1964-01-14 - Late Night Snacks
Summary: Jean meets Quentin. It's going to be great fun!
Related: None
Theme Song: None
quentin jean 


Late into the night, with Gabriel sleeping and both of the pair unpacked and settled into the mansion for now, Jean couldn't sleep. She wasn't exactly tired, she wasn't exactly wide awake either. And as usual custom, when someone is unable to fall asleep in the Mansion that belongs to Charles Xavier, home to many students, custom states and dictates that a snack was in order. Though, Jean's version of a snack wasn't the vegetarian meal that she's been forced to swallow lately.

It consisted of a full sized dinner because for once? She was hungry as hell.

A nice cut of rib eye was pulled from the fridge. Along with two potatoes, and a block of cheese and chives to add to the mix. We cannot forget the onions and the mushrooms, of course!

The pan was set to a slow fry, potatoes already in the oven, the aroma was great and it possibly could have sang through the lonely castle of which they dwell. And all that was needed was a cigarette and a good book. Jean doesn't smoke, so the book would have to do.

*

Quentin smokes vociferously, but doesn't have one at the moment. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair tousled, his tie woefully loosened. He meanders into the kitchen, not from sleep, but from being dropped off by a cab several miles away, then flying the rest of the way under his own power. Part of this was to preserve the illusion of secrecy around the mansion. The other is that he didn't want to hear any bitching from the saints when he mindwiped the driver and sent him back unpaid. His trust fund wouldn't last forever if he kept having to pay for long cab rides, after all.

"Hair of the dog, waitress. Stewardess. Whatever role you care to take for yourself?" he says, climbing up on the counter, "And I'll have a bit of that greasy fry if you don't mind. What a wondrous stink you're making, I practically think you know what you're doing," He peers at her bleary-eyed and says, "Wait, I know you. You're that girl. The one that makes the Professor get all sweaty if he thinks about you too much. And not just for the obvious reasons."

*

Bleary.

That was the first hint of the mind she captured before Quentin even entered into the kitchen. Her brows raise, and soon she was rising to reach for a glass to fill it with water. She says nothing for a moment, finally filling the glass with cubes of ice, running it under the water until it was close to the top. "I have a name." Jean murmurs quietly, carefully placing the glass down in front of him as she takes her previous seat.

"And he doesn't get all sweaty thinking about me. He gets all sweaty thinking about Moira. If she has red hair in his thoughts then that is so not my problem." She clears her throat then, picking up the book once more, her fingers tapped against the flat of her tongue, the pages carefully turned as she begins to read. "And you're able bodied, you want some? Finish cooking." There was a little smile that curls her lips, though.. it was hidden by the book!

*

Quentin grins and simply seizes the pan with his mind, telekinetically hovering it over the heat and giving it a flip, his power sluicing around the vegetables to let him give them a safe toss before they're sucked back to the heated surface for a fresh sizzle.

"It's not your red hair or your tight butt that makes him sweat. It's all the stuff underneath, the fire and whatnot. Don't worry, I didn't pry, none of my biz, but it's on his mind enough that it's hard to miss if you normally disregard other people's personal boundaries. And I do, oh yes, I do, especially when it comes to teachers. I mean, that's only fair, if they're planning to boss me around, it's only fair that I flit around their minds. Now, X could keep me out, if he wanted, but he usually doesn't bother shielding because he 'has nothing to hide' aka he's soooooooooo damn booooooooooooring. But you don't seem boring, at least not when he thinks about you," he says.

"Jean Grey," he says, "I'm Quentin Quire. You and me have a powerset in common, it seems, although there are some fuzzy around the edges differences, I'm sure," he says. He doesn't bother to explain that one of those differences is probably that he's better than her. No need to point out the obvious.

*

Well, it was clear that she wasn't going to finish her book tonight, which gives her the pleasure of finishing it later. It was snapped shut, her hands lifting towards her eyes to rub and wipe them out as she levels her gaze upon him, both hands used as pillows to rest her chin upon. "But you're prying now.." Jean points out, her eyes soon darting towards the pan, watching as he effectively takes over the cooking, her hands soon lowering to fold about her chest before she tugs the robe closed and shut.

The closing shut of the robe was a telling way of her own mind soon growing clouded. Various blocks set up in place to keep his prying brain out of her own.. and yet the shadow that looms within that mind remained ever watchful for intrusion.

"I knew who you were the day I came to live here." She points out. "Just as you knew who I was the moment I stepped foot upon the grass. Doubt I was actually hiding it.." She smiles a little. Though that smile fades and her head tilts.. "Wait a minute. You feel that you're better than me."

*

Quentin laughs, "I am also a terrible hyprocrite. And don't feel bad about it, I think I'm better than most everyone. Well, I -know- I'm better than most everyone, and then there are a few I think I'm better than, but are unsure. I'm better than you at certain aspects of using our abilities, of that I'm certain, because I'm not as prone to emotional distraction and because I've been in formal study. I'm also smarter, but that's neither here nor there," he says.

"That only means something if you think your value is measured by your capabilities with your powers or by your relative IQ. I do, in fact, measure my self worth by such things, that and my bank account, so they're very important to me. But you probably believe in the soul or doing the right thing or doing your best to assuage the plight of the species and make peace with humans. Y'know, whatever it is the Professor keeps talking about whenever I start drifting off. And, in that case, you probably find my materialistic valuing one living creature over another, in fact ranking them, to be gross and unfair and almost certainly invalid. In which case, why should it bother you if I think I'm better than you, when, by most measured you yourself value, that's probably not the case?" he says.

"Oh, and the vegetables are done."

*

"Shockingly, you feel something like that is true." There wasn't a look of disgust, she was actually analyzing him. Figuring him out. To meet another person with her same skillset and to see their confidence put into plain view, it was jarring and interesting all together. "You're smarter, yes. But you also know what it is like with people like us. If you're smart. I'm smart. However, that all just depends on who is stronger than the other as well." Her eye winces faintly. "You skim the teachers and gain knowledge that you do not already know that you haven't gleamed from books, I can do the same to you."

And it was a wonder why she hasn't already, with Quentin's knowledge, she could graduate college in mere weeks. "Huh.." Yes, she thought about that. He probably heard her.

"But yes, I do believe in all of that.." She rises just as he mentions the veg, the kitchen soon opening itself up to a plethora of movement. Plates are grabbed. Forks are spared as well as knives, fridge door opens for two bottles of coca cola, the works. A step back has her allowing the food, simmering as it was to be transported to the plate, all without the need of her using her hands.

"…and that's mostly due to my upbringing. Or lack there of.." Her hand waves briefly. "I would like to believe that we all are created equal, but it's a clear fact that we're not. But just the ideal that we're the dominant species and that we would one day come to rule the roost is terrifying for someone like.. me." And the Phoenix, who enjoys that notion completely. "And not for the obvious reasons."

Once the kitchen slowly settles, Jean takes her seat in front of her own plate, saddened that she couldn't enjoy an entire steak to herself, but.. hey. The veggies and coca cola would do the trick. "And personally, I think this should be our last meeting. It's bad enough I have a hive-mind effect with Charles, I don't need it with you too. You're a bit bold." She was kidding, of course.

*

Quentin laughs and shakes his head, "Now, now, nonsense. I am only saddened that it's taken this long for us to get together. I'll keep my shields up and, out of deference to our bond of mutual mutieness, I promise I won't flutter around in your darling brainmeats. And if you don't know how to resist that particular temptation, I will relent enough to show you how. And please, I learned most of what I know long before I got to this dump. Practical experience toying with the minds of the sheep and the cattle - what I've mainly learned here is how to handle others with training and capability," he says. "They've also tried to teach me how to fight but I find sweating outside of carnal contexts repugnant," he says.

"And yes, I have used shortcuts to get some of what I have. But, contrary to what they tell you, the thing about shortcuts is - the destination remains the same. I'm sorry you were raised with that Protestant work ethic thing - that's just a load of bullshit created by Victorian era industrialists to keep their little drones work-work-working on the assembly line, by the way, with the rod of industry and religion swatting their buttocks red. I don't work any more than is necessary and, given my abilities, it's often not terribly necessary," he shrugs. "I'd apologize, but I'm not in the least bit ashamed of it. I have what most humans can only dream of in their pathetic fantasies. Believe me, I've peeked at a lot of them," he says.

"So why shouldn't I enjoy it? They would, in my place. It seems to me a greater sin to feign some sort of woe, to wallow in misery because I didn't 'earn' it. The world doesn't work that way, it never has. The one who works hardest is almost working hard for someone else who's sitting on his fat ass and collecting the checks."

*

"I don't need to learn to resist temptation. It's a demon and I have one." She shrugs her shoulders. "Ever wonder why in the middle of the night when this place shakes it doesn't come down?" Now she was bluffing. Though most people have often wondered.. was it her nightmares or her receding into the depths of her mind to engage in moral conversations with the Phoenix which often times get heated.. and taken out on the structures of these old walls.

But, as he continues to talk, she begins to cut through her steak, breaking into pieces as she matches it up with a bit of potato and cheese to put the full range of food into her mouth to chew. Occasionally she shows that she pays attention, by looking up towards him, nodding but not in agreement, but just nodding to the fact that she was listening.

Once she was done chewing, she smacks her lips, her fork lifting to point towards him. "It seems like you're explaining this to me to get my approval. As if I'm some sort of telepathic judge and jury." (READ COMICS FOLKS! SHE WAS CALLED THAT ONCE! And this will be taken out of the log.)

*

Quentin smiles and takes his own bites of the food, casually eating off of Jean's plate rather than preparing one of his own. "I've rather wished it would come down. The architecture's dreadfully boring. I think whoever owned the house before Xavier may have been descended from the least interesting strain of humans imaginable," he sighs.

"And I don't need your approval, but I would like it. You are interesting to me. Because you are dangerous, yes, and because you do not like me, although you like me more than you're probably willing to admit to yourself. You disapprove of me, but that's fine. I'm used to being disapproved of. I go out of my way to be a reprobate, I'd be rather silly if I didn't expect to be frowned upon. But I don't want you to avoid me. If anything, I'd like to get more into your world. Meet your friends and associates, annoy them utterly, make them resent me and wonder why you tolerate me until they eventually formulate ineffectual plots to try and drive me away, resulting in you therefore realizing you never knew them as well as you thought and, in a fit of pique, extinguishing them from existence in a gout of immortal flame."

"That or we could just fool around, go to the movies and occasionally kick the shit out of mutant-hating bigots."

*

"You.. would like my approval?" Jean was a little surprised at this. The plate of food was soon pushed in his direction, her relenting for now in order to take a drink of her soda while watching him. He was an interesting man indeed, even if she didn't approve of the things that he did. But secretly? There were times where she wished she held that certain type of freedom with her own abilities. If not for..

"I don't hate you. I actually admire you." She confesses, leaning back within her seat as one leg crosses over the other. "And I don't think that it would make people stay away from you. But, I already see most of everyone for what they are now.. I don't even know if I'm looking for them to prove themselves to me when I have myself to prove.. me to.." Her face scrunches up slightly.

"And no. No fooling around. Movies yes. Kicking the poop out of people who hurt other people? Deal." Her hand strikes out, hoping for a shake.

*

Quentin takes the hand and shakes it, "You a clam-digger, then? Or you just got a thing for the old dudes?" he asks. He has no doubts about his own attractiveness, so he figures it's some peculiarity of Jean's that keeps her from fooling around. That or she's old-fashioned about a little mutant tonsil hockey.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or a horrible apocalyptic alliance that will doom the world. Either way, should be fun!"

*

"Clam.. what? NO." Jean releases his hand, reaching out for her plate to eat. "I have a boyfriend. He's in my room sleeping." Surprise! Wiggle-finger here, there.. but even still, she keeps her brain locked up tight to prevent him from prying. "Any man over the age of eighteen has a right to be handsome in his own way. You're handsome, but I do not think two telepaths, whomever they are, dating would be a good thing for the world." She begins to laugh a little, then shrugs.

"Beautiful friendship it is!" She smiles, then slowly rises to a stand. "Finish the food and drink the soda. Even though that all-night bender looks great on you, you need to hydrate."

*

Quentin shrugs, "I don't mind your boyfriend if you don't. Heck, he can join in if he likes," he says, wandering over to the fridge to take a poke around, "Is he cute, at least? Tell me he's cute, you're not taking on some charity case frog-faced mutant boy because he has a 'good personality' are you? Because ugly is ugly, regardless. I can defend their civil rights as sentient creatures and fight against prejudice against them, but, at the same time, there are some mutants that make my outie want to become an innie, if you catch my drift," he sighs.

"No booze. God, I hate living in a school. Oh, wait, kyou were serious about the water. Ugh. You're going to be good for me, it's disgusting. Fine, fine, go on, scamper off to your waiting prince charming, I'll just go back to my room and flog the dolphin."

*

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