[closed] weary and worn little monster is born

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & Irene Adler.
What: Let's have dinner.
Where:  The Witching Hour, East Gidd.
When: Misdi evening.
Notes: None yet.
Warnings: ...probably.

It had been several days since Erik had woken up, which meant that, finally, Charles had allowed himself to rest --at least to the best of his ability. The previous weeks still haunted him in terrible ways, but everyone was dealing with something, and so he tucked it away along with every other concern or feeling he didn't want to announce. Life goes on.

And he had promised a friend dinner. So he chose somewhere with good food, a great wine list and an indulgent but quiet atmosphere in order to toast shaky victories in a way that required as little effort as possible.

He's standing in the lounge area, which once was and still serves as a library room part-time, examining the spines of old books as he waits for Irene to arrive.

Comments

[cerebral]

And it's a thought that he definitely picks up on. Please ignore the fact that his cheeks have gone slightly pink and that he's biting his bottom lip while he smiles. "I hope you're not speculating on my propriety, Ms. Adler." His menu is raised just a touch.

"I could guess as much." It is Baedal, after all: a corrupt society that allows some liberal thinking here and there, so long a it makes thing easier for them. "Not that I went around actively looking."

Being a telepath in The Vault is akin to mental tightrope walking.

[thedominatrix]

Irene gives a delighted laugh, scanning her own menu idly.

"Clever. Information's dangerous- I ought to know. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be so useful, but there is such a thing as being too sharp for your own good. As I think I've said to you before." She flicks a page over, and adds in a nonchalant murmur, "-you unlikely hedonist, you."

'Hedonist' is an exaggeration, of course, and she's very much aware of it, but she doesn't think it's wrong to call him a thrill-seeker, not considering how they met. And she does love the contrast between his gentlemanly manners and academic and political interests- which she doesn't believe are anything but genuine- and his extracurricular activities. Not that she's ever thought they were incompatible. It's just a pleasant break from expected norms.

Anyway, she likes making people blush.

[cerebral]

Definitely an exaggeration; one that makes Charles give a momentary laugh that calms into a chuckle.

"You did indeed. Although you should know," and he shoots a little glance towards Irene, "I can do a lot more than that. In fact, I think it might be time for a quick demonstration."

He picks up the wine glass that's sitting to his rest elbow and appears to crush and roll it in his hands. It looks --and sounds-- very real, although there's no blood or cuts forming on his hands. When he opens his palms and lays them on the table for Irene to inspect, the shards have seemingly transformed into well-cut, clear diamonds.

"What I can do goes beyond reading minds." And he examines one of the little jewels for a moment, clearly reminded by the state of things in his own world before he was called to Baedal. "Luckily, I do my best to use my abilities for good. There are others in my world that --well. I'm glad they're not here."

[thedominatrix]

She blinks and sits back, eyes widening slightly, at first wondering if this is some new, entirely unrelated power he's only just now seen fit to mention. And yet...what I can do goes beyond reading minds.

"I don't-" Understand. But then she thinks she might, and cuts herself off.

Is it really happening?

For a moment, she actually ignores what he's saying to stare at the diamonds, distinctly unnerved by the idea that what she's seeing might be wrong, but urging herself to deal with it rather than let it rise to the surface.

By thinking about the possible applications for that kind of power. Dear God.

"Luckily," she says, eyes on the diamonds before she glances up and grins at him, knowing fine well he knows she's thinking things that aren't nearly so heroic- well, he's a grown up, he can deal with it, and it's amazing what you can dilute with a charming enough smile. "You would be terrifying. But I'm a bit bored of terrifying, you know- it almost seems too easy- so thank goodness for your morals."

[cerebral]

He tilts his head at those thoughts for a moment, then shakes his head smiling. It's not shock so much as oh, you.

"I try to veer away from terrifying." That's not to say he can't be --of course he knows how much his abilities unnerve people. "I prefer to be a shameless show-off instead." At every available opportunity so far. Honestly.

At that point, a waiter comes over and asks if they're ready to order drinks, or anything else for that matter. Charles looks over to Irene, asking, "Shall I order us a bottle of wine?"

[thedominatrix]

She puts her chin on her hand and all but flutters her eyelashes, as if to agree; oh, me.

If you've got to be a horrible person, you should at least be exceedingly charming about it, because it's amazing what people will romanticise- though in his case, she's not sure that's what he does. She supposes he's seen worse than her. It's both vexing and amusing.

"Oh, I know your type, no need to explain. And yes. A dry white, I think." In a tone which implies and therefore, that's what will happen.

[cerebral]

"I have a type." His eyes flick up from the wine list as he points out something to the waiter, before settling back into their conversation. He seems a little curious by what Irene has just said --he's used to figuring out other people, and he's used to their assumptions about him. But for once, there's someone in front of him who might get it right, or at least hit closer than others.

As a result, he refrains from reading her mind. It's not often something like this happens.

"What would that be?"

[thedominatrix]

"Mm," she purrs, closing her eyes for a few moments as if it's going to help her her think, then opening them to show a renewed, slightly ferocious intensity.

"The clever sort of man no one really gets to," she says, her chin still on her hand; there's something a little unnerving about the edge in her expression. She almost looks hungry, as if she's trying to get something out of him. "Not because he doesn't have friends, or because of any failing of his own, but because he's not the same as anyone else. And he doesn't want to be. Ever. It'd kill him. And on one hand, you see, he gets a lot of admiration for his abilities, and he likes that- but it's not the same. It's not...equal. It's not real connection. It's not with somebody who can grasp all those dreadful, wonderful things locked up inside that head of his, which is what he wants, because there has to be an understanding or it's good but just...not...good enough. It's a big, lonely universe when you're that clever, Mr Xavier."

--she says, describing Sherlock and herself and almost everybody she thinks is halfway interesting.