thisavrou_log | party at a rich dude's house [ota]

i. office hours
[Despite his worries, it is alarmingly easy to fall into a routine. It could be the place, or desperate grasping for some kind of place where he earnestly shouldn't have one, but it takes Charles little time at all to sequester himself back into "his" office. He may not have classes to mentor (not yet anyway), but out of habit, he keeps the door open as he quietly mills around regardless, looking through the last lingering pieces of a life--maybe his, maybe not--left behind.]

ii. breaking into the liquor cabinet
[It's all so different, despite the constant, somewhat haunting reminders of his home back home. For days now, ever since his arrival and this somewhat serendipitous living situation set in his lap, he's been waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Time moves so slowly here, or ar least in comparison to all his worries back home it seems to. He remembers nothing after yelling at Alex to destroy Cerebro (and how many times are they going to have to rebuild that?), but there are still startling flashes. Fire, ash, and something larger that causes his chest to seize on random occasion without explanation.

This is what has led him to raiding the upstairs liquor cabinet. Or what he assumes must be, hidden away as he's so used to. (It's an unnecessary precaution when he would know if something was amiss, but it's something to see that even if some other version of himself has made questionable choices, it isn't all completely unfamiliar.

It would be easy, like this, to get caught up in aimless reminiscing and regrets. The "I shouldn't be here" (despite however true it is), or the endlessly painful "remember when." Luckily, he hears someone (~~or something, the distinction is unimportant~~) approach from behind. He turns at the sound with a smile not entirely unlike a teenager caught doing something he ought to have not. It's a difficult habit to kick.]

iii. wildcard
[I'm up to plot whatever you like, if you want a prompt beyond these!]

Edited 2017-05-03 01:13 (UTC)

[He's out and about in the mansion a lot now, more than he had been when he first arrived. He's still not exactly social, but he's settled in somewhat now, and the fact that there haven't been any attempts to force him out of the house helps too. So it's not entirely a surprise that in his wanderings, he comes across other residents.

He can't take credit for the stash of alcohol, but he knows by now that it's there. So it doesn't surprise him that Charles has found it.]

You won't get any judgement from me for that.

[It feels strange like this, to have left something so large and important to someone else--someone he's so desperately wanted to trust for too long--and not really have left at all. Erik still manages to surprise him after twenty years of this not being anything approaching routine, but he refuses to be the one that pushes back. (And he hasn't been given a reason to. Yet. He's not sure if he expects that to last.)

The chuckle it elicits is quiet, but authentic. So normal for something that shouldn't be. He glances back at Erik with a smirk, one that's perhaps younger than he feels, and after a moment of occasional quiet clinks of glass, he wheels over with two glasses, extending one hand to Erik.]

I would worry about you if I did. Here.

[It's as close to an invitation as he knows how to offer right now.]

Edited (ahh sorry) 2017-05-03 02:24 (UTC)

[It seems to be a kind of peace offering, for now, and he has no desire to start the fighting again. Or any reason to. He had never intended, or wanted, to hurt Charles. They'd been as close as brothers once. Which is why it's no hardship at all for him to accept the glass Charles offers.]

Out in the open like this? That's bold of you.

[He does take a sip of it though, and savors it, like it's ten years ago and he's tasting it for the first time in a decade.]

Still the best available. Some things don't change.

[Not that he's going to complain about the quality of the alcohol.]

[It's...something. If they're not at each other's throats for the time being, despite his gnawing worry, he's not about to push it unnecessarily. It's something he's...missed for far too long. It's as selfish and self-serving as it is an offering, but perhaps that doesn't really matter.]

Says the one who could close the door behind him without moving? [Or the man who could sense someone approaching should he really want to? He doesn't sound terribly worried.

In fact, even the amusement, tinged with a tense air he can't quite will away, continues throughout.]

I'm hardly responsible for it, though I suppose I should be thankful that I know "myself." Or he did. I'm still not quite certain how that's supposed to work.

[Is that a challenge? It seems to him that it is. Either way, he closes the door behind them, without moving.]

Better?

[Not that it makes much difference right now anyway.]

I'm hardly an expert.

[ Some other guy named Peter mentioned this place a while ago - like. A while ago - and it's taken this particular Peter that long to work his way up to coming around. He's been so careful about keeping this new part of himself separate from everything else about himself, but the longer he's here the more he thinks that maybe he doesn't need to. Here, at least. Maybe he could even learn something useful! That would be cool. That would be... Maybe really helpful, actually.

Anyway, he's not really sure what to expect, but there's no one telling him not to come in, no one looking at him like he shouldn't be here, no one so far making his venture in any way discouraging whatsoever.

Aside from that he has no idea where to actually go now that he's finally decided to come over. There's an open door over there though, and he's still trying to figure out how much he wants to try and investigate; how much he wants to potentially risk just coming here, even though it might not be a risk, but it might be. It's another universe - who actually knows the rules for that? ]

Oh, sorry, I was just - you know, I was just looking around. Kind of new here. [ blend in, peter, come on ] Second floor homeroom?

[ shot in the dark, but technically literally an educated guess ]

Edited (so literally right after posting i realised specifying is polite. maybe not necessary but just to be sure) 2017-05-03 07:36 (UTC)

[Wanda can't help but notice when another telepath is near - their minds feel different from everyone else's and on closer inspection she knows this one. Living with Jean and Charles (even if he disappeared last month) has given her a certain familiarity with how their minds feel, the same way she would always know Steve or Vision or Natasha.

Charles might feel a rather red brush against his mind - nothing intrusive, just a way of saying hello.

A few minutes later Wanda peers around the door of his office.]

You're back.

[It may have been. But it seems he's happy enough to oblige, so Charles isn't about to pry at it.]

I'm afraid you're more of one than I am at this juncture, my friend. You've actually met him...me...again, however it works.

[But he's here now, not the man he'd been and doesn't remember. It's not particularly salient, as far as he's concerned (though in his not-quite-historic experience, what he deems salient, and what others seem to do not always align properly). He waves it off. Unlike with Jean, the fact doesn't seem to be dangled over his head like an impressively threatening weight, and he's not interested in waiting around to see if that changes.]

You said you'd been taking care of the school? [It's offered as a line of inquiry when it's not an uncertain statement in the least. It's as gracious a lead-in as he knows to give at this juncture: he wants to hear it directly, and he's gotten no details otherwise. From anyone.] How has that been going?

[that's funny because Badou is also caught red handed-- of course he wasn't looking for anything like booze, just, you know, information on this place, on the past, that sort of innocent thing.

His face freezes once they lock eyes. Then he raises a hand:]

Yo. The brats finally drove you to it, huh.

I've only been here a couple of months. I have no idea how it works.

[Other than that everyone seems to be here from different points in time. This is the first time he's encountered anyone leaving and then coming back from a different point in time, not remembering that they were ever here.]

It's a new building. It hasn't been that difficult.

[This particular scenario has played out in front of him many, many times. And for a fleeting moment, he damned near forgets where they are. At least in the larger scope of things. But this had existed as "his" own school ahead of him, though apparently somewhat fledgling in the endeavor, and even as the momentary surprise settles, it's...well, not really surprising at all.

Charles offers a smile.] No need to apologize. I'm rather new myself.

[Though new or not, he's fairly certain there's little by the way of "homerooms" to direct anyone to just yet. If the boy is here, he's likely looking for something a little more particular. And particular, he thinks, happens to be a specialty.

He turns to better face the teenager in his doorway, the motorized chair giving off a faint whir as the mechanics strain to do so. He then extends a hand when in a better position to do so.] Charles Xavier. How can I help?

[Even through taking a drink and grimacing slightly at the burn in his throat, he's still able to keep a deadpan look at Erik.]

You realize I don't need to read your mind to understand how intentionally vague that sounds?

[Which just earns him a deadpan look in return. Charles is not going to scold him into anything.]

What sort of answer are you expecting from me?

[He feels her approach long before he sees anyone. There are so few people he's ever been able to do so with, and fewer still are those who use that presence by way of a friendly greeting. Strange as that fleeting presence might be, it's almost like discovering another mutant like him all over again. It's new. And better yet, he misses the part where he might think it intrusive and moves right toward fascination.

Of course, it always seems to circle around to the fact that he cannot remember ever having been here at all. (At least this seems more positive than he'd been able to leave things with Jean. That's...something to start from, at least. And he doesn't get the impression of a threat, so they're already doing better, these strangers-yet-not.)

He offers a sympathetic shrug as she enters.]

So I am frequently told. Though I'm afraid I couldn't recount any of it to you.

Don't. Erik, please, just--don't. I don't mean the building, and I'd think you know me well enough to understand that. [He sighs, and the next drink feels more desperate. He doesn't even notice the burn at that.]

It says nothing about you. The children. [Jean and Kurt at the very least, though beyond that, he's still figuring out who is here and who they're missing.] How you're doing.

You'll have to do better than "it's a new building."

[He couldn't give much of a lesser fuck about the house. It's touching, perhaps. A convenience. But it's never. been. about. the house.]

Edited 2017-05-04 03:01 (UTC)

[It's so ridiculously brazen that Charles can't contain the laughter that results. Years ago, perhaps that had been closer to true. Here? Well, it's the "here" that does it.]

I would hope I had a better handle on my temperament after a couple days. [Unless they're counting Erik. It approaches closer to true, that way.] I would be a poor teacher if they drove me to it that quickly.

[Which doesn't precisely explain why he looks and feels that low burn of guilt. But as far as he's concerned, it's that low-key shame that's going to keep an indulgence from turning into a habit...

Again.]

[Since the paper trail is as much as a bust as ever right about now, Badou helps himself to a seat and will grant himself the courage to help himself to a drink in about five minutes. But no one's counting.]

Nah, man, its understandable. The other day one of 'em locked themselves in the bathroom for like an hour and I almost shat the carpet. Its a lot to handle. Especially kids with powers.

[That is...quite the visual. Instead of making the man wait, he hands the whole bottle over.] You sound like you need this more than I do.

[Which he's still laughing about, lending an amused undercurrent to the whole declaration. There are times for lofty words and extended conversations about the necessity of nurturing those talents. This is not one of them.]

Sometimes it happens. You are not the first.

[Wanda's not really surprised - how many times have Steve and Natasha ended up here with no memory of anything? She was never as close to Charles as the others from his world, so while she can understand their frustration, she doesn't entirely share it. They've been all right...and she's had other things on her mind like Peter and his father and her not-quite half sister from another universe.

Family seemed so simple at home, but it's ridiculously complicated here.]

I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.

[She usually doesn't give her last name, but it Means Something to people from this world.]

[He'll happily accept this good will towards man and all that. And once he's found a glass and all, classy like, he pours some for himself and tops Charles off.]

Thank ya. To...weird housemates and the power of your carpeting in this place.

[a toast]

[He doesn't want to talk about it, which should be no surprise to Charles. He doesn't know how much Charles already knows, because that would require asking him questions that would get answers he doesn't want to discuss.

But not discussing something is not an option to Charles Xavier.]

The children are all still here, and they're alive. No one died.

[Which is progress, as far as Erik is concerned.]

[ She doesn't quite believe it when she realizes Charles is back around in the mansion again. She heard it on the grape vine, and she knows how trustworthy rumors can be sometimes. But out of idle curiosity and a sense that it's important, she heads there and peers into his office. Yes, there he is. Tex doesn't waste any time making her presence known, after that. ]

I'd greet you like an old friend except I feel like there's too big of a chance you won't recognize me.

[ She's gone through this before, after all, with Church and now with Carolina. She knows there's no guarantee Charles remembers meeting her before. ]

[ It starts with the pressure in his skull. Faint, but it's there nonetheless, a slow poison leaching apprehension down his spine. Something isn't quite right.

He's looking for Laura, following the scent of sunshine and grass and rubber-coated fingers, the metal beneath it all that leads him to the library. Of course. Probably helping Jean while she sorted and filed away books... ]

Hey. Laura-

[ The door is open, the sun in the high windows throwing patterns across the wood floor, so Logan strolls right in, thumbing through contacts in his TAB when he finally looks up. A gleam of brushed steel catches his eye first, then the back of a chair, its occupant turned away, but he knows; he knows who it is, because Charles Xavier fills a room with his presence the very same way he always has.

The world narrows in scope.

He doesn't hear his TAB when it clatters to the floor, doesn't feel the racing of his heart, or the way his breath hitches high in his throat. Pain, though, that comes rushing back in a fierce tidal wave. There's blood that isn't his, the scent so thick he can taste it on his tongue; a body at his feet and the thing with his face retreating out into the night and Charles-

Charles is-

His heel hits a box of books when he recoils, gutted by sharp, sudden panic that sends him sprawling. Backing himself against a table leg, claws catching the sunlight, he's drawn his knees up to his chest and pressed his hands to his ears in a desperate bid to block out the sounds only he can hear, Laura's high-pitched shrieks interwoven with the screams of dying men. ]

[Since his arrival, Charles has--for the most part, at least--been trying to keep his telepathy to a minimum. It isn't for any fear of persecution, and he's seen none otherwise to this point, but simply a respect for boundaries in a situation where he's largely uninformed of where they even lay.

This presence is one that even an idle mind cannot ignore. That despair is the first thing he feels, the pain so visceral that it's damn near blinding. Regardless of however silent Logan's panic may be in the physical space between them, he might as well be shrieking it aloud.

Even if Charles had wanted to block this, the attempt would be to little avail. There is, of course, the blinding upset of it and tagging along is the claustrophobia of that fear. But that painful light eventally fades, and Charles is "able" to pick up fleeting images out of context. First are quiet, innocuous things: the whinny of horses, the dark hint of sprawling green of a cornfield. But even those images are quickly broken into with glimpses of violent intrusion. The harsh, unforgiving headlights of trucks too large for anyone to rightly own. Logan, younger and angrier than Charles has ever known him. An old man he doesn't recognize tucked away in the back of a truck, bleeding.

If the pain and panic alone had been blinding, it's all too easy to end up drowning in these images and their horrific, violent upset. Charles inhales sharply, dragging his mind forcefully--kicking and screaming in its own way--away from Logan's. He's breathing heavily, wide-eyed as he wheels around to meet the sight of Logan's huddled form there on the floor. But despite that horror (which is worse, he thinks, than the future Logan had shown him so many years earlier), there is no hesitance.]

Logan.

[The first address is soft, offered in his typical tentative candor that is, unfortunately, too habitually used around the wards usually left in his care. It fails to resonate over the man's own remembered horror. His approach is quieter still as he comes to place a hand over the top of extended claws he certainly doesn't remember being metal. His voice grows harder.]

Logan, look at me.

party at a rich dude's house [ota]

[ota.]

ii because this is clearly the best idea ever

clearly, this never steers anyone wrong

not once

<3

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hey-yo; also #1

i

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pfft you're fine <3

omg erik pls

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i.

iii. cw: blood and terrible shit k

dialed my number WHAT IS UP