[OPEN] {They put poison in my mouth

[deadlycurves]

WHO: Diego Hargreeves & YOU
WHERE: Jeopardy; De Chima; Nonah; TBD otherwise
WHEN: Month of July
WHAT: A general mall shift in Jeopardy; Drinks & darts at Pour Decisions in De Chima; Boxing at a gym in Nonah; Open/Wildcard option for whatever you want with him!
WARNINGS: Language, violence, drinking, gambling; will update in comment headers if/when necessary.


Options in the comments!

Comments

[deadlycurves]

"What question?" the words tumble out before he has a chance to think it through, so much of Diego is just act first, think later. If he even gets around to that second part, sometimes he really doesn't even do that, even at any arbitrary 'later' point. The slight squint of confusion at the edges of his eyes is still there, deepens the slightest bit for her words. He gets it. She's trying to let him find the answer himself. Lead a horse to water, whatever. But... "Why won't they remem--" The rattle of the weights in the corner snaps him back to the guy over there and something about it, and his half-asked question clicks just so in his head. His attention whips immediately back to the redhead in front of him. "You're saying it's my fault." And that is his exact wording. The only one that he could choose, because that realization comes with a bucket of things all at once. Most obvious is this knee-jerk guilt response because, really, he wasn't doing anything. At least, he definitely wasn't trying to. And he hadn't ever done that in any of his training with Luther. He felt like it was something to save for later, when he knew better how to handle the other parts of this power. The kind of advanced level thing reserved for someone who knew what they were doing. Especially because he wasn't sure how much he liked the idea of that part of it at all anyway. Forcing something on someone that way. Nobody deserved that, did they? When and how could that kind of outright manipulation of people ever be right or okay to use? It's all a bit of a spiral from that point, though it never really loses it's center from that point. Guilt at its core, but also shame for being so clueless, a little panic as he realizes he has no clue how to stop it. The shame is bigger, more familiar and deep-rooted from things long past; the panic is smaller, more contained, because he's always been able to box that up and set it aside, push through it into something more recklessly brave (or stupid, or both). But it's not any piece said, not aloud or with words, at least.

[heartofthedream]

"Fault is a very subjective word," Jean says, quietly.

The way she says it has as little judgment as does the face that turns to look at him.

"I wouldn't feel comfortable claiming that you meant to do any of this, and certainly not like this." Her last words are far more pressed upon than any of the others before it. Not so much as a descriptor for the 'this' that was before them, but for the 'this' everything became as Jean looked away from the man and raised her hand.

Delicate pale skin and a simple movement. There's a flicker like firelight at her fingertips, and then it is around the two of them together just for only a second like a bubble. All its color and shape like that of flickering flames, except transparent and translucent, fading just as quickly into the empty, clear air as it'd come, except for the faintest flickers one could see mostly out of the corner of an eye.

"Watch." A soft, still guidepost, as her hand shifts toward the man at the weights, and it's not the shield but her own mind, clearing out the fog that had rolled over the room from Diego. The man sat back suddenly as the weight bar was released entirely, the weight a loud clang as they fell back and he caught himself on the seat he sat on, gulping air, blinking and looking around in a daze like someone just awoken.

Her fingers shifted only briefly, wrist and palm turning slowly, and the man visibly calmed, taking in a slower breath, and rubbing at his forehead as the redness started to drain from his cheeks, too.

[deadlycurves]

Diego doesn't see anything subjective about it. This was him, this was on him, it was his fault. He did this to them. He'd done it and he didn't even realize or know it at all. He watches, almost dumbfounded, as she makes the simplest, vaguest motion with one hand and... something ripples out and snaps around them with the barest flame-flicker until it's only clear again. His eyes focus on the man with the weights as she tells him to watch, like this is some kind of party trick she's performing. "I doh- I don't understand. You stopped it?" He hasn't really turned his eyes back to her, though, he's too busy watching as the anger drains out of the guy in the corner of the room. But it doesn't matter, not really. That she had managed to wash out what he'd done, however unintentional, because he's still wrestling with the tangled web of it in his head, too.

[heartofthedream]

Her fingers spread apart as it became far less one man, and more like she made herself the center of a pond.

Calm radiated out in waves from her (from outside the bubble of them), gently. Not to clobber anyone with the soothing ripple that washed-up against them and drag them under another emotion that wasn't theirs, again, but a lull back toward themselves and free will and their own multifaceted emotions, always so much more complex than the simplicity of anger or calm alone.

The human heart and mind was rarely ever so simple.

"No," it's a simple statement. "You did. When you realized it. I simply gave them a softer place to land."

It wasn't going to be fun when he decided he needed to test how long someone might be left in the after-effects of his ministrations in the future. She hoped, for his sake, it was nowhere even in the closest universe of hers. Not that many people in existence came close to that, or required such a tight control to be maintained on it.

[deadlycurves]

"But... I didn't do anything." He counters, finally looking at her again. "I didn't do anything in the first place, how can I do that and not know it?" So rarely has Diego been one to do much fretting or panicking of any kind, but it isn't like he's made of the steel he'd like to pretend he is to the rest of the world. Not really. He is so much softer behind that curtain. And he's been pushed into something completely unfamiliar and foreign; it's not much of a surprise that it's got him spinning and, maybe, reacting a little more in front of this stranger than he might have done another time. I hate this. It's loud, emphatic, and perfectly clear, as much as if he'd said it out loud. He wants to say something, anything really, he can feel it like something threatening to rip straight through his chest just to have the chance to say something. Except he doesn't know what to say, so instead he slides both hands through his hair, fingers clasping behind his neck at the end.

[heartofthedream]

Jean allows him his hyperbole without comment.

One, because everyone in the school had thought that several times across learning how to become themselves and control their powers, and two, because being able to hear his every thought didn't actually entitle her to commentary on them, or with them. Especially when she was certain he hadn't realized she was hearing them, and was distracted enough by the size of his shock that he'd already well flown by the fact she'd answered one of his earlier ones.

She let her hand fall back to her and the shield around them with it. "It's easier for it to react to instinct and overwhelming emotion at the beginning sometimes. You'll have to learn how not to broadcast your own feelings simply because it is as easy as breathing to feel them most of all."

[deadlycurves]

"How?" he stresses that one word with all the emphasis he can manage. He really is not a fan of this whole thing at all, and all his attempts training with Luther have been so barely-helpful in it all. Not for a lack of trying, but definitely with a huge lack of understanding attached. He's not sure how they're supposed to get a grip on things like this when they keep the explanations on the files so thin. "How the hell am I supposed to get a grip on any of this? It's invasive and manipulative as fuck and I hate it already. I didn't ask for this, I don't want it, I was just fine with my trajectory power, I really didn't need anything else." It's almost like once he started, he just kept going and couldn't stop. Not a very Diego-like thing to do, but. Well. Everything is topsy-turvy right now. The kind of manipulation he'd just done, to a room full of people, without even trying is more than a little worrisome.