[ Things Hank McCoy did not expect to do today: fall out of a rift in space-time and almost break his face on the hulking debris in what seems to be... a junkyard, after suffering a emotionally scarring transformation at his own hands. (He'd been sneaking to the airbase one minute, and the next, had... landed on all fours in a pile of trash? Yeah,
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[DEAR GOD HIS BABBIES ARE FALLING OUT OF THE SKY
( ... )
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[And Charles tips an imaginary hat, steps into the teleporter and keys their home district. Hello little teleporter tricks he's picked up in the past few days of HEARTY EXPLORATION!! So don't worry, Hank, it'll boot you through as well.
And then, c'est voila, and Charles will be waiting quite handily on the other side.]
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-- appear on the other side.
Immediately, something's wrong. Something's off. He feels too light, and his suit, while still close-fitting, is loose around him. There's a moment where he's completely winded by statistics, by the possibilities Charles had spoken of before, with the teleporters -- and then he catches sight of his hand, smooth, long-fingered, human. ]
Professor--
[ he's. Has he aged down? Had the teleporter simply rearranged his DNA to hide the secondary genes once more? Either way, Hank's astonished, struck with relief and curiosity both. Is he -- ? ] Am I -- ?
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Looking like your old self? Indeed. But no younger, to my reckoning. At least considering the parameters of this age-related alteration so far. Most people have lost or gained decades, as opposed to a matter of months.
[Charles tips his hand in the direction of their established base, and when he speaks his tone is gentle,]
Come on, Hank. Somewhere there's a pot of tea that has our names on it.
[And a good, long, teamdad/teamson discussion to be had over it.]
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