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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 19:28:26 GMT
His comment must have struck a chord in Isabelle, as the fortune teller paused for a moment. Charles wondered if she had had anyone depending on her at any point. It was likely; human beings were social creatures and were often presented with situations in which one or more counted on another. For Charles, it was Raven. What about Isabelle, though? Did she have a sister or a brother? Perhaps an ailing parent she cared for? Maybe even a child?
"They were very lucky to have someone to care enough about them to make sure they were alright,” the fortune teller said after her momentary pause. “It's a good card, Mr. Xavier. It tells me you are a good man, and from little I know if you, I am in agreement."
Well, he did try. It wasn’t easy; there was always the temptation to delve into someone’s mind if for nothing else than to acquire a sort of anchor to keep him steady in the chaotic sea of minds that comprised the world around him. Raven had been such for him before she demanded he get out of her head. It had been the worst week of his life as he felt their connection wither and die while he obeyed her wishes. But it had been for Raven, so he really couldn’t complain. He understood why she asked him to leave her mind alone.
He took a sip of his tea, appreciating the blend of herbs Isabelle had crafted. It was far better than any of the store-bought blends he subsisted off of.
"Well, this is good a good cards too,” Isabelle said, moving on in the reading and flipping over the first of the two cards to represent his present. “Your present desires is what this tells me. It's a card of excitement and impatience, hot pursuits . . . grand ideals. It's a card that tells me you are looking, or might even are stepping into a new world or discovery. Maybe have a new philosophy? Or even a new lover?"
There was a teasing lilt to her voice and Charles had the good grace to look a bit sheepish. He didn’t really do relationships; wasn’t exactly capable of them, to be honest. One-night-stands was about the extent of his capabilities, so it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think he’d likely end up tumbling around in the sheets with the latest in a long line of lovely partners.
"Things are changing for you, and in ways that excite you."
Charles grinned. He couldn’t exactly refute that, but there wasn’t much change going on at the moment; he was just getting into the meat of his thesis and still had months to go before he would finally be able to defend it and earn his degree in Genetics.
“Fair enough. I’m currently working on my thesis, so I would say I do have a few changes going on in my life at the moment.”
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 19:03:11 GMT
“Have you forfeited the game then,” Erik called after him as Charles made his way over to the liquor cabinet. “Or should I leave your king standing?”
“You so much as touch my king, Erik, and I will make you regret it,” Charles responded, filling his glass almost too full of whiskey and taking a deep swig.
Rather than returning the bottle to its original location, Charles decided to bring it with him. He couldn’t just abandon the game every time he drained his glass; it would become far too repetitive and Charles would be rushing to the liquor cabinet every five minutes.
God, he hated this. He hated what he’d become, what they’d become. Not just himself and Erik, either, but Raven, Alex, Sean—all of them. There was a small cemetery in the far corner of the estate, one that once served as a family cemetery. It still did, as far as Charles was concerned, even if he was likely to be the last Xavier ever interred there, because everyone else who would be either laid to rest there or given a memorial would be his students, his teachers, mutants and humans alike who had come to his school in hopes of a better life for themselves and had found themselves let down.
Because, no matter what happened in the next few days, Erik was never going to back down from his genocide and, now that he was free, Charles couldn’t afford to sit back in a drugged, drunken stupor while his one-time friend ran roughshod all over the planet. And that meant more were going to suffer, were going to die, and it would be at least another fifty years before Erik finally came to his senses. If Logan was to be believed.
Charles returned to his seat across from Erik, and set the bottle down none too gently. He took another drink from his glass and set that down as well. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to become his mother. (Oh, but wasn’t he already?)
Erik wasn’t going to let Charles’s outburst go un-countered, he was sure. Charles grit his teeth and braced himself for a prettied up version of Sorry, Charles, but I don’t trust you.
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 6:11:21 GMT
She winked at him, and Charles caught a surge of calming energy. Really, Isabelle was such a kind woman. Even if she did have her secrets, there wasn’t a human he’d met who was any different. He smiled at her in return, attempting to convey his relative calm, even if he couldn’t quite quell the knot in his stomach. There was a reason he tried to banish Westchester from his memory.
The next card Isabelle turned over depicting a rather exhausted looking man and a number of sticks, on one of which he was leaning.
"This one means that there was a trial, something you had to overcome. The man here," Isabelle explained, gesturing to the figure shown on the card, "even when things were hard, he did not give up.”
She looked up at him, and met his eyes. "It means you were resilient in your struggles."
Well, Charles hadn’t really had much choice in the matter. Especially once Raven came along and he assumed responsibility for seeing her safely into adulthood. He couldn’t afford to give up; he’d needed a way out, for both himself and Raven. He’d made her a promise, after all, when they first met. Charles liked to consider himself a man of his word.
“Couldn’t really afford to be anything else,” he admitted. “I had someone counting on me.”
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 5:56:59 GMT
"You were doing incredible work with the school."
Charles let out a humorless snort but bit his tongue regardless. He was far too tired of everything to start a fight anymore. Downing the rest of his alcohol earlier had been a mistake.
"You have the ability to change so many lives, Charles. As a teacher. As a mutant."
Ah, yes, because his mutation was so welcomed among their kind. How ironic was it that, when he was in full command of his powers, he was all but shunned for them. And now, now that he had finally cast such a distasteful mutation aside, now his mutation was a ‘gift’? Something to be desired, wanted, perhaps even cherished?
(The Charles of eleven years ago would’ve ignored the hypocrisy, would have even internalized it. After all, what pride could be had for a mutant who could expect little else but distrust and locked doors from both humans and from his own kind?)
The worst of it all was that Erik apparently couldn’t even recognize his own hypocrisy. ‘Mutant and Proud,’ but not if your mutation is telepathy. Then you are a thing to be feared, guarded against, kept on a short leash and used like a weapon.
It all made Charles want to break something.
"I truly hope you choose something that is well suited to your capabilities,” Erik continued, and Charles tightened his grip on the arm of his seat. "Not something that shelters you from the rest of the world."
In the end, it was bound that something was going to have to give at some point. When a thing is broken, it does not passively sit back. Instead, it lashes out, it seeks to cut anyone who draws near as deeply as possible. And so, Charles gave.
“Last I knew, Erik, you considered my mutation to be undesirable,” he said. “Something that had to be guarded against and kept on a short leash. Tell me, when did my mutation suddenly become something worth having? Was it when I decided to get rid of it? Was it when I decided I was better off powerless than hated by my own kind?”
He stood up and grabbed his glass.
“You twist metal and move it to your will, and it’s incredible. I can read minds and sense emotions, and I’m greeted with suspicion and mistrust. Forgive me, Erik, for not seeing the beauty of my mutation. I find it hard to see beauty in something I need to ask permission to use.”
Charles left the game and Erik behind, make his way over to where the liquor was kept. He wasn’t quitting the game, not by a longshot, but it was getting far too difficult to continue sober.
And God, if he didn’t hate that.
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 5:17:53 GMT
The pain itself was brief, but it left sore, throbbing aftershocks that made Charles squeeze his eyes shut and wince. He couldn’t gather his thoughts; everything was ricocheting around inside his skull and it hurt to think. Thinking hadn’t caused him so much pain since he was a child and still grappling with control over his telepathy.
At least whatever it was that was affecting him only seemed to worsen when he used his mutation. Which would likely cause him greater trouble in the near future, for however long he was affected, as his mutation wasn’t exactly something he could turn on and off like a tap. Charles took as deep a breath as he could manage and attempted to steel himself for the immediate future.
The worst of it was that he couldn’t even cleave to Erik’s mind. Erik’s wonderful mind. The most beautiful and entrancing mind Charles had ever had the honor to experience, and whatever it was he had gotten into was preventing him from it. Charles groaned again and shifted in a quickly aborted attempt to sit up. His head swam from the exertion, and Charles had never felt so frustrated in his life.
"Good to see you again," Erik said, and Charles felt a smile spread across his face, despite it all. "Though I would have hoped under better circumstances.”
Yes, better circumstances. Like Erik coming back to Westchester, even if it wasn’t to stay. Though Charles would prefer it if he were to stay—given from what he’d witnessed in 1962, Erik would make a fine teacher himself if he gave it an honest shot.
"How do you feel?"
“Like shit,” Charles responded, giving up on trying to move and hoping he’d regained enough control over his tongue to make himself at least a bit more coherent. “Like the world’s worst hangover. Have I been sedated? Why are you here, Erik?”
And why was it taking him so long to regain control over his own body? What the hell had he gotten into, to be so thoroughly put down?
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 1:34:06 GMT
"I am not going to see your deep dark secrets,” Isabelle said, taking his hands her own. “They will not tell me anything you don't wish me to know, only give me an impression of yourself. Just help you understand how they work. You have nothing to fear."
Charles nodded in understanding. Really, it was ridiculous. After all, what was the likelihood that card reading would have any actual relevance? This was just a whim, really. Nothing to get too worked up over.
"These two will tell me about your past, and your past desires. The middle two, your present, and present desires. The last two id your future,” Isabelle explained as she pulled the cards and set them down.
She flipped the first one over, revealing the picture of a woman seated on a throne, holding a sword in her hand.
"Well, I already knew you were a very smart man--your talk of genes--but this card confirms it,” Isabelle said, explaining the card. “It means you are a scholar. You love to learn, and to know a little about everything. You enjoy it, more so then most."
“Sounds about right,” Charles confirmed, smiling at her.
After all, he’d always considered his studies to be his ticket out of Westchester; it was something he was good at. So far, so good.
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Post by x on Jul 20, 2014 0:09:52 GMT
Charles had been on morphine before. In the aftermath of Cuba, he’d spent months going through various surgeries aimed at salvaging what could be saved of his shattered spine and damaged spinal cord. The morphine had been the one pleasant thing about those months, wrapping him in a cocoon of fuzziness and isolating him from the pain of the world.
Sedation was a little like that, only instead of pleasant fuzziness, it was more comparable to waking from a massive blow to the head. Everything was swimming and his head ached and Charles had no idea what had happened. Trying to gather his thoughts was akin to grasping at smoke. Nothing stuck and every thought trailed off or cut off before it could get anywhere concrete and what the hell had happened to him?
He was barely aware of being jostled about, of laying on a rather hard surface, and it was proving unfairly difficult to establish a connection with his viable extremities.
“Charles?”
That voice...it was familiar...very familiar. Hazy images of his study back in Westchester, a chess board, and the grit of sand flashed through his mind as he tried to place the voice.
“Charles, wake up!”
There was a small shake, and Charles let out a low groan as he clawed his way to some sort of wakefulness. He knew that voice. He knew that voice very well. It could inspire admiration, anger, fear, concern, care, lo—Charles pried his eyes open and tried to adjust to the dim lighting.
Erik. The voice was Erik. Charles immediately went slack in relief. Erik was here. As long as Erik was with him, everything would be okay. Even though there was something niggling in the back of his mind, Charles felt nothing but relief.
“Hello, old friend,” Charles said—or rather, he tried to say, though he probably horribly slurred the words beyond any actual comprehension. Was he drunk? No, no that couldn’t be it. Charles could barely move, let alone think. Alcohol had never affected him so badly in the past.
All of the questions made his head hurt even worse than it already did, so Charles shoved his thoughts to the side and tried to focus instead on Erik. Erik was with him. Erik was touching him. Erik was speaking to him. Really, how bad could their situation truly be? Charles reached out to Erik’s mind, but immediately withdrew when pain exploded behind his eyeballs.
...What exactly was their situation?
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 22:58:33 GMT
"I do not mind either, to be honest,” Isabelle replied with a laugh, and Charles smiled in relief.
He got a distinct impression of happiness in response to his regard for her preferences. Was it really so odd for her to encounter a bit of decency? That was a bit disappointing. Isabelle was really such a lovely woman; granted he barely knew her, but her mind had offered none of the harshness or cruelty that Charles had experienced from the minds of those supposedly far superior to those like her. (Which was really an outdated concept, wasn’t it?)
"Shuffle them, then cut the deck,” she explained as she gestured to a deck of cards set up in the middle of the table.
Charles took the deck and did as she instructed, doing his best to shuffle the cards without damaging them. The only time he dealt with cards of any kind was when Raven or some gents at the pubs cajoled him into a card game. There was a particularly way to shuffle, but Charles was incapable of doing it with any sort of finesse, so he would just have to improvise.
"You might not think your past with worth looking into,” Isabelle said as he shuffled the cards, “but I am going to do it anyway, so you can see the growth from your past to your present, and then perhaps better understand when we see what is coming for you in the future."
Charles worried his bottom lip a bit. His past as a dark place he had no desire to venture into, but if Isabelle felt it necessary, then he would swallow his discomfort and hope whatever the cards showed her about his past would disturb or discomfort her too much.
He nodded in understanding and set the shuffled deck down before splitting it in half.
“I can understand what you mean. So, what next?”
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 22:29:57 GMT
Erik’s smile faded a bit, which just about figured in Charles’s opinion. The past decade had only impressed upon him the fact that no matter what he did, he would only mess it all up and everyone would be better off if he simply didn’t try.
"Isn't that what we are doing now, and will be doing in the future? Surviving every day. Enduring this society that would condemn us?"
Charles wasn’t so gone that he couldn’t recognize a rhetorical question when presented with one. Anything he had to say to that would only erupt into another argument and Erik would probably take the plane down if he became angry enough. Erik had barely calmed down quick enough the last time to avoid a plane crash, and Charles wasn’t actively suicidal. Not at the moment, at least.
(Oh, but there had been moments. Moments when there hadn’t been a kind word to be had within his mind, when his resolve nearly crumbled entirely. Moments when he’d had a gun in hand or a knife, or had made his way to a window on the upper floors. He’d never been able to actually go through with it, too weak to actually give up permanently. Not that he’d ever reveal any of that to Erik. Hank had his suspicions, but he’d never had enough to fully go on.)
"Tell me, Charles. What will you do once we have completed this particular mission?"
He took a deep breath. What would he do? Honestly, he had no clue. He couldn’t go back to the serum and the alcohol, but he couldn’t bear to regain his telepathy. It was too painful; if losing Erik and Raven and his entire student body and faculty to war had broken him, returning to his telepathy and paralysis would likely shatter him. And yet...he thought of the children who had initially come to the school. He thought of other children, discovering their mutant powers and living in fear of harming those around them. Could he really just turn his back on them, any more than he already had?
What’s more, could he really lie to Erik?
“I’m honesty not sure,” Charles finally admitted. He was a fool, he was allowing himself to be weak in front of the man who had destroyed him far more thoroughly than he was probably aware, but he couldn’t bring himself to be anything less than honest. “Perhaps I’ll reopen the school. Or go into activism. I don’t know, Erik, and at the moment, I’d rather not think of it. My top priority is my sister. As soon as I know she’s safe, that Trask won’t be able to get his hands on her, then I will consider my next course of action.”
Raven had always been his priority. Even when she banished him from her mind and chafed at the fact that she couldn’t go around in natural form (which had always been beautiful, which he had always loved, but how could he have expected Raven to know that, really? Which of them was the telepath?), Charles had never stopped wanting her to be safe. He’d wanted a world in which Raven could walk down the street with her beautiful blue skin and shocking red hair and neither of them would have to worry about someone causing her harm out of fear. Once he could be sure that Raven wouldn’t be captured, wouldn’t be experimented on and tortured, then he could allow himself to think about his own future.
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 21:16:50 GMT
“I will try to impress you,” Isabelle said as she went to make the tea.
“I’m certain you’ll succeed,” Charles assured. He was rather easy to impress, which Raven found both amusing and exasperating though Charles really didn’t find being easily impressed as something particularly strange.
“So what brings you to my shop, Mr. Xavier? Wanting to know about a girl? If you’ll pass a test? The cards don’t quite work that way. I can’t tell you if you will go bald.”
Charles’s hand shot up to his hair before he could stop it and he tried to play it off as rubbing the back of his neck. Oh god, what if he did go bald at some point? He didn’t really consider himself vain, but he honestly could not envision himself as bald.
“They more help you understand your past, and help guide you through your future,” Isabelle finished, bringing the tea over to a large table with sheer black crape draped over it.
Charles nodded as he took a sit across from her. His past wasn’t exactly something he wished to think of, as he had taken his first shot out of that horrid place and hadn’t allowed himself to look back. He hadn’t even gone to his stepfather’s funeral, and instead spent that day drinking his weight in whatever liquor and beer he could get his hands on. But his future, now that was something he was much more invested in.
“Not much to understand about my past, I’m afraid,” Charles responded. “What’s done is done, after all, no need to linger on it. I do find myself much more interested in my future. Now, how does one typically go about this? I’ll admit that I’ve never been to a fortune teller before. Or do you prefer card reader? I’ve heard the terms used interchangeably, but I don’t wish to offend if you prefer one over the other.”
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 20:13:57 GMT
Charles made the worst decisions in the history of poor-decision making, because he picked that particular moment to glance up at Erik. The bastard was smiling. He felt his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch at the sight, and he swallowed and bit his lip. This wasn’t fair, not by any stretch of the imagination.
"Every person often wonders at what moment in time and under what circumstances that are to meet their death," Erik began, and Charles kept his eyes locked on his face, trying to tell what was going through the metalokinetic’s head. "Is it not an exhilarating feeling to know that we have lived such a full life? That we have survived through decades of this world, and have a chance to live longer still."
Survived. Survival wasn’t the same as living, and it twisted something in Charles to think of his life in terms of merely surviving, of getting by just to live another day rather than actually live his life. That wasn’t what he wanted for his future. He didn’t want to merely survive. Charles wanted better than that for himself, for Hank, for Raven, for the children he’d taken in before the drafts become too much, hell, even for Erik. Life shouldn’t be whittled down to a choice between survival and death. Charles took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to convey that.
“I suppose it is exciting,” he began. “After all, from the sound of it, our mutual longevity was not easily had. But haven’t you ever thought of something beyond merely surviving?”
Part of him wanted to keep talking, to let the words tumbled from him like word vomit, but he was too sober for that. No, better to volley the ball back into Erik’s court before he said something that would incite the other’s rage.
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 18:44:40 GMT
With Logan as the apparent topic of choice, Charles couldn’t banish the echoes of what the man had said earlier. That Charles and Erik were together once again in the future, reconciled just in time for the bloody world to end. That would be how it goes, wouldn’t it? Years of standing juxtaposed to the other, of fighting each other, only to repair their severed bridges in time for a last ditch effort which might not even work. Charles couldn’t trust Erik, couldn’t stop waiting for another bullet in the back. How were they meant to do this?
“I suppose it is for the best,” Erik admitted. “We have to leave some intrigue and curiosity for what remains in store in our futures.”
Charles let out a faint breath of what may have been a laugh, but remained silent. He rubbed his hand on his knee, fingers itching for the familiar feel of a glass of booze. The anxiety was killing him; if he could just drown the part of him waiting for the near inevitable betrayal. But would it really be a betrayal if Charles expected it? If he was waiting for it? Or would it be all the worse for seeing it coming? For it being proved, once again, that Erik was incapable of being the better man?
God, he needed a drink.
"He and I do not sound to be as amicable. Quite the shock, isn't it?"
“Yes,” Charles agreed, almost too quickly with an old flippant, teasing tone of which he’d forgotten he was capable. “From the sound of it, Erik, you just have a habit of making friends wherever you go.”
For a moment, he could scarcely breathe. A part of him felt like laughing until he was curled up in hysterics; eleven years apart, so much loss and pain, and yet, here they were: playing chess and picking up a rhythm Charles hadn’t focused on how much he’d missed until he was confronted with it again. It was beginning to feel as though nothing had really changed, and that was dangerous. If Charles wasn’t careful, he’d end up destroyed once again, and who knew what would be left of him if he let his guard down?
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 18:17:16 GMT
Charles felt a spike of surprise and stunned appreciation as he introduced himself. Oh, she was thinking loudly; but, then again, most people did. The only ones who didn’t tended to be those who were aware that telepaths existed, but by that measure it was likely that Charles had already been firmly booted from their heads. It was quite nice to have that hum of another mind against his own. He might even describe it as relaxing, having only one mind to contend with rather than the crowded white noise that comprised the majority of his experience.
In many ways, it was a bit disheartening to feel such surprise at a display of common courtesy. Apparently, common courtesy was no longer so common, he noted as he shook her hand and kept a pleasant smile on his face.
"Isabelle Erikson, and yes, you have come to the right place. Can I get you a tea of any kind while we sit? I grow the herbs in many of them myself."
Isabelle certainly suited her, though Charles had the faintest impression that it wasn’t her actual name. Though curious, he had made a promise to himself to refrain from rummaging around in the minds of others to satisfy his curiosity.
“Hmm, what kinds do you have? Or better yet, which would you recommend? I’m sure they’re all fantastic if you grow most of the herbs yourself."
While he adored tea and drank it almost constantly, Charles would readily admit that he tended to gravitate more towards Earl Grey than any other. Perhaps it would do him some good to try another kind.
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 4:26:20 GMT
It was a little like being watched by a bird of prey. Where Charles had once found exhilarating, even a bit comforting at points, all he felt now was the ever-growing desire to get as far away from that weighty gaze as possible. Charles made point of looking anywhere but at Erik’s eyes; if he made eye contact for longer than a split second, he couldn’t guarantee that he would make it through the game at all sober.
Then the bastard moved his pawn with his powers. While logic shouted at him that it wasn’t a slight, couldn’t actually be a slight—Erik was a bastard but he apparently still had some scraps of humanity rattling around in him—but all he could think of was Erik’s reaction to his powerlessness. The irony was enough to make Charles long to break something; when he’d had his telepathy and embraced it, Erik was all for shutting Charles out.
Stay out of my head.
And Charles, being the loving little idiot he had been, had obliged. Erik had asked, and so Charles would deliver. Permission was a necessity; what sort of person would he have been to disregard his friend’s request? So Charles had stayed out, and even though he’d kept his word, Erik had informed him that Charles was not trustworthy (and he never has been, has he? A telepath practically since birth; he should have been used to the fact that no one would trust him or care about him. All they saw when they learned of his mutation was someone who was privy to all their secrets, no matter how thoroughly uninterested Charles was) and put on the damned helmet.
Yet, still, foolish as he’d been, Charles had still held hope that Erik could be reasoned with. And what had that gotten him? A bullet in the back and hours of agony as he slowly bled out on foreign shores. Charles could kick himself for his naivety. In many ways, he already had. He moved one of his own pawns ahead.
"So how did he say you two came to know each other in the future?"
It was a topic change, much like the chess game they were currently playing. Charles grasped at it, as anything was better than the trail his thoughts had been following.
“Apparently, he comes to the school with a sort of amnesia and I help him overcome it,” Charles answered without looking up from the board, not having to guess to whom Erik was referring. “Logan didn’t offer all of the details, though it may be likely that if we succeed in stopping Raven, the details will be unimportant.”
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 3:20:11 GMT
Charles took black this time. Years ago, a lifetime ago, he’d played primarily as white; white got the first move and there were a number of strategic advantages to going first. Playing white at this point, as far as Charles was concerned, would be more akin to pretending he was someone else than going around with his telepathy suppressed.
“I’ll go easy on you,” Erik said, and Charles looked up at him, hardly believing it.
He knew that tone well; Erik had teased him in it often enough during their original time together, when they were debating viewpoints over scotch and Charles’s antique chess set. It was a dangerous brush with past memories Charles had tried to drown with alcohol and Hank’s serum. Any more old familiarity, and Charles feared he might shatter.
“Might finally be a fair fight.”
The pin dropped, and Charles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He grabbed his glass and had nearly brought the empty thing to his lips before he remembered he’d downed the alcohol already. Charles bit back a sigh as he surveyed the board and returned the empty tumbler to the table.
“White moves first, Erik."
If he could get through this game, then perhaps there was hope for whatever had existed between them to survive.
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 2:15:56 GMT
There was a brief flash of confusion and Charles had to swallow back a bit of laughter as her hand drifted down to her skirt. Well, that wasn’t exactly a misunderstanding he’d encountered before, but he could understand where the confusion came from. It was likely that English wasn’t her first language, given the accent and her obvious confusion. He wondered whereabouts she was from; somewhere around Germany?
"I fear you've caught me unaware. What is a CTH Jean?"
“TCHH,” he corrected with a smile. “It’s the piece of your DNA that gave you your curly hair. Which, I might add, is simply beautiful.”
Raven would be rolling her eyes by now, loudly broadcasting disparaging commentary that Charles would have to ignore lest invite another argument about the exact meaning of the phrase ‘Stay out of my head.’ At least this woman didn’t seem immediately put off by Charles’s instinctive opening line. Others either shot him down almost instantly, or only put up with him because he apparently fit a particular standard of good-locking.
“Forgive me; I’m being terribly rude,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Charles Xavier. I believe there’s talk that you do card readings?”
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Post by x on Jul 19, 2014 0:14:21 GMT
Charles wasn’t exactly the superstitious sort. Things like palm reading and fortune telling only struck him as a bit of amusement, primarily for giggling schoolgirls who wanted to know who they’d marry and when and how many children they could expect to have. Raven only enjoyed it because she would spend every moment of the trip home parodying the supposed psychic and making Charles laugh so hard his sides hurt and he could barely see through his tears. But Raven wasn’t with him on this particular excursion, preferring to stay in Oxford and take advantage of a week of “freedom,” as she’d teasingly called it, while Charles enjoyed his conference. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been planning on the amount of free time he’d found himself with.
So, rather than coup himself up in his room (which Raven had promised would be punished since he apparently needed to do something other than study and make lackluster passes at pretty girls in the local pubs; and somehow, Raven always knew when he’d decided to hole away in his room rather than go out a do something) Charles had decided to wander about the area. A bit of fresh air never did anyone any harm, after all.
What exactly drew him to the tea shop, he couldn’t quite say. There was just a sort of...feeling the otherwise nondescript business gave off. And as an academic, Charles was nothing if not a slave to his curiosity. So, he opened the door and was hit by the strong scent of different spices and an increase in the feeling that had drew him in. Obviously, it was the mind of someone in this shop thinking a bit loudly, but Charles made a point of ignoring everything but the base hum of it.
"Good afternoon."
Charles looked to see a rather lovely woman. He smiled.
“Good afternoon. What a lovely expression of the TCHH gene you’ve got, if I do say so myself.”
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
Tag me @professorx
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Post by x on Jul 18, 2014 22:43:48 GMT
Goddamn Erik Lehnsherr.
What right did he have, after all these years, after all he’s done—what right did he have to apologize and look so sodding sincere? Erik shouldn’t look sincere. He was a criminal, a terrorist, he shot the damn president, for God’s sake—but he hadn’t. He had been trying to save Kennedy, unable to succeed in deflecting the bullet –what a depressing history you have with bullets, my friend—and didn’t that just make the bile rise in Charles’s throat? And even as Erik apologized, something that had never came willingly or easily to him in the past, Charles’s memory kept traitorously dragging him back to Cuban heat and his fingers at his temple as Shaw spoke the words first.
“I’m sorry for what happened in the camps, Erik. I truly am.”
The echoes of a madman imposing themselves on the words of a once-dear friend and Charles couldn’t take it—
“I’m sorry, Charles. For what happened. I truly am.”
And all Charles wanted to do was tell Erik exactly where he shove his damned apologies—but it would be cruel. Too cruel, and even as bitter and broken as Charles had become, he still couldn’t bear to be so cruel to those he cared for.
All he could do was knock back the rest of his drink and focus on the chessboard.
"It’s been a while since I’ve played."
It was easier to deal with the past decade when he could convince himself that Erik was a monster. It was easier to pretend that Erik honestly didn’t care and that Charles was a fool for ever bothering to care in the first place.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
Tag me @professorx
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Post by x on Jul 18, 2014 19:41:37 GMT
I liked the first three movies well enough, but I'd spend a lot of time screaming about politics and piss-poor decision-making. I love First Class, by and far. Days of Future Past was lovely as well; though I spent an arduous amount of time lamenting the continuing trend of piss-poor decision-making on all sides.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Jul 18, 2014 15:27:49 GMT
 Character Basics
.:Name of Character:. Charles Francis Xavier
.:Species:. Human Mutant
.:Alias:. Professor X, The Professor
.:Year Born/Timeline:. ~1935
.:Affiliation:. X-Men
Appearance
.:Physical Appearance:. Though he’s devoted the lion’s share of his early years to the world of academia, Charles spent a good amount of time in sports throughout his high school career and still maintains a slightly athletic build. In his younger years, he’s what many would consider as relatively good-looking, with a full head of brown hair and blue eyes. As he grows older, however, Charles goes bald and exchanges his cardigans for suits. As the result of an accident in 1962, Charles is paralyzed from the waist down. He has a small scar from the bullet wound, located on his lower back.
.:Height:.5’7’’ / 170cm
.:Portrayed by:. James McAvoy | Sir Patrick Stewart
Personality
.:Personality:. Perhaps the most striking piece of who Charles is would be his seemingly unceasing optimism. As a telepath, he has been made privy to the worst of humanity’s thoughts, but he has also been privileged enough to experience some of the best, as well. Charles, perhaps better than anyone, understands that humans are capable of both great good and great harm. This understanding, coupled with the fact that his mutation means he cannot afford to be “against” the world, results in Charles having faith that humans and mutants can live in peace. It’s a goal he’s committed to and driven towards.
In his youth, he was an unrepentant flirt and spent his fair share of time in the Oxford pubs using pick up line after terrible pick up line. Age and his paralysis have done little to hinder him in this aspect, and even as he gets older he remains and unabashed flirt. He was raised to be a high society gentleman and does quite well in social settings. At his best, he’s confident, energetic, encouraging, optimistic, and patient. At his worst, however, he can become bitter, self-loathing, manipulative, stubborn, and melodramatic. His mutation makes it a bit easier for him to fall into depression, given the completely mental and emotion nature of his abilities.
Following his involvement in the Cuban Missile Crisis and the simultaneous loss of both his best friend and his sister, Charles tried to commit himself fully-hearted to his dream of opening a school for mutant children. However, as the Vietnam War went on and the majority of his staff and older students were drafted or volunteered to fight, it became more and more difficult for Charles to keep the faith. Eventually the school had to close and Charles’s depression was left with no distraction to hold it back. When his mutation began to backfire on him, depriving him of sleep and slowly driving him insane, Charles got his hands on a serum (courtesy of Hank) that would dampen his telepathy and allow him to keep control. However, he quickly became dependent on the serum and used it as a means of attempting to drown out his own self-loathing.
Charles does have a darker side that he works to keep under wraps at all times. He is not ignorant of the things of which he could be capable if he decided to forgo his moral values. This is part of the reason he is so insistent on a peaceful resolution to the conflict between humans and mutants; if he went with Erik, if he joined the Brotherhood, Charles fears that his darker tendencies would finally get the better of him and he would be responsible for unspeakable acts. Despite what Erik may think, it isn’t so much his belief that peace is indeed an option that holds him back so much as it is the dichotomy between what he is capable of and the morals he holds.
Though Charles strives to be a good person, he has a manipulative streak and a tendency towards being overprotective that has cost him a number of friends and allies throughout his life. His fear that someone would discover Raven’s secret and react poorly—coupled with the fact that she had asked him to stay out of her head, a promise which he strove to honor at all times and in all ways—led him to inadvertently driving her away. It’s something he may never quite forgive himself for, and it will affect how he interacts with his students as he grows older.
.:Powers/Abilities:. Telepathy – Charles’s telepathic abilities range from basic mind reading and memory manipulation to psionic blasts and mind control. His range, while greatly impressive on its own at approximately 250 miles (400km) in any direction, can be amplified to encompass the entire world through the use of Cerebro. Charles is capable of learning a new language by accessing the language centers of a fluent speaker’s brain. He can toy with perceptions in order to make himself or others seem invisible, project illusions, and even induce certain emotions or sensations in others. While Charles is capable of controlling others and even doing severe, irreparable damage to them, he refuses to do so unless left with no other feasible option.
Weakness:
While Charles’s telepathy is impressive, if he pushes too far or too quick, he tires out, which can create its own set of problems. He is at his most vulnerable when he is hooked up to Cerebro, and should something go wrong or some sort of backlash occur, Charles runs the risk of falling into a temporary coma or worse. Charles has also become slightly dependent on his telepathy as he finds it very hard to relate to others without it. Aside from the drawbacks of his telepathy, Charles’s paralysis causes him some degree of difficulty, particularly during his first few years in the wheelchair. Though he has learned to adapt, there are still no shortage of moments when he longs for the days when he could walk.
History
.:Birthplace:. New York
.:Family:. Brian Xavier (father, deceased); Sharon Xavier (mother, deceased); Kurt Marko (stepfather, deceased); Cain Marko/Juggernaut (stepbrother); Raven Darkholme/Mystique (adopted sister)
.:Occupation:. Professor
.:Current Location of Residence:. Xavier Estate/Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
.:History:. Charles was born to nuclear researcher and scientist Brian Xavier and his wife Sharon. He lived as their only child until he discovered Raven looting their kitchen and decided to take her in. Though he grew up in a wealthy family, Charles was neglected and left primarily to his own devices for most of his life. His father’s sudden and accidental death drove his already semi-distant mother into alcoholism and her marriage to Brian’s former research partner, Kurt Marko, did nothing to improve Charles’s life. Kurt Marko was an abusive man, caring only for Sharon’s money, and regularly beat both Charles and his own son, Cain. Cain in turn became incredibly violent towards Charles and often took out his own frustrations and insecurities on him. While Sharon’s presence did little to curb the violence, the abuse only became worse after her death. When Raven came along, Charles made a considerable effort to keep her safe from Kurt and Cain.
Gifted with genius-level intellect, Charles sped his way through school and graduated college at the age of sixteen. After this, he took the first offer he had—graduate studies in Oxford—and fled his abusive home life, bringing his dear sister with him. While Charles reveled in his new freedom by throwing himself into his studies and getting to know the local pubs quite well, he earned PhDs in Biophysics, Psychology, Anthropology, and, of course, Genetics. Charles never really looked back after leaving Westchester, and had certain events never occurred, he would have been perfectly happy to let the Westchester estate rot.
Though Charles was aware logically that he and Raven couldn’t be the only mutants in the world, he hadn’t actually encountered any after her. So when Moira MacTaggert approached him about the possibility of the sort of genetic mutation he had discussed in his thesis already occurring, Charles was ecstatic. In the months between his jumping into frigid waters to rescue a drowning Erik Lehnsherr and the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Charles returned to his former home and immediately set about repurposing it. Prior to meeting Moira and Erik and locating Angel, Alex, Sean, and Armando, Charles hadn’t ever considered opening a school for young mutants. He had wanted to take a much more out-and-about activist approach, but his paralysis had forced him to consider a much more stationary approach.
Sample Post
Post X-Men: First Class
“They’re just following orders!”
Had he really said that? To Erik, of all people? What sort of idiot was he, saying something like that to someone who had lived through what Erik had? Just another installment to the depressingly long list of failures and screw ups that comprised Charles’s life, settled in right by how badly he messed up with Raven. It seemed that all he’d been doing lately was messing up, always saying the absolute worst possible thing he could. Really, it was only fitting that he lost his legs, his sister, and his—Erik all in one fell swoop. He should just feel lucky that his legs were all the bullet took.
He needed more morphine; the thoughts of those in the hospital were getting unusually loud again, and he had an oncoming headache he would wish no one. Charles reached his mind out to one of the nearby nurses, a small nudge for her to come check on him. If he had to be drugged while in a public place, then he was damn well going to be drugged properly.
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