[closed]

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & Erik Lehnsherr.
What: Chillin' post-hangover and squidbabby revelations.
Where: Casa del X-Bro.
When: Shunday.
Notes: None.
Warnings: None.

Psyche-not: for when the busy mind needs a break. Quietens psionic, psychic and other mental abilities. Not to be consumed by anyone without*. See instructions for brewing.

*If you do, CONTACT A PHYSICIAN IMMEDIATELY.

Charles had eyed the little packet for five minutes before he'd given in. If he didn't know any better, he would say tiny men had invaded his skull and were making room for their furniture (which wasn't out of the question, given this city). A hangover on top of telepathy meant that everything was insufferably loud in strange and interesting ways and his sleep from morning until late afternoon still left him short of feeling even close to normal.

Hopefully tea that included something a little extra to it would help his will to live.

Ten minutes later and he's lying stretched out on a couch in the sun room, pale and huddled in a cardigan and pajamas, steaming cup next to him on the table as he stares at the ceiling and feels the strange, mentally numbing effect of the brew.

The growing silence is the most peculiar feeling but with it comes a strange relief.

Comments

[magnetic]

It's late afternoon when the usual sequence of sounds—the lock rolling open, the door swinging open and then shut, and again the deadbolt snapping back into place—signal Erik's return to the house. That's what he calls it, the house, never home. That word has been scarce in his vocabulary for years now.

Once he's shed his boots, coat and hat, he sets about performing the usual cursory check of the main floor, intending afterward to bathe and to head back out again. He's been restless since the...event, let's call it, unable to find much satisfaction in sitting around with a book or whatever, always wanting to be doing something, his motor always running. This coming Newdi should have been his first day back on the job, but he has been out on most days he's been able, regardless of the leave granted to him, maintaining plain-clothes patrol on foot or on horseback, compelled by the urge to maintain vigilance.

His inspection is not silent, but nearly so, his position betrayed only by the creaks in the floor. (He knows where each will occur and can avoid them if desired.) Not that his housemate needs such a mundane thing as a sound to track him, of course—perhaps Charles anticipates his intended presence in the doorway long before he occupies it. Or perhaps, thanks to the tea, he doesn't. Either way, Erik appears there presently, pauses, and then leans against the frame by one arm, wearing a look that is by now not unfamiliar to the telepath.
The telepath who is lying there in his jammies.

"Long night out?"

[cerebral]

Erik's presence does actually startle Charles, who seemed to have been on the edge of dosing a moment ago. On top of immediately stiffening --which Erik will know is unusual for him-- he also grasps the side of the couch, as if he were about to fall off. The panic in his eyes dissipates when he sees who it is, which proceeds to mental scolding because who else would it be.

Easing back down again, he makes a sort of 'nngh' noise that can roughly be translated to agreement, then manages, "Something like that," and closes his eyes once more.

And then something else occurs to him, and his face becomes slightly more serene, smiling even, as he says, "One hundred thousand dollars should be a good start towards establishing a community outsource project in this city, don't you think?"

One eye is peeked open slightly. He hopes that elicits some kind of positive reaction from his friend. Of course, he has no way of knowing.

[magnetic]

Well, that's an interesting reaction. Erik doesn't think much of it, apparently, as he doesn't comment on it—or it could be that he's just now been derailed entirely by what seems like a total non sequitur from...anything. Cue eyebrow lift. Cue slowly delivered response: "Yes, that would certainly help..."

Cue explanation?

[cerebral]

"They brought me a family heirloom; a diamond tiara that belonged to my great-aunt Margaret, although it was passed around for various weddings."

Charles opens his eyes and stares idly at the ceiling as he recants the rest. "But it's mine now and, oddly enough, it doesn't look as pretty on me as it did my mother. So --tomorrow I'll call around to evaluators and auction houses." He chews at his lip for a moment, before finally murmuring, "And for once, something good will have happened in four months."

[magnetic]

The puff of breath he lets out here, with a little hum and all, it's more or less the pale ghost of a laugh. You don't have to tell him about life sucking, sir, he is well aware.

"You're sure you want to sell it?" He figures that Charles has done enough thinking about it that yes, he is, in fact, sure of this decision, but it seems polite to ask anyway. Given the closest thing Erik has to an heirloom is the coin in his pocket, he's not sure how he would feel about receiving, out of the blue, anything that once belonged to any member of his family.

[cerebral]

"I feel a little guilty in case Raven chooses to get married some day, but I think she'd understand." The possibility of a wedding of his own is distinctly absent. Besides which, the advocation of xenian rights is more important, and it always will be, and he would devote his entire fortune if he could. As Erik would no doubt do with his own 'acquired' wealth.

"Anyway," and he rolls his head to the side, focusing on his friend. "How has your day been?"

[magnetic]

"Uneventful."

This is a brush-off answer, yes, with no indication that he's trying to cover anything up. There wouldn't be much in the way of visible hints if he were hiding something, but still—nothing extraordinary has happened today, at least so far. It could be, also, that the mention of Raven has inspired him to shoulder his way out of conversational focus entirely before he can stop to think about it. It's the usual knee-jerk assertion of control, however mild.

So he rolls his train of thought back a few minutes, and gives the sort of up-nod that often accompanies a question. "What about you? You seem a bit nervous."

[cerebral]

"You startled me." His tone of voice even sounds a touched surprised at the thought, as though something deeply wrong had just occurred. He moves, however, to prop himself up on his elbows for an explanation.

"I, um. I was recommended a tea while I was recovering post-crisis that inhibits my abilities. It allows me to...recover, I suppose. Sort of like switching off to re-charge." And, inspired to make things more jovial, he nods towards his cup, "So for the next couple of hours, go mad and think about everything you normally hold off on."

[magnetic]

As Xavier explains, the lines of Erik's face soften slowly into a look of concern and curiosity, both. It's a far more honest expression than the previous mask of indifference, and as it arises he moves away from the door to seat himself on the chair nearest his friend, occupying hardly half the cushion's depth. The way his eyes move as he settles there, observing details with flicks of acute alertness, you'd think he were searching for some sign of illness.

"How does it work?"

[cerebral]

"The tea is blended with a dried herb --amazing really, it's a thaumaturgically evolved plant that was brought to Baedal. You see, the brain is stressed differently in people with psionic, psychic and other mental abilities and this works to reduce any overproduction on the mind's part, or in my case, relieve it for a while." In amongst his explanation, he notices Erik's change in expression and, in response, makes his own as carefree as he can manage, his tone easy, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. His telepathy might be hindered, but he's still observant, after all.

"It's as common as paracetamol." A slight exaggeration. "Or putting your arm in a brace if you've strained it. Sort of makes me wonder about the possibilities --not that I want to get rid of my mutation." The last part is said more sharply than he intended, before softening to explain, "Only it's...nice, in a strange way. Everything is very quiet."

[magnetic]

"I can't imagine."

When he looks at the cup, sitting there on the table so innocuously, Erik wonders what it must be like to possess an ability that affects the brain itself. To be at the mercy of one's own gift in such a way is an unsettling idea. All the same, the ready availability of this...medicine, drug, whatever one chooses to call it, does nothing whatsoever to assuage his suspicion—but the way Charles delivers that assertion about his abilities does mollify him somewhat. Barely. For the moment.

"Is this the first time you've used it?"

[cerebral]

"Yes." He had, in fact, put it off for the longest time and chosen to recover as naturally as possible post-battle. "And no, you can't." It's spoken softly and lacking any admonishment; a simple fact.

He sits up properly then, face very pale and serious as he looks at his friend. "I know my ability bothers people. Even other xenians. But in a way I was --I believe my intelligence and my mutation are linked. One was preparing me for the manifestation of the other. And even then, I was seven when I became aware of my telepathy. And I've gotten used to it. Telling me not to use it is like telling you not to use your elbow joints. You can, but it's difficult, and you'll always remember just how easy everything was when you could."

His gaze drops for a moment. "And in combination with that, you have this place."