Farm Livin' [open]

[abheirrant]

Who: Carlisle Longinmouth, farm animals, and anyone else who might wander into the area
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!


As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.

It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?

It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.

As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.

And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.

Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.

But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.

When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.

When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.

And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.

Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.

[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]

Comments

[superposition]

[ It's a hard-hitting question. Qubit's brow knits as he frowns in sympathy, and he turns his head forward, gazing in the general direction of a distant ceiling light. A moment later he speaks, though, sounding pensive. ]

I don't think that's something I can answer for you.

I wish I could. I'd like you to have that happiness, that kind of peace. That... freedom. Maybe not from your past or your affliction, but I mean - freedom from that constant worry. That fear.

[ It's a fear he's more familiar with than he likes to admit. That acute knowledge of what he's done, what he's capable of. The trades he was willing to make. Nowadays it creeps into every decision he makes, sabotages every project he tries to get rolling. And the fear's name is Never Again. ]

... I know ... that you've lost more than he did. I don't mean of yourself, necessarily. But the disaster, the worst-case scenario, which for him is only a possibility - you've actually experienced it. And going through a loss like that, it... it changes you. [ He pauses, then adds, slightly quieter- ] And not always for the better.

[ Getting his memories back yesterday was rough. The process itself was chaotic, true - reintegrating a lifetime of experience all at once, in a blur of image and noise and emotion. But the hardest thing was realizing, in whatever parts of him made up the "new" Qubit, that he'd been wrong about himself in one crucial way.

He'd vastly underestimated the scope. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle waits, listening, watching. There's something oddly humanizing in Qubit admitting he doesn't have all the answers. His tone says that he's more familiar with that kind of loss -- that kind of change -- than he'd like to admit, and Carlisle can guess why. He could have guessed even before Qubit lost his memory, before he learned how to read him just a little better. Qubit speaks of the horror of experiencing the worst because he's been there himself. The Paradigm is gone, after all, and there's no getting them back.]

You know that for certain, don't you?

[That's a rhetorical question, Qubit. He rests his head on hands, his eyes still on his friend.]

What happened, Mister Qubit? If I may ask.

[superposition]

[ Qubit fidgets slightly, taking a long, deep breath.

That's the million-dollar question, isn't it. That he's managed to avoid answering it for so long - to anyone - is nothing short of a miracle. It's not as if no one ever asked. At first he simply wasn't ready; it was too fresh, he hadn't had time to process it. But when it did finally catch up with him, it caught up hard, and something inside him just...

... well. At any rate, beyond that point, he no longer could talk about it.

Peter was the first one he opened up to about it, months ago. Yet even then, Qubit didn't tell him everything. Just enough to serve as a cautionary tale on the dangers of burnout. The rest he left out not because Peter wasn't ready to hear it, but because Qubit wasn't ready to tell it.

But now?

Bizarrely enough, he... might actually be ready. As ready as he'll ever be, anyway.

Oh, he can still feel that old, black knot festering inside him. All the emotional turmoil he's spent years packing down and compressing and pressurizing, out of fear that the slightest breach in containment, the barest acknowledgement of its existence, would cause it to mushroom out of control and annihilate him. But containment won't work forever, he knows that, too. What do you call a point mass of infinite density? A black hole. And that would destroy him just as utterly.

Yet... for all that, somehow it doesn't feel quite as threatening as usual. Maybe because he's had some time away from it? Or maybe because, on some level, it feels like he's only just discovered it? Or maybe it's the environment, the peace of the A.Z., the presence of a trusted friend. He feels safe here. And he's been so open with Carlisle these past weeks, it'd almost feel weirder not to tell him.

After a moment, he nods and gets to his feet. ]

Walk with me? It's... rather a long story.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle nods as he gets to his feet, letting Qubit lead the way. He's often found walks calming, the practice helping him sort out his own thoughts many times both in Anchor and back home; walking allows him to process each thought step by step, piece by piece, digesting them systematically before tackling another. Meanwhile, his nerves are soothed by the wind, the ground, the life and sounds all around him providing a tranquil backdrop. It's peaceful in a way his mind often isn't, especially these days.

However, said world is not quite the same in Anchor. There are no mountains on the horizon, no flocks of sheep in the distance, no true nature to hide the synthetic walls and lights: only a few trees and the distinct lack of the chill in the air he as so accustomed to in Bear Den. It'll do -- if nothing else, it's better than a volcanic lair. Carlisle suspects he may finally learn more about that wretched place, and why it had such a jarring effect on Qubit. It was uncomfortable, yes, and no doubt unbearably hot, but it made the technomancer lose his composure almost immediately; it was the first hint that beneath his veneer, there was a Qubit Carlisle had never known, and perhaps never would know.

Carlisle knows that feeling. Some experiences are more scarring than others, and acknowledging those scars always made him feel woefully inadequate.

Letting the silence stay with them, Carlisle walks steadily beside Qubit, allowing him to gather his thoughts as much as he needs. At times, recalling the memories can be just as painful as the event that created them, and he'd rather not put his friend through any more distress. He's been through enough.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit leads them on a familiar route, a trail they've walked often enough that his feet follow it automatically. For him, it's not so much being outdoors that helps, but the simple act of being in motion - like a magnetic tape reel, gently rotating, onto which he can thread the disordered snarl of his thoughts. The silence doesn't last long, though; thinking aloud helps, too. ]

Frankly, I'm not even sure where to begin. What moment in time, what single event, can I point to and say, "There, that's where it all started going wrong"? A few come to mind, of course, but... none of them really encapsulates it. What happened, it... it built up over the course of years. Maybe even decades.

[ He sighs. The search for that one inflection point has haunted his thoughts for close to two years now. If he could make just one jump, change just one thing, what would it be? But it's not that simple. It never is. ]

... The Paradigm's failure ... our failure ... it wasn't inevitable. But it was systemic. A series of small faults and minor dramas and hairline cracks, compounding and exacerbating each other until ... [ He makes a quick motion with both hands, scattering a handful of imaginary debris to the imaginary wind. ] ... catastrophe.

[ He's silent for a moment, the lines in his face slackening as he gazes at nothing in the distance, his expression wistful. Then he takes a deep breath, coming back to himself. ]

To put it another way, the seeds of disaster were already present at the Paradigm's inception. But... I suppose that's still as good a place to start as any.

[ Right. A framework comes together in his mind, something he can hang the story on for support. Or himself, if need be. It's actually a good thing Carlisle will need more context than most; that allows him to ease into it. ]

I told you there were very few of us. Superhumans, I mean. But more importantly - prior to around forty years ago, there were none of us. There'd been isolated cases of supernatural phenomena, of course, but they were rare, their scope limited. They all passed into myth rather than history. The idea of costumed superheroes existed, but only in fiction.

And then, one day, the Plutonian appeared. You remember him? Tony.

[ As an afterthought, he taps his watch, and out springs a hologram of the Plutonian in miniature. It's small enough that his features are indistinct, which is just as well, but it's the same man Carlisle saw front and center in the portrait all those months ago. Handsome, broad-shouldered, muscular, arms akimbo, his cape billowing behind him.

Qubit's face creases looking at it, but along with the melancholy there's a sort of... curiosity. As if, just for a second, he was seeing this man for the first time. ]

[abheirrant]

The one with the skeletons.

[Yes, that Tony. Carlisle remembers; he remembers well, given what happened that day. Being sucked into a Redshift and finding himself in a fiery, volcanic lair full of the skeletal remains of children — which he accidentally reanimated because of course he did — tends to make a day memorable. What an existence he has.

But he is existing. Despite everything, his undead state included, he is here, and that ought to count for something. He's not sure what just yet, but it puts him ahead of the aforementioned Tony, about whom Carlisle knows only a few key facts:

a. He, along with Qubit, was a member of the Paradigm, Earth's mightiest protectors.
b. He hoped to undo what happened to the skeletal children that rendered them skeletal in the first place, implying he was either responsible, or naively charitable in his motivations.
c. He is either dead or gone.

Also of note is the fact that Tony was Qubit's friend: Carlisle can hear it in the sobriety of his tone, could see it in the creases of his face when he looked at that picture in the volcanic lair, no doubt remembering better times. Idly, Carlisle wonders how he compares, and immediately feels inadequate in the shadow of the muscular man from the picture, much as he did every day in his father's study.

But he's here, and he's never purposefully kept a room full of skeletons. There are some points in his favor.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit's expression turns to a grimace. True, that'd give anyone a bad first impression, but... ]

... Yes, well. This was long before any of that. You have to understand, Carlisle, he wasn't always ...

[ He trails off, visibly conflicted. Really? Even now, he's instinctively rushing to defend Tony? - But it's not fair to acknowledge only the rotten parts, there was so much more to him than that -

I'm doing it again. He shuts his eyes and pulls in a deep breath, takes a moment to slow down and reorient himself. It's all right. No one's expecting this to be easy. ]

... rather, that wasn't the side of him I knew first.

It was... almost eight years ago now. He was the first of us to go public - just swooped in out of nowhere, him and his impossible powers, and started saving lives the world over. Saved mine, the first time I met him.

[abheirrant]

[The turmoil on Qubit's face is obvious; Carlisle gives him an apologetic look, sorry that his first and only impression of Tony was unflattering, to put it lightly. He lets Qubit gather his thoughts and continue without comment, his eyes on the path before them as he listens. It sounds as though the children were his fault, perhaps one of the earlier signs of what was to come. Thankfully, Carlisle is aware that most monstrous men don't start out as such. He himself is a testament to that.

But once one is a monster, it's hard to go back. Perhaps impossible. He pushes a sigh through him as he curbs that notion, knowing what Qubit would say to that line of thinking.

However, that means something must have changed around this Tony fellow, or changed him. Was it a twist of fate, a tragedy the likes of which no one could have foreseen? Or was it purposeful cruelty that drove him to his end? Carlisle waits for a second pause before chiming in, but keeps those questions to himself for the moment. He instead tries to ease Qubit into the topic while also getting a more complete picture of the friend Qubit knew.]

Tell me of him.

[It's a simple, vague request, and one he'd often give to someone in confessional; mostly, he hopes to allow Qubit to choose what he wishes to divulge.]

[superposition]

[ "Tell me of him." Even that request, simple as it is, evokes another time and place; only then, the voice was his own. He remembers the pouring rain, his arm around Kaidan's shoulders, an overdesigned umbrella buzzing softly above them. Another application of his teleportals, taking the rain someplace it was needed, while Qubit stayed where he was needed.

"I don't want to forget about him."
"Then tell me about him."
"You know as well as I-"
"Pretend I don't. Tell me every wonderful little thing you remember."

It won't bring anyone back, not this time. Unlike her, he can't tell a story so riveting that the dead cross back over to listen. But he doesn't want to forget, either. ]

Tony was... a hero.

[ It's a bit obvious, but no better word for it comes to mind. Still, he corrects himself - ]

Tony was the hero. The first and the best. He set the example the rest of us set out to follow.

Personally, I found him fascinating. You know me - I wanted to know what made him tick. Not just his powers, but - what was it that drove this man? What made him get up each morning, stare the whole world's troubles in the eye, and tackle them head-on? How did he shoulder that weight without flinching? How must that feel?

[ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. ] Eventually, I concluded that... he was just a good man. Someone who chose to live his life for others simply because it was the right thing to do. He never asked for rewards, turned them down if anyone offered. You'd thank him for saving the world, and he'd modestly say it was all in a day's work, that he was here to help.

... Granted, some of that was his public image, but he didn't act much different in private. A little more mild-mannered, not as instinctively sure of himself. But that just made him all the more relatable. All that power and fame, and he still got public speaking jitters.

In terms of the work, though, he was second to none. He favored the direct approach, of course, but he knew he couldn't solve every problem by punching it into orbit. He was smart when he put his mind to it. [ And that's not a descriptor Qubit hands out lightly. ] That's what made us such an efficient team. I could tell him what the plan needed and he'd do it, to the letter, no questions asked. I never had to repeat myself with him.

[ There's an undeniable spark in his eye, revisiting the Tony he knew in those golden days; a familiar enthusiasm, not unlike when he's hit upon an idea, though more muted here. All these memories are poisoned, of course, by the knowledge of what came next, but oh, if it isn't a sweet-tasting poison. You know it'll tear up your insides, but once that first sip is in you, it's so very hard to stop. ]

The Paradigm was his idea, you know. It was more of an informal thing at the start - just Tony and a few of his friends getting together, meeting each other, sharing our stories, strategies, resources... But the whole was so clearly greater than the sum of the parts, it wasn't long before we made it official.

... The point is, he was an inspiration. To me, to the Paradigm, to humanity. He showed us it was possible to really make a difference, to leave our world a little better than we found it, one day at a time. We were changing the world.

[abheirrant]

[Well, Qubit certainly had a lot to say. It was high praise, too; Carlisle knows how remarkable it is for Qubit to describe anyone as even remotely exceptional, particularly in a positive manner. For as long as he's known him, Carlisle has seen Qubit sing the praises of few individuals — perhaps one trait or another, at best, but the way he describes this Tony is as though he was entirely superior to his fellow people in almost every way. And maybe he was: according to Qubit, he was smart, strong, powerful, charitable. He hoped to make a difference in the world, and guided others to do the same. He was a paragon of virtue with no equal.

But who Qubit is describing is the Tony he liked, the side of him that — by Qubit's own admission — he knew first. There's still the side who was involved with those skeletons, the side that Qubit and the rest of the Paradigm must have discovered later — the side who changed them for the worse, if what he said earlier was any indication.

And yet, Qubit still speaks of him so warmly. He smiles as he reminisces, basks in his nostalgia adoration for this once friend. Does Qubit continue to think of him as a friend, even now? Even after discovering the side of Tony he never knew?

Carlisle supposes he ought to hear more before drawing any conclusions. He will "put a pin in that," as Qubit sometimes says.]

What changed, then? Or was the side of him you did not know first always there, lurking somewhere in the shadows?

[superposition]

Oh, it was always there.

[ The nostalgic smile starts to fade, gradually. ]

I still don't believe it was all an act. On some level, that truly was who he wanted to be... or at the very least, who he felt he was supposed to be. Which I can very much understand. People like us, those with extraordinary power... we have to hold ourselves to a higher moral standard, if only because there's no one else who can. And no one felt that pressure more than Tony. He was far and away the most powerful being on Earth, after all. If he thought the world demanded perfection of him, well... [ a light shrug ] it's only because it did.

[ He shakes his head. ] But he wasn't perfect. Couldn't be. He wasn't some... "god among mortals." His body may have been invulnerable, but his heart was still essentially human, with human desires and human needs and ... human vices. Human flaws. Human fears.

[ To include that most ancient of human fears: rejection. Being cast out, unwanted, unloved. That fear was Tony's close companion his entire life, one he'd seen realized over and over and over and over again, as family after family rejected him the moment they knew what he was. Withdrawing their love, sending him away, going into hiding, changing their names... even taking their own lives.

Yet he never stopped craving that sense of connection. He started over, invented a new self, one that nobody could possibly find fault with. A good person, upright, selfless, only here to help, and all he wanted in return was a little unconditional love... ]

... And he made mistakes. [ Qubit sighs. ] Which brings us back round to Jackson, I suppose.

[ A refresher: ] If you recall, the Jackson Plague was caused by an ultrasonic lifeform. Infected only children, reanimated their skeletons, transmitted on the screams of the living, et cetera. But I don't think I mentioned where it came from.

[abheirrant]

["People like us, those with extraordinary power... we have to hold ourselves to a higher moral standard, if only because there's no one else who can."

Carlisle knows what that's like to a painful degree.

"It's who we are, Benistad. It's what our bloodline must do, and if he cannot do it, he has no place among us."

He felt the weight of his bloodline and their wondrous legacy at all times: it bored into him from every mention of his missing uncles, from every painting hanging in the once-grand estate. That legacy dragged him down, damned him to a lifetime of guilt and regret when he could not possibly live up to it. It drove him utterly mad... and in retrospect, was perhaps one of the reasons for his current state. That bitterness boiled inside him, and no matter how much he tried to stifle it — it wasn't proper for a cleric to behave in such a way, nor a Longinmouth, nor anyone with as many resources as he had, resources which couldn't help him avoid his own, dreadful end, and what gave him any right to complain about his end when his entire existence was a literal blight upon the people he was supposed to protect —

Well... stifling it ultimately didn't work. He cannot help but empathize with anyone who faced a similar societal pressure, no matter how many skeletons they kept lying around.]

I don't believe you did, no. But I can surmise.

[superposition]

[ Hm. Surmise what, though, from this evidence? Probably only that Tony was to blame, in some nonspecific way. He should qualify that. ]

In fairness, it was genuinely an accident. Tony thought the device was harmless. Hell, I must have thought so, if it went into storage with the rest of the salvage. He had no way of knowing he was handing those researchers an alien bioweapon.

[abheirrant]

It being an accident does not absolve him of guilt, Qubit. Neither that from others, nor himself, if he did feel truly feel it his place to set a righteous example.

[But they're talking about Tony and his skeletons, not Carlisle's. He shakes his head.]

Continue. What happened then?

[superposition]

[ Carlisle's not wrong, of course, and Qubit shrugs his agreement. Tony did cause the accident. He never should have given them any alien tech, regardless of whether he did it out of negligence or malice. All Qubit's really doing is splitting hairs. ]

Right, well. The cover-up wasn't an accident.

It would have been one thing if he'd owned up to it. There'd still have been major repercussions, no doubt, and I don't know that the team would have got through intact, but... it wouldn't have been the end of the world. [ He briefly considered wording that differently. He chose not to. ]

... But he lied.

[ Even years later, even knowing Tony the way he does now, there's still astonishment in his voice. As he continues, it starts to pick up energy, mingling with something like anger - but a different sort than usual, neither icy hostility nor explosive rage. If anything, he seems offended. ]

Claimed he'd never been there before, handled the cleanup personally to destroy any evidence of his involvement. No witnesses to worry about; they'd all died in the initial explosion. Nice and neat, swept under the rug, the world none the wiser...!

[ He sighs irritably, then casts Carlisle an ironic, knowing look. Not hard to surmise what happened next. ]

All their data was backed up offsite. Standard practice.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle might not know some of the exact steps for what Qubit describes as a standard practice, but he gets the gist of it from context. Tony tried to erase any evidence that he'd been involved, but there were clues elsewhere — clues Qubit and the rest of the Paradigm presumably found.

He nods. Empathize as he may with the burden of responsibility, he never tried to pretend he wasn't a Longinmouth, and has been steadily coming to terms with what he is and what he did to Bear Den. To pretend it never happened would be a disservice to not only those his family swore to serve, but to his goddess, as well.

Needless to say, the ire bleeding into Qubit's tone is understandable. He watched someone — a friend and hero — betray the very principles he claimed to stand for.]

Did you confront him when you learned what happened?

[superposition]

[ Qubit pauses, caught off balance. They were approaching the critical moment, but that question, however logical, breezes right past it, and he suddenly finds himself dangling precariously over the other side. ]

I -

[ an all-too-familiar tightness in his chest, in the muscles of his face - ]

- no, I - by that time, it, uh -

[ yet at the same time it doesn't feel quite his, as if his body's doing this on its own, reacting to something in a dream while he, sleepwalking, observes -

Qubit stops walking for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a hand to his forehead. ]

- sorry. Hold on.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's gait slows to a halt. His eyes land on Qubit beside him, then cast themselves away as he witnesses his friend's inner turmoil manifesting across him — in his shoulders, on his features, in his posture and the way he puts a hand to his head.

For a moment, the clergyman is conflicted on how to react himself. A part of him considers remaining impassive, as he so often did with his congregation; that distance helped maintain his composure, allowed him to see the situation from a logical standpoint rather than an emotional one. It was, perhaps, what a Longinmouth ought to do.

However, another part of Carlisle knows good and well he's too close to Qubit for that. He wants to help his friend, even if it's just offering some kind of moral support as a sympathetic ear, or allowing him to right himself after a bout of unwelcome distress. Carlisle has been there many times himself, but rarely had anyone to offer such support to him.

But Qubit has. His fingers curl against his palms as he struggles with indecision.

In the end, he reaches out a hand, setting it tentatively on Qubit's shoulder. His touch is light, most of the pressure in his fingertips rather than his palm, but the fact he's opting for a physical gesture at all likely says volumes.]

I would suggest we speak of other things, but... I suspect you may not have spoken of this enough. Take your time.

[superposition]

[ The touch on his shoulder is so gentle, it's a few seconds before Qubit notices it. It's unexpected; Carlisle isn't wild about physical contact at the best of times, so the significance of this small gesture is not lost on him. But honestly, it's more than welcome. It's not relief, exactly, the emotions are no less intense, but it bolsters him, somehow.

He nods and takes a few seconds to focus on breathing. It's okay. There's no rush this time, no imminent danger. Not even from each other. Carlisle's here for him, and they can take as much time as they need.

What an odd sensation. ]

... I suspect you may be right.

[ He's kept this all inside him for so long, pushing it deeper and deeper, never letting it vent if he could help it. And doesn't that sound familiar. The worst part is, he's always known it's unhealthy. But who was he supposed to tell?

After a while, he lowers his hand and sighs, though his head stays bowed a moment longer. ]

Sorry. [ He shakes his head lightly, gestures vaguely to get the words flowing again. ] It's just - it helps, I think, going through it in... chronological order like this. Easier to manage, I know what to expect.

[ Another deep breath. Finally he straightens up and squares his shoulders, getting himself back on track. He catches Carlisle's eye and nods; he's all right, they can resume walking. ]

It was months before the rest of us had any idea. Hindsight being 20/20, of course, there were... signs.

Jackson was... well, it clearly got to him. I'd never known Tony to freeze up in the field before, not like that. At the time, I assumed it was the horror of the scene, but... no. He knew. [ He shakes his head again, sadly this time. Looking back, he can't be sure Tony felt anything for the victims themselves. Tony hated kids. ]

But back then, we had no reason to doubt his word. And by the time I found out, the Children's Plague was the least of our worries.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle nods as he walks alongside Qubit once more. While he understands Qubit's need to put the story in order, taking it one step at a time in the interest of making it easier to digest for the both of them, Carlisle hadn't realized he was jumping ahead. That doesn't bode well for what is to come — not for the Paradigm or for Qubit himself.]

For the smartest fellow I know to have not discovered his deception sooner, your trust in him must have been immeasurable.

[He's stating the obvious, but he just felt like reiterating that before Qubit gets to the part that is apparently worse than the child skeletons.]

[superposition]

[ The compliment draws a soft chuckle out of him. Weird time for flattery, but okay. ]

It was. We all trusted him, implicitly and completely. The whole world did. [ Ah. That's not entirely true, though, is it? ]

... Well, no. Hornet didn't.

[abheirrant]

[Weird time, but Qubit seemed like he could use the boost, however momentary it may have been.]

Another superhuman? Or were they a villain?

[superposition]

[ While Carlisle's speaking, Qubit brings up a hologram of Hornet. He was in the group portrait, too - the guy with the domino mask and shoulderpads. ]

Neither. A teammate - he and I were both founding members of the Paradigm. But he was the only one on the team without any powers.

[abheirrant]

[Oh, that fellow. Carlisle's head turns Qubit's way.]

What skills did he bring to your group, then?

[superposition]

He was an infiltration specialist, mainly, but he had an assortment. Stealth, reconaissance, martial arts. He could go toe-to-toe with just about anyone on the team, apart from the ones with super-strength. Our enemies tended to underestimate him, but not many did it twice.

[ It's all complimentary, but a far cry from the glowing praise he heaped on the Plutonian. His tone isn't cold, but it isn't what you'd call warm or affectionate, either. Just very matter-of-fact. ]

Highly resourceful, as well. Had a knack for getting himself out of impossible scrapes. [ a brief but meaningful pause- ] Noticing things that others missed.