multiversallogs

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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.

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?"

That wasn't the reaction he was looking for, and he doesn't need to take a peek at her mind to realise what's going on.

"Oh, you mean --that's not me. I mean, that was me, but not...me. Aha." He gives a smile that tries to be charming more than embarrassed. "I think the word I'm looking for is 'alternate'?"

Charles, fortunately or unfortunately, hasn't quite grasped the full extent of what the future holds for him. Although he's becoming more and more curious, despite his initial worrying over whether or not he should try and find out.

"Oh - sure. Okay." She only met him once before, and briefly - it's not as if she knows him from home by anything other than towering reputation. But she nods, and says, "I'm Clarice Ferguson. We, um... I was going to say we have mutual acquaintances, but your acquaintances are all probably alternates of mine."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, with a warm smile. Meeting other mutants is still comparatively rare for him, so this is nice. Slightly awkward, but nice.

"Ah, yes. Apparently we all seem to get around." Oh, you have no idea, Charles.

She smiles a little. "Right. Some more than others. It's a little - okay, it's really weird, meeting alternates of people I knew, but I guess it's better than no familiar faces at all."

"It's strange for me, too. We're only just beginning to assemble ourselves in my world." Not that he's meaning to one-up anyone. "A couple of months ago, the only mutants I knew were my sister and I. Now I'm meeting my friend's grandchildren and working with xenians on a daily basis."

She looks at him a bit more closely. "What year did you come from, if you don't mind me asking?"

It honestly hadn't occurred to her that he (and Erik) could be her versions. But she supposes it's possible, at this young.

"1962. I'm twenty-seven-years-old, if that helps." If he sounds slightly unsure, it's only because he's not completely sure whether or not he wants details of the future.

She does some quick math, but it doesn't really help; she's already been told timelines don't align perfectly. She nods, though, and says, "I never knew the version of you in my world, but you're sort of famous. That's why I... I heard a lot about you, my whole life, so it's sort of weird meeting you. I mean, good, but really weird."

In 1962, in her world, he'd still be alive, but she's not sure whether he'd have been 27. She supposes it doesn't matter.

His eyebrows raise in surprise. Famous. Or sort of, at any rate. Either way, it's —well, it's a slight ego boost, but it's also somewhat bewildering.

"I can only hope it's the good kind of fame. Then again, there was a teenage girl here who said they mentioned me at her school. It would explain a lot." Like how people seem to know him and the way they react to his presence.

"Good famous," she promises. "I won't give you any details if you don't want, but definitely good famous." More for what he inspired than for what he actually got to do, but her world had few enough bright spots.

His mouth quirks up in a thoughtful little smile. "That's all I need to know." Charles may be determined to the point of error with his own ability and his goals (the word arrogant has been thrown around) but he still has moments of doubt. Especially lately, on meeting people from possible futures. It's nice to have some reassurance.

She considers him a moment, then says, "So what have you been doing since you got here?" She feels that's safe ground, and she won't be tempted to draw comparisons with her own world that way.

"Oh, I'm working as a genetics counselor at the Glory Shada. It's, um --in our world, the term is usually applied to hereditary conditions and diseases, but people's ancestry has a lot more variety here. Traits and abilities can skip a generation, and then there's children from inter-species marriage. Either way, I'm there to help people navigate uncharted territory." Not completely dissimilar to what he's been doing in his own world, or will continue to do. But with more magic and variety! At least it keeps him on his toes.

"That sounds interesting. Help in what way exactly?" When she thinks 'geneticist,' she thinks of... well, she thinks of McCoy, mainly, which leads her nowhere good, so generally she just doesn't.

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