xp_logs | Kurt and Dr. Marcel, Wednesday afternoon

In Marseilles, Kurt goes to visit a certain doctor, bearing news.

The house the locals directed Kurt to was on a quieter road than some of the main thoroughfares of Marseilles, and rather nondescript. Three small brass plates declared the existence of the medical clinic on the lower floors and the old-fashioned wooden door stood slightly ajar. The clinic, when Kurt entered it, was similar - understated yet elegant, with simple wooden benches padded with brightly patterned cushions along two walls, and the receptionist's desk a heavy wooden kitchen table with a computer at one end, neat stacks of files in the middle, and a large bouquet of daffodils in a vase. It was very obviously a child-oriented clinic, to judge by the large toy box in one corner, the posters set at child-level on the walls, depicting Sesame Street characters as well as their French counterparts, and the fact there were three or four small children swarming around on the floor, watched by their mothers. One other woman, heavily pregnant, gave him a curious look as he came in - obviously it wasn't usual for a lone man to enter this particular medical office.

He headed straight for the receptionist, offering her a friendly smile. "I am here to see Dr. Marcel - my name is Kurt Sefton, I called earlier..."

The woman, a small, neat looking person in her mid-twenties, looked a little puzzled and then gave him a bright smile. "~Oh, yes, the gentleman from America! Please, take a seat, Dr. Marcel will be ready in a moment, he is just finishing with a patient,~" she replied in rapid-fire, bubbly French. She nodded at one of the benches, which only had the pregnant woman seated on it.

Kurt smiled back once more and just headed obediently for the bench.

Almost immediately, one of the children, a small boy of perhaps three, toddled over to stand in front of Kurt, regarding him solemnly. The effect was perhaps marred by the finger that was firmly and industriously picking his nose. "~You're not a lady,~" he observed, rather astutely.

Kurt looked down at the boy, a little bemused but matching his solemnness. "Hello. No. No, I am not."

"~There are always ladies in here. Because they are having babies. Are you having a baby?~" came the next response.

"...no", Kurt said patiently, looking around for the child's mother. He really didn't want to explain the facts of life to someone else's three year old.

Fortunately for Kurt, rescue came in the form of one of the matronly types realising her son was being inquisitive. "~Anton. Come here and stop bothering the gentleman!~" she called, tapping the bench beside her. "~And take your finger out of your nose! How many times do I have to say how dirty that is!~" She gave Kurt an apologetic look. "My son, he is very curious," she said in English. "I hope he was not bothering you."

For his part, Anton turned with a heavy sigh, comical in one so young, and wandered back to his mother. From the seat of his pants, a furry tail, not unlike a puppy's, protruded.

"He was not bothering me at all", Kurt assured her. "He had questions, that is all." He hadn't missed the tail, and was now wondering whether he should find an excuse to turn the image inducer off or not.

The mother had followed his glance at her son's retreat, and was watching him carefully. Apparently satisfied with what she saw in his face, she relaxed into a slight smile. "He's such a monkey. Always into everything," she said, slipping her arm around Anton as he clambered up onto the bench beside her. She was about to say more when one of the doors opened, revealing a man in his fifties, looking rather worn and weathered, but a certain glint in the brown eyes behind his spectacles. He limped somewhat as he walked, one leg moving stiffly.

"Monsieur Sefton?" he asked, glance zeroing in on Kurt as another pregnant woman followed him out of what was obviously his office and began talking to the receptionist.

"Yes", he confirmed, standing and starting towards the doctor with a smile.

"Dr. Marcel. If you would come this way," the man said, gesturing at his office. Pausing as Kurt entered ahead of him, he spoke to the woman he had just seen. "~Now remember, Madame Veronque, lots of green leafy vegetables. You want your child to be fit and strong, yes?~" The woman nodded. "~Very good, I shall see you next week.~"

Dr. Marcel followed Kurt into the office, closing the door behind him. "Please, Monsieur, sit," he said, gesturing at one of the chairs on one side of the rather cluttered desk. His English was marked with a slight French accent, but otherwise flawless. "My receptionist, she said you had a matter of importance you wished to discuss with me?" His eyes twinkled a little. "Since I do not think you are here for a pregnancy test, strangely enough."

Kurt laughed, taking a seat. "No, not for that. I came to bring you a little news, in fact. Perhaps you may remember a child you knew once, named Yvette Petrovic?" He thought the man would remember, somehow, since he'd given the little girl her name.

"Yvette..." Dr. Marcel paused in the act of sitting down himself, looking startled. "Yvette Petrovic? I delivered her, back in the former Yugoslavia, during the war... She'd be fourteen now, such a tiny thing... " Completing the action of sitting down, he gave Kurt an eager, yet worried look. "You have word of her?"

"That I do", he confirmed. "She is alive and well, and in America. Attending the school where I teach. Her mother is also well."

"That is wonderful news!" The doctor's face was transformed by the wide smile, the lines revealing themselves to be as much from smiling as from working and worrying. "But... America? How did this happen? The last I had heard of either of them was when Yvette was four or five... the Red Cross found relatives in Kosovo, and relocated them there. After the bombing of that city, I had feared the worst."

"It is something of a long story", Kurt said with a smile of his own, unwilling to tell the man that Yvette had been sold into what amounted to slavery. "But I promise you, she is well. I came here to tell you that and to ask... if you might like to come and visit her."

"To America?" Dr. Marcel looked startled. "Of course, I want to see her, but..." The worried look edged in again. "You are certain she is well? There is not a reason why you did not bring her here, with you?"

"Not a reason you should be worried about", Kurt assured him. "I thought it would make a good surprise, if I returned with a visitor for her. And also, so I could take the time to explain... she will not look now quite like the girl you knew. Not since her manifestation."

Marcel's eyebrows rose, and an understanding look crossed his face. "Yvette is a mutant," he clarified, a statement rather than a question. "Of course, if it is a physical mutation, especially after the recent terrorism, flying would be difficult..." A thought occurred to him. "This school you mentioned... it is not the famous Xavier's School, is it?"

Kurt smiled in some relief - that would make at least one thing a lot easier to explain. "It is, yes. Her mother agreed with us it is the best place for her to be, in the circumstances."

"I remember the CNN special. Very informative." Marcel steepled his hands in front of him. "You say 'circumstances' and that she does not look as she did. Her mutation, it is physical?"

Kurt nodded. "Her skin is red and... often sharp to the touch, though she is learning control over that aspect. It is likely her skin will eventually be soft enough to touch without harm, but until then..."

"She cannot touch?" Marcel sighed at Kurt's nod. "As a small child, she was so very shy and serious. Often, when there were fights and such in the refugee camp, I would find her in the medical tent, hiding behind the supplies in a little nest she'd made for herself. She would always come out for me, especially if I had an apple for her... Fresh fruit was difficult to come by." He shook his head, returning from the memory. "I will need a day or two, to make arrangements. My patients are not refugees and war victims any more, but they deserve my attention no less. Or my apologies."

"She told me about the apples", Kurt said with a smile. "And about you, or I would not have known to look for you. She still has a habit of leaving apples for anyone in the school who may be ill or in distress." He nodded at the latter part. "Take the time you need, I did not expect you to leave immediately."

"She does?" Marcel looked pleased. And a little proud. "She was a sweet little girl when I knew her. It seems things have not changed." He tilted his head at Kurt. "Where are you staying, Mr. Sefton? Because my wife would not forgive me if I did not invite you to dinner."

"At one of the small hotels in town", Kurt told him. "And I would be very pleased to come to dinner with you."

"Excellent. Say, six?" Marcel offered his hand to Kurt to shake. "I may ask you a hundred questions, I should warn you. About Yvette, about the school..."

Kurt stood and shook hands willingly, smiling. "I will be ready to answer every one."