Charles Xavier (tohopeagain) wrote in the100, @ 2015-12-30 21:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, charles xavier / professor x (movies), hope summers (616) |
Who: Charles Xavier & Hope Summers
When: Monday 12/21, 11am
Where: Charles’ office
Rating: Mild
Hope wasn’t really sure why people seemed to like tea so much. Out of all of the foods and beverages she’d tried since first returning to the past, tea was one of the most bitter drinks she’d had, and even here, in the future, she had yet to really enjoy the taste. But since it seemed to be so popular among the X-Men, she was still willing to give it a chance, resigning herself to the taste. As she walked through the halls towards the Mental Health area, her thoughts strayed to the mountain itself. She wasn’t used to living so far underground, and there were times when she wondered just how stable it really was. Considering the people it held and the abilities present - as well as dangers, such as from Bloody Mary - it was almost a wonder that the structure still stood. It also drove home the fact that it could come tumbling down at any point, and kill them all. Pushing the negative musings away for now, Hope realized where she was, and stopped as she arrived at the Professor’s office door. This was the first time she’d had the opportunity to meet him in person, and she was definitely interested, after all she’d heard from others and the two conversations she’d had with him since his return to Mount Weather. Lifting her balled fist, she knocked lightly, then waited to be invited to enter. Charles was busy, typing in one note or another on a patient chart. It was a moment before Hope’s knock registered, and then he gave a firm, loud, “Come.” He didn’t look up as the door opened, merely continued laying down his thoughts, his fingers darting with precise movements to the letters he needed. He wore a vague air of irritability, of impatience that had nothing to do with his guest and everything to do with the continued uneasy relationship he shared with Erik. He should expect Erik to pick fights, and yet it continually happened. He stood on familiar ground with his friend, yet hesitated to engage him for reasons he hadn’t quite yet sussed out. Yet. But his tense relations with Erik had nothing to do with the young lady standing just within his now-opened door. Consciously he tucked away all thoughts of Erik and focused on Hope, favoring her with an easy smile, his eyes gathering small wrinkles at their corners. “Hope, welcome, come in. Please sit, although I’m afraid all I have to offer is the chair my patients use. Our tea arrived just before you arrived, piping hot. Do you take sugar?” She knew he was in there, in the few heartbeats before he responded. She’d found that even though the Lights weren’t there, she could still sense the other mutants in the mountain - whether that was through her own ability or thanks to Betsy or Rachel, she wasn’t entirely sure. When she heard his voice, Hope opened the door and paused briefly when she saw him working, only partly across the threshold. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, trailing off as he lifted his gaze. The teenager returned the smile, and when he welcomed her inside, she stepped fully past the door and pushed it shut behind her. Her eyes landed on the chair he mentioned and she gave a small shrug. “That’s fine,” she told him, walking over to sit while studying the room itself. She didn’t believe there would be any sort of threat to her, but she was still curious about its interior, considering her own few experiences with people and material objects in general. At the question, Hope looked back to Charles and nodded. “I do...a lot of it, actually.” Charles tilted his head questioningly, then shook it. “Not at all. You were invited, yes? I was merely finishing up a few necessary bits from my morning’s work.” His office was neat, with bookshelves lining the perimeter, filled with books on psychology and other related subjects. The armchair to which she was directed to sit was accompanied by a small table with an ornate clock, with a tall lamp situated behind the chair. Inside the drawer within the table lay several cloth handkerchiefs. A small laundry bag sat next to a trash can, already partially filled with used ones that were ready for the launderers. Charles chuckled. “So do many others, although I myself prefer just enough to mask the bitterness. So here is what we shall do: I will pour, and we each will add as much or as little sugar as we desire.” Charles did as he said, first pouring two mugs full of the brew and handing Hope one, followed by the sugar. “How do you wish to communicate? By voice, or via the gifts we have been given?” “I guess I just haven’t really gotten used to the taste of tea, but it seems like everyone else seems to like it,” she replied. As he poured the tea, she looked around again, studying the laundry bag for a moment, finding it and the handkerchiefs inside a little strange, but decided it didn’t really matter. When she took her mug and the sugar, Hope added several spoonfuls until she deemed it sweet enough, stirred, and sat back in the chair to take a sip, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Lowering the cup a minute later, she met his eyes. “Voice is fine. It’s how I normally talk to people. Though I can do telepathically, if you want? Really, either is fine with me.” Charles watched her, taking a careful sip from his own sweetened, hot tea. “You are not obligated to partake in anything simply because others are fond of it, you know. If you would rather coffee, or chocolate, or something else, please ask for it.” Charles let his defenses down enough to be able to read surface Hope’s surface feelings: curiosity, uncertainty, distaste for the tea. “I am comfortable with either. In a world where those we live with and are closest to aren’t telepathic, needs must. Have you dealt much with other telepaths?” “I wish peanut butter was a drink flavor, but every time I’ve mentioned it, people give me funny looks. Chocolate is a flavor, and so are vanilla and strawberry, so why not peanut butter?” She shook her head and twisted the cup absently. “This is fine right now. Coffee is kind of worse than tea.” She sensed the shift, and carefully kept her own thoughts protected, aside from those surface thoughts. “I was raised by one who couldn’t use his powers because he had a virus in his blood that was exacerbated anytime he did. It killed him quicker if he used them. So I used them somewhat, but mostly he taught me how to survive without mutant abilities. Talking verbally is fine right now.” Charles chuckled. “I have students now who are fond of peanut butter milkshakes, on the times when they are allowed into the town for a Saturday. There is a small burger place that boasts too many milkshake flavors to count. I’m fond of the cherry, myself.” He left himself open, should Hope wish to dip her toe, so to speak. “How terrible for him. Have you been able to learn how to use your powers since then, and to control them?” She blinked, staring at him. “They do have those? I...really wish I had one right now, then. It’d be so much better than other drinks around here.” She set her cup down on the table beside her and shook her head a bit. She’d drink it anyway, because it was there and she’d been raised not to turn her nose up at any sort of food or beverage, but that didn’t mean she had to drink it quickly. Hope nodded, studying him. “Yes...it was a struggle, at first. Being around so many mutants all of a sudden, and being able to...to channel their abilities...I wore myself out quickly, in the beginning. But I’ve learned how to adapt, and how to tap into different abilities when they’re needed, and it isn’t overwhelming now. Not since everything that happened with us versus the Avengers, and the Phoenix.” Charles nodded. “They do, indeed. You might, perhaps, speak to those in charge of the kitchen, because they may be able to replicate it, if they have the ability to make ice cream, and have peanut butter.” He took a contemplative sip of his drink, and listened. Hope was so… serious. Grown up, even, but a grown up who had never known the sort of childhood joys that nearly everyone that he knew had had. She was not a person, so far as he knew, given to helpless fits of laughter or silliness, and this saddened him. “I am happy you’ve been able to, and perhaps here you will be able to experience anything you weren’t able to before; there are many young people here, you know.” “Maybe I will…” she said slowly, contemplating the idea. She’d had a milkshake once because her team had wanted them and someone had sent Gabriel to get them for everyone, but hers had just been chocolate. “What about a hot peanut butter drink? Is that possible?” Reaching out, she idly ran her finger along the edge of the tea cup, wiping it off. “Perhaps,” she replied, looking over at him again. “It’s not necessary, though. I’d rather fight whoever needs fighting and help everyone survive, if I can. Doing what needs to be done is what I’m used to.” He blinked, and admitted, “A hot peanut butter drink? I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of such a thing, but I’m hardly an expert.” Charles considered her, brow furrowed. Clearly, he disagreed. “Well, yes. It is necessary. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’? Not boring, exactly, because you and your experiences aren’t boring. But it does leave one a melancholy sort, not to have light and laughter, and the friendship of one’s peers. You are able to have all of that, Hope. Helping others and fighting the baddies, and the affection, laughter of those you hold dear.” “Well they have hot tea and coffee and hot chocolate. So why not hot peanut butter?” It definitely didn’t make sense to not have one, with all the others that existed, in her opinion at least. “No...who’s Jack? Is he a mutant?” Hope gave a faint shrug. “You sound like the counselor I had to talk to at home. But what happens when I find all of that while being part of a team that saves people’s lives, instead of doing what people call ‘normal’ things. I still have that while fighting baddies. It’s become normal for me.” A part of it too, and it slipped into her surface emotions just a little, was that she was afraid. She didn’t have normal emotions like other teenagers, or normal reactions to things, and after seeing how others reacted, she didn’t want those emotions. She was afraid of being weak. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s something that’s too common,” Charles said after a moment. After another moment he chuckled again. “Jack? No… it’s a saying, a bit of a cautionary tale, if you like.” Charles shifted, an undertaking when one could not move one legs. It did, however give him a moment to think, and to take in the wave of fear that wafted from Hope when she thought about going beyond what she had already experienced. “How long did you see your counselor?” “It should be,” she replied decisively. Though she hadn’t had a lot of varied modern food or drinks in her limited time in San Francisco, but she knew what she liked and disliked so far. Tea, not so much, but peanut butter? It was one of her favorites. At the explanation regarding Jack, she gave a nod, though she wasn’t sure if she fully understood. Her life had been “all work and no play,” but it had gone well for her. “Not very long. It was considered a good idea by everyone who wasn’t me after all that had happened, but mostly she just kept wanting to talk about why I would rather be doing other things instead of attending classes at their school. She thought I needed an adjustment period, but I didn’t. I don’t. I adapt.” Charles nodded, picking up and cradling his tea. He sipped from it, watching Hope and listening to what she said, and what she left unsaid. “Did she speak with you about anything you wanted to talk about?” And oh, the questions he had now. Who had her guardian been? What had her counselor told her guardian? What, exactly, had she been through? “We all do, you know. Adapt. It’s one of the beauties of being human, or mutant, for that matter. We adapt to our environments, the people we encounter. But sometimes, when we adapt, we aren’t able to clearly see that, perhaps, the ways that we have adapted aren’t quite good for us. It’s happened to me, and led to a decade of hiding away from everything that I am, and from all of the good I could have been doing.” He took another drink from his mug, and put it carefully on his desk, away from where it could be easily knocked over. “I’d like you to consider continuing your counseling. We have an excellent team, and there are a few of us who are mutant. It’s entirely your choice, Hope. But I think it would be an excellent for you.” “Not really. She just was focused on school for the most part. She wasn’t telepathic, so it may have been more difficult for her to counsel people, the way you and Rachel and Betsy do, here.” After a minute, wanting to do something with her hands, Hope lifted her own mug again and drank some of the tea, barely noticing the taste this time. She nodded her understanding as he spoke, then tilted her head as she studied him. “You hid away? I didn’t know that.” And Hope wasn’t entirely sure she could understand that, though she hadn’t really had a lot of time to do that, herself. At his next words, she hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “I guess, but I’m not sure I really see the point. I don’t need counseling, Professor.” “It was probably very difficult for her, yes. But I feel she had your best interests at heart. We adults set a lot of store by schooling, you know.” He took a deep breath, and nodded. “I did. I was injured, and lost the ability to lose my legs. I thought I had accepted my lot in life, and had even set up my school. But then the Vietnam War happened, and most of my male students were drafted into the military, and the school fell apart from there. I went into a very dark place, and walked away -- literally -- from my powers. A friend had found a way to allow me to walk, but it dampened my powers completely. I was there for a decade, and it’s a time I look on with great shame.” Thus having explained, simply, the choices he had made, he paused again. “It’s your choice, Hope, but my office is open to you. Think about it, and talk about it with those you trust -- Betsy, Rachel, even Logan. We’re all here for you, whatever you need.” Her eyes widened slightly, surprised, but she didn’t pass any judgement on him. Based on what he said, it was somewhat understandable that he’d retreat in such a way, even if she’d never been in that position herself. “...I’m sorry that happened to you, and that you were forced into a situation in which you had to make that choice,” she told him. Tilting her head a little, she gave a faint nod. “Thank you - I appreciate the offer. I’ll come...but really I don’t even know what I need to discuss that would require counseling.” “Thank you. But, up until I arrived here, I was where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to do. So my silver lining was there,” Charles replied, crooking a smile. “Do that. Perhaps one day you’ll want to tell me about your experiences -- or adventures, if you will.” Charles looked toward the door, then looked at his watch, and sighed. “And alas, it would appear that my free time for the morning is over. I’m about to take receipt of an unexpected patient. It was good chatting with you, Hope. I hope we’re able to do so often.” “And it looks like even here, you’re doing the same,” she pointed out. “Sure, I can tell you about it. It’s no secret.” That, at least, was one thing she’d had little experience with as well, keeping secrets from others when it wasn’t necessary. When he looked at his watch, she straightened up, then nodded and set the tea down, only then sensing someone approaching the office. “It was nice talking to you, too. And so do I,” she told him as she stood easily. Offering him a smile, the teenager then turned and headed for the door, leaving as quietly as she had entered. |