( listen his brain is fine. better than most brains, even, because who else's brain is going to adapt the way his has? don't be a bitch about him evolving to his circumstances, that's just what mutants do.
but the sass doesn't come, because he's busy feeling out what he definitely should not be feeling, like quentin gripping tight onto his hand. eyes focus down where metal grips onto flesh, where he definitely should not be feeling skin but is anyway. )
If there's a risk of aneurysms, maybe that's more a problem of you sucking than my brain being different.
( there's no malice behind the statement; there may have been before, but this isn't under normal circumstances. )
Hey, they don't exactly teach how not to fuck with people in Telepath School.
[He follows Keller's eyes down to where he's staring intently at their hands and boy this sure isn't weird or awkward at all. Nope. At least not in any way that Quentin is going to acknowledge enough to freak out the emotionally stunted idiot holding his hand right now. Look, Julian may be an asshole—and he is—but this is... nice. Feels like... like something Quentin's not fucking up for once. And he'll be damned if he ruins it. Unfortunately, he also keeps rambling instead of shutting his trap, which historically speaking increases the chances of him ruining anything by at least 67%. Alas.]
It'd be easier on your mind if I just made you see a real hand, yeah? Your brain doesn't wanna, you know. Feel from metal. Doesn't make sense. But since you break out in hives every time a telepath so much as breathes in your direction, here we are. Metal with nonsensical nerve endings. An honest lie. So to speak. Here, you can, uh. Try right here.
[He taps the pulse point at his wrist with two fingers of his free hand. That might be Too Weird for Keller, but hey, you miss all the shots you don't take, right?]
( it's faking it. his brain doesn't want to have sensation from metal because there aren't any nerve endings in his hands. those ones are gone, for now. blown to smithereens while trying to protect what had been their home at the time. julian remembers. he winces, but the usual pain that comes with recalling his hands blowing up - doesn't come. the burning sensation, the flames digging into his wrists, the phantom pains that drive him to waking up screaming at night are gone because there's - sensation, even if it's fake. an illusion of what he had once had. and it's a relief, albeit one that's painful in it's own way.
quentin gestures to his wrist, and julian instead pulls his hand away entirely, breaking the contact. )
[Speaking of breaking into hives when telepaths breathe in his direction. Quentin flattens his mouth and pulls his hand back.]
Yeah. Anytime.
[He should leave it at that. Move on. Talking more has very rarely ever solved any problems for him. But of course, he always still does it anyway. At this point it's part of his brand, honestly. He looks down at his hands.]
... It is real, though. I mean, mostly. Sure, you're missing the physical nerve endings, but like... it's all just synapses and neurons and whatnot in the end anyway, right? I didn't make you see or feel your real hand because I'd be guessing. Probably not enough usable data from your memory, considering how much time it's been, but—
[He clears his throat. Getting off track. Quentin holds up his hand and inspects it, wiggling his fingers.]
I know my own fleshy meatsack. Your brain was processing genuine sensory info, accurate down to the molecule. Ipso facto, real.
( it isn't the same and he doesn't know how else to say it. yeah, it's quire's flesh, whatever. it's how he would feel it if he was holding onto the asshole's hand, maybe, but it's not julian feeling it. it isn't how it'd come across if it were his own flesh and blood holding onto quentin's.
explaining that any more clearly than he already has is - impossible. it's frustrating, irritating, but there's nothing julian can really do about it currently. so he just - huffs out a breath, and shoves at quentin's shoulder. gently, but enough he can still feel it. )
[Quentin makes a quiet "oof" sound at the shove, but he's—tragically—getting so used to Keller's crap that he doesn't even bother with the dramatics anymore. Which, yes, is very annoying. The fact that he's used to it. I mean, what freak pushes his teammates and alleged "friends" so often that they just accept it as totally normal? And what freak accepts that this is totally normal? The two freaks present, obviously. God. Quentin rolls his eyes and turns to look out at the wilderness again, propping one elbow on his knee to support his chin with his hand.]
I lost my whole damn body one time. Sabretooth cut off my head and put it in a stupid box, and even I didn't whine as much as you.
[Blatantly untrue in numerous ways, but it's not like Julian takes most of Quentin's bullshit seriously anyway. They—yuck—know each other too well by this point. He yaps to yap. It's what he does.]
You know, I bet you'd be at least 87% less pissy if you got laid. Not that you will, for like a thousand reasons. But still.
You don't know how to shut up most the damn time, I don't want to hear jack shit about how you whine less than I do.
( there's no bite to the statement, because - yeah, they both know quentin is a yapper who just yaps endlessly just to hear himself talk. does julian like it? no. but he's getting a little accustomed to it. )
If I wanted to, I could get laid easy. And I don't want to hear crap from you about how I couldn't - hell, if I swung that way we both know you'd be all over me in two seconds flat. ( with all the homoerotic discussions and hand holding and insistence that quentin does swing julian's direction over the last fuck if julian knows how many months. )
[Okay what?? Quentin's head snaps around to stare at Keller so fast, because um?? The audacity??? Can't a guy be mildly thirsty for his totally-straight bro in peace in this day and age? Absolutely ridiculous. He narrows his eyes at Julian and scoffs.]
Okay, first of all? Don't presume to know how fast I would or would not be "all over you".
[He does the air quotes for emphasis, then shrugs dismissively.]
Second, I didn't say you couldn't. I said you won't.
( here they are back at the no homo part of their dumbass conversation. it's fine, it's whatever, he does know quire well enough to assume he's correct here and he's sticking to it. )
[No, look, okay, he'll get back to roasting Julian for being a loser in a second. Right now he's falling for obvious bait defending his honor! Quentin puts a hand on his chest in an offended gesture.]
I said you were hot like twice. All this other crap has been you weirdly bringing that up whenever you want to win an argument or some shit.
[Like right now. Whatever. Quentin curls his lip snidely and turns back to poutsulk oh who are we kidding, he's pouting.]
Besides, we both know I'm the better catch, so really you should be flattered I've even considered it.
You're actively talking about considering fucking me, dude. And calling me hot. I don't know how much more obvious you can get? Like it's right there.
( right there, as in - while quentin's putting his hand over his chest and looking aghast, julian is pointing right towards that same hand with one of his own. look. clearly he can just see the UST rolling right off of him. )
And literally no one thinks you're the better catch between the both of us.
[Quentin's eyes instinctively follow the path of Julian's pointing finger to his own chest as if there's some sort of traitorous sign there, which of course there isn't. He looks up with a glower and attempts to swat away the metal hand.]
Don't be obtuse. Considering isn't the same as "two seconds flat," and come on, you have to know I'm a better lay than you. I mean, talk about shit that's obvious.
( good luck swatting metal, quentin. he's got no plans to move it so despite the swatting, the hand - stays pretty much right where it was. because this is important. )
Not everyone wants a telepath in their head while they're getting laid. Just because you can read their thoughts to gleam what feels good doesn't make you better.
[Stupid metal floating stupid hand. Quentin glares at it for good measure, but gives up on trying to remove it. Instead he spreads his arms in exasperated confusion because what the hell even is Keller talking about??]
Oh, right, my bad, it's such a hard choice between "literally in your head" and metal hands McGee! Some real stiff competish there! Are you for real right now? And who the hell complains about the person fucking them knowing when they feel good? No wonder you don't get laid.
( to be fair to quentin, they've talked about some of julian's own insecurities when they were both being stupid at one another before. and he isn't even close to wrong about how julian feels about them most the time. unfortunately, he's now brought it up as if it's a shortcoming on julian's part to julian's face which means julian now has to get overly defensive over the thing he is actually a little insecure about. )
Maybe you should've paid closer attention during telekinesis lessons, idiot, because I don't need hands to do this. ( doesn't even need to move any closer to quentin, really. the metal hand stays where it's at, too, but there's the sensation of something very hand-like that wraps tight around quentin's forearm, while that same telekinetic aura wraps tight around the front of quentin's shirt, gripping on tight with full intention of throwing him straight off the rooftop they've been sitting on quietly up until now - well. for the most part. )
Well, on the bright side, Julian usually doesn't give Quentin this much warning. He's typically more of the "senseless violence first, talk later" type. Which means this time when he feels that telekinetic hand wrapping around his arm, he knows what's coming and isn't taken completely by surprise when Keller attempts to unceremoniously chuck him off the roof.]
Hey, wait—no, nope, nonono—fuck—
[Quentin doesn't flex his TK nearly as much as Keller, but he's no slouch in that department either. He gets dragged to the edge of the roof, the front of his shirt and arm leaning heavily in that direction while the rest of him braces, but fuck if he's not going to resist with all of his above average telekinetic muscle going over. Not because he'd actually fall, obviously. It's just, you know. The indignity.]
Fine, Jesus, I'm sure you're perfectly satisfactory in the sack, okay? All the ladies are so hot for your ultra sexy TK bullshit or whatever. Fucking hell, dude!
( he could push harder, but the intention here is less to actually get quentin off the roof and more to get him to shut up, which - this is working just fine for him already. so julian isn't pushing hard enough to force quentin to overcompensate, just hard enough to keep him on his toes. )
Who the hell needs hands to get someone off anyway? Especially ladies. I've got a mouth, asshole. Why are we even talking about this? Jesus.
( why is he overcompensating by mentioning that he doesn't need hands when he's also actively using psuedohands to semi-shove quentin towards the edge of the roof. why are they like this. and why does quentin's presence make him act even more stupid? christ. )
I'm not talking about it, you're talking about it!
[Okay, technically they're both talking about... whatever the fuck this is. But still. Quentin's a little distracted at the moment trying not to get pushed off a roof. Give him a break, okay??]
Yeah, yeah, you're very handsome and a generous lover clearly, but quick question: who gives a shit? Why the hell's it so goddamn important to you that I know what a great fuck you are, anyway? And for that matter, why do you care whether or not I would fuck you?? Last time I checked you were all aboard the "no homo" train, choo choo motherfucker.
You're the one who started giving me shit about being a better lay than me! I don't know?!
( he's yelling but also sounds very unsure about why he's yelling which is really just shitty all the way around. but he does stop trying to shove quentin off the rooftop, albeit suddenly and all at once letting up the pressure so it's just - one moment he's getting shoved, the next there's nothing even close to him. )
And you brought up that I won't get laid! Like, all of this started with you? Why the hell are you coming at it like I started it!?
[The telekinetic pressure abruptly stops, and Quentin's arm and shirt drop, but thankfully he doesn't. He does sit back with a soft "oof", though. Good. Great. An improvement. Probably. He eyes Julian moodily.]
I said you won't get laid because you won't. By choice. You're addicted to being miserable, you sad sack. Got jack shit to do with any of your "capabilities" or lack thereof, as the case may be. What I don't understand is you insisting on dragging me in your stupid pity party—like, oh, I clearly want in your pants soooo badly I shall perish from a broken heart! Alas, if only you came down from your goddamn throne of heterosexuality to grace me with your presence. Give me a fucking break.
because one: he knows he didn't bring it up. he did not start this! quentin did. quentin always starts it then manages to loop it back around like it was julian all along and julian fucking hates it. why is he such a dick? does he do this on purpose? stupid question, of course it's on purpose. of course he's doing this to fuck with him. but what the hell is the point of fucking with him like this? )
You're an ass. ( stating the obvious will clearly help him. anyway - with a click of his tongue, julian's pulling himself up to his feet, and - stepping off the ledge of the rooftop onto a green platform. ) And I know what you're doing, so don't play stupid!
[The insult is unsurprising. He is an ass. Unrepentantly. Always and forever. Why Julian is saying right now it is another thing entirely and—wait, is he? Is he leaving?]
Huh...?
[He is! What a—um. Hm. What insult works for this? Coward? Jerk? Dullard? Whatever. Quentin scrambles to his feet to, uh. Point accusingly—if somewhat uncertainly—at Keller.]
Bullshit! If I don't know what I'm doing, how the fuck would you know, huh? Ha! Checkmate!
( now they're back to the pointing game. okay. fine! he can play that. from his own little platform just enough distance away from the roof that he can't quite reach quentin or jump over to him without having to fly over, but he's definitely pointing back. threateningly! and menacingly! here they are, doing the pointing bit! )
Or maybe that's part of it, huh?! You're playing stupid on purpose! What happened to being an egotistical genius!
Why the hell would I play stupid on purpose, dipshit? I literally just said I—
[Hang on. Quentin stops mid-sentence, the record scratch in his head almost audible. Downside of having a brain that moves so fast: sometimes his thoughts get so far ahead that it takes a minute for the rest of him to catch up.
His eyes go to his still-pointing finger, then to Julian's, then his face, then back to his own hand, visibly computing... something.]
I don't know—what—
[His voice is softer, almost like he's just thinking out loud, and his brow furrows in concern.
And then whatever was computing in there finishes. Quentin drops his hand, his posture immediately shifting to something looser. Casual. Unbothered. He shrugs with both arms and steps back from the edge of the roof, glancing around as if choosing a direction to make his exit.]
Whatever, ain't important. Good talk, though. Try not to die out there.
( the change is too obvious to not notice it. the way he goes from as irritated as julian feels to - something lighter. easier. almost like it's intentional, like he's trying to come off like he's not bothered.
is that it? julian bets that's it. his eyes narrow, hand dropping down so he can cross both arms over his chest and just - )
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but the sass doesn't come, because he's busy feeling out what he definitely should not be feeling, like quentin gripping tight onto his hand. eyes focus down where metal grips onto flesh, where he definitely should not be feeling skin but is anyway. )
If there's a risk of aneurysms, maybe that's more a problem of you sucking than my brain being different.
( there's no malice behind the statement; there may have been before, but this isn't under normal circumstances. )
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[He follows Keller's eyes down to where he's staring intently at their hands and boy this sure isn't weird or awkward at all. Nope. At least not in any way that Quentin is going to acknowledge enough to freak out the emotionally stunted idiot holding his hand right now. Look, Julian may be an asshole—and he is—but this is... nice. Feels like... like something Quentin's not fucking up for once. And he'll be damned if he ruins it. Unfortunately, he also keeps rambling instead of shutting his trap, which historically speaking increases the chances of him ruining anything by at least 67%. Alas.]
It'd be easier on your mind if I just made you see a real hand, yeah? Your brain doesn't wanna, you know. Feel from metal. Doesn't make sense. But since you break out in hives every time a telepath so much as breathes in your direction, here we are. Metal with nonsensical nerve endings. An honest lie. So to speak. Here, you can, uh. Try right here.
[He taps the pulse point at his wrist with two fingers of his free hand. That might be Too Weird for Keller, but hey, you miss all the shots you don't take, right?]
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( it's faking it. his brain doesn't want to have sensation from metal because there aren't any nerve endings in his hands. those ones are gone, for now. blown to smithereens while trying to protect what had been their home at the time. julian remembers. he winces, but the usual pain that comes with recalling his hands blowing up - doesn't come. the burning sensation, the flames digging into his wrists, the phantom pains that drive him to waking up screaming at night are gone because there's - sensation, even if it's fake. an illusion of what he had once had. and it's a relief, albeit one that's painful in it's own way.
quentin gestures to his wrist, and julian instead pulls his hand away entirely, breaking the contact. )
Thanks anyway.
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Yeah. Anytime.
[He should leave it at that. Move on. Talking more has very rarely ever solved any problems for him. But of course, he always still does it anyway. At this point it's part of his brand, honestly. He looks down at his hands.]
... It is real, though. I mean, mostly. Sure, you're missing the physical nerve endings, but like... it's all just synapses and neurons and whatnot in the end anyway, right? I didn't make you see or feel your real hand because I'd be guessing. Probably not enough usable data from your memory, considering how much time it's been, but—
[He clears his throat. Getting off track. Quentin holds up his hand and inspects it, wiggling his fingers.]
I know my own fleshy meatsack. Your brain was processing genuine sensory info, accurate down to the molecule. Ipso facto, real.
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explaining that any more clearly than he already has is - impossible. it's frustrating, irritating, but there's nothing julian can really do about it currently. so he just - huffs out a breath, and shoves at quentin's shoulder. gently, but enough he can still feel it. )
Whatever. I'm used to it by now anyway.
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I lost my whole damn body one time. Sabretooth cut off my head and put it in a stupid box, and even I didn't whine as much as you.
[Blatantly untrue in numerous ways, but it's not like Julian takes most of Quentin's bullshit seriously anyway. They—yuck—know each other too well by this point. He yaps to yap. It's what he does.]
You know, I bet you'd be at least 87% less pissy if you got laid. Not that you will, for like a thousand reasons. But still.
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( there's no bite to the statement, because - yeah, they both know quentin is a yapper who just yaps endlessly just to hear himself talk. does julian like it? no. but he's getting a little accustomed to it. )
If I wanted to, I could get laid easy. And I don't want to hear crap from you about how I couldn't - hell, if I swung that way we both know you'd be all over me in two seconds flat. ( with all the homoerotic discussions and hand holding and insistence that quentin does swing julian's direction over the last fuck if julian knows how many months. )
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Okay, first of all? Don't presume to know how fast I would or would not be "all over you".
[He does the air quotes for emphasis, then shrugs dismissively.]
Second, I didn't say you couldn't. I said you won't.
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( here they are back at the no homo part of their dumbass conversation. it's fine, it's whatever, he does know quire well enough to assume he's correct here and he's sticking to it. )
And I might. You don't know.
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[No, look, okay, he'll get back to roasting Julian for being a loser in a second. Right now he's
falling for obvious baitdefending his honor! Quentin puts a hand on his chest in an offended gesture.]I said you were hot like twice. All this other crap has been you weirdly bringing that up whenever you want to win an argument or some shit.
[Like right now. Whatever. Quentin curls his lip snidely and turns back to
poutsulkoh who are we kidding, he's pouting.]Besides, we both know I'm the better catch, so really you should be flattered I've even considered it.
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( right there, as in - while quentin's putting his hand over his chest and looking aghast, julian is pointing right towards that same hand with one of his own. look. clearly he can just see the UST rolling right off of him. )
And literally no one thinks you're the better catch between the both of us.
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Don't be obtuse. Considering isn't the same as "two seconds flat," and come on, you have to know I'm a better lay than you. I mean, talk about shit that's obvious.
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Not everyone wants a telepath in their head while they're getting laid. Just because you can read their thoughts to gleam what feels good doesn't make you better.
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Oh, right, my bad, it's such a hard choice between "literally in your head" and metal hands McGee! Some real stiff competish there! Are you for real right now? And who the hell complains about the person fucking them knowing when they feel good? No wonder you don't get laid.
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( to be fair to quentin, they've talked about some of julian's own insecurities when they were both being stupid at one another before. and he isn't even close to wrong about how julian feels about them most the time. unfortunately, he's now brought it up as if it's a shortcoming on julian's part to julian's face which means julian now has to get overly defensive over the thing he is actually a little insecure about. )
Maybe you should've paid closer attention during telekinesis lessons, idiot, because I don't need hands to do this. ( doesn't even need to move any closer to quentin, really. the metal hand stays where it's at, too, but there's the sensation of something very hand-like that wraps tight around quentin's forearm, while that same telekinetic aura wraps tight around the front of quentin's shirt, gripping on tight with full intention of throwing him straight off the rooftop they've been sitting on quietly up until now - well. for the most part. )
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Well, on the bright side, Julian usually doesn't give Quentin this much warning. He's typically more of the "senseless violence first, talk later" type. Which means this time when he feels that telekinetic hand wrapping around his arm, he knows what's coming and isn't taken completely by surprise when Keller attempts to unceremoniously chuck him off the roof.]
Hey, wait—no, nope, nonono—fuck—
[Quentin doesn't flex his TK nearly as much as Keller, but he's no slouch in that department either. He gets dragged to the edge of the roof, the front of his shirt and arm leaning heavily in that direction while the rest of him braces, but fuck if he's not going to resist with all of his above average telekinetic muscle going over. Not because he'd actually fall, obviously. It's just, you know. The indignity.]
Fine, Jesus, I'm sure you're perfectly satisfactory in the sack, okay? All the ladies are so hot for your ultra sexy TK bullshit or whatever. Fucking hell, dude!
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Who the hell needs hands to get someone off anyway? Especially ladies. I've got a mouth, asshole. Why are we even talking about this? Jesus.
( why is he overcompensating by mentioning that he doesn't need hands when he's also actively using psuedohands to semi-shove quentin towards the edge of the roof. why are they like this. and why does quentin's presence make him act even more stupid? christ. )
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[Okay, technically they're both talking about... whatever the fuck this is. But still. Quentin's a little distracted at the moment trying not to get pushed off a roof. Give him a break, okay??]
Yeah, yeah, you're very handsome and a generous lover clearly, but quick question: who gives a shit? Why the hell's it so goddamn important to you that I know what a great fuck you are, anyway? And for that matter, why do you care whether or not I would fuck you?? Last time I checked you were all aboard the "no homo" train, choo choo motherfucker.
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( he's yelling but also sounds very unsure about why he's yelling which is really just shitty all the way around. but he does stop trying to shove quentin off the rooftop, albeit suddenly and all at once letting up the pressure so it's just - one moment he's getting shoved, the next there's nothing even close to him. )
And you brought up that I won't get laid! Like, all of this started with you? Why the hell are you coming at it like I started it!?
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I said you won't get laid because you won't. By choice. You're addicted to being miserable, you sad sack. Got jack shit to do with any of your "capabilities" or lack thereof, as the case may be. What I don't understand is you insisting on dragging me in your stupid pity party—like, oh, I clearly want in your pants soooo badly I shall perish from a broken heart! Alas, if only you came down from your goddamn throne of heterosexuality to grace me with your presence. Give me a fucking break.
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because one: he knows he didn't bring it up. he did not start this! quentin did. quentin always starts it then manages to loop it back around like it was julian all along and julian fucking hates it. why is he such a dick? does he do this on purpose? stupid question, of course it's on purpose. of course he's doing this to fuck with him. but what the hell is the point of fucking with him like this? )
You're an ass. ( stating the obvious will clearly help him. anyway - with a click of his tongue, julian's pulling himself up to his feet, and - stepping off the ledge of the rooftop onto a green platform. ) And I know what you're doing, so don't play stupid!
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Huh...?
[He is! What a—um. Hm. What insult works for this? Coward? Jerk? Dullard? Whatever. Quentin scrambles to his feet to, uh. Point accusingly—if somewhat uncertainly—at Keller.]
Bullshit! If I don't know what I'm doing, how the fuck would you know, huh? Ha! Checkmate!
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( now they're back to the pointing game. okay. fine! he can play that. from his own little platform just enough distance away from the roof that he can't quite reach quentin or jump over to him without having to fly over, but he's definitely pointing back. threateningly! and menacingly! here they are, doing the pointing bit! )
Or maybe that's part of it, huh?! You're playing stupid on purpose! What happened to being an egotistical genius!
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[Hang on. Quentin stops mid-sentence, the record scratch in his head almost audible. Downside of having a brain that moves so fast: sometimes his thoughts get so far ahead that it takes a minute for the rest of him to catch up.
His eyes go to his still-pointing finger, then to Julian's, then his face, then back to his own hand, visibly computing... something.]
I don't know—what—
[His voice is softer, almost like he's just thinking out loud, and his brow furrows in concern.
And then whatever was computing in there finishes. Quentin drops his hand, his posture immediately shifting to something looser. Casual. Unbothered. He shrugs with both arms and steps back from the edge of the roof, glancing around as if choosing a direction to make his exit.]
Whatever, ain't important. Good talk, though. Try not to die out there.
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is that it? julian bets that's it. his eyes narrow, hand dropping down so he can cross both arms over his chest and just - )
See? Playing stupid again. What is it?
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