xp_logs | (no subject)

Remy's eyelids flickered, and even before he opened his eyes, he could sense the presence in the room. He tensed slightly, only to find that his arms only had a limited range of movement. Exhaling a frustrated breath, he opened is eyes, took in the restraints and finally addressed the man sitting at the foot of his bed. "Bonjour Professeur."

"Bonjour, young man," Charles answered lowly, hands folded in his lap, his wheelchair a few feet away from the bed as though to grant the Cajun some sort of buffer space. "We had wondered how you were doing, while you were gone," he added quietly, not reacting to the obvious frustration Remy was radiating.

"Figured you'd know." Remy said darkly, eyes darting around him. "Use your big mutant finder to keep track all de mutants you find."

Fear. Paranoia. None of it there for Charles to sense on a mental level beyond quicksilver surface thoughts he was unable to grasp at properly – it was odd being almost head blind in that sense. That still didn't keep Charles from simply reading Remy's expression or body language, which was more than blatant just now. Not the usual, which lead one to wonder at what exactly had happened while Remy was away. They needed to know. "Cerebro was unable to track you." It was the truth after all, and Charles saw no reason to hide that from Remy. "We picked up your trace from a government contact within the FBI. Elizabeth and Madelyn went to retrieve you from them." A pause. "Would you rather go back?"

"FBI. Remy get famous now." He jibed weakly. Remy's powers made his thoughts so fast moving and random that he was all but immune to casual scanning, and Charles knew only too well that he might very know should anyone attempt to perform a deeper scan – and that it would destroy any chance of trust. The paranoia and anger were obvious, but so was the fear, even to non-telepaths. Charles preferred to not scan someone unless the situation was extreme enough to require it – which it was not now, in his estimate.

"A friend of Doctor Bartlett's helped keep you from prison, Remy. He was the one that found you. We assumed you'd prefer the mansion to jail."

"Dat right? Don' want de feds to get their hands on your soldiers?" Remy shot back, his eyes still moving; tracking all around.

"That would be something of a feat on their part," Charles said evenly, although a touch of amusement colored his voice for a moment, "considering I do not have any soldiers." He shifted slightly, hands still easily within sight, the motion slow and minute. "But I would not wish for you to feel as though we've taken the decision from your hands, now that you are awake to make it." He waited for the answer to his previous question patiently.

"Jail or your school? Quite de decision, homme." Remy said, a slash-like smile razoring across his hollow features. "Suddenly, de student body make more sense den before. What's de plan, get dem to stay, tell dem dey all heros?"

Remy coughed, eyes finally coming to rest, not on Xavier but on his own hands. "Put t'ings into dey minds, make dem killers? So, dey just happy to put on de black suit and fight at your orders? Teach dem to kill, and kill, and not even know why..." Remy trailed off, his hands starting to shake. After a second, he clasped them together, forced his eyes to meet Xavier's. "Course Remy stay."

So much said, in so little words. Charles did not move at all, giving no sign of any reaction at all, filing the information away for the not so faraway future. "They make their own choices, Remy, as do all who live in this school." His expression softened a hint, as he continued. "They know the consequences of such decisions well enough, to a certain degree. Nothing ever replaces experience, I am afraid. My hope is simply that it is a choice they will never need to make. A foolish hope perhaps, but it is mine nonetheless." He nodded slowly and raised one hand to place it on the controls of the chair, backing up a bit. "I will speak to the medical staff about removing your restraints, now that you are aware and unlikely to hurt yourself once more. Or them. I trust this meets with your approval?"

"Dat it? You take off de cuffs and Remy is free?" LeBeau said, skepticism obvious in his voice.

Freedom is a state of mind, he almost said, before deciding otherwise. So Remy was free to leave in the night again if he so wished, although Charles hoped he would at least stay long enough to get the proper medical attention. "This is not a prison," he answered simply. "I would not be against you staying – my invitation to you still stands. But as I said before, it is your choice to make."

"Sure it is." Remy said acidly, staring down at his hands again. Charles waited for a moment, but there was no further words from the young Cajun. He had said all that he was planning to say for now.

With a slight nod, Charles retreated further, leaving the room in silence. The door was left open and outside Remy could hear him speak to one of the doctors in quiet tones, indicating that the restraints were to be removed now that Remy was awake, and the door left unlocked. The faint grumble that visits would be very much under doctor approval, said in a low feminine voice soon followed, accompanied by the Professor's low chuckle as he bowed to the doctor's authority on the matter.

Remy lay back, eyes searching the ceiling for the microcameras and pickups he knew must be there. It was all an elaborate setup, he was aware. A very sophisticated scheme. They turned him into a killer in three weeks the first time, now the dreams, the nightmares, the skills he had no way of acquiring but used; they were building a soldier, and no matter what Charles said, Remy was sure the only way he'd leave this place was dead.