12/1/06 - Walter
---
The air outside is brisk and cold, and by what means the students (student?) have managed it, or why, is free to play in the library as well. Several of th great, arched windows are open, free to bang against the sheltering curtains. The wind has found this unseasonal opening, and flirts happily in to explore.
Thus the deserted room, though the hour has something to do with it. Thus Professor Xavier, wrapped in patience and a knit cap and scarf, steering his wheelchair from window to window to push the panels shut. One down. Five to go.
Braving the cold, a young mind enters, the upcoming Christmas holidays on his mind. However, all thoughs of colorfully wrapped presents quickly die in the face of a frigid breeze inside what /should/ be an enclosed room. Pocketing his notepad, Walter makes his way to the nearest open window, pushing it shut. Two down.
Aged fingers work carefully at the latch of the present difficulty, fastening the metal bar down. Years of infirmity have redesigned much of the house to accommodate the wheelchair-bound -- and the small of stature, for that matter. "Thank you, Walter," acknowledges the deep, grave baritone. Professor Xavier steers himself towards the next window; the red knit hat, complete with pom pom, flops jauntily over an ear. "If you wouldn't mind assisting me with the others?"
As much as he might try to deny it, Walter still fits in the later category. He latches his window and moves towards the next. "You're welcome," the still-changing voice replies. He goes to work on window #3, working his way from the opposing side of the room from the wheelchair bound.
"There is this difficulty about housing mutants with widely varying metabolisms," Professor Xavier observes, the rich timbres of his voice carrying easily across the snipe of wind. A jealous howl batters at a window; he struggles with the panel, breaking off just long enough to push it home. A little breathless, he concludes, "A happy medium inevitably leaves some too uncomfortable for convenience."
Walter nods, a small smile touching his lips at the mention of varying metabolisms. Noting his benefactor's breathlessness, he handles the final window alone. Final Score: Walter: 3 Xavier: 2 Windows: 0. "I guess it's like that whenever you get a bunch of people living together," Walter hypothesises. Smiling, he looks from Xavier's bundled personage down to his short sleeved shirt, "Though maybe not as..." he searches for the word, "extreme."
The high brow furrows into a frown, not entirely sincere; the hint of a twinkle lurks in the deep-set eyes. "Age has a way of slowing one's blood," Professor Xavier advises, managing -- despite all odds -- to regain some of his dignity despite floppy pompom hat and a scarf plainly knitted by a generous, if unpracticed, student. "That, however, is simply human nature, completely separate from mutations. Thank you for your help with the windows, Walter."
Xavier is /very/ dignified, even with his silly hat. Walter makes a quick mental note to not attempt knitting. "You're welcome," he says genuinely, offering a smile to match. "Was just," presents, names, quite the share of question marks, "coming to do some research, and," a glance towards the windows, "figured I'd help."
"For a class?" Xavier inquires politely, turning his chair towards the thermostat embedded unobtrusively beside a bookshelf. The quiet hum of heating vents whispers in the background, kicking into gear now that their efforts will be appreciated; though the air is still cold enough to burn, the lack of wind reduces much of its bite. "How are your studies progressing?"
Walter shakes his head, smiling sheepishly. "Um... no," he admits. "Christmas presents," he explains. Leaning against the wall beside the nearest window, he considers for a brief moment before, "Pretty good, I guess," escapes his lips.
Christmas gifts. Xavier manages not to look pained -- but a hand does touch lightly at the fuzzy pink ball that is currently tickling one of his jowls. "Finding appropriate presents for loved ones is always a challenge," he grants mildly, sympathetic. "I have found in the past that finding gifts throughout the year saves one a great deal of effort come December."
Walter nods, several of those question marks crossing across his mental landscape once again. "But then they might have already gotten it by the time you can give it to them," he replies. "I already know what I want to get most of my friends, but I don't have a /clue/ what to get any teachers." Inside scoop?
Smile lines deepen. "I do not believe," Xavier says with gentle tact, "that any gift is required or expected on their ends. If you truly feel the need to express your appreciation, I'm sure they will be gratified by a simple card, or cookies or chocolates -- nothing extravagant. Cliche though it is: it truly is the thought that counts."
Walter chuckles. "Maybe I can replace all the Twinkie's I snuck from Doctor McCoy's stash," he muses.
"An easy way to his heart," Xavier says gravely. Amusement lightens his expression, the curve of the smile half-lost as he stretches up to adjust the heat. His hat, already sitting precariously on that bald pate, tumbles off. "And what of your friends?"
Walter approaches, kneeling to retrieve the hat, saving the Professor from the indignity of attempting to retrieve it himself. "They're easier," he responds, waiting for Xavier to finish his adjustments before passing the cap back. "Some books, a few gift cards..."
A soundless, distracted murder of thanks wisps across Walter's mind; the thermostat wheel clicks into a satisfactory location, and Xavier sinks back. The whisper of heat grumbles into a growl. "There. The room should warm to a more tolerable temperature, soon enough. Barring any unfortunate interference by others, that is. Easier? Do you think?" The twinkling gaze focuses on Walter. "I have always found it more difficult to find gifts for loved ones than for strangers."
Walter is helpful. "Well, I guess it's kind of both," he supposes. "On one hand, you know them better, so you'd know what they like," the small, subtle beginnings of a frown shape his features, "but if they're /really/ close, it's hard to find something good enough."
"Indeed." The Professor's mouth curves back towards its smile, the British accent rounding into fuller, layered tones. "It becomes something of a challenge, I agree. It is not so much a matter of value as it is -- the thought behind it."
Walter nods. "Well, that's kind of value too, right?" An impression of mild contemplation passes over both features and mindscape.
Light gleams a false halo off the polished head. "The most valuable, to my mind," Xavier acknowledges. "Monetary value changes according to the whim of the market. Personal value, sentiment, and memory -- those things endure. The memory of a good experience is also a gift," he adds mellowly.
There is a brief flash in Walter's eyes at the final statement, followed by a broad smile. He passes the dignified figure his not-so dignified cap. "Thanks for the help, Professor."
Professor Xavier looks amused -- but then he often does. "You are quite welcome, Walter," he says, folding his hands over the crumpled bundle of pink and red. It makes a colorful, festive splotch against the more somber color of his pants. "I wish you success on your search for Christmas gifts."
Walter jogs out of the room, giving a last wave to his elder as he steps out into the hallway. As the saying goes, one must strike while the iron is hot, and epiphanies are such fleeting creatures.
The air outside is brisk and cold, and by what means the students (student?) have managed it, or why, is free to play in the library as well. Several of th great, arched windows are open, free to bang against the sheltering curtains. The wind has found this unseasonal opening, and flirts happily in to explore.
Thus the deserted room, though the hour has something to do with it. Thus Professor Xavier, wrapped in patience and a knit cap and scarf, steering his wheelchair from window to window to push the panels shut. One down. Five to go.
Braving the cold, a young mind enters, the upcoming Christmas holidays on his mind. However, all thoughs of colorfully wrapped presents quickly die in the face of a frigid breeze inside what /should/ be an enclosed room. Pocketing his notepad, Walter makes his way to the nearest open window, pushing it shut. Two down.
Aged fingers work carefully at the latch of the present difficulty, fastening the metal bar down. Years of infirmity have redesigned much of the house to accommodate the wheelchair-bound -- and the small of stature, for that matter. "Thank you, Walter," acknowledges the deep, grave baritone. Professor Xavier steers himself towards the next window; the red knit hat, complete with pom pom, flops jauntily over an ear. "If you wouldn't mind assisting me with the others?"
As much as he might try to deny it, Walter still fits in the later category. He latches his window and moves towards the next. "You're welcome," the still-changing voice replies. He goes to work on window #3, working his way from the opposing side of the room from the wheelchair bound.
"There is this difficulty about housing mutants with widely varying metabolisms," Professor Xavier observes, the rich timbres of his voice carrying easily across the snipe of wind. A jealous howl batters at a window; he struggles with the panel, breaking off just long enough to push it home. A little breathless, he concludes, "A happy medium inevitably leaves some too uncomfortable for convenience."
Walter nods, a small smile touching his lips at the mention of varying metabolisms. Noting his benefactor's breathlessness, he handles the final window alone. Final Score: Walter: 3 Xavier: 2 Windows: 0. "I guess it's like that whenever you get a bunch of people living together," Walter hypothesises. Smiling, he looks from Xavier's bundled personage down to his short sleeved shirt, "Though maybe not as..." he searches for the word, "extreme."
The high brow furrows into a frown, not entirely sincere; the hint of a twinkle lurks in the deep-set eyes. "Age has a way of slowing one's blood," Professor Xavier advises, managing -- despite all odds -- to regain some of his dignity despite floppy pompom hat and a scarf plainly knitted by a generous, if unpracticed, student. "That, however, is simply human nature, completely separate from mutations. Thank you for your help with the windows, Walter."
Xavier is /very/ dignified, even with his silly hat. Walter makes a quick mental note to not attempt knitting. "You're welcome," he says genuinely, offering a smile to match. "Was just," presents, names, quite the share of question marks, "coming to do some research, and," a glance towards the windows, "figured I'd help."
"For a class?" Xavier inquires politely, turning his chair towards the thermostat embedded unobtrusively beside a bookshelf. The quiet hum of heating vents whispers in the background, kicking into gear now that their efforts will be appreciated; though the air is still cold enough to burn, the lack of wind reduces much of its bite. "How are your studies progressing?"
Walter shakes his head, smiling sheepishly. "Um... no," he admits. "Christmas presents," he explains. Leaning against the wall beside the nearest window, he considers for a brief moment before, "Pretty good, I guess," escapes his lips.
Christmas gifts. Xavier manages not to look pained -- but a hand does touch lightly at the fuzzy pink ball that is currently tickling one of his jowls. "Finding appropriate presents for loved ones is always a challenge," he grants mildly, sympathetic. "I have found in the past that finding gifts throughout the year saves one a great deal of effort come December."
Walter nods, several of those question marks crossing across his mental landscape once again. "But then they might have already gotten it by the time you can give it to them," he replies. "I already know what I want to get most of my friends, but I don't have a /clue/ what to get any teachers." Inside scoop?
Smile lines deepen. "I do not believe," Xavier says with gentle tact, "that any gift is required or expected on their ends. If you truly feel the need to express your appreciation, I'm sure they will be gratified by a simple card, or cookies or chocolates -- nothing extravagant. Cliche though it is: it truly is the thought that counts."
Walter chuckles. "Maybe I can replace all the Twinkie's I snuck from Doctor McCoy's stash," he muses.
"An easy way to his heart," Xavier says gravely. Amusement lightens his expression, the curve of the smile half-lost as he stretches up to adjust the heat. His hat, already sitting precariously on that bald pate, tumbles off. "And what of your friends?"
Walter approaches, kneeling to retrieve the hat, saving the Professor from the indignity of attempting to retrieve it himself. "They're easier," he responds, waiting for Xavier to finish his adjustments before passing the cap back. "Some books, a few gift cards..."
A soundless, distracted murder of thanks wisps across Walter's mind; the thermostat wheel clicks into a satisfactory location, and Xavier sinks back. The whisper of heat grumbles into a growl. "There. The room should warm to a more tolerable temperature, soon enough. Barring any unfortunate interference by others, that is. Easier? Do you think?" The twinkling gaze focuses on Walter. "I have always found it more difficult to find gifts for loved ones than for strangers."
Walter is helpful. "Well, I guess it's kind of both," he supposes. "On one hand, you know them better, so you'd know what they like," the small, subtle beginnings of a frown shape his features, "but if they're /really/ close, it's hard to find something good enough."
"Indeed." The Professor's mouth curves back towards its smile, the British accent rounding into fuller, layered tones. "It becomes something of a challenge, I agree. It is not so much a matter of value as it is -- the thought behind it."
Walter nods. "Well, that's kind of value too, right?" An impression of mild contemplation passes over both features and mindscape.
Light gleams a false halo off the polished head. "The most valuable, to my mind," Xavier acknowledges. "Monetary value changes according to the whim of the market. Personal value, sentiment, and memory -- those things endure. The memory of a good experience is also a gift," he adds mellowly.
There is a brief flash in Walter's eyes at the final statement, followed by a broad smile. He passes the dignified figure his not-so dignified cap. "Thanks for the help, Professor."
Professor Xavier looks amused -- but then he often does. "You are quite welcome, Walter," he says, folding his hands over the crumpled bundle of pink and red. It makes a colorful, festive splotch against the more somber color of his pants. "I wish you success on your search for Christmas gifts."
Walter jogs out of the room, giving a last wave to his elder as he steps out into the hallway. As the saying goes, one must strike while the iron is hot, and epiphanies are such fleeting creatures.