Logs:Unfortunate Irregularity

Unfortunate Irregularity
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Professor Xavier
In Absentia	2019-04-29 "I understand his concern -- and yours -- on this matter, and can assure you he will receive no disciplinary action over this."
Location XS - Headmaster's Office
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. The Prussian Fugue from Bach's Musical Offering fills the office and drifts out into the hall where one dark wood panel of the heavy double doors has been left open. A number of files lie on the desk, though not /messily/ so, closed and squared in neat stacks. The headmaster himself sits in his wheelchair by the window in a shaft of watery mid-afternoon sunlight, a venerable leather-bound copy of /L’Étranger/ by Albert Camus unopened in his lap. He's wearing an understated but perfectly tailored navy suit and a brown vest over a fine white broadcloth shirt, a maroon paisley tie done up in an impeccable full Windsor knot. His eyes are half-lidded, expression relaxed enough to soften the harsh, aristocratic lines of his face. It's hard to say whether he's dozing off or deep in contemplation. Lucien doesn't telegraph himself nearly as loudly, to Xavier's senses, as many people do. His mind is a quiet thing, noteworthy only in its /lack/ of noise -- not an absence of psionic presence but a quiet once, the surface of his mind tranquil and smooth and reflecting very little. He is neat, if less formal than Xavier -- crisp and well-tailored grey slacks, salmon button-down, no tie, no jacket. Three quiet raps on the doorframe, before he slips quietly into the room, his hands folding behind his back. "Good afternoon, Professor." A small tip of his head; his calm expression betrays as little as his mind. "I know you are a busy man; I appreciate your willingness to make time for me." "Welcome, Mister Tessier." Xavier turns toward the visitor, guiding his chair to the desk and placing his book upon it. "I always have time for the families of my students and staff." His smile is polite, measured. "I understand you are a rather busy of late, yourself. May I interest you in a drink? My assistant brews a decent cup of tea, and if you'd like water or brandy you may help yourself." He inclines his bare head towards the sideboard, where a pitcher of ice water sits on one side of a tray of tumblers and a decanter of amber liquid on the other. "Matthieu is well, I hope?" He produces the French pronunciation of the name flawlessly, an uncommon outlier among anglophones, his expression soft with beneficent worry. "Merci." Lucien drifts toward the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of water and hesitating over a second tumbler, his eyebrows raised in silent questioning. "Matthieu is -- missing his students. He does rather love his work here, you know. And them. It is not a position that he takes lightly." "If you please," Xavier inclines his head the offer of water, "and thank you." He steeples his fingers, watching Lucien fill the glasses. "He is missed, as well. I've heard many inquiries about his absence, and of course we are all anxious to see him back at work. I do not wish to presume, but it seems likely you are here over concerns for his health -- with specific regard to a student recently admitted without vaccinations?" Lucien pours a second glass of water, setting the pitcher back down carefully. "I am sure you are aware," his voice is soft, but his diction clear and crisp, "but my brother's health is -- even at its best, somewhat precarious." He crosses to offer one of the glasses out to the professor, only his head tipped down to look the older man steadily in the eyes. "We have fought through far too much to take these things lightly." "I understand his concern -- and yours -- on this matter, and can assure you he will receive no disciplinary action over this, his absences being considered medical leave for the time being." Xavier accepts the glass with the barest nod of thanks, and takes a sip before setting it down on a square white marble coaster on his desk -- another such coaster, in black marble, is situated within easy reach of the guest's chair. "We are still working to resolve the situation -- either by gaining permission to vaccinate the student, or by revoking her admission status. The decision to admit her without checking the validity of their exemption claim was an...administrative oversight, but her parents are now threatening suit, which puts us in a rather difficult position." He lifts one hand, palm up, in a gesture of helplessness. "It make take a while for us to untangle this, but in the meantime, Doctor McCoy has apprised me that the student will have cleared the incubation period for all of the disease by the end of this week." He aligns his fingertips together again. "If she shows no symptoms by then, she should pose no undue exposure risk to Matthieu so long as she remains on campus. We could propose this /semi/-quarantine to her parents as a compromise while we negotiate for an outcome that would be safe and satisfactory for everyone." Lucien has started lifting his glass towards his mouth, but it halts only a fraction of the way there. One eyebrow lifts incrementally upward, and he shifts back toward the chair, though does not take a the seat. "What do you see that outcome being, precisely? Her indefinite confinement to campus until she graduates? Moreover, what sort of precedent will this set?" His forefinger traces slowly through the condensation beginning to bead on the side of his glass. "The next time a student arrives on campus with the same qualms, shall you roll the dice again?" Xavier shakes his head. "The quarantine would be a temporary measure only -- a way to keep everyone safe while we try to bring her parents around -- and we would make that clear when we offer it." He cocks his head very slightly to one side. "The nature of the school's mission means that we must have some flexibility in immunization exemptions, and be ready to handle them on a case-by-case basis. But we will make every effort to ensure that in the future all exemption requests are investigated thoroughly /before/ the student is actually permitted on campus." He drums his fingertips against each other. "We are prepared to offer your brother a formal apology, of course, for failing to notify him of this...unfortunate irregularity." "And the others on campus who are at risk as well?" Lucien's eyes tic briefly downward to Xavier's drumming fingers. Then back to the man's face. "Certainly, my brother is not the only one whose medical history elevates his risk, in this situation. He merely has the privilege of having safe harbor to repair to, and family to advocate for him. Many of the others here --" One manicured hand lifts, turns palm upward, his fingers spreading slightly. "Well," he says, softly, "they have only you." "Most of the others on campus who for various reasons could not be vaccinated have somewhat more robust immune systems than Matthieu and thus are at lower risk of life-threatening complications from the illnesses this new student might introduce." Xavier still looks and sounds calm, but pace of his speech has picked up slightly. "I stress that there is no evidence she brought any contagions with her, and we /have/ taken measures to safeguard the health of others who are vulnerable. I acknowledge that we have made a mistake, but I assure you we are doing everything in our power to set it right." "Mmm. Most," Lucien echoes, with a slight sideways quirk of his head. "Forgive me, Professor, I have not nearly as many degrees as you, please -- let me make sure I have been following you quite correctly." Only now does he lift his glass, taking a slow swallow of the water. "You will be keeping this child -- new to this high school and, perhaps, her own powers -- in a state of semi quarantine during what is no doubt already a trying and turbulent adjustment period. Through this, several other students and some of your staff will /also/ be put at risk and forced to adjust their lives considerably -- which, by now, undoubtedly they and potentially others know is because of this new student, which certainly will make the adjustment period all the smoother. This is to say nothing of the considerable actual health risk to those students and staff and these troubles are being taken because of the /threat/ of lawsuit which --" His forefinger touches to his lips, his brows furrowing very slightly as he looks at Xavier. "Pardon, but has the school ceased retaining its own lawyers? I seem to recall you used to." Xavier lifts a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose and nods, the movement minute. Where Lucien's biokinetic senses are uncommonly well-attuned to his mind he can feel -- if only barely, on the very edge of his awareness -- the pressure of something immense and alien. But then it withdraws hastily. The headmaster pulls in a deep breath and lets it back out slowly, sets both his hands down, folding them primly on the desk in front of him. "Mister Tessier," he says, his voice weary. There probably should be /more/ to the sentence, but he seems at a loss for a moment. Finally, he continues, "The parents have agreed to come down and discuss the matter in person this weekend. If they will not relent, I will be sending the child home with them." He pauses, studying Lucien closely. "Does this satisfy you?" Lucien's eyes lower slowly to the unused black marble coaster on the desk nearby him. His fingers curl slightly tighter against the glass, and he takes another sip. There's a faint ripple that stirs across the surface of his mind -- just a brief shiver of something that prickles uneasily and just as quickly settles back down into its previous unreadable cool placidity, in time with the slow swallow that rolls down Lucien's throat. He looks back up, meets Xavier's eyes, for a few beats merely studies him back. "For now it must. I shall just have to trust in your adroitness when it comes to persuasion." He sets the glass down neatly in the center of the coaster. "Thank you for your time, Professor."