Call My Bluff

[Magda Eisenhardt]

“Well, that certainly is a flattering perspective. Thank you for that.” Magda smiled softly and hoped he understood she meant her words. There was something about him. A softer charisma then her past love, one born it seemed from his love of others. Perhaps one day, he would be everything the cards promised. “Though, I am a bit curious: how did you begin card reading? Did someone teach it to you, or did you learn on your own?” Speaking of which . . .

Magda smiled brighter, and looked down at her lap for a moment. Memories of her mother were always welcome, even if they sometimes were a hard sort of good. "My people were gypsies." She explained, "When I was younger I would watch my mother teach the others how to stake a deck in order to make the best cards, the ones everyone wanted, come up when they should. For her and the others, it was more important to con the gadjos--the ones not of our people--then to read them true." It still amused her sometimes to play with the decks to make them come out wrong, and watch the American's try to find meaning in it.

Looking back up at him she kept her smile in place, a easy one. "I can promise you, that your desk was not stacked. She taught me how to read them, and see their meanings in many ways. I was eleven when she died, but I never forgot her teachings or her stories." And they were ones she had refused to let the camps ruin. She wanted to embrace her happy ones. Make them last. "She did like to cook." Though nothing as fancy as the things Magda now cooked.

[x]

Magda’s smiled brightened considerably, and Charles mentally sighed in relief. He could feel the sheer amount of love she had for those memories, and he let himself bask in those emotions for a moment.

“My people were gypsies,” she explained. “When I was younger, I would watch my mother teach the others how to stake a deck in order to make the best cards, the ones everyone wanted, come up when they should. For her and the others, it was more important to con the gadjos—the ones not of our people—than to read them true.”

So card readers do have a tendency to stack decks, then, Charles noted with some amusement. He had a feeling that Magda hadn’t thrown his reading, though; she struck him as someone who valued truth when she could.

“I can promise you that your deck was not stacked,” she confirmed with an easy smile before continuing on. “She taught me how to read them, and see their meanings in many ways. I was eleven when she died, but I never forgot her teachings or her stories.”

Magda seemed to hold her mother in wonderful regard, and Charles smiled as he picked up the amount of love and affection she held the long-dead woman with.

“She did like to cook,” the fortune-teller added.

“She sounds as though she were a wonderful woman, Magda,” Charles said. “She truly does. You were quite fortunate to have such a store of good memories to see you through.”

He took another bite of his dinner.

“Did your mother teach you how to cook?”

[Magda Eisenhardt]

“She sounds as though she were a wonderful woman, Magda. She truly does. You were quite fortunate to have such a store of good memories to see you through.” Smiling brightly Magda was glad he thought so. Not that she doubted he wouldn't, but hearing it always was nice. She never spoke of her mother, so doing so now was a treasure. “Did your mother teach you how to cook?” "Yes, and no. She cooked strews, and basic things. Things over the fire for many people to eat. We never had much, but she made what he had spread out."

It would be easy to let the end of her mother's life in that horrid camp be the dominate memory. However, Magda had refused to allow it. She loved her mother, and had so many memories of of her before the camps. It was hard, but in times like these where she could talk about the good ones, Magda found it easier. Made it worth the effort. "Your mother clearly didn't teach you to cook." She teased, being he said he lived off take away. "What sort of things did she teach you?"

[x]

“Yes and no,” Magda replied. “She cooked stews and basic things. Things over the fire for many people to eat. We never had much, but she made what we had spread out.”

Charles smiled; talking about her mother was clearly something that made Magda happy. He felt a small surge of envy at that; his mother had never been particularly attentive, preferring to waste away in a myriad of alcohol rather than deal with reality. She had loved Raven, though, once Charles had her firmly affixed in the family memory.

“Your mother clearly didn’t teach you to cook,” she teased, and Charles smiled and hoped it didn’t turn out to be a grimace. “What sort of things did she teach you?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and offered her a weak smile. What had his mother taught him? Everything she’d taught him had been about avoidance, a showcase of precisely what he didn’t want to be. He didn’t keep more than a bottle of alcohol in the flat, he restricted his drinking to pub outings with Raven there to make sure he didn’t overindulge, he made every possible effort he could in order to ensure that he never ended up as embroiled in grief and misery as she did.

“Eh, it’s...it’s a bit complicated,” he admitted. “My relationship with my mother wasn’t exactly...well...” he took a deep breath before continuing. “She loved me, I have doubt about that, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother when I was born; she was barely ready to be a wife. And when my father died...she was heartbroken. She became depressed and turned to the bottle.”

Part of him wondered why he was being so honest with Magda; was it because she’d decided to be honest with him? He could feel her mind, and he knew she wasn’t the type to use any of this sort of information against him. Raven would have a fit, though, would tell him that he was too trusting and he shouldn’t be so willing to share such information. It wasn’t as though he could help it; his abilities included empathy, which meant he had an innate desire to relate to those around him.

“My apologies, Magda,” he said, reining in the sudden surge of emotions. “I didn’t mean to darken the conversation; my mother did teach me a few things. Primarily having to do with what’s acceptable in high society—she came from old money, and there was a certain set of expectations that came with the territory.”

He smiled and laughed a bit as he recalled a few of his earlier memories: Mother hosting a party, socializing with him shadowing her, trying to ignore the urge to cling to her dress as she introduced him to stranger after stranger; Mother taking command of the household whenever Father found himself at a loss, always with an endearing little huff and a roll of her eyes; Father calling her his angel when she got him through the obligatory rounds he had to make at parties, letting him run off to his lab or to the library as soon as she could.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda noticed his paused, and wondered if she touched on something unpleasant. “Eh, it’s...it’s a bit complicated,” She knew his step family had been unkind, but she had hoped that his mother had been so. “My relationship with my mother wasn’t exactly...well...” He took a deep breath, and she wanted to tell him he did not have to share, but she also wanted to know. It made her feel a small bit of outrage. Here she was, wanting nothing more then to be a mother, and his had not protected him like a mother should. It seemed unfair. Made her whole life seem unfair in a way.

“She loved me, I have doubt about that, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother when I was born; she was barely ready to be a wife. And when my father died...she was heartbroken. She became depressed and turned to the bottle.” Nor had she been, when she found herself with child. Yet she had also known that something had to be more important then herself. It had been the beginning of the end with her and the father. He'd not been ready either, and had been planning to send her away; however, he had not been willing to just let her go. So instead, she stayed with him for a few months, until the men had come that night. That was when everything had turned for the worse.

“My apologies, Magda,” "No," She was quick to assure him, “I didn’t mean to darken the conversation; my mother did teach me a few things. Primarily having to do with what’s acceptable in high society—she came from old money, and there was a certain set of expectations that came with the territory.” That was sad. She wished she did not think so, as she knew he might be hearing it, but it was sad. For that to be the greatest impact a mother left to her son.

"I should I have thought before I asked." She had known of his step family, she should have assumed this was a memory he might not wish to share. "The apologies are mine to make." For not thinking before speaking. "And your mothers. For not being able to be stronger for her son." It was said softly, but Magda meant it. There was something inside her that still grew angry at the thought of children hurting--especially because of a parent.

[x]

He could feel her reactions as he explained. There was a small surge of outrage, one born from Magda’s own desire to be a mother and the pain of her past. He caught flashes of her past when he brushed against her mind: her own reaction to pregnancy, the tangle of emotions that had a surrounded her and the child’s father, the night everything had gone wrong for her. A bit of guilt welled up in him at that.

“No.  I should have thought before I asked,” Magda assured. “The apologies are mine to make. And your mother’s, for not being able to be stronger for her son.”

“Magda, it’s fine,” Charles insisted. “I’ve made peace with it.”

His mother was dead and buried, anyway, as was Kurt. He had no idea what became of Cain, and he really didn’t want to know. His life was in Oxford now, with Raven and his thesis, and he had no intention of returning to Westchester.

“I don’t fault my mother, not completely; she did try,” he pointed out.

She’d remarried too early, convinced that Charles needed a father more than she needed to grieve. And Kurt had known all of the right words to say to charm Sharon and get into her good graces. She had never really been on her own, marrying young and going from her parents’ home to be somebody’s wife, and Kurt had capitalized on that. Sharon had been ill-equipped to resist and Charles’s telepathy had yet to fully manifest. He had known Kurt was not who his mother had thought, but he’d been incapable of convincing her otherwise.

“Besides, it was much more my own fault than hers,” he admitted. “I had pieces of my mutation from birth, and it seems that my abilities unconscious affected those around me—my mother, primarily.”

[Magda Eisenhardt]

“Magda, it’s fine,” He told her, but she disagreed. A mother had a duty beyond herself. “I’ve made peace with it.” Which almost made it worse rather then better! He'd made peace with his mother's failures. “Besides, it was much more my own fault than hers,” That caught her attention, and Magda looked up surprised. “I had pieces of my mutation from birth, and it seems that my abilities unconscious affected those around me—my mother, primarily.” From birth?

Magda watched him and tried to think about what he meant, but she couldn't figure it out. He was making her do things from birth? "I don't . . . I don't understand. What do you mean that you were affecting her from birth?" She knew that as a child he would not have been able to help it, so she wasn't aghast from his actions, but she was confused as to what a infant would have made an adult do. It was almost baffling to think they even had that power that young. It also hinted to his strength with his mutation.

[x]

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” Magda responded, confusion and surprise in her mind at his confession. “What do you mean that you were affecting her from birth?”

He shifted in his seat and his fingers fiddled with the cutlery. It wasn’t something he often discussed—even Raven only knew the bare minimum—but his early influence on his mother had been meant to be largely benign. If his mother had been a mutant herself, it likely would have remained so. However, his mother was not a mutant, and his early manifestations had further damaged what would have already been a strained relationship.

Charles took a deep breath and pushed his bangs back out of his face. “Fragments of my telepathy manifested when I was an infant—I can’t be certain precisely how early, given as I can’t remember the first few years of my life. Specifically, the empathic components of my abilities. As an infant, and as a young child, without even realizing it I was subconsciously influencing my mother. Mostly just letting her know when I was hungry, when I needed to be changed, when I needed to be held, but...for my mother, it was all out of character for her.”

He hadn’t fully realized what was going on until his father died and Kurt slowly became a permanent fixture at home. With Kurt and Cain had come disturbing clarity: what he was doing, how in-tune he and his mother seemed to be, was wrong. In a childish panic, he’d immediately withdrawn and from that moment on, his relationship with his mother deteriorated exponentially.

“I had no idea what I was doing until after my father died and my future stepfather began to pursue my mother,” he finished. “But by then, the damage had been done. I overreacted in a childish panic and immediately withdrew as much of my ability as I could, locking it all away.”

Which had been a horrible mistake all on its own, for a whole host of reasons, but he wasn’t going to go into that. Raven had shown up, and unwittingly saved him before the damage was irreparable.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda watched him as he spoke, and she could tell this wasn't easy for him to explain. She knew that just hearing the words could not give her an insight to whatever had been done to him in his lifetime. It was horrid and unfair how so many children were hurt by the adults around them. The men at the camps. His step family. Cruel people seemed to want to hurt others, just because they could.

"It is easy to see someone from another walk of life, and assume they have it easier then yourself. It never seems true, but I wish it was." Her horror at least been limited, even if it was great. His seemed to have stretched silently for years. Either way, it had left the scared. "What happened in your past, Charles, was very unfair of life to put on you. So many could abuse such a thing, but you seem regretful to even have it."

It also raised another question, one that might be easier to answer. "Do . . . Do powers come at birth for most then?" For her's had not shown up until much later, and she'd assumed it was because she was not near technology. Had it been there all along? Or had it came out later?

[x]

“It is easy to see someone from another walk of life,” Magda began, “and assume they have it easier than yourself. It never seems true, but I wish it was.”

Not without a bit of truth, though. He had been extraordinarily lucky in his life, regardless of what he’d gone through in his childhood. For all of Kurt’s cruelty, for all of his mother’s distance and alcoholism, he’d at least never had to worry about a roof over his head or whether or not he’d be able to at least locate food. He’d had access to an excellent education and had eventually acquired the most wonderful sister in existence. Really, when faced with something like what Magda had gone through? He really had nothing to complain about.

“What happened in you past, Charles, was very unfair of life to put on you. So many could abuse such a thing, but you seem regretful to even have it.”

Charles swallowed hard. Regretful wasn’t exactly the word. Yes, he was not at all fond of some of the repercussions of his mutation, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he lacked it. To live life without his telepathy...it was like thinking about life without being able to see. His telepathy had become and integral part of him, something he couldn’t simply shut off whenever he so chose. It was like seeing or hearing or tasting, something so very natural and instinctual that going without it was unthinkable.

“Do...do powers come at birth for most, then?” Magda was certainly hoping to redirect the conversation into something much lighter, a diversion Charles was all too happy to oblige.

“It’s hard to say,” he answered. “I think it may depend a great deal on the mutation itself and the mutant’s own surroundings. There’s not much research to say definitively—for the moment my research is accepted as purely theoretical and that brings with it its own set of limitations. Though, for example, you were not exposed to much modern technology until you were older, correct? Perhaps your mutation actually activated much earlier than you realize, but you were unaware of it until you were in an environment where your abilities were able to show themselves.

“I’m working with a very small data pool at the moment,” he admitted, “just Raven, you, and myself. Though, so far I’m the only one who manifested any part of their mutation at birth, and I didn’t even fully manifest until I was much older. Still young, of course, but old enough to be mostly self-sufficient.”

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda took in his words and explained what she could. "No, my people were poor. Most our things were made of wood and were very basic. It was not until later that I begin to step out of that world, and begin to notice things . . . I was twenty, I think. Maybe slightly older." If that helped him understand things she could give him that, even though her powers were hard for her to speak of.

It was these words that troubled her. “I’m working with a very small data pool at the moment,” The last three mostly. At the moment. Magda feared that if he sought out more of them it would be harder for them to hide. Someone would find out about them. Perhaps even before he was ready to 'ease' them into knowlage. The only thing needed for evil to triumph, is the silence of good men; she remembered hearing the quote, but right now there was no good and evil. Right now silence was their best choice.

"You have spoken of others," And of how many he thought there might be. "Will you try to find them all?" To learn what he could about them. Risk exposing them? Magda felt worried for them, and while she asked him hesitantly, she knew that if anyone stood a chance at helping them, then perhaps it was Charles. He could help them before everyone learned about them. They could hide.

[x]

“No, my people were poor,” Magda confirmed. “Most our things were made of wood and were very basic. It was not until later that I begin to step out of that world, and begin to notice things...I was twenty, I think. Maybe slightly older.”

Charles nodded a bit in understanding. It was completely likely that Magda had actually manifested at an earlier age, but because she’d spent her early years living away from most of what her power dealt with, she simply didn’t notice. Or perhaps her powers hadn’t actually manifested until she was twenty or so; maybe mutations only manifested under certain conditions. And the nature of the mutations were also stunning.

Did they all stem from the same gene mutation? If so, how did that mutation determine what abilities that child would possess? Where there multiple genes undergoing mutations? There was still so much to learn, to study, and Charles found himself dizzy with excitement from the mere prospect of it all. Evolution in action. It was breathtaking.

“You have spoken of others,” she added. “Will you try to find them all?”

“Well, I would love to meet other mutants,” he confessed. “I would love the opportunity, but I can’t say that I’ll go seeking them out. Mutant minds have a different feel to them than humans—I can tell the difference quite easily when I don’t try to keep myself in—but I don’t have a way to actually go about seeking them out.”

It wasn’t as though he had a machine that could amplify his reach, after all. Good thing, too; if he did, he’d likely never want to leave it. His mentors would be furious. Charles chuckled a bit at his own private joke.

“And besides, seeking them out at this point may prove counterproductive. I want to be able to ease mutants into the public eye, after all. Give the world time to adjust to the idea.” Like, say, a generation or two. It would be slow, but it would hopefully have the least amount of violence and destruction.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Counterproductive. Another large word that she wasn't sure what it meant completely. It was almost easy to see how smart he was. Not just see it as to know it, but see it with her own eye, or hear it with her ears. The physical signs of his intelligence made it easy to believe what he said. What she could let herself believe of it, at least. Never had she imagined that one could fight hate with knowlage or peace. She'd only known violence to violence.

"Which only leaves the question of--" She paused in her words and looked toward the front. Her doors that a standard security strip on them. If the door opened then it would chirp, only she'd turned the chirp off because it was unneeded. She could feel the computer read the door opened.

Only she knew she had just locked it. Looking from the door to Charles and whispered, "I think I am about to be robbed." Why else would they come here? She stood and waited for whomever to come back to her small kitchen, hoping they would just leave when they saw people still here.

[x]

Something prickled at the edge of his mental periphery, something that made him shift a bit uncomfortable in his seat. It made old instincts flare up, screaming at him to run and run fast, while he had the chance—which instantly battled with the gut reaction of No; must protect Raven. He swallowed and tried to stifle the old instincts.

“Which only leaves the question of—” Magda stopped short and glanced towards the front.

Charles had sincerely hoped that he was just being overly paranoid, but Magda seemed to react to something out of the ordinary and he took a deep breath. Charles reached out with his mind and felt the presence of three ill-intentioned men. His heart sunk into his stomach.

“I think I am about to be robbed,” she whispered.

He nodded. The burglars were after something specific, and Charles went to dig a little deeper as he stood up as quietly as he could manage.

“They’re after something specific,” Charles whispered back, facing towards the front. “I’m not entirely sure what—their minds are surprisingly well—”

He cut himself off in realization. Humans didn’t tend to have natural defenses against telepaths, and their burglars were not mutants. They knew. Somehow, in some way, they knew there was a telepath around and they were prepared.

Which meant things were likely to get very ugly if they didn’t tread with caution.

Is there a back way out? He projected the question to her mind, eyes trained on the doorway leading into the small kitchen. If there was, they’d have to move quickly; they couldn’t rely on Charles’s telepathy for this one.

[Magda Eisenhardt]

“They’re after something specific,” Magda glanced over at Charles, and then back at the door. They were after something specific? She had a few really old decks of cards that might be worth some money but most of them weren't really worth anything, and she doubted they wanted any of her herbs for it wasn't anything uncommon around these parts. “I’m not entirely sure what—their minds are surprisingly well—” Wait, what?

Turning she looked back at him, waiting for him to finish what he was going to say, while her heart beat faster. Is there a back way out? Her head jerked around her as the sound came from no where. Looking back at him, she realized what he was doing. Speaking to her. Without sound.

Pointing to a large cabinet, she hoped he'd understand. The fire escape was hidden behind it, because she needed the room more then the exit. Still, if they pulled it a foot from the door they were both small enough to fit behind it and escape.

[x]

Magda jerked a bit in surprise—he’d have to apologize to her later; telepathy took some getting used to—before she realized that he was utilizing his mutation. She gestured to a large cabinet, and Charles caught the image of a fire escape located behind it. All it would take was pulling the cabinet out a foot and they could escape. The sound would certainly alert their burglars. At best, only one of them would be able to get through soon enough to not get caught.

Charles swallowed and nodded, more to himself than to Magda; she’d go through the fire escape first. Whatever the intruders were after, Charles was certain he was connected to it. Either that, or there was another telepath running around somewhere.

That will work. You climb out first and then I’ll follow, yes?

He moved over to the cabinet and got ready to drag it away from the escape. He kept his mind’s eye on the intruders; they had scoured every inch of the shop and were beginning to make their way back. Magda would have to be quick, and Charles would have to get caught. He swallowed; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d allowed himself to be caught in order to protect someone else. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

On three. One. Two. Three!

[Magda Eisenhardt]

Magda felt the oddness of someone talking to her in her head again, and she knew why he was doing it. It meant the men on the other side of the wall could not hear their plans. They'd move it, Charles said, and then run out. Yes, that was a good plan. Run! They needed to run. Magda nodded, and moved to help him. He counted up. ONE, her fingers flexed and gripped the wood. TWO, they'd need to go quickly, and get out of here. There would not be much time. THREE, she pulled, and it was in these seconds that her thinking caught up with her, and while a million thoughts hit her, she understood the basics.

They were not both getting out, because the sound drew the attention. It happened in an instant. She didn't even think about it until her body was already in motion. Reaching over she grabbed Charles' shirt and pulled him from where he stood to the space, and with everything she had pushed him toward it. While many thoughts had hit her--he had a plan to protect mutants, she needed to protect him in order to safe her race--she knew the main reason of why she'd done it.

Because for the first time in years, someone had spoken to her like a friend. For the first time since Ania died, and she'd left 'him' she had felt a connection to someone. He'd been kind to her, and a friend, and Magda didn't want to see anything happen to him. Her fear of losing him, had made her react in breaking the plan, and pushing him toward safety.

[x]

On three, Charles pulled the cabinet away from the wall, the wood making a terrible sound as it dragged over the floor. There was a sharp flare of anger and realization from the intruders, and the sound of heavy footfalls meant they had, at best, five seconds to escape. For Magda to escape. Just as Charles was moving to step aside and let her through, the woman grabbed his shirt and dragged him to the exit, the close proximity only intensifying the rush of thoughts, feelings, and emotions coming from her. It was enough to stun Charles for the time it took her to manhandle him, but just as he was off balance by the escape, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him.

His knees hit the edge of the opening, sending them both crashing through the open escape onto the intricate metalwork of the stairs. Winded and back aching, Charles surged up and urged Magda to her feet. He was still in the process of standing when one of the intruders grabbed him by his arm and yanked him back to the floor.

Charles let out a sharp shout, his instincts flaring between fighting back and going limp as he was roughly dragged back into the kitchen. He managed to land an elbow into his captor’s gut, only buying him a second of near-freedom before the favor was quickly returned. Reeling from the punch and dazed, Charles did nothing as they dragged him back and forced him into one of the chairs.