xp_logs | Illyana & Haller; dubious introductions

Haller greets a shiny new Illyana fresh from her very special first arrest, accompanied by the Mutant Underground social worker who rescued her from the perils of foster care. Illyana discovers that it's hard to argue with Haller when you're practically passing out, but she does her best anyway.

“Come on, get out," said the maternal-looking, cardigan-enrobed woman standing in front of her Hyundai Accent's open passenger-side door. "We're here."

The girl in the passenger's seat looked at the - what was it, even? Not quite a castle, definitely not a home. "You could just take me back to New York," she said.

"I told you," said the woman, with a briskness that hinted at many repetitions. "I have a responsibility to make sure you're taken care of. Unless you want to let me know where your family is? Because I guarantee that you would not enjoy the treatment you'd get in foster care these days."

The girl was silent for a few moments, before swinging her legs out of the car. She stood with what looked like some difficulty, and under the bright spring sunlight she looked tired, with bruiselike smudges underneath her eyes. "Do you even know anything about this place? It looks too . . . " She trailed off as the woman reached over and closed the car door.

The woman motioned for the girl to follow her, and started toward the front door. "They help people like - they help mutants. Most of whom aren't careless enough to admit they're mutants to a stranger, by the way."

"I still don't understand the fuss," the girl said, shrugging a little.

"I wish you'd tell me where you came from to have that attitude," said the woman, and sighed when there was no response. They stopped in front of the double doors, and the woman added, "You have to stay somewhere safe. Not East River Park. You don't seem to understand what kinds of things happen to girls living on the street."

The girl said, "It wasn't that bad."

The woman gave up and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened a moment later. The length of the driveway had given Haller ample time to make his way to the front door after buzzing in the pair.

"Ms. Vehige?" he hazarded, as if they hadn't spoken on the intercom a few moments ago. "I'm David Haller. We spoke on the phone." He extended a hand, noting the cardigan. With the weather trembling on the edge of summer that was quite a commitment to the role.

She shook his hand with a firm grip. "Thanks for arranging this. This - " She glanced to her right, saw that the girl had retreated slightly behind her, and stepped aside - "is Illyana. She says she's a mutant. Out loud. In public places." Ms. Vehige rolled her eyes, a 'what can you do with these kids' kind of expression. "She needs a place to stay."

"I do not," Illyana interjected indignantly - keeping a very cautious eye on David.

Haller paused. The voice, the face -- they were younger, but the he recognized both.

He didn't let it show. What he had known didn't necessarily have any bearing on the girl he saw in front of him now; he needed to set expectation aside. Fortunately flat emotional affect meant there was no risk to his poker face.

"Maybe," Haller conceded. "But we can at least discuss the possibility. I was told you were arrested for shoplifting food from a bodega?"

"I was hungry," Illyana said, lifting her chin like she refused to be ashamed.

Haller nodded. "That seemed like a logical assumption. Would it help to know that we can guarantee you free meals?"

"That . . . " She trailed off, voice small, before firming her mouth. "I can't. I have things to do. I kept telling her," she tilted her head at Ms. Vehige, "But she didn't listen." Her eyes challenged David to follow suit.

"What kind of things are 'things'?" Haller prodded, keeping his eyes on Illyana. As tempting as it sometimes was to exchange glances with a fellow adult, no one appreciated the implied "this kid, can you believe her?" implication in the action.

Illyana raised her eyebrows. "None of your business," she said, her tone clearly pinning an obviously to the end.

Haller studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay."

Illyana had looked ready for an argument, and now looked a bit taken aback. "Okay," she agreed dubiously.

"But you're here because you're a self-declared mutant," the counselor continued with inexorable logic. "This concerned woman made arrangements with us, and went through the trouble of bringing you here. It follows that is my business, right?"

"Nobody would let me leave," Illyana said, crossing her arms. "I don't see why something's someone's business just because they decide it's their business."

"You still ended up on my doorstep," Haller pointed out.

"I just said - " Illyana stopped, mouth set mutinously. "Fine. I was just going to - I'm just going to go." The ground underneath her feet flickered - and that was it. It stopped after a few moments, leaving her exactly where she had been before, but considerably paler and somewhat more wobbly on her feet. "In a minute," she amended, with somewhat less force than before.

The social worker had taken a startled step back at the distortion, but Haller only nodded. At least something of what he'd known of her was consistent.

"Teleportation, right?" he said to the gently swaying Illyana. "Well, that saves us the trouble of testing you. You should come inside -- we'll get you something to eat and somewhere to sit before you fall over."

She glared at him, although her gaze lacked a certain focus. "I don't - I don't want to," she said.

"Why not?"

"Well - " Illyana stared at him, mouth open. "I just don't," she said finally, plaintively.

The man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't believe in chairs? A free meal stole your wallet?" There was an ominous patience that implied he could do this for hours.

"I don't know what that means." Abruptly, Illyana sat down on the ground - whether to cement her position of Not Going In There or because her legs were giving out was anyone's guess. "Can't you just go away,"

"Well, no. I live here." Haller regarded the sullen teen on the lawn, then glanced at the social worker. "Go on ahead and talk to the professor -- I'll talk to her. I don't think she's in any danger of making a break for it."

Ms. Vehige, with a wry look at Illyana, nodded and disappeared through the door, obviously convinced that Haller didn't need help.

"I just need to sit for a minute," Illyana said, voice muffled by her knees. "I'll go. In a minute."

"Don't worry about it." Haller didn't move a muscle, but Illyana abruptly found herself off the ground -- nearly two feet off the ground.

"If anyone asks," said the telekinetic, "I did this because you refused to move on principle, not because you're too exhausted to stand."

The look of controlled panic on the girl's face spoke volumes to her level of self-control. "What are you - stop it," she commanded, obviously trying to sound imperious and falling more than a little short of it.

"Inside," Haller said, turning to enter the mansion. Illyana bobbed gently behind him like an unruly balloon. His grip wasn't oppressive -- the power was exercised solely as levitation, not restraint. Nonetheless, he didn't allow her feet to touch the ground until they'd entered in the kitchen.

"Sorry about that, but I wasn't kidding when I said I thought you needed something to eat." He deposited her into the nearest chair at the table, then calmly turned his back on her to start rummaging in the cabinets. "I've been doing this for a while, and I know what burnout looks like. I can't imagine you'd have been arrested if your powers weren't already over-stretched."

Illyana glowered at him, but she didn't - or couldn't - attempt an escape, instead pulling her knees up and keeping a watchful eye on her impressive new enemy.

"I'm just a little tired," she said, unconsciously rubbing her eyes in an attempt to stay alert. "It's fine."

"Sure. But rest will give you time to heal and rebuild your reserves. Ultimately, you'll be back to full strength faster if you give yourself a little time to rest. And you have things you need to do, right?" Haller set out a plate and breadknife on the counter while the refrigerator door opened by itself. He paced over to it, unconcerned. "Would you like ham, chicken, or turkey? Or do you prefer vegetarian?"

She looked like she was regretting telling him anything. "Why do you even care?" she asked.

"Care is a little strong for someone I just met. But there have been a few times in my life when I've had things of my own to do, so in that sense I can relate." Haller compromised by taking a selection of all three meats and a few choice condiments. He set them on the countertop while a loaf of bread slid itself into arm's reach. "Besides, if you leave now there's good a chance we'll be doing this all over again at some point. I figured we might as well spare ourselves the trouble. What do you want to drink?"

"I could just promise not to come back," Illyana said, "Which seems like it would save everyone a lot of trouble right away."

"Would it, though?" Haller began sawing a generous portion of bread from the loaf. "Is there something about staying somewhere with free room and board that's going to keep you from doing whatever it is you need to do?"

"Depends on the catch," Illyana said flatly.

The knife scraped through the crust with short, steady strokes. "That depends on what you want to do. This place is a charity, but we do have rules. If someone's hurt you or is after you, we'll be happy to help. A lot of us have had that kind of experience. If you're planning on hurting someone, on the other hand, we might have a problem. We'd also appreciate it if you didn't tell the world you live in a mansion full of mutants. It attracts attention we don't really feel like dealing with, as you've discovered. Pretty straightfoward."

Illyana's furrowed brows indicated that nothing about this seemed straightforward to her. "What is this place?" she demanded finally. "That lady didn't say anything about - anything like that."

"Her job is to keep an eye out for mutants and put them somewhere safe, if they need it." Haller began to pile lunchmeat onto the sandwich. "Our job here is to make sure a safe place exists. That's not too hard when everyone who lives here is a mutant. It means we have a personal stake in making sure the rest of the world doesn't bother us."

"Are you like an orphanage, then, or what?" Illyana had learned enough over the last day not to share her thoughts on this 'mutant issue'.

"More of a shelter for people with nowhere else to go. We don't try to adopt anyone out, if that's what you're asking. A lot of us either have nowhere else to go or left on purpose." The counselor started on the mustard. "The man who owns this place has a lot of money and what some people might call questionable judgement, but it really was well-meant. By the way, since you didn't declare a preference I'll just give you water."

"Who owns this place? And what does he get out of it?"

"Charles Xavier." The telekinetic screwed the top back onto the condiment. "I believe our most current branding is the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. As for what he gets out of it, you can ask him yourself."

Recognition registered as shock on Illyana's face, quickly controlled. "What's 'higher learning'?" she asked, rather than stay on that particular subject.

"These days? Powers control and self-defense." As Haller began to fill a glass with ice the pantry opened by itself to allow for the emergence of a single-serving bag of Doritos. Without turning, Haller extended a hand, and the chip bag obediently sped into his grasp. He set it on the counter next to the sandwich and moved to fill the glass with water from the tap.

The blonde girl hadn't taken her eyes off Haller since the beginning of the conversation, although they flicked every so often to the independently-moving foodstuffs. "Defense from what?" she pressed.

"Anything. Humans, mutants, ourselves . . . and other things." Haller turned to face Illyana, watching her carefully. "Things even other mutants wouldn't believe."

There was a distinct wariness to Illyana's expression that hadn't - quite - been there before; she shifted slightly, putting one foot back on the floor, and stayed silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

Haller noted the reaction. He knew it was dangerous to assume any parallels between the people he'd known and the versions he met now, but it strengthened his own suspicions. However, guarded as Illyana was, he would need to proceed carefully.

"It's a fundamental truth that power attracts power," he continued. "The normal example is that money and influence have a lot of interplay, and they may overlap with physical expressions of power, like martial force, weapons, that kind of thing. You can use one to get the other. Mutant powers create a similar situation. There are the normal groups that want to exploit us, and then there's -- other things." Haller began to return the fixings to their appropriate place in the refrigerator.

"Some mutants have access to other planes of awareness, even existence. My power class is psionics. The simple version is that this meant I could read minds, but it also gave me access to another level of consciousness called the astral plane. It's basically something created by the mental energy of life on earth, and for the most part only psionics have the ability to go there. Unfortunately, there are things that either live there or somehow found their way into it. They can use psionics to influence the outside world, use us as power sources, or even invade us to use as hosts. The point is, the power opens a door normal people would never find."

Finished with cleanup, Haller finally gathered up the food and presented it to Illyana. He set it on the table a respectable distance from her, like a man laying bait for a skittish stray dog. He took the chair furthest from her and leaned back.

"That's just my personal example," he continued. "Psionics aren't the only ones who are targeted. Some mutant have powers that attract certain entities. Maybe they resonate with them, maybe it's just convenient, I don't know. Either way, we've had incidents where residents were attacked by things not native to this dimension."

Things not native to this dimension. The tension in Illyana's shoulders and jaw, and the slight furrow between her eyebrows, belied her unease. It was a testament to her willpower that she didn't even glance at the food in front of her, keeping her gaze on Haller, as though trying to figure him out just by sight. "Doesn't sound like such a great shelter to me," she said after a few moments.

"We go by strength in numbers, especially where pooling resources and expertise is concerned." The counselor made a vague gesture in the direction of Charles' office. "Every time we have an encounter we learn a little bit more. The professor and some of the other resident psionics teach other psis how to recognize and defend themselves against threats, for example. As for the non-native entities, we have residents who've established protection against those, too. Mostly those who are deeply tired of being targets. Things might still be attracted, but they can't get through here."

Illyana's skeptical head tilt in the direction of the front door said all it needed to about her faith in the security system. "So basically you get attacked all the time," she observed flatly.

Haller shrugged. "More than we'd like, but less than you'd think. Although like I said, power attracts power, and most of us didn't find we were any safer minding our own business out in the world. At least here we have stability, resources, and protection."

"Until something stronger comes along." She rubbed at her eyes, unconsciously, like her head ached, and gave Haller one last, long look before glancing at the sandwich. With a soft exhale, she reached over and tore off a corner of the bread, turning it in her hands for a second before finally eating it.

Haller gave her a crooked smile. There wasn't really "winning" with Illyana, but outlasting her was essentially the same thing.

"All the more reason to recover while you can," he pointed out as she continued to consume the food with a resigned expression. "Best case scenario, you find a safe place to be while you handle whatever business you need to handle. Worst case, you recover until you don't fall over when you teleport and leave. Like I said, for you there's no downside."

"Unless the stronger thing makes it here before then," she muttered around half a mouthful of food, before pulling the plate protectively closer to herself.

"You're just determined to be a pessimist. Eat your chips, they're bad for you."