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[This reaction isn't quite what Steven expected either, but then... He's not sure what he expected. He has no idea what Mysterio was like- how much of Quentin Beck was in him. He doesn't have much experience with 'bad guys' in general, only Arthur Harrow and his followers. ...Maybe that's what he expected? Calm arrogance? But Quentin's showing very little of that.

He swallows thickly, fighting to keep his spine straight when it'd be so much easier to just slump. His new Neph tail whips uneasily behind him, tip brushing along the ground.]

... Sure. We can sit down. [But it should be clear from the fact that he's not moving that Beck will have to lead the way inside.]

[Oh, shit, Steven has a tail now. That is... huh. He wonders if it's swishing around out of nerves or not. Quentin definitely can't ask about it right now. He also can't blame Steven for not wanting to head in first.

What good is a villain at your back, except to ask for it to get stabbed? He gets it.]

Alright. [He stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment, weighing if he can stand the silence for however long it takes to get to his sort-of living room.] ...Read any good books recently?

[As he heads into his apartment with Steven hopefully behind him, he pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. Fucking... ugh. He wants to bury himself in a hole right now.]

[And Steven will follow. It'll be fine, he knows where the exits are and he's fought worse. ...Probably. Then he scolds himself for even thinking that way. There's no reason to assume Quentin will attack him, and there's no reason for him to attack in turn. Quentin's already been punished for his actions as Mysterio, and then once again for stunts he pulled in Ryslig. That's it in terms of justice, right? Balanced scales? God, Steven hopes so.

... But what on Earth is that question? Is he stalling?]

Are you taking the piss, or...?

[Quentin visibly cringes at the question, shoulders tensing up. This situation is weirdly more uncomfortable than even his conversation with Osborn at the Cube had been.]

Not really-? I don't know what else to say, so- safe topic. [He gestures vaguely, to do something with his hands at the moment.] Mild distraction. Then, we can do the big talk afterwards.

[Oh thank fuck, the kitchen is close, which means his living room is that much closer. Why is this so agonizing. Quentin feels like he's digging his own grave somehow, and making things worse.]

[Steven ends up crossing his own arms over his chest, frowning. And once again, his tails whips uneasily, almost slamming sideways into a wall. Is Beck... uncomfortable? It's so hard to say. Harrow was arrogant, but at least he was brutally honest at all times. He didn't try to trick the whole world into believing he was a hero by feeding them a bunch of stories, he just told it as it was and some folks bought into that.

Then again, Quentin is a Faerie here. And Faeries can't lie, can they? Not without getting sick; Cagliostro told him that a while ago. Unless Quentin breaks into a sweat soon, everything he's saying has to be the truth.]

Right. Haven't really picked up anything new, though. So... No. No good books.

Fair enough. Thanks for indulging me. I haven't gotten anything new either.

[Most of Quentin's arrogance has been cut out of him by now. It's hard to be proud and self-assured when you keep getting slapped down for it. Having what happened 'back home' tangle with the vague life he's made here is... bitter, in a way.

He briefly glances at the kitchen with a vague thought of grabbing something to busy his hands, and keeps heading towards the couch anyways. His laptop is still sitting on the coffee table, and Steven might be able to glimpse that it's still on his chat with Steven before he closes it.]

So, how much do you know about faeries-? You don't have a reason to trust me right now. I want to give you a baseline of what it looks like when I do lie, if that would- help. Not related to Mysterio, just- related to something minor. Eye color, hair color. Easily provable as bullshit.

[Quentin keeps himself to one corner of the couch, a wing draped over the arm rest, and letting Steven decide if he wants to stand, join him on the couch, or drag a chair over from his vague 'dining' area. Despite this being his home, he knows that trying to guide things could go wildly wrong here.]

[Steven does glimpse that inbox on the screen, but doesn't think much of it. It makes sense. He stares down at the empty seat on the couch for a few seconds, and while it's tempting, he doesn't go for it. Instead, he averts his gaze to Beck himself.]

I've seen the aftermath of Faerie porkies before. On someone else. It's not pretty. But...

[He trails off, shaking his head in a 'nevermind' sort of way. Much as he wants to question whether the Faerie thing would be the only reason for Quentin to tell the truth, he can't bring himself to voice it. Instead, he wanders over to the 'dining area' to go get a chair for himself. That's a safer bet. He takes extra care to keep his tail out of the way when he sits down.]

[Quentin sighs a little, and rubs at his face. His antennae twitch when his fingers brush too close. Time to... get this show on the road then.]

Still. It's insurance. A guarantee. I won't blame you if you want that right now.

[His jaw is set very determinedly as he does look at Steven head-on, gaze unflinching. There's a chipper edge to his voice that doesn't match his stony expression.]

Gosh, I just think I've always had the best purple eyes, don't you think- [He pales very rapidly, and raises a single finger in a gesture of 'wait a sec.' He doesn't expect any help from Steven during this.] Oh, fuck me. That's- not as bad as the first time, but my eyes used to be blue, not this- green and blue shit. I miss it. S'one of the few things I liked having in common with my family, and it's- gone. Hate it sometimes, but-

[He pinches the bridge of his nose as he shrugs, looking down finally instead of at Steven. Quentin wouldn't normally offer up this kind of blatant trust to anybody, but- Steven and Tawna are different. Friends get the benefit of the doubt.]

Is that a good enough ballpark, or you want a second round?

[Well. That sure was a guarantee. Steven doubts anyone can fake pallor like that. He instinctively wants to help, but holds himself back. There isn't anything to do to begin with. He leans forward in his chair, waving his right hand.]

No no, I'm good. I've got the... the picture. I just... [His shoulders hunch with discomfort and his hands end up rubbing together in his lap.] I know bits and bobs about Mysterio. Enough for the basic gist. I'm just having trouble giving it a... a place. Making sense of it all. I want to understand, but I dunno if I should, because understanding it feels like excusing it and I don't... [A frustrated sound leaves him.] I don't know. I just don't know.

[Oh, Quentin can see how this could get ugly so quickly if he jumped right into things. Steven wouldn't do well with flippant, but he can't take forever either. Time to go the middle route, then.

He clasps his own hands in his lap, vaguely echoing Steven's posture sans the shoulder hunching.]

Well, let's... start with one question, and work our way up then. It sounds pretentious as hell, but there's- layers, to this. And I don't mean that as an excuse, just- [Quentin shrugs again.] A fact. You can tell me what you got so far, and I can correct shit, or- [He grimaces a little.] I dunno. Honestly, I'm just wondering where you even heard of this shit anyways. How we got the name is kind of funny, though, I will say that.

[Oh Beck. Buddy. That was not a very efficient middle ground. Hearing something so serious referred to with words like "shit" and "funny" speaks volumes about Quentin's attitude towards a manipulative plan that caused actual death and destruction. Steven's face is bound to reflect how very unamused he is by all this.]

There's this place in town called the Multiversal Museum, yeah? It's got exhibits on most monsters. Their lives back home, I mean. Yours is full of these little... dioramas of Mysterio fighting Elementals. [So if Beck didn't know that already, here it is. Still think it's funny shit now?]

[Quentin's trying to not frame this in a bunch of babble or verbal side-stepping, and he doesn't have much of a better way to refer to his past besides 'ah, that shit again' when he thought most of it was buried by now. Plus it is a little funny to get your 'superhero' name from a gaggle of teenagers. Gotta take the small laughs where you can.

His face does twist in genuine confusion, though.]

...That's a place? Huh. Surprised mine wasn't... [He gestures vaguely, trying to figure out how to word this delicately so he doesn't expose Peter's secret identity as Spider-Man.] Combined with somebody else's, considering things. But- okay. You have a vague idea of Mexico, Morocco, Venice, Prague, and-

[His face drops a little, because of course he's about to bring up how he fucked up a London landmark to a British man. That's not even including the fact he very much died there.]

London, then. The story we threw together for all of that, right-? [He gives Steven a questioning glance, to make sure he's on the right track. If his team didn't show up as part of the exhibit in some capacity, he'd be surprised.] I don't know where to start with all of this, honestly. I never... really thought I'd have to. Ever. And I'm not saying that as an excuse, just-

[He gestures a bit helplessly, unable to find his words for a moment. He's just Quentin Beck here, with no forward planning or a team to feed him lines. His next words come out bluntly, treated like absolute fact in his book.]

If I was caught, I was dead. If I succeeded, no one would ever know. Simple as that. No third option.

[Steven thinks he knows who the 'somebody else' is, but he's not going to bring that up. There's no reason to drag Peter into this any more than he already has been. And he's not satisfied with what he's hearing at all. It just sounds so... off. He chews the inside of his cheek, his hands rubbing themselves together in his lap again.]

This was really that important to you? You were willing to die for... For whatever your goal was?

[Spider-Man mentioned 'glasses', but he doesn't know what that means.]

[The answer comes immediately, even if Quentin looks uncomfortable with it. He's got some shame in him.]

Yes. At the time, it didn't feel like there was any other way to do things. Nothing else to work towards. Five years is... a long time to stew on things, and they sound reasonable when it's all you've focused on for that long. I'll admit that, it was flawed from the start. Mysterio was...

[He leans back on the couch, and scrubs a hand down his face. He feels oddly pathetic at the moment. He can't meet Steven's eyes.]

It was the last thing I had left. I'm not trying to excuse this, but- it was. The Avengers were gone after they fucked up. Iron Man fucked off to go play house, and I- [He laughs mirthlessly, rubbing at his forehead. He doesn't know what to say anymore.] God. I was so angry because even then, he got everything. Everybody lost somebody, and he got to keep his family? Got to- got to live it up, while the rest of us were left to the dogs-? Fuck me, just- give me a sec. Sorry.

[Now both hands are covering his face, because this is- a lot for him to cough up. And he desperately doesn't want to see Steven's expression at the moment. But he can't talk about Mysterio unless he brings up the Snap, and everything that went along with that too.]

[Already, Peter's words are echoing through the back of Steven's mind. "He didn't cope well with the Snap, and refuses to deal with it." And Peter thought that counts as 'excuses', but Steven doesn't see it that way at all. The human mind can crack under pressure. That's not an excuse to do bad things, that's just a reason, in the same way one loud noise can be the reason for an avalanche.

Steven wouldn't even exist if it weren't for the human mind dealing with grief in its own peculiar way.]

... Take your time. [That's all he can say, really. He's the one dragging this out into the open, and he knows it's usually for the best if people talk about these sorts of things, but that doesn't mean he's going to be pushy about it.]

[Keep it together, you jackass. He's not here to see you crack, a part of Quentin hisses. It still takes him a moment to get his composure vaguely settled before dropping his hands, as his wings shift to wrap better around him. He's never liked feeling exposed.]

...Thanks. This is- what I meant, when I said that there's layers. I can't talk about one without the other. I wish I could, but- [A small, jerky shrug as he lets out a shaky breath. His fingers curl against the couch cushion to settle his nerves.] Can't. It started there. Is why I even looked for people in similar boats. Ex-Stark employees. Abandoned, angry. Lonely. None of us felt like we had anything. Mysterio was something.

[Quentin lets out a huff that's not quite a laugh, looking away again as he scratches at his jaw.]

We wanted to be the next Iron Man. Funny, right? A bunch of engineers, all trying to imitate one and still failing.

[There's that word again. "Funny". It's not, though. It's frustrating, if anything. And Steven doesn't want to lecture Quentin on things he knows very little about. For all he knows, Iron Man really was a twat. Even so, there's one thing that stands out to him and he has to question it.]

You couldn't stand Stark, but you still wanted to be like him? Just to take what he had? Out of spite? [He hangs his head, shaking it.] If you all had changed your thinking a little, you wouldn't have needed to make a rubbish superhero. You could've made a real one. Isn't that all Iron Man was, anyway? Just a bloke with a load of charm and fancy technology? You lot could've helped people instead of... Instead of lying and killing.

[Steven's vehemence makes Quentin wince and pull back a little. He is absolutely making things worse here, and he doesn't know how not to do that. Still doesn't fully know how Steven ticks, or how he can frame this in a way the other man will grasp better.]

No, see, that's- the thing. Over ten of us couldn't even meet half of him. [The words taste like ash in his mouth.] And I hate admitting that. It was spite. Stark had everything, when it felt like we had nothing. It's-

[Quentin gestures a bit inefficiently, looking lost.]

All we could do was trickery. Things that looked real. Making something actually real was... beyond us. We didn't have his resources anymore, or his funds. It was leftovers. Scraps. Whatever we could pull together out of old projects, since we all went 'fuck the NDAs.' He took our works, and tossed out whatever didn't fit. He tossed us out, if we didn't fit.

[Alright, now that? That's excuses. Or maybe Quentin's just fooling himself now, trying to make himself into a victim when he's the one doing the bullying. And that's enough to finally trigger the Neph thirst for justice inside Steven- to crack his limitless patience and drive him to anger. The light within his eyes manifests and his halo grows brighter with the emotion.]

Don't give me that rubbish! Something real wasn't beyond you! Your trickery- your scraps mucked up Tower Bridge! It got people killed! And if that was all just a bit of collateral damage to fit your little story, imagine what you could've done if you'd focused your efforts to fight off real threats...! Imagine how many aliens and terrorists you could've blown sky-high instead! But you didn't even try, did you?

[Oh he's fucked up. Quentin has absolutely fucked up, and a part of him wants to shrink and skitter away entirely out of this conversation. But he said he'd try, so.

Fuck. He scrubs a hand down his face to try and center himself.]

No, I'm not- I'm not talking about that yet. At the start, that's how things felt. That's how we framed it, because it felt true. It was the story we kept repeating and telling ourselves, because we wanted to be right. I'm not saying we were. But we couldn't make another Iron Man, or even someone in his league. Not really. Logistically, that was a fluke. We were fucking idiots to think it'd ever work.

[How does he even begin to explain this-? He's not touching the main picture yet for a reason. There's just... so much to cover as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Yelling or getting angry would be the worst outcome right now, so- he can't. He's not allowed to. Fuck, part deux.]

Please, ask me something else about Mysterio. Something concrete. I'm just making this worse.

[Steven rises to his feet. He takes note of Quentin's desperation, of the scrambling over his own words and the little physical gestures. There's a part of him that feels bad. A part of him that insists he needs to calm down and take a step back, because this isn't how he wanted this conversation to go. But then... There's another part of him that's still burning white hot, and he can't douse it no matter how hard he tries.

Quentin wanted him to ask something concrete, so he'll ask something concrete. The question that's been on his mind for over a week now, and he still hasn't gotten an answer to so far. It comes out in a hiss.]

Are you saying that Mysterio was a bloody mistake because you regret what you've done, or was it just a mistake because you didn't get away with it?

[Fuck his life. Quentin hates his own faerie nature as he takes a moment to think out his response, and it's-]

...Both. Both because if I'd gotten away with it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Mysterio wouldn't be something I'm burying because- [A small, mirthless laugh as he scrubs a hand down his face again. Honesty is exhausting.] I hate this. I hate that I'm dressed like him, all the time, that I can't fucking- shed it. I want it gone. I don't want to look at it, and I can't because these are the fucking bracers, and gloves, and- everything.

[His next words are quieter, but Steven can probably still hear them as Quentin looks away.]

I ruined a kid's life. I ruined plenty of lives. And the longer I'm here, the more I see plenty of what I did in technicolor. Not just... numbers. Or little simulations to run around. I didn't want to get my hands personally dirty as Mysterio. Now? [He makes a vague sweeping gesture to indicate Ryslig in general.] I've died, twice. One of 'em was more visceral than I ever got, but that's not saying much. I'm tired, Steven. I don't want to go back to that.

[Steven hadn't taken into account that both was even an option, but since Quentin can't lie, maybe that's the best outcome that could've come from this question. The more he hears, the more the fight goes out of him. Quentin did horrible things, but he's suffering for it now. Ryslig's making him suffer for it. It still doesn't sound like remorse, but it's certainly moving along to something similar, isn't it?

The glow in his eyes finally goes out and he releases a deep breath.]

Then don't go back to that.

[A few seconds of hesitation, then he steps forward to take a seat on the other end of the couch. He's not looking Quentin's way, though. Leaning forward in his seat, his shoes are a safe bet for his attention.]

... Sorry for getting worked up. It's a... It's a Neph thing, I s'pose. 'Divine retribution' and all that. I'll try and get a better handle on it.

[Quentin can't help the small, tired laugh that breaks out of him. He gives Steven a brief glance, only to look away. How does he keep ending up surrounded by people who feel guilty over feeling things? Geeze. No one appreciates a good bout of anger these days.

The smell of butterscotch is a new thing, though. Halo looks nice. It makes him think of the way light glitters through glass beads.]

No, it's- fine. It's fine. Emotions are weird sometimes. I'm sorry this isn't... clean-cut, or neat. [He starts to reach out to pat Steven on the shoulder, only to hesitate and pull his hand back. He's not sure if the light touch would be welcome anymore.] It's... not going to be. Not all the time. You got any other burning questions-?

[Emotions are weird, Steven's just a bit miffed that the monster thing's making it all even more complicated. He doesn't want to judge and condemn everyone, that's a bit too much like a certain cult leader. He's still not entirely satisfied with what he's been told, but if Quentin wants to change, the guy needs to be given enough space to grow. So Steven shakes his head lightly.]

No. There's nothing else to ask of you. And I wanna be cross you didn't tell me, but that'd make the world's biggest hypocrite, wouldn't it? [He sits up a bit straighter, hands folding in his lap, but the sideways glance he throws Quentin's way is just a brief one.] ... Listen, I... I can tell you about Marc and me, but you have to promise not to hold it against him, yeah?

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, HASNOFEAR. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 13.15.15.14 * HASNOFEAR has joined 13.15.15.14 <HASNOFEAR>** Hello! This is Steven Grant! If you need something, just leave me a message and I'll get back to you asap!

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[Action] cw: briefly touches on Ryslig-related deaths

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