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from the butcher's mouth; tag;; Xavier
Topic Started: May 27 2010, 03:25 AM (298 Views)
Jack Russell
Unregistered

April 24th
Evening

Slam. Slam.

Animals were not to be caged.

Each time Emil lunged at the bars of his prison, it banged horribly but did not give, nor had it moved an inch for all the hours he threw himself at it. All he had done since he had been reigned in under control was make noise. He'd howled and bellowed his throat to the point of being raw; he'd climbed the walls and ceiling of his prison, jerking and twisting and pulling and rattling to no avail. Fitting him with a null collar had significantly reduced his threat level by leaving him unable to shift into his larger wolf form in addition to dampering his strength, but it had hardly diminished his determination to escape.

Unwinding his fingers from the triple-reinforced steel, Emil snarled to himself, the ends of his mouth curling up and his nostrils flaring in vexation. The sight of his face twisted in such a way was one unbecoming on Jack's body, but there had been no real physical changes since the shift. But anyone who knew Jack would be puzzled by the stooped, twitchy shoulders and the tense cords of the muscles winding up his arms. He loped instead of walked, a terse bounce in his step as his eyes swept the room again as he paced across his containment cell.

Emil had refused the small hospitalities that were offered to him, the offerings being a change of clothes and perhaps something to eat. He kept to the shredded jeans that were slung a little low on his hips after the waist had been stretched. He didn't trust these people, that much was clear already. Emil gave a grunt as cold metal slapped across his chest, staring down at the dog tags strung around his neck, as if he had just noticed them for the first time. A growl rumbled in his throat, and Emil yanked the chain from his neck, hurling it across the cage where it slammed into the bars and wrapped itself around them.

"Futu-i!" he snarled, his voice weighted by an accent thicker than Jack's and whatever hardship he had endured in life. Emil clenched his fists, wanting answers more than anything else. This was some kind of fucked-up illusion and he didn't like it one bit. Lissa was in trouble, and he couldn't do jack-shit about it because he was locked up in this prison.

And what kind of name was Jack anyway?

That's what those people had called him, asking him if 'Jack was okay' or asking each other, as though he couldn't hear. It all had happened so fast, he wasn't really sure how he'd gotten here in the first place or how the metal ring on his neck had been put on him. It prevented him from shifting, prevented even a little fingernail growth. Emil didn't like being powerless. He didn't like a lot of things.

He especially didn't like the name Jack.
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Xavier
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Telepathy
::Dacă te calmezi, poate te putem ajuta, domnule.:: a voice sounded in Emil's head, and when he turned to look he would see Charles Xavier standing there impassively, his hands folded behind his back, a concerned though calm expression on his face. "I would rather speak to you vocally," Xavier said, "And in English, which I am far more fluid with but if broadcasting directly into your brain is the only way to get you to listen, I am more than willing to do so."

Things were getting to be frightening. More and more people were known to be switching, some flickering back and forth, others permanently remaining their counterparts from another life. At the school alone, there were several students and staff who had been known to have experienced some sort of flickers from a new world, and more than one simply never came back. Scott Summers replaced by a bank robber named Ruby, Bobby Drake now one of his gang members, calling himself Winter. Gentle Sooraya Qadir, now a violent and capable soldier... and Jack Russell, thinking of himself as Emil Russoff, raging and terrifying. He had been taken down by a psychic bolt to the mind, Jean handling the duties quickly and without mercy. Her husband had been one of the earliest afflicted by this. Every bit of information that could be gleaned from this other world could be used to restore the man she loved back to normal. Of course Jean would be so quickly responsive when a swap occurred.

"Mr. Russoff, my name is Charles Xavier and this is my school," he introduced himself to a man who should already know him, "And, you're safe here. We'd like to be assured that we are too before we allow you to roam free."
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Jack Russell
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The voice in Emil's head brought his attention around abruptly, too deep in his own thoughts and rage to have noticed Xavier's clean, pressed smell. If he were in wolf form, his haunches would have been rising in defense, the thick cuff of fur around his neck standing on end. He seemed to size Charles up with a piercing gaze, his jaw setting hard. A guttural hn caught in his chest, brow knitting in almost a hostile response as the man calmly spoke the rest of what he had to say in English. Mr. Russoff, my name is Charles Xavier and this is my school. And, you're safe here. We'd like to be assured that we are too before we allow you to roam free.

Emil was not impressed by the leader of the mutant pack that had captured him, but he was ill-tempered, not stupid. Telepaths made his skin crawl--not that he had ever encountered any personally before, but the thought of getting inside someone's head from a distance made him very ill at ease. "Safe?" he scoffed, his voice thick with indignation. He flexed his fingers, the tips of Jack's unkempt nails grinding against a bar of his enclosure. "I am not the one who needs protection." Emil wanted to snatch the smooth countenance off of Xavier's face, already tired of talking.

"I'll make this easy," he growled. "I don't care how much Philip is paying you, or what he's told you. Tell me where Lissa is." He didn't fully understand that he was existing in a world parallel to his own. Emil had never been to the United States before he and Lissa fled Europe only weeks ago, and he had certainly never been to Westchester. He had no way of knowing that Jack's sister was perfectly safe in L.A. not being a transformed mutant. At least, not yet...
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Xavier
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"Safe?" Emil scoffed, his voice thick with indignation. "I am not the one who needs protection."

Xavier smiled, not arrogantly, but confidently, calmly, "These holding cells have held mass murderers, rampaging mutants, and Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Staff of this school have been trained to deal with the end of the world, with military attacks, with the bigotry and hatred of an entire race that cannot accept them. We are well protected, and your attempts at intimidation are... detrimental to what we're trying to achieve here, Mr. Russoff."

"I'll make this easy," he growled. "I don't care how much Philip is paying you, or what he's told you. Tell me where Lissa is."

Xavier reached out with his mind and probed the inner workings of the consciousness inside it's borrowed body. Like all of those who had swapped, the two sat awkwardly together, the soul a square peg forced into the round hole of the physical form. He read Emil's concerns, understood what was happening and he said, "Your sister. Well, we'll certainly do our best to help you find her, but I think there is something you have to understand, Mr. Russoff," Xavier took a seat across in the hallways chair he'd pushed closer to the cell. "You are not in your world," the Professor revealed.

He opened his mind and into the misplaced werewolf's brain images flooded, of the school, of Jack Russell, of what this place was, what this place had been. The images were accompanied with a feeling of calm, of truth, of the genuine desire to help him. Xavier was one of the strongest telepaths in the world, and he let Emil Russoff know this, know that he could just as easily, just as simply force him to behave, make him believe. But he wouldn't do it, he wouldn't change a man's mind so completely.

::You see what has happened, Emil?:: Xavier's telepathic voice was soft, but powerful over the images that cycled into the other's mind, ::You see that you are not where you should be? Let us help you, let us help you get back home so you can help your sister.::
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Jack Russell
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The reaction Emil wanted was not there, and his ire only seemed to make Xavier more and more placid, smoothly expounding on who else had taken residence in holding cells like this, and what his people were equipped to undertake. Emil snorted sharply, much accustomed to others responding with fear rather than calm. He took the given concern with a grain of salt, also familiar with betrayal. You are not in your world. Emil's attention was not secured until these words crossed the telepath's lips. Before he could respond, images flooded into his head of himself--but not himself--showing a teenage Jack and the many faces of his class, flashes of missions of mutants helping mutants and humans alike.

Emil had not seen 'himself' so to speak, only aware that his nails were short and square and that his teeth were no sharper than anyone else's. In the dizzying undulating of images and sounds, Emil saw the temperate face of his predecessor--pale and freckled with blonde, curling locks. "The fuck.. am I a cherub?!" he snarled, temporarily busied with the images as a voiceover of Xavier followed closely behind. ::You see what has happened, Emil? You see that you are not where you should be? Let us help you, let us help you get back home so you can help your sister.::

A gangly arm slammed against the enclosure, as if Emil could ripple out the images by flailing. "Stay out of my head!" he snarled, although with significantly less force than before, confused by the scenes shown to him.

"You could be making that up," Emil accused, unfamiliar with what telepaths could do, and his vigilance perhaps exaggerated the finesse with which this could be done. But he believed the words less than it seemed. Why would this telepath.. this stranger make up an entire new life for him? Philip was not that coordinated, he didn't plan ahead that much; he liked to torture, not to toy with.
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Xavier
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"Stay out of my head! the man growled as he flailed about, "You could be making that up,"

"I could be," Xavier said, steepling his fingers under his chin, and looking up at the man in the cell, "But, I'm not, and I believe that you know I'm not. I have nothing to gain from tormenting you, tricking you, keeping you from your sister." He spread his hands and said, "But I do admit that by helping you, I help others. Not just myself, but you see, you are not the first to come through whatever veil it is to switch places with your counterpart in this world. Jack Russell is a good man, and a friend, a valued member of our school. I would like him back. I would like the others who have vanished into your world to return as well. I would like to fix what's happened, what's gone wrong before it's too late to fix anything and both our dimensions suffer for it."

Casually crossing one leg over the other, Xavier said, "As I said, this is my school, but it is a great deal more than that. I understand from speaking with our other guests that yours is a dimension where war has segregated the population, Mutants driven from their country, a quickening progression towards genocide. Our world is not that far behind. Every day brings us closer to the losses you have suffered, and I would stop that if I could. Here at my school, mutants are taught to responsibly control their powers, not to hide from humanity or serve them, but to protect them, to exist with them. We're mutants, we're evolved. There should be no fear, there should be no domination. We should be above that, but as we're not quite there yet, the best I can do is help my people, my X-Men, as they've become known as, to do what is right for mutantkind, for humanity... for the world."

Xavier's eyes met Emil's and he said, "Jack Russell is one of my X-Men because he believes in being something more. He has hope for a better future for us all, including his sister. I would like to believe that somewhere in you, there is that grain of hope. I would like to believe that you are willing to trust me and those here because we are trying our best to make things right for everyone. Will you allow me to help you, Mr. Russoff? Will you trust me?"
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