[OPEN]

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & you.
What: Open post. Feel free to throw your characters at him.
Where: Mog Hill & Mafaton or somewhere in the central area of the city that your character is likely to bump into him.
When: Veerdi afternoon and evening.
Notes: None.
Warnings:  None.

With no afternoon appointments and no one needing his immediate help at the Glory Shada (he is a counselor, after all, and they tend to keep more regular hours), Charles decides to slip away from work early in order to window shop around the city. It's mostly to look at furniture and other essential household items, although bookshops and strange trinkets inevitably end up catching his eye. Every so often he can be seen in shops, snapping pictures on his CiD, enquiring after prices and how long someone will be able to keep a reservation. Occasionally he'll wander into a cafe for coffee or tea on the go, more to warm up on a chilly Ruundary than anything else.

While walking, he lets his mind idle around, picking up and sifting through passing thoughts as he goes. Despite some friendly warnings to be cautious and his own recent encounters with the unforeseen forces of Baedal, he really can't help himself at times.

Comments

@Mog Hill [warning for violence/gore/death in the link]

[controlledvariable]

Steph is coming home from her job at the university library, arms full of books, when she decides to stop for a coffee and something to eat. She's out of food at her room at the Inn, and doesn't feel up to grocery shopping tonight, so cafe food it is.

Armed with a large coffee and a slice of quiche and salad, Steph opens up one of the books she borrowed from work. Most of them contain information on Baedal, notes on history and politics. She's taking everything with a grain of salt, but it's better than being completely uniformed. She's not really paying attention to it, though.

Her thoughts are a mess, flashbacks from two nights ago combined with remembering what she saw the militia do and all piled on top of the general anxiety about being trapped in this city. Charles is free to pick up on these if he's nearby.

[cerebral]

Messy thoughts are not something Charles is wholly unused to, especially in this city. He's waiting for his order when he decides to skim through the thoughts of the people around him, but it's the combination in Steph's mind that gets his attention. That's a lot weighing on one person; it's also something he can sympathize with, given that he's new to the city himself.

Of course, it's a bit strange to walk up to someone you don't know and inquire about them and their well-being. So when Charles has his order, he walks past Steph's table rather casually and seemingly does a double-take at the books she's reading. He recognizes a few of the titles from his own knowledge quest a few weeks ago.

"Ah. I remember that work particularly well," he says, pointing at a spine. "Very dense. And not the greatest pillow in the world." Books always seem to be something one can be innocuously friendly over.

[controlledvariable]

She'd registered him walking nearby, but hadn't expected him to stop, so she tenses a little in surprise before forcing herself to relax and look up.

"Were you trying to learn by osmosis, or are you one of those people who forgets about things like beds when there's a book in front of them?" She says it with a smile, thinking of the people she knows who are like that.

But she's also weighing up Charles as she talks, trying to determine if he might be dangerous. But he looks nice enough and there's no visible weaponry, so she settles on categorizing him as harmless.

[andyoullmissit]

Clarice has, with her foghunting, made enough to rent herself a room; the inn is creepy, and she'd just as soon not stay there. She ends up in Mafaton a lot, still with her hood up more often than not - xenians may not be uncommon, and she's not ashamed, but sometimes she can do without being stared at.

But the sun comes out, a little warmer than is seasonable, and she can't help lowering it to let the sun warm her face. She's window-shopping too, and it's people's own problem if they decide to stare. Clarice remembers being a little girl in Miami, and getting much worse, before the world came crashing down around her ears.

The merchant selling throwing daggers, though, knows better than to scare away potential customers, and it feels weirdly normal, chatting about the merchandise in the open air. She's in a good enough mood when she turns, a little quickly, and hits Charles with her shoulder. "Oh - crap, sorry."

[cerebral]

Charles —who had been busy examining some neat little clockwork gadgets nearby— turns, a smile of non-offense already at the ready. He doesn't start at Clarice's appearance (his sister is blue, after all) but there's a waver in his glance as he says, "Oh, it's fine."

When he keeps looking at her, it's with something between curiosity and recognition that she's a fellow mutant.

[andyoullmissit]

Once she registers who it is, she says, "Oh shit, um, hey. It's you. Hello."

It is rather how she imagines someone running into MLK or Abraham Lincoln might feel. In some ways, weirder. "How are... um, things?"

[joiedeviolet]

Stationed on a plush sofa at the back of one of cafe, Kate looks like a normal young woman studying a thick novel, reminiscent of a college textbook. But look closer and you would realize that she isn't turning any of the pages nor are her eyes moving side to side if she was reading the words on the page. Even closer inspection would reveal there's something else tucked into the book: a picture of a family in happier times, a husband and wife and their two daughters, dressed to the nines and smiling at the camera. It's her and her family, a time before the matriarch of the family is gone and the three others are left to pick up their pieces.

She's staring at the photo as if she can make time go backward or even get them to come here, but Kate knows that this is just wishful thinking she can't stop.

[cerebral]

As promised, Charles backs out of Kate's mind as soon as he realises that she's in the cafe. Although he can't help but pick up on the feelings she's projecting (that's okay, right? Right.)

And so he makes his way over, a tea-to-go in one hand, satchel in the other and a warm smile as he approaches. "Hello again. I hope you don't mind my interrupting, only I thought it would be nice to meet in person." Also he is concerned about your current emotional well-being, slightly mysterious young lady.

[joiedeviolet]

(No, that's not really okay, but there's no stopping a telepath, right?)

She's still deep in her thoughts when Charles comes up and Kate quickly closes the book with a loud thump, realizing she looks suspicious way after the fact. Sigh. What is her life?

"Hi, Professor Xavier," she says with a nervous laugh, sliding the book off her lap and onto the couch next to her. Oh god. Did he poke around in her head even though she told him not to? That's the thing with people with his powers; you never know if you can actually trust them.

[phreak]

Balancing an uneven box of solar panel supplies on one hip, Alter stops in the middle of the street trying to regain her bearings. It's taking her longer than she'd like to get used to the ebb and flow of information in Baedal and it leaves her disoriented without the 'typical' landmarks she needs to navigate by. The CiD are lovely, it's true, but the lack of cellphone towers is just plain freaky.

Should anyone walk by, she'll look just like a young lady in need of a map.

[cerebral]

And Charles is only happy to give assistance. He notices the look on Alter's face as he's about to pass by and slows down with a little frown of concern.

"Hello. Do you need any help?"

[phreak]

Alter's laugh is more of a cackle or a crowing than anything else. It's bright, carefree, and shows that she is genuinely amused.

"Oh, cutie, you don't even know the half, but for now, I'd do with a finger towards the Valhalla?" Should Charles pick up on anything in her head, there might be something that 'sounds' rather a lot like static -- not that she's blocking him out, but legitimately like static or some other industrial, mechanical feedback.

text;

[cerebral]

While scooting about, a text finds its way to Erik's CiD.

I know I'm meant to be looking at furniture, but I quite like this set.

And a picture accompanies it.

[magnetic]

Officially, this one is a forerunner in the ranking of messages Erik did not expect to receive today. Or ever, probably.

Looks fine.

...Yes, that is the sum total of his input. (Look, his priorities do not usually include place settings, what do you want from him.)

[cerebral]

Well, that was about the reaction he expected, but he's unsure about where the line is with 'buying things straight off' and 'asking for opinions first.'

Good. We need something to eat the take-away from other than the box.

Later, in another shop, there's a text of:

Actually, this is better.

Then:

No, we have a winner.

Mog Hill, mid/late afternoon?

[charismatic]

At the moment, Will is still mostly thinking about apartments. The spider thing he was testing earlier today (he's apparently decided to call all the experimental vehicles after the most familiar animal reference now) apparently did a lot better than the lady who made it had been expecting, so Will got a bonus – which is good, because the two other things he was slated for today both failed very quickly, if unspectacularly. That means there's more time for scuttling around looking at apartments, after he goes back to the Inn and changes out of his flight suit.

It doesn't get him looked at oddly, around here, and it's not uncomfortable, but he's not sure how it'll look to prospective landlords. And, now that he's actually making some money, he's got a couple of changes of clothing that he picked out himself. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to pick up a couple more, if he can do it relatively cheaply, so he pauses to peer at a shop window thoughtfully. Probably a bit too high end for him.

He goes in anyway, wandering past the clothing to what seems to be a random collection of small housewares. He picks up a mug, and then pauses, looking at someone taking a picture of a set of dishes. “Asking someone's opinion?” he asks, less nosy than just wanting to talk to someone.

[cerebral]

Charles glances up from what he was doing, jolted out of his thought process, before smiling mildly. "Something like that." He straightens up and clicks a few buttons while carrying on the conversation.

"I was lucky to have a friend here on arrival, so we're sharing a house. Crockery isn't exactly his area of expertise, but I'm used to having a sister help me with these things." He finishes what he's doing and pockets the device. "Not to mention he'll be eating off of it as well."

There's a nonchalent little half-shrug, a slightly widened smile, at life and it's seemingly trivial domestic details.

[studious_snake]

Walking through Mafaton, headed toward the pet store, Jay was planning on getting a few feeder rats. He considered, though, that he might like to get a snake as well, perhaps to flavor the rats to make them more appealing, if he had enough money. Although, he would feel a bit guilty doing that, seeing as they didn't usually have many snakes and they were really meant to be pets, not food. As he continued to consider this, the mental image of swallowing a rat snake while in his snake form floated to the top of his thoughts, and he realized it wasn't like the owner of the pet store would know what he wanted a snake for, anyway. Still, doing it too often would likely get a bit suspicious.

Reaching the window of the pet store, he peered in, remembering the post over the network reminding people that the pets were not to be eaten. He really should just stick to the rats, though that would be suspicious in and of itself.

[cerebral]

The image of an incredibly large snake devouring another, much smaller snake was not something Charles was prepared for; a cautionary tale for any telepath in Mafaton. From behind Jay, there is a small noise and, if he turns around, he'll see a smartly dressed gent wincing and blinking several times for a minute.

Not that he's judgmental --perhaps there are things Charles eats that Jay would find unsavoury.

i remember certain SOTG plans 8D

[hearditbothways]

There is a mind that clearly works different from the ones surrounding it. It's a complex structure of multitudinous thoughts, ongoing, never stopping. The stream of consciousness is combined with strong, visual images of the city, each of them accompanied by their own, distinct set of information. Some of these are more imminent, others tend to work subtly in the background, but all of this is there, seemingly out of nowhere, sorted, filed away, stored.

Sometimes there are moments of a certain structure and rigidity, which are immediately torn apart by chaos and distraction, fleeting inanities, undercurrents of memories, random contemplations and right now, some 80s music playing in the background.

Shawn himself can be found wandering the streets, awkwardly shuffling his hands around, seemingly overwhelmed by the task of eating a sandwich without having crumbs and chunks falling everywhere.

bring it B)

[cerebral]

All minds are unique, but some are certainly more unique than others. Shawn's is quite fascinating to Charles and he can't help but get momentarily distracted by the various goings-on that are flying around in the other man's head.

So much so that, when walking past him, he absently starts humming the tune of whatever that 80's song is. It's obviously something he's never heard before, but whatever it is, it's catchy.

[supersonic]

In one such cafe, there's a certain white-haired speedster waiting in line at the counter. For him, it wasn't the chill – he's used to that, and his mutation gives him a few degrees advantage besides – but the simple need for sustenance that necessitated the stop. It's been a few hours since he went out to explore the city, and as much as he dislikes eating at the snail's pace necessitated by doing so in public, he will need something before too long.

Luckily, this place carries some manner of bottled protein shake. Unluckily, he has to stand in the line behind every person ordering custom-made beverages who can't quite seem to decide what they want before he can pay for his.

So while he waits, he's running through segments of War and Peace in his head at the approximate pace of a chipmunk on speed, whilst intermittently considering where to look next for reasonably-priced clothing, whether molded plastics are common enough in the city that he can avoid the necessity of a metal watch, and if he can drink this at his natural speed without getting stared at or if he should fake it in this part of town.

[cerebral]

Charles is similarly bored waiting in line, which of course means utilizing his own mutant powers to keep himself amused (with great powers comes great responsibility, etc, etc). Pietro stands out for two reasons: Charles can tell that he's a mutant, but the sound of War and Peace whizzing by in an Alvin-esque voice is hilarious if sort of dizzying, and he lets out a small chuckle of laughter before giving up the game entirely.

Of course, he's standing directly behind Pietro when that happens. Naturally.

tell me if there's anything off! :)

[leviohhhhsa]

The general sense Hermione's mind gives is of being crowded- thoughts inside thoughts inside thoughts, plans inside plans, ideas and ideas and more ideas- but shockingly well-organised. At the moment, there are, as usual, a thousand and one things on her mind- I hope Sebastian's going to be alright; I should buy more cat food; perhaps I'll have time to work on my translations this evening; the funny thing about Protean Charms is that they're as much a form of transfiguration as a charm...

She frowns, puts down her tea- because yes, this is what her mind is like even when she's trying to relax in a cafe- and reaches for a tiny little purse most would use to keep loose change in, shoves her arm in to the elbow without the purse seemingly growing at all and pulls out a notebook and pen. This is all completely matter-of-fact; the upside of Baedal is that magic is expected and largely unremarked upon, and she can use it without worrying about who sees her. Her plans to preserve ther thoughts for posterity, however, are unfortunately dashed by a lack of ink- and she has her hand halfway to her pocket before she realises that a repairing charm wouldn't work, that she's already used a refilling charm on it and another might not function very well, and that due to wizards not using pens she's never come across a way to conjure one. She could probably wave her wand and have words appear, but it's not actually something she's tried before due to the intense amount of concentration necessary and the relative simplicity in just finding a pen.

Blast.

It's this somewhat convoluted chain of events that leads to her trying to catch the attention of the young man who happens to walk by with a take-away cup of some hot beverage in his hand, her voice slightly apologetic but polite when she speaks. "Excuse me- sorry- you don't happen to have a pen on you, do you? Or a pencil. Anything, really."

nope. ten points to gryffindor!

[cerebral]

"Oh, certainly." The takeaway cup is popped down on her table with a gracious smile, while Charles rifles through his satchel. As he does so, he picks up on a smattering of the details floating around in Hermione's mind --and what he really hones in on is the mentions of magic, because he's been trying to come to terms with some of the finer points of thaumaturgy lately. It's only right to make sure he has a decent knowledge about the many variants of people in the city as possible, given the nature of his work.

A few photocopies of articles on xenian genetics, a worn second-hand copy of The English Patient (because what fun is timelines crossing if you can't get some new reading material?) and a moleskin diary are set beside his cup before he finally comes across what he was looking for. "Of course, it always ends up right at the bottom," he says, passing a capped fountain pen over to her.