ataraxionlogs | oo6. closedish.

Entry tags:

oo6. closedish.

CHARACTERS: Charles Xavier and Severus Snape; Remus Lupin; Emma Swan; Nuala; Rogue; Johanna Mason; Odessa Knutson; Erik Lehnsherr; Captain Hook (Killian Jones); Hank McCoy; Raven Darkholme; Cassandra Anderson, others as they happen.
LOCATION: Level fourteen, room one hundred; laundry facilities; bar on level fourteen; kitchen on level fourteen; the Gardens; media library; level twenty, room one-hundred and ninety two; others as they happen.
WARNINGS: TBA.
SUMMARY: Adjusting to being a different person is a struggle.
NOTES: This is only partially closed. I'm using this as a forum for people to poke him, as random run ins may happen as I tag out instead. Please let me know if you'd like to do anything, and I'll be happy to set up a thread (unless you're feel ambitious).

to ever spend my life sitting playing future games

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You want the Cliffs notes as well my paperwork, do you.

[ --comes with a sort of disbelieving, breathy laugh that doesn't do much to take away from his mood. Which is a lot of things.

Uncharacteristically distrustful. Paranoid, defensive. ]

What're you asking, Erik.

[ Erik turns, incredulous, at first, that he’s being asked for clarification regarding his request for clarification. Displeasure shows cruel behind his eyes, clear and flat as fresh cut glass.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

A pair of slow steps bring him closer, first. ]

I’m asking what was worth the loss of everything you are.

[ The papers are still in his right hand, variously creased and crimped by rough handling. Near enough for Charles to make out his own scrawl. ]

Edited 2014-07-21 04:54 (UTC)

[ There's no step to meet him halfway, nor ceding territory; dullness in response to sharp. Charles allows his attention to list down to crumpled pages, and by the time he looks back up, there's fresh anger there.

Even if the corner of his mouth hooks up wry. ]

If you had've seen me--

[ He stops that train of thought. Better to answer the question, even if it's a shitty one, than risk his composure. ]

Mobility. Painlessness. The ability to think properly, to sleep properly, to function. Control. I already lost everything I was, Erik. So I took something back.

[ With the way he’s looking, Erik is likely to pull the iron out of Charles’ brain before he takes away any answers he can be sure of. His eyes are pale as cuttlefish, prying with beak and suckers into the wrinkles around Charles’ face and coming away with nothing more telling or specific than anger.

Anger at him. Resentment. Blame.

After a hard moment spent engaged in a staring contest at close range, Erik breaks off first. He turns to go, papers and all, stride long and speed clipped. ]

[ Charles is left standing as Erik turns away. He doesn't do very well with violence, as a general rule, being not the most physical of men, but there is a tense moment where he thinks he might just launch himself at Erik's turned back and demand a response

any response

better than that. A breath in seems to catch against his set teeth, held high in his chest. Comes out, then, as a harsh sounding laugh. The nerve!!

Fuckn-- ]

I'm not the only future disappointment.

[ --he tells turned back. And means it, lashing disdain that he doesn't mind gets on him just as much. ]

What did you expect, [ comes terse, delivered with a cut of his teeth over his shoulder.

He’s rooted to the floor just before the panel to open the door, tension stiff in his shoulders and carved hollow into his jaw. He hasn’t lifted a hand to it yet, knuckles dried all to tendon and bone around battered notes.

Violence is his specialty. ]

I never lied to you.

Edited (clarity) 2014-07-25 05:32 (UTC)

[ Derision is in Charles' own turn away. Bed frame creaks as he finds a place to sit with his back against the wall, a slow and labourious shift of limbs and weight with the kind of settling ease of a prisoner in his cell. Arm rests on bent knee. ]

I expected we'd change the world.

[ Leather rustles as he settles, skull resting back against wall, metal that isn't metal. The silence of an absence of minds is something he is still conscious of, in a way. ]

For the good. But you like it too much.

[ The tilting glance back scopes Erik up and down. ]

Killing.

[ The bridge of Erik’s nose hardens as if he’s been struck, brow hooded and ears laid flat.

He stands like that a moment,

poised,

and clarifies: ] Killing humans.

[ An easy fan of his unclenched hand sheds papers onto the floor in a flush as he turns back.

Magnetism takes hold of the bed, coursing low through the frame on its way out into shoe shanks, zipper, and iron fillings.

The light in his eyes has switched to off. ]

Edited 2014-07-26 04:58 (UTC)

[ It's subtle, but Charles can feel it, has felt it too many times before to miss easily. Lazy recline stiffens up muscles along his spine, and his hand clenches bedsheets in uneasy compulsion around when papers slide to settle still on the floor.

The look back over to Erik is sharper than before, cutting through the former, blurrier haze of indistinct anger.

And nothing. No commands in Erik's head, no vanishing trickery, no prying into skulls to read intentions. Charles doesn't know. He only ever thought he did, clearly. ]

Don't, [ is coarse through his teeth, more heat than tremor. ]

[ Zipper teeth cinch tight at Charles’ lapels, twisted by an invisible hand in the instant before they drag him face down off the side of the bed and flat onto the floor.

Erik has only just now started for him, but the room is small: three strides and he’s there to haul the smaller man upright. Two more see his back nailed to the wall; Erik catches his free hand up under wiry neckbeard, around the throat. His fingers bind hard into tender skin there, crushing muscle and pipe together, further stemming oxygen to the brain where his thumb hooks to dig deep into the carotid's flow. ]

You’re one of them.

[ Defiance, if any, is met with a helpful bite of bony fingertips to bring eye contact around to bear by force.

There’s nothing else left that Charles needs to see. ]

[ Charles hits the floor like he didn't expect to, despite everything; there's an instinctively flung out hand to brace for impact, but breath leaves him sudden and sharp and inarticulate. Pale eyes flash panicky through dishevelled, lank hair at a glance over towards steps on fast approach.

Struggle is indistinct but immediate, shoes scuffling against the ground as he's dragged up from it with a hiss of vocalised, vicious protest, but still sees back to wall, and hand at throat.

A fist thumps Erik's shoulder, but that's all; hands grasp and claw at arm, grip.

There's nothing else left to say, either, save for sick sounding choking gasps. His eyes are bright, saline-blurred, focused on Erik's face even as vision starts to get dark at the edges. The start of a nn-- is cut off with tighter fingers, while his own loosen fractionally. ]

[ The meat of Erik’s shoulder is set iron stiff against Charles’ fist, muscle sleek and lean and hard under leather’s softer give. He doesn’t blink -- doesn’t seem to notice. ]

Powerless, [ he says, quiet and close.

Anger quivers into a show of his teeth -- frustration rough on his breath. ]

I never wanted to hurt you.

[ But you are and alternatively but you did are both too articulate for someone with their throat clamped shut and devoid of telepathy and running out of oxygen besides, but maybe it can be read in direct stare back. What passes for breathing is shallow and thin if still somehow noisy.

Focus is sharp until it isn't, swimming and dull, unconsciousness like a dark hole beneath him. Slaps and thumps and struggles have slowed to nothing, his hands only gripping Erik's arm like it can save him just as much as it's holding him in place. ]

[ Clear fluid slides from the base of Erik’s nose when he exhales, and increasingly there’s a well at his eyes to match: moisture that slips loose in time with a release of his grip. He lets Charles fall as he will.

He’s lost, for a moment.

There is the door. Those are the papers. ]

[ He falls heavy, shoulder checking against Erik's thigh on the way down as Charles lists forward and only just manages not to faceplant entirely. A crawling slump sideways, cornered into wall and the edge of his bed, retching breaths loud and wet as windpipe considers the possibility of opening back up. Head down, dizzy.

Shame and a more spiritual hurt are all factors of tugging gravity too, and setting a tremor in his hands, but at least he can rest comfortable in simply feeling ill, forehead pressed to mattress edge and eyes closed.

Waiting for Erik to leave, or to feel like he isn't going to pass out, whichever comes first. ]

[ It doesn’t take long.

With Charles retching low in his periphery, Erik turns to go.

The sound of his footsteps crosses away for the door. He flattens his hand across the panel, the portal opens, and he’s through.

A few drowsy leaves of paper stir out into the hall in his wake. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

oo6. closedish.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject