it's impossible to teach anyone to write a poem ( closed )

[favouring]

CHARACTERS: Charles Xavier & Princess Nuala
LOCATION: Just outside the gardens.
WARNINGS: Stay tuned for updates if necessary.
SUMMARY: Charles is going to do something dumb and crazy; Nuala, who can only wish she was also doing something dumb and crazy, offers what assistance she can.
NOTES: Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.

Restlessness is something with which Nuala has long contended-- beneath her skin in the quiet, in the still places of learned patience and all the ways she has to know better in order to know best. There are so many things that she has to be, and few of them allow room for impulsive, irrational actions taken to sate curiosity or frustration or even loneliness; she is poised, and careful, and wise. Wisdom is the bargains that she makes with herself, the watchful eye she keeps on her surroundings (and her brother), the way she remembers, this time, not to decide too quickly what she makes of the situation in which she finds herself. Time's urgency has never weighed heavily on her slim shoulders, and she reminds herself of that, and of how dearly they paid once before for believing they'd seen the only ways forward. (It lingers in her mind, now, a context or a stain for everything she touches, the mistakes that were made pulling like weighted stone at the hem of gowns she doesn't have any more, tugging for her attention, a cautionary tale, a warning. Remember what you are capable of; remember consequence. Be wise.)

Her restlessness will not lead her into mutiny, however tempting the prospect. Her peace with her brother is tentative and new, and his desires to both protect and control her something that must be managed with a defter hand than that. She must be more deliberate, and so it is a walk, that's all--

“I am sorry,” she says, startled out of her own thoughts by the intrusion of someone else's, an unexpected figure as she leaves the gardens, hand brushed against hand.

Comments

[forgodssake]

The pattern of her thoughts, the deductions made, fleeting and thin and barely readable in the way that they come so naturally, has the corner of Charles' mouth upturning. Unoffended. Elves and egos and the depth of age he senses are slowly becoming familiar combinations.

"A reminder," he agrees. "I could demonstrate, but I don't imagine that's why you've asked to speak with me. You would go if you could, wouldn't you?"

[favouring]

The observation - she doesn't believe it's really a question; he is quick, for all that he is young - is acknowledged with a tilt of her hand rather than anything verbal. Yes, and tangibly--

“There are smoother means-- less direct. I thought to offer you my counsel, would you have it.” She doesn't mean any insult by the suggestion that he might need her counsel, though it's equally unlikely that it crossed her mind to assure him on that point - it's merely that she does have the kind of experience they're discussing, and what he's doing would still be a dramatic departure from steadiness. Offering her knowledge is more of a compliment than anything else, simply by dint of that ego's gravitational pull-- it carries with it the assumption that he is equipped to utilise what he might gather.

[forgodssake]

Humans -- mutants -- are, god knows, capable of ego as well. His is not quite a mountain range, but there is bedrock to it, proven confidence, for all that a propensity to showing off demonstrates its geographic variation.

Still. Charles is not an easily offended man. Especially when spoken to so daintily.

"I would take it, and gladly," he says, with the warmth of sincerity.

[favouring]

This is not so much the proverbial pissing match as it is a dainty pot of ego tea, shared generously betwixt participants, and how delightful is it to envision telepathic high teas. Surely nothing about that could be a bad idea for anyone else around them. Surely there's no cause for concern in Nuala offering to advise Charles on how to more subtly manipulate the people around him in order to mask his meddling and avoid showing his hand too quickly. It's merely more effective if, afterwards, he isn't fending off complaints about his high-handedness or blatant emotional manipulation, and how could it be a bad idea to offer up such technique?

One must be fair to him; it isn't as if he wouldn't acquire that particular trick on his own, given time and Patrick Stewart.

“Let's walk, then, and talk a while. I will try not to take up too much of your time-- I know that you have been given little of it to prepare.”

[forgodssake]

"With any luck, this is all the preparation I'll need."

They walk, and talk a while. There is nothing that Nuala says that Charles can say isn't useful to him -- steamrolling mind control, blunt hammer tactics, subtlety limited to quiet reading time and suggestions that don't run too counter to someone's motivations. He asks questions, speaks in abstractions, hand gestures, explains the mechanics of his own power.

In the Gardens, it is always a nice day, current humidity notwithstanding. "Could I ask a favour?" he says, as if the winding down of telepathy lecturing were not favour enough.

[favouring]

“Of course,” she says, at once, though it isn't; they don't yet have the sort of relationship that can be presumed on, and Nuala as a rule doesn't invite presumption, but her mood has improved and it's an underscoring of warmth more than a truth. “Ask it, and if I can, I will grant it.”

[forgodssake]

Charles stops them by halting himself, having the good grace to look minutely abashed around the eyes and the crooked quality of his smile. His knows what a pain in the arse this could work out to be, but anyone else might lead to disaster--

"I'm going to pen an explanation for a friend of mine," he says. "Would you give it to him?"

And. It occurs to Charles that that sounds very simple and straight forward, perhaps even a little insulting, to ask a princess to play messenger. It's consideration for this fact as well as good old fashioned curiousity that compels him to offer a hand to her, to transmit context swiftly and honestly.

[favouring]

The puzzlement - not quite offense, but certainly uncertainty - clears as their hands clasp. Ah. In his position, she thinks she would wish to do similarly, and she can't fault his reasoning.

“Yes-- yes, I shall.”

That is the sassy drunk, isn't it. Well. ...this is going to be interesting.