maskormenacelogs | Rooftop like we're bringing '62 back

Entry tags:

Rooftop like we're bringing '62 back

WHO: Erik Azalea and Charles XCX
WHERE: Charles's house
WHEN: Sometime after the bombing (next day?), in the AM.
WHAT: Bickering like an old couple.
WARNINGS: Erik's probably going to break some sort of tea etiquette.

There's an intruder in Charles's house, but only because it's early and said intruder-- house guest, he prefers-- thinks it's easier than waking his host. He's taken it upon himself to start up a pot of tea and cook up some breakfast. This is probably some sort of peace offering of some sort for his technical breaking and entering, or maybe for not bothering to check in lately, or maybe for being the reason he needs special housing, but. The point is. Breakfast is being made, and it's not leftover Chinese with the handles removed by Erik so that the entire carton can be microwaved the next day, which is an improvement over most days, probably.

So, Erik might technically be a burglar (since he does plan to eat Charles's food), but he just so happens to be a very considerate burglar. He is simultaneously slicing strawberries and frying up some french toast, because nothing quite breaks the seriousness of having to discuss such terrible news like carbs and sugar drowned in a pool of syrup.

Certainly, if the smell of cinnamon doesn't wake Charles up, the clanging of the pots and pans and wire whisk furiously whipping some cream would.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Charles couldn't lie, he was exhausted.

It felt as if he'd been going non-stop since he arrived and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not, the chair sapped his stamina. He'd gotten used to having the use of his legs, even at the expense of his telepathy and for ten years he hadn't struggled with day to day activities that most people took for granted. That on top of the strain of being effectively kidnapped, then thrown into a start of war and chaos almost from word go, had taken it's toll.

To be fair, had the mind that came into his house been anyone other than Erik's, it was likely that Charles' consciousness would have roused him. But despite how angry he had been at Erik, the man's mind was still familiar to him in the same way that Hank's mind or Raven's was familiar. As such, it's close proximity did not trigger subconscious alarms.

The smell of cinnamon merely worked it's way into his dreams, so it wasn't until Erik really started to clatter about that Charles groggily surfaced from his exhausted slumber. Laying, his head face smashed into his pillow, he considered telling Erik to go home but as one bleery eye focused on the clock at his bedside, Charles groaned.

He'd been asleep for almost ten hours. He needed to get up, change position at least for a bit. Grumbling softly to himself, he pushed back the blankets and set about the Herculean effort of transferring from the bed, to the chair and all the little challenges that now made up his morning routine.

Erik might have heard the noise of running water coming from the bedroom at the back of the house or perhaps he sensed the movements of the chair itself as Charles pulled himself together. Eventually the professor rolled himself down the hall, towards the kitchen. Though Charles hair was damp and he was tidy enough, he was dressed in a simple t-shirt, loose fitting lounge slacks and a robe. While he might be awake for the moment, he showed no signs of planning to go anywhere but back to bed later!

Rolling up to the kitchen island, he blinked owlishly at Erik, before reaching up to rub at his eyes.

"Tea?"

Without looking up, Erik pours Charles a glass and floats on over a tray to where he imagines the chair to be. With a miniature spoon and a tiny silver carafe, he pours in milk and spoons in sugar to Charles's usual liking. Just as Charles feels for Erik's mind, he feels around for the spokes, the arm rests, the handles on the back. It's easy to know where he is at all times - he imagines this is what Charles feels like, when Erik is inside the city limits.

"How did you sleep?" he asks, which is to ask if Charles has slept at all, since he can't tell if that's grogginess or exhaustion. Erik, himself, has had a full six hours of rest and spent most of the morning going for a run to burn off some steam. His legs and lungs were burning but he still felt like he was fully in control. And that's something he needs to feel right now.

Which, indulgently, is exactly why he plates up the toast, the cream, the picture-perfect (gram-worthy?) slices of fruit. Charles would probably agree that cooking and running are much more positive distractions than the alternative.

Lowering his hand, Charles reached up just in time to smoothly catch the mug off the floating tray.

"Thank you," he offered politely, before indulging in the first couple sips of the morning.

At the question, he lowered the mug and his lips twitched.

"Like I could sleep for another eight hours," he admitted. Sitting in place and watching Erik work in the kitchen.

It didn't even occur to him to question what Erik was doing here. It would probably be the same back home, at the mansion or at least the mansion would go back to that state; a sanctuary for mutants.

Erik's here because... he can't not be here. Now is not a time he gets to just up and leave the situation, and he doesn't just get to stow away on a plane to Russia and do things the way he wants them done. Nope. They can't afford mistakes, and they can't afford more time wasted arguing with each other instead of working with each other.

"Then sleep," he says, "but after you eat." He takes a seat, and tucks in, slowly helping himself. Realistically, it'll be a short nap and then they can talk, and during which Erik can come up with about twenty ideas that'll be shot down.

He marvels, sometimes, how a culture can be so advanced as to have strawberries when it's too cold for them to grow, but still not have sorted out disputes without resorting to war. "I'll make sure you don't get more than another eight hours."

While a nap sounded divine, Charles shook his head and navigated his chair over to where Erik had set up the food.

"I need to be up for a bit," he said keeping his tone vague but matter of fact. It was important not to let himself be in any one position for an extended period of time.

Reaching to help himself to some of the French toast and fresh berries, he studied Erik in a pensive (if sleepy) manner as he made up a plate.

"You saw the news of the bombing?" There was little point in pretending that Debrecen wasn't a subject they'd need to at least discuss. However, there was a calm, slightly gentle tone to his voice. He wasn't trying to launch the conversation into a tirade, he was actually interested in hearing Erik's opinion.

"Can't I just make breakfast for a friend?" he responds, staring at his coffee, thinking about how to answer Charles. Of course, he doesn't believe in how people seem to have forgotten the "walk softly" part of "walk softly and carry a big stick." And really, what were they trying to achieve? As far as he's concerned, all Russia's done is used it to fuel their own morale.

"It was a stupid move," he resolves. Except, you know, in the president's place, Erik probably would have done something quite as destructive. But he would hold that he would be more direct about it. There wouldn't be any misinterpretation. At the very least, he does understand the motive behind pointing a gun at something and shooting until you hit your target. At the very least.

"If you'll admit that you like my kitchen," Charles said in a teasing tone. It was a nice enough kitchen, probably second only to the bathroom as the best equipped room in the house.

He went quiet then in order to express his appreciation for Erik's efforts by tucking into his French toast and fresh berries. A healthy portion had disappeared from the plate before Charles paused and reached for his mug of tea.

His expression was thoughtful as he considered Erik's opinion, before he nodded slightly.

"It's only going to incite more violence," he said in a matter of fact tone. While he in no way agreed with Erik's views of supremacy and the need to completely rule over humans, he did understand the theory. If you were going to go the route of violence, better to do a complete and thorough job of it, then half measures that left your opponent the ability to strike back.

Martyrs can only be martyrs if there are people left to rally to them.

"And it does little to reduce the danger to imPorts," he continued, sighing softly and switching out his mug for his fork. "Grand gestures aren't going to aid us."

"Let's not call a bombing a grand gesture," Erik responded. "Or to aid us - I can't imagine the president would really lead us to believe this was on our behalf." Unless, of course, he really is stupid, but considering the state of American politics, Erik thinks that might not be too far off the mark, unfortunately.

Whether or not France and Mexico continue its support of the US or blindly turn an eye towards its responses is really up in the air, but honestly Erik wouldn't be surprised if they dropped out. But that's alright. Erik has always expected to go at these kinds of things alone. "I can't believe you haven't already boarded a plane to France already," he adds, raising a brow. If then wasn't a good time for PR, now probably is.

By this point, Charles had finished his breakfast (okay he was more hungry than he'd realized) and was sitting back with his tea. While he would still label the bombing a gesture, Erik wasn't wrong; it had been as much for the benefit of the American people and Nationalism, as it had for the imPorts.

As for the comment about France, Charles sighed.

"My trip wouldn't be sanctioned by the government and I don't expect I'd get ready access to the proper officials in France without something to leverage," which he didn't have at the moment.

"Ambassador Urquhart would be the better figurehead for that journey. For the moment at least."

Because Charles did have an idea. It was just a question of seeing if he could get any traction on it.

"I could probably get you an audience with someone we needed to speak to," he says, but with the implied caveat that it most definitely would not be legal and also probably wouldn't be all that moral either. In fact, he's pretty much just waiting for Charles to veto it.

But it's worth a shot.

Something has to give. Erik can see that action may be much louder than words in a way they don't want; now they just have to get heard.

The look the suggestion earns Erik is dubious at best. He's seen how Erik likes to approach gaining information; probably best to take a more diplomatic tact.

"While appreciated," he said, and that was genuine sentiment, he did appreciate that Erik would be willing to help. "I think this might call for a slightly more delicate touch."

Drumming his fingers on the mug, Charles fell pensively quiet. Erik had brought up an interesting idea. The question was, what would be the best route of execution.

"That's what you always think," he responds. Everything needs to be handled delicately. Everything needs to be handed safety scissors and be given "you tried" stickers. Charles Xavier, preschool teacher.

"I think the time for that has already passed. We tried that, remember?" Or, they have. Honestly, anything short of Erik's usual dramatics he considers to be subtle. So technically, yes, they've been.... delicate. According to him. And it's not like Erik's volunteering to speak, right? Even he knows that would be a disaster.

"Can't you trust me to handle a small detail?" like kidnapping an ambassador...

"I have no doubt that you'd handle any detail you set your mind to, my friend," he means that, genuinely. "It's how you choose to handle it that we tend to differ."

If he worked with safety scissors it was only in an attempt to balance out Erik whacking away at the world with a great big machete.

"No, I'm thinking of something beyond just talking. A more positive proactive approach that might help us to reach out to the international community."

"Alright," he says, taking the time to relax in his chair. Stretch a little. As if he's giving himself some pause just to process this thought. "What are you thinking?" he asks. He doesn't ask Charles this a lot - he generally doesn't have to. He can predict or he can see or Charles will let him in. We're starting up Cerebro Erik, we're recruiting others like us Erik, isn't this fascinating Erik and would you like a game of chess Erik?

And now he has to ask questions so mundane as, what are you thinking Charles?

He draws his cup of coffee nearer, and contemplates it as he waits on the answer.

To be fair, in those earlier instances Charles usually had the tiger by the collar and knew exactly where he was headed. Probably telegraphed that intention in ways that were clear to Erik, had always been clear to Erik, which was part of why the man was his closest friend.

Here in this complete unknown, unanchored from so much he knew and was familiar with, Charles was making it up as he went along, more so than he ever had in his life. He could only hope he was heading in the right directions.

"I have an idea," he began, sitting back as well with his coffee. "I talked with Tony Stark about working with Stark Tech. I'm going to propose starting with Stark Tech and possibly others, if there would be interest, to see about offering our abilities as well as our knowledge and experience, to help in humanitarian and infrastructure development."

He took a sip of coffee, before he continued.

"Try to show this world that we're not just weapons or beings with destructive powers and intentions."

Erik's about to quip about Charles getting into bed with an egotistical blowhard (harsh but true) except that Charles continues on. And okay, maybe Tony's not such a bad guy after all. But he's still got an ego so inflated it would carry you to faraway places if you lit a fire under it.

"Do you think they would let you?" he asks. Some people might be desperate - that might be good for PR. But even the best intentions have some ill side effects. Erik would know, he always has very good intentions. There will be criticisms, naysayers, people who think they should be doing more, people who think Charles lending a hand might actually be some selfish form of heroism (and honestly sometimes Erik does think Charles likes playing the hero, but it also saved him from drowning, so...)

Erik, he'd tried to tell you to let go of that damn sub but you were being too bullheaded about listening. What was he supposed to do? Let you drown?

Best we not discuss his habit of getting into bed (metaphorically speaking) with egotistical blowhards. Or the fact that Charles could easily fall under that label himself.

"They who?" He asked, looking genuinely perplexed. "The world? Well, I suppose we'll run into resistance but that doesn't mean we shouldn't make the attempt."

You make the attempt, he wants to say. I'm done with trying to convince the world I'm good. But he swallows his words, and takes a deep breath. "You will be under immense scrutiny. Every gesture you make will have an unforeseen consequence. Everything you say will be misconstrued."

And, let's face it, Charles is no Mother Theresa.

In all honesty, Erik just... doesn't think he's ready. And all that.. is if this gets off the ground. He could also just fade into obscurity. Honestly? That might have been better for the two of them.

Charles shrugged one shoulder, still cradling his mug.

"There is a risk in every endeavor, Erik. What else should I do? Hide here in this house and pretend that everything is going to be fine?"

Because they both knew, that wasn't the answer. Some would argue the answer was to strike first. Make the natives and the governments so afraid of the imPorts that they would take no action against them. That certainly was a direction but just like back home, Charles saw it as one that would lead to little more than mutual annihilation.

"There are far more choices than disappear from the world or try and sell yourself as a philanthropist hero." This says the man who literally goes all or nothing. But seriously, can't they take baby steps or something? It's nice he wants to do something good, but for just the purpose of creating a positive image... Something about that just doesn't seem right. And he knows Charles's heart is in the right place, of course he does, he's always been a bleeding heart, this is the man who dove into water to save a stranger from drowning-- but, at the same time, that's just... not what the world will see.

"Sell myself?" Charles looked a little taken aback by that, even without being privy to what Erik was thinking.

"Erik, this isn't about selling anything," he continued, frowning in a pensive manner. "There are already imPorts who are finding ways to be a positive influence in this country. All this would do is extend efforts like those world wide, so that the next time the Russians try to sell us as merely weapons of the US, the world knows we're so much more than that."

He paused and took a breath.

"So the world can see with it's own eyes, the investment many of us have in this world. Instead of simply reading the sensationalized destruction that is occasionally wrought by one or two of us."

"It doesn't matter how noble your intentions are, Charles, this is still an attempt at propaganda." No matter how in line with other people trying to do the same thing it is. "What I'm saying is... maybe you want to do this, without all the press involved."

But then again, when has Erik ever shied away from the limelight?

Anyway. Don't do as Erik does, really.

Charles' lips twitched and he raised his eyebrows.

"You give me too much credit as someone the press would be interested in," he remarked, sitting back in his chair.

"Besides that, I'm getting very good at hiding in plain sight," he's had too, after all. "Why do you think I politely declined the invitation to the White House?"

"The press are interested in our every move," he replies. "We don't exactly get a choice of being celebrities or not." And Erik knows what happens in the limelight. Even Charles can't claim the crown of America's Sweetheart for very long. Though, that'd be a thought. A scary one at that. Charles Xavier, homecoming king.

"Regardless, I won't stop you." And if all else fails.... he can always deflect his celebrity onto Tony...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rooftop like we're bringing '62 back

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject