(no subject)
Abraham Lincoln was believed to have said that it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. Lately, though, it feels my years have been filled with nothing but death... Both physical and metaphorical. Two years ago today, I threw myself off a cliff and hoped to drown... A year ago today I was surrounded by my friends and family, who, over the next several months, would disappear one by one, some back to their lives, others to the unknown, but all, effectively gone, finished... A month ago, a blast from the past in the form of a long-deceased dupe showed me a possible future...
"You're taking an awfully long time," remarked the Professor, blithely cutting through Jamie Madrox's inner monologue.
"You have hair."
That prompted a laugh. "I beg your pardon?"
The corners of Jamie's mouth quirked outwards; it wasn't quite a smile, but it was friendly enough. Maybe it wasn't the most exciting of ways to spend the evening of one's birthday, he supposed, playing chess with a Charles Xavier from a timeline separate from his own, but with his friends dwindling in number each passing month, a party seemed like too depressing a prospect. Perhaps he wasn't as familiar with the man's counterpart as he'd once been, all those years ago, but it was good to see another face from home, even if it belonged to the wrong person, and the circumstances were less than ideal. They were set up in the corner of the Hub, having met earlier over a mix up with the bookshelf, and though both had been drinking, neither was drunk.
"Sorry," said Jamie, not sounding particularly apologetic. He'd yet to look up from the board, his gaze intent on one of his pawns. "I thought we were stating the obvious."
The Professor merely scoffed in reply, leaning back in his chair with the kind of loose-limbed finality that suggested he wasn't about to move for a while. Given the way Jamie had been playing the game thus far, one would be hard-pressed to fault him; despite having been in check for the past three turns, the man had yet to call it quits, and averaged a solid fifteen minutes between moves. While Xavier would call himself a patient man, it bordered on excessive for what was originally meant as friendly game between former professor and future pupil.
Glancing over his shoulder at nowhere in particular, he propped his elbow up on the backrest, and rested his cheek in his palm. With a sigh tinged by wryness, he said, "Then you might have noted you're losing."
"That's relative," said Jamie, tone dismissive.
"Oh?"
"I see every possibility," he said, finally moving his pawn, and making to stand. "Even the ones I don't like. Checkmate."
"What?" sputtered the Professor, straightening out from his slouch. Disbelief registered clear across his features as his eyes swept across the board, noting the position of each individual piece, though it was quickly replaced by confusion, and then, shortly after, understanding.
"Your next move," supplied Jamie. With a wide, self-satisfied grin, he tapped his temple, once. Xavier smiled a little in turn, tongue pressing briefly to his top row of teeth. Leaning forward, he moved his knight to capture Jamie's king, then sat back again.
"Checkmate," Xavier echoed, mildly.
Jamie tipped an imaginary hat.
"'Til the next time, Professor."
[This post is CLOSED to new threads.]
"You're taking an awfully long time," remarked the Professor, blithely cutting through Jamie Madrox's inner monologue.
"You have hair."
That prompted a laugh. "I beg your pardon?"
The corners of Jamie's mouth quirked outwards; it wasn't quite a smile, but it was friendly enough. Maybe it wasn't the most exciting of ways to spend the evening of one's birthday, he supposed, playing chess with a Charles Xavier from a timeline separate from his own, but with his friends dwindling in number each passing month, a party seemed like too depressing a prospect. Perhaps he wasn't as familiar with the man's counterpart as he'd once been, all those years ago, but it was good to see another face from home, even if it belonged to the wrong person, and the circumstances were less than ideal. They were set up in the corner of the Hub, having met earlier over a mix up with the bookshelf, and though both had been drinking, neither was drunk.
"Sorry," said Jamie, not sounding particularly apologetic. He'd yet to look up from the board, his gaze intent on one of his pawns. "I thought we were stating the obvious."
The Professor merely scoffed in reply, leaning back in his chair with the kind of loose-limbed finality that suggested he wasn't about to move for a while. Given the way Jamie had been playing the game thus far, one would be hard-pressed to fault him; despite having been in check for the past three turns, the man had yet to call it quits, and averaged a solid fifteen minutes between moves. While Xavier would call himself a patient man, it bordered on excessive for what was originally meant as friendly game between former professor and future pupil.
Glancing over his shoulder at nowhere in particular, he propped his elbow up on the backrest, and rested his cheek in his palm. With a sigh tinged by wryness, he said, "Then you might have noted you're losing."
"That's relative," said Jamie, tone dismissive.
"Oh?"
"I see every possibility," he said, finally moving his pawn, and making to stand. "Even the ones I don't like. Checkmate."
"What?" sputtered the Professor, straightening out from his slouch. Disbelief registered clear across his features as his eyes swept across the board, noting the position of each individual piece, though it was quickly replaced by confusion, and then, shortly after, understanding.
"Your next move," supplied Jamie. With a wide, self-satisfied grin, he tapped his temple, once. Xavier smiled a little in turn, tongue pressing briefly to his top row of teeth. Leaning forward, he moved his knight to capture Jamie's king, then sat back again.
"Checkmate," Xavier echoed, mildly.
Jamie tipped an imaginary hat.
"'Til the next time, Professor."
[This post is CLOSED to new threads.]