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Post by x on Aug 23, 2014 4:04:55 GMT
"We are going to need supplies. I will go get them once we land, and meet you wherever we hole up shortly,” Magda said, breaking the silence.
“I will go,” Erik immediately countered. “It is too dangerous to return to the headquarters, or to the school.”
Charles winced slightly at the reminder of the school. Dear God, were his students okay? Was the estate still secure? If an evacuation was needed, did everyone get out in time? Oh, and Hank would be looking for him. Provided Hank was unharmed himself. And he was going to be chasing himself in circles at this rate. He needed to get in contact with his staff as soon as he could.
“We will be landing in a wooded area and not far is a motel where we will spend the night,” Erik continued. “I will then gather what supplies we need for this time. Magda, Charles, you both should rest.”
“As far as I know,” Charles piped up, “Magda’s face has yet to be outed to the public as a threat. Unless you can be certain that no one where we’ll land has access to a decent television set, you may prove far too recognizable to be our safest bet.”
Erik could be wonderful at strategy—he’d beaten Charles plenty of times in chess to prove it—but there were times when Charles sincerely worried for Erik’s lack of foresight. Unless he planned to rob the store in question—and God help him if he did—Erik ran the risk of being recognized. And then where would they be?
“So, either Magda goes on her own or I go with either of you,” Charles insisted.
He couldn’t fool security cameras, but he could fool minds. And a bit of creative placement and some standard avoidance would take care of the cameras. He’d be happiest if none of them left the motel room alone; it was dangerous to be entirely on one’s own. Their captors had been intelligent enough to prepare for his and Erik’s mutation. When Charles’s suggestions wore off, they’d likely work to prepare for Magda’s mutation as well. And really, splitting up was rarely a good idea.
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Post by x on Aug 23, 2014 3:41:02 GMT
“That is most impressive, Charles,” Erik replied with a nod. “I wasn’t aware such a number existed. I am sure you will find a way to incorporate everyone.”
There was something akin to a swell of pride as Erik spoke; something Charles felt was completely unfounded. Erik still thought rather loudly, and Charles tried to ignore snatches of thought that pegged him as the man he had been when he’d pulled Erik out of the ocean. Entirely unfair, as he was quite certain that that man had died on a Cuban beach, the final nails driven into his coffin by Erik’s apparent assassination attempt and the war forcing the school to close. The Charles of 1962 was a specter that would haunt them for the rest of their lives, if they weren’t careful.
(Oh, but he wanted to be that man again. He wanted to be that hopeful and optimistic again, but memories of the future that they’d managed to prevent in D.C. month ago still haunted him.)
“It is good to see you, old friend,” Erik continued, making his next move before looking back at Charles, “but I know you did not invite me here to speak of the reopening of your school.”
Charles swallowed. “Actually, in some ways, I did,” he admitted.
“I haven’t been able to get my mind off of what I saw in Logan’s future—the future we hopefully managed to prevent,” he clarified. “As a result, I’ve done quite a bit of thinking these past few months.”
How far would mutant rights be able to progress if he and Erik managed to locate some viable middle ground? That critical point between rage and serenity that would give Erik the satisfaction he needed as well as keep to the non-violent model of activism Charles favored? Was there even such a point? There had to be, and they had to find it. For the good of Jean and Scott and Ororo and all of the other mutants he’d located and taught in the alternate future.
(Though, really, there was a far more selfish reason for this meeting; Charles had seen the man Erik could become, the cold-hearted terrorist willing to sacrifice a terrified child for his own purposes, who would ignore anything that didn’t jive with his perceptions of reality. And Erik could be so much more than that. Charles wanted to see Erik become more than what he might have been.)
“Specifically, about our approaches towards achieving mutant rights. And their varied successes. Or lack thereof.”
Charles castled his king and took a sip of his drink, letting the proverbial ball bounce back into Erik’s court. He still wasn’t sure how to carry the conversation in a way that wouldn’t devolve into bitter words and locked horns, but, with any luck, they could manage. Before Erik killed Shaw, they had always managed to compromise on a variety of topics. Even their discussions on mutant rights were not as polarized as they had become in the aftermath of Cuba.
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Post by x on Aug 23, 2014 2:26:28 GMT
“Maybe I need to think on it a while,” Lana offered. “Ya know, alone.”
Charles understood; he couldn’t be certain of Lana’s exact level of control or her experience with her abilities. (That would require fully entering her mind, and while she might understand, it was better to avoid sinking into another’s mind so completely.) They had gone over the basics of shielding, and Lana might benefit from taking the time to block smaller, less focused emotions.
“What do you say, school teacher? We pick this up tomorrow after you school your tykes?”
He nodded. “Of course. Perhaps take the rest of the afternoon to focus on shielding from less focused emotions? Or even just one particular emotion.”
His own shields were not as strong as they had been before...well, before. Thoughts of Raven or Erik were enough to give bad memories all the strength they needed to break past the walls he’d put in place as a child to keep himself sane. If he was going to be of any assistance to Lana, he needed to take time to strengthen his own shields. There needed to be a bit of detachment between him and his memories—especially where Raven and Erik were concerned.
“Though, you shouldn't be too discouraged by your performance today," Charles said, picking up trace amounts of disappointment. "You did rather well, I'd say. Shielding isn't easy, after all, not to mention the potential implications of my telepathy being involved."
He hadn't actually thought about what exactly his own mutation might mean for her training. Would his emotion be amplified compared to those of non-telepaths? For him, the minds of mutants and non-mutants were instantly distinguishable: different patterns to their wavelengths, just simply a different feel to how their minds worked.
“Shall we aim for the same time, as well? Or would you prefer to meet later in the afternoon?”
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Post by x on Aug 20, 2014 0:40:26 GMT
“Don’t sweat it, school teacher,” Lana replied. “If you didn’t feel anything, then I wouldn’t still be sittin’ here.”
Fair enough, he supposed. It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant, of course, but nevertheless.
“If ya want,” Lana began, pausing a moment, a flicker of uncertainly in her. “If you would like, I can take away the bad feelings when you think of her. It won’t be forever, but you can have just the happy ones for a while.”
He offered her a grateful smile. “Thank you for the offer, my dear, but I’m afraid I must decline.”
It was a tempting offer, to be sure, but it wasn’t something he himself was incapable of. If he were truly so wanting as to absolve himself of any negative connotation to Raven’s memory, then he could enact his own barrier—and make it permanent, too. As tempting as it was, it wasn’t something Charles was going to ask of Lana.
“From your description, it sounds as though Raven is doing what she wanted. As much as I would like for her to come home, I must come to peace with her decision to leave,” he added, swallowing a sigh.
It had been so plain to see on her face that day, her desire to go out and fight for mutant equality (superiority, a traitorous little voice in the darkest recesses of his mind whispered). He once said he never needed to read her mind to know what she was thinking, but that was the one time he was completely certain of her thoughts. Raven had made her decision, and Charles had to accept it.
“Now, would you care to try shielding again, only with a much less powerful memory?”
Charles smiled again, hoping his attempt to deviate from such muddled topics took.
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Post by x on Aug 18, 2014 20:49:15 GMT
“Hello, who’s there?” Scott’s voice was soft, cracking, and Charles sighed softly in sympathy; the boy’s mind was in absolute chaos. “How do you know my name?”
Scott lifted up his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut—if he opened them, twin beams of powerful red-colored energy would escape—and Charles could feel the boy’s subconscious scrambling to keep hold of the calm he was projecting.
“My name is Charles Xavier; I’m like you, Scott, a mutant,” Charles said, sending a smidgen more calm in Scott’s direction; the boy’s mind was still in a panic.
“I...I can’t open my eyes,” Scott admitted. “If I do, I might hurt you. I might, do something terrible...”
“I know, Scott. I’m aware of what you can do,” he assured. “That’s why I’m here. It will be alright, I promise you. However, I need you to try to calm down a bit more.”
“Can you help me? Please?” Scott’s voice shook, trembling with fear and panic.
“I will most certainly do my utmost,” Charles promised. “If you’re willing to come with me, I’m certain we can figure out a way for you to see again, to control your powers.”
Charles signaled for Hank to join them as he pushed himself a bit closer to Scott. He wasn’t sure what exactly could be done for Scott; surely there had to be some way of control the energy. But there wasn’t much that could be done until Scott calmed down and they had made it back to Westchester safely.
"Now, you aren't hurt, are you? Any injuries that my friend and I should see to? After all, it seems you’ve had quite the eventful night.”
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Post by x on Aug 18, 2014 15:41:22 GMT
“It’s been a while, ya know, since I parted ways with ‘em,” Lana said.
Charles understood; Erik’s incarceration followed by subsequent attempts to break out—of course Erik would never be one to simply accept captivity—and Lana fleeing a thoroughly toxic environment in terms of her abilities would allow for enough time in between that anything Lana could tell him would be old news, and quite possibly no longer the case.
“Things where tense,” she admitted, “cause he got locked up and they wanted him out. She was taking a big step forward. I got the feeling she was taking charge. Going to lead them herself.”
He allowed himself a bit of a smile at that; Raven had always had the potential of an excellent leader. While he hoped that Raven would prove to be far less militant a leader than Erik in the long run, he would admit that it sounded a lot like she was finally coming into her own.
“But that, there was some good times,” Lana added. “She was training to be stronger. Fight harder. She was...determined.”
“Raven has always been tenacious when she sets her mind to something,” Charles confirmed. “I can’t say I’m at all surprised. Thank you, Lana, and I’m terribly sorry; we should be focusing on your training.”
Not the tangled mess between himself and Raven. Hindsight offered more insight than it should, and Charles had spent many a moment silently berating himself for the spectacular example of miscommunication that had existed between him and Raven. Lana was here to learn how to control her mutation and how to be part of the world around her, not to get involved with his own issues. (And really, he should be better than this, anyway.)
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Post by x on Aug 18, 2014 14:27:35 GMT
He could feel her reactions as he explained. There was a small surge of outrage, one born from Magda’s own desire to be a mother and the pain of her past. He caught flashes of her past when he brushed against her mind: her own reaction to pregnancy, the tangle of emotions that had a surrounded her and the child’s father, the night everything had gone wrong for her. A bit of guilt welled up in him at that.
“No. I should have thought before I asked,” Magda assured. “The apologies are mine to make. And your mother’s, for not being able to be stronger for her son.”
“Magda, it’s fine,” Charles insisted. “I’ve made peace with it.”
His mother was dead and buried, anyway, as was Kurt. He had no idea what became of Cain, and he really didn’t want to know. His life was in Oxford now, with Raven and his thesis, and he had no intention of returning to Westchester.
“I don’t fault my mother, not completely; she did try,” he pointed out.
She’d remarried too early, convinced that Charles needed a father more than she needed to grieve. And Kurt had known all of the right words to say to charm Sharon and get into her good graces. She had never really been on her own, marrying young and going from her parents’ home to be somebody’s wife, and Kurt had capitalized on that. Sharon had been ill-equipped to resist and Charles’s telepathy had yet to fully manifest. He had known Kurt was not who his mother had thought, but he’d been incapable of convincing her otherwise.
“Besides, it was much more my own fault than hers,” he admitted. “I had pieces of my mutation from birth, and it seems that my abilities unconscious affected those around me—my mother, primarily.”
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Post by x on Aug 17, 2014 5:14:48 GMT
“Like I said: Christmas,” she muttered. “They talked about you some, ya know, but not much. It wasn’t a topic they enjoyed talking about.”
Charles internally winced. To be fair, Erik and Raven weren’t a topic he enjoyed discussing, either. He needed to be sufficiently drunk in order to be at all comfortable discussing his wayward sister and his...whatever it was that Erik was to him. Did the term ‘friend’ even still apply? Or was that another thing that died on that godforsaken beach?
“I got the feeling she missed you, though,” Lana added, “and trust me, I know the feeling of missing someone.”
The thought that Raven missed him at all was a little comforting. It eased something in him to think that she missed him as well; goodness knows he missed her terribly. He offered her a half-hearted smile.
“Thank you for that,” he said, genuinely grateful. “How...how was she? When you saw her last?”
He shouldn’t be asking; they were supposed to be training her, not discussing Raven and Erik. And yet, he needed to know. No matter what the circumstances had been, he still loved her deeply; she was his sister in all the ways that truly mattered, and he wanted to be sure that she was happy, or at the very least content. It was all he’d ever really wanted for her: for her to be safe and happy.
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Post by x on Aug 17, 2014 3:52:52 GMT
“Yes and no,” Magda replied. “She cooked stews and basic things. Things over the fire for many people to eat. We never had much, but she made what we had spread out.”
Charles smiled; talking about her mother was clearly something that made Magda happy. He felt a small surge of envy at that; his mother had never been particularly attentive, preferring to waste away in a myriad of alcohol rather than deal with reality. She had loved Raven, though, once Charles had her firmly affixed in the family memory.
“Your mother clearly didn’t teach you to cook,” she teased, and Charles smiled and hoped it didn’t turn out to be a grimace. “What sort of things did she teach you?”
He bit the inside of his cheek and offered her a weak smile. What had his mother taught him? Everything she’d taught him had been about avoidance, a showcase of precisely what he didn’t want to be. He didn’t keep more than a bottle of alcohol in the flat, he restricted his drinking to pub outings with Raven there to make sure he didn’t overindulge, he made every possible effort he could in order to ensure that he never ended up as embroiled in grief and misery as she did.
“Eh, it’s...it’s a bit complicated,” he admitted. “My relationship with my mother wasn’t exactly...well...” he took a deep breath before continuing. “She loved me, I have doubt about that, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother when I was born; she was barely ready to be a wife. And when my father died...she was heartbroken. She became depressed and turned to the bottle.”
Part of him wondered why he was being so honest with Magda; was it because she’d decided to be honest with him? He could feel her mind, and he knew she wasn’t the type to use any of this sort of information against him. Raven would have a fit, though, would tell him that he was too trusting and he shouldn’t be so willing to share such information. It wasn’t as though he could help it; his abilities included empathy, which meant he had an innate desire to relate to those around him.
“My apologies, Magda,” he said, reining in the sudden surge of emotions. “I didn’t mean to darken the conversation; my mother did teach me a few things. Primarily having to do with what’s acceptable in high society—she came from old money, and there was a certain set of expectations that came with the territory.”
He smiled and laughed a bit as he recalled a few of his earlier memories: Mother hosting a party, socializing with him shadowing her, trying to ignore the urge to cling to her dress as she introduced him to stranger after stranger; Mother taking command of the household whenever Father found himself at a loss, always with an endearing little huff and a roll of her eyes; Father calling her his angel when she got him through the obligatory rounds he had to make at parties, letting him run off to his lab or to the library as soon as she could.
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Post by x on Aug 17, 2014 2:18:27 GMT
“Really?” Rogue asked, smiling at his approval. “I’ve done it alone a couple of times and ah I find it to be extremely soothing yet strengthening in your core. Ah’ve always wondered if there was a way to harness exceptional growth or control with an intense session. It’s kinda like meditation, but more physical. At least, that’s what ah believe.”
“It’s certainly a point of interest,” Charles encouraged. “There’s something to be said for such an activity; those who regularly engage in it seem to have a much stronger sense of self and seem to be able to develop a firmer control of their minds and bodies. Actually, I’ve met a handful of yoga masters over the years and some of them have even managed to unconsciously develop relatively impressive mental shields.”
Beyond simply engaging in an activity that would allow her to gain more confidence and control over her own body, teaching a yoga class would likely give Rogue enough of a confidence boast to possibly unlock the key to controlling her mutation. It was certainly an idea he was going to encourage. It would be interesting to keep track of any improvements made by students who took part in the sessions, once they were set up.
“Ah trust your decisions, Professor. If any of the staff would like mah help, ah’m more than happy to make myself available to them while ah work out this yoga group. And ah’ll not cast aside my own studies; ah know they’re just as important,” she promised.
“You’ve proven yourself to be a thoroughly capable student, Rogue,” Charles assured. “I have no concerns that you’d let your schoolwork slip. I’ll inform the staff tomorrow that you’re willing to assist in whatever way you can; they’ll all be grateful for the offer.”
Rogue had made such astounding progress in her time at the school; Charles recalled the girl who was terrified of what she could do, who was still reeling from her sudden and involuntary isolation from the rest of the world. Now, she was beginning to come into her own. Despite Erik's attempts to weaponize her mutation, Rogue had proven herself to be far stronger than he'd hoped.
"Will you require any assistance in setting up the sessions?"
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Post by x on Aug 17, 2014 1:38:49 GMT
Apparently his first memory of Raven was stronger than he’d thought, as Lana tensed and struggled to keep her first attempt at shielding up. Charles didn’t expect for her to actually succeed—it would have been rather impressive if she’d managed to succeed for very long the first time—but he did find it encouraging that she managed to hold back his own emotions for as long as she had. She lifted her hands to her ears, a subconscious reaction, no doubt. He used to do the same when he was young, trying to shut out the voices in his head before he finally accepted that no matter how hard he tried, his hands were inadequate to blocking out the noise. She laughed, though, softly, the happiness from his memories getting to her. He smiled at that.
“Damn, school teacher,” Lana teased, grinning as she put her hands down. “That was like Christmas. You a father or somethin’?”
He chuckled a bit and shook his head. “No, not exactly. The only children I’m responsible for are the ones enrolled here, at the school.”
Traditional fatherhood had been something he’d always planned for some point in his future: find a nice woman and settle down with a comfortable teaching position at a university, after he’d gotten all he wanted from his career as a student. But then Moira had found him, had taken him on the adventure of a lifetime and now the future he’d envisioned seemed more like an impossibility than an eventuality. There was still his own tangled emotions involving Erik that he had to deal with, not to mention the stress of setting up a school for mutants—what was the likelihood that he’d ever find someone willing to put up with all of that and the wheelchair?
Charles took a deep breath and reined in his emotions. Lana shouldn’t have to deal with his issues; she had no obligation to him aside from continuing work on her mental shields.
“Actually, I was thinking of when I first met Raven—ah, Mystique, I suppose is what she prefers to go by now,” he admitted. “One of the best moments of my life; the first time I knew without a doubt that I wasn’t alone in the world.”
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Post by x on Aug 16, 2014 16:30:36 GMT
Erik refrained from saying anything about Moira, and Charles allowed himself a bit of gratitude in response. Moira wasn’t as difficult a subject as Raven or his legs...especially Erik himself. Still, what he did to her was something he didn’t wish to discuss, and so Erik being so kind as to keep from pursuing the topic was something Charles was grateful for.
“How many students do you have enrolled,” Erik asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“We have thirty-four confirmed, a number of whom are currently in residence for various reasons,” Charles replied. “There are now twenty-five others who haven’t yet decided and are currently in situations where they face no immediate danger or have any reason to leave.”
He took a sip of his own drink and contemplated his next move. Some of the children had been living on the streets, or had abusive home environments, or had mutations dangerous enough to warrant immediate attention. While they weren’t the only reasons, they were the most common. Those who were still deciding had the luxury of a relatively stable home life and/or mutations that weren’t dangerous, among other factors.
Thirty-four, possibly fifty-nine, students didn’t seem like much, but it was a larger student body than Charles had been expecting. Every day, he woke up to young minds finally allowing themselves to feel hope, to get used to being safe and accepted. It was enough to make him hopeful once again.
“And we’re locating more each day,” he added, making his next move. “At this rate, I fear we may acquire more students than we can handle.” A bit of breathless laughter escaped him as he spoke, a result of stunned amazement and a fledgling desire to hope once more.
His smile weakened a bit as his mind returned to the reason he’d asked Erik to come by. How to broach the subject? He worried the inside of his bottom lip a bit as he mulled it over.
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Post by x on Aug 16, 2014 14:53:45 GMT
“Is that even possible?” It was genuine curiosity, and Erik wanted to know more about what Charles could do. (Oh, Erik’s mind was gorgeous and Charles wasn’t ever leaving it.)
“Theoretically yes,” Charles answered. “It stands to reason that there must be some who are able to keep me out—at least in part. I doubt they could keep me out for very long, though. Shaw’s telepath is the biggest challenge I’ve had since I properly manifested.”
As he spoke, he kept his grip on Erik’s mind, taking in every piece of it as though it were an interactive museum. Memories, emotions, everything—Erik was surprisingly adept at languages, which was an added bonus. Intelligent, resourceful—oh, he knew how to play chess!
“Brilliance,” Erik repeated, and a lovely arrogant smile spread across his face. (Christ, Charles was just shy of swooning. Swooning. Things were getting out of hand unbelievably fast; he had to pull back, if he still had any viable sense of self-preservation.) “You are too kind, my friend.”
Oh God, it was too late. Self-preservation flew out the proverbial window, and Charles was utterly damned. He’d gone in completely blind; Erik Lehnsherr came out of nowhere and he had been thoroughly unprepared to deal with him. This wasn’t good. There was another telepath to contend with, Charles had no idea as to the full extent of her powers, and this was going to be a distraction Charles wasn’t quite sure he could afford.
“I can certainly understand, even relate to that,” he said, responding to Charles’s explanation of why he was with the CIA. “What will you do when you encounter them?”
Charles shrugged, trying to calm his racing heart beat and regain control of himself.
“Firstly, I need to do something about the telepath. She’s strong, but I’m not sure exactly how strong. I doubt she’ll prove to be more than a minor irritation, though. As for the teleporter and the one who can manifest tornadoes, I’m fairly certain they’ll go with whomever is stronger. Therefore,” Charles concluded, “I’ll have to prove myself the more viable option.”
“How much do you know of Shaw and I?”
Charles locked eyes with Erik, a slightly arrogant smile on his face. “Everything.”
Emma had forced Erik’s worst memories of Shaw to the forefront of the metalokinetic’s mind. Charles had been made privy to all of the pain Erik had endured, all of the sorrow and anguish. He had witnessed the murder of Erik’s mother, Erik’s separation from his parents at the gates of Auschwitz, the time he spent locked up and at Shaw’s mercy.
Really, it was enough to inspire the same holy fury in Charles that it had sparked in Erik: Charles wanted Shaw eliminated, snuffed out. He wondered briefly what the consequences would be if he reached into Shaw’s mind and turned it off. It wasn’t something he’d tried before, but there was a first time for everything. And Shaw had made himself a dangerous enemy this night; Charles was not a mutant to trifled with, after all, and surely Shaw’s mind was just as easy to toy with as those of others.
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Post by x on Aug 16, 2014 13:23:33 GMT
“I believe our definitions of great strongly differ,” Erik pointed out.
Of course they were. If their definitions of anything didn’t differ so strongly, would they even be here? Or would they be back in Westchester, tending to a thriving school and getting progressively drunk over nightly games of chess and debates over whatever topics they could come up with? The thought sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing through him and Charles swallowed and looked away from Erik in an attempt to keep himself under control.
“This desire to face the next stage of evolution in peaceful harmony should not be a one-sided attempt,” he continued. “As I said before, it is humans who have always made the first strike. And I understand that you believe retaliating with violence will not resolve the issue, however it shows that humans are intolerant of our race.”
It also showed that mutants were just as intolerant of humans, but Charles swallowed his words.
“It is they who do not wish to coexist. They are the ones who cannot accept our mutations because they fear what we can do. They fear being overpowered. Which is why they used us to create machines to ensure this does not happen.”
Erik had a well-developed cynicism that was as impressive as it was depressing. It would be something Erik would always carry with him, no matter what happened to prove it misplaced. He would only see the worst, would always be waiting for the axe to fall. Charles had become far too familiar with the feeling, himself.
“You may be right,” Erik conceded, “in that not all humans will condemn us. However, those that do tend to be in strong and influential positions in society. They hold a great power over the public and are able to feed them lies and deceptive information which perpetuates humans’ fear and intolerance of us.”
None of which would be given the chance to grow if mutants refused to live up to those lies. There was merit to the concept of being the better man, regardless of what Erik might think. Just look at all the success Dr. King had had with his nonviolent approach to civil rights. He could still remember the man’s powerful voice as he spoke from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
“We do not hold that same power and position in society,” Erik finished. “And those who do end up dead.”
“Lies and deception can only go so far when the truth fights back,” Charles retorted. “We must disprove the lies, prove to the world that their leaders are wrong about us. That we bare no more evil in our hearts than ordinary humans. You must not allow yourself to hate the entirety of humanity because their leaders choose to bring us harm. If we want to succeed, Erik, we’ll need as many human allies as we can get.”
It was satisfying to hurt the ones who hurt you—Charles would freely admit that; that punch back in the Pentagon had been one of the best things to happen to him in years—but there was a difference between catharsis and simple fury.
“We do not yet occupy high-level positions, but one day we will. Until then, however, we should aim to garner as many allies in those already there. We cannot achieve the goal of freedom and safety alone, Erik. And we shouldn’t have to.”
He swallowed and shifted in his seat before continuing.
"We cannot make ourselves the villains in this struggle," he insisted. "We cannot allow ourselves to be guilty of wrongful acts while we fight for our freedoms. We must be the better men, and not just in our genetics. We must be willing to hold ourselves to a higher level of dignity than those who would seek to bring us down."
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Post by x on Aug 16, 2014 1:36:22 GMT
As a child, Charles used to have a rather difficult time separating himself from those around him. Was he actually upset, or was he upset because someone around him was upset? Of course, he didn’t actually understand the conundrum until his telepathy fully manifested and he realized that his heightened sensitivity to others’ emotions was actually just a piece of his full power.
He’d gained control of it over the years, built up shields he’d made nearly impenetrable until Erik came into his life and cracked them. Charles had spent several years suppressing his abilities in an attempt to forget, but he’d long since given up on that and had regained his powers, going through the painstaking process of strengthening his shields.
But it seemed that his shields were still weak from whatever the hell he’d been drugged with—he hadn’t been so irritable since he’d been engaging in the sort of alcoholism that bore far too much resemblance in hindsight to the kind that killed his mother. (“Alcohol and grief,” they’d said. An all too deadly combination.)
And Erik, the damned bastard, was all but reveling in the silence. If Charles was a more vindictive person, he’d be doing everything in his power to thoroughly annoy Erik. Instead, he just focused on making sure the amount of irritation he was currently feeling was actually his own rather than feedback from Magda and Erik. Until he could be certain of his precise level of irritation, Charles wasn’t going to risk running his mouth.
Really, though, Erik he could deal with. He knew Erik, for the most part. It was Magda who as throwing him off balance. The last time he’d seen her, she had been tentatively hopeful, fearful but not full of rage and anger. What had happened to her? What had changed? Had he been an idiot to simply let her go all those years ago, should he have put more effort into keeping in contact with her?
Charles groaned a little and rubbed his temples. He had a terrible headache and it wasn’t likely that it’d ebb at all prior to landing. And, knowing Erik, his headache seemed destined to only get worse.
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Nov 15, 2014 22:58:48 GMT
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Post by x on Aug 16, 2014 0:15:02 GMT
Magda’s smiled brightened considerably, and Charles mentally sighed in relief. He could feel the sheer amount of love she had for those memories, and he let himself bask in those emotions for a moment.
“My people were gypsies,” she explained. “When I was younger, I would watch my mother teach the others how to stake a deck in order to make the best cards, the ones everyone wanted, come up when they should. For her and the others, it was more important to con the gadjos—the ones not of our people—than to read them true.”
So card readers do have a tendency to stack decks, then, Charles noted with some amusement. He had a feeling that Magda hadn’t thrown his reading, though; she struck him as someone who valued truth when she could.
“I can promise you that your deck was not stacked,” she confirmed with an easy smile before continuing on. “She taught me how to read them, and see their meanings in many ways. I was eleven when she died, but I never forgot her teachings or her stories.”
Magda seemed to hold her mother in wonderful regard, and Charles smiled as he picked up the amount of love and affection she held the long-dead woman with.
“She did like to cook,” the fortune-teller added.
“She sounds as though she were a wonderful woman, Magda,” Charles said. “She truly does. You were quite fortunate to have such a store of good memories to see you through.”
He took another bite of his dinner.
“Did your mother teach you how to cook?”
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Post by x on Aug 15, 2014 23:13:12 GMT
Lana was obviously dead set on getting a reaction out of him, judging by how loudly she was projecting indecent thoughts. Honestly, what good would the knowledge of whether or not he was...fully functional do her, anyway? Granted, there was only about seven or eight years between them, and Lana was certainly lovely enough, but that meant nothing.
“Alright,” she said, sitting up straight and adopting a more traditional meditation pose. “If I am gonna do this, then you gotta give me more then background, school teacher. Think of something that brings you strong feels. Something happy. That’s easy, right?”
Relatively speaking, yes. He had a number of happy memories he could tap into, some happier than others. But if it was strong emotions she was after...then, there were two memories in particular that he could tap into.
He nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
With a deep breath, Charles sank back into his first truly happy memory.
He’s not alone. He’s not alone, and the proof is standing three feet away from him. She’s young, probably no more than six or seven, and she’s got a mind as fluid as her form. In other words, she’s absolutely amazing and Charles can barely breathe for all of his excitement.
“You...you’re not...s-scared of me?”
“I always believed I couldn’t be the only one in the world,” he responds, voice a bit breathy as his heart beats wildly in his chest. “The only one who was different. And here you are!”
He shoves out his hand, completely lacking in grace but he can’t quite bring himself to care; it’s all he can do to keep himself from bouncing all over the kitchen and hugging her as tightly as he can.
“Charles Xavier.”
“Raven,” she says, smiling and taking his hand.
“You’re hungry, and alone,” he confirms after they shake. “Take whatever you want; we've got lots of food, you don’t need to steal.”
Raven’s face lights up at the prospect of food. He can’t let her go, can’t let this night end with both of them remaining alone in the world. In that moment, he makes a decision. Raven doesn’t have to leave, they don’t have to be alone anymore.
“In fact,” he states, “you never have to steal again.”
Her smile is huge, her disbelief at the whole situation as obvious as his own. Charles can’t stop grinning. He’s never been so happy, so ecstatic, so pleased with the world.
They raid the kitchen together, each of them eating their fill, trying to muffle their giggles as they both bask in the wonder of having finally found another like them.
Charles focused on the excitement and the disbelief, the pure happiness of not being alone. He let the emotions reach out to her, hoping they’d be strong enough for her. There was only one other memory stronger than that one, and it was a gateway to much more painful emotions.
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Post by x on Aug 15, 2014 22:27:15 GMT
“You are the most knowledgeable person when it comes to mutations and understanding them,” Erik responded. “Students can find no better place to come to. I am certain that in time, you will have an abundance of teachers interested in a position here.”
High praise, coming from Erik. And yet, they weren’t the words Charles still wanted to hear. He had no illusions that Erik would be willing to exchange his violent ways for a more peaceful one, but he had to hope. Even if Erik wouldn’t come back to Westchester, Charles had to believe that there was a middle path. Logan had said that they had settled their differences in his future. It was possible—inevitable, perhaps—but what Charles feared most was that it was only such after decades of fighting and bloodshed.
“I certainly hope so,” he replied, swallowing back any other comment.
“I assume that you have ensured the safety in terms of the location of the school?” Erik made his own move, placing a pawn out, briefly breaking eye contact in order to do so.
Charles considered his next move, making a considerable effort to hold back from Erik’s mind. There was still a part of him that longed to brush against it as casually as he had when their friendship had been new. Even when he had been stagnating in his own anger and bitterness, he hadn’t been able to fully drown that part of him. He moved another pawn forward.
“Erik, it’s been over a decade since I’ve returned here, since I’ve had intentions of turning this place into a school for mutants. No one with malicious intent has found us yet, and I don’t intend for that to change.”
He was probably thinking of Moira—did Erik even know what happened after Cuba? As soon as Charles had been strong enough to leave the hospital and maintain consciousness for a relatively normal amount of time, he’d sent Moira away. Anonymity was the first line of defense, and that much hadn’t changed. As much as Charles had wanted her to stay, for her to take Erik’s place in his hopes for the future, he couldn’t take that risk. She was loyal to her country first and foremost, to the career she had fought tooth and nail for. Moira wasn’t a horrible person, but there would always be the fear that she would let something slip.
“If you’re wondering about Moira, I can assure you that she’s not a problem,” Charles added. “I haven’t spoken with her since 1962.”
It was something that would inspire guilt in him for the rest of his days. Moira would have never willingly gone against him or the boys, would have never willing done anything that would put them in jeopardy, but it was so easy to make people bend to one’s will, even without the use of telepathy. No amount of reasoning it out would ever fully ease the guilt.
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Post by x on Aug 15, 2014 20:06:22 GMT
“Ah dunno,” Rogue said as she took a seat. “Ah was gonna ask if ya had anything ya need help with. Maybe ah could aid for a teacher? Or put together a group for students...We don’t have a yoga class yet. Ah could get one of those together.”
Aid of any form would certainly be welcome; the loss of Jean had left a hole in the faculty, and covering her classes could prove challenging until he could locate a suitable replacement. (And oh, how he hated that word; as if anyone could ever actually replace Jean.) While Rogue was still too young to help out by taking over any of Jean’s courses, perhaps there was some merit to allowing her to organize something for the students. It could help take their minds off of what had happened, give them something else to focus on.
“I think that would be a wonderful idea, Rogue,” he agreed. “A number of the students would benefit greatly from such an activity. There had been some discussion, prior to...this. About possibly setting up a few student-led activities. Wonderful of you to beat us to the punch, as it were,” he said with a smile.
After all, it wasn’t as though the students would spend their lives in relative isolation from the rest of the world. Though the school catered specifically to mutants, there was very little difference between the social needs of human children and mutant children; and besides, there was much to be said for the benefits of activities such as yoga, both mental and physical.
“As for assisting the faculty, I’ll not deny that some aid would certainly be welcome,” Charles admitted; it would be an insult to Rogue’s intelligence to pretend as though the loss of a valued staff member would have minimal effects on the workload. “However, at the current moment, I’m afraid the most we can ask of you is to be patient with us.”
Locating a new teacher would take time, but there was a list of possible candidates that Charles kept regularly updated. Until then...everyone was going to have to carry a bit more of the shared burden.
“Though, I will inform the rest of the staff as to your desire to help out, if you’d like.”
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Post by x on Aug 15, 2014 18:55:26 GMT
Charles had always had a habit of keeping track of the world around him. It was an unconscious one, a habit formed before he was even able to speak or walk. His mutation, which had manifested in small increments in his infancy, had made it simple for him to keep attuned to the emotional states of his parents and the staff. By the time he was nine and his telepathy fully manifested, Charles had become so accustomed to unconsciously brushing against the minds of those around them that he barely noticed it anymore. In the past several decades, he’d been forced to become far more aware of how his mutation affected his interactions with the rest of the world—now, he purposely extended and increased his outreach with the aid of Cerebro.
This was all for the sake of locating other mutants in the hopes that he could recruit them for his school as either teachers or students—or at the very least, inform them of the school’s existence and offer them a safe haven if they ever required it. Now that the school was finally fully operational, with a full teaching staff and more students than was probably advisable, Charles limited his usage of Cerebro from daily for hours on end to every other day, for no more than a couple of hours at Hank’s insistence. Rather than trying to reach as many as he could, Charles instead focused on a number in precarious situations—ones who were in no immediate danger, but whose situation balanced on a fine line between safety and danger.
One such mutant was a young man from Nebraska, by the name of Scott, who was living in an orphanage. The boy was planning on running away, had been planning it for weeks, and between the two of them, Charles and Hank had planned to head out and see if they couldn’t find him before he landed himself in too much trouble. And so, they found themselves set up in Omaha, Nebraska, waiting for Scott to make his move.
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Charles jolted awake at five in the morning, a sense of secondhand danger pulling at him. In the moment it took him to orient himself and figured out why exactly his instincts were shouting at him to do something, he hefted himself up into a sitting position.
“Hank,” he said once he realized whose danger he was currently sensing. “Hank, we need to go. It seems Scott’s gotten himself into a bit of possible danger.”
Over a decade’s worth of practice made getting ready and getting out of the hotel room as quick a process as it could be, all things considered. Locating Scott was something that took a bit of skill—it was one thing to sense a mind, after all, and quite enough to pin a location to it—but they found him curled up in an alleyway, radiating fear and crying.
Charles made his way into the alley, bidding Hank to remain at the mouth of it in order to keep watch. While he would have plenty of warning relying on his telepathy alone, it was always a good idea to have another person focused primarily on keeping watch instead of multitasking.
“Scott Summers?” He brushed against the boy’s mind, making sure he was relatively unharmed and sending a small tendril of calm to him. One step at a time, after all.
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