LOG: [Farouk, Haller] A talk
Jun. 30th, 2007 09:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsAmahl and Haller's attempt at civilized discussion is interrupted. In several ways.
Jim had been slightly nervous when Amahl had invited him over to talk at last Saturday's barbecue. The natural social awkwardness had combined with the fact Amahl was both older and a telepath, which was a pairing that still had a few interesting associations for him. The thought of a private conversation had been a little more anxiety-building than normal.
And then on Monday an entire country, along with several alumni, had disappeared. Five days later, the concept of talking shop with a telepathic peer who was still relatively removed from the life of the school was looking incredibly inviting.
Carefully folding up his shields to minimize leakage he'd been told some psis found distracting at first, Jim knocked.
The hesitant knock was almost lost in the din as the immaculately dressed gentleman from the State Department and a uncomfortably pierced lady from Amnesty International screamed at each other, and Farouk, from the television screen.
Nobody had any answers for the 'Attilan Question' but everybody was all happy to improvise on the spot, especially if the spot happened to be in front of a TV camera.
Farouk shrugged and turned toward the door, walking with unerring certainty into the table.
"...!..." Stifling imprecations, not usually known by the Sorbonne graduates, he hopped in a one-legged circle so beloved of all those whose kneecaps have become intimate with random furniture.
Since his apartments still resembled an exploded IKEA display, even now -a week since his arrival - he immediately hopped his way into another knee injury and suffered a dramatic failure of stifling his feeling on the matter, howling in enraged whisper which he translated, with what he personally thought was brilliant improvisation into a hoarse, "Come in!"
Some men were born to greatness. Others had greatness thrust upon them. And then, Jim considered as he entered the room to behold Xavier's newest history teacher bent double to embrace his own knees, there were those whose lot was to have whatever greatness they possessed overshadowed by truly unfortunate timing. At this moment Amahl Farouk was the man to answer this call.
"Um, hello, Professor Farouk," Jim said. The follow-up to the buckled man was as unnecessary as it was inexorable: "Are you all right?"
Yes because I always crouch in my room trying not to scream from pain like a little girl whose been SHOT, when I am all right, you incredible moron! Farouk didn't say under strengthened shields as he waved for Haller to sit.
"David. Good afternoon. I do apologize for the mess." Amahl strengthened, rubbing his knee one last time and nodding at the TV. "Have you been following?"
Jim nodded as he took the offered seat, trying to be polite and refrain from voicing niggling but socially unacceptable questions like: Is the vein in your forehead usually that big? "As much as I can," he replied. "Some of the kids are . . . really upset." The younger telepath pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why we never say how quiet things are."
Farouk chuckled politely. "Yes. We live in exciting times. And uncertainty doesn't help." He nodded at the TV screen again. "So far most of them seem to be spending an enormous amount of money and time to tell us that they are just as confused and frightened as us, but we shouldn't worry because it's all under control."
He shrugged, sinking into his chair and reaching for the remote to turn off the television. "Not bad advice, all things considered, I suppose. In the absence of other options we might as well concentrate on the things we can actually affect. I have been looking forward to our conversation."
Jim could tell just how much the last week had been shaking the nest by the fact his brain's first offered speculation was not on the current socio-political atmosphere, but the strange fascination one of his parts was developing with the man's mustache. Does he have to use a tiny comb for that thing? Cyndi wondered somewhere in the back of Jim's mind with a sort of weird admiration.
"Me too," Jim said, his voice defiantly neutral despite what was going on behind his shields. "You learned the basics of telepathy on your own, right? Not from the professor, I mean. He's had a lot of students -- I didn't know if you were one or not."
Why the hell is he staring at my nose? Amahl shook off the concern with his guests rather noticeable foxed stare on his face and scratched his chin meditatively.
"No I am afraid my ties to Charles are purely academic and rather tenuous, in all truth. To start with training was mostly the product of hit-and-miss experimentation, although I did benefit from a more sustained instruction later in life."
He poured coffee and offered a cup to Haller. "I was wondering of you would be comfortable discussing the aspects of dissociation inherent in your.... condition. The idea that genetically inherited trait such as psionics is subject to mental rather than physical processes is fraught with significant implications." To say the least. If one follows this train of thought to its logical conclusion - a psi can conceivably recreate any mutation by turning his talent inward. Ultimate 'mind-over-matter' demonstration.
The younger man gave Amahl another nod as he accepted the coffee. He'd been wondering how long it would take for this to come up in light of his early insistence to Charles that his condition be known to the other staff. Particularly since, to a psi, stepping on his mental illness was analogous to finding a fallen rake in a pile of leaves.
"Go ahead," Jim replied, raising the cup. The coffee Amahl had given him smelled strong and slightly bitter. He didn't bother asking for cream or sugar. "It's not an incredibly well documented field yet, whether powers influence mental illness or vice-versa . . . or whether the two conditions are co-morbid. Um, wait, bad phrasing. Developmentally congruent, maybe. Anything in particular you have questions about?"
Farouk cupped his palms around his coffee, framing his thoughts carefully. "The aspects are completely segregated among the personalities? The dominant unicum lacks any access points whatsoever to the other … powers, is that correct?"
"The primary personality didn't have any access to any aspects of his powers until an integration, yeah," Jim agreed, automatically skimming over the more involved details. "It was subconscious restriction. Even therapy hasn't given me total access. Not as myself, anyway."
Amahl's eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you find that attempting to activate those powers provokes sublimation of the dominant personality by the aspect which controls a specific talent?"
"Yes." The confirmation was simple and without hesitation. Jim lifted the cup to sip again. "The disassociate tendencies were present before manifestation, but there wasn't any sense of defined self-identities. Those grew around my powers. What they controlled influenced what they became. And the other way around, too, I guess." Jim lifted his blue and brown eyes to the other man. "But sublimation's a relative term. The personalities were all parts of me to begin with. I may not always be in control, but David is."
Farouk nodded absently, sipping his coffee, mulling over the information and wondering how much farther he could push the line of questioning. Haller was being impeccably polite and open - much like one would expect a school councilor to be. But Amahl would bet it was almost certainly a controlled persona, rather than an instinctual reaction. The spare movements, the deliberate pauses before answers, the little tightening of the muscles around the eyes...
No, I don't think he's enjoying this little tête-à-tête, at all. Much too personal, I would wager... Amahl thought. It in no way was part of his plans to engender negative associations between himself and any part of school's psi community... But on the other hand Haller was a unique case. And Farouk needed to know.
I'll fish it a bit more. Carefully. There's still some slack here, I think. The rest I can always get from Morrow or MacTaggart. He decided finally. Besides. Worst comes - more likely than not he'll congratulate himself for achieving another phase in his however-many-step Program to acquire socialization skills.
"Have you noticed any variation is strength? That is to say - are there any differences in levels of power, depending on the degree of integration? Is there any drop off when depending on segregation/integration of all the aspects?"
He raised his eyes at the other psi and it took all of his self control to make his blink slow and completely controlled as he suddenly realized that Haller's legs were only inches away from Esteban's mauve feather boa, peeking subtly from under the chair. I am, he thought calmly, and smiled pleasantly at Haller, going to kill him until he is dead.
"The drop off is pretty sheer -- telepathy stops completely when telekinesis is engaged. Same applies the other way around. We've figured out it's adaptive functioning rather than inherent." Jim arced his free hand vaguely, wondering if this was uncomfortable for the other man. Amahl was sitting very still. "As for the power difference, that's also significant. It even varies situationally within the same alter. The personality with the macro-telekinesis is the most hostile, and the weakest. Except under certain circumstances, anyway."
Even as an oblivious shift of his foot sent violently-colored feathers into motion, Jim thought that the effectiveness of this conversation was halved by the necessity of screening his responses for Jemail. But, though relevant, that explanation would have required time, answering awkward questions, and knowing Amahl much better. Or at all.
"Have you run across something like this before?" Jim asked instead, his right eyebrow cocking in curiosity. "It sounds like you have a background here. You seem to know what kind of questions to ask, if that makes sense."
Amahl smiled, keeping his eyes of the boa - now fluttering in the slight breeze coming from the AC - with a superhuman force of will. Aware of his instinctual reluctance to discuss his problem he imbued the smile with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Psis tended to be naturally good at interpreting body language in his experience, although most didn't bother to follow up on affinity with training. Still Haller would be likely to pick up on any disingenuous attempts to block his query and react with appropriate irritation considering how own forthrightness.
Plus, there was nothing to hide, here, was there? This wasn't the Alamut. No reason to provoke mindless genitalia measuring contests with no need. So he was now a psi-cripple. It didn't bother him. Much.
Right. Sure.
His mustache suddenly twitched in an amused, crooked grin. Besides there were more ways to kill a cat than choking it to death with cream.
He spread his arms self deprecatingly. "Intimately, you might say. I have been experiencing some power fluctuation myself. It's one of the reasons I have taken Charles up on his kind offer and came to the States. You have more specialists here and more freedom to access them. Egypt… is still not as enlightened, I am afraid." He coughed hesitantly, and gave Haller a carefully measured stare. "I would rather keep this private, however, if you feel comfortable with it, David?"
He kept his face schooled into a serious, trusting mien.
Everything he said was the truth after all. Carefully edited for practically meaningless content, but truth none the less. And Haller was young enough to bite on the secret-sharing dynamic implying a special relationship. Which should, hopefully, distract him nicely from digging deeper. And the perception that Farouk was now in his debt would tend to make David better disposed to him. Maybe enough to dissipate the subconscious negative reaction Farouk generated by the conversation.
And in general Amahl was betting he was going to need every scrap of good will from Xavier's pet psis he could muster before his was over.
His train of thought was interrupted suddenly as Esteban dressed in his usual 3-piece suit breathed in from the adjoining room, freshening the pot of coffee nodding imperturbably at Haller, bending and swiping the boa in one lithe movement before smoothly leaving the room again, the boa trailing triumphantly.
Jim's eyes rested on, in turns, the doorway cleared by the boa-trailing man, his freshly refilled cup of coffee, and then, because he'd run out of excuses not to, Amahl.
"Um," Jim said slowly, his face carefully devoid of any emotion whatsoever, "just so I know, is there anything else you want kept private?"
Farouk sipped his coffee carefully, with a calm detached smile, and pondered that age-old question. Could he in fact kill everybody in the world by concentrating just right and harnessing the awesome power of his h a t e.
At which point the world did in fact explode.
The pain of the psi scream, was everywhere bright and cutting, suffocating him with pain, and he could feel himself falling off the chair, the cup clattering: "Ebn el metnakah! El Khara Dah?!" (Son of a motherfucker! What is this shit?! )
Amahl's half-understood epithet fell unregistered across Jim's ears as the telepath jerked, coffee flying from his hand to spatter across the unspoiled carpet. The psi-voice was unmistakable, as was the ease with which it sliced through the psychic numbness Jim had lived with all his life. He knew exactly what this was.
"Rachel!"
Jim had been slightly nervous when Amahl had invited him over to talk at last Saturday's barbecue. The natural social awkwardness had combined with the fact Amahl was both older and a telepath, which was a pairing that still had a few interesting associations for him. The thought of a private conversation had been a little more anxiety-building than normal.
And then on Monday an entire country, along with several alumni, had disappeared. Five days later, the concept of talking shop with a telepathic peer who was still relatively removed from the life of the school was looking incredibly inviting.
Carefully folding up his shields to minimize leakage he'd been told some psis found distracting at first, Jim knocked.
The hesitant knock was almost lost in the din as the immaculately dressed gentleman from the State Department and a uncomfortably pierced lady from Amnesty International screamed at each other, and Farouk, from the television screen.
Nobody had any answers for the 'Attilan Question' but everybody was all happy to improvise on the spot, especially if the spot happened to be in front of a TV camera.
Farouk shrugged and turned toward the door, walking with unerring certainty into the table.
"...!..." Stifling imprecations, not usually known by the Sorbonne graduates, he hopped in a one-legged circle so beloved of all those whose kneecaps have become intimate with random furniture.
Since his apartments still resembled an exploded IKEA display, even now -a week since his arrival - he immediately hopped his way into another knee injury and suffered a dramatic failure of stifling his feeling on the matter, howling in enraged whisper which he translated, with what he personally thought was brilliant improvisation into a hoarse, "Come in!"
Some men were born to greatness. Others had greatness thrust upon them. And then, Jim considered as he entered the room to behold Xavier's newest history teacher bent double to embrace his own knees, there were those whose lot was to have whatever greatness they possessed overshadowed by truly unfortunate timing. At this moment Amahl Farouk was the man to answer this call.
"Um, hello, Professor Farouk," Jim said. The follow-up to the buckled man was as unnecessary as it was inexorable: "Are you all right?"
Yes because I always crouch in my room trying not to scream from pain like a little girl whose been SHOT, when I am all right, you incredible moron! Farouk didn't say under strengthened shields as he waved for Haller to sit.
"David. Good afternoon. I do apologize for the mess." Amahl strengthened, rubbing his knee one last time and nodding at the TV. "Have you been following?"
Jim nodded as he took the offered seat, trying to be polite and refrain from voicing niggling but socially unacceptable questions like: Is the vein in your forehead usually that big? "As much as I can," he replied. "Some of the kids are . . . really upset." The younger telepath pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why we never say how quiet things are."
Farouk chuckled politely. "Yes. We live in exciting times. And uncertainty doesn't help." He nodded at the TV screen again. "So far most of them seem to be spending an enormous amount of money and time to tell us that they are just as confused and frightened as us, but we shouldn't worry because it's all under control."
He shrugged, sinking into his chair and reaching for the remote to turn off the television. "Not bad advice, all things considered, I suppose. In the absence of other options we might as well concentrate on the things we can actually affect. I have been looking forward to our conversation."
Jim could tell just how much the last week had been shaking the nest by the fact his brain's first offered speculation was not on the current socio-political atmosphere, but the strange fascination one of his parts was developing with the man's mustache. Does he have to use a tiny comb for that thing? Cyndi wondered somewhere in the back of Jim's mind with a sort of weird admiration.
"Me too," Jim said, his voice defiantly neutral despite what was going on behind his shields. "You learned the basics of telepathy on your own, right? Not from the professor, I mean. He's had a lot of students -- I didn't know if you were one or not."
Why the hell is he staring at my nose? Amahl shook off the concern with his guests rather noticeable foxed stare on his face and scratched his chin meditatively.
"No I am afraid my ties to Charles are purely academic and rather tenuous, in all truth. To start with training was mostly the product of hit-and-miss experimentation, although I did benefit from a more sustained instruction later in life."
He poured coffee and offered a cup to Haller. "I was wondering of you would be comfortable discussing the aspects of dissociation inherent in your.... condition. The idea that genetically inherited trait such as psionics is subject to mental rather than physical processes is fraught with significant implications." To say the least. If one follows this train of thought to its logical conclusion - a psi can conceivably recreate any mutation by turning his talent inward. Ultimate 'mind-over-matter' demonstration.
The younger man gave Amahl another nod as he accepted the coffee. He'd been wondering how long it would take for this to come up in light of his early insistence to Charles that his condition be known to the other staff. Particularly since, to a psi, stepping on his mental illness was analogous to finding a fallen rake in a pile of leaves.
"Go ahead," Jim replied, raising the cup. The coffee Amahl had given him smelled strong and slightly bitter. He didn't bother asking for cream or sugar. "It's not an incredibly well documented field yet, whether powers influence mental illness or vice-versa . . . or whether the two conditions are co-morbid. Um, wait, bad phrasing. Developmentally congruent, maybe. Anything in particular you have questions about?"
Farouk cupped his palms around his coffee, framing his thoughts carefully. "The aspects are completely segregated among the personalities? The dominant unicum lacks any access points whatsoever to the other … powers, is that correct?"
"The primary personality didn't have any access to any aspects of his powers until an integration, yeah," Jim agreed, automatically skimming over the more involved details. "It was subconscious restriction. Even therapy hasn't given me total access. Not as myself, anyway."
Amahl's eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you find that attempting to activate those powers provokes sublimation of the dominant personality by the aspect which controls a specific talent?"
"Yes." The confirmation was simple and without hesitation. Jim lifted the cup to sip again. "The disassociate tendencies were present before manifestation, but there wasn't any sense of defined self-identities. Those grew around my powers. What they controlled influenced what they became. And the other way around, too, I guess." Jim lifted his blue and brown eyes to the other man. "But sublimation's a relative term. The personalities were all parts of me to begin with. I may not always be in control, but David is."
Farouk nodded absently, sipping his coffee, mulling over the information and wondering how much farther he could push the line of questioning. Haller was being impeccably polite and open - much like one would expect a school councilor to be. But Amahl would bet it was almost certainly a controlled persona, rather than an instinctual reaction. The spare movements, the deliberate pauses before answers, the little tightening of the muscles around the eyes...
No, I don't think he's enjoying this little tête-à-tête, at all. Much too personal, I would wager... Amahl thought. It in no way was part of his plans to engender negative associations between himself and any part of school's psi community... But on the other hand Haller was a unique case. And Farouk needed to know.
I'll fish it a bit more. Carefully. There's still some slack here, I think. The rest I can always get from Morrow or MacTaggart. He decided finally. Besides. Worst comes - more likely than not he'll congratulate himself for achieving another phase in his however-many-step Program to acquire socialization skills.
"Have you noticed any variation is strength? That is to say - are there any differences in levels of power, depending on the degree of integration? Is there any drop off when depending on segregation/integration of all the aspects?"
He raised his eyes at the other psi and it took all of his self control to make his blink slow and completely controlled as he suddenly realized that Haller's legs were only inches away from Esteban's mauve feather boa, peeking subtly from under the chair. I am, he thought calmly, and smiled pleasantly at Haller, going to kill him until he is dead.
"The drop off is pretty sheer -- telepathy stops completely when telekinesis is engaged. Same applies the other way around. We've figured out it's adaptive functioning rather than inherent." Jim arced his free hand vaguely, wondering if this was uncomfortable for the other man. Amahl was sitting very still. "As for the power difference, that's also significant. It even varies situationally within the same alter. The personality with the macro-telekinesis is the most hostile, and the weakest. Except under certain circumstances, anyway."
Even as an oblivious shift of his foot sent violently-colored feathers into motion, Jim thought that the effectiveness of this conversation was halved by the necessity of screening his responses for Jemail. But, though relevant, that explanation would have required time, answering awkward questions, and knowing Amahl much better. Or at all.
"Have you run across something like this before?" Jim asked instead, his right eyebrow cocking in curiosity. "It sounds like you have a background here. You seem to know what kind of questions to ask, if that makes sense."
Amahl smiled, keeping his eyes of the boa - now fluttering in the slight breeze coming from the AC - with a superhuman force of will. Aware of his instinctual reluctance to discuss his problem he imbued the smile with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Psis tended to be naturally good at interpreting body language in his experience, although most didn't bother to follow up on affinity with training. Still Haller would be likely to pick up on any disingenuous attempts to block his query and react with appropriate irritation considering how own forthrightness.
Plus, there was nothing to hide, here, was there? This wasn't the Alamut. No reason to provoke mindless genitalia measuring contests with no need. So he was now a psi-cripple. It didn't bother him. Much.
Right. Sure.
His mustache suddenly twitched in an amused, crooked grin. Besides there were more ways to kill a cat than choking it to death with cream.
He spread his arms self deprecatingly. "Intimately, you might say. I have been experiencing some power fluctuation myself. It's one of the reasons I have taken Charles up on his kind offer and came to the States. You have more specialists here and more freedom to access them. Egypt… is still not as enlightened, I am afraid." He coughed hesitantly, and gave Haller a carefully measured stare. "I would rather keep this private, however, if you feel comfortable with it, David?"
He kept his face schooled into a serious, trusting mien.
Everything he said was the truth after all. Carefully edited for practically meaningless content, but truth none the less. And Haller was young enough to bite on the secret-sharing dynamic implying a special relationship. Which should, hopefully, distract him nicely from digging deeper. And the perception that Farouk was now in his debt would tend to make David better disposed to him. Maybe enough to dissipate the subconscious negative reaction Farouk generated by the conversation.
And in general Amahl was betting he was going to need every scrap of good will from Xavier's pet psis he could muster before his was over.
His train of thought was interrupted suddenly as Esteban dressed in his usual 3-piece suit breathed in from the adjoining room, freshening the pot of coffee nodding imperturbably at Haller, bending and swiping the boa in one lithe movement before smoothly leaving the room again, the boa trailing triumphantly.
Jim's eyes rested on, in turns, the doorway cleared by the boa-trailing man, his freshly refilled cup of coffee, and then, because he'd run out of excuses not to, Amahl.
"Um," Jim said slowly, his face carefully devoid of any emotion whatsoever, "just so I know, is there anything else you want kept private?"
Farouk sipped his coffee carefully, with a calm detached smile, and pondered that age-old question. Could he in fact kill everybody in the world by concentrating just right and harnessing the awesome power of his h a t e.
At which point the world did in fact explode.
The pain of the psi scream, was everywhere bright and cutting, suffocating him with pain, and he could feel himself falling off the chair, the cup clattering: "Ebn el metnakah! El Khara Dah?!" (Son of a motherfucker! What is this shit?! )
Amahl's half-understood epithet fell unregistered across Jim's ears as the telepath jerked, coffee flying from his hand to spatter across the unspoiled carpet. The psi-voice was unmistakable, as was the ease with which it sliced through the psychic numbness Jim had lived with all his life. He knew exactly what this was.
"Rachel!"
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Date: 2007-06-30 05:24 pm (UTC)