Heyyy, what's happenin'? You've reached the voicemail of one very fine-lookin' man. Wanna chat? Fanboy all over my mad skillz? Declare your undying love for me? You know what to do. [BEEEEP]
Well, I'm not a scientist. I don't have the power of logic on my side. I don't have the ability to think "if this, then that" and plan accordingly. I just do things. Half the time, I don't even know why I'm even doing them. [He's laughing now, laughing out of anger, out of frustration; laughing because it's always, always been a more favorable reaction to crying.]
I'm sure I don't need to tell you this-- it's probably already pretty obvious to you. But I just don't understand it. Why, why in God's name would you try to live peacefully with someone you can't stand?
[It's a remarkably brief reply considering how much he usually talks. He is interested in the reply, interested in the same way that a mosquito is interested in a mysterious shining blue light hanging over a doorway.]
[The reply is so succinct, so honestly curious that it catches him completely off-guard. Wade stares for a long second, his mouth working; nothing coming out but inarticulate noises.]
I... because you hate them. Because the very sight of them makes you angry. Maybe even makes you sick. Because you can't help but be reminded of what it is about them that made you hate them, every time you look at them.
I mean, why would you torture yourself like that? Why would you willingly set yourself up for that kind of pain? I... I just don't understand it.
Does it cause you those problems to see me? Does it make your stomach contract and bile flood your throat with the threat of vomit? Is that why you do not wish to continue with this attempt at reconciliation?
[He doesn't feel like that. He does not like Wade, but it is a slow burn of dislike, it is an itch between his shoulder blades. It is the simmering resentment of an old lady who does not want to be old and who impotently rages against uncaring time.]
Yes. No. I... don't know. I just... When I see you I get this sick twisty feeling in my stomach... feels like bad sushi, almost. I don't know what it is. I don't hate you, but... but I haven't felt this way since--
[He stops abruptly, suddenly overcome with the memories of a time before. Since Blind Al. Since Blind Al and the Box. Since the last time I punished an old blind woman for doing what just came naturally to her. The situations aren't really the same, but aren't they at least a little similar? He'd gotten angry, too angry at something he couldn't control, and punished someone who hadn't deserved it. This feeling-- this horrible, gut-twisting feeling-- has a name, and he knows it all too well: Guilt. Regret. Shame.
His eyes burn with it, and he pushes himself off of the couch, glancing away from Carlos so the other man doesn't have to see it.]
I just don't know what to do. [His voice is small-- lost, like a child struggling not to cry.] I can't just not care. Not anymore. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do.
[He is not a mind reader, he cannot see the memories and images which bring with them the twist of guilt that Wade is now associating with him. He only has half the story, perhaps not even half, and it is not a story that he understands. It's a story written in an ancient language of another world, telling tales of deeds and people he cannot imagine.
His brow furrows. There is concern and confusion, mostly confusion, written plain across his face when Wade stands up.]
Perhaps then you are right, perhaps we should endeavour to spend as little time in company with one another as possible. I don't want to be responsible for any feeling that accompanies eating sushi that is no longer fit for human consumption.
No! No, that'll just make me feel even worse. [He sighs.] You just... you shouldn't have to change your behavior on my account. This's my fault. I got us both into this mess, and I'll just... have to deal with it on my own, I guess.
[Wade turns to Carlos with a smile that is obviously meant to be self-assured. It isn't, but at least an attempt was made.]
So, uh... if the offer still stands, we can try the friendly roomie thing out. See how it goes. That okay with you?
I think if we are trying to get along, to become more than acquaintances who awkwardly pass in the hallways of our home that is legally too small to house twelve people, then we should get to know each other.
[That's usually how it's done, how chatting for personal reasons goes.]
[Kind of an awkward position considering Wade tends to keep himself very much to himself unless properly coaxed, but he considers that fair game after the kind of introduction Carlos has had to him. He stabbed his boyfriend in the throat-- Carlos is perfectly within his rights to ask him about himself.]
Okay. Yeah, sure. We can... do that. So, uh... what do you wanna know about me? Unless you want me to start with askin' about you first, I mean.
[He considers for a moment. Questions of childhood and memories, of anecdotes and amusing stories, all seem too intimate for their particular current relationship. He casts his mind about for a safer topic, for an interesting topic, for a topic that probably won't offend.]
Why don't you tell me about your suit? It is not a style or fashion that I have seen many times before, the tight fitting material that leaves nothing about your physical stature or endowments to the imagination is a bold choice.
[Okay, that? That right there? Makes him turn as red as a tomato. He's usually not so shy about his figure-- in the rare days in which he didn't actually hate himself, he's aware that he has a rather nice body... as long as it's covered up, of course.
But to hear someone who doesn't particularly like him and who's caught him so much off-guard talk about his "endowments" like that... he doesn't really know how to take it.]
I, uh... [Wonderful way to start a Q&A.] W-well, I mean-- it's spandex? Allows me to move around pretty freely, you know how it is. Plus my body temperature tends to stay above normal anyway so there's not really much of a danger of me getting too cold.
Not to mention that... y'know. It's what people like me usually wear, back home.
People like you? When you say people like you, what do you mean? Speaking on the level of science, and assuming you are a member of the species homo sapiens, then we are all people like you. We are all people like one another, on our basic genetic level, except when we are not people at all. Or perhaps you mean people like you in a professional sense, in the strict terms of a job description, which would make your outfit a strange and oddly revealing uniform. Though there are jobs that require revealing uniforms, some that are even tighter fitting and leaving less to the imagination than yours. Jobs like strippers and pole dancer and railway station attendants.
[He is interested in this world where everyone seems to wear one type of clothing as standard, where there is no individuality in dress and conforming means donning an outfit which would not be kind to people who were not as in shape as Wade.]
[It's like listening to spoken lyrics, or a quadratic formula in iambic pentameter. It's strangely relaxing, the way Carlos speaks, even if the subject matter is anything but. Was he really just compared to strippers and pole dancers? And where the hell did railway station attendants fit in that comparison. Wade clears his throat.]
I-I mean people with powers. Superheroes and... I dunno-- other people with superpowers, I guess. [He's not so naive as to try to lump himself in with heroes, not after what he's done.] We call 'em mutants, where I come from. Or... homo superior, if you're one of those crazy radicals that pop up every once in a while. Y'know, people born with ice breath or laser eyes or whatever the hell happens when one of your chromosomes forgets to tell a DNA strand it's goin' on vacation.
Spandex is just... well. I guess it's just a common method of dress? I dunno-- I've never really thought about it before. That's just the style, apparently. Hasn't changed in decades and I doubt it's gonna be changin' any time soon.
[He sounds interested, mostly because he is interested.]
There aren't any superheroes in the place where I live, no, where I did live before I lived here. Here, where there are many superheroes. But there were heroes, there were every day people and sentient beings and creatures that did heroic things, but they did not wear costumes and their labels were more mundane than superhero. They were teachers and radio hosts and reading club militia units.
[Wade doesn't know what to say to that-- reading club militia units? Did he hear him right?-- but he takes note of the fact that Carlos has included radio hosts in that list. Because of course he would.]
Well I mean, there are heroes in every world, I guess. Mine just happens to be filled with... y'know. Mutants, like I've said. An' they're not always considered heroes, obviously. Apparently a lot of the more mundane folk think we're abominations or in defiance of God's will or whatever Pat Robertson-esque drivel comes outta their mouth during those protests.
Heh. As if it's that easy for us to change our genetic makeup. It's not like we-- [He stops; corrects himself. He's already toying with hypocrisy by taking this stance-- no reason to bring it further.] I mean, not like a lot of us were presented with a choice, y'know?
[He shrugs, hands open wide as if to indicate the wealth of possibilities, as if to contain all the choices of one endlessly possible life within such a small space.]
Or do we have all the choices? Do we choose what we are by the nature of how we express ourselves, how we interact with the world and one another, by the actions we take and the inactions we do not take, by the words we speak and the silences we keep? Scientifically speaking, I think the choices that we have are infinite.
[What the hell is he even supposed to say to that? Clearly Carlos is operating on a completely different plane than he is. Wade isn't really sure how much choice most mutants have in being born with powers-- and when Carlos puts it that way it sounds altogether offensive-- but he figures this isn't really the time to mince words. He clears his throat.]
So, uh... yeah. That's the reason for the spandex, I guess. Freedom of movement and all that. Uh... anything else you were curious about?
Oh, um... Well, I'm a scientist, and scientists are curious about nearly everything, it's one of the defining qualities of a scientist.
[How many times can one man mention science in thirty seconds?]
But curiosity isn't a trait reserved just for scientists, and I'm sure it would count as fair turnabout if you were allowed to ask a question to sate a small portion of your curiosity next.
[Wade chastises himself for sounding awkward and unprofessional. After all, this is a Q&A, not a blind date. He's silent for a brief moment, considering his options.]
Uh... well what I'd really like to know is what your world is like. Cecil's given me hints, but I still can't make heads or tails of it. N-No offense.
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no subject
I'm sure I don't need to tell you this-- it's probably already pretty obvious to you. But I just don't understand it. Why, why in God's name would you try to live peacefully with someone you can't stand?
no subject
[It's a remarkably brief reply considering how much he usually talks. He is interested in the reply, interested in the same way that a mosquito is interested in a mysterious shining blue light hanging over a doorway.]
no subject
I... because you hate them. Because the very sight of them makes you angry. Maybe even makes you sick. Because you can't help but be reminded of what it is about them that made you hate them, every time you look at them.
I mean, why would you torture yourself like that? Why would you willingly set yourself up for that kind of pain? I... I just don't understand it.
no subject
[He doesn't feel like that. He does not like Wade, but it is a slow burn of dislike, it is an itch between his shoulder blades. It is the simmering resentment of an old lady who does not want to be old and who impotently rages against uncaring time.]
no subject
[He stops abruptly, suddenly overcome with the memories of a time before. Since Blind Al. Since Blind Al and the Box. Since the last time I punished an old blind woman for doing what just came naturally to her. The situations aren't really the same, but aren't they at least a little similar? He'd gotten angry, too angry at something he couldn't control, and punished someone who hadn't deserved it. This feeling-- this horrible, gut-twisting feeling-- has a name, and he knows it all too well: Guilt. Regret. Shame.
His eyes burn with it, and he pushes himself off of the couch, glancing away from Carlos so the other man doesn't have to see it.]
I just don't know what to do. [His voice is small-- lost, like a child struggling not to cry.] I can't just not care. Not anymore. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do.
no subject
His brow furrows. There is concern and confusion, mostly confusion, written plain across his face when Wade stands up.]
Perhaps then you are right, perhaps we should endeavour to spend as little time in company with one another as possible. I don't want to be responsible for any feeling that accompanies eating sushi that is no longer fit for human consumption.
no subject
[Wade turns to Carlos with a smile that is obviously meant to be self-assured. It isn't, but at least an attempt was made.]
So, uh... if the offer still stands, we can try the friendly roomie thing out. See how it goes. That okay with you?
no subject
[His tone says he thinks that's sort of a stupid question, but he's just polite enough to only verbalise it in an entirely non verbal way.]
If it were not okay with me, if it were not the intended outcome of this discussion, then I would not have suggested it at all.
no subject
[His hand once again reaches back to squeeze his neck awkwardly.]
So uh... [He clears his throat.] ...was that everything or was there something else you wanted to discuss?
no subject
[That's usually how it's done, how chatting for personal reasons goes.]
no subject
[Kind of an awkward position considering Wade tends to keep himself very much to himself unless properly coaxed, but he considers that fair game after the kind of introduction Carlos has had to him. He stabbed his boyfriend in the throat-- Carlos is perfectly within his rights to ask him about himself.]
Okay. Yeah, sure. We can... do that. So, uh... what do you wanna know about me? Unless you want me to start with askin' about you first, I mean.
no subject
Why don't you tell me about your suit? It is not a style or fashion that I have seen many times before, the tight fitting material that leaves nothing about your physical stature or endowments to the imagination is a bold choice.
no subject
But to hear someone who doesn't particularly like him and who's caught him so much off-guard talk about his "endowments" like that... he doesn't really know how to take it.]
I, uh... [Wonderful way to start a Q&A.] W-well, I mean-- it's spandex? Allows me to move around pretty freely, you know how it is. Plus my body temperature tends to stay above normal anyway so there's not really much of a danger of me getting too cold.
Not to mention that... y'know. It's what people like me usually wear, back home.
no subject
[He is interested in this world where everyone seems to wear one type of clothing as standard, where there is no individuality in dress and conforming means donning an outfit which would not be kind to people who were not as in shape as Wade.]
no subject
I-I mean people with powers. Superheroes and... I dunno-- other people with superpowers, I guess. [He's not so naive as to try to lump himself in with heroes, not after what he's done.] We call 'em mutants, where I come from. Or... homo superior, if you're one of those crazy radicals that pop up every once in a while. Y'know, people born with ice breath or laser eyes or whatever the hell happens when one of your chromosomes forgets to tell a DNA strand it's goin' on vacation.
Spandex is just... well. I guess it's just a common method of dress? I dunno-- I've never really thought about it before. That's just the style, apparently. Hasn't changed in decades and I doubt it's gonna be changin' any time soon.
no subject
[He sounds interested, mostly because he is interested.]
There aren't any superheroes in the place where I live, no, where I did live before I lived here. Here, where there are many superheroes. But there were heroes, there were every day people and sentient beings and creatures that did heroic things, but they did not wear costumes and their labels were more mundane than superhero. They were teachers and radio hosts and reading club militia units.
no subject
[Wade doesn't know what to say to that-- reading club militia units? Did he hear him right?-- but he takes note of the fact that Carlos has included radio hosts in that list. Because of course he would.]
Well I mean, there are heroes in every world, I guess. Mine just happens to be filled with... y'know. Mutants, like I've said. An' they're not always considered heroes, obviously. Apparently a lot of the more mundane folk think we're abominations or in defiance of God's will or whatever Pat Robertson-esque drivel comes outta their mouth during those protests.
Heh. As if it's that easy for us to change our genetic makeup. It's not like we-- [He stops; corrects himself. He's already toying with hypocrisy by taking this stance-- no reason to bring it further.] I mean, not like a lot of us were presented with a choice, y'know?
no subject
[He shrugs, hands open wide as if to indicate the wealth of possibilities, as if to contain all the choices of one endlessly possible life within such a small space.]
Or do we have all the choices? Do we choose what we are by the nature of how we express ourselves, how we interact with the world and one another, by the actions we take and the inactions we do not take, by the words we speak and the silences we keep? Scientifically speaking, I think the choices that we have are infinite.
no subject
[What the hell is he even supposed to say to that? Clearly Carlos is operating on a completely different plane than he is. Wade isn't really sure how much choice most mutants have in being born with powers-- and when Carlos puts it that way it sounds altogether offensive-- but he figures this isn't really the time to mince words. He clears his throat.]
So, uh... yeah. That's the reason for the spandex, I guess. Freedom of movement and all that. Uh... anything else you were curious about?
no subject
[How many times can one man mention science in thirty seconds?]
But curiosity isn't a trait reserved just for scientists, and I'm sure it would count as fair turnabout if you were allowed to ask a question to sate a small portion of your curiosity next.
no subject
[Wade chastises himself for sounding awkward and unprofessional. After all, this is a Q&A, not a blind date. He's silent for a brief moment, considering his options.]
Uh... well what I'd really like to know is what your world is like. Cecil's given me hints, but I still can't make heads or tails of it. N-No offense.