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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Oct 18, 2014 14:10:26 GMT
Charles had never really been one for religion. His family was traditionally Anglican, and Catholic before that, but neither of his parents had been particularly pious. Before his father died, his mother had made a point of attending church every Sunday—more for the sake of appearance than any actual piety, though. It was an apathy that took root in Charles when he was too young to understand what religious faith even entailed; the stories had always struck him as more akin to the fairytales the maid told him in fractured English while she went about her work.
However, he’d been in the minds of the faithful, had brushed against their thoughts more often than not as he struggled to control his powers. For many, there was such a sense of calm and peace that came from belief in a higher power that Charles couldn’t fully condemn religious faith. The political aspect was one thing; the people who simply believed and took to heart the best qualities of the religion were quite another.
Hank was an ever-constant presence behind him, hands gripping the handles of his wheelchair as he kept his eyes on the gathering crowd. People were chanting a variety of slogans and waving signs that read all multitudes of things, most commonly “We are all God’s children.” A nice sentiment, of course, and one that might get places with the more conservative percentage of the population, but otherwise a relatively hollow concept.
Sense anything, Professor?
Not yet, Hank, Charles replied, scanning the growing crowd. It may be possible that our query has decided to sit this one out after all.
Hank hummed a bit in understanding; unlike Charles, Hank had been raised by a mother who truly believed, even if she didn’t frequent church. They still spoke regularly, had done so even when Charles had been in the midst of his self-destructive downward spiral. Charles was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp burst on his mind’s periphery. It wasn’t the mutant they were looking for—this one was about the same age, though, and she had a very specific goal in mind.
There’s someone else here, Charles projected to Hank. A young woman—green hair. She’s searching for Erik, it seems; his speech in Washington apparently resonated with her. He tried to keep the bitterness from tinging his thoughts, but he’d had quite the run of bad luck in his life.
Hank, blessed man that he was, said nothing and immediately angled the chair as per Charles’s instruction. Charles reached out and brushed against the young woman’s mind just a bit more. Her names was Lorna, and her mutation was...incredibly similar to Erik’s. Well, that was certainly unexpected.
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Post by x on Oct 18, 2014 5:00:52 GMT
“Now that does sound rather ideal,” Erik conceded, smiling slightly. His deliberation on the offer was obvious, and Charles tried not to squirm as he waited for the other shoe to drop. “I fear that your ability to turn a blind eye is far easier said than done.”
Charles thought back to the few scant months they’d known each other in 1962. He thought of Russia, of Erik rushing into the home of senior Soviet official in order to get at Emma Frost, of the soldiers he ensnared in barbed wire and the ones he’d knocked into unconsciousness. He thought of Frost, pinned to the bedframe as Erik carefully choked her until her diamond form shattered. Erik, pushing Sean off the satellite dish. Erik, pushing the coin through Shaw’s head while Charles held the man in place.
Not as much as you fear, Charles thought, swallowing the words.
“Let us say that, hypothetically, I accept this position of heading this group of mutants,” Erik continued. “What is it you would expect of me?”
“Often I locate mutants in danger from one thing or another,” Charles began. “It takes me a great deal of time to respond.”
He couldn’t simply take the helmet off and run to the bunker with Hank in tow; his wheelchair slowed his reaction time far more than he wanted to admit, and it was another reason he’d been so desperate for his legs. That they’d come at the price of his telepathy had been all at once a blessing and the sort of karma Charles hadn’t been aware he’d raked up.
“So I would expect you to react with the same speed I cannot,” he explained. “I would expect you to put the welfare of the mutants you’d be rescuing first and foremost—in other words, if it’s a choice between getting them out alive and unharmed and killing the ones who held them captive, I would expect for you to choose the safety of our fellow mutants over your need for retaliation.”
That was his primary expectation. If Erik couldn’t manage to shelve his rage and desire to destroy even the barest hint of a threat, then there was truly no way to reconcile their differences. And that might just crush Charles more than anything else.
“I would also expect for you to treat our human staff members with at least a modicum of respect—and there will be more than a few of them,” Charles warned. “Not many mutants have chosen to enter the teaching profession and Hank and I have been incredibly selective with who we’ve taken on.”
Erik’s aggression would need to be checked, of course; Charles couldn’t play foil to him all the time, unless Erik could be persuaded to abandon his helmet entirely. One step at a time, though. The man hadn’t even agreed to the compromise yet; they were still in negotiations.
“Any other expectations can be brought up and discussed once we’ve finally settled on a compromise, of course.”
There were so many details that would have to be worked out if Erik agreed to work with him rather than against him. It would be okay, though; if Erik was willing to tone down his violence, even just a bit, Charles would be happy. He swore he’d be.
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Post by x on Oct 18, 2014 4:14:26 GMT
“Charles, then, if you don’t mind,” she said, the exhaustion finally beginning to catch up with her. “Professor is a bit formal,” she added with a wiggle of her nose and a wink. “Unless that’s what you like being called.”
He chuckled a bit at that, blushing faintly. No one had really flirted with him as openly and relentlessly since Lana; most saw the wheelchair and put the brakes on right then and there. In a way it was...flattering and refreshing. His hindbrain couldn’t get past the fact that a beautiful young woman was obviously interested, but his forebrain utterly refused to engage that train of thought. If he hadn’t been a careful man in Oxford, no doubt he could have a daughter out there the same age as Ashni. Not to mention he was the headmaster of a school; there were rules he had to follow, lines he absolutely could not risk crossing without the utmost care and consideration.
“Charles is perfectly fine,” he assured. Most of the staff called him by his given name; only one tended to use his title, and that was more a factor of her upbringing than anything else.
There was a sharp burst of impressed from her as she picked her room and entered it. Not much surprise, of course—exhausted or not, Ashni was not unobservant. She put her things down and sat on the bed, facing him. Charles made a conscious effort to not react to the way she sat. Old habits often died hard—there were mornings when he still tried to move his legs in order to sit up.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said honestly. “I’ll take care of myself.”
She yawned, covering her mother with her hand. “Sorry. Kitchen would be good. But probably not going to get there for a few hours.”
He nodded in understanding. “Get some sleep, Ashni; if you have any questions upon waking, do not hesitate to ask. Everyone here will be perfectly willing to assist you.”
She stretched out on the bed, her skirt riding up from the movement. Charles was quick to glance away; she was even more persistent than Lana had been all those years ago.
“Hmm, comfy. Big enough for two,” she added, giving him an all-too-innocent look.
He swallowed and kept his eyes anywhere but on her. “I hope you sleep well,” he replied, making his way out of her room.
Charles took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold and grabbed at the doorknob, pulling it shut behind him. Hank was going to derive far too much enjoyment from the whole matter, he was certain. But first...Charles retreated to his own room, sending the occasionally blue scientist a quick message that he’d be turning in a bit early for the day.
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Post by x on Oct 18, 2014 3:40:12 GMT
Ashni seemed to smile brighter when he reacted with obvious delight to her gift. Charles smiled a bit at that; it was always a nice feeling to know that he could make someone happy, whatever the reason. It was a wonderful thing to be around happy people. There was a specific sort of energy they had that often rubbed off on Charles—a sort of contact-high that Charles had become slightly addicted to the moment he first experienced it.
“If you want,” she said, leaning back in her seat as her hands glowed from an application of her power, “can open her up.”
He got them out onto the road, taking care to remain aware of his surroundings. The butler had been the one to teach him how to drive, the summer before Oxford, when he was fifteen. Kurt couldn’t be bothered to do anything with Charles that didn’t involve some level of violence, and Cain was much the same. And so, it had been William, who had been with Charles in so many other milestones in his life, who had taken the helm.
“Either of us can make sure there isn’t a problem with the cops,” Ashni added, recalling some of Charles’s attention to her. “So if you want to let go and floor it...”
He laughed at that, sparing a glance at her. Ashni looked about as alive as Charles felt as they made their way down an empty stretch of road, hair flying in wind from the open window and red sparks dancing around her. (Hank would kill them for this later, Charles was sure, but that was well off in the future and he was going to take a moment to not think for once in his life.)
“Anywhere, Charles,” she cried, her smile bright. “Anywhere you want to go.”
It was quick and sharp, her calm surface shattering under a swell of love and adoration. Anything, anywhere you want...only want to see you happy like this all the time....can’t love me...that’s okay...find you someone you can...not good enough for you...wish I was...
Charles faltered a bit from the strength of it all. It was a little like a punch to the gut in its intensity, muted as it was by his shielding. He should have learned years ago; ignoring the problem and over-analyzing it wasn’t going to do him any good. If anything, it was only going to make things worse—especially for Ashni. Maybe...he took a deep breath and made up his mind. He had to get over Erik. The man was never going to change, never going to see Charles as enough reason to give peace a chance, no matter what Logan had said to the contrary. All Charles was doing by pining was hurting himself and the people who actually cared for him.
“Well then, how does a leisurely drive about the country suit?”
He was going to get this right. Ashni deserved that much, at least.
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Post by x on Oct 17, 2014 21:33:07 GMT
“If you feel that strongly, Charles, then next time I will let them kill you,” she shot back. “The men back there were not innocents. They were testing on mutants. They picked you because you were stronger and might survive where the others failed to do so.”
There were parts of his mind where Charles refused to go; locked doors and walled-off sections of his mind he kept well away from more out of self-preservation than anything else. The fear of experimentation was not one with which he was unfamiliar, but it wasn’t enough to frighten him into violence. His early years had been a series of experiments, one right after the other. He’d managed as a child, he could most certainly manage as an adult. His control was far greater than when he was a boy; it would take far more to break him than self-proclaimed scientists were likely capable.
“What would have happened should you have died,” Magda continued. “Who would they turn to next? The school? What was the name of that girl who held so much potential? Would they have tried her next? I can’t tell you.”
He inhaled sharply at the thought of his students ending up experiments. There had been reasons for Brian Xavier and Kurt Marko to keep Charles relatively whole; his students would be afforded no such luxury. He could certainly understand Magda’s point, her fear—but then again, he’d always understood Erik’s need to strike first. In many ways, he sympathized with it. But striking back like a wounded animal would do nothing to ease the situation. Of that, Charles was certain.
“I looked inside their computers,” she added. “I could see.”
“Those are all valid fears and concerns,” Charles replied. “I have many of the same ones, myself. For God’s sake, I run a school full of children younger than I was when my stepfather first took a scalpel to me! My first priority has always been their protection.”
He wanted to get back to the school as quickly as possible. He trusted Hank and his staff to react quickly and effectively to any threat that approached the school, but there was a grain of worry that rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Charles needed to know that his students and staff were safe.
“But we cannot open ourselves up to play the monster our opponents aim to paint us as. We have to be better than they claim we are. For every step of progress I make with congressmen and bureaucrats, Erik’s actions put me three steps back.”
It was like fighting a war he couldn’t win, one Erik wouldn’t give him the opportunity to win. The man needed a war to keep himself focused; he’d been right that night so long ago, in Charles’s study. Peace wasn’t an option for Erik; the man had no idea how to even go about making it an option.
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Post by x on Oct 17, 2014 20:53:41 GMT
Raven was such a dear when she was nervous, Charles decided, particularly when that nervousness had nothing to do with fear. He wondered how that would change once the truth of his powers came out; years under his father’s clinical gaze and his stepfather’s scalpel had taught him that telepaths were beings to be feared, controlled, guarded against. It was the reason Charles refused to reveal his mutation to anyone who wasn’t also a mutant—but even this, even the possibility of coming clean to another human being, was enough to turn his stomach into a mass of knots. Charles immediately swallowed his nerves with the last of his drink.
“Let’s go,” she said with a grin, grabbing her jacket. Charles matched her grin with one of his own. She offered the use of her own car, which Charles debated the merits of before agreeing. It might put her a bit more at ease to have an out nearby, considering his flat was halfway across town.
“Well, considering I was considering a rather romantic cab ride across Oxford, I daresay you have me beat,” Charles replied. “Though, would it be too much of an imposition for me to accompany you? Unless you happen to know where my flat is located, that is.”
He offered her a teasing smile as they left the pub. There was so much hope blazing within her and Charles felt just the tiniest bit dizzy from it. However the night went, they would both part ways knowing they weren’t alone in the world. After so many years of hoping and searching as discreetly as he could, to finally find himself in the presence of a fellow mutant was staggering.
“Thanks for the drink, by the way,” Raven added.
“Well, it would simply be rude of me to drink with such a lovely woman as yourself and then not show my gratitude with a few pounds out of pocket, now wouldn’t it?”
He had plenty of money to work with; despite his father’s clinical interest in him, the man had been in possession of just enough basic dignity to ensure that his son would be well-cared for later in life. Financially, at least. Charles shoved that line of thinking away, returning his focus onto his companion for the evening. Whatever her mutation, whatever its strengths and limitations, she was worth so much more than the few pounds he’d dropped for their drinks. A potential ally in the world was utterly invaluable. By the end of the night, he could only hope she felt the same of him.
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Post by x on Oct 17, 2014 14:24:53 GMT
Hmm, sound interesting! I'll have to think about the X-Men's place in all of this, though. But count me in!
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Post by x on Oct 7, 2014 23:56:17 GMT
“You know I will,” Raven assured, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Wow...this really escalated quickly.”
He hummed a bit in agreement as she cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’ll still take care of you, too,” she added. “Just like you take care of me.”
“Of course,” Charles replied, his smile softening into something a bit more genuine.
Raven had always been the one person he could rely on without question. She often seemed to know him better than he knew himself, and he’d always liked to think that he knew her just as well. They were family, had been family ever since she broke into this very kitchen and he’d forced her to slip from his mother’s visage to her own blue form. She’d made enduring Kurt and Cain just a bit easier; she’d made his mother’s distance less painful.
“I am happy for you, Raven,” he added, his tone serious. “I truly am. I wish you both the best.”
Erik had done wonders for Raven’s perception of herself, and Charles was grateful for that. So long as Erik never knew about this conversation, so long as Raven never told anyone about what he’d confided to her, they could pretend like this evening had never happened. And if Raven was merciful, she wouldn’t ever look at him with anything resembling pity for as long as they both lived.
“Just...don’t tell Erik about any of this. Please. I’m not,” he paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to say it without messing anything up. “I’m not...entirely sure how he would react.”
Charles had read about homosexuals in Hitler’s Europe. The only survivors of the concentration camps who had been sent right back to prison. Whatever views Erik had on homosexuality, Charles would admit that he was too much of a coward to test the waters.
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Post by x on Oct 7, 2014 23:54:35 GMT
Raven smiled when she decided his chosen cardigan worked for the evening. “Suits you just perfectly, Charles,” she chimed. “Definitely go with that one.”
He smiled, appreciating the burst of confidence at his sister’s approval. Charles hoped it would be different when they left Westchester for Oxford. Without having to worry about Kurt and Cain, Charles hoped he could relax and finally give himself a chance to act a bit more like his age. He wouldn’t be able to have a proper drink without ordering a meal to go along with it, course, but that wasn’t his concern. Two years would fly by, after all.
“Are we ready,” she asked as she got off his bed.
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Charles replied, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror. “Did you have a particular pub in mind, or are we just going to see what we find?”
There wasn’t exactly a lack of bars within a reasonable driving distance of the estate—Cain had been drinking with a fake I.D. for the past two years, and Charles had unwittingly gleaned a depressingly detailed map of every bar within Westchester County. He toyed with the merits of a larger bar versus a smaller one—more anonymity versus fewer minds to shield against if he miscalculated and drank too much—as he headed toward the door.
He grabbed his wallet and keys. “And you should probably wear a coat. It could get chilly tonight.”
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Post by x on Oct 7, 2014 23:53:09 GMT
“By violent conflict, I assume you mean any violence against humans,” Erik sought to clarify, his words both a statement and a question, all at once. “Which means that in your actions of countering the Brotherhood, you are protecting humans.”
From what he’d seen when he managed to speak with his older self, it had started that way. The X-Men’s primary goal was to protect innocent civilians—be they human or mutant—who were caught in the crossfire. But as the years passed, Erik slowly became more and more radical, until not even mutants were afforded any safety from the means he utilized to achieve his ends. The Magneto that might exist in thirty or forty years if they couldn’t find a middle ground was one that had haunted Charles’s nightmares ever since D.C.
“I will admit that the second objective of your X-Men is not greatly different from that of the Brotherhood’s,” he added. “It is the first that gives me concern. How do you propose we compromise this aspect of our methods?”
“When I said violent conflict,” Charles began, taking a deep breath, “I meant that the X-Men sought to protect the innocent civilians—human and mutant alike—who were caught in the crossfire. Not every human wishes to cause us harm, Erik. And those who do, those like Trask, can be taken down without murder or excessive violence.”
Just look at what Raven’s actions had wrought: by protecting Nixon and the others in that bunker, she proved to the world that not all mutants were after violence and destruction. Raven had set an example, one Charles was determined to follow.
“I know I can’t ask you to change your view of the world,” he added. “Not with anything other than my mutation and I will not betray the trust you’ve shown me by coming without the helmet.”
“I could, but I won’t,” the words he’d spoken at a CIA complex so many years ago echoing in his memory. Charles had broken that promise in D.C. when he’d used Erik to lift the piece of the stadium off of himself, but then again, the circumstances had been different. If Charles wanted Erik to work towards a middle ground, then he had to refrain from indulging his telepathy. No matter how tempting it was to brush up against Erik’s mind, still as stunning and magnetic as it ever was.
“But,” he continued, “I’d like you to consider if you’d like to head the X-Men part of this school. You can change the name, of course, and I will turn a blind eye to your violence so long as you keep the causalities to a bare minimum.”
If the Brotherhood and the X-Men were not battling each other, then they could settle all of their focus on rescuing mutants who fell prey to the worst of humanity. Charles could still remember Erik pitching in to train the children that week before Cuba. Erik had been a magnificent teacher, albeit an unconventional one. And Charles could accept violence in self-defense, so long as it wasn’t excessive and used only as a last resort.
“Is that a start you’re willing to work with?”
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Oct 7, 2014 23:50:41 GMT
“Sorry,” Ashni said as she tried to fortify her calm, giving him a slightly weak smile as she slid into the passenger seat.
Charles felt a flash of disappointment when he offered her a chance to speak about what was bothering her. He re-examined the past few exchanges in an attempt to uncover what he’d said or done that would inspire any of her displeasure. Ashni had become a dear friend, and Charles sincerely enjoyed her company, but he always got the sense that she was somehow holding herself back. Somehow, he had the growing feeling that she wasn’t entirely happy at the school, and that was something he wanted to change.
“No, Charles,” she added, rejected his offer to talk. “Want to drive around first a little? We have about an hour before we have to worry about missing the show.”
He recognized the topic change for what it was and nodded, starting the car. The engine roared to life, and Charles felt a sharp burst of excitement. Had it really been so long since he’d had the chance to leave the mansion without Hank nearby? As wonderful as Hank was (he was nothing short of a saint for putting up with Charles as long as he had), he’d always had a habit of treading rather cautiously in all matters concerning Charles ever since he’d first come home from the hospital back in 1963.
Ashni didn’t have the memories of Cuba or of years of drug addiction and alcoholism coloring how she regarded him. No, the only issue between them was her romantic interest in him. She’d backed off in her pursuit, and Charles wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Ashni had seemed much happier when she’d been trying to garner his interest. He really hoped those spurts of self-depreciation he’d picked up from her mind wasn’t what made her back off; there was absolutely nothing wrong with Ashni, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was still working through his entanglement with a certain mutant terrorist, he would have taken her up on her offer in her first week at the school.
He shoved that bit of reflection to the back of his mind. Charles was going to ensure that Ashni had a bit of fun today, and maybe they could work out whatever it was that had shaken her confidence.
“It would certainly give me the chance to adjust to being behind the wheel again,” he agreed with a smile. “Now, my dear, where would you like to go first?”
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Post by x on Oct 7, 2014 23:48:54 GMT
Ashni deflated a bit when he rejected her advances once again, and Charles swallowed a sigh of relief as she went to withdraw—only to tense up a bit when she brushed her lips over his neck once more. The contact made it impossible to ignore her inquiry as to his sexuality. And really, it wasn’t so much that her advances were completely unwelcome—another time, another place, if they had met in any other way.
She pulled back with a rueful smile on her face, her hands glowing in the dark of the lift. The lift lurched back into action and Charles shook his head in a bit of unsurprised amusement. Considering her mutation, as well as the fact that the lift had never really malfunctioned before, the fact that she’d had any effect on the situation wasn’t as much of a surprise as it was a confirmation of a prior suspicion.
“What are the odds of that,” she said, having the good grace to look a bit sheepish.
“Indeed,” Charles replied.
He could feel Hank’s confusion, and sent the poor man a quick explanation. They would have to come up with a way to make it harder for Ashni’s power to interfere with the estate when she was somehow compromised. Hers would not be the first mutation he and Hank had to consider when ensuring that the school would only suffer minimal damage, nor would it be the last.
Ashni readjusted her clothing and grabbed her duffel bag as the doors opened.
“Rest and food,” she agreed with a nod. “What shall I call you? And if you change your mind,” she added, “well, the door is open.”
She winked and Charles smiled a bit. “You may call me Charles or Professor,” he answered. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with, of course.”
He pushed himself out of the lift. “There are three rooms open: the one two doors down on your left, the second-furthest room on your right, and the one in the middle of the hallway on your left. You can pick any of them; I’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff later, once you’ve gotten some rest and a bit to eat.”
He wondered if she had any dietary restrictions. Was she allergic to anything? Did she have any particular foods she wouldn’t eat out of deference to her religion? What did she find inherently distasteful and avoid purely on her taste buds?
“Would you like for me to have someone bring you food, or would you rather I give you the location of the kitchen so you can procure your own food?”
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Post by x on Sept 20, 2014 3:28:27 GMT
(Yeah, I caught that! xD)
Well, from my understanding of Lawful Good, such a character needs to have a specific, and often strict, code of conduct. Charles really doesn't; just about every bullet point in his personal code of conduct has an asterisk by it. There are numerous exceptions to his rules and often times, especially when he's younger. Charles will be perfectly willing to go against his moral code in order to achieve "good."
Example #1: Take Charles's behavior at the pub in Oxford during First Class. He takes no issue whatsoever in cozying up to the minds of others - especially if it increases his chances of going home with a lovely lady. At the same time, however, he stays out of Raven's mind entirely. Yes, she asked him to, but she also knew about his mutation. The women in the pubs didn't; how many do you think would have demanded he stay out if they'd known about his telepathy? He rationalizes it by convincing himself that it's better to keep the telepathy hidden, that it would only cause undue chaos (which he isn't wrong, of course), but there's a sort of contradictory sense of reasoning going on there. Charles is completely unperturbed by it, of course, because such a fluid line of logic allows for a "good" outcome: he can pick up girls with ease and no one has to know about his ability to read minds.
Example #2: The whole confrontation with Emma, and the whole trip to Russia in general. He effectively erases an entire task force from the eyes of everyone around them (even the damn dog's nose, for Christ's sake), takes over another man's mind in order to find out where Shaw was, puts another man to sleep and forces that man to forget he ever saw Charles (in perfect Russian, too), and then, to top it all off, aside from a sharp rebuke, he really doesn't try to make Erik stop choking the only other telepath he's ever met to death. He does all of these things that blatantly contradict how the majority of the fanbase seems to see him, and he does it without ever once flinching. Why? Because it's all for the over-arching cause of "good".
Example #3: Shaw. The only moral Charles holds tight to is that he refuses to kill, or be an accessory to murder. But even that changes when faced with a choice between holding tight to Shaw and letting Erik kill the man or letting his morality win out and rip himself away, almost certainly ensuring Erik's death. Charles sacrifices his "Thou shalt not kill" morality and holds Shaw in place for Erik's homicidal intent and Nazi coin. (Headcanon says Erik made the coin twirl like a mini blender just to make sure Shaw would actually die and not just be brain damaged.)
Though, really, Charles kind of toes the line between Lawful Good and Neutral Good; it's really hard for me to fully articulate, but I just cannot see Charles as fully Lawful Good. He has a goal in mind, and his morality bends accordingly. Like I've said before, Charles is an asshole. He really is. A well-meaning asshole, of course, but an asshole nonetheless.
Does that help clarify why I tend to go more Neutral Good with Charles than Lawful Good? (Sorry for the long-winded explanation!)
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 21:37:27 GMT
So, I know most people would probably peg Charles as being Lawful Good, but I honestly see him more along the lines of Neutral Good. That's mainly because Lawful Good characters tend to have a strict moral code they adhere to; Charles's morality is actually rather fluid. It's much more obvious when he's younger, of course, but even as he gets older his morality is still inherently situational.
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 18:02:25 GMT
“Yes, that will help,” she agreed, withdrawing with a sigh. “I...I’m really sorry I made you come out here. It was so far...and it was for nothing.”
“Not at all,” he insisted. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Ashni. Our goal is to help others like us; so long as we’ve managed to help you, in however small a way it may seem, that makes the trip worth it.”
One day, she’d seek him out again. They most typically did; those Charles had contacted prior to the school’s initial shutdown but had decided to go their own way had sought him out after Erik’s televised promise of violence and violent retribution. Those who sought him out had made up their minds: Erik’s words had inspired them, even if they hadn’t done so in the way Erik had likely intended.
“Thank you,” Ashni said, taking his hand. I think...I think I will be ok now. I will grow now. I know that there are people like you out there. She repeated her thanks, and Charles could feel her gratitude.
“You’re sincerely welcome,” he replied. “You’re not alone, Ashni; there are so many more like us out there. And if you ever need to find us again, don’t hesitate to reach out. You’ll always be welcomed; I promise.”
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 15:49:44 GMT
Raven considered his offer for a moment, and Charles kept his mind’s eye on hers; she was debating the likelihood that he was also a mutant against another possibility that he was going to kidnap her and experiment on her. A sliver of irritation slithered through him at that; he’d been subjected to a number of experiments as a child, both by his own father and later on his stepfather. They’d ranged from hardly anything of consequence to the sorts of torture Charles was entirely sure would be counted among the most heinous of war crimes. If Raven hadn’t been subjected to experimentation, then Charles was going to damn well make sure she never would be.
“Alright,” she decided, sipping at her drink. “Tell you what. We’ll go back to your flat, and I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Deal?”
Charles grinned. “Fair enough. You have yourself a deal, my dear Miss Darkholme.”
Raven seemed utterly confident in the self-depreciating way that as soon as he laid eyes on her natural form, he’d run for the hills. Not at all likely, and a grave error in her world view that he’d simply have to correct during the course of the night. From what he’d gleaned from her mind, Raven was stunning beneath the pale skin. After all, a disguise was always a self-portrait, as they say.
Charles threw down a few bills to cover their drinks and grabbed his coat. “Shall we, then?”
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 15:35:16 GMT
There was a bit of wonder from the boy, and Charles smiled a bit. It was always nice to be able to show off just a little, especially when the reaction was that pleasant. Which wasn’t always a guarantee, but that it happened at all was wonderful.
You mean like this? Scott projected, and Charles’s smile grew.
Yes, exactly like that. Well done, Scott, he returned, he and Hank heading back to their room to collect their things. If you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me, yes?
“It’ll be nice to get back to Westchester,” Hank said as he collected the various items they’d utilized in their brief stay. “I’d like to get as much of a head start on something for Scott as I can. Though...I’m not sure what we’ll do in the meantime.”
Charles hummed in agreement, packing up his own overnight bag. There was also the serum to consider, though there would be implications for introducing it to Scott. The last thing either of them wanted was for Scott to be so enamored with a way to negate his ability that he refused to consider any other alternative.
“Did you destroy your notes on the serum?”
Hank shrugged. “Not exactly. Just bits and pieces—enough so that it couldn’t be replicated by anyone else but me. You’re thinking for Scott...?”
“Simply an option to consider; a temporary one,” he assured. “You yourself said that there was a happy medium for your mutation. How difficult would it be to discover the same for Scott?”
“Well, first I’d have to take a look at what exactly his mutation does. If it’s purely physical, then finding the middle ground shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Then, by all means, we should propose the idea, shouldn’t we?”
Hank nodded, and after a quick check to ensure that they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two left the room behind and went to check out. They settled the bill with Charles's card before returning to the car.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 15:31:45 GMT
“Charles, there are laws against everything about who we are,” she pointed out with a quiet laugh. “Why should we care about who our lovers are, hm?”
He wanted to protest—there were no laws prohibiting mutations, after all; that was primarily society’s fault and the fact that evolution had decided to take such a drastic leap forward during one of the most politically charged eras in modern human history—but Charles bit back the words. To point such out would likely cause a heated discussion if he wasn’t careful—she’d been spending time around Erik, after all; Lord only knew what she’d picked up in that time. Charles was no longer capable of debate. No, all that he could manage at this point was putting on as pleasant a smile as he could and keeping it there until he could lock himself up for the night and plow through a bottle of his father’s scotch, indulging his self-pity and heartbreak for a bit.
Raven nodded her agreement when he made her promise to be careful, mocking a scandalized gasp and playfully smacking his shoulder. He let out a bit of half-hearted laughter at that; they would be okay, certainly. Raven would be happy, Erik would be happy, and Charles would be happy for them. And one day, he might even be able to do it without fighting back a lump in his throat or the stinging behind his eyes.
“I’ll be careful,” she swore. “I promise. I’m not going to become a mother anytime soon.”
Charles exaggerated a sigh of relief. He’d love any child of Raven’s—after all, she was his sister and he loved her more than words could say—but at the moment, any child of Raven’s would therefore be a child of Erik’s, and Charles wasn’t sure if his heart could take it. It was a moot concern, but intentions and results were often two very different things.
“I love you, Charles,” Raven said, gently kissing his cheek. “Thank you for sharing this part of you with me.”
He swallowed.
“I love you, too, Raven,” he replied, meaning the words more deeply than he ever had before. “Just...take care of him, yeah?”
The stinging was back, and Charles made a considerable effort to ignore the sensation. Raven’s happiness meant far more to him than his own, and if that meant giving up on Erik, then he would do it. People had their hearts broken every day, after all; he couldn’t be any different, could he?
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 15:30:13 GMT
Lana quipped about that being the definition of bad poetry—the answer was rather subjective one way or the other, to be honest, but she didn’t press the subject and Charles found himself a bit grateful for that. To be honest, he didn’t really feel up to poetry—he’d much rather spend the night drunk and spend tomorrow as though he hadn’t recently indulged in a small breakdown.
“Can I ask you something, school teacher?” Lana’s voice left the teasing lilt behind, adopting a much more serious tone, and Charles offered a small nod in consent. She was going to ask about Erik, no doubt about that. Given her time with him, she was probably lost as to why he regarded Erik with any fond affection at all. Lana hadn’t witnessed Erik as Charles had; she hadn’t watched as he found the point between rage and serenity, hadn’t delved into his mind and seen for herself all of the wonder and complexity and under goodness Erik was capable of. “Why him? I don’t understand.”
Charles swallowed. He had hundreds of reasons as to why he felt the way he did about Erik, but words seemed to fail him. How could he adequately explain how Erik was? How he could still be, if he so chose? How could he describe to her the sort of beautifully exquisite pain that fueled Erik, a pain borne of love and the loss of that love? How could he even begin to speak about the utter beauty of Erik’s mind, the stunning clarity with which he viewed the word and the purity of purpose that drove him towards his goals, no matter the cost? And how could he articulate that he would likely never stop loving Erik, no matter what the other man did?
He sighed and sunk into his chair.
“When I first met Erik, I dove—rather deeply—into his mind,” Charles began. “I had never felt a mind as stunning as his—Raven’s came close, but we were children when we first met. Erik, though...it was like looking at the sun. Blinding, painful, but you can’t help but want to look for as long as you can, even longer than that.
“It was his mind,” he confessed. “It is his mind, and it will always be his mind—even though I may never be allowed to see it again.”
Because Erik had thrown him out, not only with words, but with actions. That helmet created a tangible barrier between them, and Charles still couldn’t bear the thought of one day facing Erik again, but being unable to sense his mind. To see Erik moving and talking and being Erik, but all of it being so horrifying and wrong because that helmet made Erik feel like some sort of animated doll—not real, not alive, despite everything else that said he was.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Sept 19, 2014 15:28:41 GMT
“Umm, rest?” Ashni was purring, for God’s sake. She snuggled into him as close as she could physically manage, and Charles swallowed, willing away all of his physical reactions. “Can I just nap here? Or am I making things...hard for you?”
She knew damn well what she was doing, and while part of Charles was honestly flattered, there was still another part of him that couldn’t get past the teenaged girl he’d first meet years ago.
Then the images started flooding in. Charles’s telepathy was one that had two settings: distance and touch. Distance allowed for much easier and effective shielding—there was a reason he valued his personal space—but touch...when he was touching another person, thoughts and feelings all became so much harder to ignore. It was like trying to ignore someone shouting right in one’s ear. Ashni couldn’t possibly know about that, but she was certainly taking advantage of his mutation, sending him image after pornographic image. This woman was going to be the death of him at this rate.
“We have time before Hank comes,” she pointed out. “Would you like that?”
Certain parts of him would no doubt love that. His face had probably turned a shade of red he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager. And yet...he had no romantic interest in her, and while she was certainly sexually appealing, he had a reputation as headmaster of the school to uphold.
“As lovely as your offer sounds, Ashni, I must decline,” he managed. “You’re tired, and hungry; you’re not particularly in your right state of mind, and I would much rather address this after you’ve gotten plenty of rest and had something to eat.”
If she gave in, he’d have roughly eight or nine hours to figure out how to best address the issue. Perhaps she’d even been embarrassed about her behavior? No, no, she wouldn’t; considering how she was raised, it was likely something she’d wouldn’t entirely regret. Best to deflect for the moment, wait until they were both in a proper state of mind.
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