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I Wanna Be Sedated; 5/23 morning (Quentin/Rachel)
Topic Started: Jun 16 2013, 10:19 PM (382 Views)
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"What're you going to -" he started, but then he got it.

That had him shutting off, closing his mouth quickly and stopping the question before it had time to be finished. Shutting off and prickling up though, Rachel could feel that part of it without even trying to use her powers. Maybe it was the sibling intuition Scrapper always used to talk about (Val, not so much, but then Val never liked anything that could be called intuition) kicking in, or maybe it was just that obvious, but... yeah, no. He wasn’t shutting up because he’d heard her and accepted the point, was he?

Or at least, he hadn’t liked the point, but didn’t have any rational argument to put against it. Maybe that was closer to it, but either way, you could see the hackles go up on the injured dignity even before he spoke again.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sis," he shot back, all put upon indignance and sarcasm that would have been enough to make up her mind that she’d made the right call if it hadn’t already been there. If that was enough...

...no, she’d been right, like she knew she had been. Today was not the time, or the mission, to try to give him that. If it went wrong - she didn’t even want to think about how likely that might be, because it was more than practically non-existent - then odds were good that a large part of the badness would be back on him, far more unavoidably than anything else that might happen.

"This sucks," he pointed out, in a sulky tone, but Rachel nodded. Yup, sucking. Life, sucking on you. Welcome to the family, Little Bro. We don’t get too much of a choice about that. But...

...she’d only just caught the flash of resentment in his thoughts about what he thought the people here thought about him, the business with a collar, before he spoke again. "This whole place sucks," he said, sticking his arms down on his legs, bending over to stare at the floor with too much focus to actually be looking at it.

“It’s a Suckoverse, definitely,” Rachel agreed, letting out her breath in something like a sigh and straightening her own back a little. Everything that had happened here? Yeah, no question that it got into that category. “But hey - look at this for a minute, okay?” she added, lifting up the hem on her shirt for a few seconds to show her stomach and expose the parallel claw scars that she’d kept, both as a reminder and because in Mojoworld, she hadn’t had the force with her to remove them.

“That was from a teammate who didn’t trust who I was, and what I could do,” Rachel told her little brother, then let the shirt drop back down again. “He hasn’t been the only one.” Saturnyne, for one, but who wanted to try to explain Saturnyne to anyone who didn’t have to know about her? Definitely not the point and she should get on with that part, shouldn’t she?

“Here’s the thing,” Rachel told her little brother, shifting around so she could join him dropping legs over the edge of the bed, able to stare at the floor if she wanted, but looking his way. “Trust is complicated. You don’t get it because you know you’re good for it. You get it when you earn it, and you earn it by doing what you need to show people you can be trusted. It’s not fair, maybe, but it’s the only way that works.”

Not an easy lesson, maybe - but it was easier once you had learned it. Just how things were.
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Quentin Quire
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This sucked.

So what if Rachel said that if this or that, she'd have backed him wanting to come along to the pens? Yeah, okay, he could tell she meant it - telepathy came in handy for shit like that - but it didn't change anything. It didn't add weeks or months to the schedule, didn't mean she was willing to take a chance on him, any more than anyone else was. And he could handle it, he knew that. Yeah, okay, he'd overreacted to the image of Ahab, but...

But he'd been there, in the pens. He'd had his brain messed with, first by Jean, then by Him. He'd been a hound for years, and while he didn't exactly take a whole lot of pride in it as an accomplishment, he'd been a good one. Which meant he knew his stuff, right? Or most of it, anyway. And still, they weren't going to let him do anything.

Yeah. The whole place sucked.

“It’s a Suckoverse, definitely,” Rachel said, and at least she wasn't arguing that. “But hey - look at this for a minute, okay?” she added, and he turned his head to see her lifting up her shirt high enough to expose three parallel scars on her stomach. Ones that looked as if they'd gone deep, and despite his initial resolution to not care what she had to say, Quentin's eyebrows rose. Something He'd done? Or one of the ferals? He could believe that of some of them...

“That was from a teammate who didn’t trust who I was, and what I could do,” Rachel said, and his eyebrows shot up higher. Her teammate? From what little he'd picked up, he'd gotten the impression that other dimension was some kind of Utopia, with people dancing around singing their conversations or some shit. Not stabbing each other, at any rate. “He hasn’t been the only one.”

Huh. Sorta harsh, he decided. Maybe everywhere was pretty much a Suckoverse. But still...

“Here’s the thing,” Rachel said, shifting so she was sitting next to him with her legs over the side. “Trust is complicated. You don’t get it because you know you’re good for it. You get it when you earn it, and you earn it by doing what you need to show people you can be trusted. It’s not fair, maybe, but it’s the only way that works.”

"Yeah? Why?" he asked, reaching up to push his glasses back up his nose as he met her eyes. Not that he didn't get the overall concept, but the thing was? It didn't get applied evenly. "They all seem to trust each other. I mean, a decent number of them don't like each other," he conceded, waving that aside, "but whatever, I could care less if they like me." Mostly. But whatever, he could get along just fine with someone like Keller, for example, hating his guts. He figured that was pretty much fair, seeing as he wasn't a fan of the other guy, either.

"Thing is, I didn't do anything to any of them," he pointed out, "and Nate's big crime was not telling anyone he'd been a hound. Which to judge by the reaction when he finally did? They wouldn't have believed anyway. So....what? Sometimes you have to earn it, and sometimes you get a free pass?"

If so? Yeah, that sucked. Add it to the ever growing pile.
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"Yeah? Why?"

Oh man, this was going to be one of the conversations where everything was up for questions, wasn’t it? Even the ones that had seemed brightly shiningly obvious to Rachel when she’d said them. Trust is complicated, and it came when you earned it, and it took time. Straightforward, right?

So she’d thought, but she was definitely getting the feeling looking at Quentin that she’d reckoned poorly in the face of angry teenager digging his heels in when he didn’t like things.

Dammit, she’d always been bad with ‘why’ questions. Things were what they were, accept it and keep going, or invent something new and stick with that. Why....

...well, she’d always left ‘whys’ to Val. Or Kitty. Thankfully though, in this case, her new Little Bro seemed to have more he wanted to get off his chest, or maybe out from under his glasses. "They all seem to trust each other. I mean, a decent number of them don't like each other," he conceded, waving that aside, while Rachel watched his eyes and nodded slowly, "but whatever, I could care less if they like me."

“So why don’t they trust you if they trust each other?” Rachel queried. “Aside from the fact that most of them have known each other for a lot more than a month, you mean?”

Or knew other people who’d knew the other people, or... well, the point got murkier, but the gist of it still seemed like it stuck together.

"Thing is, I didn't do anything to any of them," he pointed out, obviously not finished with what he had to get off his chest, and maybe she should have just not interrupted back then? Maybe, but it was too late for that, so Rachel was left with only the option of resolving to keep her mouth shut from now till when he was properly finished this time. "...and Nate's big crime was not telling anyone he'd been a hound. Which to judge by the reaction when he finally did? They wouldn't have believed anyway. So....what? Sometimes you have to earn it, and sometimes you get a free pass?"

Rachel looked at him for a long moment after he finished, both because she was trying to make sure he really had finished this time, and because she was searching for the right, useful, explaining kind of words that would give him more of the answer he seemed to be looking for.

In the end though, she couldn’t really find it, so she had to fall back on her own answer. “You always have to earn it,” she said simply, shrugging, because she wasn’t really getting the sense of exactly where these free passes were being handed to. “Look, Little Bro,” she added hastily, “you want a debate about whys and wheres and philosophy words and things, you’re going to be way better off having it with someone else.”

Really not her forte. She tended to go with statements that things were as they were and then moving on, as a general rule, as plenty of people on Excalibur could probably have told him. What he needed was Brian... or maybe Feron the Weasel Boy, though that might not turn out too well for one or other of them if you put them together, so... yeah, not Feron. Save Little Bro from that, at least.

Expression softening a moment, Rachel reached over, poking Quentin’s shoulder in an attempt at a gentle, sisterly kind of nudge thing. “Sorry,” she told him sincerely, because no big sister liked to see their new little bro feeling bummed and butthurt and all of those things, and not have anything that anyone, even her, could do about it. “I know it sucks, and I know that’s probably all you’re feeling about it right now, but it is.” See again she had nowhere to go but the bald-faced statement. It might be some sort of speech impediment. “And call it a hunch,” she continued, trying out a sympathetic, understanding sort of smile thing, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to change just because you don’t like it, huh?”

Things didn’t tend to. Even when there were All-Powerful Cosmic Forces involved, sad to say.
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Quentin Quire
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Trust.

It seemed like something the Resistance was willing to hand out free to pretty much everyone who walked through the door. Camp refugees, people from other dimensions, people he'd seen around who he was pretty sure he'd seen on TV at one time or another fighting the people in the spandex costumes. Everyone but him.

It was something he couldn't wrap his head around, despite the part of him that was Nate insisting that it'd always been that way. Before Nate - well, people hadn't necessarily liked him much, or at least his peers hadn't. He'd always figured that came as part of the package, right along with being a few hundred IQ points smarter than most of the morons he'd known. But no one had ever doubted that he'd been trustworthy.

Well, not until he'd gotten here, anyway.

“So why don’t they trust you if they trust each other?” Rachel asked, and he nodded without looking over at her. Yeah, that. “Aside from the fact that most of them have known each other for a lot more than a month, you mean?”

That got a shrug in response, because it wasn't like he could exactly control the timeframe, before he continued on by pointing out that they hadn't trusted Nate, either. Who - yeah, okay, they hadn't known him for a month either, he guessed, but the moron hadn't exactly done anything to anyone either, had he? He'd just been a moron, and kept a secret that no one would've believed anyway, if Illyana's reaction had been any indication. So...what? Sometimes you had to earn trust, and sometimes you got a free pass?

Probably, he acknowledged. But either way, it still sucked.

Rachel just looked at him for a long moment, almost as if she were trying to figure out just how something that stupid had come out of his mouth.

“You always have to earn it,” she said simply, shrugging, because she wasn’t really getting the sense of exactly where these free passes were being handed to. “Look, Little Bro,” she added hastily, “you want a debate about whys and wheres and philosophy words and things, you’re going to be way better off having it with someone else.”

Was he? He wasn't looking for philosophy, he didn't think - just an explanation of just why he couldn't be trusted to go somewhere he'd actually lived and help take the place down. Considering it didn't sound like further explanation was forthcoming, he settled for sulkily resting his chin on his hands, elbows propped on his legs. Maybe he should talk to the other Jean...

Or yeah. Maybe not. He was pretty sure that talking to a woman who wasn't even the mom who wasn't his was more desperate than even he was willing to sound at this point.

Rachel kind of nudged his shoulder with hers, and he glanced over to see his "sister" looking at him with a softer expression. “Sorry,” she told him sincerely. “I know it sucks, and I know that’s probably all you’re feeling about it right now, but it is.” His forehead furrowed a moment, before he realized she was still talking about the whole trust-earning. “And call it a hunch,” she continued, trying out a sympathetic, understanding sort of smile thing, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to change just because you don’t like it, huh?”

"Yeah, doubtful," he acknowledged, returning her smile with a faint one of his own, just because Rachel was being pretty cool about it overall and it seemed only fair to acknowledge it. "You'll let me know what happens, right?" he asked, turning to look at her, smile fading away to be replaced by a more serious expression. "With the camp and everything? No one really tells me shit."

Not that it kept him from finding shit out when he wanted to know, but he had to know where to look for it, and some people were still easier to read than others. If she'd just keep him in the loop, it'd be something, at least.
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Right. Chin on the hands, and elbows on the knees, classic posture of the down and out and feeling sorry for oneself, check. Thoughts about being aggrieved and the general unfairness of life when people wouldn’t trust you with new powers you barely knew the first thing about using, going back to a place where a monster had systematically destroyed every little piece of free will you’d had, and made you into his pet, check. Thoughts about Mo-

…good, he’d nixed that idea for himself, before it had gotten far enough for Rachel to feel like she needed to. Of all the things Mom needed right now, with everything she was going through, the twist of memories and feelings and whatever else Quentin (or Nate) would bring up for her was not even close to being on the list. Couldn’t end up ending anyway but badly, and probably for both of them.

Still, however much she might be unwilling to give up sense in the face of the concerted effort at sulking her new Little Bro was working here, Rachel couldn’t help but feel a whole lot of sympathy for the kid. Big things going on, both to him and around him - a whole lot bigger than he’d ever had to deal with before now - and if his part of the deal maybe wasn’t quite the shortest straw of the pack that he seemed to think it was, it certainly wasn’t exactly a long one, either.

Plus no sister liked to see her little bro bummed out, so she nudged his shoulder to get his attention back, then threw out what she could by way of apologies and understanding. It sucked - it straight up, definitely sucked, no doubt about that - but it still was the way things were, and disliking it wasn’t going to make that change, right?

“Yeah, doubtful," he acknowledged, and see, that was a good smile in return, or at least an honest try at one, and that was as good as the same thing, the way Rachel saw it right now. “You’ll let me know what happens, right?" he asked, turning to look at her, smile fading away to be replaced by a more serious expression. "With the camp and everything? No one really tells me shit.”

The…

…yeah, okay, she could cut him some slack for only having met her this morning where it came to doubting that she’d have let him know that without even needing to be asked, Rachel decided, watching him with a slightly speculative look. But that last part there? ‘No one tells me anything?’

…man, there was just no good way to let that go without smiling just a little. Alright, actually maybe even a little bubble of laughter she couldn’t quite keep from escaping, which was probably bad, given that serious expression on his face, but…

…really?

“What, you mean people aren’t dropping what they’re doing and beating a path up to the little fortress nest of solitude you’re working on building here to give you half hourly updates?” she asked him, in faux-surprised tones that could most definitely be described as gently amused, then shook her head fondly. “Secret Sibling Tip #54, Little Bro. Get out a little more from your private bedroom, talk to some people instead of being annoyed at them, you might be surprised how much they’ll talk back.”

Nothing about this place that she’d seen so far had suggested that it operated on anything other than a need-to-know basis, but a little genuine friendliness could get around that kind of thing 87 times out of 100 and get you what you wanted to know without any mind powers at all (figures provided after extensive empirical research by one K. Pryde, age 13).

“But yeah,” Rachel added a moment later, returning to an expression that held nothing other than serious sincerity. “I’ll holler at you when we’re back from the pens and it’s over.” What was going to happen there - well, if he didn’t know that, he wouldn’t need to know, except to hear that He was going to be gone forever - but when it happened, yeah of course she’d tell him. “You didn’t even need to ask.”
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Quentin Quire
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Okay, giving up. It was obvious he wasn't going to change her mind, and if he couldn't talk his newly minted big sis into letting him come along, he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of talking anyone else into anything. And so, after admitting that yeah, probably, the whole trust thing wasn't going to fix itself just because he wanted it to, he asked Rach if she'd at least let him know what happened when she got back. No one ever told him shit, and it's save him the trouble of tapping brains until he found someone who knew something.

That got a smile, and then a laugh he couln't quite figure out. What, it'd been a reasonable request, hadn't it?

“What, you mean people aren’t dropping what they’re doing and beating a path up to the little fortress nest of solitude you’re working on building here to give you half hourly updates?” she asked him, in faux-surprised tones that made him scowl a little despite the fact that she maybe had something of a point. “Secret Sibling Tip #54, Little Bro. Get out a little more from your private bedroom, talk to some people instead of being annoyed at them, you might be surprised how much they’ll talk back.”

"Hey, I've been out!" he protested. Because - well, he had. Some. "And I've talked to people and shit." Again, some, mostly because people insisted on being in the kitchen when he went down for food, but whatever. It counted. "I proposed marriage to Ali the other day when she did my hair, that's gotta count for extra bonus points." It wasn't his fault that most people were annoying, and that getting all the bleed though from their thoughts made it obvious just how annoying they were.

It also didn't change the fact that someone could've told him about Jean, but...yeah, fine. He had been kind of vocal about his opinions of his "mom" when they'd been sorting out exactly how he'd ended up with two sets of memories. Not that he'd really meant most of them, but...yeah. Not going there. At least Rach had told him.

“But yeah,” Rachel added a moment later, returning to an expression that held nothing other than serious sincerity. “I’ll holler at you when we’re back from the pens and it’s over. You didn’t even need to ask.”

"Thanks, Sis," he replied seriously, trying out the title in a non-sarcastic tone this time, then shrugged a little and smirked, just to get rid of the awkward, sort of warm feeling that using it gave him. "If Ali changes her mind, I promise to wait until you get back to head off to Vegas. Just, y'know, in case you want to come along as a witness or something.”

Not that he really thought the former pop star would, but, well, you never knew, right? He was still hoping the new look would win her over. It could happen.
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Yeah, okay, and there was some extremely predictable scowling happening, but not even as much as Rachel had been fearing. Getting a little gentle fake-surprise teasing wasn’t going to hurt her new little brother, whatever he thought. Plus it seemed like he might actually have listened to that a little more than he’d listened to some of the other things she’d been trying (yeah, kind of ineffectually, at times) to tell him, so…

…one more secret sibling tip for the road then, straight from the Franklin to Val Richards playbook. Get out of your room and start talking to people, you might get surprised at how much they talk back.

Or in Val’s case… well, but that was Val. Quentin wasn’t that much like her, she didn’t think. Or… hoped.

“Hey, I've been out!" he protested. Not all that convincingly though, Rachel decided, without really needing to see his thoughts to confirm her suspicions. “And I've talked to people and shit.” Yup, add another uplifted eyebrow there, for a total of two amusedly skeptical arches of ‘not feeling so much in the way of genuine conviction coming off you here’. “I proposed marriage to Ali the other day when she did my hair, that's gotta count for extra bonus points.”

That… dammit, she’d already lifted her eyebrows, so she’d kind of hit a ceiling here as far as surprisedly ‘seriously?’ expression cues went. Quickly recalibrating into something that was just your basic lopsided smile, Rachel shrugged back at him. “I dunno, it’s an Ali. Pretty sure she usually gets at least three of those a week,” she pointed out, because it had always seemed to come with the gorgeous and friendly popstar beat that Dazzler worked in, before wrinkling her nose a little to relent with, “Two bonus points, and only because I like you.”

But yeah, the teenager’s face was clouding over like the sky on Muir again, so maybe it was time to get back to the original point that had had to be put on hold for the sake of sibling teasing and assure him that she’d do what he’d asked, and tell him when the matter of the pens was done. Not that he’d even needed to ask about that, but… well, now he knew that, at least.

“Thanks, Sis,” he said, and hey, wouldn’t you know, that time it was even genuine. Maybe not exactly a matter for smirking over, but if he was going to do it, Rachel was fine with returning the look he was giving her and grinning back a little when he added, “If Ali changes her mind, I promise to wait until you get back to head off to Vegas. Just, y'know, in case you want to come along as a witness or something.”

If Ali changed her mind… oh, about the marriage thing? Yeah okay, that definitely deserved a wider smile, which Rachel delivered while getting back off the bed and onto her feet. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “That I would definitely have to see.” To believe, but… yeah, that would definitely be something.

Rachel reached over to give ruffling that hair (if Ali had done it, did that explain the color?) of his a shot as a parting gifts of sorts, then stepped off, makign it two thirds of the way over toward the door before a better one of those occurred to her. She turned back, cocking her head to one side and wrinkling her nose once again. “One more thing,” she said, slipping another piece of telepathic know-how into his brain as she did. “That’s a how-to on Psychic projection,” she explained, tapping her temple to indicate the little capsule of ready-to-go brain skills she’d passed over to him. “It’ll keep people from seeing the Hound marks. Doesn’t work on cameras, or film - just people - but sometimes it helps along the having a normal conversation part of everyday business.”

And maybe one day she’d be ready to give up on that and just wear them like she could her uniform, as a part of herself that she’d claimed back. But… not today. Seemed like her little bro ought to get to have that choice for himself too.
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It wasn't like he'd spent all of the past couple days in his room. Not quite. He'd been out. Granted, not a whole lot, or for long, and he really hadn't sought anyone out, but...he'd been out.

Besides, he'd had the headache from hell. That had to count for something.

Personally, though, he figured that Ali was his best confirmation of Quentin Quite outgoing-ness. He'd spent a ton of time out, only some of it getting his hair cut and colored. Also, he should probably get bonus points for proposing marriage. Even if she had said no.

Rachel's eyebrows tried to climb off her face when he brought that up, and she gave him a "what did you say?" sort of look that made him grin even as she shrugged it all off. “I dunno, it’s an Ali. Pretty sure she usually gets at least three of those a week,” she pointed out before wrinkling her nose a little to relent with, “Two bonus points, and only because I like you.”

Quentin pretended to consider that, then nodded. "Fair," he acknowledged. If she'd accepted, it would've definitely been worth more than two, but she hadn't. Not yet. And anyway, he figured a thank you was probably in order - not something he offered up often, but Rachel was actually promising to tell him what happened. It was legit.

Before that could deteriorate into something sappy (she didn't seem the type, but you never knew), he tossed in a promise to wait until she got back to run off to Vegas with the pink haired former popstar/image consultant. They'd need a witness anyway, and - well, he had no idea if Ali had family or not, but Rachel was pretty much as close as it came for him.

Besides, he had the feeling that if it were to take place? He'd need a witness to make anyone believe it.

That made Rachel smile more, even as she got up off the bed. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “That I would definitely have to see.” Reaching over to ruffle his hair (he ducked his head sideways and let out a "hey" of protest, but neither had a whole lot of conviction), then headed off towards the door. She stopped about 2/3 of the way there, though, and paused to wrinkle her nose at him. “One more thing,” she added, and he felt the odd sensation of someone sticking something into his brain. “That’s a how-to on Psychic projection,” she said. Quentin frowned, wondering if that was something like astral projection, because honestly, that could be pretty cool. “It’ll keep people from seeing the Hound marks. Doesn’t work on cameras, or film - just people - but sometimes it helps along the having a normal conversation part of everyday business.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that. The marks might not be gone, but - yeah, close enough. Very cool. He smiled crookedly over at her, and said, "Thanks, Rach," then paused and eyed her curiously.

*I thought you said part of the reason you were here was to check out my brain,* he reminded her, switching over to telepathy for no particular reason except that - well, it felt right, when talking about the inside of his head, somehow.

Not that he really wanted her poking around in there (he still swore it hurt when Betsy did it, no matter how much the former intelligence agent might argue it couldn't have, and whatever the bondage lady'd done had definitely hurt like hell), but he didn't really want it hanging over his head for later, either. If she had time now, he'd rather just get it over with.

(Reenie, assuming she's already done that, if you want to wrap up here, it's all good. If not, not is also all good!)
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Yeah, yeah, Little Bro didn’t want his oddly-shaped pink hair touched. Rachel got that, of course, but he was going to have to do a whole lot better than a sorry sort of “hey,” and a half-dodge if he really wanted to avoid it, so she was willing to be fairly sure he didn’t actually mind all that much.

Worst came to the worst, it would just give him another pretext to talk to Ali, or something.

In any case, it was way past time she needed to be off, so with the hair ruffle as her parting gift, Rachel headed toward the door. Only to remember that there was actually one of those she could offer that would probably be a whole lot more welcome than hair destyling, however many more opportunities to let hope spring eternal with Dazzler that might have provided.

Psychic projections to cover the Hound tattoos weren’t much, on one level - and on a couple of others, they sometimes felt like as big as anything she’d ever learned. Once she’d remembered, it wasn’t any kind of difficult thing for Rachel to slip the trick of how to do it into the front of her new Little Bro’s mind, and follow up with a brief verbal explanation of what it was for, and how it worked.

Yeah… look at that smile. Kind of off-centered, but no doubt that that was for real, with no room for sarcasm. “Thanks, Rach,” he said, looking her way, while Rachel wrinkled her nose again, and shook her head.

“Ray,” she corrected quickly with a smile of her own, just letting him know. “I’ve never been a Rach.” Why, she wasn’t entirely sure, just like she wasn’t sure who’d started that, but these were things siblings, even pseudo Universe-separated siblings ought to know about each other, she figured.

Alright, better get on with leaving, but there was a doorknob question (or whatever the equivalent was with these Helicarrier doors that seemed like they might not have had doorknobs at all) coming before she could wave and turn away again.

*I thought you said part of the reason you were here was to check out my brain,* the teenager sent to her.

“Who says I didn’t?” Rachel asked aloud, smiling slightly as she looked back toward him. They had been sitting inside it for quite a while, after all, between the floating and the Mario game. Plenty enough to get a sense for what she’d wanted to know without putting his back up, and so for now, she could just lift one hand a little, waving the question (if that was really what it was) away gently. “Don’t sweat it. Unlike everyone else here, I know what I’m looking for.”

It was kinda like that old TV show - Leopardy, Jeepedy (one of those. She was almost sure it was one of those) - the answers were all right there, so long as you knew what the questions needed to be, but for now… well, she was out of time, and probably Quentin would appreciate the final grade more than all the rest, anyhow. “You’re okay, Little Bro,” Rachel told him, getting to the door, and pausing there for one more moment, and one more half-teasing, half-encouraging grin before she stepped out, “Say no to Sociopathic tendencies, make some friends, you’ll be fine.”

And he should probably lay off the useless drugs too, of course, but hopefully with his new psi-tricks at his disposal, that wasn’t going to be too much of a problem.

“I’ll check in with you after,” Rachel assured him one more time, then with a quick wave of her fingers, headed off down the hallway in search of Kiwi Black.

Next thing.

[And end for Rachel, who next turns up in Drink With Me/Meet the Fuckers, I believe]
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