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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 19:26:15 GMT
As a child, Charles had often wondered what his life would have been like if his mutation had been anything other than telepathy. He’d wondered what the world looked like to people whose perspectives weren’t tinged with the thoughts and feelings of everyone else around them. What would his own life have been had he not been made privy to his mother’s utter detachment and cool regard towards him at such a young age? If he hadn’t been able to see into Kurt’s mind and discover that the man would not be the father Sharon had hoped he would? Perhaps he would have actually learned how to interact with people, how to say the right thing rather than constantly screwing it up.
Unfortunately, Charles had been born a telepath. His mutation hindered him in learning how to interact with people in a normal fashion, and the result was that he was utterly incapable of saying the right thing to anybody.
“Ah yes. Disregard anyone’s care for you because it is insufficient in your eyes. Recognize not that people are willing to help you because it is inadequate. Because you are beyond being helped. Because you have endured such suffering and torment that no other person could possibly comprehend.”
That had not been what he was trying to convey! He’d been in Erik’s mind, he had felt all that Shaw had put him through. No, nothing Charles had ever been through truly compared. Even the beatings, Kurt’s experiments, and Cain’s wounded rage would never fully compare to what Erik experienced at Shaw’s hands. They had been made in two different realms, brought together only by a strange twist of fate. Their circumstances had been different, their tormentors had held different ends in mind. And Charles, born wealthy and privileged, had never and would never experience anything that could be validated when compared to the sufferings of others.
“There can be no solace for Charles Xavier, because he is so far beyond any hope of it,” Erik mocked, and Charles bit his tongue.
Yes, he’d quite forgotten, hadn’t he? His wealth, his privilege, his status—all of it negated everything he felt. He’d been so selfish, hadn’t he? To feel as though any pain he felt, any loss or isolation, mattered at all to anyone. What was his own pain when compared to the pain that broke Erik and remade him? Or to anyone, really? He should simply swallow everything he’s ever felt because every experience he’d ever had was completely without meaning. Oh how could he have ever been so stupid to forget that?
“I make a rather convenient scapegoat for all your troubles, don’t I?”
Charles took a deep breath and swallowed everything he’d wanted to say. This was turning into an argument he wouldn’t win, one he couldn’t win, and if he opened his mouth again, he’d only say the absolute worst thing he possibly could. Like he did with Raven, and with Erik back in Cuba. They could all be justified in their pain, recognized in it, but not Charles. And that wasn’t fine, not even close, but Charles could do nothing against it. He was lucky. He’d never been thrown out onto the streets. He’d never seen his mother shot dead because he couldn’t access his abilities. He’d grown up in a big, fancy estate and had access to wonderful schooling. He’d never gone hungry or wanting, unless it had to do with human affection.
All of his anger dimmed, smoldering within him as he took another drink. He needed to stop, needed to be sober come landing. If he had anymore, he would be of no use to anyone. Not that he ever was to begin with, but that was rather the point of all this, wasn’t it? He was, for all intents and purposes, human at the moment. Charles’s only worth came from his bank account and his telepathy; that was the lesson he’d forgotten, and he really should thank Erik for the refresher.
And so, Charles swallowed his words, his anger, his pain, and remained silent, eyes focused on the chessboard before him.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 15:41:19 GMT
Yes! xD Evan Peters did a fantastic job as Quicksilver. That scene was absolutely wonderful.
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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 15:37:52 GMT
She was still projecting no small amount of fear and wariness; Charles honestly couldn’t blame her. He understood wholeheartedly the fear of discovery. While he’d never really had the luxury to feel it for himself, he’d spent his life after Raven’s arrival terrified that someone would discover her mutation and do to her what Kurt once did to him. Or worse. He’d promised to take care of Raven, to keep her safe; he honestly didn’t care so much for his own safety, but he would do anything to keep Raven’s mutation unnoticed by those who would react poorly.
Magda wrapped her arms around herself and went to the door, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. It hurt, of course, but Charles refused to begrudge her for it. Just as he wouldn’t begrudge Raven for wanting him out of her head. She turned the sign on the door, which was probably a good idea. It would be horribly awkward if an unsuspecting customer walked in while they were discussing mutation.
“You just happened to come here?” Magda’s suspicion was palpable. Not looking for, not trying to find, just found—Charles nodded.
“Yes, I had no idea there was anyone at all like me in this area. While I know there are likely a fair number of us out there, I hadn’t expected to ever come face to face with another one of my kind at this point in my life.”
Despite all of the panic and fear thickening the air, Charles was breathless with excitement. He hadn’t felt so happy since Raven first came into his life; that moment when he realizes he’s not nearly as alone as he’d always feared.
“You study yourself? ...did I burn you with me tea?”
She tossed a towel in his direction, and Charles caught it.
“No, no burns, thankfully. You just got a bit of it in my hair, I believe. Nothing to really be concerned about,” Charles assured, using the towel to dry off where the tea had managed to land a hit.
“And yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it. My goal is to introduce the idea of genetic mutation as it pertains to those like us in bits and pieces. If I’m successful, I can hopefully make the eventual reveal of mutantkind much less of a shock and, with any luck, it will be much smoother for mutants to integrate into society.”
That was the dream; he wanted to see the day when Raven could walk down the street in her natural blue form without fear of being taken away and harmed for being different. Her blonde form was lovely, but Charles still adored her natural blue skin and shocking red hair. She was such a striking sight, but as it was, no one but Charles and perhaps their own kind would able to truly see it. He wanted to change that.
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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 4:46:45 GMT
The clatter of the kettle crashing to the ground nearly swallowed up the sob that escaped the fortune teller. Instinct would have him rush over to help her, but he held back. He was inadvertently the cause of her distress, after all.
“What did you do to me?” Magda clasped her hands over her ears. “What do you want from me?”
“Please, calm your mind. I swear I’ve done nothing to harm you. I’m a telepath, I can read minds and speak to them. I do try not to, however, as very few find it at all pleasant.”
Her mind was in chaos, memories swirling around of a life before this, one full of pain and sorrow and it took Charles’s breathe away. So much pain for someone who couldn't be all that much older than he was.
“I want nothing from you, my dear. I’m terribly sorry for the distress I’ve caused you. I’ll not breathe a word of any of this to anyone, I give you my word.”
He'd pay for any damages, along with his session and the tea. It was the least he could do.
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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 3:50:07 GMT
Charles paused as Magda froze, and he wondered if he’d done anything to—wait, when had he started calling her Magda? That, oh. That was her actual name, and judging from the panic she was emitting, he wasn’t meant to know it. Her thoughts were a screaming mess, recalling his field of study and his research, making a quick study of the situation and—oh, oh. The tea was still rather hot, and that really would smart—
“Isabelle,” she whispered, and then flung her tea at him.
Charles immediately ducked, managing to avoid the worst of it. She fled to the counter, grabbing the tea kettle and wielding it like a weapon.
“My name is Isabelle Erikson....I think you should leave now. Or I am going to scream and bring everyone running!”
“My sincerest apologies, Mag—Ms. Erikson,” Charles said, half-daring to stand up. “I’m not here to cause you any harm, I promise. You needn’t be afraid of me. You’re a mutant, yes? That’s why you’re concerned about my research. Believe me, Ms. Erikson; I am the last person on earth who would ever wish you any harm.”
Charles stood up fully, hands held up in the universal sign of surrender.
“I apologize; I must have accidentally gleaned your...other name without realizing it. It happens on occasion; drives my sister ‘round the bend. Please, Ms. Erikson. I’m like you. I’m not here to do any harm.”
He moved his hand to his head, placing his index and middle fingers to his temple before reaching out to her mind. Charles made sure to be as careful about it as he possibly could be.
I am terribly sorry for the scare I’ve caused you. I swear that I mean no harm.
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Post by x on Jul 22, 2014 2:48:46 GMT
“It might not be anything as clear as a barking dog, Mr. Xavier,” Isabelle explained. “It could be a feeling you’d get, but would have otherwise ignored. It could mean that there will be something, or someone, that at first appears like they are on your side, but in the end have their own goals. Perhaps your school, a friend, or even yourself.”
Charles considered her explanation. Due to his telepathy, any feelings he got tended to be either confirmed or laid to rest with a quick bit of mental espionage. (A habit he really should endeavor to break, but it was akin to wander around the world with a hand clamped permanently over his eyes.) The possible betrayal seemed fair more likely, though it could hardly be too bad; his future was in academia, perhaps working as a professor at Columbia. All in all, a bit boring.
“The cards aren’t something that can narrow down events,” Magda added. “They won’t say turn right or turn left. They give you understanding, guidance, and will help you make the best choice. Just follow your heart and keep your eyes open.”
She shrugged, and Charles caught a bit of regret in the action. Well, it wasn’t exactly her fault that card reading was vague at best. And really, Charles had a tendency to be his own worst enemy. He’d likely ignore any and all warnings and simply keep on moving forward. The worst of it all was, he didn’t realize it until it was far too late to do anything about it.
“There are some who can narrow it down more than I,” she offered. “If you wished a more detailed answer, they would be the ones to seek out.”
He offered her a kind smile. “Thank you very much, Magda. I’ll keep that in mind.”
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 21:17:55 GMT
“It is a shame that you do not recognize those around you who care. Instead, you claim to be isolated and alone, pitying yourself,” Erik responded. “I offered you a chance to be with me, Raven, and the others, yet you denied and currently claim that mutants want nothing to do with you.”
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d decided against going with Erik that day in Cuba because all he could see for Erik’s path was bloodshed and destruction. Charles couldn’t be part of that, couldn’t function as the soldier Erik would have demanded he be. If Charles had been more like Cain—angry, vengeful, with a vendetta against the world—then he would have said yes. But he might not have even bothered to save Erik that first time, or bothered to give Raven a more stable home.
“Even now, look at Hank. He had practically devoted his life to taking care of you and staying with you, yet you recognize none of that and continue on with your self-pity and victimization.”
Oh, Hank. Charles was eternally indebted to the younger scientist. He hadn’t been the easiest person to live with—apparently he never was—but Hank had stayed. But Erik’s perspective of the situation only showed how impossible it would be to fully convey Charles’s exact meaning. Erik’s view of the world around him was incredibly physical, concrete, able to be examined with little more than the basic five senses. And in that sense, yes, Charles hadn’t been alone. He’d had the school at first, and then Hank for the remainder, and he knew he hadn’t been truly alone in the sense of another person near him.
But when it came to his mutation, to his fractured mind, Charles had been alone. They’d tried at first, having Charles try to anchor himself to Hank, but it hadn’t taken. Then things had only gotten worse, and his own health had been compromised. Charles hadn’t begged for that first dose; Hank had given it to him to give him a sort at recovery. Things had simply deteriorated from there.
"Everyone has suffered. It is what we do with it that defines who we are,” Erik continued, and Charles didn’t need his telepathy to sense the waves of condescension practically rolling off of him. "And you, Charles . . . are a coward."
“And you understand nothing, old friend,” Charles responded, spitting the word as though it were crafted from acid. “You see the world in black and white, as clearly cut as the damn chessboard, but you never spare a thought as to the shades of gray in between.
“Hank was with me these past eleven years, and you’ve no idea how sincerely grateful I am that he’s managed to put up with me. But I needed an anchor, a mind that could help my own heal from the trauma your damned coin and those months in the hospital high on morphine caused. We tried, Hank and I, but it never took.”
He refilled his glass and took another drink.
“I may be a coward, in your opinion, but I have my reasons. I am not you, Erik. I cannot choose to go out and burn the world down, damn the consequences. I am not a killer. I’ve never been one for violence."
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 17:32:51 GMT
"You alienated yourself," Erik shot back. "Do you really believe that you are the only one who struggles with your mutation? Do not victimize yourself, Charles.”
Charles narrowed his eyes a bit at that. He’d never once believed he was the only one who had difficulties controlling his mutation. That was why he had wanted to set up the school, why he had wanted to give mutant children a place where they could learn to control their abilities and have the guidance mutants like himself and Erik never had.
It was difficult to explain, what was messing with his telepathy in those brief moments when the serum wore off, even to himself. It was a block Charles had never experienced before in his life, and he had no one to help him overcome it. He himself had no idea how to overcome, and so he’d decided in a moment of weakness to do away with it. Then they’d discovered that the serum had a side-effect that enabled him to walk, and, yes, Charles had been selfish. He hated to admit it, but it was a point he would concede to Erik.
"You should have come with us.”
Charles choked on his drink.
"You should have come with me, Raven, and the others. If you truly feared isolation, then you should have joined us.”
He coughed and sputtered, working to regain his breath and his voice. Go with them? And do what, exactly? Spend the rest of his days feeling others die in his head, time and time again, until he forgot every piece of himself that had once comprised him? Until he became as damaged and scar-ridden as Erik himself?
“If I had gone with you, Erik,” Charles said, his voice still hoarse from the alcohol, “I would have become far more isolated far more quickly than I am now.”
There was no doubt in his mind about that. Perhaps Erik would have found no use for Shaw’s helmet if he thought he could cajole Charles into playing his mental bodyguard, and if Charles were a different man, he might have agreed. In another life, another universe, he may have gladly gone with Erik, may have enjoyed the fighting and the killing and hated humans and the world as much as Erik did.
But the bottom line was that Charles was not that man. He was not Emma Frost, whose telepathy was only moderate in strength and whose diamond form had allowed her to hold the whole of the world at arm’s length. He was not Erik, tormented by madmen and persecuted for something as ridiculous as religious faith. He was not Raven, drifting from one side to another.
He was just a fool, a naive telepath whose unwavering optimism and faith in the world had proven to be his undoing.
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 17:04:47 GMT
He was being touched. Someone was taking his pulse, obviously wondering if he was still alive. Charles thoroughly appreciated the sentiment, of course, but it was hardly necessary. He was technically out of the danger zone at this point, and within a few minutes, he should be able to regain the use of his limbs. Well, his arms, at least. No chance of getting his legs back, not at this point.
There was movement, and Charles soon found himself seated in his chair. At least he wouldn’t fully wake up on a metal platter like some sort of trussed up turkey. Small favors, then. He became aware of more minds, hazy on his periphery, but far clearer than anything had been when he first regained consciousness.
There was shouting, and then all of the minds disappeared. He didn’t feel their deaths, thank god, but he keenly felt the loss. The sudden loss was enough of a shock to give his mind a bit of a well-needed jolt. Charles took as deep a breath as he could and pried open his eyes.
"Where must we go?" Erik’s voice, and since he wasn’t threatening whomever he was speaking to, it was very likely that they were in the midst of being rescued.
Charles caught flashes, images of a roof and a helicopter, among other things, and groaned as he shifted in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fingers in order to make sure he was back in control of as much of his person as possible.
“How far to the roof?”
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 6:02:20 GMT
“Please do,” Isabelle said as she took the card back and returned it to her deck. “I said so before, Mr. Xavier, you seem like a very kind man. I would hate for someone to take advantage of you and cause you any harm.”
Charles took another sip of his tea as Isabelle sorted her deck and resettled herself in her chair. He could say the same with regards to her. Personally, Charles liked the woman quite well. She seemed like a good, honest person and her mind, the bit he’d brushed against it, seemed as though it reflected that.
“How do you feel about the reading?”
“For the most part, I’d say spot on. Can’t say too much for my future, though. Though, I daresay few can.” He offered a smile. “Though, how exactly would one go about recognizing warnings when they appear? I’ll admit I’m a bit out of my depth here.”
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 5:33:15 GMT
Regaining consciousness from overusing his telepathy was never something particularly quick or instantaneous. This time, the first thing that came back was his sense of placement. He was lying down, but he was also moving. It was a smooth sort of movement, nothing he could place for a car or any other vehicle.
The second thing that came to him was the constant throbbing in his head. He let out a small whimper in response, but he hadn’t quite regain enough control over himself to bring his hands up to cradle his head. Oh, he was going to need so much aspirin once all was said and done.
After the pain reared its ugly head, he could make out voices. One was male, the other...female, and it felt like he should be able to place it. One had to be Erik. Erik had been with him in the cell, hadn’t he? Or had Charles finally lost it?
He couldn’t have lost it, because it felt like he was on a metal disk. A metal disk that was moving rather smoothly. So, unless there was another metalokinetic running around...
Erik...?
He winced; bad move. The sedative was still in his system, and he’d pushed his luck enough already with that stunt with the guard. Oh, but it wasn’t like it was going to get any easier in the near future.
For the moment, the best he could do was focus on breathing and not slipping back into unconsciousness.
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 4:39:37 GMT
“Once again, Charles, it is not about trust. It has to do with the fact that you would stop me if given a chance.”
Charles raised an eyebrow at that. Oh, how Erik had missed the point entirely.
“What does it matter to you, anyway,” Erik continued. “You gave up your abilities as a telepath. Seems I no longer have use of my helmet.”
It was a jibe, Charles knew it, but that didn’t change the growing urge to punch Erik once again. He wouldn’t get away with it a second time, but Charles couldn’t quite find it in him to care anymore.
“Mutant and proud is correct, Charles. And it is disappointing to see that you have no pride in who you are.”
“You asked me to stay out of your head, Erik,” Charles responded, “and I made a vow to stay out. I’ve been in minds like yours before; men with minds like yours can’t be changed. I’d been so foolishly naïve to think you could have been any different, that you could have chosen to utilize the good in you rather than cleave to the pain.”
He polished off his second glass. “And as for pride, you’re correct, Erik. I have no pride in my mutation. I have no pride for something that alienates me from the entirety of the world, human and mutant, when it should bring me closer to them. I have no pride in a mutation that cripples me because the world did not mutate as I did.”
Why was he still sitting there, talking to Erik, when all the conversation made him want was a bottle of vodka and perhaps a pistol.
“I’m wasting my breath, aren’t I? You’re incapable of understanding, and I’m incapable of finding the words necessary to change that.”
He sighed and laced his fingers together, looking up at Erik.
“It was a choice between staying alive and remaining a telepath. Would you prefer I’d taken the alternative?”
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 4:08:05 GMT
Charles had maxed his powers out before. He’d been a child then, young and vulnerable and so desperate to make the pain stop that he’d blacked out half the county in a bid to get away from the beatings. That had been before Raven broke into his kitchen, before Charles had discovered what an anchor was. He’d knocked himself out for nearly a week, waking up to his room and the soothing presence of the head maid as she took time out of her day to fuss over him.
(After that, Kurt had become suspicious and Charles became rather well acquainted with the estate’s laboratory. He’d been too young, too inexperienced, too untrained to do anything other than bit his lip and try to keep from screaming as Kurt subjected him to experiment after experiment.)
But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a grown man, he had far more control over his abilities than he did when Kurt got a hold of him, and maxing out his telepathy didn’t mean the same thing it did when he was younger. If he maxed out a full capacity, then he’d likely drive himself into a coma. But drugged, with a considerable percentage of his telepathy either muddled or locked away, Charles could take certain liberties. He could push and manage to get away without much beyond a terrible headache.
There was a rush of oxygen and his body instinctively took a deep breath. The oxygen was needed, a sort of biological reboot. Whatever he’d been drugged with was still slugging its way through his system, but it was weaker than it had been when he’d initially woken up. Between the increased oxygen and Charles's own mental resilience, it wouldn't be long before he regained consciousness.
Oh, but he was going to have a horrific headache when he did.
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 2:34:39 GMT
“I’m right here, Charles,” Erik said, and Charles attempted to roll his eyes.
“Course you are,” he muttered, finally succeeding in sitting up. He leaned against the wall and held his head in his hands, wincing through the pain. What the hell had they drugged him with? “We’re stuck here, you can’t leave. Even if you want to.”
His head was getting fuzzier. It had been clearing, slowly but surely, but now it was regressing. Why? He wasn’t wearing something that would give him regular doses, was he? No, no, he would’ve felt the prick of a needle, wouldn’t he? Or was it designed to leech through his skin, maybe set up around his thigh, over his femoral artery?
Then it became harder to breathe. Dear God, whoever was holding them hostage was aiming to kill them. The thought was sharper than any needle, clearing than blown glass, and Charles immediately understood that someone was likely to die in the next thirty seconds. Like hell it was going to be him and Erik.
“I am sorry, old friend,” Erik said, and Charles would’ve found it ironic. Erik, roll over and die? Oh, how the times had changed.
Even drugged, even heavily sedated, there had to be something Charles could do. He braced himself for the pain and reached out with his mind. There was someone nearby, someone outside of their prison. He wasn’t protected from any telepathic assault beyond sedating Charles, but obviously their captors had underestimated him. And underestimating a telepath who had very little regard for his own well-being when faced with the welfare of others was a terrible mistake.
Charles shoved forward through the pain and gripped the guard’s mind: WHATEVER YOU DID, REVERSE IT. NOW.
And with that, all of Charles’s strength was gone. He let out a sharp cry and collapsed, the world cutting out to black.
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 2:03:52 GMT
"Just keep the warning in mind, for I would hate to see any harm come to such a nice man, Mr. Xavier,” Isabelle reiterated.
She hesitated when she went to flip the last card. Charles quirked an eyebrow at the hesitation.
"I . . . I drew two cards."
Being largely unfamiliar with tarot cards and card readings, Charles didn’t quite understand what that meant. He assumed it was highly irregular, that it had implications for the entire reading, given Isabelle’s reaction. One was of a man who looked like he was a member of the Catholic clergy, while the other was depicted a king holding a cup in one of his hands.
"This one is a card of traditions, and faith,” she explained, gesturing to the card depicting the man dressed as a clergyman. “It says a hard time might be ahead for you, but if you stay true to who you are, then you will survive it. In the most dire of time, it reminds us that we are not alone."
Well, that sounded pleasant.
"This one is much happier,” Isabelle continued, turning her attention to the remaining card. “The king here is a man of intense charisma, and energy. He walks into a room and everyone takes notice of him. He is also known as one who guides others and turns them from the lost, weaker versions of their selves and into all they can be."
Charles considered the explanation and shrugged. The second option did sound far more appealing, but then again, it was a tenant of human nature to seek to avoid pain and discomfort.
"With the two cards, I cannot say if they will both be yours,” she concluded, picking up The Fool and handing it to him. "Or if the warning in this card, will determine which will be yours."
Charles took the card and examined it. A warning as the deciding factor, hmm? The skeptical piece of him claimed that it was a copout, a way to claim accuracy no matter what occurred. There was a part of him that was willing to take her words to heart, however. It was only a matter of how much he should.
“So, I should heed any potential warnings in my near future if I wish to have the brighter future?” Charles considered the card in his hand. “Well, then, I’ll have to keep my eyes open, won’t I?”
He offered her a smile and handed her card back to her.
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Post by x on Jul 21, 2014 1:15:20 GMT
“Your move,” Erik said as Charles resumed his seat.
Charles took a glance at the board and then shoved another pawn ahead. Fuck strategy at this point; strategy could come later, when speaking with Erik didn’t feel akin to picking at and ripping off a scab on an old wound.
“Your gift is not undesirable, nor anything less than incredible,” Erik began, and Charles sighed and took another drink.
“I am well aware of your disapproval of my actions. It is not that I do not trust you, Charles, when you say you will not go inside my head. It is that I know you share a vastly different perspective than I do. And you would do whatever necessary to protect others, even humans, who are the very beings that I target when needed.”
There it was. The pretty version of what Erik had said so long ago. Erik could insist until he was blue in the face that the use of his damned helmet had nothing to do with not trusting Charles, but that was never the message in his actions.
“When I wear the helmet,” Erik continued, “it is a shield. Just as I would create one with metal to block any other physical attempt to stop me. I know you would not go inside my mind unless you felt it was imperative. But it is during those moments that reveal our strong disagreements in how matters should be handled.”
Charles couldn’t help himself: he laughed, bitter disbelief and disappointment coloring the sound, bracing his forehead in his hand. They were going to get nowhere, as always, and Erik simply would not understand.
“Oh, Erik, if I truly wanted to do you harm, your helmet would afford you little protection. There are other ways to kill you, my friend, that would be no less affective for the helmet on your head,” Charles answered, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“You can justify it all you wish, you can deny it until you haven’t any breathe left in your lungs, but so long as that helmet is in your possession, you show the world that I am not to be trusted. That every telepath who lives, or ever will live, is not to be trusted. Your followers will see a little asterisk attached to your ‘Mutant and Proud’ slogan and once the humans are gone, mutants will turn on telepaths and empaths and any other mutant unfortunate enough to be born with a view into the minds of others, and you’ll wonder how that happened.”
He leaned back and took another drink.
“All I can do is hope that I’ll be long dead before that day comes.”
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 23:18:56 GMT
When whatever it was that they’d injected him with wore off, Charles was going to find out who was responsible for it and make them spend a week thinking themselves to be drooling infants. His head was killing him once again, the result of smaller, abortive attempts made by his telepathy to reach out to Erik’s mind. Once he was out of wherever he was and the sedative had worked its way out of his system, he was going to have to figure out a way to rein in his subconscious.
"I have no idea what they gave you, my friend, but it may be best if you not speak."
“Only if you keep talking,” Charles replied. For some reason, his head felt infinitely better when Erik was speaking. “I like your voice. Don’t like the quiet. It’s been quiet for too long.”
Far, far too long. Years of total silence save for his own thoughts chasing themselves round and round, and his own thoughts were not particularly nice to him. He knew he wasn’t in the best state of mind, and he was going to look back on this in horror and wonder why the hell he’d let himself say certain things, but at the moment, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Erik was with him, and that was what mattered. If he tried, he could pretend he still felt his toes and Cuba had never happened and Erik had never let. He shouldn’t, though. Wishing never did anyone any good. Even in the old fairy tales and legends, wishes never turned out well.
Erik got up, and a terribly sad noise escaped Charles at the loss of contact. He couldn’t feel Erik’s mind, drugged as he was, and he’d spent a lifetime surrounded by people but never coming into physical contact with them once.
“Don’t leave,” he said, scrambling up onto his elbows, valiantly trying to ignore the explosions of pain occurring in his head. “Please, Erik, don’t leave.”
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
Tag me @professorx
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 22:17:26 GMT
There was a flare of anxiety when he mentioned his course of study. A bit odd, as who would be concerned about a graduate student researching genetic mutation? Well, unless the person in question was perhaps a mutant themselves, or was close to someone who was a mutant. Or perhaps a mutantphobe? Charles wasn’t sure, and he keenly felt the urge to delve into her mind and figure out if her anxiety stemmed from fear of discovery or fear of mutation.
"It can be ominous, but you can take it with a bit of hope. Whatever has happened, or is about to happen to you, you can build yourself stronger from it,” she replied with a smile, trying to dampen the rush of apprehension. "Your future might have a bit more fun in it, yeah?"
Isabelle flipped over the next card, revealing a rather cheerful looking man about to walk off a cliff, a dog yapping at his feet.
"You see the man in the card,” she began, gesturing to the picture. “He is going off on an adventure, into a world filled with hope, excitement, and wonder. He is so taken in by this new world he never thought to see that he is risking not seeing the danger he is walking into. This card is a warning, to watch your steps in this exciting new adventure. The dog here—it is unknown if the dog is going to warn him, thus save him from the danger--or be part of the danger himself."
Charles took in the cards, his mind mulling over the interpretations Isabelle had offered. A new adventure, hmm? One that could prove disastrous if he wasn’t careful? Perhaps his future in academia? Well, if his mutation came out, then there could be a massive backlash in the academic community as to whether or not his telepathy gave him an unfair advantage. He could potentially lose everything if his mutation became public knowledge. Perhaps he would have to be more careful with it?
“Well, I suppose every adventure has its risks,” he said, making sure to give her a reassuring smile, her earlier apprehension still ringing in his mind. “Academics can be particularly vicious, I’ll admit; they tend to spend a depressing amount of time looking to find fault in their peers than they do trying to contribute to the pool of knowledge.”
He allowed himself to laugh at it for a moment, though the blots on his record really weren’t a laughing matter; if his peers found out he was a telepath, he could very likely be stripped of everything he’d worked so hard for.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
Tag me @professorx
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 20:15:52 GMT
“I’m sorry, I do not know what that is,” Isabelle replied. “What is a thesis? Is that a car?”
Charles smiled and chuckled a bit. “No, it’s not a car at all. I’m a graduate student in the process of acquiring my PhD. It’s an advanced degree, one that gives me the credibility I need to teach at university. However, in order to earn it, I have to write a short book, essentially, on a topic of my own choosing. As I’m working on a degree in genetics, I’ve centered my thesis on mutation. Oh, I sort of got a bit carried away, didn’t I? Essentially, a thesis is just a paper, part of a larger dissertation.”
Isabelle flipped over the next card as he explained what a thesis was, revealing the depiction of an angel blowing a trumpet while a man, woman, and child in floating boxes lifted their hands up to it.
"This card is one of rebirth and resurrection,” she explained, once it was clear that his own explanation was finished. “Meaning you might have to remake yourself, or even are currently trying to rebuild yourself into someone other then who you were. This is also a card of healing, either quite literally from an accident, or emotionally. It always means that change is happening. Either right now or very soon.”
“That sounds as though it could be a bit ominous, doesn't it,” Charles responded. “I certainly hope it’s nothing too major; I’ve never been very good with violence.”
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
Tag me @professorx
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 20:04:36 GMT
Erik was smiling, Charles noted with a rush of satisfaction. Erik had such a wonderful smile, especially when it was just a smile and not a sly smirk that promised some sort of chaos to follow. (Though Charles sincerely adored those as well.) Charles had missed that, had missed seeing Erik smile. He missed a lot of things about Erik, to be honest.
“You have been heavily sedated,” Erik confirmed, and Charles let out a small snort. Of course he’d been sedated. Hank had taken great care to either hide or destroy his notes on the serum that had given Charles his legs at the cost of his telepathy, and the serum had never had such a horrid effect on him.
“With what, I am unsure,” Erik continued, oh, and he didn’t he have the most wonderful voice? “But at least it has not taken your sense of humor nor your wit.”
Bastard, Charles thought, fondly and without a hint of sarcasm. Maybe he even said it aloud. How very like Erik to crack a joke while Charles was barely lucid.
“I imagine I am here for the same reason you are. How we came to be here, I do not know. But they have us contained in a glass prison to refrain from any attempt to escape on my part.”
Well that was rather unsporting, now wasn’t it? Was that the reason Charles had been sedated with a drug from hell? It seemed rather likely, given what Erik said, but then again, Erik always was distrustful and paranoid. Of course Charles understood why, but it was really the only thing Charles disliked about the man.
“And they seem to have sedated you to prevent you from using your own powers.”
Well screw them, they’d have to get in line. Charles had spent years voluntarily keeping himself under a sort of sedation to keep his mind at peace for once in his life. Erik still used that ruddy helmet of his that looked like a malformed cock to keep him out, and let’s not even get started on the long list of people who demanded that he stay out of their heads.
"Seriously, let’s not; it was depressing," he muttered, not even really realizing that the words escaped him at all.
"Whoever took us, are knowledgeable of our abilities."
“Bloody brilliant deduction,” Charles muttered, slightly more aware of his words. “What was your first hint, love? The glass or the heavy sedation?”
At least he seemed to have regained the capability of spitting out fully formed words, though how much sense those words actually made Charles was still a bit fuzzy on. Come to think of it, did he use the right word?
“Sedition? Sedation? Seduction? One of those.”
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