1963-07-27 - Strangers in the Hallway
Summary: Rogue brings Louis King (Loki) to the Mansion to talk abotu Jean Grey. They seem very worried. Xavier seems more worried a stranger is in his hallway. Akihiro swears a lot.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
louis xavier akihiro rogue 


*

In the annals of unfortunate events known to occur at the Institute, disasters ascribed to Jean Grey ought to have their own filing cabinet in Charles' office. She contributes to her own line on the monthly accounting ledgers, probably, with a subline for building/construction, another for landscaping, another for hair restoration potions. This is relevant.

Afternoon blazes a hot line towards evening, no relief in sight, the temperature baking hot on the pavement and in the shade. News forecasters beg the weather gods privately for some kind of relief. That redhead aforementioned dropped out of the clouds in the arms of another redhead, the one mildly less psychotically inclined, the one who forbidden by general nature from idle contact. Ms. Grey is returned to her room without a word from Scarlett, and anyone inclined to try gets an unnaturally intense look. It may be even more telling the shattered thoughts run in a gauntlet of two parallel streams from the bohemian. The louder of them? Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet.

Charles might have reason to worry. Scarlett shows up on the telepathic spectrum, broadcasting that right up to the point she staggers out from Jean's room. It's not a good day in paradise.

*

"What seems to be the matter?" Xavier says, having felt Rogue's anxiety early on. He looks to her with a raised eyebrow, feeling no need to pry given she's right here to answer his question. His hands are stuffed in his pockets in a normal pose for him as he awaits the bad news. Another day, another drama at the Xavier's Institute. Luckily it's summer.

*

Akihiro happens to stumble out of his designated sleeping area with a pale face. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! is more or less the only thing going through his head right now, along with the occasional flash of snow. "So glad it's warm here." he grumbles, tugging a cigarette out of his pack to place in the corner of his mouth. He pauses when he catches sigh of other people, raising a hand. "Hey." he greets, reaching up to rub at the back of his head.

*

Sentient presences all around whirl through the broken byways of her mind, colliding and clashing with the faceted oubliettes hiding pieces of stolen psyches. Hers is a memory palace intended as a fortress rather than a villa. The redhead breathes out and in with regular patterns immediately recognizable as meditative, a byproduct of the asanas practiced before she can remember obtaining them. Slender fingers shape repetitive mudras while some part of her mind whispers, "Be quiet, be quiet," over and over. These are the ways she remembers whom she is, Scarlett, not Jean Grey. Not someone else.

"Another riot. She lost control." A simple phrase is hard to set forth, but hopefully Charles is patient. Hopefully he can endure the clamor in her mind as a thousand images bloom, frightened protesters, fireworks overhead spelling warnings, mechanical scorpions, the crush of bodies pressing in and down that blots out the light. The latter has its own foreign, borrowed terror mixed with her own unease. The stress forces her palms the hollows of her eyes, pressing in. "…The first one someone caused. A woman stirred up the crowd to violence. I've tried to warn you."

*

"You've tried to warn me about what?" Xavier asks. He can't recall any particular warnings, but he's been under a fair amount of stress and quite busy. "I think perhaps we need to have Jean stay upon the campus grounds for the time being."

*

"Shit." Akihiro says, "Maybe we should stay away from those until we figure out what's going on?" is suggested, and taking a smoke break is forgotten. "In the event violence happens you may not want to be there. Hard to move for peace when people associate your face with violence, you know?"

*

If the mansion has defenses, they most likely start to register a warning. An increase in energy might be detected if they're advanced enough to measure such things. Perhaps it's also a build up that can be felt or sensed by those who are sensitive to such things, a feeling of a chill in the air, a subtle shift of air pressure, then a rush of energy and displaced air.

Appearing in a short snap of energy and with the sound of a crackling like two icebergs slipping past each other, a lone figure abruptly exists several feet down the hall and standing tall… floating a foot off the ground, with a furrowed brow and a look of… mild consternation on his features. At first glance he looks simply like a man in a suit, grey in color save for the tie that's green. He has his hands behind his back, fingers interlaced and looks between the trio of figures there.

Without saying anything at first he steps forward and down, setting foot upon earth and perhaps trying to assay the situation, then offers a few words in a rather precise British accent. "The child screams loudly." Curiously enough that figure seems to be a mental blank, merely a void of consciousness that seems to give off no thoughts at all. Yet there he stands.

*

Foxfire braids whirl around her face, long strands suspended in a miasma of energy warping and twisting through her limited control. It will last somewhat longer, power devoured by the yawning chasm scored through every helixed chain of her DNA. That bubble of unstable power pops and Scarlett makes a sound at the back of her throat, dropping those specks and locks in the same fall. "After the first riot, I came to find you. The woman instigating it means to push her agenda and that threatens us," she grits out, and her palms drag away from her gaze. Noise vibrates inside her skull from so many sources.

The displacement of space pulls her to look up, and a smile forms a moment before the storm washes it away. "I am not a child."

*

The conversation with Rogue is no over as the man at the end of the hall now takes up the entirety of Xavier's attention. So much so that Charles even failed to tell Akihiro to watch his filthy mouth and mind. "As children are wont to do," Xavier says conversationally, taking a step in front of Rogue by nature. "Usually in times such as these a phone call will do."

*

Akihiro is not so at east with sudden appearances, a low growl forming in his throat and soft snikt as his claws extend. It takes several moments for Rogue and Xavier's calmness to cause him to straighten out some. "Do we know him?" he asks quietly, clearly confused as to what's happening right now.

*

Green eyes narrow as the man known as Louis King looks towards Charles. "Oh were I only some displeased neighbor, striding forth with paper in hand, slippers slapping my heels as I pound upon the front door and demand that some measure of silence be maintained."

The man in the suit looks to Rogue, then murmurs, "Alas." He glances towards Akihiro and holds up a hand, "I am known to the ch… to Scarlett. We have some small acquaintance." He describes the contact informally, looking between the two men. "She has taken another personality and it roils. Is there naught you can do for her?"

*

"Short of partaking another, pray it runs its course." Euphoric highs and tidal lows roar through the atmosphere of Scarlett's psyche, an unsteady equilibrium overturned as she attempts to concentrate. The levels of her focus hold steady by sheer, raw focus between two professors and one Akihiro. Her gaze focuses briefly on those claws, then travels up to meet his gaze, her own luminously green. "Please, no violence." Words that tumble from her lips come with an evenness, even as she stands on tiptoe. "I know Professor King quite well. He had nothing to do with Jean's condition."

*

Xavier keeps his eyes upon Louis while speaking to Rogue. "Why is he in my hallway?" As far as Jean, Xavier tilts his head, "The young woman has a host of problems. We're working on them, but it shall take some time."

*

"Can do." Akihiro assures Scarlett, his bone claws vanishing into his arm once more. "Alright, so let me catch up to speed here. There was a riot sh-" he shoots Xavier an apologetic smile, "things got rough because of the same bird you mentioned the other morning. Now somethings up with you and Jean?"

*

Looking towards Rogue, Louis holds up a hand and touches ring and index finger to the pad of his thumb, a faint ripple of energy flaring to life there as his brow furrows. It is a subdued motion as the hand closes, but then he looks back towards Xavier. "Nothing to address her current condition? You are the minder she spoke of, are you not?"

And should there be an answer to his words, on some level he's not entirely listening as he catches the echo of that power in Scarlett's form. His jaw tenses and he uncurls a hand, gesturing with a rather calm manner. "If you are unable to, then perhaps I can be of service. Unless you are practicing some form of…"

His words trail off as Akihiro relates at least some part of the tale. It serves, "Ah, another riot? Manufactured as before?"

*

It may well simply be faster to think, the breakneck speeds paralleling three events in synchronous timelines, something not disordered chronologically. Scarlett leans forward slightly, wrapping her arms around herself, rather than threatening anyone with the lethal solace of a touch. "Her trauma is hard to parse through. She hurts. She is my friend and I hurt for her, as her, with her." A simple statement takes time to push out, but she lends this without a trace of dishonesty. For one who abjures violence as much as possible, the traces of silvered guilt lie hard on her voice.

Following sentences are battered by pauses, by drowning in the deep of her own memories and disentangling them from the otherness dwelling in her skull. The girl continues, "Three rallies went out of control. The first in Midtown was caused by a woman who seemed to alter thoughts. By speech or touch. I don't know. She has grievances, reasons to stir up hate against us. Manufactured, yes. The second came in East Village and she was not there. Police opened fire on us, focused on a green jotun. It's on film. Police shouldn't have it. Today in Harlem, Jean was cut off and the crowd panicked. We were assaulted by mechanical insects, source unknown. Jubilation tried to get us to run."

*

Xavier finally turns away from Louis and to Rogue, some austerity in his voice. "You did not answer my question."

*

Akihiro nods slightly, "Gotcha." He finally heads down the stairs so he's closer to everybody, "Next time you run off to a rally, you might want to grab me." It looks like he has more to say, but it's clear he doesn't want to talk of Xavier.

*

"Yooou," Louis looks between them, "Apparently have some things occupying your attention." He steps down the hall towards Rogue and extends a hand towards her in a gesture of 'come hither' even as he looks back towards Xavier and Akihiro. "We shall depart from your hallway, and resolve the issue before it could inconvenience you and yours further."

His lip curls a bit as he looks over towards Akihiro, "Thank you, however. Your insight was helpful." He offers that as some measure of conciliation at the least, blithe though it may be.

*

The sublime eloquence of distraction scarce helps in the situation, and somewhere in future days, there will be a regimen enforced to cloud out those voices. Elsewise, Scarlett will look with incredible compassion upon Jean Grey the rest of their liaison and be the first to appreciate the burden that slim, troubled young woman labours under. Provided, of course, she survives hearing random thoughts from odd quarters. "Forgive me," she murmurs, and whom she addresses in that moment may be passing hard to decipher. Knowing the bohemian, she could be asking all of them for an allowance of behaviour, apologies for what she has done, for what she may do. Possibilities splinter. "It would be easier were I not…" A simple roll of her wrist accompanies the trailing off, the momentary lapse.

Then she's airborne, floating up from the ground rather than trusting in her own capacity to walk unimpeded. Those riotous voices are fading. "He knows the capabilities of the woman who instigated the first riot, Professor. It was something to know, tactically, to be able to… act. Plan, organize a response. This can't be an hour to withhold our hand and wait."

A compassionate smile for an instant limns her features, one softening the distant quality to her ethereal features. "Let Jean know nothing happened this afternoon was her fault. She's home. She's loved. Safe. I promised her home. Good night, gentlemen." Home, not the one in Annandale, not the one wreathed in dark memory. And on that very note, she drifts forward in an absence of a stride, the air displaced mildly around her. The intent there is clear: leaving, even as she inclines her head politely to them. Manners must never be forgotten. Ever.

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