ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Sweet Christmas

Vignette - Sweet Christmas
Dramatis Personae Xavier, Chelsea
In Absentia	2013-12-22 Chelsea has an appointment with the Professor
Location <XS> Headmaster's Office - B1
Quietly elegant, the headmaster's office is as old-fashioned as the headmaster himself. The large wooden desk is the centerpiece of the room, the guest's chair a high-backed dark wood one. The walls are painted in rich dark colours, a sole impressionist painting hanging on the wall. The hardwood floors are polished, the floor kept carefully neat and tidy, the room perpetually immaculately organized. Chelsea stood outside the headmaster's office for a long moment. Her curly hair had finally recovered from the months of neglect and she wore it then as a head full of shiny black coils. She was also wearing a white Xavier School polo shirt, and some khakis the school provided for her, all of which hangs relatively loose on her spare frame. In her first therapy sessions at the school, it didn't take long for the therapist to identify the blanks in the girl's memory. It helped that Chelsea was cooperative in the session, and equally eager to find some answers about her own past. The essence of her interview was not surprising though. The girl blocked out violent trauma from her early youth, and not even the therapist's hypnosis methods could bring the memories back to the surface. In the end, Chelsea was recommended for a visit with Professor Xavier, but she found herself outside the door, hesitating to make herself known. There was a soft whirring on the other side of the door before it was opened, revealing Professor Xavier himself, sitting there in his wheelchair, holding the door open for her. "Hello Chelsea," Charles said. He reversed his chair into the room, making space for her to enter. "I know this must be hard, but I assure you, we only want to help." He smiled, wheeled all the way back behind his desk and waited patiently for Chelsea to come in, close the door behind herself, and finally climb into one of the chairs opposite his desk. She pulled her legs up to fold under her, cross-legged and watched the professor for a long moment. "Um, the other kids say you're a mind-reader." She spoke without any accusation, or even framing it as a question. Just a remark, out of the blue. "Do they?" Charles asked, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. << As a matter of fact, my mutation manifested as the ability to communicate with people telepathically, among other things. >> Charles reached across the desk to set a cup of tea in front of Chelsea, and picked up another one for himself, sipping at it. "I understand your therapy session this week was upsetting. Do you want to talk about it?" Chelsea bit her lip, and then widened her eyes in surprise at the telepathic communication. She ignored the tea, and nodded at his question. "Well, yeah, actually it seriously freaked me the fu-" She looked down, chagrined. "{Sorry sir,}" she said in Spanish. "I mean, I can remember a lot about my shi- uh, crappy life. And I really like living here better than the sewers. I mean, /duh/, right?" Charles didn't flinch at Chelsea's near-cusses, but did raise his eyebrows, amused again, at her 'duh'. He didn't say anything but his expression was a direct translation of 'Indeed' if there ever was one. "Yeah well," Chelsea continued. "I just don't wanna sound ingrateful or nothing. But yeah, in the session… There were chunks I couldn't remember. And I- I mean, /if/ I still have a dad out there somewhere, I wanna know who he is, you know? I can't remember if she ever even told me his name." Charles nodded and set his tea cup down. "I know this must be frustrating and scary for you, Chelsea. But the human mind is an amazing thing. You know, often it finds way of shielding us from very painful things by exactly this process. It can help to shut certain doors of the mind until you're ready, because the memories are too painful at that moment." Charles spoke gently, attempting to gauge Chelsea's disposition. "It might be that addressing this some time later, when you're older… would be better for you. But I-" Chelsea held up her hand, and leaned forward a bit to interrupt the Professor. "Professor, I know. I /know/, ok? I've gotten 'when you're older' my whole life. But now I have this place, and it's awesome. I mean, what safer place is there gonna be for me to get bad news like, my dad's an asshole, or dead, or whatever?" Charles didn't flinch at her cussing, and just let her continue. "But it's /Christmas/, Professor, and if I maybe have a dad out there somewhere who isn't a total douchebag… I just need to know." Charles nodded and sat back in his chair, regarding the girl across from him for another long moment. "Very well, Chelsea." Using the control on the arm of his wheelchair, Charles backed away from his desk and rolled around to stop next to Chelsea's chair. "But whatever happens, just remember that you will always be welcome here." At her silent nod, he took her hand in his and said, "Now sit back, make yourself comfortable, and close your eyes. I want you to think back to your earliest memories…" After only a moment, Chelsea found herself standing outside the playground she could barely remember, holding Charles' hand as he sat in his wheelchair, only now the image was bright, clear and vivid. Charles spoke softly, as if to someone sleeping, "The human mind is powerful. It remembers almost everything that has ever happened to you." He nods at a Latina woman with a little curly-haired girl, no more than two or three years old, playing on the swings. Chelsea's eyes go wide, and are instantly wet with standing tears. "Mom!" She runs forward, letting go of Charles' hand, but she comes to a halt quickly. No one reacts to her movement, and she even accidentally walks through someone walking their dog in the park. She looks again and blinks. "Holy shit, that's me, huh?" "Yes it is," Charles says quietly again, rolling up next to her. "I think there's something here you'll want to see…" Chelsea-the-older watched as Chelsea-the-younger and her mother walked to a nearby bench to take a break from the swings. "Someday, when you're older," her mother was saying. She was also digging through her purse, trying to find something. Her expression was tired, and sad, but when she finally fished a ratty photograph from her purse her brief smile shone like the sun. "I'll tell you all about your daddy. But do you want to see a picture?" They looked at it together, and young Chelsea reached out to touch it gently, asking, "That's my daddy?" Looking over their shoulder, the older Chelsea sniffed, and wiped quickly at her eyes. "I don't get it," she said to Charles. "Why show me this? We don't even know his name…" Charles regarded Chelsea for a moment before nodding down at the picture again. The scene of her memory had frozen in the moment, letting them talk. "You don't recognize him? No, of course not, I apologize." With a gesture, Charles allowed something from his own memory to slip into their scene, and the picture in front of them slowly changed, morphing as the man in it grew older before their eyes. The final image was that of tall, broad-shouldered black man, with a shaved head, giving a thumbs up at the camera while leaving a courthouse. "Wait, is that…" Chelsea asked, confused. "My dad is /Luke Cage/?" The memory dissolved returning Chelsea and Charles to his brightly lit office once again. "So it would seem, but-" "Holy shit my dad is Luke Cage!" Charles smiled at Chelsea's interruption but raised his hand on his way back behind his desk. "Language, my dear. But if you would like, we'll follow up on checking the records to see if this can be confirmed. But I see no reason why we couldn't contact him for you. Would you like that?" Chelsea sits back in her chair, staring out the window. "I- I /have/ a dad. And he's… whoa." She blinks and looks back at Xavier. "But what if he doesn't…" Charles sighs and nods, his expression infinitely gentle. "You always have a home here, Chelsea, if you want it. However this meeting turns out." Another full minute went by with Chelsea biting her lip, staring out at the school grounds, before she finally nodded. "Yeah, let's call him."