Yeah, that's what I've been hearing, too, [ he admits, tilting his head slightly as if he really is listening to spoken voices and not the thoughts of people around them. there's always a certain amount of psychic buzz around when one's a telepath, particularly one of quentin's caliber.. who has, admittedly, learned more about his abilities from trial-and-error than from any formal training. (his time at school had been a little bit of a mess, after all.) ] There's a lot of sort of low-level, persistent anger still floating around. [ .. mood, honestly.

he blows out a breath, stirring the few strands of hair falling into his face, frown uncertain as he glances past the buildings still being repaired, the businesses still closed as things recover. ] I just don't get it. This place is a psionic, magical clusterfuck, and some people have been here for years. If a local gang can upset shit so much, why isn't this place a parking lot yet?

[ because it's like gwen said: clearly they're not unbeatable. what's holding back the people with powers? at least quentin has the excuse of not knowing shit about the city or the powers-that-be yet. ]