rudelanguage | 🗡️ inbox

ANTIGONE INBOX: username ANTIGONEIGUESS
PENDING INBOX: username ITSPENDING
KNIFE INBOX: nonexistent (for now)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[acidly:] Excuse me for being too stupid to understand your super special quest or whatever.

[Is this karma? This feels like karma.

Quentin stops. Breathes. Starts over, slightly less impatience in his tone.]

What do you wanna know about my super special quest? Legit question.

...This is what you were tryin'a cozy up to me for, wasn't it? You already knew my name, mister thought-thief. [that fuckin' figures! all that fluff about wanting to be miserable together was a setup.] Feels better to just ask someone than take it?

Cozy up to y—what??

[There's some genuine hurt under the sarcastic tone.]

I got the question from the computer like... thirty minutes ago. And for your information, Jayce badgered me for your question on the network, and I told him to fuck off so I could ask you myself. Guy was pretty damn insistent, too.

I'm a lot of shit, but I'm not a fucking liar.

Jayce, for whatever insane reason, actually gives a shit about me, is the thing. I trust him more than you!

That's funny, 'cause I'd trust you over that pompous windbag any day of the goddamn week!

[With only a little bitterness.]

[HEY that's HER pompous windbag!! she's the only one allowed to shit on him!!!!!barkbarkbarkb]

You're crazy. What makes you think you've found anything at all? Our all-seeing overlord is like baked into the thing we're talking on, right?

[Come and fight him about it!!! Wait no Quentin would lose.]

Yeah, which is why it would've been preferable to use psychic communication, but all you people are too damn sensitive about your precious brains. And I coulda gotten all the information I needed with a simple telepathic relay, too, but nooooo, I had to be all ethical and shit.

[Huffs!!]

I don't know if I found anything. Probably didn't. The person who found the stupid thing dresses like a supermodel and wandered around the catacombs as a literal living diamond for like a day. She called me, and I flew there. Not exactly a stealth mission. My guess? Somebody wanted it to be found. I just wanna know who.

[sensitive about your precious brains gets an annoyed growl from Antigone's end. this sonuva--

whatever. who cares! he sure doesn't!]

Sounds like you all have it super under control without wasting time with an annoyance like me. Just crack it open.

Oh for fuck's—

[Okay, Quire, take it down. Count to 10.]

Fine. Exchange of information. That's fair, yeah? You don't wanna give me your secrets for free? Great. Understandable. How about I give you some of mine?

I've died at least 36 times. The most recent time I got stabbed in the neck, and I woke up as a severed head in a fucking box kept "alive" by some kind of shady science bullshit. When you attacked me I was scared out of my fucking mind because I thought I was gonna die again. Uhh, what else? Oh, right, the guy who killed me used my powers to hurt people I care about, and you know what? Part of me wonders if that's all I'm really good for, because hey, somehow despite my power being literally reading minds, I keep letting me people fucking use me. Explains why two sets of parents threw me out like garbage. I'm a pathetic waste of potential, and everybody tolerates me at best solely because I happen to have useful powers, which, by the way? Genetic. Not even something I did.

Now will you tell me your goddamn surname??

[holy traumadump guyman.

sputtered, automatic:] N-no? No! This--wh, why're--Don't! Do that! Why're you doing that! This isn't--you're freakin' me out, guy! [she stammers some false starts before the words start lining up with the running thoughts:] It's like if--ififif someone walked up to you, opened up their veins to drip, and then were like--like There. We're solid, right? Can I have your inheritance now?

Like you hear what I mean, right!

[Sorry Knife 8( ]

I—[A harsh sigh.]

Yeah, I hear you. Sorry, I didn't mean to—you know. Been a rough day.

Look, it's—Jayce is coming down here to take a look at things. Probably be judgey as fuck, like he does. Whatever. If you feel better giving shit to him, go for it. Or not. Honestly, at this point it kinda just seems like this whole thing is a fucking test to see if a bunch of crazy psychos can trust each other. The answer will shock you.

[Now commencing: QQ pity party mopefest.]

[despite herself, it does make her feel better to hear that Jayce has a handle on this.

...well. some kind of handle on it.

she can just pretend it's...more of a handle than actual reality; shaves some of the painful pressure of responsibility off her chest. shit's suffocating!

still, she's all wound up now from the agitation and mild panic of being dumped on about a bunch of freak-shit that's half incomprehensible and half way too familiar. it keeps the tremor in her voice, even when trying to play it off.]

I, I got no answers for you, guy. I'm no good at group work. Like...like practically by design, even if-- if, uh... attempts were made.

[Sooooooo one public crash out, a lot of screaming, some rethinking, and a day later:]

Yo, uh. So I wrote—buncha people wanted more info the whole... everything. I know you don't get on the network, so. Here you go.

[And he attaches a copy of his most recent post.]

Read it over, tell me what you think. Or don't. I'm not your dad. And neither is Jayce, by the way, no matter how much he tries to act like he is. But that's, uh—neither here nor there.

Point it, it's your info, and if you don't wanna give it up then everybody else—including me—can suck a fat one. Just let me know what you wanna do. Got it?

[the response is stilted, unnerved, and more sedate than what came before; that's what a big skip from unresolved feelings gets u in this house!]

Uh.

I...

[takes a sec to figure out the link thing.

she utters a pained noise.

that is...so much fucking text to have read to her.]

I'll...get to it. Later. I guess.

[Oof.

That's it. Just oof.

Yeah yeah no it's fine we're cool sometimes you just traumadump on the extremely nervy pink fox you're trying to befriend while having a nervous breakdown because you're hilariously bad at basic social skills. All good, everybody has those days. Hahahahaha..............

Unrelated side note: something's... off about Antigone's reaction. Aside from just, you know. The usual.]

Do you... Uh.

[He recalls the switch from text to voice and his "typing with little paws" comment. And the "she's not on the network" thing. He'd thought it was just a whole recluse thing, but what if...? Well, he's sure as shit not gonna ask if she can't read, not after he's fucked up as bad as he has.]

Is the link, you know. Busted or something? I mean. I can give you like... a summary or whatever. If it doesn't work.

[Stunning, 10/10 performance, no notes.]

It's not busted. It's there.

[Knife is. reading-wise. but making that a spoken fact isn't going to feel really great, especially to some guy who can apparently just know everything ever just being in the right proximity.]

[BIG SIGH...]

Kinda was hoping you'd take the free excuse. Like "oh yeah, your link is totally busted, idiot, how about you tell me your dumb post so I don't have to...." You know. Finish this fucking sentence or whatever.

[Nailed it.]

Look, the whole thing's basically an FAQ with a big fat "my b" at the top. Shockingly, dramatic acts of rampant self-destruction aren't exactly uncommon for me, and now I'm eating crow. Sucks ass, but hey, such is life.

So what are your questions?

[around "finish this fucking sentence," she starts cutting in, louder and sharper if she needs to for him to:] Stop, stopstopstopstopstop. Stooooop.

Stop.

[...

did he do it? did he stop?

she exhales.]

Just. Leave it. I'll figure it out later.

[Quentin is a chronic yapper, so it takes her getting a little loud for him to stop. But hey, at least he does stop. He cuts himself off abruptly, pauses, and there's the sound of him breathing out harshly through his nose.]

I—... Okay.

[Wow, swing and a miss, Quire. GG. As much as he'd love to blame that stupid computer for this mess, that's not really true, is it? Nope. He's broken, not that dumb machine. Sigh. Well, nothing to do but pick up the pieces and move on.

In any case, he does leave it, as requested.]

[relieved:] Great.

[...

less relief:] How...long do I have?

[Tmw u were gonna go stew in self-loathing and nobody likes u etc etc bc the weirdo ur trying to befriend very badly told u to shut up except then they come back shortly afterward??

Quentin sounds a tiny bit surprised that Antigone said something.]

I dunno. How long do you want?

[weakly wry:] What, like it's my call? Aren't you all clawing up the walls about this?

Yeah, well, I wanted to hurry up and get it done, because what's the point in all the hand-wringing, you know? Oh, sure, we could stand around talking about what's on the spooky bone computer and what if it's terrible and blah blah blah. Or we fucking do it, and then whether it's good or bad or a nothingburger, at least we know. Debating it is just a way for slow, small-minded people to make themselves feel important and like they're making choices here when the crushing reality is whoever's in charge has got us by the short and curlies from the second we arrive. Choice is an illusion, we're all stooges here, may as well play the game and actually learn some shit.

But I've been told that approach comes off as "reckless" and "insensitive to people's feelings", so... Yeah, it's your call.

[That last statement is actually not him being sarcastic.]

For what it's worth, you're not the only hold out.