Charles Xavier | X-Men (bethebetterman) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2017-11-01 23:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, !open, ~2017 november, ~40 points, ~~charles xavier (bethebetterman), ~~connor macmanus (saintveritas) |
WHO: Charles Xavier and OPEN
WHAT: Exploring
WHEN: Wednesday night
WHERE: The Streets of Madison Valley
WARNINGS: TBD
STATUS: Open/Ongoing
Charles had been in Madison Valley less than a day. But in that time he had been rejected by his sister and a dear friend. He had expected the rejections the moment that he had made an overture towards them, but they hurt nonetheless. Even in the state in which he found himself, he could not suppress the small amount of hope that he could somehow regain the closeness he once had known with Raven and Erik. They were the two most significant relationships in his life, and without them, he could not be whole. When this hope was quashed, it twisted the dagger in his heart.
He had been abandoned by those who mattered most to him. There was no way that he could avoid that fact now. He was not, however, alone. The mutants who had spoken to him today had convinced him of that. They had convinced him that they needed him, and he was unable to cast them aside, as Erik had known he would be. So he would go to them. He would give them what they needed, support them along their paths. It seemed that it was his only path, as well.
It was not as though he had a choice in the matter.
Within a day he would begin to feel the echo of the voices, and within two days, his powers would completely return. Any serum that he and Dr. Simmons could devise could not possibly be created within that timeline. The silence from the voices had been a blessing. Or had it? It had felt good not to feel so much pain. It had been a relief not to hear the weeping or to suffer the nightmares that his mind brought to him. But he had also felt...empty. He had known very well that he was being selfish, that by assuaging his own pain, he was allowing others to suffer. Taking more than he should have of the serum, and his perhaps excessive consumption of alcohol had dulled that guilt, but not stopped it. There was only one way to do that.
It was a chilly night, and Charles pulled his coat more tightly around him as he walked through the dark, almost empty streets. In two days, he would no longer be walking, either. That, however, bothered him far less than where his mind would be. Could he bear the voices after these few years of silence? Or would they truly drive him mad?
Sighing, he stopped to sit on a bench overlooking the river. He knew that he was doing the right thing. His heart told him so. Why, then, was it so terrifying?
He didn't feel the presence of the other person until he heard their steps on the pavement behind him, and he turned around to face them, surprised. Even after all these years, he was not used to people being able to sneak up on him.
"Oh, good evening," he said, trying to keep his voice cheerful enough. There was no reason to burden this person with his problems.