[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}
no subject
/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?/
no subject
/If I can't save anyone, then what's there to do differently?/
no subject
/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 subject
[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.]
no subject
/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?/
no subject
/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.]
no subject
[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./
no subject
/Well, now you know. That's the worst of me./
no subject
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./