[Uh, what? Quentin looks back with a raised eyebrow when Julian brings up the bus. Uh, okay, random but, uh. Eh, sure, why not, he'll hear the guy out. So he does, and... Woof. It's a doozy. Around the part where he brings up all the deaths, Quentin turns to look forward out across the horizon. He's never been great about making eye contact for crap like that. But it's fine. It's not like Julian's expecting any kind of diligent eye contact or anything. He knows Quentin is listening. "Perk" of being a telepath: hearing shit is never the problem.
He waits until it's clear that Keller is done and... scoffs quietly.]
Guy without hands can't let go. That's a hell of a punchline.
[Quentin gestures vaguely at the area of the roof near his spot without looking up.]
Come on, asshole. Sit. If you're gonna angst, might as well not be by yourself.
[And since there's no point in waiting for Julian to actually decide to sit down or just linger weirdly around, Quentin continues talking as though he will sit down. He's been on the opposite end of this enough times to know how excruciating it is when somebody brings too much attention to your avoidant bullshit.]
Okay, real talk? You asked me what I wanted. With, you know, this whole... whatever.
[He clears his throat and absently adjusts his glasses before looking at his hand and placing it and the other in his lap.]
Here's another one for you: guy who can't touch anything and a guy who feels every godforsaken thinking life form on the planet walk into a bar. I wanted... I dunno, I can't fix anything. I know that. But, I mean. I feel everything, dude. The one damn time our stupid ironic bullshit actually lines up, and I just... I wanted to help. Somehow. That's all.
( he doesn't want to sit down, thank you very much. especially not when they're talking about his life problems, because it's already hard enough as it is when he's got a very easy way out - think of how hard it'll be when he's down and it'll take a few more moments to get up and running when this conversation shifts a direction he doesn't want it to go.
he hesitates for several long moments, but does end up giving in and walking himself over to where quentin has settled so he can drop down to the rooftop with a good arm's length between them still, heel of one foot pressed to the ground so he can rest his forearm against his knee. listens, because that's what this whole bullshit is about - right? listening. trying to find some kind of middle ground because they do keep starting fights over fucking - nothing. )
I don't want your feelings. I don't want to feel crap from your perspective. From using your abilities. ( he knows quentin feels - well. everything. if he wanted to, he could tap into julian's head, feel everything he feels, really get it. but that's not the point. and he knows quentin gets that, too. ) I wanted to be free. Thought if I went through Crucible and came back, I'd finally get that. To not feel so fucking - tied down by all the bullcrap of before. I was holding onto that like it was the only hope I had of fixing anything, and now? I don't know, man.
[Good, at least the idiot gave up enough of his dumb pride to actually sit down. Quentin does him the courtesy of not addressing it or even looking at him. Don't ever say he never did nothing for you, Keller.
... Well, okay, Quentin does glance at Julian out of his peripheral vision when he starts talking about the Crucible and... Shit. God damn it.
Fuck. Quentin's gonna have to talk about... the list, isn't he? Cripes. Uuuuuuugh. Fine. But he's going to slouch his shoulders and fiddle with his glasses while he does it. Shut up, he's coping.]
Yeah, well. That's on you, thinking resurrection was gonna fix shit.
[His tone isn't unusually derisive, despite the wording being, well. Not overly flattering. Look, he's having a bad time. Quentin grimaces in preparation for what he's gotta say next.]
Trust me, I gave it a good college try. Had a whole, uh. Array of custom resurrection modifications. You know, 20/20 vision, get rid of the bleach-and-dye rigamarole. Shit that pissed me off. Anything that held me back from being... fuck, the best Quentin Quire money can buy, I guess. I dunno.
[He clears his throat and pulls off his glasses to peer at them with mild disdain before wiping the lenses on his shirt.]
'Course, most of them got thrown in the trash in the last batch of resurrections after Creed decapitated me, which is why I got these things back, but. Point is, getting your hands or spleen back ain't gonna, you know. Un-bus fire your friends. Doesn't work like that.
( it is to an extent, but it's not - like that necessarily. like yeah, quentin has a lot of bullshit he could do to fix himself up. julian can see where this asshole gets the need to fix and improve himself from: quire's got a need to stick out and he's a twig with shit vision. and, okay, julian doesn't feel as crappy about himself physically as quire does, especially appearance-wise. though he realizes two seconds after he thinks it how shitty it is just to think that. not like quire's terrible to look at or anything, but julian's confident he still has a leg up on him even despite how mangled he is.
a hand raises, fingers shoving through the hair just above his ear. there's no clear way to explain what's going on inside his head either, which sucks too because he knows how easily quentin could just get it if julian let him in - but he won't. )
Everyone else was getting - a new start. Or as good as we could do a new start. Those fucked by M-Day were having their mutations fixed. People who've been dead years were getting to come back. People felt safe, like they were home. That's what I wanted.
[If it helps, Quentin isn't entirely confident he could unravel this mess even if he dug around in Keller's thick skull. This seems like... well, a lot. A true Gordian knot of a thing. Which, I mean, big mood. But still.
For example, how the hell does Crucible relate to any of the stuff Julian just said? Sure, maybe Crucible in general, but that's not what Keller said. He said "if I went through Crucible". Personal pronoun, first person singular. And there's only one reason Keller would do that shit.
Well. Two reasons, technically. Ha.
But no, it's never about the hands, is it? Except when it is. But actually, no, just kidding, it's not, and fuck you for thinking it is. Quentin glances at Julian, tightening his mouth as he decides whether or not to follow this whole rabbit hole the guy's going down. But, well. What the hell's he supposed to say? "Sorry, bud, paradise is fake, and life is just endless misery"? "Hey so it turns out putting all the mutants on an island in fact makes it super easy to kill all the mutants, and you'd think we'd have learned that after the first two islands"? "All that good shit you just mentioned was built on a ton of war crimes, and I don't know how to feel about that"?
No. Terrible ideas, the lot of them. Not a single winner in that batch. Quentin lets the silence hang for a moment, dutifully cleaning his glasses and putting them back in place before he blurts out:]
Why won't you let me do the hand thing? I don't mean, like... all the other stuff. Just, you know. Letting you feel a table. Boring shit.
( it feels like an almost entirely unrelated question, but - this just circles back to quire wanting to help, doesn't it. quire, who starts shit constantly for no fucking reason and pisses julian off like it's an olympic sport. quire, who brought up the bullcrap with foley as a means to get back at him. who pissed him off to the point he snapped and sophie snapped at him. which, to be perfectly fair, julian would have done the same in her place. )
'cause what's the point?
( okay, he does know what the point is. knows that when people lose one limb, they'll often put up a mirror so when they move their remaining one, they look to the mirror and it helps them feel as if they're moving the limb that is no longer there. that it helps with phantom limb syndrome. if quentin had been offering during one of julian's 2am nightmare scenarios where he wakes up and feels like his hands are burning, he would take him up on the offer in an instant. kill the pain, make him feel like there's something there where he knows there's nothing. trick his brain into - not trying to kill him anymore.
julian lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and - scoots a little closer to quentin. raises an arm, to hold his hand out, palm up, towards quentin. )
Give me your hand. Not - mentally, just. You know.
[What is the point? It seems obvious, but at the same time... Quentin's not sure if he can actually answer that question. Not verbally, at least. It just... seems like something that would help. A... relief? Something nice, even if temporary. But then he's saved from having to try and figure out how to answer that question by Keller holding out his hand and... Quentin stares at it for a moment. With only mild suspicion, but. You know.]
This had better not be an excuse for you to break my hand or some shit.
[Why would Julian break his hand? Who knows. It's... plausible. Maybe. In any case, Quentin does begrudgingly plop his hand into Keller's, palm down like a handshake.]
It's not my hand, so this isn't actually handholding.
( prefacing reaching out to hold quentin's with it definitely isn't actually handholding because. well. they just finished the whole not like that conversation. quentin looks put out, but so does julian as his mouth twists into a small frown, metal hand turning over gently and his arm moves alongside it, shifting his fingers so each metal one slides in between quentin's significantly less metal fingers - but gently. careful not to pinch. )
I can still feel this, kinda. You get used to feeling without actually touching when it's the only way you can do crap. You know how it is. The - ( he doesn't know the scientific terms for any of this because why the fuck would julian care to learn something stupid like that. ) telekinetic pressure? I've gotten a lot better with it over the last few years, too. Before I might've accidentally broken a hand. Now? It's more like feeling it but without really feeling it.
[There's only one thing that saves both of them from Quentin obnoxiously pointing out that saying "this isn't handholding" before literally holding his hand—and no, he's not buying the "oh this is just a hand-shaped metal thing I use as my hand in daily life but it's not really my hand" excuse—is really goddamn weird and makes this whole stupid thing ten times more awkward. And that one thing is the fact that Julian's explanation is actually really goddamn interesting. Because yeah, Quentin does understand. Better than most would, in any case. His telekinesis is on the stronger side amongst psychics, comparable to Julian's own in raw power even if not in refinement.]
Similar to how I "feel" minds, I guess. But it's just... you know, pressure. From you. It doesn't go both ways?
[Also, since this is "totally not handholding" apparently, Quentin assumes Julian won't mind if he curls his fingers tighter between those metal ones, watching with a curious head tilt. Don't worry, Keller, it's for science. Or something.]
Not unless I try and pull free. I can feel the resistance from it, but I can't feel you trying to dent them.
( okay, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but quire gets the point he's getting at. he can see the white on quentin's knuckles as he tightens his grip, but can't necessarily really feel it. but quire's both gotten his point and opted to play science with him in the meantime, so he guesses this is an alright alternative to the awkward as hell conversation they were having before. )
So I can feel it kinda if I rest the prosthetic against a table. But it's not like I don't have skin or nerves everywhere else too. I can feel crap.
[Quentin glances up with a distinctly unamused eyebrow raise at that whole "dent" comment, and he barely resists the urge to snark back that if he was trying to dent Keller's stupid prosthetics, he'd succeed. But a) that's lame and b) he's... not sure that's even true. Which. Also lame. Ugh. He loosens his grip, pauses, and pulls his hand away.]
Well. I could tell you how many nerve endings there are in fingertips alone—it's about 3,000 per finger, by the way, which yes, is significantly more than most other body parts, in case you're wondering—but I'm guessing that would be "nerd shit" or something.
[He does air quotes and an eyeroll, just for good measure.]
I can feel your TK, you know. When you move those things. It's like a... buzzing, I guess. Static-y.
[Why is he saying this? Who the hell even knows. Smalltalk? Trivia?? Fuck if he knows. It's better than awkward silence or whatever bullshit they've been talking in circles around this whole damn time.]
[... Okay, well. Guess he walked into that one. Fine. Fair enough. He doesn't have to be happy about it, though. Quentin rolls his eyes. Yes, again. Keller just has that effect on him, okay? He added some extra sarcasm this time, though, so it's in fact completely different. Shut up.]
I feel it with my TK, genius. Same way you would if I telekinetically jabbed a chunk of metal at you.
[Yes, "jabbed". You know, like all the times Julian's poked him in the chest or shoved him or grabbed his shirt. Or definitely not held his hand. Whatever, Quentin's decided not to be mad at Julian being dumb this time, and he waves it off dismissively.]
I mean. I can feel synapses firing if I want to. But yours are... [He makes a wiggly "so-so" motion with his fingers.] not really normal. For obvious reasons.
I haven't thrown anything at you in - ( he doesn't remember. when was the last time he jabbed quentin quire with something? ) months, asshole.
( prosthetics don't count, probably. the eyerolling is really making the urge to shove him over difficult to resist but he's managing this far. although they are rather close to the edge of the building, and it isn't as if quire couldn't catch himself if julian did drop him off of it. . . )
[Prosthetics definitely count?? Why else would he specifically mention chunks of metal???? Whatever. Quentin eyes Julian warily. He can see those violent urges in your eyes, jackass. He's watching you.]
My god, you're touchy. I just meant your motor cortex is all rewired to, you know, connect to your TK. You don't think about making natural hand movements with those, right? You just... do. Your brain's adapted. It's... mildly impressive, actually. Doing that without a shred of telepathy, I mean.
( at least that actually gets him to pause and - think it over a minute. julian turns his hand over, looking at it as his fingers curl in then extend out straight once more. you know. as if he's just now noticing they actually do that despite the fact they've been doing that just fine for a while now. )
[Okay, that one just slipped out. Look, Quentin has to say something bitchy every so often or he explodes. At least he follows it up with something a little more constructive.]
Look, the... [It is almost physically painful to say the word.] impressive part is that you didn't notice. I mean, it's not a secondary mutation or anything. Guess it could be some kind of... I dunno. Subconscious, limited telepathic ability.
his hand raises, shoving against quentin's shoulder but it's not - rough. julian could push harder, this is just him being himself. )
I had to figure it out first, you know. Took me a while to adjust to having prosthetics, and the first ones weren't nearly as mobile as these are. It took a crapton of work to get it to be as easy as it is.
( a shitton of physical therapy to adjust to his arms first, a lot of work to adjust to using his hands as he does now. but he's always been more skilled with precise telekinesis than just raw power; adjusting wasn't impossible, it was just difficult. )
[Quentin pouts scowls at the shove, but he's not overly dramatic about it at least.]
Yeah, I was joking about the "dumb luck" thing. Obviously.
[Was he??? Don't worry about it. Quentin huffs and folds his arms.]
And anyway, if it was that difficult, you'd think you'd have a little more appreciation for me offering you my precious nerve endings. Wouldn't exactly be a walk in the park for me to link up your weird motor shit with mine, you know. At least well enough to actually fool your brain into accepting the sensory input.
( julian gives an ugly snort, but he's - there's a small upward tilt to the corners of his lips, the hint of a smile. and when he speaks, there's no real malice to his tone even if he is being snarky. )
Yeah, uh huh. Thanks a lot for offering to let me borrow your hands so I can feel a goddamn table when I do, y'know, have other nerve endings that still work.
( it's fine. it's whatever. quentin did offer, julian isn't upset with him anymore. for now. who knows how long that'll last, but for now? they're good. )
Yeah, and most of those are in your face, dumbass. You planning on licking everything you feel like touching from now on?
[Quentin is still pouting, and he gives the standard eye-roll, but it's mostly just an affectation. They're in one of their little truces that happen between the times they try to kick the shit out of each other, and he's not out to ruin it. At least not on purpose. Accidentally? Not ruling it out. That's kind of their whole thing, right? Quentin is annoying, both intentionally and unintentionally. And Keller is a stubborn moron who doesn't accept want to accept any help at all ever because of blah blah blah nobody loves me yadda yadda toxic masculinity whatever.
... Wait.
Quentin is not completely sure if he just had an epiphany or some sort of stroke that will lead directly to him getting shoved off of this roof, but fuck it, he's going for it. He turns suddenly to point at Julian.]
Hang on, no. No. You're—doing the thing! That you said. Not taking help 'cause you can't let go.
( the licking comment is fucking stupid. he does, you know, have some of his arms left. legs. enough that it's not like he's forgotten what it's like to feel the world around him even if he's missing some pretty key elements without his hands. julian is functional, thanks, even if he's not exactly happy about what he's missing.
and while he considers opening his mouth to bitch about quire and his licking comment, he's instead derailed by his bullshitting about - crap julian just admitted to but he hadn't meant it like that. )
This isn't the same as that, idiot.
( name calling just for the sake of name calling because while he could push quentin off the roof and is very seriously considering it - it's probably not a great idea. probably. )
I don't want to borrow your hands for stupid shit.
[The narrowing of Quentin's eyes makes it clear he's not buying it. Not even a little. And he's just about to retort to that effect, except... Hm. Okay, maybe Keller has a point with the "stupid shit" thing. What, Quentin expects him to be grateful for the ability to feel some boring, impersonal surface temporarily simply because he doesn't have fingers? Ridiculous. Sure, he was trying to be respectful of Julian's weird "no homo" crap. You know, give him space or whatever. See also: the whole "this isn't hand-holding, you're just holding the thing I use as my hand" thing.
... Alright. Keller doesn't want stupid shit, huh? Fine. All Quentin actually needs for this dumb little exercise is to know the sensory information of whatever Julian's metal mitts are touching well enough to copy-paste it into his brain, right?]
Okay, fine.
[He scowls and holds his hand out like a handshake.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He waits until it's clear that Keller is done and... scoffs quietly.]
Guy without hands can't let go. That's a hell of a punchline.
[Quentin gestures vaguely at the area of the roof near his spot without looking up.]
Come on, asshole. Sit. If you're gonna angst, might as well not be by yourself.
[And since there's no point in waiting for Julian to actually decide to sit down or just linger weirdly around, Quentin continues talking as though he will sit down. He's been on the opposite end of this enough times to know how excruciating it is when somebody brings too much attention to your avoidant bullshit.]
Okay, real talk? You asked me what I wanted. With, you know, this whole... whatever.
[He clears his throat and absently adjusts his glasses before looking at his hand and placing it and the other in his lap.]
Here's another one for you: guy who can't touch anything and a guy who feels every godforsaken thinking life form on the planet walk into a bar. I wanted... I dunno, I can't fix anything. I know that. But, I mean. I feel everything, dude. The one damn time our stupid ironic bullshit actually lines up, and I just... I wanted to help. Somehow. That's all.
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he hesitates for several long moments, but does end up giving in and walking himself over to where quentin has settled so he can drop down to the rooftop with a good arm's length between them still, heel of one foot pressed to the ground so he can rest his forearm against his knee. listens, because that's what this whole bullshit is about - right? listening. trying to find some kind of middle ground because they do keep starting fights over fucking - nothing. )
I don't want your feelings. I don't want to feel crap from your perspective. From using your abilities. ( he knows quentin feels - well. everything. if he wanted to, he could tap into julian's head, feel everything he feels, really get it. but that's not the point. and he knows quentin gets that, too. ) I wanted to be free. Thought if I went through Crucible and came back, I'd finally get that. To not feel so fucking - tied down by all the bullcrap of before. I was holding onto that like it was the only hope I had of fixing anything, and now? I don't know, man.
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... Well, okay, Quentin does glance at Julian out of his peripheral vision when he starts talking about the Crucible and... Shit. God damn it.
Fuck. Quentin's gonna have to talk about... the list, isn't he? Cripes. Uuuuuuugh. Fine. But he's going to slouch his shoulders and fiddle with his glasses while he does it. Shut up, he's coping.]
Yeah, well. That's on you, thinking resurrection was gonna fix shit.
[His tone isn't unusually derisive, despite the wording being, well. Not overly flattering. Look, he's having a bad time. Quentin grimaces in preparation for what he's gotta say next.]
Trust me, I gave it a good college try. Had a whole, uh. Array of custom resurrection modifications. You know, 20/20 vision, get rid of the bleach-and-dye rigamarole. Shit that pissed me off. Anything that held me back from being... fuck, the best Quentin Quire money can buy, I guess. I dunno.
[He clears his throat and pulls off his glasses to peer at them with mild disdain before wiping the lenses on his shirt.]
'Course, most of them got thrown in the trash in the last batch of resurrections after Creed decapitated me, which is why I got these things back, but. Point is, getting your hands or spleen back ain't gonna, you know. Un-bus fire your friends. Doesn't work like that.
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( it is to an extent, but it's not - like that necessarily. like yeah, quentin has a lot of bullshit he could do to fix himself up. julian can see where this asshole gets the need to fix and improve himself from: quire's got a need to stick out and he's a twig with shit vision. and, okay, julian doesn't feel as crappy about himself physically as quire does, especially appearance-wise. though he realizes two seconds after he thinks it how shitty it is just to think that. not like quire's terrible to look at or anything, but julian's confident he still has a leg up on him even despite how mangled he is.
a hand raises, fingers shoving through the hair just above his ear. there's no clear way to explain what's going on inside his head either, which sucks too because he knows how easily quentin could just get it if julian let him in - but he won't. )
Everyone else was getting - a new start. Or as good as we could do a new start. Those fucked by M-Day were having their mutations fixed. People who've been dead years were getting to come back. People felt safe, like they were home. That's what I wanted.
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For example, how the hell does Crucible relate to any of the stuff Julian just said? Sure, maybe Crucible in general, but that's not what Keller said. He said "if I went through Crucible". Personal pronoun, first person singular. And there's only one reason Keller would do that shit.
Well. Two reasons, technically. Ha.
But no, it's never about the hands, is it? Except when it is. But actually, no, just kidding, it's not, and fuck you for thinking it is. Quentin glances at Julian, tightening his mouth as he decides whether or not to follow this whole rabbit hole the guy's going down. But, well. What the hell's he supposed to say? "Sorry, bud, paradise is fake, and life is just endless misery"? "Hey so it turns out putting all the mutants on an island in fact makes it super easy to kill all the mutants, and you'd think we'd have learned that after the first two islands"? "All that good shit you just mentioned was built on a ton of war crimes, and I don't know how to feel about that"?
No. Terrible ideas, the lot of them. Not a single winner in that batch. Quentin lets the silence hang for a moment, dutifully cleaning his glasses and putting them back in place before he blurts out:]
Why won't you let me do the hand thing? I don't mean, like... all the other stuff. Just, you know. Letting you feel a table. Boring shit.
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'cause what's the point?
( okay, he does know what the point is. knows that when people lose one limb, they'll often put up a mirror so when they move their remaining one, they look to the mirror and it helps them feel as if they're moving the limb that is no longer there. that it helps with phantom limb syndrome. if quentin had been offering during one of julian's 2am nightmare scenarios where he wakes up and feels like his hands are burning, he would take him up on the offer in an instant. kill the pain, make him feel like there's something there where he knows there's nothing. trick his brain into - not trying to kill him anymore.
julian lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and - scoots a little closer to quentin. raises an arm, to hold his hand out, palm up, towards quentin. )
Give me your hand. Not - mentally, just. You know.
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This had better not be an excuse for you to break my hand or some shit.
[Why would Julian break his hand? Who knows. It's... plausible. Maybe. In any case, Quentin does begrudgingly plop his hand into Keller's, palm down like a handshake.]
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( prefacing reaching out to hold quentin's with it definitely isn't actually handholding because. well. they just finished the whole not like that conversation. quentin looks put out, but so does julian as his mouth twists into a small frown, metal hand turning over gently and his arm moves alongside it, shifting his fingers so each metal one slides in between quentin's significantly less metal fingers - but gently. careful not to pinch. )
I can still feel this, kinda. You get used to feeling without actually touching when it's the only way you can do crap. You know how it is. The - ( he doesn't know the scientific terms for any of this because why the fuck would julian care to learn something stupid like that. ) telekinetic pressure? I've gotten a lot better with it over the last few years, too. Before I might've accidentally broken a hand. Now? It's more like feeling it but without really feeling it.
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Similar to how I "feel" minds, I guess. But it's just... you know, pressure. From you. It doesn't go both ways?
[Also, since this is "totally not handholding" apparently, Quentin assumes Julian won't mind if he curls his fingers tighter between those metal ones, watching with a curious head tilt. Don't worry, Keller, it's for science. Or something.]
I mean, you don't feel that, right?
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( okay, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but quire gets the point he's getting at. he can see the white on quentin's knuckles as he tightens his grip, but can't necessarily really feel it. but quire's both gotten his point and opted to play science with him in the meantime, so he guesses this is an alright alternative to the awkward as hell conversation they were having before. )
So I can feel it kinda if I rest the prosthetic against a table. But it's not like I don't have skin or nerves everywhere else too. I can feel crap.
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Well. I could tell you how many nerve endings there are in fingertips alone—it's about 3,000 per finger, by the way, which yes, is significantly more than most other body parts, in case you're wondering—but I'm guessing that would be "nerd shit" or something.
[He does air quotes and an eyeroll, just for good measure.]
I can feel your TK, you know. When you move those things. It's like a... buzzing, I guess. Static-y.
[Why is he saying this? Who the hell even knows. Smalltalk? Trivia?? Fuck if he knows. It's better than awkward silence or whatever bullshit they've been talking in circles around this whole damn time.]
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( not that he's an expert or anything, but he's not stupid either. )
You feel the synapses firing going or whatever. You know. nerd shit.
( if quentin's going to call himself out on being a nerd, julian may as well take advantage. )
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I feel it with my TK, genius. Same way you would if I telekinetically jabbed a chunk of metal at you.
[Yes, "jabbed". You know, like all the times Julian's poked him in the chest or shoved him or grabbed his shirt. Or definitely not held his hand. Whatever, Quentin's decided not to be mad at Julian being dumb this time, and he waves it off dismissively.]
I mean. I can feel synapses firing if I want to. But yours are... [He makes a wiggly "so-so" motion with his fingers.] not really normal. For obvious reasons.
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( prosthetics don't count, probably. the eyerolling is really making the urge to shove him over difficult to resist but he's managing this far. although they are rather close to the edge of the building, and it isn't as if quire couldn't catch himself if julian did drop him off of it. . . )
Not normal in what way?
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My god, you're touchy. I just meant your motor cortex is all rewired to, you know, connect to your TK. You don't think about making natural hand movements with those, right? You just... do. Your brain's adapted. It's... mildly impressive, actually. Doing that without a shred of telepathy, I mean.
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( at least that actually gets him to pause and - think it over a minute. julian turns his hand over, looking at it as his fingers curl in then extend out straight once more. you know. as if he's just now noticing they actually do that despite the fact they've been doing that just fine for a while now. )
Huh. Guess I didn't notice.
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[Okay, that one just slipped out. Look, Quentin has to say something bitchy every so often or he explodes. At least he follows it up with something a little more constructive.]
Look, the... [It is almost physically painful to say the word.] impressive part is that you didn't notice. I mean, it's not a secondary mutation or anything. Guess it could be some kind of... I dunno. Subconscious, limited telepathic ability.
[Quentin shrugs.]
Doubt it, though. I think it's just dumb luck.
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his hand raises, shoving against quentin's shoulder but it's not - rough. julian could push harder, this is just him being himself. )
I had to figure it out first, you know. Took me a while to adjust to having prosthetics, and the first ones weren't nearly as mobile as these are. It took a crapton of work to get it to be as easy as it is.
( a shitton of physical therapy to adjust to his arms first, a lot of work to adjust to using his hands as he does now. but he's always been more skilled with precise telekinesis than just raw power; adjusting wasn't impossible, it was just difficult. )
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poutsscowls at the shove, but he's not overly dramatic about it at least.]Yeah, I was joking about the "dumb luck" thing. Obviously.
[Was he??? Don't worry about it. Quentin huffs and folds his arms.]
And anyway, if it was that difficult, you'd think you'd have a little more appreciation for me offering you my precious nerve endings. Wouldn't exactly be a walk in the park for me to link up your weird motor shit with mine, you know. At least well enough to actually fool your brain into accepting the sensory input.
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Yeah, uh huh. Thanks a lot for offering to let me borrow your hands so I can feel a goddamn table when I do, y'know, have other nerve endings that still work.
( it's fine. it's whatever. quentin did offer, julian isn't upset with him anymore. for now. who knows how long that'll last, but for now? they're good. )
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[Quentin is still pouting, and he gives the standard eye-roll, but it's mostly just an affectation. They're in one of their little truces that happen between the times they try to kick the shit out of each other, and he's not out to ruin it. At least not on purpose. Accidentally? Not ruling it out. That's kind of their whole thing, right? Quentin is annoying, both intentionally and unintentionally. And Keller is a stubborn moron who doesn't accept want to accept any help at all ever because of blah blah blah nobody loves me yadda yadda toxic masculinity whatever.
... Wait.
Quentin is not completely sure if he just had an epiphany or some sort of stroke that will lead directly to him getting shoved off of this roof, but fuck it, he's going for it. He turns suddenly to point at Julian.]
Hang on, no. No. You're—doing the thing! That you said. Not taking help 'cause you can't let go.
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and while he considers opening his mouth to bitch about quire and his licking comment, he's instead derailed by his bullshitting about - crap julian just admitted to but he hadn't meant it like that. )
This isn't the same as that, idiot.
( name calling just for the sake of name calling because while he could push quentin off the roof and is very seriously considering it - it's probably not a great idea. probably. )
I don't want to borrow your hands for stupid shit.
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... Alright. Keller doesn't want stupid shit, huh? Fine. All Quentin actually needs for this dumb little exercise is to know the sensory information of whatever Julian's metal mitts are touching well enough to copy-paste it into his brain, right?]
Okay, fine.
[He scowls and holds his hand out like a handshake.]
Gimme your hand, dumbass.