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What makes a mutant; Jean, Xavier, Open
Topic Started: Jan 17 2010, 01:53 AM (457 Views)
Jean
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
January 16th, mid-morning




The Christmas garland and ornaments had been packed and stored down in the mansion basement, but outside, the winter snow still blew. Sitting at the kitchen table, Jean stirred her hot cocoa. The spoon made a pleasant clinking sound against the sides as it made circles in her mug; it was a sound she always associated with snow. Her eyes watched the snow dancing on the wind but her mind was somewhere else, mulling over a conundrum that had niggled away at her thoughts since this morning.

She idly turned her head this way and that, noting the gaps where paper reindeer and Santa hats of construction paper and cotton balls had hung until last week. She looked at it and again, her mind reversed itself in her internal debate. More and more, she was convincing herself that there wasn’t going to be any clear-cut right or wrong answer to her speculation. Those were the worst problems, a snake eating its own tail kind of problem.

On the edge of her perception she felt the calm mind of someone she known nearly all her life, Charles Xavier. The greeting she sent was something that a few non-telepaths would understand and fewer still would appreciate; it was a concise sharing of how she was feeling in ways that no word in any language could completely convey. And it was the truth. Telepaths were one of the few groups of mutants that even other mutants were uncomfortable around; Jean had come to suspect that, among other things, it was because you couldn’t lie to a telepath and most people liked lying, at least the small, easy lies: How are you? I’m fine, sort of lies.

Knowing that he would have felt her troubled thoughts, she saved him the trouble of saying what was on her mind.

“I’ve been thinking about the future… of mutants as a whole,” she clarified, as she finally took the spoon out of her cocoa; it had long ago cooled off, not even steam wafted out of the mug, but thankfully, it was one of the few drinks as good cold as it was hot. “We’re a group of people without a culture; as it is, except for a certain twist in our DNA, there’s nothing that holds us together.” She took a sip and tilted her head. “Well… that and hardship. I’m not sure that’s enough though. If it were, then,” she paused a moment to scrounge up an analogue, “then you could say that all the blind people in the world have a culture based on their common disability.” She shook her head, “But they don’t, there’s no kinship there. A blind man in America and a blind man in… China, for example, beyond the knowledge of the hardship of their shared disability, they have nothing in common.” It was an idea that caused her mouth to purse, “That seems like the state of the mutant community, people with a shared disability. No culture,” she said, bringing her rambling back to the point.
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Xavier
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The school was a quiet as a school full of teenagers could be. Upstairs two girls were arguing over a misplaced sweater, outside the little kids were working on a snowman that they had decided would be the biggest in the world, somewhere Scott was exuding a sense of contentment that could only mean he was up to his elbows in the bowels of one of his vehicles. But as Xavier swept his mind lightly over the school, as was his habit, he stumbled lightly over the troubled thoughts of the woman who as a child had been his first student. Jean was mulling over the state of the mutant race in a way that no one else had thought of. It was what made her so essential here, why she stayed here at the school long after her education was over, the decision made long before the she had bonded herself by marriage to the man who was in so many ways Xavier's spiritual and legal heir.

This foresight was what made Jean undeniably Jean. Scott was the master at piling the sandbags for when the dam broke, but the pretty telepath he had married was so much better at finding and patching the small cracks to stave off that impending disaster.

Answering her troubled beacon, Xavier joined her in the kitchen, sliding into the seat across from her and without a word encouraging her to speak with the small smile that had long ago learned encouraged conversation. Sure enough Jean quickly spilled her thoughts, comparing mutants to the disenfranchised and the aimless. Steepling his fingers under his chin, and closing his eyes, Xavier listened and when she finished said, "But a mutant from China has the benefit of the Chinese culture, doesn't he? Mutants in America are treated differently then those from say Russia. Are you suggesting that we form separate but equal communities? That we shouldn't consider ourselves citizens of the nation that fosters us? That seems to hedge on civil rights of a deeper layer. We're a mutant school, because one was needed, and young people coming into their powers need special education, but what else should we do? Mutant pride parades? All Mutant productions of Hamlet? Where does that stop? How does we reconcile that with the dream of integration?"
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Jean
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She looked into his steady eyes and considered his words. Integration was what they were all striving for, to peacefully coexist with humanity.

“Integration doesn’t mean a homogenized absorption though,” she replied with the air of someone answering a move in an intellectual chess match. “Being part of the group… the community… is something that should give someone strength and hope and a feeling of belonging.” She lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is the Chinese culture or the Russian or the American, something that’s a source of strength to the mutants in those communities?” After the assassinations by the Brotherhood and Magneto declaring war on all humanity, she knew that no lone mutant anywhere felt safe or secure among angry humans; they hid.

She looked up and off into the distance, into the past; a slight smile of memories flickered on her lips. “A decade ago, when we… when you,” she corrected herself, “started all this with six teenagers, sending us to help save other mutants in trouble, country borders didn’t matter; they were mutants and they needed help. Those were more important, the only things that mattered.”

She crossed her legs underneath the table and leaned back comfortably into the cushion. “Back then, there seemed to be a lot fewer of us, a few dozen, maybe. Not enough to even be considered a minority, just a weird fluke of genetics. But now, there are several thousand in Mutant Town alone. Tens of thousands are scattered around the planet.”

“Humans see us as different. We see ourselves as different. That doesn’t negate integration. Culture… community… it all comes down to a sense of kinship, I think. Do we feel a deeper kinship to the mutant in China or Russia, or to our human neighbors,” she said and crooked a thumb toward their closest neighbors, a mansion so far away that they couldn’t see any of the oddities of their neighbors.

“Maybe… if we don’t feel that bond of kinship, we should do things to start fostering it.” She paused before continuing, wondering if she should bring up the next bit, in what was partly an intellectual exercise. “I heard rumors that Magneto is doing just that.”
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Xavier
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Xavier smiled. He loved these discussions, and he felt like it had been a long long time since he'd had one. Though his memory was still fuzzy, he had fond recollections to discussions with his first class of students. Battle theory with Scott, biological studies with Hank, the state of the business world with Warren, even pop culture with Jon, but there was a soft spot in his heart for Jean's philosophical debates. Jean was highly emotional, allowing her powers to make her incredibly empathic, where some might find the sensation of others' feelings to be overwhelming and try to block them out entirely. Charles understood her reasonings, knowing that she would use her abilities to make her stronger, that she used it to fuel her passions, to make her burn. He stoked those fires, to see where she'd go with it, knowing he'd be able to quench her flame if necessary.

"When you six were children, I directed you to help other mutants because you needed to understand that you weren't alone," Xavier said, "You needed to know that you weren't freaks, or monsters, your powers could be beneficial, your powers could be controlled. I didn't have the luxury of experience like you have now when you teach this new class of children. You're right, the world has changed and our numbers are growing by leaps and bounds, children evolving, adults coming forward. And, to answer your question, I feel no kinship to our neighbors. I've known them since childhood and frankly always found them rather boorish." He winked a merry blue eye, teasingly.

He spread his hands, "So what do you suggest we do? Erik has never quite understood the value of what it is he can do. He's not by his nature an evil man, he's a desperate one, an angry one. His actions... he's deluded himself into thinking they are not choices but stone cold facts. This person must die so this one can live. There is no compromise, only sacrifice, and he's the only one fit to make that happen, because he is the only one willing to do so. If he is building a home for mutantkind, he could conceivably save thousands of our people, and I have no doubt, he'd make them a home. Erik can do these things, he's clever and persuasive. My fear is that his anger will overcome him, and something he will do in pursuit of this sanctuary will lead to catastrophe and the wholesale slaughter on both sides of the equation. There is a very thin rope to walk on, and Erik is not accustomed to treading lightly. What would you do? Would you follow him to his sanctuary, if you hadn't fought him in battle before? Would you trust him to guide you and your family home?"
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Jean
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Would she follow Magneto? The urge to dismiss the notion out of hand was a hard to resist temptation - her follow Magneto? Ridiculous. But, she realized with a sigh, Charles had taught them better than that; to reject an idea without actually thinking about, merely because you find something about its presentation disagreeable, wasn’t thinking, it was merely reacting and smacked of unreasoning prejudice. And unreasoning prejudice was something they had to fight against with others all the time; hardly something they could really condone in themselves.

Jean got to her feet and wandered over to the microwave, taking her time. She tapped the numbers and sent her cocoa for a reheat. Leaning against the countertop, she crossed her ankles.

“Taken simply as an idea,” she began thoughtfully, “a home for mutants, away from humanity and the constant worry of exposure and attack, does have a certain surface appeal,” she admitted. “It’s easy to see, despite all the things he’s done, that some people would still flock to him. Hoping for a better life.” Behind her, the microwave beeped.

“Strategically speaking, there is safety in numbers. That’s what Scott would see and appreciate.” She turned around and slipped her finger into the warm loop of the mug and brought out the steaming cocoa. “An isolated community would invariably create its own culture and bonds,” which was something that Jean had wanted. “That’s where the school might be sliding and we don’t even see it, being so tied into the mainstream human culture we don’t create one of our own,” she said and gently blew on the cocoa. “Take Kimmy Parker, for an example. If being the mutant version of Brittany Spears is truly her heart’s desire then I hope things go well for her, but I’m not sure that it even occurred to her that she could be anything different, the originator of something more unique. Piotr as well; in an isolated community, their art could really be their own. ”

She shook her head slightly as she came back to the table. “But we saw the end result of that thinking on the moon with the Inhumans. So isolated that their cousin humans on Earth were alien to them.” She looked across the table into the strange young, yet old, eyes of Charles Xavier. “As much I’m tempted by the idea of withdrawing and being safe, I think, once Magneto and his flock go down that road, it will easier to become more and more fearful of the world and have no hesitation of attacking the outside world.” She sighed, “The mutant version of Ruby Ridge.”
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Xavier
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Xavier leaned his chin on his fist, listening to Jean talk herself both in and out of following Magneto in a matter of seconds. He remembered only hazily his time with Erik, felt that he should know more, that he should understand the man more, but he couldn't quite grasp those memories, feeling as if he was watching his life through another man's eyes. It bothered him, but he wasn't going to say anything, clearly this being the result of whatever he had been through in the three years of his absence. It would return. Everything would return.

When she mentioned the detriments of withdrawing the mutant race, he tilted his head to the side, quizzically and said, "And that leads us back in a circle, doesn't it? How do you balance wanting a separate culture and wanting integration? How much do you have to give up to be in a community? In Mutant Town, those evolved beings who were raised in Jewish households celebrated Hanukkah, while those who were raised Christian had Christmas. Is there something else they should have done? Something more fitting to their mutant nature? Perhaps there should be some sort of coming out party, like a birthday, to celebrate the first full manifestation of our powers, but in so many cases it was traumatic, it was terrifying, and quite often it destroyed lives."

Spreading his hands, grandly, he said, "And, see that's the problem, perhaps. A mutant is, in the current climate, very often told they are no longer human, that their old lives are gone. So many of us can't have normal lives anymore. Any with physical mutations, like Hank, Kurt. Any with uncontrolled mutations, like Scott, Jono. Any with dangerous powers, like Jon, Mina. These people don't want to be isolated from humanity, but they are because of a simple twist in their genetics. They don't want a mutant culture because they fear it will mean embracing the idea that they aren't human anymore. How do you propose we make them embrace it?"
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Tommy Shepard
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Winter was in full force at the Institute . Frigid winds blew and swept snowflakes across the grounds as Tommy Shepard made his run across the school. He had come to know the ins and outs of the area, the twists and turns of the halls, the small peaks and valleys, the patches of flowers that he had so clumsily and repeatedly destroyed when he first arrived. This place was his home now, these people his family. He wasn't sure how or when it happened. The whole haired boy had kept waiting for some huge climatic moment to come when he'd realized that he was finally at ease now. That didn't happen however. It came more quietly, as bits and pieces of the revelation until one day the fact that he was a mutant at this school wasn't strange anymore. It was odd, it had no cache or wow factor, it simply was. He felt proud that he had been able to make a home her, to create relationships within these buildings, so effectively. It gave him hope for the rest of the world, a world that was so ridiculous and dangerous for people like him.

The long strides of his running was taking it's toll on the boy in it's usual way. His stomach began to grumble, arguing with it's emptiness He had just eaten not even an hour ago, but the curse of the speedster seemed to be the constant need for nourishment. He stopped mid run and turned around, heading for the kitchen and knowing better than to try and fight with his hunger.

When he strode into the room however, he found more than food. There, in that room, were arguably the world's two most powerful telepaths. He knew Jean a bit, from a distance. He had seen her gracious smile and heard tales of her kind words. Xavier however, was a completely different story. Charles Xavier was both myth and man, surrounded by as much mystery as he was accomplishment. Tommy was a bit frightened of the man. How could anyone not be, he thought.

He stayed at the edge of the kitchen, hoping to keep out of site and preparing to turn around and leave. The food would have to wait. There conversation however, caused him to do something else. The two spoke of the travails of the American mutant condition in a way that was completely engrossing. It was like watching one of those news programs where two people get across from each other and talk endlessly about there differing opinions. Tommy pinged back and forth between the two. His opinion changed with each passing point.

He became so entranced that he rested his hand on the counter, knocking over a cup that fell and caused a huge rattle.He went completely still, tensing from the thought of the two noticing him.

'I um, I wasn't spying, I--I want eggs," his voice was frantic and a bit afraid.
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Jean
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The trauma of first manifesting their powers, it was something that she was intimately familiar with; Scott was proud of his past, in a way, it showed what he’d overcome to be who he was and all he’d accomplished. Jean shrank back a bit and fought the urge to study the wood grain of the table to keep herself from looking into Charles’ eyes. Her past, like more others, was far less noble, her first manifestations of her powers were surrounded by death and loss. Charles had found her in a mental institution nearly two decades ago; it had taken a lot of time and effort not to get dragged into despair by her past. That effort paid-off now as she shook away the darkness of her childhood.

“But they are changed. We are different from humanity and downplaying those differences sends a signal that,” a clatter of a cup drew her attention to the counter and the frightened speedster stammering about eggs. “That they are something to be regretted and covered-up if the person can,” she finished the daggling sentence and giving Tommy a quick smile that said she didn’t bite.

“Sure, eggs are pretty good. How about a quick question while you’re waiting on them to cook? We’re talking about the lack of a mutant culture, is it something you miss?”
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Xavier
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The flicker of despair was impossible to miss. Jean had suffered, all of his first class had to various degrees. Warren had been mutilated in the name of making him normal. Scott had been isolated and had ostensibly crippled himself to prevent himself from hurting others. Jon was living one step above homeless. Mina was drugged into insensibility. Hank was juggling intelligence with physicality, trying to be all things to all people.

And, there had been Jean, who was on the brink of madness, a danger to herself, to others. Someone who so desperately needed help to regain the ability to be human and not a monster. Xavier, looking at the girl who had been his longest student, realized that she didn't quite understand that this was a slippery and dangerous slope. It hinged on segregation, it hinged on the sort of mass organization that the humans found very very concerning. She had the right idea, but how were they going to implement this? "Does a rocket scientist cover up his intelligence if he doesn't speak in fourteen syllable words all the time?" Xavier addressed her concern before turning to see the young speedster standing at the counter.

"Please, Tommy, is it? Please Tommy," Charles said, offering a seat to the boy, "We're having a conversation about mutant culture, and our apparent lack thereof. I'd love to hear your take on it." He glanced fondly back at the woman and said, "Jean and I have been having these conversations since she was your age. We haven't really gotten very far in all that time. I think we're both a little too stubborn to ever give an inch."
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Tommy Shepard
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Oh gosh. It was just like Tommy to stumble his way into a theoretical conversation with two of the most intimidating people on the planet. He knew Jean a little bit, more from reputation and passing glances than from any sort of actual interaction. The Professor however, was a horse of a completely different color. Tommy had had no interaction with him at all, and that was just fine with the boy. It wasn't that he didn't care for Xavier, quite the contrary. He was afraid of making an ass of himself in front of him Charles Xavier was a living legend, if ressurected still counted as living. The things he had done and the ground he had made on behalf of mutant rights was something to be in awe of. To hear him dismiss those things as anything less than that struck the boy as weird.

Still, with the pair's suggestion, Tommy pull up a chair beside the two telepathic powerhouses. "Um, that's a strange question for me. This is gonna sound weird, but I've never really thought of myself as a mutant." The words, as they came from the boy's mouth sounded even stupider than he imagined. He had been through the dangers of Apocalypse, he could run at near Mach speeds, he had white hair. If he wasn't a mutant, then he was the most imaginative agile old man anybody had ever heard of.

"I mean, yeah I know I'm a mutant. It's just this is new to me. Mutant culture, the things we do, the way we lived, what we'll be remembered for, I thought that's what you guys were doing her. You teach us to be ourselves, and to be proud of who we are. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but when I think of mutant culture, I always think of right here."
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Cypher
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Doug was almost always plugged in. Whether he was in the Danger Room with Warlock, or online in any number of capacities he was almost always hooked up to one of his techie toys and he was almost always multitasking numerous things at once.

Point in fact, he had just left the Danger Room where he had spent several early morning hours talking with Warlock about whether or not light had gravity, a random discussion that Doug honestly couldn't even remember the origin of. Though he initially agreed with Warlock's assessment that light did most likely have some small amount of gravity, he took the opposing argument just...well, because he's Doug.

Now he was on his way to the kitchen to grab a long overdue breakfast. In one hand was his Blackberry on which he was talking with Hana, an acquaintance from Korea. Hana was a very bright young lady. She was adept in the field of linguistics, which how they initially met. On a forum of discussion for linguists.

Swinging the door open without looking, where he was going, Doug stopped short inches before running into Tommy Shepherd. "Whoop-sorry," he said. "I guess that's why you shouldn't text and drive."

Looking around the room he saw Jean and Xavier in there as well. The expressions on their faces and their body language seemed to give an air of formality to whatever it was they were talking about. Doug was willing to bet that the conversation was pretty serious.

"I'm not...interrupting anything, am I?"

(ooc: I'm not...interrupting anything, am I? The tag said open.)

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