Re: Oh yeah...llscorpiusllDecember 30 2003, 06:45:06 UTC
He looked around so swiftly he almost bumped his head on the hood. "A what?"
Jean shrugged. She wished she'd brought her sweater. "Like me."
He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. She didn't know why she had thought he disliked her. He was looking at her as though he hadn't seen her properly before. "Yes," he said. "I'm Dr. Lehnsherr."
A thin, red haired girl with a leg brace, haunted dark eyes.... "Get out," he said firmly, "of my head. You'll learn that's not polite."
"I'm sorry," Jean said. "I don't really know how to control it. I just know things. It's not like I want to."
"Charles will teach you that," he said.
"Will he?"
He had decided something, something important. Jean could have tried to tell what, but he would know. "Yes," Dr. Lehnsherr said, "He will."
"Do you live here?" Jean asked.
He looked up at the house. "Here? For now. Usually I live in the City."
"Is that your car?"
"Would I be fixing a leak in the oil pan if it wasn't? Some sort of mystery mechanic who runs about fixing strangers' cars?"
Jean laughed. "Is that a Corvette?"
"Yes. And do you have enough questions?" He was smiling too. "Aren't you supposed to be having tea in the library?"
"I'd like a Firebird," she said.
"In about ten years?"
"Four and a half," Jean said. "I'll be twelve next summer."
When the war ended I was eleven and a half....
There was some shuddering hole of darkness there. Jean pulled away from it instinctively. For some reason it was easy to say the thing she feared. "Is he going to try to cure me?"
Dr. Lehnsherr closed the hood of the car. Then he turned to look at her. "No," he said. "Do you want to be cured?"
"No. But I wasn't sure it mattered what I wanted."
"It always matters, here. Charles will absolutely never do anything to your head or your powers that you do not want. He can teach you to control them yourself. But he's not going to do anything to you." He cocked his head to one side as if listening. "You have a precious gift. And Charles is wondering if you're going to come back to tea before your parents start wondering where you've gotten to."
Fixing the oil pan by--merely running his hand across it, one imagines. And he drove a Chevy. Kewl. [so do I, lol] That darkness she senses, and recoils from--yes. Not wanting to be 'cured'. Yep.
"Hi," the Professor said, awkwardly, like no one knew what to say.
"You don't know how to run a school," Jean said.
Dr. Lehnsherr started laughing. "You see, Charles? It took her all of three hours to figure that out!"
The Professor looked hurt. "I thought you wanted to come here."
"I do," Jean said. She reached for one of the mugs and held it out to Dr. Lehnsherr.
He poured the coffee. The Professor frowned. "It's decaf," Dr. Lehnsherr said.
"There have to be some ground rules around here," Jean said. "It's no good pretending this is a regular school. To start with, I'm the only kid here. You've never run a school before, and I've never gone to a school for Jedi Knights before. So we're all going to work this out."
She looked around for the cream pitcher. Bemused, Dr. Lehnsherr floated the stainless steel pitcher across the room to her. She took it out of the air. "So who's teaching what?"
This was great. LOL She doesn't bat an eyelash over the 'floating cream pitcher'...which Erik made, of course. And the table.
A potato sprouting in a jar on a windowsill, behind a window gray with grime. A city with shipyards and steel mills, a school for boys like him where he went every day, carrying his lunch in a tin pail. Walking along the railroad tracks, dancing on the rail, feeling the iron in his blood like a song, the iron under his feet. A ghetto in a city far from here, white dishtowels drying in the sun on the fire escape, a potato sprouting in a jar.
What an evocative image. Hope amid despair. Dancing on the iron. *loved this*
Re: Oh yeah...artaxastraDecember 30 2003, 07:07:58 UTC
And he drove a Chevy. Kewl. [so do I, lol]
I'm just waiting for someone to comment on the Firebird! LOL!
This was great. LOL She doesn't bat an eyelash over the 'floating cream pitcher'...which Erik made, of course. And the table.
For continuity's sake, the same table Kurt is commenting on in His Mother's Eyes. Where we also saw, in Kurt's dream, the kitchen as Jean remembers it.
What an evocative image. Hope amid despair. Dancing on the iron. *loved this*
I'm thinking the city is possibly Danzig/Gdansk? selenak what do you think?
Jean shrugged. She wished she'd brought her sweater. "Like me."
He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. She didn't know why she had thought he disliked her. He was looking at her as though he hadn't seen her properly before. "Yes," he said. "I'm Dr. Lehnsherr."
A thin, red haired girl with a leg brace, haunted dark eyes.... "Get out," he said firmly, "of my head. You'll learn that's not polite."
"I'm sorry," Jean said. "I don't really know how to control it. I just know things. It's not like I want to."
"Charles will teach you that," he said.
"Will he?"
He had decided something, something important. Jean could have tried to tell what, but he would know. "Yes," Dr. Lehnsherr said, "He will."
"Do you live here?" Jean asked.
He looked up at the house. "Here? For now. Usually I live in the City."
"Is that your car?"
"Would I be fixing a leak in the oil pan if it wasn't? Some sort of mystery mechanic who runs about fixing strangers' cars?"
Jean laughed. "Is that a Corvette?"
"Yes. And do you have enough questions?" He was smiling too. "Aren't you supposed to be having tea in the library?"
"I'd like a Firebird," she said.
"In about ten years?"
"Four and a half," Jean said. "I'll be twelve next summer."
When the war ended I was eleven and a half....
There was some shuddering hole of darkness there. Jean pulled away from it instinctively. For some reason it was easy to say the thing she feared. "Is he going to try to cure me?"
Dr. Lehnsherr closed the hood of the car. Then he turned to look at her. "No," he said. "Do you want to be cured?"
"No. But I wasn't sure it mattered what I wanted."
"It always matters, here. Charles will absolutely never do anything to your head or your powers that you do not want. He can teach you to control them yourself. But he's not going to do anything to you." He cocked his head to one side as if listening. "You have a precious gift. And Charles is wondering if you're going to come back to tea before your parents start wondering where you've gotten to."
Fixing the oil pan by--merely running his hand across it, one imagines.
And he drove a Chevy. Kewl. [so do I, lol]
That darkness she senses, and recoils from--yes.
Not wanting to be 'cured'. Yep.
"Hi," the Professor said, awkwardly, like no one knew what to say.
"You don't know how to run a school," Jean said.
Dr. Lehnsherr started laughing. "You see, Charles? It took her all of three hours to figure that out!"
The Professor looked hurt. "I thought you wanted to come here."
"I do," Jean said. She reached for one of the mugs and held it out to Dr. Lehnsherr.
He poured the coffee. The Professor frowned. "It's decaf," Dr. Lehnsherr said.
"There have to be some ground rules around here," Jean said. "It's no good pretending this is a regular school. To start with, I'm the only kid here. You've never run a school before, and I've never gone to a school for Jedi Knights before. So we're all going to work this out."
She looked around for the cream pitcher. Bemused, Dr. Lehnsherr floated the stainless steel pitcher across the room to her. She took it out of the air. "So who's teaching what?"
This was great. LOL She doesn't bat an eyelash over the 'floating cream pitcher'...which Erik made, of course. And the table.
A potato sprouting in a jar on a windowsill, behind a window gray with grime. A city with shipyards and steel mills, a school for boys like him where he went every day, carrying his lunch in a tin pail. Walking along the railroad tracks, dancing on the rail, feeling the iron in his blood like a song, the iron under his feet. A ghetto in a city far from here, white dishtowels drying in the sun on the fire escape, a potato sprouting in a jar.
What an evocative image. Hope amid despair. Dancing on the iron. *loved this*
[continued]
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I'm just waiting for someone to comment on the Firebird! LOL!
This was great. LOL She doesn't bat an eyelash over the 'floating cream pitcher'...which Erik made, of course. And the table.
For continuity's sake, the same table Kurt is commenting on in His Mother's Eyes. Where we also saw, in Kurt's dream, the kitchen as Jean remembers it.
What an evocative image. Hope amid despair. Dancing on the iron. *loved this*
I'm thinking the city is possibly Danzig/Gdansk? selenak what do you think?
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