[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./
[Quentin definitely does not flinch when Jayce asks that question. Nope. Not in the slightest. Oh, that? No, no, he just has an eyelash in his eye. In the mindscape. Where they don't have physical bodies. Yep. It's a psychic eyelash. Telepath stuff, you wouldn't understand. Anyway, that's why he makes kind of a face and rubs his eye uncomfortably, and there's no other reason.]
/Started a riot, got some kids killed. Sophie tried to stop me. Got herself killed. Then I, you know. Vibrated into another plane of existence./
[Why did he bring this up? Oh, right, because Jayce was moping. After Quentin psychically tortured him a little bit.]
/Some of us were fucked up little shits when we were 16, okay? It's whatever. Just saying, you've got competition in the Worst Motherfucker Ever contest. That's all./
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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./
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But then he says that. And it feels like a little veil of melancholy is pulled off of Jayce's head.]
/You did... what?/
[It's not a question that holds any confusion, but rather a gravely sort of shock.]
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/Started a riot, got some kids killed. Sophie tried to stop me. Got herself killed. Then I, you know. Vibrated into another plane of existence./
[Why did he bring this up? Oh, right, because Jayce was moping. After Quentin psychically tortured him a little bit.]
/Some of us were fucked up little shits when we were 16, okay? It's whatever. Just saying, you've got competition in the Worst Motherfucker Ever contest. That's all./