"I never said you were better than me, you-" Quentin makes an angry mouth sound, gnashing his teeth a little. The Fog is murmuring rip, bite, tear but he's not getting in arm's reach of Norman.
Not again, never again if he can help it, because he knows what Norman can do even if the man says he's all above it now. Obviously he isn't, if he's doing this.
"This is soapbox bullshit! Making excuses so you can sleep at night! You went from sobbing over May Parker to this, what the fuck ate your brain to make this seem like a bright fucking idea, Osborn-"
Quentin's angry about plenty of things recently. Stark barely makes the list today. His grip on the bag tightens again, and if it gets swung again? The fried tofu will probably end up all over the place.
Mentioning May was either the best or the worst thing Beck could have done, and it's extremely clear from the way Norman looks as though he's been slapped that he's trying to decide which way the scales will tip.
In that moment, he faces the first true test of all the work he's been doing since June: whether or not to give in to the knee-jerk hair trigger of rage that accompanies his shame at being called out, or calmly receive what Beck's saying and accept, continue the conversation. A shudder crawls from the crown of his head down his spine and twists his stomach, and his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.
Breathing hard, Norman knows what he should do. But here under Elias' influence? He also knows what he wants to do, and Beck is clearly heading for the caves, on the other side. His face twists in disgust, and Beck will likely think it's directed out at him, not inward.
"And you?" He says, deciding that if he shouldn't lash out with violence, words might be an alternative. "I didn't think you the type to go running to the Fog, either."
Quentin laughs, and it's sharp. A little wild as he cocks his head to the side. His grin may not be visible behind the scarf over his mouth, but it isn't kind. The wings disturb his coat again, a hint of green neon visible in the usual pattern.
"What can I say? Not all of us can be super-soldiers. Not all of us want to be chipped like pets. So."
A jerky shrug, shoulders shifting oddly. Like he's a bit more monster than man. "Safety, certainty. I'll take this over being nothing any day."
He'll take the opportunity to fight with teeth and claw instead of walking some metaphorical tightrope again, trying not to fall out of good graces. He's fallen enough times, shattered at least once, and so- he has teeth. And he'll make that everybody's problem.
He snorts, face contorting for an instant into a snarl that's almost an echo of Alton's ... but he catches his own leash. May. May. Peter, Bruno, Otto, Isabel, Chiaki, Reira... He says their names like a rosary in his mind, until calm finds him again. He has the presence of mind to actually look embarrassed for a moment, even uncertain, before licking smoke-and-dust-dried lips to speak again, quietly.
"Think whatever you want about me for following Elias. But 'nothing' is exactly what you mean to the Fog in the end. Look around, Beck. Think of every single month we've been here. D'you really think that the Fog is the poster God for stability?"
Ah, so Norman hasn't realized that not everybody would even want to be human and 'normal' again in a place like this. How quaint. The snarl does make him pause, but the sharp amusement cuts through most of the fear. A bit of Fog-provided bravado keeps him from backing down.
"Oooh, temper temper, Osborn. I thought you'd rehabilitated. I'm the snarling beast here, right?" He waggles a finger mockingly, and the levity in his voice rings hollow. "And you think I'm in this for the long-haul? Really?" Another laugh. It's the most genuine laugh he's had in Felfri. "You of all people should know how the world works. Power, strength... The Fog gives me tooth and claw. That is stability I'll take."
It's not something that can be ripped out of him at a different god's whims, like that tech shit. He'll take this, even if it's just as temporary as everything else.
That hollow tone isn't lost on him, and now that Norman's got himself grounded, he sees that this is just the same old game: Beck with his hackles up, snarling and spitting and barking because he's too desperate, bitter, and scared to do much else.
He remembers feeling that way. He knows what it got him. But he also knows that trying to draw any sort of paralell between them will just pour more gasoline on the fire. Norman sighs, shaking his head, not wanting to play the game. Not when he might have to protect people in his battalion if they're discovered. For so many reasons, this isn't the place or the time for any sort of lasting conversation.
Thankfully, the other Fourthies are starting to withdraw, having set whatever other obstacles and traps they came to put out. It doesn't seem to matter to them that Norman hasn't deployed his bombs - they had other supplies, after all, other nasty surprises. He frowns.
"It isn't my place to tell you who to be or what to do. Just ... watch yourself on your way back in. I don't know what they put down."
One of E+L's team captains hollers for him, and he turns to move off with the rest. Whether Beck tries to follow or get in one last shot is up to him.
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ninetydegrees
(no subject)
7/11/22 04:52 (UTC)Not again, never again if he can help it, because he knows what Norman can do even if the man says he's all above it now. Obviously he isn't, if he's doing this.
"This is soapbox bullshit! Making excuses so you can sleep at night! You went from sobbing over May Parker to this, what the fuck ate your brain to make this seem like a bright fucking idea, Osborn-"
Quentin's angry about plenty of things recently. Stark barely makes the list today. His grip on the bag tightens again, and if it gets swung again? The fried tofu will probably end up all over the place.
(no subject)
14/11/22 15:34 (UTC)In that moment, he faces the first true test of all the work he's been doing since June: whether or not to give in to the knee-jerk hair trigger of rage that accompanies his shame at being called out, or calmly receive what Beck's saying and accept, continue the conversation. A shudder crawls from the crown of his head down his spine and twists his stomach, and his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.
Breathing hard, Norman knows what he should do. But here under Elias' influence? He also knows what he wants to do, and Beck is clearly heading for the caves, on the other side. His face twists in disgust, and Beck will likely think it's directed out at him, not inward.
"And you?" He says, deciding that if he shouldn't lash out with violence, words might be an alternative. "I didn't think you the type to go running to the Fog, either."
(no subject)
17/11/22 05:50 (UTC)"What can I say? Not all of us can be super-soldiers. Not all of us want to be chipped like pets. So."
A jerky shrug, shoulders shifting oddly. Like he's a bit more monster than man. "Safety, certainty. I'll take this over being nothing any day."
He'll take the opportunity to fight with teeth and claw instead of walking some metaphorical tightrope again, trying not to fall out of good graces. He's fallen enough times, shattered at least once, and so- he has teeth. And he'll make that everybody's problem.
(no subject)
5/12/22 18:43 (UTC)He snorts, face contorting for an instant into a snarl that's almost an echo of Alton's ... but he catches his own leash. May. May. Peter, Bruno, Otto, Isabel, Chiaki, Reira... He says their names like a rosary in his mind, until calm finds him again. He has the presence of mind to actually look embarrassed for a moment, even uncertain, before licking smoke-and-dust-dried lips to speak again, quietly.
"Think whatever you want about me for following Elias. But 'nothing' is exactly what you mean to the Fog in the end. Look around, Beck. Think of every single month we've been here. D'you really think that the Fog is the poster God for stability?"
(no subject)
5/12/22 23:24 (UTC)"Oooh, temper temper, Osborn. I thought you'd rehabilitated. I'm the snarling beast here, right?" He waggles a finger mockingly, and the levity in his voice rings hollow. "And you think I'm in this for the long-haul? Really?" Another laugh. It's the most genuine laugh he's had in Felfri. "You of all people should know how the world works. Power, strength... The Fog gives me tooth and claw. That is stability I'll take."
It's not something that can be ripped out of him at a different god's whims, like that tech shit. He'll take this, even if it's just as temporary as everything else.
(no subject)
6/12/22 03:34 (UTC)He remembers feeling that way. He knows what it got him. But he also knows that trying to draw any sort of paralell between them will just pour more gasoline on the fire. Norman sighs, shaking his head, not wanting to play the game. Not when he might have to protect people in his battalion if they're discovered. For so many reasons, this isn't the place or the time for any sort of lasting conversation.
Thankfully, the other Fourthies are starting to withdraw, having set whatever other obstacles and traps they came to put out. It doesn't seem to matter to them that Norman hasn't deployed his bombs - they had other supplies, after all, other nasty surprises. He frowns.
"It isn't my place to tell you who to be or what to do. Just ... watch yourself on your way back in. I don't know what they put down."
One of E+L's team captains hollers for him, and he turns to move off with the rest. Whether Beck tries to follow or get in one last shot is up to him.