reverielogs | → nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard

» WHO? Charles Xavier / OPEN.
» WHEN? Mid-June.
» WHERE? Observation deck, crew quarters, bar. ( + VARIOUS )
» WHAT? Catch-all intro log.
» WARNINGS? Mentions of substance abuse and potential suicidal ideation. Discussion of disability. Will update if anything more appears.

a. observation deck.

( He hadn't taken it in properly, the very first day. Part of him had still clung stubbornly to the hope that this was all a terrifying fever dream, and that he would wake back up in 1973 alone and safe in his mansion, talk of the future and space and a new yawning emptiness just parts of his subconscious. Now time has passed, Charles is beginning to take that for the foolish wish it was. He knows that the metal corridors that confine him are as real as he is, a miracle of science and invention keeping dozens of people from so many worlds suspended in the dark black of the night's sky.

He spends a long time on the Observation Deck. It might seem like his thoughts are troubled, from the furrow between his brows, but in fact they're mostly silent. There's something awe inspiring about the view, the planet below them, the moons he's never seen before. Sometimes he gets up to walk the length of the windows, frowning down below. Sometimes he sits as close as he can, enraptured.

Sometimes he talks to himself, habits of a scattered, speeding brain working too hard. )

"Well, space is there, and we're going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there. And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God's blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked."

( On this occasion, he realises too late that he's not alone. There's a flash of an embarrassed smile, a tip of his head towards his new companion. ) For me, it was only eleven years ago when Kennedy gave that speech. Space travel still felt like a far and distant dream. Now look at where we are. No wonder the astronauts felt small. Compared to this, everything else seems insignificant.

b. crew quarters.

( Usually Charles liked small spaces. It was a by-product of growing up with too much space. His flat in London had been cosy, two rooms, a small living space, a kitchen with peeling linoleum. He could have afforded better, but back then all he had cared about was getting himself and Raven as far away from Westchester as possible. He'd always thought it would be good for them, to live like normal people did, Charles studying and Raven with her waitressing. A lively street, pubs lining the student quarters, people of all types spilling in and out of old brick.

Looking back, that was probably his first mistake.

His freedom cost him Raven's trust. His head had gotten away from him. The shackles had been thrown off, but without realising he'd put them on her instead. He's trying not to think about that as he lies on his bunk, even though she's only a few rooms down and he could just as easily go to her. There's no point. He's done enough.

The door to his and Hank's quarters thrown open though, just so he can hear the people walking up and down the corridors. Because yes, Charles liked small spaces, but this? There's something cold about it, the grey of the room, the metal of the furnishings, the scratchy blanket that he'd tossed on the floor at some point because his sleep had been fractured until he'd woken up sweating and aching. It feels more like a coffin than he'd like to admit, his mortality staring him down from the bunk roof.

He's going to go mad here, he knows it.

Footsteps pause just beyond the door, and without looking over Charles calls out to whoever's there. ) Don't worry, I'm not dead. I'm just practising my impression of a sardine.

( He's fine, everything's fine. )

c. bar.

( Everything is very far from fine.

He can't sleep, is the thing. The trembling underneath his skin makes him feel like he's the epicentre of an earthquake, he can't settle. His thoughts have been shaken lose, so that the insidious voice he tries to smother down every day has found a foothold and is whispering directly into the bitter broken parts of his soul. He's stuck here. He's stuck on this godforsaken hunk of metal, in an empty blackness he doesn't recognise, and there's nothing he can do, nor no means of escape.

The serum is going to wear off.

He's sure it's already started, the safety it offers him receding like a tide. The fear of it is not new, but it's never quite been this pitch before. Soon, soon he'll stumble. He'll trip. He'll fall. Soon he won't be able to move at all. And the voices of his fellow prisoners will burst through him like a bullet until he's ragged with holes and bleeding out --.

Don't think about it.

Charles takes a shaking breath, squeezes his eyes shut. The bottle in front of him is three quarters empty. His mouth tastes like paint stripper. But he pours another glass anyway. He just needs to sleep. An hour, an hour and then maybe he can figure out a solution. Another glass and maybe he won't hurt quite as much. )

Does everything in space taste this shit?

( Focus on smaller things. It's easier. )

d wildcard.

i'm at athosing or discord @ Sarah#9964 if you need me. pms are also an option.

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( vanessa ducks her head a little. this is actually a first, someone being so intrigued and asking her questions about her time. it wasn't the first time she'd talked about her era but the first time that someone had been so knowledgeable -- so curious )

There we many here who have helped with that, as they will for you.

( she's also very good at bluffing. there's a lot she finds strange or frightening about being here, much that overwhelms her but she hasn't given up yet. she won't get home if she does

she looks back at him, inviting )

So-- pick away.

Edited 2018-07-09 19:04 (UTC)

I can't even imagine what it must be like.

( Most, if not all, of his knowledge would be based upon science and medicine. So much has changed in the fifty years between their time. ) All I've ever heard is people talking about the good old days. My grandfather liked to tell me that when I was younger. Too much had changed, he said, the world was going mad.

( He grins though, because he'd never cared about resisting change. )

You weren't even allowed to vote, that must be hideous. Tell me what you like to do, your hobbies, I'm curious.

( there's a small laugh at his comment, his grandfather reminding her of sir malcolm. he had not embraced the changes of the world well, not even adding to his home some of the 'modern conveniences' that were being pushed about )

I'm afraid that much of my life has been... unusual as of late. My hobbies have fallen a little by the wayside.

( even more so whilst she's been here. she hasn't even been able to read a good book or poetry )

But-- I enjoy looking at beautiful things.

( she's just going to let him guess at that )

What a coincidence, that's something I rather enjoy too.

( His smile, when it comes, is small but more true than any of the others he's given out. It's almost charming. But Charles highly doubts he can be considered among beautiful things these days. He's too far gone. )

Well, just because we've kidnapped across the cosmos doesn't mean we should lose ourselves entirely. We should fly in the face of this interstellar kidnapping. Though sadly, I doubt there's a library waiting to be liberated.

( oh, charles. whether or not it was your appearance you were beautiful. vanessa believed he had a beautiful soul, even from this small conversation, and he still looked good )

Actually, there is. ( it wasn't currently accessible but she knew where the door was ) Unfortunately it's behind a door we've been unable to open, though I am hopeful that one day we'll be able to discover what secrets it holds.

Well then, we're going to have to find a way to get in.

( There's a grin, quick as a flash. His tone turns conspiratorial in nature, like he and Vanessa are old friends. ) I haven't had to pick a lock since my university days, but I'm sure I remember how.

( Not that he thinks it's the kind of thing one can get open with a woman's hair pin. It's teasing and light, a story to fend off the misery of being in such a secretive prison. )

I suppose the real question is, Bronté or Austen?

( there's a beat before, a little cheekily, vanessa rebuts with: )

Wordsworth.

( stories do have their place but give her poetry any day )

These locks you may need to be a little more creative with.

( she won't elaborate more until they're actually before it and vanessa holds out a hand to him )

Shall we?

Ah, the Romantics! I was quite fond of Byron. Or maybe I just wanted to be that dashing. Never managed it. Raven - my sister - she used to say I wouldn't know an adventure if it came up and slapped me around the face.

( He takes her hand, rising to his feet and moving to follow her. He knows picking the lock probably won't happen, but he's willing to go wherever she might want to lead. And knowing the location would be a good idea. )

( with charles up and closer vanessa slips her hand up to rest on the inside of his elbow, keeping herself tucked close to him as they walk, second hand resting on his arm.

there's a light laugh at his comment, a pause as she looks at him )

And now you have found adventure.

( unfortunately this kind did tend to come with a slap around the face )

Hopefully it will compare in some way, or that you'll find something pleasant about it.

( Vanessa taking his arm feels natural, and he slows his stride to allow her to lead the pace easily. It already feels companionable, and he has to marvel at that. But it gives him hope. Which is more than he could have said for his mood earlier. )

Well, it's not so bad.

( He pets the back of her hand with a small grin. )

The people are all very interesting.

( very smooth, charles. she is certainly glad to have met you. you're already brightening her day )

There is that to them.

( so many strange people as well as wonderful ones but it all made for quite the exciting adventure. look at her, adventuring. that hadn't been a thought of hers since she'd been a young girl and peter had spoken of wanting to go to africa with his father. oh, that was a day )

There are so many tales, many lives that sound utterly strange, but there's... a sense to them. It doesn't feel like simply a story.

( because they were real but when you knew nothing of the like it could just be a strange tale )

→ nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard

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