|
  |
A long day descends into a hot evening, stifling under the pressure cooker lid of too many clouds sheltering the darkening sky from stars and moon. Those inclined to peer upwards in hopes of catching a glimpse of a meteor shower or simply tracing the constellations are bound to end up disappointed, but that hardly stops one of the institute's elder students from lying exactly where she has for the past three hours. Not precisely an anomaly: the bohemian side of Rogue does appreciate a connection to nature, only suitable given she can't touch any living soul without tearing away their sentience, their very selves. Lying in the grass staring up at the sky is, even for her, an unusually intense form of meditation. All the odder is simply that she isn't practicing one of the complicated asanas of her preferred form of yoga.
*
Professor Charles Xavier has just returned from a foray into Manhattan; to Hell's Kitchen to be specific, where he visited a mutant by the name of Kurt Wagner. The meeting, as they always seem to be with that man, is always interesting, to say the least.
Quick dinner, then a quick check in with Crystal, and out to get some fresh air before bed. Xavier walks along the stone walkway out towards Rogue, but seeing as she's very trance-like, he's unsure if she wants to be bothered.
*
Rogue has reconnected.
*
If only a trance were precisely how the day begins and ends. Hands outstretched into the grass show the outline of the flattened blades, evidence for how long she has lain beneath the dark sweep of the sky. Enough the flowers usually in her braids have begun to wilt slightly, and she scarce seems to notice. The man walking towards her warrants a shift of position, a tilt up and back to ascertain whom even if her intuition isn't flaring with a screaming warning about what might come.
Sunglasses blot her eyes out, which further begs the question what the hell she is up to. On the other hand, no one seems to be overly harmed. "Professor. Good evening."
*
"Good evening." Is Professor Xavier's eyebrow could go any higher it might reach into his hairline. "How is the University?" he asks in an attempt to chitchat with the young woman who seems to be acting very oddly. Perhaps she is on the drugs.
"Are you feeling alright?" he asks, eyebrow still firmly placed.
*
Rogue has partially disconnected.
*
Drugs would be pointless on her, anyways. She processes toxins so fast they barely touch her system, and the amount of alcohol she can consume makes a drinking contest with the scarlet-tressed girl outright foolish. A fact not much known outside the fabled halls of a cheap bar in TriBeCa, but either way, the bohemian is safely in possession of her wits.
"I am still processing everything. The stars, the vastness of space, the patterns emerging out of the possibilities." Her hands sketch a triangle, two of them converging on one another, and a flex of her abdominal muscles brings her seated upright. Rogue shakes out her hair, braids slipping over her shoulders. "Classes at Columbia are going well, though I had some difficulties having my transcript sent over from Barnard. Nothing patience will not untangle. I encountered a professor, a very good one, who may be able to frame my degree in a fresh perspective. Not someone who is merely pushing papers about, but actually /challenging/ me to think."
*
Xavier looks out across the expanse of the land and towards the sky off in the distance and rests his hands deep in the pockets of his dress pants. There's a pause before he answers, "Fascinating. Tell me more about what he said."
There's a piece of Xavier who is extremely excited that Rogue has chosen to attend a University in the city. It goes to show that mutants, when their powers are controlled, when they feel happy and confident, can excel in the larger world. That is the hope for so many of these children here…Xavier's hope for them.
*
The girl whose shroud is loneliness and whose touch is anathema may represent the most doomed of them all. She looks entirely normal, the outward manifestation limited to the slightest flinching from a prospect of physical contact. Control exists, to a degree, such she's dared to twine her fingers among the grass or wrap bare hands around her knees. Rogue gives that faint, radiant smile damned in its depth, for hope lies against the shattered mindfield of her psyche resistant to casual peering.
But someone /happy?/ That takes no psychic gift to determine, nor the incandescent effect it holds. "We ended up going from quoting Swinburne to a French bohemian poet to the withdrawal of Honorius from Roman Britain to the essential responsibility of defining the civil discourse in this era, a time of immense change," she replies. "Do you know the quote, 'It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both?' Machiavelli. The conversation raised a thought of how the conversation between humanity must take place. If we allow fear to dominate the radio broadcasts and news headlines, it's only a matter of time before someone reaches for a pitchfork and calls an inquisition, a pogrom. It *crystallized* everything for me in a moment. Your students, some of them, have never known a moment's peace. Others awoke one moment to the horror wrought in the faces of those who loved them. What sort of world are they fit to inherit if they walk out the door bearing a tattoo on their wrist or a separate entrance? It isn't right. I've known that as long as I have known myself," an almighty few years, that, her broken history dissolved. "But for someone to ask me what my vision is, in that moment and in that connection, the future seemed forged. I would be the first to tell you I don't make nearly so good a spokesperson for these issues as you, or Mr. Lensherr, or Dr. McTaggert. I don't bring outstanding credentials or a family fortune built on deep respect. But he bridged the gap and I found myself. Us. All the things you have said and the very purpose why we have to reach for a civil discourse instead of hiding behind our castle walls or raging in the streets locked into place. And I want to see where it takes me, what future I can weave, and where I can contribute from that point of history. We reached something. I would see where the discussions go, whether there is something he can refine to give me the credit the world needs to hear."
*
"The issue I take with your idea is not one of morality or philosophy. The issue I take is with how it would play out pragmatically. Solving these problems in the classroom is far easier than in the real world. There are many who mock what we do here at the school as hiding, and I think those people miss the point. We do not hide behind our castle walls, we give refuge to children. Should we allow or not allow fear to be broadcast? I do not know the answer to that question. I do know that forcing our will upon others is not ethical. That it places power above morality, and that feeds into everything I am trying to stop." Xavier tilts his head, "On the other hand I applaud you for thinking about these ideas and coming up with your own beliefs. Though I do not agree with part of it, I am happy you are considering these issues and where it might take you. Who was your professor?"
*
"A turn of phrase, Professor. I do not believe we are hiding here," Rogue explains, altogether serene as one might find coming out of meditation. "No one should put an eleven year old on the frontlines of the greatest social and civil questions of our times. In general, though, pretending we are part of the general population kicks the can down the road a little further rather than addressing the issue directly. It works for people like you and I, who could pass as normal. But friends of mine who stand out because they've got blue skin or yellow eyes or wings, what about them? What happens when we let someone else frame the narrative for us? I don't have the answers, not all at once, but patterns are starting to emerge in my mind how to address some of these issues. We cannot shut down the airwaves, that would take away the right to free speech. Nor is it really helpful to launch a salvo into the middle of Congress as a message for how strong or not we are. Shows of force seem not to achieve the right ends, so how does one go about a soft campaign to bring society to the table if not by talking, demonstrating in deeds and… ah. It's just so much." She draws a line down her brow, tipping her head forward as her palm skims along her hairline. No one else would dare.
"How you put up with all of us. I'm the initiate, coming into the outer orbits of the masters. Professor King, as it is." Redheads blush too easily.
*
"Funny, Dr. Martin Luther King did that very thing this past spring, and his movement seems the better for it, despite my hopes and protestations that he not proceed in such a way. It boggles my mind," Xavier says shaking his head. "I think the question you ask is a good one, but unfortunately the only answer I have been able to come up with is education. To educate our students, to do our best to educate the public. My belief is that eventually, things will turn for the better. I am, at my root an optimist." He can't help but snicker, "Yes, well, I have always preferred the democracy of the United States to that of England. I rather prefer to live in a Kingless country. And our students prefer to live in a Kingless school, especially during exam time."
*
"I have the advantage knowing both and neither." Rogue curls her fingers around her knees the tighter, dipping her head to conceal the poppy flush to her cheeks until circulation carries away that level of sorrow. "Nor am I content to wait for the next generation in the wings to figure out the answers when my part isn't done. It's more than a thought exercise, Professor. I want to help. To make up for the wrongs in my ledger, but more than that, give them something to look for. You should hear me, dispensing wisdom to Sam like I know anything, then giving Kurt and this lovely Native American girl ideas and… Does this mean I'm growing up? Becoming a responsible adult. They're going to kick me out of Greenwich at this rate unless I start showing a little more rebellion. Time to find myself a guitar and talk about having a bad boyfriend."
*
"That very well could be the case, Rogue. You are getting to that age when most start feeling as though they need to make important decisions about their future. At least the responsible ones, anyways." Xavier smirks.
"In my years at this school it has become a sort of right of passage; the role reversal from new student, to student, to elder student, and beyond."
*
Rogue stares out into the gloaming, as though the answers might emerge from the breaking patterns in the clouds and between the trees. "Had you asked me a month ago, I could not have spoken so clearly. Now I seem to have peered over the Moirai's shoulder and discovered one of their threads clear and bright in the ruined scraps of my own life's weaving. Pray it doesn't lead me astray or prove faulty. A kindness is something I have no right to ask for, after what I have done, but perhaps even I can wish it quietly of them. Is it too much to hope this will turn out right?"
*
Xavier chuckles, "I imagine it will. For you and for all of us. If you believe in progress, as I do, then there is reason for optimism. Progress and education. And the latter seems like what you have stumbled into, despite your own apprehension and lamentations."
*
Rogue carefully rises from the ground, and brushing her hands down her dress to dislodge any bits of the grass that have decided to stay with her. "I shall keep you informed how my studies go. They ought to be enlightening and exciting if nothing else. He isn't quite like the other professors this semester, and actually trying to broaden my perspective has not been an unwelcome thing. You shall no doubt see the results of that. Thank you, Professor. I hope you have a lovely night."
*
"The same to you, Rogue." Xavier gives her a nod in farewell as he ascends up the opposite steps, heading towards his wing of the mansion and thinking about her words.