"Not a very good first impression." Fine, that is. Tolerant. "If I could start again--"

Charles steps nearer, in that light footed way of someone who doesn't want to impose more than he already has, but determined to offer his hand anyway like a normal person. Flesh and bone, rather than creepy haunting impressions of himself -- lines from his iron still creasing a fold up his sleeve, a smudge of pen ink unwashed from the edge of his little finger, nails clipped neat.

His focus on her is curious, interested in the way he always is, and still a little apologetic. He can see that she is new, regardless that he also knows she is a witch.

"Xavier," he says. "Charles Xavier."