9/8/06 - Mira, Cassy
---
Friday morning, that idyllic cusp between week and week's long-deserved end, finds Xavier at peace in his office. Settled behind his desk with a pen in hand, glasses perched as a quizzical afterthought on that noble nose, the master of Xavier House writes letters of an old-fashioned sort, accompanied only by his thoughts (the quiet) and a cup of steaming tea at his elbow. The pen's scratch over paper is placid; the strong face is mild in repose. Sunlight spills in slices across the office, picking out the colors of rugs and old wood.
Tranquility. Serenity.
The quiet before the storm.
Sneaking up to the door to Xavier's office, repeating her dreaded and largely useless Penguin telepathy protection mantra, Cassy suddenly knocks and opens the door in one fluid motion. "A-hah!" she declares. Then as her gaze finishes a circuit of the room she adds "Oh, shouldn't you have a white cat and a secret tunnel about now?"
Flash!
A bright spot of white light pulses from just above Cassy's head, more accurately from the camera Mira is holding in front of one eye. And a certain bald head is sure to leave a glaring reflection. So perhaps the pair's entrance is a little less dramatic than camouflaged special ops agents rappelling from the ceiling into Xavier's secret volcano base, but the sentiment is still there. Mira nudges Cassy from behind. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Xavier."
Telepathy prepares -- the girls thus miss the expression of resignation that slides across Xavier's face before the door flies open -- and the pen continues with equanimity, scrolling copperscript across the paper. Professor Xavier's head gleams, attention still focused on his letter. "I am gratified you at least knocked," he observes without obvious misgivings, "though it seems we must work your timing. It is customary to wait for permission to enter. A lesson for another day. Would you care for some tea, ladies?"
Her mind filled with thoughts of line dancing penguins, Cassy pulls an image enhanced picture of Sebastian Shaw and Charles Xavier having a meeting on the lawn. "So where are they? We know you're buying illegal weapons, probably missiles and death rays!" she accuses wildly, finally stepping forward to let Mira in. "It makes /perfect/ sense, why else would an anti-mutant sleaze-bag visit the most famous pro-mutant in the country?"
Inwardly, Mira winces a little at this. Confrontation, sure, but Cassy swore she was going to keep it professional. She doesn't lower the camera, though, waiting for the perfect 'you caught me' expression. "She means," Mira clarifies with diplomatic caution after stepping into the office, "That Shaw guy who was here. The whole parade of black cars with tinted windows and everything."
Eyes blink, hazel deepening into blue tones. Wrinkles deepen at their corners. "'Perfect sense,'" Xavier marvels, and puts down the pen, fingers knitting restfully on the desk. "I believe we shall have to enroll you both in logic and philosophy before you graduate. I cannot allow future representatives of our education program to reflect so poorly on our teaching."
"Then where did you get a stealth jet plane from?" Cassy asks smugly. "And /how on earth/ do you refuel it? I mean I've never seen a tanker of jet fuel pulling up outside." The teenage red head smiles, while placing the picture down on the Professors desk. "No-one has stealth planes except the military and companies which make stuff for them, people like captain creepy there." Her finger stabs down at Shaw's picture.
"She's got a point," Mira says, lowering the camera from her face. Though having never witnessed the jet firsthand, its existence has been confirmed through multiple sources. "You don't just pick one of those up at a garage sale. And then there's a whole lot of other stuff that doesn't add up." The taller girl steels herself by drawing a breath before continuing. "Magneto's been here before, now this guy. How much more extreme pro-mutant and anti-mutant can you get under one roof? What's the deal?"
Scribe's fingers steeple, a telepath's gentle teasing for percolating imaginations. "Inquiring minds," Xavier says mellowly, the British accent rolling vowels like ripe nuts. Amusement tugs at the firm mouth, curving it towards a smile and warming the timbres of the deep baritone. "The plane refuels, when needed, at a private hanger. It was acquired through contacts I have in the aerospace industry -- not Shaw Industries, as it happens, though I'm certain his company would have been willing. Sentiment aside, Mr. Shaw /is/ a businessman. As the mansion might indicate, I am, in fact, fairly well off."
<< The penguins are replaced with a short little day dream about Bobby turning into a squid. >> With a random giggle Cassy clicks her fingers for a moment before replying "So what about the secret mutant army? I mean apart from at Worthington House what've they even done? Probably some black ops missions in some remote jungle!"
Mira's selfishness pays off for once, realizing Xavier had deflected her question without directly answering it. Because her questions are the most important ones. She bides her time for now, fingering the button on her camera just in case the right moment should arise suddenly.
Eyebrows arch, drawing lines across the high dome of head. "Mutant army?" Xavier repeats, allowing his hands to rest again on the geometry of his letter. His glance at Mira twinkles. Surely he does not wink. Surely. "We hardly have the numbers for an /army/, Cassy. I believe we shall have to enroll you in debate as well. The ability to communicate and present arguments clearly is a valuable real world skill, my dear."
Cassy pouts. "Actually you do! I read the dictionary before we set off," she reposts gleefully. "Army, meaning any body of persons organized for any purpose." < < He's /totally/ got something to hide! > > "And you never gave any good reason for having trained mutant strike teams, you just dodged around it. The students have a right to know! I mean what if someone comes and attacks /us/ for revenge huh?"
The pen is taken up; a new sheet of paper is pulled over. Mira and Cassy: Logic and Philosophy. Debate. "It is hardly a secret within the school," Xavier says with a hand's gesture at the building beyond the office, the other hand removing the glasses to fold them, gold arms blinking. "You refer, I presume, to the X-Men."
"Magneto, an anti-mutant arms dealer, and a leather-clad strike force. Mr. Xavier," Mira begins again, trying to keep from spazzing out like Cassy. It's a lot like good cop/bad cop, except she's not sure who's who. "There's a lot going on here, and the least you could do is lie to us a little better about it. I mean, you're not very good at this."
Eyebrows lift again. For the first time, a touch of chill reminds the girls that Xavier is, for all his warmth, capable of hauteur. "I do not recall," he says, clipped voice precise, "that I have lied to you at /all/."
Cassy frowns slightly. << Huh, this is like totally not how I'd planned on turning out. >> "But you're conveying a false impression about stuff, we're just like worried that having vigilantes for teachers is /kinda/ dangerous for us yah know?" she says with a sigh. "I don't wanna have someone bust a cap in me all because my History teacher put his crew in the pen."
Something stirs in Mira, a deep-seated resentment, bristling in response to Xavier. She leans forward to put her hand down on the edge of his desk, interposing herself between her roommate and the telepath. "Tell us what's going on," she says, tone suddenly sharp. "We have a right to know."
Deep-set eyes harden on Mira, frost creeping into the brilliance of color. "A little civility, if you please," Xavier says, face stiffening into severity. "Sit down, young lady."
Cassy obediently sits on the floor. "They have guns, they hate us and we /can't/ read minds. It's like totally natural for us to be worried, especially when someone with so /many/ guns turns up outside the school," she says calmly as she pulls some chocolate coated coffee beans from her pocket. << We're /so/ dead now, thanks Mira-kins! >>
The Lopez girl scowls but lowers her eyes. She takes a slow step back from the desk. Indignant displeasure positively rolls off her in waves as she slinks to sit in a visitor's chair, instead of the floor.
Once the girls are seated, ice melts, relaxing Xavier's expression to something closer to his customary warmth. "Indeed it is," he acknowledges, settling back into the familiar embrace of his chair, "and you have a right to know, as well. My business with Shaw -- is not, I must say, among the things that concern you. Suffice it to say that he had some questions that only I could answer, and that unlike students who have a busy day of schoolwork ahead of them--" the baritone waxes dry, "--business tycoons can be up and about at all hours of the night. Even when said students /should/ be fast asleep."
"As for the X-Men, surely your classmates have spoken to you regarding them?"
"Rumors can be /highly/ unreliable," Cassy says solemnly, she even keeps a straight face when she says it! "No-one /really/ knows why you set them up or what they're really doing. I mean I saw them at the safe house, but what else have they done?" Then with a frown she adds "And if what they're doing is supposed to help people why is it such a big secret? Surely /someone/ will find out eventually and then it'll look totally suspicious!"
Xavier's answer does nothing to quell the black ink that boils in Mira's brain. Just another evasive answer from someone who thinks they know best. Her posture quickly emulates her mindset, slouched, hunched, arms folded tightly across her chest to shield herself from low-flying excuses and condescending answers. "Nobody told me anything," she adds sourly. "All I know I heard from the safe house kids, and you didn't tell them either."
"It is a secret," Xavier says bluntly, a thoughtful frown turned towards Mira, "for the same reason that the school, to date, has been a secret: to protect the students from unnecessary danger. The X-Men are among your teachers, and among our graduates as well, mutants trained to use their powers -- as you are -- but who have chosen to use them in service of the greater good. To protect the unprotected," he nods towards Cassy, the safehouse's shattered walls a ghost over the deep voice, "and to prevent an unnecessary war."
Cassy shuffles uncomfortably on the floor. "You know I've been /terribly/ rude," she starts. Then, after a pause, she holds up the candy coated coffee beans and adds "Anyone else want one?"
"So that means running around in black leather with a private jet? How come Miss Munroe doesn't go make it rain in all those countries with 10 year droughts? Or calling the cops when Magneto suddenly drops in for a sandwich? Or... okay, I admit I don't have any other examples in mind, but I'm sure there *are* some," Mira says with a shrug and a glance down towards Cassy.
Xavier's lips twist; humor surfaces for a moment's twinkling, rueful crest behind the eyes, adding texture to the polish of accent. "Perhaps a little, Cassy. But I can overlook it if it will not repeat itself."
"The black leather is both utilitarian and practical, if -- I confess -- a touch dramatic. What would you have them wear? Yellow spandex? As for Miss Munroe, flattering though your suggestions are regarding her power, she is not God. From time to time she lends her efforts where she can, but drought is not simply /drought/. As your classes with her will show you, most famines are caused by people, not by environment alone. Mother Nature is never as cruel as humanity can be."
"As for Magneto--" Xavier trails off; for a moment's silence, there is a hint of regret in the sculpted face. Just a hint.
"Yes, I bet Jubilee would /adore/ yellow spandex!" Cassy replies earnestly. "And I can't promise anything, I mean I might totally forget I have candy in future. I suppose I should have slept last night instead of eating all the instant coffee granules." The teenage red head sighs regretfully. "I mean /now/ what am I gonna drink?"
Cassy's exuberance, and even shorter-than-normal attention span, do nothing to distract Mira from staring at Charles Xavier, as if she were the telepath and he the flustered student in need of a bit of down-home advice. But she says nothing comforting, letting the thoughts trickle away into... passive anger. "As for Magneto what?" she presses, tongue sharp again. "He-" Mira's voice falters, conjuring only the image of an emaciated man lying unmoving in a hospital bed.
Professor Xavier meets Mira's look, old wisdom (a flare of sympathy) couched deep behind the steady regard. "Necessity makes for strange bedfellows," he says, compassion -- for the girl? for the Master of Magnetism? -- licking at the shoals of voice. "He believes he serves the greater good of mutants. The X-Men fight him when we must, and align with him when we must. We do not distinguish between humans and mutants when it comes to protecting the unprotected. The real world is not easy, Mira. There are no absolutes: no black and white."
"Except in that Cassy should no longer be eating coffee. My dear girl. I believe you have had far too much caffeine already."
Cassy's lip trembles. "Can I still have tea?" she asks anxiously. Then, with a perplexed look she adds "So does this mean they're out fighting to protect people all the time? 'Coz I'd have thought maybe it'd have made the papers or at /least/ the Internet. Suffice to say I couldn't find anything, except a study saying tin foil hats make telepathy stronger."
"Yeah," Mira slowly replies to Xavier, but his words have failed to reach her. "I'm startin' to see that." The half-lidded eyes, the slump back into the chair, all speak of unhappy resignation to unresolved issues. She remains quiet, though, which is perhaps a blessing of sorts.
"Cassy," Xavier sighs, and sits forward to draw fingertips across his face, as though the act of doing so will clear the day's distractions away. "Not always. We are not the police; humanity has its own protections, for all it sometimes seems to be inadequate. The X-Men fight where there are no other options, where the best of mankind cannot prevail against the worst of mutantkind. And to defend our own."
<< I am sorry, Mira, >> murmurs the gentle voice just beyond that girl's hearing. << All actions have consequences. If we had realized, we would have been there for your friend as well. >>
"But there are /always/ other options! At least that's what we got told in self defense class," Cassy replies as she nibbles on coffee beans. "Why not have mutant police then? Like they give cops guns so they can shoot people, why not train mutant cops to catch mutant fiends?"
Mira sits up straight with a start. Telepathy is still creepy. Hearing a voice without being able to see it too. It's unnatural! A slow breath draws in through her nose, replying as best as Jean had taught her: think loud. << It's not your fault. >> Though she declines to clarify whose fault it was, her thoughts fall back into turmoil.
<< There are many who would not agree, >> Xavier admits, resignation uncurling with power to cradle and blunt the girl's unpracticed reply. << Among them Erik Lensherr himself, ironically. He has always felt that power is meant to be used. >>
Aloud, the Professor grants, "There may be a day when mutants are openly welcomed on the police force -- but it is a ways yet. Do you remember your lessons on the civil rights movements of the 1960s?"
"Are you saying nothing will change 'till someone gets shot?" Cassy suggests tentatively. "And does that make Magneto that Malcolm guy?"
The Professor looks pained, hands flattened on the tabletop. "No. My point was that equality and integration take time -- decades. Generations. I do not foresee it happening for mutants within my lifetime, but I hope, dearly hope, that it will happen in yours. Magneto, like Malcolm X once did, believes violence and revolution is the only answer, but he has given no thought to what happens when everything is all torn down."
Cassy shrugs. "You know you should /totally/ watch out for snipers from now on, ok Professor?" she asks hopefully. "'Coz like in that metaphor it makes /you/ the one who probably ends up getting lead poisoning!" << Or Mr Worthington, but then he's already been shot once. >>
"Cassy," Mira says dispassionately. It's like the little warning light when a plane veers too far off course, or those little bumpy things on the side of the road to wake up sleepy drivers. To put her back on course. "I think our scoop failed."
Xavier's eyebrow lifts. "Scoop?" he echoes, inquiring. "Are you interested in journalism, now?"
"What scoop?" Cassy asks with a frown, then spying the camera she adds "Oh! That one, I knew we have come here for something. Journalism is sort of a hobby, just like writing little fiction stories and stuff." << Don't think about the Bobby and Wesley romance novel- Oops.... >>
Xavier looks pained again. "Perhaps," he says with a heavy dose of patience, "it is time for you two to regroup and confer. To come up with a new plan of action, as it were. And to think."
Heavy limbs strain against the tense inactivity they had endured and Mira rises, offering a hand towards Cassy to help her to her feet. "C'mon," she says laconically.
Cassy hands Mira the empty pack of candy, then springs to her feet. "Well, nice chatting with you Sir! You won't take it personally if I keep an eye out for WMD's will you?" she says cheerfully, heading towards the door.
"Yeah," Mira says, walking backwards for a few steps to keep her face towards Xavier even as she exits. "No offense, but we do have to keep our eyes open, y'know?" At this, she smiles. More of a smirk, really.
"No," Xavier says gravely, the dawning of a smile limning the reply. "I will consider it an utterly professional and impersonal act on your part. Provided you do it with civility and consideration for other people. Thank you for dropping in, Mira and Cassy. We must do this again sometime."
[Log ends]
Mira and Cassy show up at Xavier's door, and the "The curse is come upon me," cried the Lady of Shalott.
Friday morning, that idyllic cusp between week and week's long-deserved end, finds Xavier at peace in his office. Settled behind his desk with a pen in hand, glasses perched as a quizzical afterthought on that noble nose, the master of Xavier House writes letters of an old-fashioned sort, accompanied only by his thoughts (the quiet) and a cup of steaming tea at his elbow. The pen's scratch over paper is placid; the strong face is mild in repose. Sunlight spills in slices across the office, picking out the colors of rugs and old wood.
Tranquility. Serenity.
The quiet before the storm.
Sneaking up to the door to Xavier's office, repeating her dreaded and largely useless Penguin telepathy protection mantra, Cassy suddenly knocks and opens the door in one fluid motion. "A-hah!" she declares. Then as her gaze finishes a circuit of the room she adds "Oh, shouldn't you have a white cat and a secret tunnel about now?"
Flash!
A bright spot of white light pulses from just above Cassy's head, more accurately from the camera Mira is holding in front of one eye. And a certain bald head is sure to leave a glaring reflection. So perhaps the pair's entrance is a little less dramatic than camouflaged special ops agents rappelling from the ceiling into Xavier's secret volcano base, but the sentiment is still there. Mira nudges Cassy from behind. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Xavier."
Telepathy prepares -- the girls thus miss the expression of resignation that slides across Xavier's face before the door flies open -- and the pen continues with equanimity, scrolling copperscript across the paper. Professor Xavier's head gleams, attention still focused on his letter. "I am gratified you at least knocked," he observes without obvious misgivings, "though it seems we must work your timing. It is customary to wait for permission to enter. A lesson for another day. Would you care for some tea, ladies?"
Her mind filled with thoughts of line dancing penguins, Cassy pulls an image enhanced picture of Sebastian Shaw and Charles Xavier having a meeting on the lawn. "So where are they? We know you're buying illegal weapons, probably missiles and death rays!" she accuses wildly, finally stepping forward to let Mira in. "It makes /perfect/ sense, why else would an anti-mutant sleaze-bag visit the most famous pro-mutant in the country?"
Inwardly, Mira winces a little at this. Confrontation, sure, but Cassy swore she was going to keep it professional. She doesn't lower the camera, though, waiting for the perfect 'you caught me' expression. "She means," Mira clarifies with diplomatic caution after stepping into the office, "That Shaw guy who was here. The whole parade of black cars with tinted windows and everything."
Eyes blink, hazel deepening into blue tones. Wrinkles deepen at their corners. "'Perfect sense,'" Xavier marvels, and puts down the pen, fingers knitting restfully on the desk. "I believe we shall have to enroll you both in logic and philosophy before you graduate. I cannot allow future representatives of our education program to reflect so poorly on our teaching."
"Then where did you get a stealth jet plane from?" Cassy asks smugly. "And /how on earth/ do you refuel it? I mean I've never seen a tanker of jet fuel pulling up outside." The teenage red head smiles, while placing the picture down on the Professors desk. "No-one has stealth planes except the military and companies which make stuff for them, people like captain creepy there." Her finger stabs down at Shaw's picture.
"She's got a point," Mira says, lowering the camera from her face. Though having never witnessed the jet firsthand, its existence has been confirmed through multiple sources. "You don't just pick one of those up at a garage sale. And then there's a whole lot of other stuff that doesn't add up." The taller girl steels herself by drawing a breath before continuing. "Magneto's been here before, now this guy. How much more extreme pro-mutant and anti-mutant can you get under one roof? What's the deal?"
Scribe's fingers steeple, a telepath's gentle teasing for percolating imaginations. "Inquiring minds," Xavier says mellowly, the British accent rolling vowels like ripe nuts. Amusement tugs at the firm mouth, curving it towards a smile and warming the timbres of the deep baritone. "The plane refuels, when needed, at a private hanger. It was acquired through contacts I have in the aerospace industry -- not Shaw Industries, as it happens, though I'm certain his company would have been willing. Sentiment aside, Mr. Shaw /is/ a businessman. As the mansion might indicate, I am, in fact, fairly well off."
<< The penguins are replaced with a short little day dream about Bobby turning into a squid. >> With a random giggle Cassy clicks her fingers for a moment before replying "So what about the secret mutant army? I mean apart from at Worthington House what've they even done? Probably some black ops missions in some remote jungle!"
Mira's selfishness pays off for once, realizing Xavier had deflected her question without directly answering it. Because her questions are the most important ones. She bides her time for now, fingering the button on her camera just in case the right moment should arise suddenly.
Eyebrows arch, drawing lines across the high dome of head. "Mutant army?" Xavier repeats, allowing his hands to rest again on the geometry of his letter. His glance at Mira twinkles. Surely he does not wink. Surely. "We hardly have the numbers for an /army/, Cassy. I believe we shall have to enroll you in debate as well. The ability to communicate and present arguments clearly is a valuable real world skill, my dear."
Cassy pouts. "Actually you do! I read the dictionary before we set off," she reposts gleefully. "Army, meaning any body of persons organized for any purpose." < < He's /totally/ got something to hide! > > "And you never gave any good reason for having trained mutant strike teams, you just dodged around it. The students have a right to know! I mean what if someone comes and attacks /us/ for revenge huh?"
The pen is taken up; a new sheet of paper is pulled over. Mira and Cassy: Logic and Philosophy. Debate. "It is hardly a secret within the school," Xavier says with a hand's gesture at the building beyond the office, the other hand removing the glasses to fold them, gold arms blinking. "You refer, I presume, to the X-Men."
"Magneto, an anti-mutant arms dealer, and a leather-clad strike force. Mr. Xavier," Mira begins again, trying to keep from spazzing out like Cassy. It's a lot like good cop/bad cop, except she's not sure who's who. "There's a lot going on here, and the least you could do is lie to us a little better about it. I mean, you're not very good at this."
Eyebrows lift again. For the first time, a touch of chill reminds the girls that Xavier is, for all his warmth, capable of hauteur. "I do not recall," he says, clipped voice precise, "that I have lied to you at /all/."
Cassy frowns slightly. << Huh, this is like totally not how I'd planned on turning out. >> "But you're conveying a false impression about stuff, we're just like worried that having vigilantes for teachers is /kinda/ dangerous for us yah know?" she says with a sigh. "I don't wanna have someone bust a cap in me all because my History teacher put his crew in the pen."
Something stirs in Mira, a deep-seated resentment, bristling in response to Xavier. She leans forward to put her hand down on the edge of his desk, interposing herself between her roommate and the telepath. "Tell us what's going on," she says, tone suddenly sharp. "We have a right to know."
Deep-set eyes harden on Mira, frost creeping into the brilliance of color. "A little civility, if you please," Xavier says, face stiffening into severity. "Sit down, young lady."
Cassy obediently sits on the floor. "They have guns, they hate us and we /can't/ read minds. It's like totally natural for us to be worried, especially when someone with so /many/ guns turns up outside the school," she says calmly as she pulls some chocolate coated coffee beans from her pocket. << We're /so/ dead now, thanks Mira-kins! >>
The Lopez girl scowls but lowers her eyes. She takes a slow step back from the desk. Indignant displeasure positively rolls off her in waves as she slinks to sit in a visitor's chair, instead of the floor.
Once the girls are seated, ice melts, relaxing Xavier's expression to something closer to his customary warmth. "Indeed it is," he acknowledges, settling back into the familiar embrace of his chair, "and you have a right to know, as well. My business with Shaw -- is not, I must say, among the things that concern you. Suffice it to say that he had some questions that only I could answer, and that unlike students who have a busy day of schoolwork ahead of them--" the baritone waxes dry, "--business tycoons can be up and about at all hours of the night. Even when said students /should/ be fast asleep."
"As for the X-Men, surely your classmates have spoken to you regarding them?"
"Rumors can be /highly/ unreliable," Cassy says solemnly, she even keeps a straight face when she says it! "No-one /really/ knows why you set them up or what they're really doing. I mean I saw them at the safe house, but what else have they done?" Then with a frown she adds "And if what they're doing is supposed to help people why is it such a big secret? Surely /someone/ will find out eventually and then it'll look totally suspicious!"
Xavier's answer does nothing to quell the black ink that boils in Mira's brain. Just another evasive answer from someone who thinks they know best. Her posture quickly emulates her mindset, slouched, hunched, arms folded tightly across her chest to shield herself from low-flying excuses and condescending answers. "Nobody told me anything," she adds sourly. "All I know I heard from the safe house kids, and you didn't tell them either."
"It is a secret," Xavier says bluntly, a thoughtful frown turned towards Mira, "for the same reason that the school, to date, has been a secret: to protect the students from unnecessary danger. The X-Men are among your teachers, and among our graduates as well, mutants trained to use their powers -- as you are -- but who have chosen to use them in service of the greater good. To protect the unprotected," he nods towards Cassy, the safehouse's shattered walls a ghost over the deep voice, "and to prevent an unnecessary war."
Cassy shuffles uncomfortably on the floor. "You know I've been /terribly/ rude," she starts. Then, after a pause, she holds up the candy coated coffee beans and adds "Anyone else want one?"
"So that means running around in black leather with a private jet? How come Miss Munroe doesn't go make it rain in all those countries with 10 year droughts? Or calling the cops when Magneto suddenly drops in for a sandwich? Or... okay, I admit I don't have any other examples in mind, but I'm sure there *are* some," Mira says with a shrug and a glance down towards Cassy.
Xavier's lips twist; humor surfaces for a moment's twinkling, rueful crest behind the eyes, adding texture to the polish of accent. "Perhaps a little, Cassy. But I can overlook it if it will not repeat itself."
"The black leather is both utilitarian and practical, if -- I confess -- a touch dramatic. What would you have them wear? Yellow spandex? As for Miss Munroe, flattering though your suggestions are regarding her power, she is not God. From time to time she lends her efforts where she can, but drought is not simply /drought/. As your classes with her will show you, most famines are caused by people, not by environment alone. Mother Nature is never as cruel as humanity can be."
"As for Magneto--" Xavier trails off; for a moment's silence, there is a hint of regret in the sculpted face. Just a hint.
"Yes, I bet Jubilee would /adore/ yellow spandex!" Cassy replies earnestly. "And I can't promise anything, I mean I might totally forget I have candy in future. I suppose I should have slept last night instead of eating all the instant coffee granules." The teenage red head sighs regretfully. "I mean /now/ what am I gonna drink?"
Cassy's exuberance, and even shorter-than-normal attention span, do nothing to distract Mira from staring at Charles Xavier, as if she were the telepath and he the flustered student in need of a bit of down-home advice. But she says nothing comforting, letting the thoughts trickle away into... passive anger. "As for Magneto what?" she presses, tongue sharp again. "He-" Mira's voice falters, conjuring only the image of an emaciated man lying unmoving in a hospital bed.
Professor Xavier meets Mira's look, old wisdom (a flare of sympathy) couched deep behind the steady regard. "Necessity makes for strange bedfellows," he says, compassion -- for the girl? for the Master of Magnetism? -- licking at the shoals of voice. "He believes he serves the greater good of mutants. The X-Men fight him when we must, and align with him when we must. We do not distinguish between humans and mutants when it comes to protecting the unprotected. The real world is not easy, Mira. There are no absolutes: no black and white."
"Except in that Cassy should no longer be eating coffee. My dear girl. I believe you have had far too much caffeine already."
Cassy's lip trembles. "Can I still have tea?" she asks anxiously. Then, with a perplexed look she adds "So does this mean they're out fighting to protect people all the time? 'Coz I'd have thought maybe it'd have made the papers or at /least/ the Internet. Suffice to say I couldn't find anything, except a study saying tin foil hats make telepathy stronger."
"Yeah," Mira slowly replies to Xavier, but his words have failed to reach her. "I'm startin' to see that." The half-lidded eyes, the slump back into the chair, all speak of unhappy resignation to unresolved issues. She remains quiet, though, which is perhaps a blessing of sorts.
"Cassy," Xavier sighs, and sits forward to draw fingertips across his face, as though the act of doing so will clear the day's distractions away. "Not always. We are not the police; humanity has its own protections, for all it sometimes seems to be inadequate. The X-Men fight where there are no other options, where the best of mankind cannot prevail against the worst of mutantkind. And to defend our own."
<< I am sorry, Mira, >> murmurs the gentle voice just beyond that girl's hearing. << All actions have consequences. If we had realized, we would have been there for your friend as well. >>
"But there are /always/ other options! At least that's what we got told in self defense class," Cassy replies as she nibbles on coffee beans. "Why not have mutant police then? Like they give cops guns so they can shoot people, why not train mutant cops to catch mutant fiends?"
Mira sits up straight with a start. Telepathy is still creepy. Hearing a voice without being able to see it too. It's unnatural! A slow breath draws in through her nose, replying as best as Jean had taught her: think loud. << It's not your fault. >> Though she declines to clarify whose fault it was, her thoughts fall back into turmoil.
<< There are many who would not agree, >> Xavier admits, resignation uncurling with power to cradle and blunt the girl's unpracticed reply. << Among them Erik Lensherr himself, ironically. He has always felt that power is meant to be used. >>
Aloud, the Professor grants, "There may be a day when mutants are openly welcomed on the police force -- but it is a ways yet. Do you remember your lessons on the civil rights movements of the 1960s?"
"Are you saying nothing will change 'till someone gets shot?" Cassy suggests tentatively. "And does that make Magneto that Malcolm guy?"
The Professor looks pained, hands flattened on the tabletop. "No. My point was that equality and integration take time -- decades. Generations. I do not foresee it happening for mutants within my lifetime, but I hope, dearly hope, that it will happen in yours. Magneto, like Malcolm X once did, believes violence and revolution is the only answer, but he has given no thought to what happens when everything is all torn down."
Cassy shrugs. "You know you should /totally/ watch out for snipers from now on, ok Professor?" she asks hopefully. "'Coz like in that metaphor it makes /you/ the one who probably ends up getting lead poisoning!" << Or Mr Worthington, but then he's already been shot once. >>
"Cassy," Mira says dispassionately. It's like the little warning light when a plane veers too far off course, or those little bumpy things on the side of the road to wake up sleepy drivers. To put her back on course. "I think our scoop failed."
Xavier's eyebrow lifts. "Scoop?" he echoes, inquiring. "Are you interested in journalism, now?"
"What scoop?" Cassy asks with a frown, then spying the camera she adds "Oh! That one, I knew we have come here for something. Journalism is sort of a hobby, just like writing little fiction stories and stuff." << Don't think about the Bobby and Wesley romance novel- Oops.... >>
Xavier looks pained again. "Perhaps," he says with a heavy dose of patience, "it is time for you two to regroup and confer. To come up with a new plan of action, as it were. And to think."
Heavy limbs strain against the tense inactivity they had endured and Mira rises, offering a hand towards Cassy to help her to her feet. "C'mon," she says laconically.
Cassy hands Mira the empty pack of candy, then springs to her feet. "Well, nice chatting with you Sir! You won't take it personally if I keep an eye out for WMD's will you?" she says cheerfully, heading towards the door.
"Yeah," Mira says, walking backwards for a few steps to keep her face towards Xavier even as she exits. "No offense, but we do have to keep our eyes open, y'know?" At this, she smiles. More of a smirk, really.
"No," Xavier says gravely, the dawning of a smile limning the reply. "I will consider it an utterly professional and impersonal act on your part. Provided you do it with civility and consideration for other people. Thank you for dropping in, Mira and Cassy. We must do this again sometime."
[Log ends]
Mira and Cassy show up at Xavier's door, and the "The curse is come upon me," cried the Lady of Shalott.