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xp_logsXavin is about out of options so the timing works when they meet the team from Xavier's.
The teenager was sitting on a plastic chair, one foot jigging on the floor, wearing an outsized sweater that was so ugly it had to be ironic, jeans and sneakers. One hand clutched a nearly cold cup of coffee.
Going through the required rigamarole to get into the shelter and get access to Xavin, Clarice decided that for all the good places like this did, she really hated the paperwork. At least the picture on her ID matched the face she wore. As much as she disliked the image inducer, it was a hell of a lot easier to use it than to not these days. Pissed her off, but that was a rant for another time. Xavin was her concern now. She could see Xavin through the window and wanted nothing more than to grab him and teleport out. That wasn't a good idea. Yet.
The important thing about a rescue was to look like you belonged and knew what you were doing. Any hesitation or nervousness and it made other people nervous. This was Jean's territory. Wearing a pantsuit that screamed authority figure, she was in the middle of looking over the paperwork from behind her reading glasses, casting the occasional glance to the social worker there.
"I think we've covered everything but if there's anything we missed we'd be glad to follow up later," she said with a disarming smile. "Can we please speak to Xavin privately?"
The phone rang and the woman at the desk sighed, answered it and said "please hold" before turning to Jean. "You're welcome to use the meeting room." It wasn't exactly private, what with the window that fed back into the reception area but it would do. "I got told y'all were coming, because you work with kids like that but... you know that kid is a mutant, right? I know, I mean, I don't want to say nothing against them, but y'all need to be careful, just in case, okay? And you know she can't stay here tonight. It's a safety issue." The phone rang again and she waved them into the meeting room.
Jean was playing the well-dressed authority figure, and Jean-Phillipe was playing the scowly pushy advocate. Which was good, because it played right into how he was feeling. His fingers flexed toward the woman's telephone, and then he pulled his hand back sharply. ~Obvious displays of mutant power would not be productive. Obvious displays of mutant power would not be productive...~ If he reminded himself enough, he wouldn't give in to the urge to give the woman something to actually be afraid of. And she had been helpful enough, even with the sideways bit of bigotry. He pulled the door to the meeting room a bit more sharply than was strictly necessary, and waved for Jean and Clarice to precede him into the room.
Xavin scrambled upright, looking at the three people. "Hi. You're uh... You're the mutant rights people, right?," they asked, tugging at one sleeve. "I'm Xavin. I'm pleased to meet you," they added, starting to shift involuntarily and clawing control back again. "The social worker said you'd talk to some people about getting me a bed, since they can't... you know. Here." It was a little garbled. Were they mutants? They didn't look like mutants. And if they were, what could they do?
Watching Xavin closely, Clarice glanced over at Jean, "Can you scramble things?" she asked, fingers slipping into her pocket where the image inducer was. "And yeah, that's us. I'm Clarice. That's Jean and Jean-Phillipe."
Jean nodded to Clarice, making a cursory scan to make sure there wasn't any recording equipment around. She hadn't really tried to maintain a prolonged mental 'illusion' as it were, longer than a few minutes so this was going to be practice. So far the only person taking an interest was the social worker so she kept a mental eye on her, skewing her vision to make it look like Clarice was still 'peaches and cream' complected. She didn't quite feel comfortable with this but she wasn't reading her thoughts.
"Okay. It's done," she said.
Jean-Phillipe flicked his fingers negligently. No matter how much he tried at times, he could never quite break himself of the gesture crutch. It spoke to his taste and flair for the dramatic, and old habits died hard. "Any recording equipment in the area is...ah, desolee, experiencing technical difficulties." He smirked.
Smiling, Clarice turned the image inducer off. "That's better," she sighed as if relaxing, but in truth she didn't feel any different with or without the image inducer. It just adjusted her skin and hair colours. "Now. As we were saying. We have a home for wayward mutants. And school. All the stuff, really."
"Oh my god. Oh my god." Xavin stared at them. "You're all mutants? I mean, of course you are but... wow." You're purple. You're completely purple. There was a pause before Xavin said, warily, "Okay. You're mutants. That's pretty cool but... What can you actually do to help me? I can't use the beds here, 'cause they don't accept mutants and I can't use the rest of their stuff either, after this morning. Because I have mutant cooties. So, what can you do, since they've told me I basically gotta go and can't come back 'cause I'm a danger to the other kids?"
Jean took a seat in the chair across from Xavin. "Actually....we can help with that," she said.
"There's a place that we're from that takes in mutants, like us, like you. A place that protects mutants and helps them to learn more about their abilities if they need it. We....came to ask if you wanted to come with us there."
The teen shrugged. "That sounds... That sounds too good to be true. I mean, how do I know you're on the line about this?" There were raised voices outside, dragging Xavin back to the reason they'd even been asked to go sit in the meeting room and wait earlier that afternoon.
"We can talk all day about it, but until you come, it's all kinda meaningless," Clarice said truthfully, "but...it's crazy and insane and powers malfunctions happen and movie nights and school and dating and just....it's a safe place to be a mutant in a dangerous world. I won't say it's always safe. Powers malfunctions can hurt. The world hates us. Sometimes we run out of peanut butter. But....it's the best I've found."
"I've been on the other side of this. Young and alone with problems with my power and no place to go. I was taken in by some people who...did not have my best interests at heart." It pained Jean-Phillipe even now to characterize Erik in that way, but it was unfortunately the truth. "I know that the mansion does sound too good to be true. I can promise you. It -is- true."
And this was why he had made a point of coming along.
Xavin put down the coffee cup. There was no point holding cold coffee other than spilling it on your jeans. "Can you excuse me for a moment? I have to go to the bathroom" and left.
The door to a toilet stall locked, Xavin flipped a toilet lid down and sat on it, hands clenched into fists on their knees, thinking. It wasn't much of a choice. Shit. This was insane. Run away with the godamn mutants you've only just met or... what? Go home? Sleep on the street and get beat up and robbed again? Or end up like Victim of the Week on Criminal Minds? Unless this was the scenario where actually the three mutants were the serial killers.
"Shit." The choice wasn't a choice.
Unlocking the toilet door was still hard.
"I need you to explain more, okay, because you're asking me to walk off with a bunch of strangers but... I'm interested," Xavin said.
The teenager was sitting on a plastic chair, one foot jigging on the floor, wearing an outsized sweater that was so ugly it had to be ironic, jeans and sneakers. One hand clutched a nearly cold cup of coffee.
Going through the required rigamarole to get into the shelter and get access to Xavin, Clarice decided that for all the good places like this did, she really hated the paperwork. At least the picture on her ID matched the face she wore. As much as she disliked the image inducer, it was a hell of a lot easier to use it than to not these days. Pissed her off, but that was a rant for another time. Xavin was her concern now. She could see Xavin through the window and wanted nothing more than to grab him and teleport out. That wasn't a good idea. Yet.
The important thing about a rescue was to look like you belonged and knew what you were doing. Any hesitation or nervousness and it made other people nervous. This was Jean's territory. Wearing a pantsuit that screamed authority figure, she was in the middle of looking over the paperwork from behind her reading glasses, casting the occasional glance to the social worker there.
"I think we've covered everything but if there's anything we missed we'd be glad to follow up later," she said with a disarming smile. "Can we please speak to Xavin privately?"
The phone rang and the woman at the desk sighed, answered it and said "please hold" before turning to Jean. "You're welcome to use the meeting room." It wasn't exactly private, what with the window that fed back into the reception area but it would do. "I got told y'all were coming, because you work with kids like that but... you know that kid is a mutant, right? I know, I mean, I don't want to say nothing against them, but y'all need to be careful, just in case, okay? And you know she can't stay here tonight. It's a safety issue." The phone rang again and she waved them into the meeting room.
Jean was playing the well-dressed authority figure, and Jean-Phillipe was playing the scowly pushy advocate. Which was good, because it played right into how he was feeling. His fingers flexed toward the woman's telephone, and then he pulled his hand back sharply. ~Obvious displays of mutant power would not be productive. Obvious displays of mutant power would not be productive...~ If he reminded himself enough, he wouldn't give in to the urge to give the woman something to actually be afraid of. And she had been helpful enough, even with the sideways bit of bigotry. He pulled the door to the meeting room a bit more sharply than was strictly necessary, and waved for Jean and Clarice to precede him into the room.
Xavin scrambled upright, looking at the three people. "Hi. You're uh... You're the mutant rights people, right?," they asked, tugging at one sleeve. "I'm Xavin. I'm pleased to meet you," they added, starting to shift involuntarily and clawing control back again. "The social worker said you'd talk to some people about getting me a bed, since they can't... you know. Here." It was a little garbled. Were they mutants? They didn't look like mutants. And if they were, what could they do?
Watching Xavin closely, Clarice glanced over at Jean, "Can you scramble things?" she asked, fingers slipping into her pocket where the image inducer was. "And yeah, that's us. I'm Clarice. That's Jean and Jean-Phillipe."
Jean nodded to Clarice, making a cursory scan to make sure there wasn't any recording equipment around. She hadn't really tried to maintain a prolonged mental 'illusion' as it were, longer than a few minutes so this was going to be practice. So far the only person taking an interest was the social worker so she kept a mental eye on her, skewing her vision to make it look like Clarice was still 'peaches and cream' complected. She didn't quite feel comfortable with this but she wasn't reading her thoughts.
"Okay. It's done," she said.
Jean-Phillipe flicked his fingers negligently. No matter how much he tried at times, he could never quite break himself of the gesture crutch. It spoke to his taste and flair for the dramatic, and old habits died hard. "Any recording equipment in the area is...ah, desolee, experiencing technical difficulties." He smirked.
Smiling, Clarice turned the image inducer off. "That's better," she sighed as if relaxing, but in truth she didn't feel any different with or without the image inducer. It just adjusted her skin and hair colours. "Now. As we were saying. We have a home for wayward mutants. And school. All the stuff, really."
"Oh my god. Oh my god." Xavin stared at them. "You're all mutants? I mean, of course you are but... wow." You're purple. You're completely purple. There was a pause before Xavin said, warily, "Okay. You're mutants. That's pretty cool but... What can you actually do to help me? I can't use the beds here, 'cause they don't accept mutants and I can't use the rest of their stuff either, after this morning. Because I have mutant cooties. So, what can you do, since they've told me I basically gotta go and can't come back 'cause I'm a danger to the other kids?"
Jean took a seat in the chair across from Xavin. "Actually....we can help with that," she said.
"There's a place that we're from that takes in mutants, like us, like you. A place that protects mutants and helps them to learn more about their abilities if they need it. We....came to ask if you wanted to come with us there."
The teen shrugged. "That sounds... That sounds too good to be true. I mean, how do I know you're on the line about this?" There were raised voices outside, dragging Xavin back to the reason they'd even been asked to go sit in the meeting room and wait earlier that afternoon.
"We can talk all day about it, but until you come, it's all kinda meaningless," Clarice said truthfully, "but...it's crazy and insane and powers malfunctions happen and movie nights and school and dating and just....it's a safe place to be a mutant in a dangerous world. I won't say it's always safe. Powers malfunctions can hurt. The world hates us. Sometimes we run out of peanut butter. But....it's the best I've found."
"I've been on the other side of this. Young and alone with problems with my power and no place to go. I was taken in by some people who...did not have my best interests at heart." It pained Jean-Phillipe even now to characterize Erik in that way, but it was unfortunately the truth. "I know that the mansion does sound too good to be true. I can promise you. It -is- true."
And this was why he had made a point of coming along.
Xavin put down the coffee cup. There was no point holding cold coffee other than spilling it on your jeans. "Can you excuse me for a moment? I have to go to the bathroom" and left.
The door to a toilet stall locked, Xavin flipped a toilet lid down and sat on it, hands clenched into fists on their knees, thinking. It wasn't much of a choice. Shit. This was insane. Run away with the godamn mutants you've only just met or... what? Go home? Sleep on the street and get beat up and robbed again? Or end up like Victim of the Week on Criminal Minds? Unless this was the scenario where actually the three mutants were the serial killers.
"Shit." The choice wasn't a choice.
Unlocking the toilet door was still hard.
"I need you to explain more, okay, because you're asking me to walk off with a bunch of strangers but... I'm interested," Xavin said.
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