[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]

"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.