multiversallogs | with his back to the audience

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with his back to the audience

Who: Charles Xavier, John Allerdyce, and NPC Jacqueline Travieso
What: hi professor this is my spawn i am very sorry about erik please give me a job
Where: Madrasati
When: the Thursday after they spoke
Notes: FYI. Also, anybody who works at Madrasati is welcome to join in, if you feel so moved (PYRO CR IS SO ENTICING I KNOW >_>). Just start a new thread.
Warnings: n/a

It's been awkward, of course. John has little idea of what it takes, day to day, to raise a kid, even one as undemanding as Jacqueline. Just because she doesn't demand his attention, however, doesn't mean she has no need of it, or wouldn't appreciate it. He's not sure what the balance between attentiveness and smothering is, but under the circumstances, erring on the side of the first seems better than the other way around.

She did cry the first night without her mom. It's the first time he's ever really tried to comfort her since she was a baby. He can't be much of a reassurement, but he's better than nothing. He's at least somewhat familiar.

Today, she is interested in the El Train and its procession from Mog Hill to Echomire, peering out the window, examining other passengers, and occasionally giving her new red rain boots a casual but deliberate swing. Ana has never been much for restricting Jacqueline's clothing choices, apart from the safety concerns, and John doesn't intend to be either. Rain boots are practical, as far as he's concerned. And if she wants to wear a maroon... jumper dress thing with a many-pocketed vest, well, fine. Whatever. She's warm, pockets are very practical, it's Baedal, no one cares.

The Madrasati building is sort of old English gloomy, even though it's not terribly overcast today. John conscientiously holds Jacqueline's hand as they proceed up the path. He's not nervous, only concerned, or so he tells himself; there's a low level jitteriness in his mind, a controlled tension in his body and the way he moves, but he's careful with Jacqueline's hand. Jacqueline herself is a bright streak of active awareness, taking in the shrubbery and the house layout with equal curiosity. She is not accustomed to holding hands with an adult anymore but is tolerant of it for John's sake, dimly aware of the meaningfulness behind the gesture as much as the physical comfort it gives both of them.

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Echomire seems to have that effect on what remains of it. Inside Madrasati is a different case altogether; it's well lit and welcoming, with plants and seating areas that have carefully co-ordinated tables with fanned pamphlets. The reception area was probably a parlour once upon a time, only an alcove has been cut out of one wall and fitted with a wooden counter and bell, past which is the administrators office.

Except there's no need for anyone to ding or pass on a message to Charles. He tends to keep out of people's minds unless he's being asked to, but he's very aware of his surroundings and who enters them. As soon as John and Jacqueline enter, he's already taken the time to go 'what?' in his office and wheel out to the foyer. By then, his face is impassive and friendly.

"Now you, I already know," he addresses John, which has all the intonations of 'we'll discuss this later,' (to be fair, he doesn't sound mad, maybe something between bemused and exasperated). Then, turning his attention towards Jacqueline, "But not you. I'm Charles." He actually holds out his hand to shake, which he knows is ridiculously formal, but then he remembers how annoying it was to be a bright child and treated childishly.

John appears abashed nonetheless, muttering a low greeting, something like 'yeah hi'. His hope and fear is right there in his face as much as his mind — the belief that Charles would probably prefer not to see or speak to him, but might find it harder to refuse for Jacqueline's sake. Which does not imply a very flattering idea of who Charles is, but John has never known Charles Xavier very well. He mentally sinks back into his accustomed puddle of guilt like an alligator in a swamp, only his eyes peeking out. And, of course, he releases Jacqueline's hand.

She is a small girl, solemn but not shy. Her handshake has an answering formality bordering on artificial primness; something about the atmosphere as she perceives it here keeps her expression grave.

"I'm Jacqueline," she says dutifully, the precision of the name emphasized to indicate she prefers the full version as opposed to a shortened nickname. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Charles."

From the way John is hanging back and watching, it's clear he had no part in teaching her manners, though he's not surprised by them either. John automatically thinks: professor, but embarrassed, keeps it to himself. More or less.

"Just Charles will do. Anyone calling me doctor or professor makes me feel about one hundred. And I'm not balding yet." It's one of those cheesy adult jokes for Jacqueline's sake, but it includes a slight dig in John's direction (for no other reason than he can - motivated and detail orientated chairman, indeed.)

"If you'll both follow me," and he wheels about with a new found expertise, heading in the direction of his office, bumping it open himself and holding the door open once he's in. The room is filled with books, a couch to the far side which serves well for naps, a low wheelchair accessible desk and seating for visitors. There's also a pin-board filled with pictures drawn by children, because Charles is exactly that type of sentimental. The only difference in Baedal is that when the skin is coloured in green and purple, there's a good chance that's what the kid actually looks like.

"Now," he says, stopping his chair in front of his desk, slanting it towards the seating for this part. "Did your father tell you anything about this visit?"

John's poker face hasn't gotten much better with age. It's only good enough to fool, say, a seven year old girl, which in the end, is pretty much the only purpose it serves anymore. Behind the stoic expression, he's starting to go over the phrasing of exactly what he's going to say after this with a writer's compulsiveness.

Jacqueline looks around the office, finding it less imposing than the exterior of the building, but has no problem refocusing on Charles once he addresses her.

"He said you were a mutant who helps other mutants figure things out, and he said in this case you'd probably help him more than me cause I don't make anything blow up, he just wants to understand how I do things."

At that point, she glances at John to check that what she said was okay, and seeing only his encouraging nod, looks back at Charles inquisitively. "He said you can hear me think if you want."

Ah, more of John's stellar lie-or-at-least-not-the-whole-truth craftsmanship, but at least in this case, giving a bright kid a rundown on what telepaths can do probably isn't the best option. With this amount of information, phrased the way John had phrased it, Jacqueline isn't afraid or worried. She thinks it sounds useful and interesting, like holding a glass against someone's head and pressing your ear against the bottom, only better because neither she nor Charles could reach someone's head. With this strange and naive view of things, she suddenly feels greater solidarity for Charles. Sure, they're both mutants, and Charles is very nice and like some of her teachers back home, but what's really important here is the fact they're lower to the ground than other people.

(It doesn't occur to her that she'll grow, or that their respective situations are not in the least equatable. She makes vast cognitive leaps all the time thanks to her mutation, and this one seems to make as much sense. Because tiny.)

Charles can only imagine the simplified explanation of telepathy John has told Jacqueline, but he'll roll with it (ha). "I can. I was the same age as you when my ability developed. I thought I was overhearing someone's conversation, until I realised they weren't talking. But I'll tell you something I don't tell everyone --the hearing part isn't the fun bit."

He gives a soft clap with both of his hands and, when Charles opens them, there's a butterfly settled in the palm of his hands.

"My little sister used to love when I did this, even if it was only a trick." In essence, it's what Charles can do to help others and make them happy that makes him proud of his mutation. Peel everything away and there's still something of that nine-year-old boy in striped pajamas inviting strangers to stay, at the heart of things.

"That's why we need to figure out what you can do. You might be able to do one thing now --just like me-- but who knows when you grow-up? Like school. You start off by learning your abc's, but then you're able to read books and write stories."

The butterfly now flutters away, out the open window (because even if Jacqueline is smart, he's learned better than to make his illusions 'die' in front of them, to the dismay of one wailing patient.) "So, would you mind if I have a little peek?"

The initial thought burst of how did he do that is like the tip of an iceberg, the rest of her ability held beneath the water of her mind because it's not analyzable the same way other demonstrable skills are. Little abortive attempts start and stutter to a stop, a few other thoughts intruding: he said it is a trick, it is like school, now he said peek instead of hear, dad is not saying anything at all. She tears her eyes away from the window the butterfly left through and looks back at Charles, concerned but more interested than worried. No ramifications have occurred to her personally, but there is a formality in the asking for her permission, and the silence from John means this is more important than it seems.

"Okay," she says, bemused, after considering what her mom might have said. The consultation of the inner mom dictionary/encyclopedia has become a more frequent occurrence since starting to live with John, though sometimes, as with the exact hour of her usual bed time, she has made quiet adjustments. (To adjust for the time zone, she has rationalized. If you go to another universe it is certainly another time zone, just as likely to be one hour early as one hour late.)

Such are the things currently on her mind, mixed in with worry about being with her dad, who has always been regarded, in her household, with a mixture of exasperation, mistrust, and reluctant fondness — an unreliable and difficult to understand person who shows up every few weeks or perhaps not for months to take her to the zoo or to go out and talk awkwardly. This is the most time she's ever spent with him that she can remember. It's not bad (yet)...

Beneath that, she has been puzzling over the CiD, which has many interesting functions, some of which are blocked or limited in various ways. She has been investigating the workings of the El Train but the engine is obviously not available to be touched or taken apart. Usually, she has to be sneaky about touching things, and here, she's much more cautious because there are different rules, dad said. It would be interesting if you could touch people and figure out how they made butterflies appear, but that's never worked before.

Charles listens to all of this --views the El Train, the memories of Ana, through Jacqueline's eyes-- because it's listening and hearing but neither at the same time. He focuses mostly on those little, bursting attempts, and finds it fascinating in the way he finds everything fascinating, but also because the less demonstrable powers are so unusual and he doesn't always comes up against them.

What he does gather is that Jacqueline's abilities work better on things rather than people, although he wonders if that will change in time. What would happen if she were given charts of the circulatory system? Or when she was old enough to dissect a frog in a biology class? They would have to see. But right now, he has an idea. While he makes vague hemming sounds, there's a knock and a kind, green skinned, xenian woman pops her head around the door. She has small scales ascending up her fingers instead of nails, which shimmer as she holds the frame.

"Yes, Charles?" He turns in his chair, smiling.

"Ilyandra, hello. Could you please fetch the electric kettle that's sitting broken in the kitchen and a screwdriver?" While she goes to get said items, he turns back to the pair in front of him, addressing Jacqueline in particular.

"You are a remarkable young lady." He puts a sincere yet wholly British emphasis on the word remarkable. "I bet you're used to teachers telling you you're smart all the time, but it's true. Now, I've had a listen --or peek, it's a little of both-- but when Ilyandra comes back, I want to you to--" There's a knock at the door. "Ah, that was quick."

The kettle and screwdriver are handed over to Charles, before Ilyandra again. Charles starts to unscrew the bottom, exposing the wired contents of the appliance. "As I was saying, I want to listen while you have a look at this. Have a seat and get comfy, take it apart, go crazy and chuck the wires against the wall if you want to." He doubts that'll happen, it's mostly added for emphasis. But here, Jacqueline, have a kettle.

While this goes on, Charles pops the screwdriver back on his desk as he watches, speaking side-on to John as he does so. "Did you have any success with the schools?"

Not wanting to interrupt adult conversation, Jacqueline gives Ilyandra a small, silent wave while Charles is turned away, and John nods politely, still taken up in furious composition. When it comes to putting words together, the task at least focuses him, and puts the guilt on a lower priority attention level (which was probably the point).

When the kettle comes and Charles gives her his instructions, Jacqueline promptly sits on the floor like a kid waiting for lego bricks. John rarely enjoys having his things taken apart, and the CiD is off limits for obvious reasons.

"Okay!" Her manner is still somewhat restrained, but she's keen on this kind of task. As she pokes about the kettle's wiry innards, the mental map — supplied in healthy part by previous electronic excursions involving her mom's hair dryer and the television remote — of the kettle grows in organic bursts, like little buds on a bush all opening one after another. She has been told before that microwaves do not actually heat food, but the explanation was a bit much to grasp, and she was then forbidden to take theirs apart with a vague promise of a garage sale microwave in the future. It hadn't happened yet.

As for the outer shell, if it were bigger, it might make a decent replacement for the helmet, she thinks vaguely. Dad can be so curiously protective of his things sometimes...

John breaks off his compulsive wording and rewording to answer Charles. "Uh, it's down to a place suggested by someone on the cohort network in Sangwine, or a bigger one in Aspic."

There's a strange moment when Charles visibly pauses --right about when he picks up on the helmet (what helm-- oh)-- that can be best described as an inward 'hrrk.' If this was a slapstick movie, he would be equipped with a drink to spit out.

"Um, that's uh-- that's good." He clears his throat, stiff upper-lip being put strategically back in place. It's the first time he wonders whether hiring John is a good idea or not. On the one hand, he's not in the habit of straying into people's minds whenever he wants any more. Time and experience in a non-human community have taught him the importance of telepathic etiquette.

And on the other hand, he wants to go into John's mind and soak up every detail of the person he misses so much it's like a physical ache. It's wrong, of course, in an ethical sense and because he knows, he knows he has to distance himself from those feelings and let them erode (if they can) because of how things are now. But part of him wants to hold on, because what then, what then if he doesn't even have that?

Then again, it could be a good thing, to have someone who knows a little bit more than most without having to go into explicit detail. And xenian --mutant, even-- and able to treat him like an autonomous individual. Not to mention Charles could pass on advice to help Jacqueline's ability development. In essence, they could help one another more than hinder.

Speaking of which, "Mm, I know which ones you mean. Both institutions would be a good atmosphere. If anything, I think Jacqueline may need extra tutoring." He says it in a way that also addresses her, not keeping the conversation strictly to the adults. He knew all about people talking about you as though you weren't in the room. "You look at things and you know how they work, but there are gaps there --the whys and whats. We need to help you fill those in."

Back to John. "Some of that you can do together --there's a great science museum, the educational toys they have are ten times better than anything I grew up with, I can get a list of books together that are at Jacqueline's reading level. And if you want the ins and outs explained a little better, we can go over that during the interview."

One other possible plus is the way John is only puzzled by the pause, the little moment of 'augh' Charles evinces — he knows just enough, and yet does not know Charles well enough to read him. That the helmet might be responsible for that reaction is something he should be able to guess, but under the circumstances he's too caught up in the here and now to think of it. His mind has that kind of simplicity, which isn't about his intelligence or lack thereof, but something about him. Jacqueline's mind is rippling little fish of changing colors, and John's is streamlined, focused like an arrow. Occasionally full of guilt, but it is a quiet, maggoty guilt, the presence of which should account for some morals of some kind.

"I'd like that," Jacqueline announces, for John's benefit. She's found it best to state clearly what she likes or doesn't like because John will check with her anyway. "All of that," she clarifies. Yes to museums, toys, books, and Charles. Yes good. All these things are acceptable.

For his part, John is relieved that Charles would recommend both places; he was wondering if the bigger one at Aspic might be rougher, not that Jacqueline has had problems with that before. Aspic is a rougher place in general, but Sangwine is more rural than he's comfortable with, and Sobek Croix real estate seems pricey. Ketch Heath is next to the fucking Spatters, Howl Barrow's night life will drive him and his old person sleeping schedule insane, and he's never actually been to Salacus Fields. And, of course, Aspic is closer to Echomire, if that works out.

"Yeah, I — thank you." John is grateful. He's just also now worrying that he's raising a prodigy and he's not smart enough to do that. Oh god, why isn't Ana here. Ana is really smart. Well, she wouldn't even be here, because she would already know. John fumbles a notebook and pen out of his jacket because that's who he is, writing guy with a million little notes in there that he's dead certain will one day be used as evidence of senility against him. (He's thirty one. But he has had a few head injuries, so.) He glances at Jacqueline again, checking on her state of satisfaction with the current proceedings, and reassured that she seems happy to continue prying at the kettle, looks back at Charles.

"I, uh, will get on those." And enjoy them, his mind scolds the nervous part of himself. You will love the fuck out of being a dad. Maybe that's not the right phrasing. Shut up, just do it. All right, so the arrow-like focus is unraveling a bit, but unlike his eighteen year old self, John very rarely spends any time going he's hearing this isn't he, shhhhhhhhh, lyrics to songs. He would even say if he knew that Charles would be welcome to the memories, but that he should be careful because he might not like what he sees.

It's the sentiment that Charles is attracted to more than anything. When the time comes when he is tempted --when he's having one of his bad days and just wants to see a familiar face, even if it's older and white haired-- he'll say no. There's no point in trying to move backwards and it's a seed of resolve that's starting to be sown in the here and now.

But one thing he does pick up on is John's forethoughts and there's another of those minute pauses. He recollects the post-natal counseling he's done with xenian mothers --but no, that's not accurate, there's no hormonal imbalance and Jacqueline has been alive and known to John for the past seven years. But its the being left alone, being the sole provider and protector of a child in a city like this, those are the feelings and memories of panic and uncertainty that he's reminded of. Only there's not much in the way for part-time fathers suddenly made full-time

To stop what looks like a pause looking like a silence to Jacqueline, Charles takes a pen and paper and makes it look as though he's writing something down. But to John, there's a mental message of, Forgive me for the intrusion, but would it be okay for me to send Jacqueline off with Ilyandra so you and I can talk on a more official capacity? Otherwise I can have her ignore us, if you'd rather she remained in your company.

He doesn't want to presume, after all.

John glances up from where he's jotted a few notes to remind himself later and responds in kind without hesitation: It's fine for her to go.

The implied trust is conscious and the apparent ease with telepathy is not. Behind the fact he seems accustomed to the communication lurk some experiences and memories that have to do with other telepaths, chronological in order of recent exposure. There's Martha, of whom John has an overlapping image of a young black girl and a brain floating in a jar; there are five young blond women who look like less mature versions of Emma Frost; and before that, of course, much vaguer memories of Jean Grey and Charles' older self. And because Martha was kind, he thinks of the hours of telepathic interrogation he's gone through to work for SHIELD more as training. It was necessary and it didn't hurt any more than it had to.

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