ximilia | text; un: quantumania

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text; un: quantumania

so uh question

what's on the north end of the station? anybody know? I mean the rest of the place is cool and all but going wherever I want is kind of my whole thing these days and I can't get there which is

weird

or jump between universes anymore

I mean HEY it's not like I want to leave or anything! if whoever's in charge is watching this network which I'm 100% sure they are haha please don't kick me out. just saying, the whole multiverse thing was kind of my ~thing~ and now it's not and it's weird/spooky that they can even take that away to begin with but

yeah anyway

north end of the station is a big ol question mark

also does anybody have some spare yttrium lying around? anyone from the science/phd crowd? maybe some liquid nitrogen? no reason why

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plenty of juice left, it's more like there's some kind of block in place. as long as my spots work here I'm not too worried

[ he's NOT going to talk about how he can't go into himself, it'd just. it'd make all of this sound so much weirder and worse. ]

dunno, maybe if I could put together another mini-collider I could get around it but I'm not in a hurry to get out of here either. place is pretty cool actually

kinda wish I'd been here earlier. have you been here long? any good stories? gimme the dirt

[ That's interesting. Hard to tell if it's something fucking with everyone, this guy in particular, the station, or something else. This isn't Carver's area in the slightest, but he knows how to pay attention. Patterns have a tendency to end up mattering. Especially with unit-level bullshit, which this is slated to turn into. ]

Probably don't build that here

[ He says, for reasons of self-preservation. ]

No. New. You from Earth or someplace else?

oh no it's completely absolutely mostly safe! you're talking to an expert here. learned a thing or two at Stanford between chugging energy drinks and crying haha

[ no it would genuinely blow holes in everything, good thing he can't find all the parts! rip to his immediate surroundings if he ever ends up on a planet with all the right bits and baubles tho. ]

but yeah Earth! a version of it anyway. there's about fifty thousand of them last I checked and I didn't check too hard

ever heard of Brooklyn?

Still probably don't build that shit here

[ Same thing he'd say to a bomb maker, for the same reasons, and he used to run with a few. ]

I know where Brooklyn is
50 thousand Earths? How the fuck does that work?

[ just gonna. not address that first part. ]

beats me man! they're just kinda stacked on top of each other honestly. Spider-Man blows up a delicate piece of quantum machinery on your weekend overnighter/ruins your life and BAM now you can split the fabric of reality and visit the one where everything is made of Legos

I'd show you but y'know. the orbs or the folks in charge or whatever said no

[ his existence is so unbearably weird at this point that it's just easier to be matter-of-fact about it, honestly. ]

[ Oh, God. You’re going to be a problem the way only engineers can be a problem. ]

You know, I’m just going to accept that.
Sure.
A world made of Legos.

What can you still do here?

yeah way easier to just not ask questions man, trust me

and I could

show you? real quick. but you have to promise you won't laugh first

[ that's genuinely his hugest fear here, particularly when it comes to showing anything of himself on the network. in person is different, he could ostensibly do something about it if someone decided to crack Spidey type jokes to his not-face, but over the network? he's honestly a little shy. doesn't want to end up some kind of meme in this place, it has to be a fresh start. ]

Sure.

[ He's still not showing himself properly - it's just his hands, lanky and pale and decidedly not normal, blotted dark in random spots, knuckles cracking nervously before he waves at the center of his quaint little room. An inky black spot bleeds into thin air, ringed by a sickly yellow-green. Another opens up on the far side of the room near his desk, a few sheets of paper already scratched up with indecipherable scientist scribbling. Plenty of math, at least that much is legible.

He pushes his hand into the spot nearest to him. It comes out of the one across the room, fingers waggling in a little greeting before he grabs a pen off the desk, pulls it back. Both portals close up with an odd little noise, almost wet, and he spins the pen on his knuckles absently, anxiously.

His voice sounds normal, at least. He's very carefully not letting any of the rest of him into view. ]

Cool, right? Only cost me everything, heh.

[ That's the most miserable little heh known to man. ]

[ Whatever Carver was expecting, it wasn’t this. He’s seen a lot of shit over the years. The shape a city takes after it falls, when its people turn medieval on each other in a matter of weeks and even the rats won’t stick around to body the aftermath. He’s seen the face of God on the ground gone tacky with blood, walked over the groaning, hungry dead as they reached for him, tried to tear him down. But this?

This is new. And there is something to be said for novelty.

After a moment, Carver switches to video, too. The face that peers back is mostly blank, his dark hair pushed back out of his face. He’s shaved and showered—they have soap here—but he’s still wearing his ratty jacket from before, the iron pendant still hanging from the string around his neck.

Uniforms are important. Otherwise, people forget the shape they’re meant to take. ]

Useful. What’s the range?

...Anywhere I can see, I guess?

[ No laughter, that's... new. It's all he was used to back home, being the butt of a joke or an oddity or a freak, to the point where he was genuinely anxious in expectation of wow, that's weird, what's wrong with you? or something akin. Maybe do you have a condition? if Carver was feeling particularly generous.

So maybe he sounds just a teeny bit hesitant in his answer, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop still. There are no mirrors in this room, he's made sure of that (doesn't want to look at himself anyway, and what would be the point? does he have hair to fix, clothes to keep from looking mussed?), but he's still fidgety, gets a glimpse of pale feet and spindly legs before-- ]

Thanks. For being cool.

[ Not text, but he cuts the video to audio at the very least. He's tired of texting, but it feels safer this way. ]

Kind of used to people giving me crap about... y'know. [ He's waving at thin air here, forgetting Carver can't see his flippy little gesture. He sounds a bit tired. ] This.

[ A beat. Moooooooving on: ]

I can move people through them too. Bigger stuff. [ COUGH. ] ATMs.

[ Several things become apparent in rapid succession. First: this man is useful in a way that’s going to matter out in the field, an edge the enemy will not see coming or know to counter. Second: this man is anxious in a way that ripples through the air, a wound that part of Carver wants to pry open with a blade and see what he can make of it.

But then, he was told not to lay hands. ]

I don’t have time for that shit.

[ Giving people crap. Making this an thing when they all have to work together. And it doesn’t get him anything just yet. But he’ll remember—just in case. Oh, he’ll remember. ]

You a thief?

What? No, I'm a--

[ It's a squawk at first, almost scalded by the implication. By the fact that - actually yeah, kind of? He tried to be and he was terrible at it, but that was back then, he'd be so much better at it now. He'd probably make an awesome thief, in fact.

(He may or may not need to start stealing, actually.)

But he doesn't consider himself a thief first and foremost. That's villain of the week shit. ]

I was a scientist. Still am. A scientist. [ He doesn't sound so sure, actually. Do you even get the title if you can't fit in one of those starchy, scratchy, beautiful Alchemax lab coats anymore? If they took your job not because you were bad at it, but because you were just too weird and embarrassing to have around? ] I mean, yeah, I... you lose your job, you do what you gotta do. Might've, uh. Tried out the whole life of crime thing. Dabbled, I guess.

[ Another little chuckle. It sounds dry. ]

Guess I'd make a pretty good thief though, huh? Might need to consider some new lines of work now that I'm here. Not seeing a whole lot of work for a quantum mechanics degree.

[ Not that he has to work on anything besides gettin dem orbs, but he likes to work. Likes to have something to do to quiet the noise in his head.

(The simulation room had been a bit of a letdown in that regard. They'd given him missions, not a Spider-Man he could throttle with his bare hands.) ]

[ Thing is, people like to talk. They like to talk about themselves, explain the whys and wheres, spell out a story where they frame the world the way they’d like it to be. And people are liars but even a lie can reveal what’s hidden inside. The trick is to listen, to prompt, to keep people talking.

That part, Carver is very good at. And now he’s learning a fair amount about this man. Details he might need one day, that he’ll find a way to use. ]

You’re new at this.

[ An observation. If there’s judgement, Carver keeps it out of his voice. Everyone starts somewhere. ]

But thieves are useful. What’s your name?

[ Some part of him bristles at being new at anything, but... well, it isn't wrong. He's very new at this. At all of it, at being like this, at figuring out how to be like this. Moreso without an overarching goal of ruining Spider-Man's life to cling to and make his whole identity. What's a supervillain without a hero to fight?

Right now, he's just-- ]

The Spot.

[ A beat. He realizes how weird that probably sounds without actually seeing him. ]

Makes more sense in person. [ Another beat of thoughtful silence. Tentatively: ] Maybe when the next mission rolls around, we can figure something out. Work together. Might as well be useful if I'm gonna be like this, right?

What's your name?

[ The Spot. Derision curls in Carver’s chest, but he stows it. This could be useful. He’ll need allies to see this thing through to the end. And this man—Spot—might just be one.

They’ll see. He’ll play it out a little longer. ]

Maybe.

You can call me Carver.

[ No aliases, no codes. Just his surname. ]

Like... in a cool last name way or a serial killer alias way?

[ Okay yeah all the gravitas drops out of his voice when he says that, it's. He's curious, okay!!

(Like he's one to talk.) ]

Just saying, man, could go either way. Level with me here.

[ His tone is noticeably cooler this time. ]

As in my surname.

Just saying! Could go either way in this place!

[ He's awkward as fuck but he can still pick up on a bit of chill, fortunately. Making a note of that, oop. ]

Cool name though. Mine was pretty great too back before... y'know. [ Like Johnathon Ohnn and his present self are two different people. ] Just doesn't feel right anymore, I guess.

Kinda wish I could still use the doctorate though? Dr. Spot just sounds... yeesh.

Why not? Nobody's making us do code names.

What, Doctor Spot? Sounds like... carpet cleaner or something.

[ God knows he doesn't need to sound any more silly than he already does. ]

Anyway, you gotta stick with the supervillain brand, man. [ oh wow that sounds bad huh. ] I mean! Not that I'm doing that here, just. Yeah. Consistency. In case the ol' nemesis shows up.

[ BEAT. ]

...Kinda just keep making it sound worse, huh.

Not really helping your case, no.

[ This is, possibly, the weirdest conversation he's had in years. ]

[ Wow literally just kill him at this point. ]

It's just one guy! I'm - totally on my best behavior here, I swear.

[ Well, mostly. So far. ]

Just your... friendly... neighborhood Spot. [ Yeah no he's stealing that Spider-Man tagline, screw that guy. ] Just - gimme a ring when the mission happens, if you want. Newbies gotta stick together, right?

Mhmm-hmm.

[ Sure you are, Mr. Supervillain. God, why is this is his life now? ]

I'll keep you in mind.

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text; un: quantumania

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text --> video!

cw: cult shit

and video to voice WHOOPS (also cw body issues just to be safe)

Voice

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