[There's a good, long wait between Quentin getting the voice message and him sending one back. Texting, allows for a chance to think about his words, about what he wants to say and can be deleted over and over until he finds something he can live with. He can't do that, when he's talking. So, he's going to try to follow the advice Eliot gave him after the first post he made. He's going to try and write it out before replying. And rewriting it.
Who ever this guy is, Quentin's not even sure if they've met, which is not a surprise to someone who spends most days in either the library or in the cabin, but he might have been to the town meeting, where Quentin spent most of his time not paying attention to anything but the pretty witch in the next seat. But. Whoever he is, he's very, very annoying. No one can be that calm all the time and not be a serial killer. Or in customer service.
And the absolute worst part of all of it, is that some of what he says makes sense. In a 'tilt you head and remove your emotions' kind of way. Something that Quentin had thought of, but the bottles had to be made special and it had to be made by the light of the midday sun. Yet another way for Beacon to screw them over. Because without all the emotions crashing through him, all the damn time, all of this would be so much easier. It would be so much easier to see what had to be done, if he didn't have to look at Eliot and know he'd been trapped in his own personal hell for a week, and might be again. If he didn't have to feel all of these feelings about things and people and this almost desperate need to get away.
So he writes and rewrites and ends up throwing it all away before pressing the button.]
And in my dreams? Every waking moment of my life? Sure, and they can stay inside my head forever. There's no reason for that shit to just. Look, you're trying to help and thank you? But I don't need therapy and I don't need to learn how to deal with pain. I need-- shit. I don't need any of this, but we are all here now and. And I just don't understand why. Why do you believe the light house lady? About anything? Why do you think the spirits are friendly?
[And he sounds close to tears, or at least exhausted and more heartbroken than angry.]
Why-- why isn't everyone freaking out about any of this? You said it yourself, there are kids here and they went through this, too. It's-- I can't do this again. I just can't. You might be able to-- to do whatever to see it from the outside, whatever that even means. And I can't watch this happen to-- I can't watch this happen to other people. And not do something.
I thought you were against that whole idea, since I didn't mention people without powers? That making a list would be stupid, and not helpful. And now you think I can help people? At all?
private| voice
Who ever this guy is, Quentin's not even sure if they've met, which is not a surprise to someone who spends most days in either the library or in the cabin, but he might have been to the town meeting, where Quentin spent most of his time not paying attention to anything but the pretty witch in the next seat. But. Whoever he is, he's very, very annoying. No one can be that calm all the time and not be a serial killer. Or in customer service.
And the absolute worst part of all of it, is that some of what he says makes sense. In a 'tilt you head and remove your emotions' kind of way. Something that Quentin had thought of, but the bottles had to be made special and it had to be made by the light of the midday sun. Yet another way for Beacon to screw them over. Because without all the emotions crashing through him, all the damn time, all of this would be so much easier. It would be so much easier to see what had to be done, if he didn't have to look at Eliot and know he'd been trapped in his own personal hell for a week, and might be again. If he didn't have to feel all of these feelings about things and people and this almost desperate need to get away.
So he writes and rewrites and ends up throwing it all away before pressing the button.]
And in my dreams? Every waking moment of my life? Sure, and they can stay inside my head forever. There's no reason for that shit to just. Look, you're trying to help and thank you? But I don't need therapy and I don't need to learn how to deal with pain. I need-- shit. I don't need any of this, but we are all here now and. And I just don't understand why. Why do you believe the light house lady? About anything? Why do you think the spirits are friendly?
[And he sounds close to tears, or at least exhausted and more heartbroken than angry.]
Why-- why isn't everyone freaking out about any of this? You said it yourself, there are kids here and they went through this, too. It's-- I can't do this again. I just can't. You might be able to-- to do whatever to see it from the outside, whatever that even means. And I can't watch this happen to-- I can't watch this happen to other people. And not do something.
I thought you were against that whole idea, since I didn't mention people without powers? That making a list would be stupid, and not helpful. And now you think I can help people? At all?