor does he give her shit outside the typical Quentin Quire bitching routine (used to it, and oddly, appreciates it), and ignoring her is completely fine because her focus on the screen also means she ignores the hell out of him, too.
It's also not rocket science. She's here because it feels slightly safe to be and let her guard down enough to take down a brick or two from the massive, thick wall that separates Sophie from vulnerability. Sure, fine, she'll quietly admit that in bed he sometimes manages to demolish entire sections in one go, gets her giddy and puts a smile that could light a town on her face, but mind your business, she rearranges it in her sleep and the wall is pristine the next day.
It's... Weird. Not bad weird. Just... Weird.
Wait. That book is enormous. How long does it take him to finish it? Ugh, dumb secondary mutation. Girl, don't say anything so he doesn't go 'YoU LoVe Me fOr My MaSsIvE BrAiN' again. Which. Not wrong, she does enjoy it tremendously. But let's not give him yapping content so early in the day, although, hey, he is a telepath. Probably heard that bullshit anyway. Can't win.
Okay. Fingers run through the long strands to get some of it off her face, and she sighs.)
I tossed and turned so much that the charger disconnected, and it died on the last level. Hard mode doesn't let you save. Ugh, technology.
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She said the kitchen is off-limits to her, but how hard can it be to fry an egg and set it on some bread? Hard, apparently very hard, because while she is preoccupied with the offline game she has on her phone, the egg gradually starts to burn until the smell is so overpowering in the absence of any other strong scent that she finally notices.
Shit, fuck, shit fuck, fuck, shit. Fire off, but the smell... Does fanning make it worse? Shit.)
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In any case, it makes Sophie's panic nearly impossible to not hear, not when she's clearly one of the few people awake around here.]
/Please tell me the mansion's not on fire. I don't wanna get out of bed./
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(It's not on purpose that she sends him the burn she just got from trying to get that pan out of the stove, but her dumbass also burned the handle. It's just — a thoughtless habit, but if he was wondering why the smell has turned from fried egg to melting plastic.)
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[In the most deadpan tone imaginable.
And then, in a more normal tone:]
/... What are you even doing?/
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His mindscape is nothing like hers. Hers is a penthouse, the rooftop similar to her room on Krakoa, and all the shit she has are as limited edition DVD sets, as TV show seasons and movies. The one room where she chooses to revisit her things is empty, aside from a TV, a couch, and that's about it. This is a lot.
Sophie hums a song as her fingers move through the titles, waiting until one of them gives her a hint of what she could ask Aurora for, until she freezes in spot. The book has her name, and she frowns, arms crossed as she stares at it.
Maybe... Yes? No? Maybe?)
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Anyone ever tell you you're very nosy?
[He hasn't kicked her out of his head yet, for who even knows what reason, but he's leaning against a shelf somewhere behind her with his arms crossed. How long has he been there, watching her? Long enough.]
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Shit, couldn't he have said anything like, before she found the book? She feels like a wife with a questionable, however unrelated and unworrying text notification on her phone. It's not what it looks like.)
... Yes, I'm very aware. I can explain, though.
(Shit.)
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On the other hand, that means she genuinely didn't expect to be caught. By the Omega level telepath in whose head she decided to go snooping.
Quentin rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, waving his hand toward her in a "go on" gesture.]
This oughta be good.
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nsfw from here on out
rip
how is this her life
it's what she deserves
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Hey. Got a second?
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/Depends. What's up?/
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I volunteered to go to Solmara. Sophie suggested I link up with the other telepaths here before going as a means to stay in touch sort of.
( There’s a pause that comes before he continues. )
I’ve never really done that before. Formed a connection like that.
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[... Okay, hold on, he needs to ask something.]
/Sophie suggested you talk to me specifically? Or just another telepath. Generally speaking./
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We have a problem.
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/Of course there is. Shit's never easy. So? What's wrong now./
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( Which, for an omega, means that's both annoying and concerning. )
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/Send me all the intel you've got./ [And then, because he realizes Nate may not know what all is included in "intel"] /Everything you know about them, all the expositional bullshit. And do a scan of all conscious minds in the relevant area that you can reach and send that to me too. You got that?/
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The toll his powers had taken on his body — the lengths he'd pushed himself to with having to rely on his telekinetic abilities over his telepathic ones... he's drained in a way he hasn't been here on Etraya or for a hot minute now, but. He knows the signs — knows how it feels when both his body and mind are about to give out on him and he's glad he'd managed to take down the other telepath prior to all this.
There's a sort of loud WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. going off that he's about to burn out — that he's moments away from losing consciousness and, in doing so, possibly sending a jolt of telepathic fuckery through their connection that's likely to crash into Quentin. A shooting star falling from the sky and slamming straight into the Earth. That's how it's going to feel when it hits him. Everything within him aches, including his mind, and he just barely manages to grab hold of the thread they have for a connection as he tries to navigate back to the portal Aurora left for them. )
Think I'm about to crash. Might want to brace yourself for impact, bud.
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Quentin doesn't bother wasting too many words, since he's not sure how much longer Nate's gonna be able to talk. Besides, he needs the spare brainpower to prepare himself for whatever psychic explosion the guy is about to unleash. Psychic surge protector, yeah? Can't be that hard to figure out.]
/Consider my loins girded, thanks for the heads up. You got Summers?/
[Quentin can tell Nate's headed for the portal, so no need to arrange a meeting spot, which means the priority is Scott. Sure, it's unlikely that Nate would leave the kid behind, and he may not even be conscious long to answer, but... worth checking. Just to make sure. Nate's not used to having teammates, after all.]
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About the only thing I can carry right now. Heading for the portal. Almost there.
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Right now, however, she's taking a bit of a break with her game in her hands, focus over 9000, which means she tosses, and she turns, and she gasps, and she growls, and she celebrates, and she accidentally disconnects the charger from the plug, and she reaches the final level — and she stares at the screen turning off when the battery depletes.)
...
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...
(Betrayal. Betrayal to the last degree. With disbelief slowing her down, she just sits up to stare at Quentin for a second before she can find words to convey the dumb shit she just did.)
... I. Just lost. Everything.
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Look, it's not like they spent a lot of time hanging out the first time she visited his room. It's perfectly reasonable for him to be a little bewildered when she showed up the second time without immediately jumping his bones. Even if she did. Later. But before that it was confusing! And then the same thing happened again. And now a third time. Thus establishing a pattern, wherein Sophie makes herself at home in his room for unknown reasons, sits around for approximately 1-2 hours playing her games, and eventually decides she'd very much like them to fuck each other senseless. Which... well, he doesn't understand why she chooses his room to game any more than he gets why she feels the need to wear his shirts, but he also can't say he has any complaints about the arrangement. She seems perfectly content to let him ignore her, and it's always right around the time—either coincidentally or by design—where he starts feeling a little claustrophobic that she switches gears. It's... nice, strangely enough.
It's 38 minutes into today's gaming session that apparently some kind of disaster strikes. Quentin looks up from his most recent bullshit boredom-delaying activity, which in this case is reading Les Misérables in full. Wait, what the hell is she talking about? She lost something?]
Huh?
[So helpful.]
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It's also not rocket science. She's here because it feels slightly safe to be and let her guard down enough to take down a brick or two from the massive, thick wall that separates Sophie from vulnerability. Sure, fine, she'll quietly admit that in bed he sometimes manages to demolish entire sections in one go, gets her giddy and puts a smile that could light a town on her face, but mind your business, she rearranges it in her sleep and the wall is pristine the next day.
It's... Weird. Not bad weird. Just... Weird.
Wait. That book is enormous. How long does it take him to finish it? Ugh, dumb secondary mutation. Girl, don't say anything so he doesn't go 'YoU LoVe Me fOr My MaSsIvE BrAiN' again. Which. Not wrong, she does enjoy it tremendously. But let's not give him yapping content so early in the day, although, hey, he is a telepath. Probably heard that bullshit anyway. Can't win.
Okay. Fingers run through the long strands to get some of it off her face, and she sighs.)
I tossed and turned so much that the charger disconnected, and it died on the last level. Hard mode doesn't let you save. Ugh, technology.
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cw nsfw
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I thought we were friends.
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/You thought correctly. What's with the question?/
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Why didn't you tell me?
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