kore_logs | [open] a friend in need's a friend indeed

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[open] a friend in need's a friend indeed

Who: Ned and OPEN
What: Random encounters & fallout from dream-walking tomfoolery
Where: House 20, the garden, anywhere around town
When: Day 89

It's been a long week. A long, mostly-sleepless, weird week during which Ned has seen far more of his friends' and neighbors' subconsciouses than he would have liked to. Plus, a creepy city made of crystals that everyone seems to have seen, but no one will claim as their own. Shady stuff. Today, he is determined to wear himself out. Perhaps if he's tired enough, whatever mojo the men behind the curtain have put on him won't be strong enough to stir him out of a deep and dreamless sleep.

It's probably a futile tactic, but he can't just do nothing.

So he is a bustle of activity - cleaning the house, walking around town, checking on the crops to see if they are holding up well (carefully, with an eye for any enterprising tigers roaming too close to the edge of the forest), keeping an eye out for new faces and an ear out for rumors of missing ones.

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Ned definitely hasn't been avoiding Charles, either. He'd forgiven him, had meant it, but it's not as simple as that. Forgiving Charles is so much easier than forcing himself to not be afraid. That in itself wouldn't be enough to keep him away, except that he knows Charles might well be aware of that fear, on some level, if the two of them spend time together. Ned's not quite sure how completely his powers can shut that sort of thing out.

He's relieved to discover, when he sees Charles exiting the library, that the time which has passed has done some good. It doesn't startle him, seeing the man, and the prickle at the back of his neck is muted, easily shoved aside.

"Hey, Charles."

There is a strange awkwardness between them, apparent to both of them, when they say hello. Ned doesn't want it to be there. He doesn't want things to be weird. He wants to be Charles' friend and forget that anything ever interrupted that. The best way to accomplish this, Ned decides, is just to forge on, to make new memories and layer them tightly over the old ones, stack them high until they are all that he can see.

"Listen, uh... I've got, if you want, I've got a few slices of persimmon pie in the house, if you..." he trails off, gauging Charles' reaction. He'd offer tea, too, but maybe best not to, just at this stage. He and Charles talking in public is one thing; Ned means it to be a sign of trust, inviting him back to his own house.

He understands the offer for what it is and the tight band of worry eases in his chest somewhat. Ned had been a good friend before, Charles had liked spending time with him and speaking with him. Because Ned had been close to being like them that Charles had immediately enveloped him into the little band of mutants he had hoped to help. But there had been more than that. Here Charles had more of a hope at being friends with people who knew what he was. To not have to hide had an intoxicating allure. To have that so thoroughly destroyed had been almost heartbreaking.

To be the instigator, terrifying.

He never wants to be that man and he doesn't want Ned to be that man so he inclines his head in thanks and smiles, soft, ridiculous.

"I have no idea what that is but that would be lovely, yes."

"You've never had persimmon?"

Ned knows that it's a less popular pie filling, that it's a relatively obscure fruit, and that Charles is from the 60s or something, but still. What a shame. "Clearly this is something we need to fix right away."

So, hands buried in his pockets, awkward but also amused, Ned leads the way back to his house. It's very near to the library - though not quite as near as Erik and Charles' place - so the walk doesn't last long. As they stroll along, Ned asks, conversationally, "So, uh, this dream business. Has that been effecting you, as well?" For all he knows, Charles is somehow immune to it because of his powers. That would be nice.

He ambles, is the thing. Totally unashamedly strolls beside Ned because that's just how he is. Many days of university would have been spent walking down to the park to read and then to the pub and he likes those times when there is no rush, when conversation can drift and his feet don't have to move so fast. At least then he is not clumsy.

"Unfortunately."

He tilts his head, thoughtful, "A fair few members of our town have been treated to an eleven year old host in a house that screams terrifying silent movie." Then, he hums, "I've been trying to figure out how to not invade other people's dreams but it's not working out too well."

Dilandau had woken up and stormed his house, tried to stab him with a sword. Charles isn't going to bring it up, however, because the only way he didn't get himself murdered was by using his power. He's not proud of it but he needed it.

Ned looks over at Charles curiously. "A real house?" He asks with idle curiosity, hoping that if it's anything too intimate, Charles won't feel bad deflecting the question. The dreams that he has shared in have tended to be quite personal, but Charles did offer the description himself - surely that's a sign that he won't mind Ned inquiring further?

He also can't help but wonder if Charles' disclaimer - that he's been trying not to invade other peoples' minds - is meant to be a reassurance to Ned. That he isn't abusing any new element of mind power that he's been given. That he still has an investment in respecting the privacy and autonomy of those around him. They seem like important values to Charles (at least, until they aren't, some corner of his mind whispers).

"Haven't had much luck with it myself, either. I've ended up seeing... well. A few things that my friends would rather have kept private, and vice versa."

Ned would never offer details of what those things are, but what he's trying to say is that he understands, at least a little, the position that Charles has found himself in. Being in another person's mind has been, on the whole, extremely unpleasant. There were exceptions, but they only proved the rule.

"The one I grew up in." He offers up a smile but for the first time today it's more hollow than he'd like, "A few people have received tours. Or witnessed my rather drunken teenage years throughout the rooms. I don't usually dream about the past though, there must be something in whatever they're doing to us. Enough to bring the cold of the mansion to the forefront."

People have been scared of his house, of the dark and empty rooms. Charles grew up in that. But he squares his shoulders and hums, a fondness suddenly creeping into his voice.

"Though recently it's been considerably warmer with Erik and the children living in it. I would have liked to dream of that."

Yes, there is a certain false note in that smile that doesn't escape Ned; he notices it but pretends not to, politely. Still, what he says next implies a certain degree of understanding. To most people the word cold might not seem all that potent, but Ned thinks he knows the sense in which Charles is using it. There's a particular kind of cold that can only come from large, empty, silent buildings - a kind of cold that comes from childhood loneliness and seeps into the stone over the years, leaving them like blocks of ice. Ned knows that cold from the Longborough School.

"I thought that, too. The dreams seem to be dredging up everyone's worst memories and nightmares on purpose. My guess was they're trying to break us. Psychologically." It would seem to fit with pattern. Turning them all into monsters had riddled many with guilt and others with fear, had taken their strength from them. Forcing them to invade one another's private memories and nightmares is accomplishing exactly the same thing.

As he opens the door for Charles, Ned thinks of Jesse, sleep-deprived and desperate, sobbing his heart out on the couch; he thinks of Meyer, so frightened of what Ned had learned about him that he'd been physically ill. And he thinks of himself, after what Galen had seen, and shivers.

But what Charles says next diverts his thoughts from speculation on just how well the scientists are achieving that goal. He remembers, in a sudden flash, what River had told him about Erik and Charles. He'd sworn not to bring it up with either of them unless they asked, but all the same, there's a burst of happiness in him when he recalls. "Children?" he asks.

Charles catches the edge of Ned's sudden happiness but doesn't question it. No matter how he holds himself back, he will continue to feel the echos of certain thoughts or emotions. They're a little more difficult to understand though, the landscape of a mind changing with each swing of mood.

"Yes. Alex, Sean and Hank. Young mutants we ... well, I think Erik would like me to say recruited but considering they're living in my home currently I'd have to go with adopted."

He smiles, fond and a little sweeter - as though this is Charles without his usual filter. "We're helping them, training them where we can. There's danger on the horizon for all of us but I've been ... well, considering opening my home more permanently. But you don't need to hear about it, it's all very boring."

"It's not boring," Ned says at once, indicating with a gesture that Charles should have a seat on the couch, while he goes to cut them their slices of pie. It's a quick job and in a minute he is returning with two slices of pie, on two small plates, and a fork for each of them. He hands Charles his and sits down, glad for the moment to think that fetching the food had given him.

"I think you should do it." Charles didn't ask his opinion, but he's going to give it all the same. Fervently. He doesn't know what kind of danger Charles might be referring to, or what kind of training, but those are minor and unimportant points to him. "If I'd known there were other people like me sooner... I mean, if I'd grown up around them..." he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. He'd be happier? More stable? Less of a tangled-up neurotic mess?

Ned prods the bright orange filling of his slice of pie, leaving gentle impressions of the fork's tines. "There have got to be plenty of mutant kids out there with no idea what they are and with nowhere else to go. If it's in your power to make a place for them... I don't see how you could bear not doing it."

"I don't think I could either."

He studies his pie but continues talking. It's different, but rather refreshing to be able to speak all of this outloud. "I met my sister at the age of eleven. Before she came into my life I'd thought I was the only one with a set of peculiar abilities. Then Raven appeared and she could change her shape and I thought that the world had been opened up. But neither of us found anyone else like us for a long time. Not until Erik."

He neatly cuts off the edge of his slice, not really registering the warmth in his tone. It's something he's sure Erik would be furious with him for, but he's never really thought to cover it, "The first mutant either of us had met in person after sixteen years of hiding what we both could do. The first at all who had been so frank and open about his mutation. He didn't hide. In fact I think sometimes he revels in it. Both Raven and I would be different now had we that influence. I want our kind to have that openness, to be free of the constant fear of discovery."

That makes him look up, aware of the implications of his last word. But he doesn't let it cut him off.

"Children wouldn't have to grow up thinking they were alone anymore. I'd like to be able to give that at least."

Edited 2013-07-12 14:47 (UTC)

Ned tries to imagine what it would have been like, if he'd met another mutant at that age. He doesn't question the fact that Charles' sister is someone he met, rather than someone who was born from the same parents. After all, River is as good as a sister to him. Blood isn't the only thing.

The affection in Charles' voice is clear to Ned, now that River has given him the information he needs to put it in its proper context. Otherwise, he thinks, he'd just have dismissed it as a very fond friendship, the way he had up until recently. He's heard the story Charles is telling, too, from River. It's different hearing the way he relates it, the emphasis that he puts on Erik's frankness and pride in his nature.

"I've seen him reveling in it," Ned concurs. He'd wanted Ned to revel in his own powers, encouraged him to work towards accepting the whole of himself, rather than merely scattered pieces. Whether or not that is going to be possible is still something he isn't so sure about. Erik doesn't have all the information, after all. He doesn't know the sorts of things that Ned has done with his powers.

"You know, I can't even imagine it," Ned keeps his voice light, but he's betraying how deeply the conversation cuts in little ways - the way he's sitting, the way he's poking at the slice of pie without taking a bite, the way he isn't meeting Charles' eyes, "Growing up without that fear." Fear has been one of his fundamental impulses, since he was nine years old. It's woven into every part of him, now. Probably inextricably.

"Generally speaking I don't think it's a good idea, taking kids away from their families or their homes. But I'm sure-" he chips away at the pie crust with his fork, "-some young mutants end up without families or homes, because of their powers. Giving them somewhere to go would be... a pretty good way of making the world a better place, if you ask me."

It would probably be obvious even to someone without Charles' powers that Ned had once been one of the kids he's talking about.

"Yes."

It's clear all right. Charles feels like he's getting an insight into Ned previously unseen. Ned's power is so much like theirs that both Charles and Erik seem to regard him as more mutant than not. To know that Ned himself has suffered the same fate so many of the children had, well, it makes it easier to attempt this reconciliation.

"Until recently I hadn't considered the house I grew up in to be anything more than that. A house, walls, a roof. Looking at it now I can't imagine it not being something more. It's ... large enough to hold dozens upon dozens of people comfortably." That he comes from money is no big secret, but as ever Charles is mildly cautious of being judged. He remembers Erik's reaction to it quite vividly.

"I've given some thought into doing that here. Not on the same scale but - finding some way to hold a community center. We've had an influx of young mutants and I'd rather like to give them that stability."

Ned hears that tentative note in Charles' voice when he describes the size of the house, but he had already called it a mansion once in the conversation, so Ned doesn't really see why. Besides, at the moment, Charles' wealth is the last thing on his mind. He's imagining a place for that many mutants. How good it would be for them. How much better their lives would be, with just that place to call their own.

When Charles starts talking about setting up a community center for young mutants here, Ned brightens. It is not, perhaps, quite so urgent (there are no orphaned nine-year-olds, here, no one all that young or homeless), but it's still very promising.

"I think it's a great idea. Bring them all together, introduce them to one another. Let them ask you and Erik questions, if they have them..." He tilts his head to the side, then, curious, "I know about Elizabeth - are there more new arrivals who would, ah. Qualify for the community center?"

"Two young mutants from my world," he responds with a quick upturn of his mouth, "Or actually, the world where Charles Xavier is far too old, has absolutely no hair, and uses a wheelchair."

It's the first time he's mentioned the last word out loud, but as long as he keeps thinking of how far the two universes are he won't panic about it too much. "Though I am rather jealous of his car collection."

He flashes Ned a grin and then finally takes a bite of his pie. "Oh, this is good."

Ned gives Charles a surprised look. "Freaky. If I met someone here who said they knew me from another world, even if it was a future version of me, I'd be weirded out. A lot."

Like, Charles seems really really calm about the whole thing. Maybe it's just his personality, or just his Englishness, or some combination of the two. But Ned can't even imagine.

The compliment about his pie makes him grin and duck his head, but he's still not ready to let the topic go, if what Charles was going for was a subtle change of conversation topic.

"How do you know it's another world, and not the future of your own?"

"Because I absolutely refuse to be bald."

Charles offers him up a cheeky grin, one that speaks volumes of the man he used to be. Here, he is often wound up in a feeling of responsibility. But people like Erik know the soft, ridiculous creature he had been merely a few months ago. He looks boyish, conspiratorial.

The fact that he had been ... chair bound would also trouble him if he let it free from it's steel trap within him, "I've been told by a certain mumber of ladies that my hair gives me charm, I intend to keep it."

The sheer indignation - over something as superfluous as whether or not he'll go bald! - earns a laugh from Ned. He doesn't laugh often, or loudly, but when he does, it transforms his whole face, makes him look like a different man entirely.

"A certain number, huh?" he echoes, voice rich with amusement. Ned is one of the people here who has never really seen that aspect of Charles. He's seen a few sides (pedantic, nurturing, tea-loving, terrifying, apologetic, determined) but never flirty or Casanova-ish.

"I'd say it would take more than losing your hair to deprive you of charm."

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[open] a friend in need's a friend indeed

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THAT WAS MY FAULT I FORGOT ABOUT THE MANSION I AM DUMB FORGIVE ME

AHAHA oh god, it's cool? That happens in real convos constantly, IT'S UNINTENTIONAL REALISM, ilu

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