worthallthis | IC Inbox: In the Night

[Oh, did Quentin not know about that? This is gonna be a fun conversation.]

Programmed, brainwashed, whatever you want to call it. By a group called HYDRA. I was their pet assassin. They're the ones who took my memories. Repeatedly. Apparently even with the programming, they needed me to not know who I was.

[They rearrange the cards in their hand.]

Raise you two.

I see that raise, and I raise you, uh... four?

[He tilts his head and just... frowns.]

They what? Did that on purpose? What the-- that's fucked up. I mean, not you. [Quentin holds out a hand, fingers twitching] Not you, but them? And what they did? Is that... how you died?

I died on a mission, not because of them. A flying aircraft carrier with a lot of guns fell apart and crashes with me inside.

[Because it's literally only peanuts, Soldat puts in the four, then makes a "show me" motion with their free hand. What cards you got, Q.]

They did do it on purpose. They wanted to use me. There's no magic on my world, but we do have. I guess you'd say supersoldiers. Stronger, faster, better aim and improved processing power, heal more quickly. Assets. If you can control us.

[Quentin turns his cards over- three of the same. All eights.]

Jesus, that's-- so fucked up. I mean, I know there are spells that would do the same thing and- and it's not like there are that many forbidden spells. But just... sometimes I don't get people.

[So, it's disjointed, Quentin's voice low as he bites his lip and looks up at Soldat only in short glimpses from underneath his bangs. But it's heartfelt. What-]

Dicks.

[Soldat gets pretty disjointed at times. They at least can pick up the gist of it.]

I don't get them all the time, either. This, though, I understood just fine. They required order for their version of peace. And order only comes through pain.

[This time, it's not a slogan popping out of their mouth without thought, it's as close to sarcastic as Soldat is capable of getting: bone dry and pointed. They set their cards down, a small straight of four, five, and six. A straight beats three of a kind, but just barely. Two hands to Soldat.]

My pain. Pain of the people they want to rule. Never theirs, though.

[Order through pain and Quentin can still remember dean Fogg's speech when he was enrolled in to Brakebills. Magic comes from pain, and the underlying theory that what sets them apart- what makes them special is how deep the pain goes and how willing they are to channel that pain in to magic.

It's bullshit.

Quentin's magic had never been better than it was when he'd been happy. Truly happy.]

What a load of dicks.

[Quentin pushes the pile of peanuts to Soldat and starts shuffling the cards again. He holds the deck out-]

Are you... okay? With that?

I don't think like they do. If that's what you mean.

[A pause.]

Mostly. I try not to. Sometimes it just happens. Familiarity. The goddamn HYDRA slogan popped out of my mouth a few weeks ago.

[So embarrassing. They take the offer card deck and deal themselves, instead.]

But I don't like it. Ain't right. Not just because it fucked me up pretty good, wouldn't want their kind of order for anybody.

[Looking at the cards he's been dealt, Quentin puts them in order and pushes two peanuts in to the middle of the pew.]

I didn't think you did, you just don't seem like someone who would do that to someone. But also... dicks.

[There's not much else to say to that - mind-control? Yikes. And in to doing things that fucking awful? The Margolem had been bad enough, and that had only been Margo's image and some of her magic. Not her whole self. Jesus.]

I'm sorry? That that happened to you?

[They meet the bet, then trade out... three cards. What a crap hand.]

It's okay.

[Well, it's not okay, but Soldat is never really sure what to say to apologies like that.]

I'm. Getting better, or so people tell me.

It's really not.

[Okay. But then again, growing up means figuring out how much of the crap happening was so not okay on any level and sure, nothing in Quentin's life was ever as bad as being mind-controlled in to killing people. But that was probably only because Alice as a Niffin never seemed to want to kill people. Just magical being and most days, Quentin tries to just not think about how many she killed while using his body.

Or what else she might have done while wearing his skin like a cheap suit.

He trades one card, and places the new hand face up on the pew.

Three of a kind. All nines.]

Nothing like dying to put everything in to perspective?

[Beats Soldat's shit hand of one pair of Jacks, easy. They push the pile of peanuts Quentin's way.]

I guess. Being free and not getting brain-fried every other day probably did more than dying did.

[They discard both hands and deal out new ones. This is kind of nice, the motions are familiar and comfortable, like they've done this so many times it's just ingrained.]

Did dying put things into perspective for you, too?

Oh. Right, yeah. So, that tracks.

[As he picks up the new cards, discarding three before he pushes a handful of peanuts in to the middle.]

It-- uh, yeah? Yes, maybe. At least until I woke up on the ferry and found out that I wasn't done with saving the world after all. And I really, really wanted to not do that anymore.

[Oh, this is a much better hand. Soldat sorts, picks one card, adds to the peanut pile. There's a raise in there.

That's a curious sentiment, though. They have to ask:]

Why don't you? It seems like a good sort of goal. Saving people instead of hurting them.

IC Inbox: In the Night

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