ArchivedLogs:Instructive

Instructive
Dramatis Personae Micah, Xavier	25 April 2014 Sublime news. (Part of the Perfectus TP.)
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. It's been a quiet day around Xavier's -- thankfully. The school could probably do with more of those. There's still ongoing Sportsing off in the gym, boisterous-rowdy but in the non-explosive kind of way, but off here in the administrative wing it's quieter, removed from most of the high-school commotion with only a few stray students ever venturing down here for meetings with one teacher or other. Xavier's office is quiet; it usually is. There's a teapot steaming on a tray on the desk, and he himself is seated behind it, typing up an email with a rapid click-click of fingers, his mind quietly open-listening to the hallways beyond. Expectant, really, but, he's arranged this meeting so that is perhaps not unusual. That Micah is coming straight in from work is clear without him having to think it. The TARDIS-blue polo shirt, grey long-sleeved undershirt, and khakis still clothing his slim frame smell faintly of chemicals: adhesives and plastics. His auburn hair is rather mussed by this late in the day, however. His mind is primarily focused on /fretting/ over Hive and Dusk, the latter foremost in his mind. With associated imagery of the way he looks in his hospital bed. And a steady hamster-wheel of thoughts about just how this meeting might pertain to his current state. A thin flickering hope that it will /help/ him is ever-present. Micah knocks lightly on the door before entering, lingering uncertainly near the portal even as he does so in a vaguely student-called-to-the-headmaster's-office fashion. "Evenin'," serves as a simple greeting. "Good evening, Mr. Holland-Zedner." Xavier turns aside from his typing, locking his screen and looking up at Micah; the corners of his eyes crinkle in a faint suggestion of smile that doesn't actually touch his lips. He draws the tray off the desk to set it on his lap, chair whirring quietly as he moves smoothly out from behind the desk to go seat himself, instead, beside a coffee table to one side of the room. "Please." He gestures to seating around the table; an armchair, a couch. "Would you care for some chai?" Micah nods at the returned greeting, an almost-shy smile given in answer to the other man's almost-smile. He moves further into the room at the gesture, perching himself lightly on the edge of the armchair indicated. "Oh...yes, please. Thank you. A little caffeine after the workday wouldn't go amiss." He rests his grey-gloved hands in his lap, fingers tapping slightly against his knees. Xavier leans slightly in to set the tray down on the table, pouring two cups full of milky spiced chai. He turns the tray around to proffer one of the cups in its saucer towards the younger man, sitting back upright with his own cup resting on the arm of his chair. "There are few discussions not improved by a cup of tea, I have found. Especially ones --" His eyes skim briefly over Micah, lifting to settle on the other man's face. "Well. I have had some time in which to discuss," there is a very faint pinch to the corners of his mouth on this word, "matters with Dr. Sublime. I cannot say if what I have found will make your choices much clearer, but. If you have questions I am at least in a better position, now, to try and answer them." "Thanks." Supporting the saucer with one hand and the cup itself with the other, Micah draws the chai closer to himself as he settles back a bit further into his seat. "I'm sure that was a pleasant time had by all." His tone is a touch rueful. "I hope...it was at least worth the effort. Um...were y'able t'learn anythin' 'bout the process? What it is he's...doin' t'folks? Not just takin' the parts an' the powers, but puttin' 'em on someone else. Is /either/ end of that reversible?" "For both of us, yes." Xavier's tone is just a little bit dry. He keeps his fingers curled carefully through the handle of his teacup. "Reversible?" His brows lift, head giving a very small shake. "For some grisly value of the term, certainly. He could excise the part in question from the recipient and put it back on the original bearer. It would leave someone along the way in rather dire straits, though. His methods are --" His lips compress, very thin. "There are likely aspects to his own power he has yet to discover. Insofar as he is aware, he is able to take biological samples from people and absorb them, process information from them and utilize that information in -- a number of ways. Among which is the ability to take those samples and replicate them in others as --" His hand tips outward towards Micah's legs. "You yourself have seen. He does so by /ingesting/ the part in question, though, and his ability to reconstruct it with any accuracy is limited to a narrow window after doing so." "Hm," Micah nearly laughs at the dry reply. "I s'pose I specifically mean that...Dusk. We ain't never found a person with his wings. If he never put 'em on anyone, that means there's no chance, then? Did he? I mean, d'we know if he did? 'Cause we could find that person an'...it sounds reversible in that case. We got enough folks could just /heal/ that person after. Could actually...use real surgical techniques so it ain't the horror show /our/ folks went through. An' just put 'em back the way they were. An' let Dusk have back what he lost." He looks down into his teacup. "Just...did it seem like there's anythin' we can do for 'im?" Xavier draws in a slow breath, lifting his teacup to take a very small sip. "He did," he answers Micah when he sets the cup back down, "put Mr. Holloway's wings on one of his followers. Unfortunately, the additions he makes to people are not always stable. Many who receive them die in the process. Nobody was ever found with Dusk's wings because the man did not survive the transplant." There's a small pause, his fingers tightening faintly against the handle of his cup, before he adds in the same quiet-steady tone: "While it seems the danger is by far the highest in the immediate aftermath of the transplant, you should know that these additions are, it seems, /never/ entirely stable." "Do we know...what happened t'the person who didn't make it?" Micah is already cringing at his own thought, before he voices it. "If they still...they're still around. I mean. We got healers...I don't know. They've re-grown whole limbs an' organs. I just wonder if they could work with... If there's still anythin' left of 'em t'work from." He shudders, a visible movement from one end of his spine to the other. "I know it's kinda grisly an' horrible, but this is... Dusk mightn't even want t'/live/ if we can't find a way t'fix 'em." He nods at the last bit of news delivered. "So it might be...safer t'have 'im undo what he's done t'folks he put parts on? Would he be willin' t'do it?" "I am not certain what happened to their remains," Xavier admits with a very faint crease of brows, "though I do question the wisdom of attempting to work decomposing limbs onto a living body." He tips his hand upward, fingers just slightly spreading. "I do not think he has the capability of undoing it. When he takes the parts to begin with he does it in the traditional way. He has no greater capacity for /that/ than anyone else with a -- bonesaw. But yes. There will always be some element of risk. It is, admittedly, not as high, if you have survived this long with it. Some people have no problems. Some stay healthy but lose the associated powers. Some die. Some experience an evolution of the powers they began with. It is unfortunately going to be something of a gamble." "No, I didn't necessarily mean to...use 'em that way, 'less for some reason one of the healers seems t'think that's a great plan. I meant...that the healer's been helpin' our folks don't really know 'bout wings? An' could use a model t'work off of. An' well...even if they aren't in the best shape? They might give a better idea than /nothin'/." Micah still sounds a little uncomfortable with the thought, but unwilling /not/ to explore every option. "Okay, so...he can't undo what was done, then. For the powers or the...parts. Is there any connection between those things? Do we /know/ what'd happen if someone /removed/ a new part?" He draws in a slow breath, letting it out slowly as well. "What kinda evolution?" "If you removed a part? He suspects the powers would fade if you did so. /Your/ genetic makeup has not changed; he has only wired the rest of you to utilize the functions of the part he added. He sees no reason you would continue to be able to access Rasa's abilities without Rasa's genetic material there to tell you how. It is all -- quite theoretical, though. Nobody he has done this to has ever wanted to remove a part before; there is no way of telling. It was not until working in harmony with Prometheus's researchers that he even discovered he /could/ grant people access to mutations through these -- grafts of his." Xavier's forefinger taps slowly against the side of his teacup. "As to that last, we can only speculate as well. I imagine looking to Rasa and how hir abilities express themselves would give you an idea of the directions it might take. Abilities often grow, with time. There is nothing to say, though, that yours would /continue/ to express identically to hirs." "If we can find out where the fellow's, um, remains are. It might be helpful." Micah finally brings his cup up to his lips to sip from it, assuming the temperature has had time to decrease to drinkable levels. "It wouldn't go back, though...he's changed my /brain/ an awful lot. From what Lucien said. That wouldn't just /revert/ on its own. An' I'm sure there's as many risks just removing the...graft. As there are t'/not/ doin' it. An' this could get. There could be more. An' all of it's unpredictable." Leaning forward, he deposits his cup and saucer on the table before sitting up again only partially. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers raking up through his hair. "I /can't/ afford t'/be/ that unpredictable. Not with my family, I just... Don't know how t'make this better." "He has changed your brain," Xavier agrees, "to work with the new limb. And the new powers it came with. Losing it now would, I suspect, have an adjustment period as anyone else who loses a limb has. With the loss of an additional sense on top of it. Past that the risks are as they would be with any surgery. Mitigable, I suppose, with proper care and proper healers. But never entirely gone. There is," he adds, a touch wryly, "always more. Among his many abilities, Dr. Sublime retains the ability to form -- connections with those he has implanted. A sort of clairvoyance, I gather. He has no access to it at the moment," Xavier assures Micah quietly, "But." He lifts the cup to his lips, sipping at it slowly. "Unfortunately I doubt there is a magic bullet that will right all this. You'll have our support, certainly, in whatever choices you make. This school has seen /many/ people through the turbulence of adjusting to new abilities, Mr. Holland-Zedner. I would be lying if I said it does not make life tumultuous. But most storms can be weathered, with strong enough shelter." “I can't do that right now.” Micah shakes his head firmly, that decision apparently made. “I know better'n anybody how long that takes. An' I can't just...take months away from work. It's not an option for m'family an' it's not an option for my business continuin' t'exist.” He looks a little /sick/ at the mention of the connection to Sublime. “What...kind of clairvoyance? Just...spyin'? Accessin' memories? No control, though, right?” His teeth dig into his lip, worrying at it awhile before he speaks again. “What're y'gonna do with 'im? He can't just stay in the Danger Room forever. But he can't be allowed...t'just go back t'doin' what he did. Or t'have /any/ connection t'the people he...already did things to.” His left foot taps slowly, his eyes drawn to it. “S'there any chance that...if I'm stuck with all this. S'there any way t'/control/ when the telepathy happens? How it happens or how strong it... I mean, there are folks with telepathy that don't even /need/ contact as figure out how not t'go peekin' at every mind they're near. An' then there's...Hive.” His expression is a little apologetic, as if Hive were in the room to hear the comparison. "Accessing your thoughts. Memories. Seeing through your eyes." Xavier's eyes track down to Micah's tapping foot, as well. "Intervention? Mmm." His lips compress faintly, a very small furrow wrinkling his brows. "All mutations express somewhat differently, Mr. Holland-Zedner. With years of training and practice, many telepaths learn some level of shielding to prevent them overhearing every stray thought that passes by. Some never do. With the right guidance, proper exercises, over the years it is very possible you will be able to gain a greater degree of fluency with your ability. Whether that means shutting /off/ involuntary readings or quieting them or simply learning to be more at peace with the extra noise --" Once more, his hand turns up. "That is something that it will take time for you to learn." Micah nods, sitting quietly for some time. "Well. At least I can feel justified in my paranoia, then." The muscles in his jaw tense, twitching slightly. "Okay. It is what it is. We work with what we got. S'how things always go, ain't it?" He tugs at one of his gloves, pulling it on a little tighter. "I'll have t'see if anybody can figure...what happened t'the guy that didn't make it. With the wings. Maybe that'll help for Dusk." He doesn't really look up from his hands. "Was there anythin' else?" Xavier sets his cup back down in its saucer on the table. "That would be my question to you, really." His hands fold in his lap, eyes still focused on Micah. "There may not be a magic wand to wave and smooth all this over, but you and your family do have our support, here." "No, you've..pretty much answered what I could come up with for now. I guess...as long as Sublime's bein' controlled so he can't be a danger or be...in my head. That's the best that could be asked for. I /really/ don't know what long-term solution can be worked out for /him/, but. That's outside of my pay grade, I'm sure." Micah's hands shift to pull the /other/ glove tighter now. "Prob'ly I'll need t'arrange that...trainin'. At some point. When people aren't as busy with prisoners an' more pressin' danger an' all. Seems like a good idea not t'be wanderin' 'round completely without understandin' of what I'm doin', anyhow." "Not in your head at the moment," Xavier clarifies, quietly. "As yet we're not certain there /is/ any way to permanently remove any of the abilities he possesses." His head inclines in quiet agreement at this last. "I am sure we can make arrangements for you." "Small blessin's," Micah half-mumbles, as if in reminder to himself. "Thank you. That was...instructive." He pulls himself to his feet, though he stays by the chair as if waiting to be dismissed. "Good evening, Mr. Holland-Zedner." Xavier tips his hand towards the office door. "And my door is always open. To anyone who lives here." “Thank you, sir. Have a good night.” Micah nods again at this last before heading back out said door.