LOG: Manuel & Xavier - "Pity The Child"
Mar. 12th, 2004 11:37 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWho: Manuel de la Rocha, Charles Xavier
What: Fallout from the Kwannon incidents. An important decision is made and implemented.
Where: Fencing Room
Many thanks to Marie's player for socking Xavier for me. Could not have done this log without you.
---
Manuel is in the Fencing Hall, clad in nothing more than a thin T-shirt and a pair of spandex shorts. He has one of the blunted training foils, and is practicing lunges at the much-hated tennis ball tied to a rope that dangles from the ceiling. Over and over again, he takes his place, executes the lunge, misses, curses in Castillian, then takes his place again to do it all over again.
Charles can feel Manuel, feel the loathing at failing over and over. It's a sensation he is familiar with, on a personal level. The boy is exhausted, at least physically, when Charles lets himself into the fencing hall. He waits, hands in his lap, for the boy to finish his dance of futility and frustration. He's not looking forward to this. Manuel is an uncomfortable set of circumstances for any telepath or empath. The lack of control, the history of use and abuse, they are naturally disturbing to anyone who could imagine themselves in a similar situation.
Manuel can't sense Charles - his mind is too well-guarded for anything but a most direct scan. But there's nothing wrong with his eyes, and when he sees Charles waiting patiently for him, he takes one last lunge (out of spite) and then pulls himself as close to together as he can manage. "Senor Headmaster Xavier. I am honored. What brings you to me, now, at this hour?"
"I need to speak to you," Charles says as though it should be clear enough. "On a number of matters. You are aware of the situation with Ms. Braddock's recent illness, yes, that she has not been herself of late? Obviously, as you are one of the students most dependant on her tutelage for honing and controlling your skills, I am concerned and wish to ensure that you have not suffered any ill effect from exposure to her while she was not acting appropriately. I understand that students are often very loyal to the teachers here and fear that you might not approach myself or Ms. Frost if something were amiss."
Manuel opens his mouth like he is going to say something, then his throat spasms and he closes his mouth again. With some confusion, he says "I never noticed, honestly. Is there something wrong? I feel a lot of anxiety and hostility in the air, but that's not exactly unusual for this place." Lorna, too, hates him all out of proportion for his gift of good feelings, and not knowing why is gnawing at him.
The physiological reaction doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the way the boy's mind shies like a frightened horse when he goes to speak. Charles' expression is unchanging, a mask of concern, unfeigned, and calm, carefully manufactured. "Things have been very difficult with Ms. Braddock's sudden decline, yes," he agrees. "I understand that Miss Sefton has also been feeling exceptionally unwell. The two of you have been close, have you not?"
Manuel smirks. "Close is certainly one way of putting it. We've been aiding one another a great deal of late. Yes. She helps me with my power, and I let her feel good about herself. Everybody is happy."
"She certainly isn't happy at the moment, Manuel." Charles watches the boy carefully, feeling the oily slick of arrogance and justification sliding over his thoughts. "Were you aware of that?"
"She was when I last left her. I certainly cannot be expected to monitor her emotional state every hour of every day. When her need is great, she comes to see me. When she leaves me, she is once again well." he explains. "Why are you asking me all of this?"
"Because you seem to know her well. Because it is of great importance to me to understand why one of my students is suicidal, Manuel," Charles says without inflection, allowing the boy's mind to reach for whatever conclusions seemed likely to him.
"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are." Manuel sniffs. "She's not suicidal."
"Are you accusing me of lying to you, Manuel?" The boy was certain of himself, dangerously so. "I don't have time to dally on speculations or hysteria. The child is unwell and her mental state is extremely fragile; she's a danger to herself. I cannot in all good conscience ignore what I see between you that suggests that you cannot be completely ignorant of her condition."
"I just was with her not two days ago. She was fine then. Whatever she's done in the interim is her business, and none of mine." he spits back. "Do you want me to remove this so-called black cloud from her? I will, if that is what you require."
Not a clue, Charles thought. And not a shred of concern. And the relationship in question? Dysfunctional to the core and one that should have been intervened in sooner if anyone knew of its existance. What else was going on with the boy? "Not at all, Manuel. I think you've done quite enough for Amanda. How are you getting along with the other students? Are you doing such favours for any of the others?"
Manuel stops to think about it for a few seconds. "No." he replies. "And the other students are, quite frankly, are either frightened of me or uncaring as to my existance. I have my friends, they have theirs. Why the concern? Who has been spreading lies about me?"
"No one, Manuel," Charles said honestly. "I don't listen to lies. I prefer to rely on the evidence at hand. And, since you are certain that you have been having no adverse effects on the other students, perhaps we could return to the subject of Ms. Braddock. As one of her students, and an empath, you are certainly in a position to have noticed alterations in her behaviour or persona over the last weeks."
Manuel opens his mouth again, and just as before, his throat spasms - preventing him from speaking. He throws the blunted foil to the ground in frustration, then picks it back up carefully. "What about Ms Braddock?" he asks, too calmly. "She has instructed me well in some things, but she really can't help me too much. She's a telepath, I'm an empath. I cut right through her shields, and I cannot stop her from reading my mind. It has been a frustrating stalemate."
This is not prevarication or evasion. Charles has seen enough of those things over the years to know them without benefit of any mutation. The boy had been tampered with. Charles reaches out, sliding tendrils of awareness through the tangles of Manuel's thoughts. "I have concerns that the two of you may have worked together on some projects that were not entirely appropriate, Manuel. Certainly not in the curriculum. Did Ms Braddock ever discuss her condition with you?"
There is a great deal of mental static in Manuel's mind - the boy has more untapped potential that he isn't even aware of than anyone ever suspected. "What condition? What are you _talking_ about?" he asks with real confusion.
"Ms Braddock has been mentally unwell for some time, Manuel," Charles says patiently, watching for the telltale signs of tampering. "It's my understanding that she discussed this with you."
"She has? If so, her problem isn't emotional in nature." he replies smoothly, the blockage in his mind shifting to accomodate this new tactic. "I admit I do not know her well, but I certainly never sensed any sort of emotional problems within her."
Very clever. Charles considers the work in front of him; after dealing with Kwannon the night before he knows her signature, so to speak. The inside of Manuel's mind, as a whole, is reason for concern. The boy is a mass of resonance and interference. He may be covering well, but he is not stable and he is far from being in control of his mutation.
"There's a block in your mind, Manuel," Charles says calmly. "Ms. Braddock, or the one possessing her form for a time, Kwannon, has placed it there. I am going to remove it for you and then we will continue our discussion on your involvement and participation in her recent escapades. This won't hurt a bit."
It's well-made, yes, but it can be unravelled. Not assaulted. Undone. He slides mental fingers into the cat's cradle of the construct and begins to slip the strands away from Manuel's mind.
Manuel doesn't even blink or react visibly. Inside his mind, however, he is screaming. Scenes, images, of psionic, chemical, and other more ... primal ... manipulations flit into and out of his mind like water through a sieve. Apparently, a part of him inside _hates_ having his mind violated - and the warding in his mind is feeding those images, making them stronger even as the barrier itself unravels.
The boy is a walking morass of potentials and pitfalls. "You must resist her work, Manuel," Charles says calmly. "You are safe here and now." He moves smoothly and swiftly to unlock the restraints on the boy's mind, one mental hand poised to control if it becomes necessary. "Assist me in this, if you will. If you concentrate, you may well be able to finish this alone."
Manuel looks at Charles with bewilderment. "I do not know what you are saying." he admits. "Concentrate on what? Being me? I am me."
"Tell me about what you know about Ms Braddock." Pushing the issue may make the boy aware of the restraints on him now. They are almost loose but Charles would prefer that the boy shake them off himself. "You have been prevented from speaking of what you know. I am asking you to do so now."
"Ms Braddock ... is in a badplace. A verybadplace. K-k-k-k ... she keeps her there. She asked me to help her. She was my instructor, I liked satisfying her wants. She's very flexible, and did everything I wanted her to. Everything she wanted." he says in a low monotone, his eyes just starting to glow a little more red than the lighting of the room would seem to warrant.
"Say her name, Manuel," Charles says in a neutral tone. He holds the worst of the bonds already in his grasp, cutting off the carefully designed feedback loops and creative little torments Kwannon had built in for the boy should someone of lesser skill attempt to undo her work. "And keep telling me what happened. The more you say, the closer you are to defeating what she has done to you." The ways that people devise to make one another suffer never fail to surprise or dismay him.
"K ... Kwa .... that BITCH!" he yells out in real anger, as he begins to project it all over the place without any restraint whatsoever. "She _used_ me - because I stood up to her. I was going to tell, I was, I _was_, and she stopped me. When I get through with her, she will _rue_ the day she dared lay a thought on Manuel de la Rocha!"
Charles brings his own mental shields up firmly as the barrier Kwannon had woven disintegrates. The boy's anger is healthy, the projection is not. The idea of conflict breaking out all over the school is an unpleasant thought. "Manuel," he says calmly. "Contain yourself, please. I understand that you are angry right now, but we need to know what happened."
“I want her. Here, now. I want to feel her _scream_." he says with what sounds (and feels!) like real sadistic glee. "I want her to _beg_ me to forgive her. I am very, very angry right now. Samson says that I should not repress my feelings when I am sure that they are mine. And this is _all_ mine."
"No, you should not repress. But you should also refrain from projection," Charles notes, taking in the boy's reactions. "Kwannon is safely encapsulated at the moment and Betsy is back in control of herself. It is up to her to deal with Kwannon in due time."
"Who is Betsy?" he asks, the anger being projected around shifting to confusion as his mood changes. "I don't care about this Betsy person. I want Kwannon."
"Betsy is the real Ms. Braddock, Manuel. A fine woman and an excellent teacher and the one who has suffered most at Kwannon's hands." Charles didn't envy anyone, student or otherwise, caught in the wash of Manuel's emotions. The boy was an emotional bull in a china shop like this. "Kwannon is imprisoned and you will not likely speak to her again."
"It is not enough. I want _revenge_. I demand satisfaction." he says impulsively. He then eyes Charles's non-presence to his empathic senses with a new sense of curiousity. "You are very strong." he says admirably. "Are you an empath?" The emotional tempest dies off almost as soon as it began.
"I have some capacity in that area, yes, Manuel." Charles notes the mood swing. "I regret to inform you that revenge is not in Betsy's agenda. You will have to find some other way of dealing with this issue. And I would like to continue to discuss your relationship with Kwannon."
"What do you want to know?" he asks with some heat. "She made me an offer. Not knowing who and what she was, I accepted. Plus, she made me relive the asylum when I demanded recompense. So I gave her what she wanted, and in return ..."
"Yes?" Charles wonders how much of the boy's apparent capacity to cope is due to his own ability and the mild reassurance he is radiating at the moment.
Quite a bit of it, actually. "In return - she gave me what I wanted." he says, declining to elaborate any further.
"What did you want?" Charles presses on, touching on the boy's mind a little.
Manuel shakes his head, letting the foil fall from suddenly-nerveless fingers. "I like to watch." he admits with an extended breath. "She showed me what it is like to project outside of my body, and we ... watched."
"What did you watch, Manuel?" There's none of the inner pillars of basic, core reactions that Charles is used to seeing in others. It's eerie, really. There are bits and pieces, most of them founded in survival instinct, but no real foundation or support for the self. There is just a fragile nascent construct that sings like an aeolian harp when the winds of another's emotions pass through it. Worse, it amplifies and resonates within the boy, who then projects. It's troubling.
Manuel smirks again, taking refuge in bravado. "It was delicious. The way she feared it and wanted it so very badly at the same time. And a bad turn done to the Cajun was just ... delicious. He never knew, never suspected it. She made sure of that. He never knew that _I_ gave her to him."
Charles' eyes narrow and he processes what the boy is saying, tendrils of his thoughts touching on Manuel's memories. Years of experience are all that allow him to maintain his calm demeanor. The time for anger will come later, this is too pivotal a time to indulge himself. Action comes now, or he will be facing this hollow boy again and his anger will be for more than the abuse of a child or two.
"I'm very concerned for you, Manuel," he says evenly. "Kwannon led you astray very badly, encouraged tendancies in you that are as damaging to you as they are for other people. However, I have to say that I'm grateful for the opportunity to intervene now. This has given me a glimpse into your true potential and your weaknesses as well. I think that in order to best develop your abilities we must first set forth to create for you a healthy foundation from which you can approach the world."
Manuel merely stared at Xavier, trying (and failing) to disguise his rising terror. "What did you have in mind?" he asks suspiciously.
"It occurs to me that in order to best take advantage of your abilities and stabilize you," Charles says in a purely conversational tone, "that we need to reduce the potency of your mutation, perhaps temporarily give you relief from it. This will allow you to not only relate to others as something other than threat or amusement, but it will allow you to develop your sense of self, let you find Manuel within you and strengthen him in ways you have not yet explored." Not punishment, he reminds himself. If he is successful in helping the boy, Manuel will find his own remorse rather than having it inflicted from without.
"You want to take my power from me. Why?" he asks, apparently honestly puzzled. "I admit, I do not have the fine control over it that I should, but Ms Frost says that I am making progress, and that I can do things now that used to drive me mad back in January."
"The fact that you must ask, Manuel, is all the answer I can give you. Once you have been a while without, you will begin to understand. And, I hope, one day you will be grateful for the opportunity you will receive to take a different path than the one you walk right now." Charles takes his electronic notepad and stylus from his jacket pocket and begins to make notes. "I believe that this break period will be ideal for you to adjust to a portable psi-dampening device."
"I have been without before. They drugged me, to take it all away ..." he says, his terror palpable to all and sundry at the concept of being shut down again. "It almost killed me. I won't let you kill me! I WON'T!"
"Manuel." Charles looks up from his notes, unsurprised at the outburst, and closes his mind on the boy's gently; not smothering, merely containing. "I do not want you to die. I want you to /live/." This, at least is true. It would pain him to have to take other measures, should the boy become a threat. Still, that point is only a speck on the horizon of potentials. Even through his anger and dismay, Charles can envision the boy in a state of health and it is an encouraging thought. "Right now, you are a danger to others, and to yourself. I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue in this manner, for your sake and for the sake of others. This is not optional."
Manuel pulls himself to his full height, and stares down at Charles. "I am in no danger from -them-. Just keep the assraper's lewd feelings out of my head, and we'll be just fine. Nothing to worry about. Even when I try to do good, the ungrateful wretches never appreciate it for what it is. She was _happy_, really _happy_, for the first time in her entire life. And she has the _gall_ to blame _Empath_ for it? Why is it that _I_ am always to blame whenever someone feels bad?"
"No, you are not in any danger from /them/, Manuel." Charles looks up at the irate young man, unperturbed. "We will discuss the issue of blame after you are adjusted to the dampening device. Perhaps you will even get the chance to discuss it with the people in question."
Manuel, with his typical lack of subtlety, flings an empathic probe right up against Charles's shields, only to blink in absolute confusion when the probe skittered harmlessly off of the invisible barrier between him and Charles's feelings. "You're ... not real." he whispers. "No human being doesn't have feelings. Are you a demon?"
"I have many feelings, Manuel. You simply are not privy to them, as is appropriate." Charles tucks the little silver notation device away again. "I think you and I should go speak to Dr. McCoy and Dr. MacTaggart now."
"No one hides from Empath. Tell me how this was done!" he shouts, his naked need to _know_ echoing through the room, and through the Astral Plane, like a tsunami. "I must know."
"That's enough, Manuel. Contain yourself now, please." Charles' voice never changes, never gains inflection. He is as smooth and as cool as marble in the face of Manuel's outburst. "When you understand other things, Manuel. You have work to do before I will share with you."
"Are you sure that there is no accomodation that can be reached? Let us talk of bargains..." Manuel said, his emotional landscape changing from the terrible need to _know_ to an oil-slick smoothness and false empathic charm. "What do you want?"
"I want you to understand. And I want you to learn." Charles gestures toward the door. The boy is beginning to slip and he is interested to know whether Manuel will regain his equilibrium or not. "I think this is a good place to start. And no, Manuel, I am afraid I do not bargain. Not when the well-being of my students is at stake. Come." There was no compulsion behind the word.
"Understand what? Learn what?" Manuel asks. "And where are you taking me?"
"We are going to speak to the doctors, Manuel," Charles reminds him. "And I wish you to understand that there are consequences for your actions, among many other things. However, I will not be the one to enact them upon you. I will simply give you the ability to see them for what they are."
Manuel takes a few steps forwards, then starts like he has not realized what he has done. "No doctors! NO! NO DRUGS!" he screams, dropping to his knees and curling himself into a ball.
"I'm afraid so," Charles says, and for the first time in the conversation, some sorrow slides into his voice. "It is a last resort, Manuel." The abject terror radiating off the boy is appalling and Charles weighs the idea of simply rendering him unconscious until the necessary medications can be calibrated and administered.
Manuel whimpers and attempts to spontaneously develop Kurt's or Clarice's talent for teleportation. Neither one actually bothers to manifest for him, so he remains curled into a ball, radiating bone-rattling terror.
Charles shakes his head and reaches out with his mind to put the boy out of his misery. He watches the crumpled body sink into sleep and he sits in silence for a long moment before paging Moira.
"Moira," he says, sounding terribly old. "We will be requiring the use of the psi-dampening room after all."
---
Music-taggage courtesy of "Pity the Child" from the musical _Chess_.
What: Fallout from the Kwannon incidents. An important decision is made and implemented.
Where: Fencing Room
Many thanks to Marie's player for socking Xavier for me. Could not have done this log without you.
---
Manuel is in the Fencing Hall, clad in nothing more than a thin T-shirt and a pair of spandex shorts. He has one of the blunted training foils, and is practicing lunges at the much-hated tennis ball tied to a rope that dangles from the ceiling. Over and over again, he takes his place, executes the lunge, misses, curses in Castillian, then takes his place again to do it all over again.
Charles can feel Manuel, feel the loathing at failing over and over. It's a sensation he is familiar with, on a personal level. The boy is exhausted, at least physically, when Charles lets himself into the fencing hall. He waits, hands in his lap, for the boy to finish his dance of futility and frustration. He's not looking forward to this. Manuel is an uncomfortable set of circumstances for any telepath or empath. The lack of control, the history of use and abuse, they are naturally disturbing to anyone who could imagine themselves in a similar situation.
Manuel can't sense Charles - his mind is too well-guarded for anything but a most direct scan. But there's nothing wrong with his eyes, and when he sees Charles waiting patiently for him, he takes one last lunge (out of spite) and then pulls himself as close to together as he can manage. "Senor Headmaster Xavier. I am honored. What brings you to me, now, at this hour?"
"I need to speak to you," Charles says as though it should be clear enough. "On a number of matters. You are aware of the situation with Ms. Braddock's recent illness, yes, that she has not been herself of late? Obviously, as you are one of the students most dependant on her tutelage for honing and controlling your skills, I am concerned and wish to ensure that you have not suffered any ill effect from exposure to her while she was not acting appropriately. I understand that students are often very loyal to the teachers here and fear that you might not approach myself or Ms. Frost if something were amiss."
Manuel opens his mouth like he is going to say something, then his throat spasms and he closes his mouth again. With some confusion, he says "I never noticed, honestly. Is there something wrong? I feel a lot of anxiety and hostility in the air, but that's not exactly unusual for this place." Lorna, too, hates him all out of proportion for his gift of good feelings, and not knowing why is gnawing at him.
The physiological reaction doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the way the boy's mind shies like a frightened horse when he goes to speak. Charles' expression is unchanging, a mask of concern, unfeigned, and calm, carefully manufactured. "Things have been very difficult with Ms. Braddock's sudden decline, yes," he agrees. "I understand that Miss Sefton has also been feeling exceptionally unwell. The two of you have been close, have you not?"
Manuel smirks. "Close is certainly one way of putting it. We've been aiding one another a great deal of late. Yes. She helps me with my power, and I let her feel good about herself. Everybody is happy."
"She certainly isn't happy at the moment, Manuel." Charles watches the boy carefully, feeling the oily slick of arrogance and justification sliding over his thoughts. "Were you aware of that?"
"She was when I last left her. I certainly cannot be expected to monitor her emotional state every hour of every day. When her need is great, she comes to see me. When she leaves me, she is once again well." he explains. "Why are you asking me all of this?"
"Because you seem to know her well. Because it is of great importance to me to understand why one of my students is suicidal, Manuel," Charles says without inflection, allowing the boy's mind to reach for whatever conclusions seemed likely to him.
"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are." Manuel sniffs. "She's not suicidal."
"Are you accusing me of lying to you, Manuel?" The boy was certain of himself, dangerously so. "I don't have time to dally on speculations or hysteria. The child is unwell and her mental state is extremely fragile; she's a danger to herself. I cannot in all good conscience ignore what I see between you that suggests that you cannot be completely ignorant of her condition."
"I just was with her not two days ago. She was fine then. Whatever she's done in the interim is her business, and none of mine." he spits back. "Do you want me to remove this so-called black cloud from her? I will, if that is what you require."
Not a clue, Charles thought. And not a shred of concern. And the relationship in question? Dysfunctional to the core and one that should have been intervened in sooner if anyone knew of its existance. What else was going on with the boy? "Not at all, Manuel. I think you've done quite enough for Amanda. How are you getting along with the other students? Are you doing such favours for any of the others?"
Manuel stops to think about it for a few seconds. "No." he replies. "And the other students are, quite frankly, are either frightened of me or uncaring as to my existance. I have my friends, they have theirs. Why the concern? Who has been spreading lies about me?"
"No one, Manuel," Charles said honestly. "I don't listen to lies. I prefer to rely on the evidence at hand. And, since you are certain that you have been having no adverse effects on the other students, perhaps we could return to the subject of Ms. Braddock. As one of her students, and an empath, you are certainly in a position to have noticed alterations in her behaviour or persona over the last weeks."
Manuel opens his mouth again, and just as before, his throat spasms - preventing him from speaking. He throws the blunted foil to the ground in frustration, then picks it back up carefully. "What about Ms Braddock?" he asks, too calmly. "She has instructed me well in some things, but she really can't help me too much. She's a telepath, I'm an empath. I cut right through her shields, and I cannot stop her from reading my mind. It has been a frustrating stalemate."
This is not prevarication or evasion. Charles has seen enough of those things over the years to know them without benefit of any mutation. The boy had been tampered with. Charles reaches out, sliding tendrils of awareness through the tangles of Manuel's thoughts. "I have concerns that the two of you may have worked together on some projects that were not entirely appropriate, Manuel. Certainly not in the curriculum. Did Ms Braddock ever discuss her condition with you?"
There is a great deal of mental static in Manuel's mind - the boy has more untapped potential that he isn't even aware of than anyone ever suspected. "What condition? What are you _talking_ about?" he asks with real confusion.
"Ms Braddock has been mentally unwell for some time, Manuel," Charles says patiently, watching for the telltale signs of tampering. "It's my understanding that she discussed this with you."
"She has? If so, her problem isn't emotional in nature." he replies smoothly, the blockage in his mind shifting to accomodate this new tactic. "I admit I do not know her well, but I certainly never sensed any sort of emotional problems within her."
Very clever. Charles considers the work in front of him; after dealing with Kwannon the night before he knows her signature, so to speak. The inside of Manuel's mind, as a whole, is reason for concern. The boy is a mass of resonance and interference. He may be covering well, but he is not stable and he is far from being in control of his mutation.
"There's a block in your mind, Manuel," Charles says calmly. "Ms. Braddock, or the one possessing her form for a time, Kwannon, has placed it there. I am going to remove it for you and then we will continue our discussion on your involvement and participation in her recent escapades. This won't hurt a bit."
It's well-made, yes, but it can be unravelled. Not assaulted. Undone. He slides mental fingers into the cat's cradle of the construct and begins to slip the strands away from Manuel's mind.
Manuel doesn't even blink or react visibly. Inside his mind, however, he is screaming. Scenes, images, of psionic, chemical, and other more ... primal ... manipulations flit into and out of his mind like water through a sieve. Apparently, a part of him inside _hates_ having his mind violated - and the warding in his mind is feeding those images, making them stronger even as the barrier itself unravels.
The boy is a walking morass of potentials and pitfalls. "You must resist her work, Manuel," Charles says calmly. "You are safe here and now." He moves smoothly and swiftly to unlock the restraints on the boy's mind, one mental hand poised to control if it becomes necessary. "Assist me in this, if you will. If you concentrate, you may well be able to finish this alone."
Manuel looks at Charles with bewilderment. "I do not know what you are saying." he admits. "Concentrate on what? Being me? I am me."
"Tell me about what you know about Ms Braddock." Pushing the issue may make the boy aware of the restraints on him now. They are almost loose but Charles would prefer that the boy shake them off himself. "You have been prevented from speaking of what you know. I am asking you to do so now."
"Ms Braddock ... is in a badplace. A verybadplace. K-k-k-k ... she keeps her there. She asked me to help her. She was my instructor, I liked satisfying her wants. She's very flexible, and did everything I wanted her to. Everything she wanted." he says in a low monotone, his eyes just starting to glow a little more red than the lighting of the room would seem to warrant.
"Say her name, Manuel," Charles says in a neutral tone. He holds the worst of the bonds already in his grasp, cutting off the carefully designed feedback loops and creative little torments Kwannon had built in for the boy should someone of lesser skill attempt to undo her work. "And keep telling me what happened. The more you say, the closer you are to defeating what she has done to you." The ways that people devise to make one another suffer never fail to surprise or dismay him.
"K ... Kwa .... that BITCH!" he yells out in real anger, as he begins to project it all over the place without any restraint whatsoever. "She _used_ me - because I stood up to her. I was going to tell, I was, I _was_, and she stopped me. When I get through with her, she will _rue_ the day she dared lay a thought on Manuel de la Rocha!"
Charles brings his own mental shields up firmly as the barrier Kwannon had woven disintegrates. The boy's anger is healthy, the projection is not. The idea of conflict breaking out all over the school is an unpleasant thought. "Manuel," he says calmly. "Contain yourself, please. I understand that you are angry right now, but we need to know what happened."
“I want her. Here, now. I want to feel her _scream_." he says with what sounds (and feels!) like real sadistic glee. "I want her to _beg_ me to forgive her. I am very, very angry right now. Samson says that I should not repress my feelings when I am sure that they are mine. And this is _all_ mine."
"No, you should not repress. But you should also refrain from projection," Charles notes, taking in the boy's reactions. "Kwannon is safely encapsulated at the moment and Betsy is back in control of herself. It is up to her to deal with Kwannon in due time."
"Who is Betsy?" he asks, the anger being projected around shifting to confusion as his mood changes. "I don't care about this Betsy person. I want Kwannon."
"Betsy is the real Ms. Braddock, Manuel. A fine woman and an excellent teacher and the one who has suffered most at Kwannon's hands." Charles didn't envy anyone, student or otherwise, caught in the wash of Manuel's emotions. The boy was an emotional bull in a china shop like this. "Kwannon is imprisoned and you will not likely speak to her again."
"It is not enough. I want _revenge_. I demand satisfaction." he says impulsively. He then eyes Charles's non-presence to his empathic senses with a new sense of curiousity. "You are very strong." he says admirably. "Are you an empath?" The emotional tempest dies off almost as soon as it began.
"I have some capacity in that area, yes, Manuel." Charles notes the mood swing. "I regret to inform you that revenge is not in Betsy's agenda. You will have to find some other way of dealing with this issue. And I would like to continue to discuss your relationship with Kwannon."
"What do you want to know?" he asks with some heat. "She made me an offer. Not knowing who and what she was, I accepted. Plus, she made me relive the asylum when I demanded recompense. So I gave her what she wanted, and in return ..."
"Yes?" Charles wonders how much of the boy's apparent capacity to cope is due to his own ability and the mild reassurance he is radiating at the moment.
Quite a bit of it, actually. "In return - she gave me what I wanted." he says, declining to elaborate any further.
"What did you want?" Charles presses on, touching on the boy's mind a little.
Manuel shakes his head, letting the foil fall from suddenly-nerveless fingers. "I like to watch." he admits with an extended breath. "She showed me what it is like to project outside of my body, and we ... watched."
"What did you watch, Manuel?" There's none of the inner pillars of basic, core reactions that Charles is used to seeing in others. It's eerie, really. There are bits and pieces, most of them founded in survival instinct, but no real foundation or support for the self. There is just a fragile nascent construct that sings like an aeolian harp when the winds of another's emotions pass through it. Worse, it amplifies and resonates within the boy, who then projects. It's troubling.
Manuel smirks again, taking refuge in bravado. "It was delicious. The way she feared it and wanted it so very badly at the same time. And a bad turn done to the Cajun was just ... delicious. He never knew, never suspected it. She made sure of that. He never knew that _I_ gave her to him."
Charles' eyes narrow and he processes what the boy is saying, tendrils of his thoughts touching on Manuel's memories. Years of experience are all that allow him to maintain his calm demeanor. The time for anger will come later, this is too pivotal a time to indulge himself. Action comes now, or he will be facing this hollow boy again and his anger will be for more than the abuse of a child or two.
"I'm very concerned for you, Manuel," he says evenly. "Kwannon led you astray very badly, encouraged tendancies in you that are as damaging to you as they are for other people. However, I have to say that I'm grateful for the opportunity to intervene now. This has given me a glimpse into your true potential and your weaknesses as well. I think that in order to best develop your abilities we must first set forth to create for you a healthy foundation from which you can approach the world."
Manuel merely stared at Xavier, trying (and failing) to disguise his rising terror. "What did you have in mind?" he asks suspiciously.
"It occurs to me that in order to best take advantage of your abilities and stabilize you," Charles says in a purely conversational tone, "that we need to reduce the potency of your mutation, perhaps temporarily give you relief from it. This will allow you to not only relate to others as something other than threat or amusement, but it will allow you to develop your sense of self, let you find Manuel within you and strengthen him in ways you have not yet explored." Not punishment, he reminds himself. If he is successful in helping the boy, Manuel will find his own remorse rather than having it inflicted from without.
"You want to take my power from me. Why?" he asks, apparently honestly puzzled. "I admit, I do not have the fine control over it that I should, but Ms Frost says that I am making progress, and that I can do things now that used to drive me mad back in January."
"The fact that you must ask, Manuel, is all the answer I can give you. Once you have been a while without, you will begin to understand. And, I hope, one day you will be grateful for the opportunity you will receive to take a different path than the one you walk right now." Charles takes his electronic notepad and stylus from his jacket pocket and begins to make notes. "I believe that this break period will be ideal for you to adjust to a portable psi-dampening device."
"I have been without before. They drugged me, to take it all away ..." he says, his terror palpable to all and sundry at the concept of being shut down again. "It almost killed me. I won't let you kill me! I WON'T!"
"Manuel." Charles looks up from his notes, unsurprised at the outburst, and closes his mind on the boy's gently; not smothering, merely containing. "I do not want you to die. I want you to /live/." This, at least is true. It would pain him to have to take other measures, should the boy become a threat. Still, that point is only a speck on the horizon of potentials. Even through his anger and dismay, Charles can envision the boy in a state of health and it is an encouraging thought. "Right now, you are a danger to others, and to yourself. I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue in this manner, for your sake and for the sake of others. This is not optional."
Manuel pulls himself to his full height, and stares down at Charles. "I am in no danger from -them-. Just keep the assraper's lewd feelings out of my head, and we'll be just fine. Nothing to worry about. Even when I try to do good, the ungrateful wretches never appreciate it for what it is. She was _happy_, really _happy_, for the first time in her entire life. And she has the _gall_ to blame _Empath_ for it? Why is it that _I_ am always to blame whenever someone feels bad?"
"No, you are not in any danger from /them/, Manuel." Charles looks up at the irate young man, unperturbed. "We will discuss the issue of blame after you are adjusted to the dampening device. Perhaps you will even get the chance to discuss it with the people in question."
Manuel, with his typical lack of subtlety, flings an empathic probe right up against Charles's shields, only to blink in absolute confusion when the probe skittered harmlessly off of the invisible barrier between him and Charles's feelings. "You're ... not real." he whispers. "No human being doesn't have feelings. Are you a demon?"
"I have many feelings, Manuel. You simply are not privy to them, as is appropriate." Charles tucks the little silver notation device away again. "I think you and I should go speak to Dr. McCoy and Dr. MacTaggart now."
"No one hides from Empath. Tell me how this was done!" he shouts, his naked need to _know_ echoing through the room, and through the Astral Plane, like a tsunami. "I must know."
"That's enough, Manuel. Contain yourself now, please." Charles' voice never changes, never gains inflection. He is as smooth and as cool as marble in the face of Manuel's outburst. "When you understand other things, Manuel. You have work to do before I will share with you."
"Are you sure that there is no accomodation that can be reached? Let us talk of bargains..." Manuel said, his emotional landscape changing from the terrible need to _know_ to an oil-slick smoothness and false empathic charm. "What do you want?"
"I want you to understand. And I want you to learn." Charles gestures toward the door. The boy is beginning to slip and he is interested to know whether Manuel will regain his equilibrium or not. "I think this is a good place to start. And no, Manuel, I am afraid I do not bargain. Not when the well-being of my students is at stake. Come." There was no compulsion behind the word.
"Understand what? Learn what?" Manuel asks. "And where are you taking me?"
"We are going to speak to the doctors, Manuel," Charles reminds him. "And I wish you to understand that there are consequences for your actions, among many other things. However, I will not be the one to enact them upon you. I will simply give you the ability to see them for what they are."
Manuel takes a few steps forwards, then starts like he has not realized what he has done. "No doctors! NO! NO DRUGS!" he screams, dropping to his knees and curling himself into a ball.
"I'm afraid so," Charles says, and for the first time in the conversation, some sorrow slides into his voice. "It is a last resort, Manuel." The abject terror radiating off the boy is appalling and Charles weighs the idea of simply rendering him unconscious until the necessary medications can be calibrated and administered.
Manuel whimpers and attempts to spontaneously develop Kurt's or Clarice's talent for teleportation. Neither one actually bothers to manifest for him, so he remains curled into a ball, radiating bone-rattling terror.
Charles shakes his head and reaches out with his mind to put the boy out of his misery. He watches the crumpled body sink into sleep and he sits in silence for a long moment before paging Moira.
"Moira," he says, sounding terribly old. "We will be requiring the use of the psi-dampening room after all."
---
Music-taggage courtesy of "Pity the Child" from the musical _Chess_.
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-13 05:42 pm (UTC)*wails* They just don't understand us!
*eg* I think we did our job well, Red, don't you think? ;)
Aye.
Date: 2004-03-13 06:44 pm (UTC)Redhawk