OOC: Rogue Commentary
Log: Rogue gets a lecture
Date: 12/14/06
Players: Rogue and Xavier
Xavier has returned from Washington D.C. to find his school in an uproar. In his absence, Piotr went on a rampage under the effects of a telepathic influence that removed his self-control and conscience. During the rampage, Piotr attempted to rape Jubilee, with unfortunate results: a wise man keeps his tackle far away from an angry woman who can explode things. Xavier's return coincided (fortunately for Piotr) with Rogue's apparent attempt to kill him. Xavier fixed Piotr. Now it's Rogue's turn.
A short log at last! Although it remains to be seen how short it will be after I've commentaried it. This being a non-pivotal log (in the sense that it wasn't a plot-necessary RP) it's likely I'll have more to say about it than I did about the de-wyverning one. My preemptive apologies to all.
I'm afraid that I don't do as much RP in Xavier as I should. His presence in the lives of most of the school children is more a matter of benevolent absence rather than active involvement -- something that I'm not entirely sure isn't IC as much as it is OOC. He's active politically, now more than ever, and spends a great deal of time in Washington, wheeling and dealing in person as well as through the influence of friends and allies that he has connections with. This means that the school suffers. The relationship he has with the newer students cannot approximate the one he has with the older ones, from Kitty's generation and up; he simply isn't there to the extent that he was, when that class was going through the school.
It's unclear whether that increases his influence or weakens it. His immediate influence, certainly, is not as strong -- he has to work through the proxy of his staff and his faculty, guiding from a distance rather than from the clear and present example of his own life and teaching. On the other hand, there's something to be said for not losing the power of awe through proximity. It's hard to say! Hopefully over the next few months he'll be able to spend more and more time at the school, looking inward as much as he does outward. Especially now that Moira's around.
Morning finds Xavier refreshed in attire, if not in body; the shadows that cling to the skull's hollows bruise the hazel eyes darker, rimming them in shades of blue and black. Mortality weighs heavy on the aging frame today. An anonymous tailor lends him dignity -- dark grey wool knits a sweater vest over the shirt and tie, less formal than is customary -- but the stoop of the shoulders is weariness personified, and the grasp of long fingers around the cane's head shows the press of knuckles and fine veins against thin skin.
A fire licks sleepily in the hearth. The wheelchair gleams beside it, empty. Gaze distant, the Professor stands by the window and looks out at the blank canvas of the gardens.
This time her chin is up, chest out and shoulders back. There will be no shuffling feet nor snuffles of apologies. Smartly the young woman snaps her attention to the heavy wooden door, lifting her knuckles to rap firmly on it. "Professor Xavier," The southern drawl calls out soundly, soaking into the rugs and furniture around her like wine without stain.
There's a strategic reason why he's not in the wheelchair, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. All I knew is that I wanted to try being out of the wheelchair for a while. He may not be built at the same stature of Scott or the rest of the X-Men, but he has his own power of presence. There's also the point that inside the chair, he's made an image of strength out of a visual of vulnerability. The students are accustomed to him being in the chair; it's no longer a strangeness. Him standing upright and by the window: now that's a strangeness, perhaps with its own unsettling impact. Xavier is not a manipulator solely because he's a telepath. He's a manipulator by instinct, by training, and by preference. He is a fully fledged psychologist, even separate from his mutation; he knows the impact of putting something familiar into a different context, changing a visual to give it power.
I've mentioned before about other people's clothes and how they use them as armor, or shield, or camouflage. Xavier is different in that regard. He dresses well, and he dresses formally, and he always does so with style and conservative elegance, but it has nothing to do with emotional or psychological subtext. He dresses well because he can, because he has a wardrobe that leans towards it, and because he's from a generation where being dressed appropriately and well was a matter of fact. He dresses that way out of habit now, even when he could dress more informally. I've known people from that generation who always dress well. My mother tells a story about Dr. Shinichi Suzuki, who used to listen to students' recordings sent in from around the world. In those days, in order to graduate from one Suzuki book to the next, a student would have to make a taperecording and then send it to Japan for approval. Every morning Dr. Suzuki would wake up at 4 AM, dress in a suit and tie, and then sit in his living room to listen to the recordings. Despite the fact that nobody was there to observe his attire, he felt it was a matter of respect towards the students to present the same appearance that he would to them in person.
Different generation, different rules of courtesy.
"Enter," says the voice from within, brandy to Rogue's wine. The other hand folds over the first, fingers cross-latticing to hide the gleam of the cane's brass. Framed by the window, limned by natural light, Xavier turns slightly to focus on the entrance. Remembered displeasure creases his brow, only to smooth neatly, blandly away. "The door is open."
Rogue eases herself in, closing the door being her. "Of course," she responds smoothly. Looking up, she's caught by surprise, the air leaking out of her quickly. With urgency her mind clicks back into focus and Rogue walks half the room, stopping there. "You wished to speak to me." she reminds, her voice only half a tone softer than before.
Haha. Surprise, Rogue!
There are only a few ways to deal with Xavier, I imagine, for those who live with him every day. One is to just bull your way through and not listen to a single word he says, and not to back down for any reason. This is, I suspect, the method that the younger students tend to use because it's a very immature and young way of dealing with logic or with reality; close your eyes, hold your breath, and charge. This is not a method that necessarily works for older people, who have more maturity (hopefully) and enough perspective to know when they're making a fool out of themselves. To cling to the irrational in the face of the rational tends to make one look like a motherborn idiot, unless you have the fanatical passion of your beliefs.
The problem with doing things that way is that usually, if you're younger, you need to start as you mean to go on. Charge full throttle and don't stop or falter for any reason, because once you do, you can get derailed. And I think maybe that's what Xavier intended to do by being out of his chair: derail before the charge can even commence. Take her feet out from under her from the outset, and then let reason work its way in.
Unfortunately, Xavier underestimates Rogue!
The Professor's expression shifts, briefly, deeply ironic before his glance cuts aside: back to the gardens outside, a last, weary check before he returns his attention to Rogue. The deep-set eyes glitter. "I did indeed. Take a seat, Marie." As an invitation, it bears more resemblance to an order.
"Rogue, if you would Professor." The Southern woman requests with a flash of her eyes. The same determination in her eyes shoots off at one of the chairs. "Ah-- of course, Professor." She gives him this, holding her tongue for the moment. Rogue settles herself on the edge of a chair, folding her gloved hands into her lap neatly.
I'm not entirely sure why Xavier calls her Marie there, to be honest. There was a reason and I don't remember it at the moment. I'm senile and forget things easily. However, it was a very good reason! I swear!
It'll come back to me, I'm sure. Something about earning a name ... I dunno. Hm.
"Rogue, then," says Xavier, turning to follow the girl's seat. Sunlight sits on his shoulders. His gaze is cool. "You attempted to kill your friend Piotr yesterday. Would you care to explain?"
Rogue's brow folds down, the young skin fighting to find concerned creases where age just wont allow. It must be easier to be old and concerned. "He ain't mah friend," is all she can manage to snap for a moment. "You know. You must... What he did."
"I know what he has done to hurt others, and what he attempted to do to Jubilee," Xavier says, baritone chill. Fingers fold more firmly across the cane's head. "I am also aware that he did what he did because telepathic interference made it impossible for him to control his baser urges. What, may I ask, is your excuse?"
There's a lingering anger here over Jubilee that Xavier doesn't really fully express in this scene. He helped raise Jubilee, as he did many of the children in Rogue's generation. She really is the odd person out in that class, to some extent; she came late to a relationship that had been years in the formation even before she ever came to the school. Xavier loves Jubilee as he would a daughter, as much as he does Jean or Scott or any of the others. As much, in fact, as he loves Piotr as a son. The pain of knowing what almost happened to Jubilee is as strong as his anger is against the assailant -- but he can't be angry at Piotr, because the reality is, while it was his body, it wasn't him. His anger is therefore turned more certainly against the person responsible, the telepath that was responsible for what happened to Piotr, and by extension, to Jubilee.
So, you know. He's still mad.
However, that's a separate issue. Piotr at least has an excuse. He literally could not help himself. What was Rogue's?
Rogue's hand lifts up, fingers tensing against the chair's arm as she regrets her decision to stand. Instead she is forced to look up to him, her face dropping to the temperature of his voice. "Jubilee is mah excuse. Cassy as well. The fact that he couldn't /control/ those urges don't mean they weren't there t'begin with. Make all the /excuses/ for him you want Professor, but Ah think we just got ah better look at what Rasputin is like than we ever have before."
"A glimpse of the true person," Xavier says, dangerously mild. "Such as the person you were, when you hurt your friends for Blindspot."
Rogue's reply here is -- hah. I think I had a bit of trouble with Xavier's reply to Rogue's pose because there was so much wrong with Rogue's reply here, so many directions that Xavier could have gone, so many idiotic threads that he could have unraveled, that Xavier in my head was almost taken aback. There's the point of the urges that were present. Everyone has present urges; it's self-control that keeps them in check. Like Rogue acts on all of hers? And a better look at the person than they ever did before -- yes, but in the complete ass-backward sense that people got to see how much stronger the man Piotr is than they ever realized possible. If Xavier had hair, he'd have started to tear at it, I think.
In retrospect, I'm not entirely sure that the direction Xavier went with it was the best one, but it was the one that got picked in the moment, so that's the one that we're stuck with. The direction that we ended up taking was the one where he relates Rogue to Piotr, pointing out that this position of superiority that she takes is invalid; that she's condemning someone else for the same sins that she's committed. Her self-claimed role of prosecutor, jury, and executioner is not only tremendous cheek, it's self-incriminating.
It's a good moment before Rogue can even think, much less respond to Charles Xavier, her face unable to decide what emotion to turn to. "Ah was spared no room for excuses, Xavier. A luxury you are only too happy to provide for Peter. Whatever respect Ah have now, Ah earned back on my own." Her eyes lock into him, digging in without hope of letting go. "You compare hurt with rape. Hope with crime. Ah attempted no such thang."
Xavier's smile is a thin-lipped thing. There is no humor in it. "Do you truly wish to speak about comparisons? You have attempted to /murder/ a man. A man who was your friend. You have evened the board yourself, Rogue."
Perspective, perspective. Rogue thinks she was spared no room for excuses but in fact she was. A tremendous amount. Her friends accepted her back, willing to blame Blindspot for her behavior; her teachers gave her the benefit of the doubt, and let her join the X-Men. In fact, there was a tremendous amount of give, but now is not the time to point this out. Rogue is already not listening, and she's already made up her mind on that front, and the fact that what she said before even came out of her mouth is not making Xavier particularly enthusiastic about her ability to think intelligently to begin with.
He's so irritated. So very, very irritated.
And here I have to add a note of sheer love for Rogue. She does such an immensely satisfying, incredibly good job of portraying this teenager, that complicated, occasionally infuriating, and extraordinarily passionate mess of emotions and good intentions gone awry. She has a great mastery of perspective, the ability of not letting her characters see more than they should or would from the standpoint of their age and their experience. She has the strong player's willingness to make her character look less than perfect in order to make a more believable character and a more realistic portrayal. It makes her character very human and really lovely, and a pure joy to interact with. It has the added benefit of making her character uniquely able to provoke and evoke emotional responses from other characters. Also, you know. She's just an awesome, awesome RPer and player.
"Ah wasn't--" Rogue starts, obviously frustrated already. "He wouldn't have died." She hisses, her fingers not white with stress against the stained wood. "It wouldn't have come to that. He needed to be taught a lesson. Yet here /Ah/ am, getting the lecture while the man who tired to /rape/ my best friend barely gets a slap on the wrist."
"They are separate crimes, Rogue. He will pay in almost every way imaginable. Do you truly wish to see what Piotr will bear, Rogue? Really?" A hand lifts, fingers opening in invitation; behind it, Xavier's face grows remote and stark. Power uncurls behind the chill wash of displeasure, licking broodingly behind the hard, tired eyes.
It's a measure of just how irritated Xavier is that he says what he does above, proposing to (from one point of view) violate the privacy of Piotr's emotions and thoughts by letting her experience them. It's an enormous offer, or a threat, and has with it a devastating potential. Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose; it wouldn't be as easy for Rogue to judge Piotr if she really saw herself in the kind of mirror that Xavier could provide.
It's one of the most terrible of Xavier's gifts, to allow people to see themselves. Really see themselves, that is, without any room for concealment or the pleasant little lies that people tell themselves to camouflage their baser selves and justify their more sordid actions. Telepathy is so often used as a means of manipulation and concealment and misdirection on the game, between Jean and Xavier and Emma and the twins -- but there's a flip side to that coin. Lies are safe. Truth is deadly. There are very, very few people who can stand to face themselves, and come out whole on the far side.
Rogue seems to suffer from one of two very common delusions that teenagers suffer from. The first delusion is that life should be fair. The second delusion is that life is unfair only to them. The reality, of course, is that life is unfair, and that it's unfair to everyone. This on top of the attitude she's giving that nobody seems to care about the crime against Jubilee, when in fact the entire school loves Jubilee -- when Xavier is in the position of being a father to a girl who was almost raped, and has to struggle now with the need to forgive the man who was responsible, knowing it wasn't his fault, facing the nightmare of seeing a son attack a daughter -- well. ME ME ME ME ME. WHY IS EVERYONE GANGING UP ON ME? Nobody else understands. Waah. SHE NEEDS A PERSPECTIVE SHIFT. Xavier is, at this point, almost all too willing to provide her with one. She is so very, very lucky that his self-control is still mostly firm.
Rogue opens her mouth, harsh words already forming into her head. But they fade, washing away under a sudden tiredness of the whole situation. "No. But Ah'll spare him no pity for it. None at all. He has lost me as a friend as much as Ah have lost him." Her hands finally spring, pushing herself up with a determined look. "Will you be reporting me? Ah wont run from mah actions, but Ah wont back down on how Ah feel, either."
"Feeling is not your problem," Xavier says, the extended hand dropping heavily to his side. Power subsides, muttering its way back into somnolescence. He looks, abruptly, old; the slightly bowed frame stirs out of its stance, leaning heavily on the cane in a limping path to a nearby chair. "It is the choice to act on it. Your loyalty to your friends is laudable, if selective. Your urge to act on it without thought or consideration, less so. You were right for the wrong reasons, Rogue."
It's the first intelligent point that Rogue has made, in Xavier's mind, though it's possible that Rogue wasn't intending it. Xavier House has too much dirty laundry to start airing it now, and he feels a twinge of approval -- even through the annoyance -- that Rogue is smart enough to make that point. (Although he has some doubt that she really knew what she was doing when she said it.) Call the police on Rogue, and you call the police on Piotr, and even beyond all that there's the fact that Erik Lensherr crashed at the mansion for a while, and there are unregistered mutants being harbored at the school. There are all sorts of ways in which official notice can be unpleasant for everyone involved, and he is hardly going to open those floodgates before he's ready.
It's in concession to that point that he relaxes his power, and that glimmer of intelligence and logical thought that defuses some of his irritation. That said, he moves towards a different kind of manipulation. He allows himself to look tired and old, dropping a bit of the dignified mask. When he says that she was right for the wrong reasons, he means that she was right in that we were able to learn about Piotr by seeing what demons he's kept under control for all these years, all the paths not taken that could have made him into less of a man than he actually turned out to be. For all his lingering anger over the Wyverning, he's conscious of more pride in Piotr than he was aware that he had. And that, at least for Xavier, has been a revelation.
Rogue straightens herself up, not shying away from the steady look given to him as he limps. "Urges are what caused this mess in the first place. But Ah make no excuse for mine, though a good portion of them are not mah own." Her hands flex and ball protectively at her sides, her voice ringing out over hidden mental doubts. "Ah was right in protecting mah friend. When it comes down to it, Ah will not apologize for /that/."
"You did not protect her," Xavier says quietly, and steadies himself with an outstretched hand to the back of his chosen seat. His gaze is level, and in its own way, sympathetic. "You attacked a man who was helpless and drugged, unable to harm anyone further. Until yesterday, you chose daily not act on your urges, yours or no. Neither, until that control was taken from him, did Piotr. Both of you deserve respect for that. Condemn him for having them to begin with, and you condemn yourself."
It's hilarious that in one breath she says she makes no excuses for her urges, and then proceeds to excuse them by saying a good portion of them aren't her own. Don't think Xavier didn't notice that. But again, he chooses to let that go; pointing out the flaws of her logic will not contribute to any short-term good.
And in fact, she didn't protect Jubilee. Not in any way, shape or form. If she was really concerned about Jubilee, why was she at Piotr's door? Why wasn't she at Jubilee's side? She went for revenge against the offender instead of comfort for the victim. While Xavier can understand that instinct -- the X-Men members in general are more inclined towards action than passivity, after all, which is why they're X-Men instead of ... well, not -- he will not allow her the delusion or the lie that it was meant to "defend" Jubilee. There are times when illusions can't be helped, and when they can be helpful, but not if they're going to give her the comforting delusion that she was helping someone when in fact she was hurtling headlong into a real crime, something as devastating as murder. The taking of a life is something too serious to be done under false pretenses. If it must be done, do it in all honesty, with both eyes open, in full knowledge of the weight and the burden you've taken on. Otherwise, don't do it at all. He's killed before. He KNOWS.
He tries to reach her, and he fails. There are times when the temptation of pure telepathy is just so overwhelming, and I think that's why he doesn't use it almost at all during this log; the temptation to do more than just communicate is so strong, he's not entirely sure that he can restrain himself from fixing this willful blindness of hers, to wrench her perspective around so she can see what she really is.
Muscles tense upon the accusation, her jaw line firm. Rogue allows him to finish, though her stance itself states she is unmoved by the words. "Then Ah condemn myself," she hisses, turning for the door. "You can tell the police where to find me, if that's the path you chose in this. Ah will even hold my tongue on what Peter did, since he seems so worthy of your forgiveness. Somethang you do not grant me." The door is not ripped open, surprisingly, and she pauses her gentle turn of the knob with a single look back. "If you are done, Professor. Ah would very much like to go home to the friend Ah apparently fail so much to protect."
"Forgiveness," Xavier says with a note of surprise, pausing in mid-descent to glance up at Rogue. A moment's awkwardness -- not a dignified pose -- before legs give way and he drops like a stone into the cushions, anguish lurching a swift stab across his face as his hip catches on the chair's arm. Fingers wrap around wood, knuckles biting sharply white against the skin. "Rogue," the Professor says after a breathless moment. Pain thins his baritone. "Do you remember coming to me after Blindspot left?"
I don't put it past Xavier to have planned that little physical weakness, but at the same time, I don't think he did. Not to that extent, certainly. He uses his physical weaknesses as tools in his manipulative arsenal, but he holds too closely to his dignity to allow them to be serious demonstrations.
This was actually a pretty significant point for me the player, since it signaled a kind of turning point for the way I play Xavier. Up until fairly recently, I felt far too constricted by Xavier's dignity to let him expose himself to physical weakness; it's a strong mental bar for him, since he still feels very strongly about his physical infirmities. He dislikes them still, not so much because of their restraint to his mobility (he's long since gotten accustomed to that limitation) but because of their impairment to that dignity of his that he clings to so fiercely. The RP with Piotr earlier in the gym was one of the first cracks between player and character, where we started to get comfortable enough with each other to allow that exposure in front of a character who isn't one of the first generation that he helped raise.
The fact that the player and the character are comfortable enough with each other to expose the character like this is a big turning point for me. Yay!
Rogue flinches at the clip of the chair arm. Her body loosens, ready to turn around and help her fatherly figure, though she is stopped dead in her tracks. "Ah talked to a lot o'people, Professor. But, yes, Ah recall speaking to you." She agrees grudgingly. Now is the time for her eyes to avert, now down at the rug under her feet.
Eyelids flutter over the gleam of hazel. Xavier sinks carefully back, the fingers of his free hand closing tightly over the chair's arm. "You were afraid that you had disappointed your friends," he says, the baritone still strained. "And I told you that there was no rule that said you must be what other people hoped you would be."
While her hand stays on the polished brass of the door, her body turns and studies him, a valiant attempt to fight off the hurt of stirred memories. "Yes? I remember," she admits, tone begging for a follow up.
"You chose to join the X-Men that day," Xavier says, the British accent deepening. Firelight trickles across the strong-boned face. "You chose to try to become something better than what you were. You were wrong when you said that you were spared no room for excuses. Your friends will always find a way to forgive you, until you truly cross the unforgivable line, willingly and knowingly, by your own volition." A hand lifts, palm up; the thin lips twist, pain stippled with self-deprecation. "What happened to Jubilee was not your failure."
He stops her, not so much to persuade her further, but to remind her that she made a promise to the X-Men. It's a stealth bomb, of sorts. Delayed time release. The X-Men choose every day to be X-Men. It's not like the Brotherhood, where one decision trumps all. He wants to remind her that she has that path ahead of her, if she wants to continue on it. And this is his function with the X-Men, to guide them on the road so they don't fall off as long as they choose to stay on it. On top of which, he feels the need to address the survivor's guilt. It's a common affliction for the X-Men, individually and as a team. The guilt of failure, even if one wasn't present for what happened to one's friend, hits hard for people like the X-Men. He's all too aware of it. He holds her back to tell her that, too; it wasn't her fault that she wasn't there. It wasn't her responsibility. He does for her what he does for all of his children. Tough love. And compassion.
It's doubtful whether she sees it that way. He chooses not to tell her. She will eventually understand, or else she won't. He rarely explains himself; it's a curious way of teaching, but sometimes they need to think for themselves and come to their own conclusions.
In the meantime, his reminder of that conversation in the past, and the reference to not being someone else's image of her, is both a promise and a warning. She does not have to live up to his hopes of her. That is her choice. He will not force her to be someone else. The only person she has to be is the person she wants to be -- but he's warning her that the person she is choosing to be here, at this time, the person that she chose to be back in the danger room with Piotr, is a person who will eventually no longer be an X-Man. Does she realize that? Maybe. It's a subtle warning. You can take a lot away from what he says, and read different meanings into it. Who knows what Rogue makes of it. Maybe nothing! Young people often don't really hear the things that Xavier says. He is too old to speak hip. :(
Rogue's shoulder blades flirt with the wood of the door, eyes up now and regarding Xavier with the upmost hesitance as she attempts to keep herself above him and his words. A quest that falls fast and fails faster. "But Ah bear it anyways, Professor. Ah choose to. That is mah decision." She takes a deep breath, eyeing the hand between her hand. "You would ask me to forgive Piotr?"
"No," the Professor says. Fingers trail across the high ridge of brow, rubbing gently at the furrow above the nose. "Forgiveness is not something that can be ordered or demanded. If you do not offer it willingly, it is meaningless. You do not need mine, Rogue. I could wish you had not done what you did, but it was ... understandable. I almost did the same once, when I was not as old as you. But we -- you and I -- we cannot act from our emotions alone. We are too powerful. Justice and revenge cannot live together."
There's a story behind that, the urge towards revenge that he almost gave into as a youth. One that might come up on-camera someday. Not now. Most of the irritation is dissipated; there's not much left now beyond an all-encompassing exhaustion, due as much to the previous day's exertions on Piotr's behalf as for the travel back and forth between Washington.
"Yet Ah strive for it anyways. We all do," Rogue murmurs, very much to the doorknob though the sentiment echoes loudly through her mind. She nods, numbly, and regains composure enough to face him again. "Then Ah am divided, Professor. An' Ah ask you let me to return to where Ah can feel whole again. May Ah?" Her grip around the knob tightens. "She needs me." << Or so I tell myself. >> Rogue's mind finishes laced with doubt.
Xavier inclines his head, drawing himself up with a faint twinge to ruffle his expression once more. "Go, then," he says quietly. His hand drops, pale against his leg. "Give Jubilee my love. I believe there is a rather formidable care basket in the kitchen for her." Something akin to his customary warmth curls his mouth, layering under the wry timbres of his baritone. "The staff has been laboring on it all morning. Take care of her, my dear." << And yourself-- >> sighs under the voice, careworn, compassion and forgiveness -- implied in the asking, offered in silence -- touching gently in farewell.
The irritation and the temptation are gone, or at least controlled enough that it's no longer a danger for him to use telepathic communication. So that's what he does, at the end, giving Rogue the same compassion that he gave to Piotr. For all that she doesn't listen, she's still in her own way a daughter of the house, and he has the same affection for her that he has towards the others in her class.
It's one of Xavier's weaknesses, that he hides his emotional attachment to people. It's an offshoot of that drive not to be overprotective of his students, to keep from hobbling them further when they're already protected and sheltered to an almost obscene degree from the real world. He wants them to make their own mistakes and to learn from them, and as a result, he tries hard not to weigh them down with the burden of his love and his fears for them. The result of that is that he can often seem very distant when in fact he's actually emotionally engaged. He's very caught up in the role of the father, and what he feels a father should be. Odd, that his concept of a father figure is so remote, when his own father was anything but. Xavier had a great deal of love and respect for his father, and perhaps that's why he models himself after a different kind of paternal figure, feeling that he couldn't approximate even in sham the kind of father that his own was.
It's ironic that for a man who knows people and how to manipulate them, he give up such a large advantage here by not showing his emotional attachments to the children. If he exposed his vulnerability there, if he let them know how much he truly cared, I somehow think he might be able to win them even more closely to him. However, I think that's why he doesn't do that. It's one thing to manipulate people with subterfuge; it's another to manipulate them with this kind of real truth. It's a curious concept of right and wrong and fairness. He doesn't want them to choose his way because of their emotional attachment to him. He wants them to choose it because it's right, and it's best for them, because those choices will last (he mistakenly feels) even past his own death.
Date: 12/14/06
Players: Rogue and Xavier
Xavier has returned from Washington D.C. to find his school in an uproar. In his absence, Piotr went on a rampage under the effects of a telepathic influence that removed his self-control and conscience. During the rampage, Piotr attempted to rape Jubilee, with unfortunate results: a wise man keeps his tackle far away from an angry woman who can explode things. Xavier's return coincided (fortunately for Piotr) with Rogue's apparent attempt to kill him. Xavier fixed Piotr. Now it's Rogue's turn.
A short log at last! Although it remains to be seen how short it will be after I've commentaried it. This being a non-pivotal log (in the sense that it wasn't a plot-necessary RP) it's likely I'll have more to say about it than I did about the de-wyverning one. My preemptive apologies to all.
I'm afraid that I don't do as much RP in Xavier as I should. His presence in the lives of most of the school children is more a matter of benevolent absence rather than active involvement -- something that I'm not entirely sure isn't IC as much as it is OOC. He's active politically, now more than ever, and spends a great deal of time in Washington, wheeling and dealing in person as well as through the influence of friends and allies that he has connections with. This means that the school suffers. The relationship he has with the newer students cannot approximate the one he has with the older ones, from Kitty's generation and up; he simply isn't there to the extent that he was, when that class was going through the school.
It's unclear whether that increases his influence or weakens it. His immediate influence, certainly, is not as strong -- he has to work through the proxy of his staff and his faculty, guiding from a distance rather than from the clear and present example of his own life and teaching. On the other hand, there's something to be said for not losing the power of awe through proximity. It's hard to say! Hopefully over the next few months he'll be able to spend more and more time at the school, looking inward as much as he does outward. Especially now that Moira's around.
Morning finds Xavier refreshed in attire, if not in body; the shadows that cling to the skull's hollows bruise the hazel eyes darker, rimming them in shades of blue and black. Mortality weighs heavy on the aging frame today. An anonymous tailor lends him dignity -- dark grey wool knits a sweater vest over the shirt and tie, less formal than is customary -- but the stoop of the shoulders is weariness personified, and the grasp of long fingers around the cane's head shows the press of knuckles and fine veins against thin skin.
A fire licks sleepily in the hearth. The wheelchair gleams beside it, empty. Gaze distant, the Professor stands by the window and looks out at the blank canvas of the gardens.
This time her chin is up, chest out and shoulders back. There will be no shuffling feet nor snuffles of apologies. Smartly the young woman snaps her attention to the heavy wooden door, lifting her knuckles to rap firmly on it. "Professor Xavier," The southern drawl calls out soundly, soaking into the rugs and furniture around her like wine without stain.
There's a strategic reason why he's not in the wheelchair, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. All I knew is that I wanted to try being out of the wheelchair for a while. He may not be built at the same stature of Scott or the rest of the X-Men, but he has his own power of presence. There's also the point that inside the chair, he's made an image of strength out of a visual of vulnerability. The students are accustomed to him being in the chair; it's no longer a strangeness. Him standing upright and by the window: now that's a strangeness, perhaps with its own unsettling impact. Xavier is not a manipulator solely because he's a telepath. He's a manipulator by instinct, by training, and by preference. He is a fully fledged psychologist, even separate from his mutation; he knows the impact of putting something familiar into a different context, changing a visual to give it power.
I've mentioned before about other people's clothes and how they use them as armor, or shield, or camouflage. Xavier is different in that regard. He dresses well, and he dresses formally, and he always does so with style and conservative elegance, but it has nothing to do with emotional or psychological subtext. He dresses well because he can, because he has a wardrobe that leans towards it, and because he's from a generation where being dressed appropriately and well was a matter of fact. He dresses that way out of habit now, even when he could dress more informally. I've known people from that generation who always dress well. My mother tells a story about Dr. Shinichi Suzuki, who used to listen to students' recordings sent in from around the world. In those days, in order to graduate from one Suzuki book to the next, a student would have to make a taperecording and then send it to Japan for approval. Every morning Dr. Suzuki would wake up at 4 AM, dress in a suit and tie, and then sit in his living room to listen to the recordings. Despite the fact that nobody was there to observe his attire, he felt it was a matter of respect towards the students to present the same appearance that he would to them in person.
Different generation, different rules of courtesy.
"Enter," says the voice from within, brandy to Rogue's wine. The other hand folds over the first, fingers cross-latticing to hide the gleam of the cane's brass. Framed by the window, limned by natural light, Xavier turns slightly to focus on the entrance. Remembered displeasure creases his brow, only to smooth neatly, blandly away. "The door is open."
Rogue eases herself in, closing the door being her. "Of course," she responds smoothly. Looking up, she's caught by surprise, the air leaking out of her quickly. With urgency her mind clicks back into focus and Rogue walks half the room, stopping there. "You wished to speak to me." she reminds, her voice only half a tone softer than before.
Haha. Surprise, Rogue!
There are only a few ways to deal with Xavier, I imagine, for those who live with him every day. One is to just bull your way through and not listen to a single word he says, and not to back down for any reason. This is, I suspect, the method that the younger students tend to use because it's a very immature and young way of dealing with logic or with reality; close your eyes, hold your breath, and charge. This is not a method that necessarily works for older people, who have more maturity (hopefully) and enough perspective to know when they're making a fool out of themselves. To cling to the irrational in the face of the rational tends to make one look like a motherborn idiot, unless you have the fanatical passion of your beliefs.
The problem with doing things that way is that usually, if you're younger, you need to start as you mean to go on. Charge full throttle and don't stop or falter for any reason, because once you do, you can get derailed. And I think maybe that's what Xavier intended to do by being out of his chair: derail before the charge can even commence. Take her feet out from under her from the outset, and then let reason work its way in.
Unfortunately, Xavier underestimates Rogue!
The Professor's expression shifts, briefly, deeply ironic before his glance cuts aside: back to the gardens outside, a last, weary check before he returns his attention to Rogue. The deep-set eyes glitter. "I did indeed. Take a seat, Marie." As an invitation, it bears more resemblance to an order.
"Rogue, if you would Professor." The Southern woman requests with a flash of her eyes. The same determination in her eyes shoots off at one of the chairs. "Ah-- of course, Professor." She gives him this, holding her tongue for the moment. Rogue settles herself on the edge of a chair, folding her gloved hands into her lap neatly.
I'm not entirely sure why Xavier calls her Marie there, to be honest. There was a reason and I don't remember it at the moment. I'm senile and forget things easily. However, it was a very good reason! I swear!
It'll come back to me, I'm sure. Something about earning a name ... I dunno. Hm.
"Rogue, then," says Xavier, turning to follow the girl's seat. Sunlight sits on his shoulders. His gaze is cool. "You attempted to kill your friend Piotr yesterday. Would you care to explain?"
Rogue's brow folds down, the young skin fighting to find concerned creases where age just wont allow. It must be easier to be old and concerned. "He ain't mah friend," is all she can manage to snap for a moment. "You know. You must... What he did."
"I know what he has done to hurt others, and what he attempted to do to Jubilee," Xavier says, baritone chill. Fingers fold more firmly across the cane's head. "I am also aware that he did what he did because telepathic interference made it impossible for him to control his baser urges. What, may I ask, is your excuse?"
There's a lingering anger here over Jubilee that Xavier doesn't really fully express in this scene. He helped raise Jubilee, as he did many of the children in Rogue's generation. She really is the odd person out in that class, to some extent; she came late to a relationship that had been years in the formation even before she ever came to the school. Xavier loves Jubilee as he would a daughter, as much as he does Jean or Scott or any of the others. As much, in fact, as he loves Piotr as a son. The pain of knowing what almost happened to Jubilee is as strong as his anger is against the assailant -- but he can't be angry at Piotr, because the reality is, while it was his body, it wasn't him. His anger is therefore turned more certainly against the person responsible, the telepath that was responsible for what happened to Piotr, and by extension, to Jubilee.
So, you know. He's still mad.
However, that's a separate issue. Piotr at least has an excuse. He literally could not help himself. What was Rogue's?
Rogue's hand lifts up, fingers tensing against the chair's arm as she regrets her decision to stand. Instead she is forced to look up to him, her face dropping to the temperature of his voice. "Jubilee is mah excuse. Cassy as well. The fact that he couldn't /control/ those urges don't mean they weren't there t'begin with. Make all the /excuses/ for him you want Professor, but Ah think we just got ah better look at what Rasputin is like than we ever have before."
"A glimpse of the true person," Xavier says, dangerously mild. "Such as the person you were, when you hurt your friends for Blindspot."
Rogue's reply here is -- hah. I think I had a bit of trouble with Xavier's reply to Rogue's pose because there was so much wrong with Rogue's reply here, so many directions that Xavier could have gone, so many idiotic threads that he could have unraveled, that Xavier in my head was almost taken aback. There's the point of the urges that were present. Everyone has present urges; it's self-control that keeps them in check. Like Rogue acts on all of hers? And a better look at the person than they ever did before -- yes, but in the complete ass-backward sense that people got to see how much stronger the man Piotr is than they ever realized possible. If Xavier had hair, he'd have started to tear at it, I think.
In retrospect, I'm not entirely sure that the direction Xavier went with it was the best one, but it was the one that got picked in the moment, so that's the one that we're stuck with. The direction that we ended up taking was the one where he relates Rogue to Piotr, pointing out that this position of superiority that she takes is invalid; that she's condemning someone else for the same sins that she's committed. Her self-claimed role of prosecutor, jury, and executioner is not only tremendous cheek, it's self-incriminating.
It's a good moment before Rogue can even think, much less respond to Charles Xavier, her face unable to decide what emotion to turn to. "Ah was spared no room for excuses, Xavier. A luxury you are only too happy to provide for Peter. Whatever respect Ah have now, Ah earned back on my own." Her eyes lock into him, digging in without hope of letting go. "You compare hurt with rape. Hope with crime. Ah attempted no such thang."
Xavier's smile is a thin-lipped thing. There is no humor in it. "Do you truly wish to speak about comparisons? You have attempted to /murder/ a man. A man who was your friend. You have evened the board yourself, Rogue."
Perspective, perspective. Rogue thinks she was spared no room for excuses but in fact she was. A tremendous amount. Her friends accepted her back, willing to blame Blindspot for her behavior; her teachers gave her the benefit of the doubt, and let her join the X-Men. In fact, there was a tremendous amount of give, but now is not the time to point this out. Rogue is already not listening, and she's already made up her mind on that front, and the fact that what she said before even came out of her mouth is not making Xavier particularly enthusiastic about her ability to think intelligently to begin with.
He's so irritated. So very, very irritated.
And here I have to add a note of sheer love for Rogue. She does such an immensely satisfying, incredibly good job of portraying this teenager, that complicated, occasionally infuriating, and extraordinarily passionate mess of emotions and good intentions gone awry. She has a great mastery of perspective, the ability of not letting her characters see more than they should or would from the standpoint of their age and their experience. She has the strong player's willingness to make her character look less than perfect in order to make a more believable character and a more realistic portrayal. It makes her character very human and really lovely, and a pure joy to interact with. It has the added benefit of making her character uniquely able to provoke and evoke emotional responses from other characters. Also, you know. She's just an awesome, awesome RPer and player.
"Ah wasn't--" Rogue starts, obviously frustrated already. "He wouldn't have died." She hisses, her fingers not white with stress against the stained wood. "It wouldn't have come to that. He needed to be taught a lesson. Yet here /Ah/ am, getting the lecture while the man who tired to /rape/ my best friend barely gets a slap on the wrist."
"They are separate crimes, Rogue. He will pay in almost every way imaginable. Do you truly wish to see what Piotr will bear, Rogue? Really?" A hand lifts, fingers opening in invitation; behind it, Xavier's face grows remote and stark. Power uncurls behind the chill wash of displeasure, licking broodingly behind the hard, tired eyes.
It's a measure of just how irritated Xavier is that he says what he does above, proposing to (from one point of view) violate the privacy of Piotr's emotions and thoughts by letting her experience them. It's an enormous offer, or a threat, and has with it a devastating potential. Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose; it wouldn't be as easy for Rogue to judge Piotr if she really saw herself in the kind of mirror that Xavier could provide.
It's one of the most terrible of Xavier's gifts, to allow people to see themselves. Really see themselves, that is, without any room for concealment or the pleasant little lies that people tell themselves to camouflage their baser selves and justify their more sordid actions. Telepathy is so often used as a means of manipulation and concealment and misdirection on the game, between Jean and Xavier and Emma and the twins -- but there's a flip side to that coin. Lies are safe. Truth is deadly. There are very, very few people who can stand to face themselves, and come out whole on the far side.
Rogue seems to suffer from one of two very common delusions that teenagers suffer from. The first delusion is that life should be fair. The second delusion is that life is unfair only to them. The reality, of course, is that life is unfair, and that it's unfair to everyone. This on top of the attitude she's giving that nobody seems to care about the crime against Jubilee, when in fact the entire school loves Jubilee -- when Xavier is in the position of being a father to a girl who was almost raped, and has to struggle now with the need to forgive the man who was responsible, knowing it wasn't his fault, facing the nightmare of seeing a son attack a daughter -- well. ME ME ME ME ME. WHY IS EVERYONE GANGING UP ON ME? Nobody else understands. Waah. SHE NEEDS A PERSPECTIVE SHIFT. Xavier is, at this point, almost all too willing to provide her with one. She is so very, very lucky that his self-control is still mostly firm.
Rogue opens her mouth, harsh words already forming into her head. But they fade, washing away under a sudden tiredness of the whole situation. "No. But Ah'll spare him no pity for it. None at all. He has lost me as a friend as much as Ah have lost him." Her hands finally spring, pushing herself up with a determined look. "Will you be reporting me? Ah wont run from mah actions, but Ah wont back down on how Ah feel, either."
"Feeling is not your problem," Xavier says, the extended hand dropping heavily to his side. Power subsides, muttering its way back into somnolescence. He looks, abruptly, old; the slightly bowed frame stirs out of its stance, leaning heavily on the cane in a limping path to a nearby chair. "It is the choice to act on it. Your loyalty to your friends is laudable, if selective. Your urge to act on it without thought or consideration, less so. You were right for the wrong reasons, Rogue."
It's the first intelligent point that Rogue has made, in Xavier's mind, though it's possible that Rogue wasn't intending it. Xavier House has too much dirty laundry to start airing it now, and he feels a twinge of approval -- even through the annoyance -- that Rogue is smart enough to make that point. (Although he has some doubt that she really knew what she was doing when she said it.) Call the police on Rogue, and you call the police on Piotr, and even beyond all that there's the fact that Erik Lensherr crashed at the mansion for a while, and there are unregistered mutants being harbored at the school. There are all sorts of ways in which official notice can be unpleasant for everyone involved, and he is hardly going to open those floodgates before he's ready.
It's in concession to that point that he relaxes his power, and that glimmer of intelligence and logical thought that defuses some of his irritation. That said, he moves towards a different kind of manipulation. He allows himself to look tired and old, dropping a bit of the dignified mask. When he says that she was right for the wrong reasons, he means that she was right in that we were able to learn about Piotr by seeing what demons he's kept under control for all these years, all the paths not taken that could have made him into less of a man than he actually turned out to be. For all his lingering anger over the Wyverning, he's conscious of more pride in Piotr than he was aware that he had. And that, at least for Xavier, has been a revelation.
Rogue straightens herself up, not shying away from the steady look given to him as he limps. "Urges are what caused this mess in the first place. But Ah make no excuse for mine, though a good portion of them are not mah own." Her hands flex and ball protectively at her sides, her voice ringing out over hidden mental doubts. "Ah was right in protecting mah friend. When it comes down to it, Ah will not apologize for /that/."
"You did not protect her," Xavier says quietly, and steadies himself with an outstretched hand to the back of his chosen seat. His gaze is level, and in its own way, sympathetic. "You attacked a man who was helpless and drugged, unable to harm anyone further. Until yesterday, you chose daily not act on your urges, yours or no. Neither, until that control was taken from him, did Piotr. Both of you deserve respect for that. Condemn him for having them to begin with, and you condemn yourself."
It's hilarious that in one breath she says she makes no excuses for her urges, and then proceeds to excuse them by saying a good portion of them aren't her own. Don't think Xavier didn't notice that. But again, he chooses to let that go; pointing out the flaws of her logic will not contribute to any short-term good.
And in fact, she didn't protect Jubilee. Not in any way, shape or form. If she was really concerned about Jubilee, why was she at Piotr's door? Why wasn't she at Jubilee's side? She went for revenge against the offender instead of comfort for the victim. While Xavier can understand that instinct -- the X-Men members in general are more inclined towards action than passivity, after all, which is why they're X-Men instead of ... well, not -- he will not allow her the delusion or the lie that it was meant to "defend" Jubilee. There are times when illusions can't be helped, and when they can be helpful, but not if they're going to give her the comforting delusion that she was helping someone when in fact she was hurtling headlong into a real crime, something as devastating as murder. The taking of a life is something too serious to be done under false pretenses. If it must be done, do it in all honesty, with both eyes open, in full knowledge of the weight and the burden you've taken on. Otherwise, don't do it at all. He's killed before. He KNOWS.
He tries to reach her, and he fails. There are times when the temptation of pure telepathy is just so overwhelming, and I think that's why he doesn't use it almost at all during this log; the temptation to do more than just communicate is so strong, he's not entirely sure that he can restrain himself from fixing this willful blindness of hers, to wrench her perspective around so she can see what she really is.
Muscles tense upon the accusation, her jaw line firm. Rogue allows him to finish, though her stance itself states she is unmoved by the words. "Then Ah condemn myself," she hisses, turning for the door. "You can tell the police where to find me, if that's the path you chose in this. Ah will even hold my tongue on what Peter did, since he seems so worthy of your forgiveness. Somethang you do not grant me." The door is not ripped open, surprisingly, and she pauses her gentle turn of the knob with a single look back. "If you are done, Professor. Ah would very much like to go home to the friend Ah apparently fail so much to protect."
"Forgiveness," Xavier says with a note of surprise, pausing in mid-descent to glance up at Rogue. A moment's awkwardness -- not a dignified pose -- before legs give way and he drops like a stone into the cushions, anguish lurching a swift stab across his face as his hip catches on the chair's arm. Fingers wrap around wood, knuckles biting sharply white against the skin. "Rogue," the Professor says after a breathless moment. Pain thins his baritone. "Do you remember coming to me after Blindspot left?"
I don't put it past Xavier to have planned that little physical weakness, but at the same time, I don't think he did. Not to that extent, certainly. He uses his physical weaknesses as tools in his manipulative arsenal, but he holds too closely to his dignity to allow them to be serious demonstrations.
This was actually a pretty significant point for me the player, since it signaled a kind of turning point for the way I play Xavier. Up until fairly recently, I felt far too constricted by Xavier's dignity to let him expose himself to physical weakness; it's a strong mental bar for him, since he still feels very strongly about his physical infirmities. He dislikes them still, not so much because of their restraint to his mobility (he's long since gotten accustomed to that limitation) but because of their impairment to that dignity of his that he clings to so fiercely. The RP with Piotr earlier in the gym was one of the first cracks between player and character, where we started to get comfortable enough with each other to allow that exposure in front of a character who isn't one of the first generation that he helped raise.
The fact that the player and the character are comfortable enough with each other to expose the character like this is a big turning point for me. Yay!
Rogue flinches at the clip of the chair arm. Her body loosens, ready to turn around and help her fatherly figure, though she is stopped dead in her tracks. "Ah talked to a lot o'people, Professor. But, yes, Ah recall speaking to you." She agrees grudgingly. Now is the time for her eyes to avert, now down at the rug under her feet.
Eyelids flutter over the gleam of hazel. Xavier sinks carefully back, the fingers of his free hand closing tightly over the chair's arm. "You were afraid that you had disappointed your friends," he says, the baritone still strained. "And I told you that there was no rule that said you must be what other people hoped you would be."
While her hand stays on the polished brass of the door, her body turns and studies him, a valiant attempt to fight off the hurt of stirred memories. "Yes? I remember," she admits, tone begging for a follow up.
"You chose to join the X-Men that day," Xavier says, the British accent deepening. Firelight trickles across the strong-boned face. "You chose to try to become something better than what you were. You were wrong when you said that you were spared no room for excuses. Your friends will always find a way to forgive you, until you truly cross the unforgivable line, willingly and knowingly, by your own volition." A hand lifts, palm up; the thin lips twist, pain stippled with self-deprecation. "What happened to Jubilee was not your failure."
He stops her, not so much to persuade her further, but to remind her that she made a promise to the X-Men. It's a stealth bomb, of sorts. Delayed time release. The X-Men choose every day to be X-Men. It's not like the Brotherhood, where one decision trumps all. He wants to remind her that she has that path ahead of her, if she wants to continue on it. And this is his function with the X-Men, to guide them on the road so they don't fall off as long as they choose to stay on it. On top of which, he feels the need to address the survivor's guilt. It's a common affliction for the X-Men, individually and as a team. The guilt of failure, even if one wasn't present for what happened to one's friend, hits hard for people like the X-Men. He's all too aware of it. He holds her back to tell her that, too; it wasn't her fault that she wasn't there. It wasn't her responsibility. He does for her what he does for all of his children. Tough love. And compassion.
It's doubtful whether she sees it that way. He chooses not to tell her. She will eventually understand, or else she won't. He rarely explains himself; it's a curious way of teaching, but sometimes they need to think for themselves and come to their own conclusions.
In the meantime, his reminder of that conversation in the past, and the reference to not being someone else's image of her, is both a promise and a warning. She does not have to live up to his hopes of her. That is her choice. He will not force her to be someone else. The only person she has to be is the person she wants to be -- but he's warning her that the person she is choosing to be here, at this time, the person that she chose to be back in the danger room with Piotr, is a person who will eventually no longer be an X-Man. Does she realize that? Maybe. It's a subtle warning. You can take a lot away from what he says, and read different meanings into it. Who knows what Rogue makes of it. Maybe nothing! Young people often don't really hear the things that Xavier says. He is too old to speak hip. :(
Rogue's shoulder blades flirt with the wood of the door, eyes up now and regarding Xavier with the upmost hesitance as she attempts to keep herself above him and his words. A quest that falls fast and fails faster. "But Ah bear it anyways, Professor. Ah choose to. That is mah decision." She takes a deep breath, eyeing the hand between her hand. "You would ask me to forgive Piotr?"
"No," the Professor says. Fingers trail across the high ridge of brow, rubbing gently at the furrow above the nose. "Forgiveness is not something that can be ordered or demanded. If you do not offer it willingly, it is meaningless. You do not need mine, Rogue. I could wish you had not done what you did, but it was ... understandable. I almost did the same once, when I was not as old as you. But we -- you and I -- we cannot act from our emotions alone. We are too powerful. Justice and revenge cannot live together."
There's a story behind that, the urge towards revenge that he almost gave into as a youth. One that might come up on-camera someday. Not now. Most of the irritation is dissipated; there's not much left now beyond an all-encompassing exhaustion, due as much to the previous day's exertions on Piotr's behalf as for the travel back and forth between Washington.
"Yet Ah strive for it anyways. We all do," Rogue murmurs, very much to the doorknob though the sentiment echoes loudly through her mind. She nods, numbly, and regains composure enough to face him again. "Then Ah am divided, Professor. An' Ah ask you let me to return to where Ah can feel whole again. May Ah?" Her grip around the knob tightens. "She needs me." << Or so I tell myself. >> Rogue's mind finishes laced with doubt.
Xavier inclines his head, drawing himself up with a faint twinge to ruffle his expression once more. "Go, then," he says quietly. His hand drops, pale against his leg. "Give Jubilee my love. I believe there is a rather formidable care basket in the kitchen for her." Something akin to his customary warmth curls his mouth, layering under the wry timbres of his baritone. "The staff has been laboring on it all morning. Take care of her, my dear." << And yourself-- >> sighs under the voice, careworn, compassion and forgiveness -- implied in the asking, offered in silence -- touching gently in farewell.
The irritation and the temptation are gone, or at least controlled enough that it's no longer a danger for him to use telepathic communication. So that's what he does, at the end, giving Rogue the same compassion that he gave to Piotr. For all that she doesn't listen, she's still in her own way a daughter of the house, and he has the same affection for her that he has towards the others in her class.
It's one of Xavier's weaknesses, that he hides his emotional attachment to people. It's an offshoot of that drive not to be overprotective of his students, to keep from hobbling them further when they're already protected and sheltered to an almost obscene degree from the real world. He wants them to make their own mistakes and to learn from them, and as a result, he tries hard not to weigh them down with the burden of his love and his fears for them. The result of that is that he can often seem very distant when in fact he's actually emotionally engaged. He's very caught up in the role of the father, and what he feels a father should be. Odd, that his concept of a father figure is so remote, when his own father was anything but. Xavier had a great deal of love and respect for his father, and perhaps that's why he models himself after a different kind of paternal figure, feeling that he couldn't approximate even in sham the kind of father that his own was.
It's ironic that for a man who knows people and how to manipulate them, he give up such a large advantage here by not showing his emotional attachments to the children. If he exposed his vulnerability there, if he let them know how much he truly cared, I somehow think he might be able to win them even more closely to him. However, I think that's why he doesn't do that. It's one thing to manipulate people with subterfuge; it's another to manipulate them with this kind of real truth. It's a curious concept of right and wrong and fairness. He doesn't want them to choose his way because of their emotional attachment to him. He wants them to choose it because it's right, and it's best for them, because those choices will last (he mistakenly feels) even past his own death.