TM 189 -- If you could read my mind. . .
If you could read my mind right now… Talk about a conversation when what you said was not what you were thinking.
I don't read minds anymore. I blew out most of my organic telepathic ability, doing a favor for a friend. It might seem a little whimsical, in retrospect, but Wade Wilson saved my life. Or, to be technical, he killed me when I asked him to, and then he helped me come back. The least I could do was help to repair some of his brain damage. And nobody out there comment that you didn't notice a difference. I might make that joke about Deadpool, but you don't get to.
Irene asked me, once, if I miss my telepathy. The truth is, not really. My synthetic Infonet technology replaces most of the useful functions, and it gets rid of the inconvenient ones, like having your girlfriend suspect that you're poking around in her skull to see what she's thinking, when you're only making that face because you can't remember where you left your ammo clip.
In any case, the answer to this question is an easy one: I am a truly sincere person who says exactly what I am thinking, all of the time. After all, I am a politician.
*private*
Domino and I used to share a psi-link. I could read her mind, and sometimes she could read mine. We worked together. We were in love. It seemed like a good idea.
Times changed. They changed a lot.
We ended up in a room in the state house in Rumekistan. Domino pointed a gun at me, and I couldn't read her mind, but it didn't half matter. Because I could still read her. I knew she would fire, to test the extent of my gravimetric shields. I knew she would fight through the guards, come up behind me, and put the gun to my neck.
And I knew she would stand there, and let me feel the metal on my neck, and listen to my words.
"She doesn't trust me," I said, explaining to the others in the room (so they didn't get shot; so they didn't shoot her). "She can't. She thinks I'm going to ruin this, like I have everything else for as long as she's known me."
I knew she would listen, and she would pull away the gun. Because she didn't, she couldn't believe in me -- but she desperately wanted to.
"But. . .", I said, turning to place a hand on her chin, "What if I don't?"
"What if you do?" she answered. And then she walked away. Like I knew she would.
She walked away, because she wanted to hear the words I hadn't said. You can't leave, Domino, because I still love you.
I was thinking them, of course, but I couldn't say them. If she was going to stay, it couldn't be because of that.
I wanted her to love me, but she also had to believe. It was a good thing she didn't know what I was thinking.
It was a good thing we didn't have that psi-link, after all.
*OOC -- Dialogue is from Cable & Deadpool 29
I don't read minds anymore. I blew out most of my organic telepathic ability, doing a favor for a friend. It might seem a little whimsical, in retrospect, but Wade Wilson saved my life. Or, to be technical, he killed me when I asked him to, and then he helped me come back. The least I could do was help to repair some of his brain damage. And nobody out there comment that you didn't notice a difference. I might make that joke about Deadpool, but you don't get to.
Irene asked me, once, if I miss my telepathy. The truth is, not really. My synthetic Infonet technology replaces most of the useful functions, and it gets rid of the inconvenient ones, like having your girlfriend suspect that you're poking around in her skull to see what she's thinking, when you're only making that face because you can't remember where you left your ammo clip.
In any case, the answer to this question is an easy one: I am a truly sincere person who says exactly what I am thinking, all of the time. After all, I am a politician.
*private*
Domino and I used to share a psi-link. I could read her mind, and sometimes she could read mine. We worked together. We were in love. It seemed like a good idea.
Times changed. They changed a lot.
We ended up in a room in the state house in Rumekistan. Domino pointed a gun at me, and I couldn't read her mind, but it didn't half matter. Because I could still read her. I knew she would fire, to test the extent of my gravimetric shields. I knew she would fight through the guards, come up behind me, and put the gun to my neck.
And I knew she would stand there, and let me feel the metal on my neck, and listen to my words.
"She doesn't trust me," I said, explaining to the others in the room (so they didn't get shot; so they didn't shoot her). "She can't. She thinks I'm going to ruin this, like I have everything else for as long as she's known me."
I knew she would listen, and she would pull away the gun. Because she didn't, she couldn't believe in me -- but she desperately wanted to.
"But. . .", I said, turning to place a hand on her chin, "What if I don't?"
"What if you do?" she answered. And then she walked away. Like I knew she would.
She walked away, because she wanted to hear the words I hadn't said. You can't leave, Domino, because I still love you.
I was thinking them, of course, but I couldn't say them. If she was going to stay, it couldn't be because of that.
I wanted her to love me, but she also had to believe. It was a good thing she didn't know what I was thinking.
It was a good thing we didn't have that psi-link, after all.
*OOC -- Dialogue is from Cable & Deadpool 29