You could have stopped where you were buttering me up.
(But, look, not that Sophie would ever say it usually, but the girl has a point. A very good point. Maybe makeup could do the trick, so she doesn't have to agree on the necklace feedback, just out of principle.
There's a strut in her step as she walks in, stopping by the pool where he had dropped her baggie of hair products. It's just too much of a nice day to be cooped up, so Sophie gestures towards a stretcher for Clea to sit on.)
Usually, four other people who look just like me in the same outfit are present. The necklace is the subtlety needed for people to go through that rollercoaster.
I could have. You don't strike me as a woman who likes to be condescended to or coddled.
[ To withhold her true opinion would be to treat the woman like a child, to humor her. That would be a sign of disrespect, and Clea prefers not to disrespect those who offer her assistance.
Clea takes a seat where indicated, posture impeccable without effort, and crosses her hands in her lap politely, though her eyes flicker over to the bag. ]
Four others? Are they also clones?
[ There is still a slight hesitation before Clea pronounces the unfamiliar word. The machine twins. ]
(Can one be platonically falling in love at first thought? Falling into amazing friendship, so accidentally, so quickly? Bless Clea. She truly knows what to think of a woman.
Sophie's legs cross, and with no motion of her own, the bag with her products, engulfed in bubblegum pink energy, floats to drop onto the other woman's lap.)
Oh, yeah. Identical. Clone is fine, machine twins is... I mean, I don't love it, but I guess I'm not the president of clone club.
[ Oh. That's startling. Despite her internal surprise when the bag drops into her lap, Clea outwardly maintains her composure, moving her hands gracefully to the side to give the bag space to land.
She gestures at the bag in her lap. ]
May I?
[ Clea's eyebrows furrow and she suddenly gives Sophie a very assessing look, something going hard in her eyes.
She had not said anything about machine twins.
Her internal sense of danger shouts. This person may mean her harm. ]
(She could, hence why Sophie gives a wave with her perfectly manicured pink and black nails. Not that she expects the girl to understand all the hair products in it, but at least so she can get familiarized.
And then she hears the last thought. Her eyes roll dramatically, almost like she's heard this a billion times.
... And she probably has! So, justified, right?)
I told you I'm a telepath. I can hear your brain. Seriously, the only thing I mean harm to is to your split ends, why would I waste hair product on you if I were to fuck you up? I got better stuff to do.
[ And if the woman can truly hear Clea's thoughts, she knows Clea assigns no blame to Sophie. But more than enough for herself: That Clea should have asked even if she thought the questions would be offputting. That Clea should have more thoroughly investigated and not been so trusting.
There is nobody to blame for Clea's unpleasant surprise other than Clea herself.
The honesty is well met. Clea feels a ripple of amusement. It's a fair point, though the woman is wrong. She does not have split ends. Or she hadn't before her arrival here. Clea's hair is a glory and she maintains it as such. ]
That is true. I would not waste my oils and soaps on someone I planned to murder.
[ One elegant hand dips in to the bag and Clea carefully pulls out one product at a time, examining them closely. ]
Protein versus moisture. How often should each be used?
It happens. Telepathy is a whole thing. Not the most fun power, either.
(That she should. Not that any of the other telepaths here are ill-intentioned, if anything, she's the worst one, and she's been putting an effort. She's listening, of course, because it's how she can navigate things, although it's surface thoughts, feelings, vibes. She was never not a telepath. She doesn't know how to do any of this normal people crap.
So, at least she knows Sophie means what she said. A relief, there are people who are immediately unpleased at their existence, but that can be said about literally every mutant. Such is her life, so she shrugs, leaning a bit so she can see what Clea has in her hands.)
Girl, and also? I'm literally in white.
(The HEADACHE to wash it. No, thank you.)
Depends on how your hair is going, and how it reacts. It's a whole trial and error, and with waves? Even more so. Limp and lifeless, protein, crispy and dry, moisture, rule of thumb.
[ The immersive nature and flexibility of her own gift is something Clea appreciates, but it appears there are far more gifts here. And some of them are referred to as 'powers' for some reason. Would her Painting be a power? Nobody has explained the terminology.
Clea's eyebrows furrow in slight confusion. What does white have to do with anything? It sounds as though Sophie believes the color would make her outfit unsuitable for violence, but all colors of clothes are laundered by the laundresses equally. Perhaps white does ruin faster, but that can always be remedied by a visit to the tailor for a new garment.
Tilting her head to listen, Clea nods in understanding. Trial and error. ]
Is this all products you've found to work for your hair type? Is there anything here you would warn me explicitly to avoid?
[ Everyone's hair is different, so Clea will need to expand on what she is told here. If there's anything she should under no circumstances try, she'd appreciate the warning.
She reaches up behind her head and begins to pull out the hair pins, letting down the protective braid. Then Clea begins unbraiding her hair. Though it has some waves from having been braided for so long, they go away after she runs her fingers through the strands, pulling her loose hair into her lap also so Sophie can examine it.
The hair is straight, but possessed of a fair amount of body and volume, and its deep reddish-brown hue contrasts with Sophie's bright blonde.
The woman sighs in relief and massages her temple. Her hair is heavy.]
Cripes, no idea. I mean, some people who have similar power sets to mine can fly, I can't do that. Know a guy who can control metal, a dude who basically can change your DNA composition, I can turn into a walking, talking diamond, so I mean, kind of depends on what you consider fun.
(Girl, you haven't yet been introduced to the nightmare that is removing bloodstains from modern clothing. Her X-Uniform is white, yeah, but also the fabric makes it all so much easier to wash it off. It's all very well thought off, considering the horrors that being an X-Men adjacent person entails. But she's not going to go into that. Instead, Sophie moves to sit next to the girl, taking a moment to feel her hair against her fingerprints.
Sophie's own hair hair is styled, and for entire existence, it had been short. She had used the gifts of a mentioned 'dude' to grow her hair down her waist when she finally felt ready to leave the hivemind look behind, but it is still ridiculously straight. The wave patterns are an effort she puts in daily.
Well. Let's see. Sophie's own hair has no volume whatsoever without some help, so maybe checking frizz and other things that may bring it down could be the best.)
Yeah, those are mine. Harsh shampoo, no way for you. Use cleansing cream to clean it, and a lot of oil. We want to avoid frizz and untamed volume with that much hair.
[ Clea's voice signals slight interest. Flying she has already seen (and experienced) - it's fun but not particularly novel, and Clea still isn't entirely certain what 'DNA' is. It seems to have something to do with that Austrian man who was obsessed with peas?
But diamonds, Clea does know. She looks at Sophie and constructs an image in her mind of what the woman would look like with skin made of diamond, dressing her in a delicate shimmering gown created of several layers of thin, ethereal cloth. If done correctly, she could give off the presence of a mirage.
It's strangely intimate having someone touch her hair. Nobody has touched Clea's hair since the last time she took a lover - and before that, only her hairdresser. Who she feels an unexpected longing for. She had always felt comfortable there. There were not many places where Clea feels comfortable.
Clea nods. ]
I have always found oils most beneficial. At home I had them specially compounded, but I am guessing there is nobody to do such a thing here.
[ She misses the ritual. Rubbing the oils between her hands, the delicate smell that fills the air, and the meditative nature of applying the oils to her hair. Something she's always done for herself. ]
Are there any decent hair dressers, or should I plan on attending to trims myself?
[ You can't trust just anyone with something so important. ]
You can, but it affects my mood. You want to deal with it, that's on you.
(No feelings. No empathy, nothing. Even after she's back to normal, she's still a little empty afterwards. It's very inviting sometimes, to just stay like that for as long as possible, but no. That's not where she wants to end up, and well. It's not even like she's used to it, she hardly ever uses this form.
The visual that Clea brings to mind is sort of accurate, her clothes also turn diamond with her, become part of her skin for as long as she wills it to. She's just... Not a brawler. Her best use is sitting far from any situation that might require it and telepathically aiding others.
She'll leave the girl's hair be, instead taking out the products she knows that won't aid her, and leaving the ones who will in the baggy. Clea can take them.)
For neither. I mean, there are some nerds, you might want to ask them if they can get it done, but you have to be very specific for composition or whatever. As for haircuts, I'm the one who cuts mine and, uh, some others in this place, because if I don't do it, I don't think they will.
[ Clea has no desire to see Sophie hurt herself. She hadn't known that was a possibility. She would not ask to proceed without a full accounting of the costs, both to Sophie and to herself. If it is merely a question of unpleasantness, Clea is fully capable of leaving. However, returning someone's favor and assistance by asking them to do something that would hurt them would be a poor way to return kindness.
Of course there are no hairdressers. Why would anything be easy? Clea can't help but sigh. ]
I appreciate the information. I will attend to my hair myself.
[ Sophie is quite busy and it isn't her duty to take care of Clea. Clea can trim her own hair.
They wouldn't cut their own hair? Clea raises a judgmental eyebrow. ]
Do they not notice? I've been without proper hair care for a week and I already am feeling the situation add to my madness.
[ Everything here is strange and uncontrollable. There are electric iceboxes, everything is made out of some weird light material that feels wrong, the 'apartments' are sterile, her Papa's copy is here, and her hair doesn't feel right. ]
(Feel nothing. No hunger, no temperature, no feelings, no empathy. Nothingness, which, well, it's not horrible or anything, she can control when she turns completely — it just makes her a little more unpleasant than she already is.
A little shrug ensues. Julian just humors her, lets her take care of his hair. It makes her happy, and it's one less thing for him to think about, she supposes. Also, with his hands being metal prothestics, it is probably a bitch to deal with. No complaints all around?)
That guy doesn't think of it a whole lot. It's good, though, he's like, super handsome, so letting me have my little claws on his hair is honestly a win-win situation.
[ When they've both prepared and when Clea has supplies to capture her essence. And some way of returning the favor. It clearly is more of a process than Clea would have expected, and thus should only be requested once. She needs to make the most of her opportunities and it would not do to inadvertently display disrespect.
Ah. That is quite understandable. Clea glances over at Sophie with a smile and a slight gleam in her eyes. ]
We are quite spoiled in one regard - there are very pleasant sights to see here.
That does sound rather advantageous. How does he feel about you? Has he turned that delicious shade of red around you?
[ She does like seeing handsome men blush and stammer. ]
(She loves girl talk, and boy, does she love to talk about men, but this one in particular? Blushing? Julian Keller, Hellion? Not a thing she can imagine, and definitely not for her.
God forbid, what a strange sight, and it elicits a laugh out of Sophie, her eyes rolling solely because the mental image is just so foreign to her.)
Oh, God, no. Not the blushing type, and it's probably not like that.
(Probably. God knows what happens in Keller's head. If there is one mind Sophie respects, it's Julian's, solely because he can and has kicked her out, and it's rather unpleasant and painful.)
[ That hadn't been the result Clea intended, but it's nice to hear Sophie laugh. The entire conversation is nice, actually. It's...ordinary. Normal. Not very much has been normal in Clea's life recently. How strange to find that feeling in a place which is decidedly not ordinary.
If the cost is Clea looking foolish, she'll pay it. ]
I see. Probably. That's not a 'certainly.'
[ The question is, does Sophie want it to be 'like that', or is she content to admire him from afar? Or close by, as the case may be. ]
Piece of advice about mutants. My people, if you will. Nothing is easy, we are all super fucked up in the head, no one is normal, we are all in survival mode twenty-four-seven. Probably means literally anything.
(As in, everyone is just a nightmare when it comes to feelings. Sophie is no exception, there are two boys in that house she's slept with, and telepaths? Definitely not the ones you want, and Sophie has got two others.
[ Clea doesn't say it, but a thought does run through her mind before she can stop it: 'Oh, so you're all English?' Some things are completely unconscious, such as the completely reasonable urge to mock those across the Channel. ]
What if I was?
[ Given the tone of Clea's voice, it's obvious she doesn't mean it, even without the benefit of telepathy. Unless she really dislikes someone, she tries not to pursue a man that someone else has expressed interest in. She's teasing. Clea sighs. ]
Unfortunately, I prefer the blushing ones. Maybe you have the right idea: The ones I like are a lot of work.
(No, just American. Although technically? Sophie was made in London, but she isn't... Well, she wasn't born or anything like that. The first thing she remembers, really, is Xavier's, as (almost) pictured on the grounds they stand on, with her sisters as an identical teen quintet. What a time.)
I mean, 90% sure he wouldn't go for humans, so unless I smelled you wrong?
(She doesn't come with a non-human detector, that's wholly unneeded in Etraya to start with. That said, Sophie herself wouldn't go for humans either. It's already so strange to her to be talking to them, interacting and, ugh, caring for two.
Etraya has many surprises.)
Oh, girl. Any man is a lot of work. Their flustering has nothing to do with it.
[ Clea doesn't understand. Are mutants not human? Or are clones not human? They all seem human enough. What abilities would make someone not human? Some people used to considers Painters witches, but that isn't the same as not being human.
This is all quite confusing. Is it politics? Those are so dreary.
It is a new form of rejection, but not one Clea takes personally. It's similar to finding out someone only wants men in their bed, and she truly isn't interested. ]
That's true enough. And women are simply a different form of work.
(It's more about the genetic component, really. The X-Gene all mutants share, and politics are a huge part of it. Humans have hated them since, well, forever — politics always plays a part.)
Simply put, all work. And, if you're wondering, which I know you are, magic is a different ordeal.
I see. It's a shame mutants aren't less work, but that would be too easy.
[ Human or not, apparently that particular suffering translates.
Magic. Is Painting magic? Clea frowns slightly, lost in thought. She'd always been told never to call it that, but is it? She isn't certain. Apparently, there are mutants. People with superpowers. And people with magic? Which are all different somehow?
Her thoughts drift towards her discussion with Dr. Crane. About people with abilities judging those without. Level playing fields. And her encounter with the giant, who could see her Gift and certainly had an opinion about it. ]
I don't know what it is. What I would be.
[ And she does not like that. There is apparently context she was missing from earlier conversations. ]
(Not that it's too deep here, she doesn't think. Naturally, her instinct is to trust no one too much — how many mutants have gone through hell simply for existing, and that's not even the worst that has happened to them as a people. On top of that, telepaths? Not a particularly fond type of mutant. Memory altering, planting ideas, puppeteering, all things well within the skillset of someone like Sophie, and her? She didn't get her powers after years of being just a "human". She came into this world a fully formed telepath as a teenager; she'll leave it as such.
That said, different worlds, different standards, different genes, different dynamics. She can't speak for mutantdom. God forbid.)
It's different for everyone, isn't it? To some people here, magic is genetic, to me, magic is is different.
[ Clea still doesn't like this situation. She's always known where she fit. Who she is. Genetic. That's something that someone is born with. She thinks. Clea finds herself wishing she'd pursued more of a scientific education, but she isn't certain it would have done her any good. ]
What is magic to you?
[ This all must be absolute nattering to the girl. Clea's level of understanding is too low - she feels like a new painter in the Louvre, unable to make sense of what's around her. ]
How do you stand people? I barely manage and they have to speak their inane thoughts for me to be aware of them. You have to listen to everyone's idiocy.
Utilizing certain energies and extra-dimensional forces, mostly. We don't... Like, we aren't here talking to the universe to grant us these things, or connecting to something. It just is. Go figure.
(But hey, another laugh, because the funny thing is? She's such an asshole. It's impossible for her not to be one.)
Oh, yeah, millions of them, usually. Who says I do? There is not a single telepath who isn't to some degree super done with people, I guarantee it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 12:57 am (UTC)(But, look, not that Sophie would ever say it usually, but the girl has a point. A very good point. Maybe makeup could do the trick, so she doesn't have to agree on the necklace feedback, just out of principle.
There's a strut in her step as she walks in, stopping by the pool where he had dropped her baggie of hair products. It's just too much of a nice day to be cooped up, so Sophie gestures towards a stretcher for Clea to sit on.)
Usually, four other people who look just like me in the same outfit are present. The necklace is the subtlety needed for people to go through that rollercoaster.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 01:10 am (UTC)[ To withhold her true opinion would be to treat the woman like a child, to humor her. That would be a sign of disrespect, and Clea prefers not to disrespect those who offer her assistance.
Clea takes a seat where indicated, posture impeccable without effort, and crosses her hands in her lap politely, though her eyes flicker over to the bag. ]
Four others? Are they also clones?
[ There is still a slight hesitation before Clea pronounces the unfamiliar word. The machine twins. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 01:14 am (UTC)(Can one be platonically falling in love at first thought? Falling into amazing friendship, so accidentally, so quickly? Bless Clea. She truly knows what to think of a woman.
Sophie's legs cross, and with no motion of her own, the bag with her products, engulfed in bubblegum pink energy, floats to drop onto the other woman's lap.)
Oh, yeah. Identical. Clone is fine, machine twins is... I mean, I don't love it, but I guess I'm not the president of clone club.
Yeah so Clea didn't understand what a telepath IS...
Date: 2025-07-08 01:38 am (UTC)She gestures at the bag in her lap. ]
May I?
[ Clea's eyebrows furrow and she suddenly gives Sophie a very assessing look, something going hard in her eyes.
She had not said anything about machine twins.
Her internal sense of danger shouts. This person may mean her harm. ]
I said nothing of machine twins.
lmaoooooo m'aam....
Date: 2025-07-08 01:43 am (UTC)And then she hears the last thought. Her eyes roll dramatically, almost like she's heard this a billion times.
... And she probably has! So, justified, right?)
I told you I'm a telepath. I can hear your brain. Seriously, the only thing I mean harm to is to your split ends, why would I waste hair product on you if I were to fuck you up? I got better stuff to do.
(At least she's very ridiculously honest?)
So over her head here
Date: 2025-07-08 01:51 am (UTC)[ And if the woman can truly hear Clea's thoughts, she knows Clea assigns no blame to Sophie. But more than enough for herself: That Clea should have asked even if she thought the questions would be offputting. That Clea should have more thoroughly investigated and not been so trusting.
There is nobody to blame for Clea's unpleasant surprise other than Clea herself.
The honesty is well met. Clea feels a ripple of amusement. It's a fair point, though the woman is wrong. She does not have split ends. Or she hadn't before her arrival here. Clea's hair is a glory and she maintains it as such. ]
That is true. I would not waste my oils and soaps on someone I planned to murder.
[ One elegant hand dips in to the bag and Clea carefully pulls out one product at a time, examining them closely. ]
Protein versus moisture. How often should each be used?
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 02:04 am (UTC)(That she should. Not that any of the other telepaths here are ill-intentioned, if anything, she's the worst one, and she's been putting an effort. She's listening, of course, because it's how she can navigate things, although it's surface thoughts, feelings, vibes. She was never not a telepath. She doesn't know how to do any of this normal people crap.
So, at least she knows Sophie means what she said. A relief, there are people who are immediately unpleased at their existence, but that can be said about literally every mutant. Such is her life, so she shrugs, leaning a bit so she can see what Clea has in her hands.)
Girl, and also? I'm literally in white.
(The HEADACHE to wash it. No, thank you.)
Depends on how your hair is going, and how it reacts. It's a whole trial and error, and with waves? Even more so. Limp and lifeless, protein, crispy and dry, moisture, rule of thumb.
Clea's a rich girl mwop mwop
Date: 2025-07-08 03:14 pm (UTC)[ The immersive nature and flexibility of her own gift is something Clea appreciates, but it appears there are far more gifts here. And some of them are referred to as 'powers' for some reason. Would her Painting be a power? Nobody has explained the terminology.
Clea's eyebrows furrow in slight confusion. What does white have to do with anything? It sounds as though Sophie believes the color would make her outfit unsuitable for violence, but all colors of clothes are laundered by the laundresses equally. Perhaps white does ruin faster, but that can always be remedied by a visit to the tailor for a new garment.
Tilting her head to listen, Clea nods in understanding. Trial and error. ]
Is this all products you've found to work for your hair type? Is there anything here you would warn me explicitly to avoid?
[ Everyone's hair is different, so Clea will need to expand on what she is told here. If there's anything she should under no circumstances try, she'd appreciate the warning.
She reaches up behind her head and begins to pull out the hair pins, letting down the protective braid. Then Clea begins unbraiding her hair. Though it has some waves from having been braided for so long, they go away after she runs her fingers through the strands, pulling her loose hair into her lap also so Sophie can examine it.
The hair is straight, but possessed of a fair amount of body and volume, and its deep reddish-brown hue contrasts with Sophie's bright blonde.
The woman sighs in relief and massages her temple. Her hair is heavy.]
sophie is an emma frost clone also rich mean girl......
Date: 2025-07-08 03:46 pm (UTC)(Girl, you haven't yet been introduced to the nightmare that is removing bloodstains from modern clothing. Her X-Uniform is white, yeah, but also the fabric makes it all so much easier to wash it off. It's all very well thought off, considering the horrors that being an X-Men adjacent person entails. But she's not going to go into that. Instead, Sophie moves to sit next to the girl, taking a moment to feel her hair against her fingerprints.
Sophie's own hair hair is styled, and for entire existence, it had been short. She had used the gifts of a mentioned 'dude' to grow her hair down her waist when she finally felt ready to leave the hivemind look behind, but it is still ridiculously straight. The wave patterns are an effort she puts in daily.
Well. Let's see. Sophie's own hair has no volume whatsoever without some help, so maybe checking frizz and other things that may bring it down could be the best.)
Yeah, those are mine. Harsh shampoo, no way for you. Use cleansing cream to clean it, and a lot of oil. We want to avoid frizz and untamed volume with that much hair.
Rich mean girl bonding ~
Date: 2025-07-08 09:43 pm (UTC)[ Clea's voice signals slight interest. Flying she has already seen (and experienced) - it's fun but not particularly novel, and Clea still isn't entirely certain what 'DNA' is. It seems to have something to do with that Austrian man who was obsessed with peas?
But diamonds, Clea does know. She looks at Sophie and constructs an image in her mind of what the woman would look like with skin made of diamond, dressing her in a delicate shimmering gown created of several layers of thin, ethereal cloth. If done correctly, she could give off the presence of a mirage.
It's strangely intimate having someone touch her hair. Nobody has touched Clea's hair since the last time she took a lover - and before that, only her hairdresser. Who she feels an unexpected longing for. She had always felt comfortable there. There were not many places where Clea feels comfortable.
Clea nods. ]
I have always found oils most beneficial. At home I had them specially compounded, but I am guessing there is nobody to do such a thing here.
[ She misses the ritual. Rubbing the oils between her hands, the delicate smell that fills the air, and the meditative nature of applying the oils to her hair. Something she's always done for herself. ]
Are there any decent hair dressers, or should I plan on attending to trims myself?
[ You can't trust just anyone with something so important. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-09 01:11 pm (UTC)(No feelings. No empathy, nothing. Even after she's back to normal, she's still a little empty afterwards. It's very inviting sometimes, to just stay like that for as long as possible, but no. That's not where she wants to end up, and well. It's not even like she's used to it, she hardly ever uses this form.
The visual that Clea brings to mind is sort of accurate, her clothes also turn diamond with her, become part of her skin for as long as she wills it to. She's just... Not a brawler. Her best use is sitting far from any situation that might require it and telepathically aiding others.
She'll leave the girl's hair be, instead taking out the products she knows that won't aid her, and leaving the ones who will in the baggy. Clea can take them.)
For neither. I mean, there are some nerds, you might want to ask them if they can get it done, but you have to be very specific for composition or whatever. As for haircuts, I'm the one who cuts mine and, uh, some others in this place, because if I don't do it, I don't think they will.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 12:35 pm (UTC)[ Clea has no desire to see Sophie hurt herself. She hadn't known that was a possibility. She would not ask to proceed without a full accounting of the costs, both to Sophie and to herself. If it is merely a question of unpleasantness, Clea is fully capable of leaving. However, returning someone's favor and assistance by asking them to do something that would hurt them would be a poor way to return kindness.
Of course there are no hairdressers. Why would anything be easy? Clea can't help but sigh. ]
I appreciate the information. I will attend to my hair myself.
[ Sophie is quite busy and it isn't her duty to take care of Clea. Clea can trim her own hair.
They wouldn't cut their own hair? Clea raises a judgmental eyebrow. ]
Do they not notice? I've been without proper hair care for a week and I already am feeling the situation add to my madness.
[ Everything here is strange and uncontrollable. There are electric iceboxes, everything is made out of some weird light material that feels wrong, the 'apartments' are sterile, her Papa's copy is here, and her hair doesn't feel right. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 12:46 pm (UTC)(Feel nothing. No hunger, no temperature, no feelings, no empathy. Nothingness, which, well, it's not horrible or anything, she can control when she turns completely — it just makes her a little more unpleasant than she already is.
A little shrug ensues. Julian just humors her, lets her take care of his hair. It makes her happy, and it's one less thing for him to think about, she supposes. Also, with his hands being metal prothestics, it is probably a bitch to deal with. No complaints all around?)
That guy doesn't think of it a whole lot. It's good, though, he's like, super handsome, so letting me have my little claws on his hair is honestly a win-win situation.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 02:23 pm (UTC)[ When they've both prepared and when Clea has supplies to capture her essence. And some way of returning the favor. It clearly is more of a process than Clea would have expected, and thus should only be requested once. She needs to make the most of her opportunities and it would not do to inadvertently display disrespect.
Ah. That is quite understandable. Clea glances over at Sophie with a smile and a slight gleam in her eyes. ]
We are quite spoiled in one regard - there are very pleasant sights to see here.
That does sound rather advantageous. How does he feel about you? Has he turned that delicious shade of red around you?
[ She does like seeing handsome men blush and stammer. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 03:46 pm (UTC)God forbid, what a strange sight, and it elicits a laugh out of Sophie, her eyes rolling solely because the mental image is just so foreign to her.)
Oh, God, no. Not the blushing type, and it's probably not like that.
(Probably. God knows what happens in Keller's head. If there is one mind Sophie respects, it's Julian's, solely because he can and has kicked her out, and it's rather unpleasant and painful.)
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 08:24 pm (UTC)If the cost is Clea looking foolish, she'll pay it. ]
I see. Probably. That's not a 'certainly.'
[ The question is, does Sophie want it to be 'like that', or is she content to admire him from afar? Or close by, as the case may be. ]
If he's not the blushing type, what type is he?
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 09:05 pm (UTC)(As in, everyone is just a nightmare when it comes to feelings. Sophie is no exception, there are two boys in that house she's slept with, and telepaths? Definitely not the ones you want, and Sophie has got two others.
There's a shrug that comes from her.)
Dependable, hard-edge type. Why, interested?
no subject
Date: 2025-07-10 11:30 pm (UTC)What if I was?
[ Given the tone of Clea's voice, it's obvious she doesn't mean it, even without the benefit of telepathy. Unless she really dislikes someone, she tries not to pursue a man that someone else has expressed interest in. She's teasing. Clea sighs. ]
Unfortunately, I prefer the blushing ones. Maybe you have the right idea: The ones I like are a lot of work.
[ They're so cute though. ]
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Date: 2025-07-11 12:34 am (UTC)I mean, 90% sure he wouldn't go for humans, so unless I smelled you wrong?
(She doesn't come with a non-human detector, that's wholly unneeded in Etraya to start with. That said, Sophie herself wouldn't go for humans either. It's already so strange to her to be talking to them, interacting and, ugh, caring for two.
Etraya has many surprises.)
Oh, girl. Any man is a lot of work. Their flustering has nothing to do with it.
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Date: 2025-07-11 01:04 am (UTC)[ Clea doesn't understand. Are mutants not human? Or are clones not human? They all seem human enough. What abilities would make someone not human? Some people used to considers Painters witches, but that isn't the same as not being human.
This is all quite confusing. Is it politics? Those are so dreary.
It is a new form of rejection, but not one Clea takes personally. It's similar to finding out someone only wants men in their bed, and she truly isn't interested. ]
That's true enough. And women are simply a different form of work.
[ So that's no reprieve. ]
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Date: 2025-07-11 01:10 am (UTC)(It's more about the genetic component, really. The X-Gene all mutants share, and politics are a huge part of it. Humans have hated them since, well, forever — politics always plays a part.)
Simply put, all work. And, if you're wondering, which I know you are, magic is a different ordeal.
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Date: 2025-07-11 01:45 am (UTC)[ Human or not, apparently that particular suffering translates.
Magic. Is Painting magic? Clea frowns slightly, lost in thought. She'd always been told never to call it that, but is it? She isn't certain. Apparently, there are mutants. People with superpowers. And people with magic? Which are all different somehow?
Her thoughts drift towards her discussion with Dr. Crane. About people with abilities judging those without. Level playing fields. And her encounter with the giant, who could see her Gift and certainly had an opinion about it. ]
I don't know what it is. What I would be.
[ And she does not like that. There is apparently context she was missing from earlier conversations. ]
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Date: 2025-07-11 02:04 am (UTC)That said, different worlds, different standards, different genes, different dynamics. She can't speak for mutantdom. God forbid.)
It's different for everyone, isn't it? To some people here, magic is genetic, to me, magic is is different.
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Date: 2025-07-11 02:14 am (UTC)What is magic to you?
[ This all must be absolute nattering to the girl. Clea's level of understanding is too low - she feels like a new painter in the Louvre, unable to make sense of what's around her. ]
How do you stand people? I barely manage and they have to speak their inane thoughts for me to be aware of them. You have to listen to everyone's idiocy.
comics are a mess and this is probably correct but if not i close my eyes and go
Date: 2025-07-11 02:52 am (UTC)(But hey, another laugh, because the funny thing is? She's such an asshole. It's impossible for her not to be one.)
Oh, yeah, millions of them, usually. Who says I do? There is not a single telepath who isn't to some degree super done with people, I guarantee it.
I'm canonblind so luckily I can't tell! *finger guns*
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