xp_logs | Nathan and Farouk, New York, late Monday afternoon.

Nathan meets a new arrival, the two size each other up.

Nathan checked his watch, looking up at the arrivals board. He was on time, thankfully, although he'd cut it close; the meeting had run overtime, and traffic had been terrible, as expected at this time of day. But the plane had just landed, so it would take the passengers a few minutes to clear customs.

He did not like airports, Nathan thought with a quizzical shake of his head. Too many stressed people, too much telepathic noise. He found a semi-secluded corner where he had a clear view of the gate, and waited.

Eighteen hour plane ride - inevitably spent in a much too close proximity to a garrulous Jordanian expatriate - left Farouk, as always, perfectly primed for the slow drill of a headache that was blossoming somewhere behind his eyes.

The little things, that he intellectually recognized as unimportant, were nevertheless provoking sharp spikes of irritation that he had to force himself to control.

Changing his grip on the bag he smiled on what charitably could be called an amicable expression, letting the Jordanian past him and, manfully resisting the impulse to make a certain gesture at his back, followed, looking for the man that was supposed to meet him.

Someone matching the mental image Charles had given him emerged from the gate, and Nathan rose, head and shoulders over most of the people around him. He wouldn't have needed the mental image, in the end, he realized. Psionic minds tended to stand out.

Oh merciful God and his Prophet, blessing be upon his holy Name! Farouk, hastily checked his shielding. The carefully banked irritation threatened to overflow the barriers for a second, and that would have hardly been the most diplomatic way of introducing himself.

Even if these – he smiled and cheerfully waved to the small giant that was towering over the crowd of relatives and friends mobbing the railings of the gate – idiots did pick the most conspicuous person imaginable to greet him.

The headache flared again as he took in the appearance of his new companion and worked his jaw in what he hoped was an innocuous gesture.

The man might as well have had ‘army issue, return if found unsupervised’ stamped on his forehead.

He forced another smile as he noted two teenage girls glancing covertly at the man and giggling behind their hands.

Smiling was, after all, much better than plumbing all the depths of his swear-word vocabulary right here and now.

Whatever the man’s background, he was part of this school now. And like all Westerners, it seemed, lacked even the remotest instincts for caution and staying out of the limelight. Well, when in Rome…

"Professor Farouk?" Nathan didn't offer his hand; would have been a small faux pas, with another telepath. "I'm Nathan Morrow, from the school."

"In the flesh," Amahl gave a small bow, enunciating carefully, painfully aware that years spent conversing in English with non-native speakers left his accent in a somewhat bedraggled shape. “I hope you were not forced to wait long, Mr. Morrow?”

"Not at all. I'm afraid we've got something of a walk to the car, though - can I take your bag?" Charles hadn't told him much about their newest visitor, but Nathan kept his curiosity out of his voice and expression easily. All of this 'diplomacy practice' with Elpis had been good for a few things.

Amahl chuckled easily, waving away the offer and doing his best to match the purposeful stride of his guide, “Shockingly enough I am actually looking forward to it. As far as I can ascertain my legs did not simply fall asleep but rather entered a deep and fatal coma state from all that sitting. I take it that you are one of those suicidally brave who dare to drive in the infamous New York traffic, then? I must tell you the horror stories have reached even Cairo.”

"I've driven in worse places," Nathan said, smiling. "And I can understand the urge to walk a little - commercial flights tend to drive me insane, and not just because of the lack of legroom. My wife has occasionally suggested sedation."

“Clearly a lady of intellect,” Amahl noted. “But I take it you are no longer limited to commercial?” For the love of all that is unholy tell me he is not still active service of some sort…

"Not always. I occasionally borrow Moira's plane," was the amused reply. Nathan shrugged, still smiling. "My wife is Doctor Moira MacTaggart of the Muir Island Research Facility. She commutes back and forth from Scotland to the school - I'm sure she'll be pleased to meet you as well."

Farouk’s eyes flared bright with interest for a moment. “Ah, yes. I have of course heard of the institution. The pleasure of the meeting would be mutual, I assure you.” He glanced at the larger man. “That’s quite a commute. It must be hard, I imagine.”

"It is," Nathan admitted as they reached the doors out to the parking lot. "But we're both very... devoted to our work, and this is one of the accomodations that needed making. Our daughter bounces back and forth, depending on our respective schedules."

Something occurred to him. "Rachel is almost two and... um, quite prodigiously psi-gifted. Just to warn you ahead of time."

Farouk blinked. “She manifested already? That’s rather remarkable..”

The rest of the thought went astray, lost as the doors slid open and for a second the air was stolen from his lungs. The wave of liquid heat slapped him in the face and the asphalt blurred, almost yellow under the sun, the only similarity to the Cairene streets baked by the dry sun of Egypt.

I am in America, he thought wonderingly. I am here.

"In the womb, as a matter of fact," Nathan said, but paused as he noticed his companion's apparent reverie. He waited briefly, to give him a moment. "This way, Professor," he finally said, inclining his head to the left. "I'm curious, actually - how much do you know about the school?"

Farouk gathered his thoughts. “Just the basic facts, Mr. Morrow. That it is the first school speficially for the mutant children, it offers a broad-based curriculum and has a contingent of students of widely varied ages. Although you are experiencing certain problems with staffing your faculty with professional educators, if I understood Profesor Xavier correctly?”

Oh, Charles. Left out the stealth jet in the basement, did you?

Oh well.

"Mmm," Nathan said, leading the other man towards where the SUV was parked. "We do have some very good teachers who live in the community and come in to teach. A lot of the resident staff are younger, however. Former students, a number of them. I've taught for the last few years, but I'm going to have to limit myself to independent studies in the upcoming term. My other job is taking up too much of my time."

Farouk smiled crookedly as he glanced at the car. SUV. Private jet-rides to visit family. I am guessing the other job is not with the Greenpeace.

He lobbed the bag into the trunk with un-disguised, gleeful relief. “You work with Dr. McTaggert, then?”

A flicker of telekinesis had the passenger's side door opening itself for Farouk as he approached. "No," Nathan said, getting into the driver's side and noting with amusement that Rachel's car seat was still in the back. Was I awake when I left this morning?

"I work with - well, technically I founded it, but I am not the head of the board for many very good reasons - an NGO." He started the car, checking the mirrors. "The school's got a very diverse student body," he said casually. "Students from every continent but Africa, I think..."

Farouk blinked again, reassesing his companion briefly. And his idea of the school for that matter. If a an NGO founder was being emplyed by them as an errand boy and a chauffeur…

Of course, on the other hand, these days every second backyard with a tree-house and ‘no-girls allowed’ sign was registering themselves as an NGO.

“Do you rely on recruiment or mostly replenish your student body through independent applications?” He asked, struggling with the belt-buckle.

"This is going to sound strange, but enrollment tends to be crisis-driven,' Nathan said a bit tentatively as he pulled out of the parking space.

"Of two types generally, I'd say. Prospective students very often have control issues or medical issues that make staying in their current situations impossible. Sometimes just the simple fact that they're mutants leaves them needing refuge. We have two students who were victims of human trafficking - one from Albania, one from Afghanistan."

Farouk nodded. Right. Catch as catch can and damn all organizational infrastructure, in other words. Great. “Do you experience any tension within the student body or do you find that children's self-defenition as the mutants tends to supplant previous national, ethnic or religious identities?”

"I won't say we've had no problems with cultural shock," Nathan said, thinking of Crystal, "and I'd be cautious about saying that many of the students look on their mutancy as a defining identity. Some of them do, of course."

Farouk’s eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Especially considering that most of the students apparently - as you say - enter the schools in the circumstances of forceful exclusion from their previous communities."

"I suspect it's because the institution's driven by such a staunch integrationist viewpoint," Nathan said, resisting the urge to cry out in victory as they managed to get out of the parking lot without too much difficulty. "Charles casts a very long shadow."

Amahl glanced at Morrow, wondering if the other man was implying… No, surely not. Even if Xavier was ‘supplementing’ his social experiment with his telepathy, it surely wouldn’t be a topic of conversation with a stranger.

Unless, of course, he was about to step into yet another morass of petty factional politics… Come to think of it, this Morrow was surprisingly talkative, almost brimming with information in fact, while remaining remarkably incurious about Farouk.

Amahl chuckled silently suddenly. Or you just might have spent a bit too much time dealing with mob bosses, my boy, and are quitely getting paranoid. Still, just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you…

Choosing the safest course of action he grunted non-comitially, by the way of reply, and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes in a signal that, he was hoping, would be un-subtle enough to be readily interpreted.

Nathan noticed the removal of the glasses, and smiled to himself. As always with new people, the questions Farouk had asked had been interesting. From the look of the traffic, they'd be long enough in getting back to the mansion that the older man would have plenty of opportunity to mull over the answers.

"I'm guessing an hour, maybe an hour and a half before we get to the school at this rate," he mentioned idly. "You should enjoy the quiet while it lasts."

Amahl grinned at him. “My gratitude knows no bounds, my kind friend. I do apologize for the rudeness, but I am afraid I am in a losing battle against the overwhelming nap temptation.”

"Not a problem. I'll even refrain from pointing out the nonexistent scenery."