Quentin generously gives Jayce a full 15 minutes to reply before just using telepathy. He was already humoring the guy by texting him in the first place, and this is precisely why he prefers thoughts. That's 15 valuable minutes of his life wasted!]
(Remember when you gave her shit for going ALL YOUR BRAIN ARE BELONG TO US? Well, this brain asked her to watch him, so she is. Because she somehow, against her own mentality, likes the dumb flastcan. So, naturally, another presence in the brain she has pinned comes through, and...
... Okay.)
/... Ugh. I was here first, you know./
(She's gonna have to scan so much to find this Topside asshole again, but fine. Jayce left Quentin on read? So, all things considered, from her vast experience, Quentin most likely stepped on something Jayce doesn't want to talk about. Jayce did that thing where he ignores it or redirects it, and now Quentin is going to squeeze him for it.
Fun. Good. He needs enrichment. She'll get the tea later, maybe.)
/Just patch me through when whatever the fuck ends./
[He doesn't respond to the thought on purpose, too. Like trying to play dead, except the person in your head knows you're alive and could respond, just choosing not to. He's focusing really hard on thinking absolutely nothing at all, which is much harder than it sounds, because his mind often wanders- but then Sophie's voice-]
/Sophie, wait, come back-/
[And she's gone again. Dammit. Fine. He's giving it up.
He doesn't say yes, still. He just thinks of that kid's face, the look of shock as he spits out blood from the force of Jayce's electric cannon, and the way his body limply falls down and down and down until there's a sickening crunch. The way the child still didn't die from the impact, but only once Jayce was there kneeling next to him did light leave that kid's eyes. Like he wanted to make sure that Jayce knew he did this.
Jayce still doesn't answer, even as that memory replays in his head, as vivid as if it happened yesterday.]
[Man, it's so nice dealing with people who have shit psychic defenses. They just show you stuff without you even having to dig around in their mental sock drawers, which always just feels so... bleh. Distasteful. Anyway.
Quentin ignores Sophie for now and watches the memory. At first he just views it through Jayce's eyes—the kid coughing, falling, wheezing out his final breaths—but when it reaches its conclusion he pauses the scenario, smoothly inserting himself into it and taking the place of... uh, some butch lady with big robot gloves and basically the same haircut as him?? Huh. Okay. Whatever. Quentin crams his hands into his pockets and approaches Jayce as he's kneeling on the floor and looks down at the kid with a sombre sort of detachment.]
/What happened?/
[He doesn't sound judgmental or horrified, at least. More just... tired.]
[It sounds like he wants to be more biting about this than he actually does.]
/This is.../
[He gestures around. Other bodies show up, the chemtanks he fought alongside Vi. They liter the ground behind him, about a dozen of them. The purple glow from the Shimmer tank to their right makes the shadows cast look strange.]
/What happens when Hextech is used wrong./
[His mind's an open book right now. This is one of the only things he tries to keep buried- there's only one other memory that he'd fight hard to stop Quentin from seeing. He remains kneeling in front of the kid and closes their eyes, as he did before.]
[Quentin inspects the scene around him as Jayce helpfully populates it with more dead bodies, these wearing some sort of armor. He makes a noncommittal noise at Jayce's rhetorical question, but that "explanation"? That gets an eye roll.]
/I didn't ask for an ethics lesson. I asked what happened./
[You don't mind him taking a stroll around your traumatic memory doing some CSI shit, do you Jayce? Sure you don't. Moreover, what are you going to do about it? That's right, jack shit.]
/Let's see... Big hammer. Lady with the big fancy robo-fists. Bunch of dead guys, and... I'm assuming the kid wasn't your target, so that means there was collateral damage./
[He pauses briefly, just to see what reaction that "collateral damage" comment gets.]
/Lemme be more specific. If the kid wasn't the target, why was he here?/
["Collateral damage" gets a flinch out of him, as another memory flashes to life within this one, like a four-times-speed projection along a wall. It's of Renni, whispering in his ear:
Awful, isn't it? Losing a loved one.
It sputters out of existence after that line echos throughout the room.]
/He worked here./
[Jayce looks up now, and looking down at both him and Quentin are about three dozen children, mixed in with the adult factory workers.]
[Oh? Skeevy-sounding mystery woman? Interesting. Considering it doesn't seem this kid was anyone Jayce knew... Hm. Well, that's for later. If ever. Depends on what kind of answers Jayce gives Quentin here.
He looks up when Jayce does to see all the workers. Damn it, why's there always a whole gaggle of kids in the way when this kinda shit happens? Every fucking time. Ugh. Okay, so the kid being here wasn't an accident. Quentin walks over to the tank of what could conceivably be the same shit as what's in those armor things, and his nose crinkles in a brief sneer.]
/Kids don't sign up to work at the ominous glowing goo factory because it's a fun weekend. Somebody put these kids here. Who was it?/
[More whispered voices, although these are less like memories, and more of Jayce's own incomplete thoughts, his own internal dialogue but less formed. Don't tell an outsider about our affairs. A voice that sounds like a combination of Vander and Sevika: We don't give up our own. But it's not his own. It's someone he doesn't want to have any claim or connection to. Being from the same world doesn't mean he stands behind all of their crimes. This was wrong, from start to finish, and it doesn't matter if it's one dead kid? There’s hundreds more where he came from.
[Soooo "it's complicated" then. About what Quentin expected, honestly. He gives Jayce a snide look that says "really?" when he gets up and starts getting all huffy. The attitude? Seriously? What's Jayce expecting to do? Bully an Omega level telepath out of his brain by being a little bit rude? Laughable.]
/If I got my answer, I wouldn't still be here./
[He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes.]
/But I guess you have a point about wasting time. Fine. Let's skip to the good part./
[Quentin waves his hand in a circular motion, and the memory rewinds, flashing rapidly through the events in backwards order until Jayce is... on a train? Seems as good a place as any. Looks to be before any fighting kicks off, at least, and all of Jayce's good little soldiers are motionless in the compartment. Quentin himself is chilling, leaning against the wall next to the door. He takes off his glasses to wipe some smog and crud onto his shirt. God, this place is filthy.]
/Alright, Hammer Time, here's the real question. Say you know what you know now, but you can't change anything. No doing anything different, saving anybody, any of that shit. What do you do?/
[A little dizzying, being thrown about in the memories of his own head, and when Quentin rewinds them, he stumbles a bit before regaining his footing. The enforcers are quiet, still. He blinks and Vi is Quentin again.]
/If I can't save anyone, then what's there to do differently?/
[Quentin groans and looks up at the ceiling in mild exasperation.]
/Okay, okay, guess I didn't explain. I was going somewhere with this back there, but somebody got impatient. Eh, whatever. Let's try this again./
[He jerks a thumb at the door to the train.]
/Only thing you can do differently is not get out. In other words, I'm asking you if you'd do it again. You know, whatever you accomplished in there. Was it worth that kid dying?/
[No hesitation. That's encouraging. Quentin eyes Jayce critically, trying to determine if it's an act or... whatever, copium or something, but a) he's not sure if Jayce is capable of hiding anything from a psychic of Quentin's caliber and b) he seems more the type to wallow in angst if he felt conflicted.]
/Good answer./
[Quentin snaps his fingers, and they're back in that office Jayce visualized way back when he was getting psychic defense lessons. Ah, good times, right? Good memories? Sure they are. Anyway, Quentin has found a table to lean nonchalantly against with his arms crossed.]
/Alright, Catholic Guilt, guess I've tortured you enough for you to have earned an explanation. You want it, or do you want me to fuck off?/
[They return to the Hextech lab, and Jayce sighs a breath of relief. Sanctum. He's still in his Councilor jacket through, from the previous memory, and he starts to shrug it off, even if it's just in his mind.]
/Just tell me./
[Whatever sarcastic comment he could make in return doesn't actually make it to fully formed thought. He doesn't have it in him to be sassy right now.]
[It's almost like people don't enjoy being badgered into revealing one of their worst memories by a rude little shit invading their mind. But... no, that can't possibly be the case. Obviously Jayce is just overreacting. Quentin rolls his eyes and leans casually against a table, idly inspecting his fingernails.]
/Look, mutation? It's a bit of a crapshoot. Sure, you might get the power of being the sexiest guy in every room, but you might also get, I dunno. Fish face. Or... excreting nitroglycerin out of every orifice. Maybe little Timmy's X-Gene just activated at the tender age of 12 and—uh oh!—he just farted and leveled a city block. Enter humanity's response./
[Quentin gestures at the window, where the face of a massive robot appears. A computerized voice says MUTANT DETECTED, and the robot's hand raises to reach for Quentin, but he snaps his fingers, and it freezes. His posture stays as pointedly nonchalant as ever, despite the giant murderbot, but there's an edge of disdain to his voice, and his lip twitches into a faint sneer.]
/I've seen a lot of sick fucks come up with a lot of bullshit to justify hurting kids. I had to know if that was you./
[He wants to act in an accusatory manner- you've been in my head, and you still didn't know? But he did run away instead of answering outright. That's suspicious, admittedly. Even if it's just because he doesn't like facing that part of his past, to someone who's used to being hunted down for who they are, it's a red flag. Jayce half-sits on the anvil in the center of the room, and crosses his arms.]
[Quentin glances at Jayce and makes a vague noise of acknowledgement at his response. That's the worst of me, huh? Not that bad, all things considering.
He could just leave it at that. Let the guy stew in his own brain. Have his little pity party. Dude's clearly feeling not so hot right now, and that's largely Quentin's fault. Which kinda sucks. Not that Quentin regrets putting him through the wringer, but... you know. Also Quentin is just objectively bad at comforting people.
So... Yep. It's decided. He should just leave because he has no connection to this asshole and his stupid sad sack guilt bullshit and even if he did Quentin is not the guy who can make anyone feel better except by saying "it could be worse".]
/Yeah, well, your dead kid bodycount's still lower than mine. And one of mine was Sophie./
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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you ever hurt any kids?
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What makes you say that?
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you gonna answer the question or not?
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Quentin generously gives Jayce a full 15 minutes to reply before just using telepathy. He was already humoring the guy by texting him in the first place, and this is precisely why he prefers thoughts. That's 15 valuable minutes of his life wasted!]
/Word of advice: don't leave a telepath on read./
no subject
... Okay.)
/... Ugh. I was here first, you know./
(She's gonna have to scan so much to find this Topside asshole again, but fine. Jayce left Quentin on read? So, all things considered, from her vast experience, Quentin most likely stepped on something Jayce doesn't want to talk about. Jayce did that thing where he ignores it or redirects it, and now Quentin is going to squeeze him for it.
Fun. Good. He needs enrichment. She'll get the tea later, maybe.)
/Just patch me through when whatever the fuck ends./
cw: child murder
/Sophie, wait, come back-/
[And she's gone again. Dammit. Fine. He's giving it up.
He doesn't say yes, still. He just thinks of that kid's face, the look of shock as he spits out blood from the force of Jayce's electric cannon, and the way his body limply falls down and down and down until there's a sickening crunch. The way the child still didn't die from the impact, but only once Jayce was there kneeling next to him did light leave that kid's eyes. Like he wanted to make sure that Jayce knew he did this.
Jayce still doesn't answer, even as that memory replays in his head, as vivid as if it happened yesterday.]
no subject
Quentin ignores Sophie for now and watches the memory. At first he just views it through Jayce's eyes—the kid coughing, falling, wheezing out his final breaths—but when it reaches its conclusion he pauses the scenario, smoothly inserting himself into it and taking the place of... uh, some butch lady with big robot gloves and basically the same haircut as him?? Huh. Okay. Whatever. Quentin crams his hands into his pockets and approaches Jayce as he's kneeling on the floor and looks down at the kid with a sombre sort of detachment.]
/What happened?/
[He doesn't sound judgmental or horrified, at least. More just... tired.]
no subject
[It sounds like he wants to be more biting about this than he actually does.]
/This is.../
[He gestures around. Other bodies show up, the chemtanks he fought alongside Vi. They liter the ground behind him, about a dozen of them. The purple glow from the Shimmer tank to their right makes the shadows cast look strange.]
/What happens when Hextech is used wrong./
[His mind's an open book right now. This is one of the only things he tries to keep buried- there's only one other memory that he'd fight hard to stop Quentin from seeing. He remains kneeling in front of the kid and closes their eyes, as he did before.]
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/I didn't ask for an ethics lesson. I asked what happened./
[You don't mind him taking a stroll around your traumatic memory doing some CSI shit, do you Jayce? Sure you don't. Moreover, what are you going to do about it? That's right, jack shit.]
/Let's see... Big hammer. Lady with the big fancy robo-fists. Bunch of dead guys, and... I'm assuming the kid wasn't your target, so that means there was collateral damage./
[He pauses briefly, just to see what reaction that "collateral damage" comment gets.]
/Lemme be more specific. If the kid wasn't the target, why was he here?/
no subject
Awful, isn't it? Losing a loved one.
It sputters out of existence after that line echos throughout the room.]
/He worked here./
[Jayce looks up now, and looking down at both him and Quentin are about three dozen children, mixed in with the adult factory workers.]
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He looks up when Jayce does to see all the workers. Damn it, why's there always a whole gaggle of kids in the way when this kinda shit happens? Every fucking time. Ugh. Okay, so the kid being here wasn't an accident. Quentin walks over to the tank of what could conceivably be the same shit as what's in those armor things, and his nose crinkles in a brief sneer.]
/Kids don't sign up to work at the ominous glowing goo factory because it's a fun weekend. Somebody put these kids here. Who was it?/
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Jayce gets to his feet.]
/Does it matter? You got your answer. I did./
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/If I got my answer, I wouldn't still be here./
[He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes.]
/But I guess you have a point about wasting time. Fine. Let's skip to the good part./
[Quentin waves his hand in a circular motion, and the memory rewinds, flashing rapidly through the events in backwards order until Jayce is... on a train? Seems as good a place as any. Looks to be before any fighting kicks off, at least, and all of Jayce's good little soldiers are motionless in the compartment. Quentin himself is chilling, leaning against the wall next to the door. He takes off his glasses to wipe some smog and crud onto his shirt. God, this place is filthy.]
/Alright, Hammer Time, here's the real question. Say you know what you know now, but you can't change anything. No doing anything different, saving anybody, any of that shit. What do you do?/
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/If I can't save anyone, then what's there to do differently?/
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/Okay, okay, guess I didn't explain. I was going somewhere with this back there, but somebody got impatient. Eh, whatever. Let's try this again./
[He jerks a thumb at the door to the train.]
/Only thing you can do differently is not get out. In other words, I'm asking you if you'd do it again. You know, whatever you accomplished in there. Was it worth that kid dying?/
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[He looks over at Quentin, with a slow shake of his head.]
/Not even a little bit. If I knew any of this would have happened, I would have had this train take us right back up./
[Vi would have been furious if he did that, but she wasn't going to be happy until Silco was dead.]
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/Good answer./
[Quentin snaps his fingers, and they're back in that office Jayce visualized way back when he was getting psychic defense lessons. Ah, good times, right? Good memories? Sure they are. Anyway, Quentin has found a table to lean nonchalantly against with his arms crossed.]
/Alright, Catholic Guilt, guess I've tortured you enough for you to have earned an explanation. You want it, or do you want me to fuck off?/
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/Just tell me./
[Whatever sarcastic comment he could make in return doesn't actually make it to fully formed thought. He doesn't have it in him to be sassy right now.]
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[It's almost like people don't enjoy being badgered into revealing one of their worst memories by a rude little shit invading their mind. But... no, that can't possibly be the case. Obviously Jayce is just overreacting. Quentin rolls his eyes and leans casually against a table, idly inspecting his fingernails.]
/Look, mutation? It's a bit of a crapshoot. Sure, you might get the power of being the sexiest guy in every room, but you might also get, I dunno. Fish face. Or... excreting nitroglycerin out of every orifice. Maybe little Timmy's X-Gene just activated at the tender age of 12 and—uh oh!—he just farted and leveled a city block. Enter humanity's response./
[Quentin gestures at the window, where the face of a massive robot appears. A computerized voice says MUTANT DETECTED, and the robot's hand raises to reach for Quentin, but he snaps his fingers, and it freezes. His posture stays as pointedly nonchalant as ever, despite the giant murderbot, but there's an edge of disdain to his voice, and his lip twitches into a faint sneer.]
/I've seen a lot of sick fucks come up with a lot of bullshit to justify hurting kids. I had to know if that was you./
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/Well, now you know. That's the worst of me./
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He could just leave it at that. Let the guy stew in his own brain. Have his little pity party. Dude's clearly feeling not so hot right now, and that's largely Quentin's fault. Which kinda sucks. Not that Quentin regrets putting him through the wringer, but... you know. Also Quentin is just objectively bad at comforting people.
So... Yep. It's decided. He should just leave because he has no connection to this asshole and his stupid sad sack guilt bullshit and even if he did Quentin is not the guy who can make anyone feel better except by saying "it could be worse".]
/Yeah, well, your dead kid bodycount's still lower than mine. And one of mine was Sophie./