fairynuff | TEST DRIVE MEME

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TEST DRIVE MEME

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OPTIONAL SCENARIOS

01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD.
The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks!

02. THE STATION.
Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms!

03. WILDCARD.
Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

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While the arrival feast had most assuredly been designed to delight and welcome any newcomers, Charles had found the entire affair to be even more confusing than his initial arrival. Being kidnapped by beings he'd read about but held no belief in and dumped into a work populated by creatures he'd read about but held no belief in was a muddled turn of events and he still wasn't entirely certain he wasn't dead.

After all that was what made logical sense, if logic could be applied to any part of this situation. The artillery hadn't been that far from the beach, he and Erik had been distracted with their personal struggle, it was all together possible that a shell had found it's way to the shores and destroyed them all. It was at least as viable a scenario as; kidnapped by imps.

Regardless, he had heard whispers of the Station and it's promise of coffee and more importantly tea. It had taken a few wrong turns and polite questions of those he'd encountered to find his way but eventually Charles had secured himself a small table on the patio and a mug of tea; no spit please.

He wore a decidedly pensive expression as he stirred a spoon aimlessly in the mug but he wasn't distracted with a computer or a book, which left him very amiable to conversation. Particularly any conversation that might help clarify their purpose in this strange world.

A loud thump! bangs on the patio roof, closely followed by a laughter (Alright, that's enough now! Stop!) and footsteps — yes, definitely someone moving around up there — before a wash of fresh ice pours down a support-pole. Icicles lengthen to the size of pencils as the footsteps get louder, then they abruptly stop growing as a young man hops lightly to the ground in the wake of a chilly breeze. Vigorously rubbing the back of his hair free of leaves, Jack squints up at the lip of the roof where a troop of fairies are giggling and clutching at petals and blades of grass. He glances down and does a double-take when he notices someone sitting up ahead, directly under his landing zone. Whoops?

"Sorry, the little beggars were playing." He hikes up his staff and waves it at them, sending a rush of snowflakes skyward that scatters the annoying creatures. "Shoo, go on!"

Turning back to the stranger, he offers a mildly chagrined smile and ducks his head in a shrug. It's still weird that everyone around here can see him, after all, and dealing with people besides children is a new experience. The Guardians don't exactly count as anything more than a test-run in that regard, in the grand scheme of things.

"Did I bother you?"

It would be a lie to say the sudden wash of chilled air, followed by the high pitched giggles and then the appearance of a young man, hadn't been a surprise. Charles was sitting up in his chair, tea mug held safely against his chest as he watched the events unfold but rather than looking bothered, he wore a curious and even friendly expression.

This was actually one of the more normal encounters he'd experienced so far and he gave the young man a reassuring smile.

"Hello and no, not in the least," he responded, paused and then his smile widened into a low chuckle.

"Well, perhaps a little bit but that is more my fault than your own. That's an amazing skill you have there. Would I be right to assume that the," here he motioned to the support pole, with it's ice and icicles. "state of that post is your doing?"

His tentative smile flares into something brighter when found to be welcome. Jack affects a careless wander inside, leaning against the post in question.

"I was trying to get them to stop dropping dirt and leaves in my hair. I don't mind them having fun, it just gets a little much every single time I fly."

His staff, crossed over a shoulder, taps the floor and sends swirls of thin, glittering fern-frost over to the stranger's feet.

"Jack Frost, hi. I haven't seen you around here before, have I?"

Jack certainly knew how to make an entrance. Charles was obviously fascinating as the delicate swirls of ice spun outwards from the staff and towards his feet. Rather than retreating, he set his mug on the table and bent over his knees to study the patterns more closely.

"That is absolutely remarkable," he breathed before looking up and remember his manners. "Professor Charles Xavier; its a pleasure to meet you, Jack and I've only recently arrived."

He moves to stand, to extend his hand but stops himself as if afraid to step on the fern-frost near his feet. Sitting back down, he leaned forward and turned his face upwards towards where the faeries had been.

"You can fly as well?" The question comes quickly and in an excited tone.

"You too, Charles."

His pleasure subsides slightly when Charles retracts his hand, a momentary spike of panic inwardly worrying about his temperature being a nasty surprise, but then the professor reseats himself and the concern passes. By way of an answer, the wind picks up on Jack's whim and lifts him, light as a spider, onto the railing where he crouches with his staff draped over a shoulder, long toes keeping him perched there like a bird.

Charles doesn't seem bewildered or intimidated, so it's decided from one moment to another to admit the unfettered truth on a gamble.

"I'm the Spirit of Winter, or so they say." He certainly looks the part, sallow with a lilac tinge to his lips and hollow eyes. Blue as they are, however, they shine happily as he loses some of his edginess about sticking around. "Be a little inconvenient if I couldn't get from one side of the world to the other in a hurry, huh?"

In a brief span of time Charles goes through a roller coaster of emotions. First there is disappointment that Jack is not a mutant. He can't help but feel that such powers, cryokensis and flight would be fascinating to study and learn about from the scientific standpoint of genetic mutation. But a 'Spirit of Winter' sounds more like mythology and magic, concepts that Charles has always appreciated in an academic sense but never truly believed in.

Of course he never believed in imps or faeries and look where that got him.

So he quickly squashes the disappointment and focuses on the intriguing nature of Jack himself. Up close the young man does have an almost fae appearance with his lightness of movement, pale skin and eyes. But there is also something that speaks of mischief, which has Charles smiling as he loops his hands together.

"I have to be honest," he said. "I do not have a great deal of experience with the idea of a 'Spirit of Winter'. I look at winter from a more scientific approach and in other circumstances, would look at your abilities as a genetic mutation."

He paused briefly and looked around the landscape just beyond the Station, before his eyes came back to Jack and his expression shifted to something slightly sheepish.

"However, in the past couple of days I've been forced to reevaluate my way of looking at things. Are you native, to this world?"

His smile is indulgent. It's ... easy, somehow, to want to explain his own weirdness to this man he only just met. What passes for genuine interest is a novelty to Jack almost as much as it is a coveted rarity.

"No, I'm from Pennsylvania. Originally, anyway." Rubbing the back of his neck again, a nervous tic, he drags his hand around his neck with a mild groan. "It might get even weirder if I explain why or how. And it might be genetic, I don't know."

A hand pats his sleeve, absently rubbing there. How does the Moon's magic work, anyway? It isn't as if he ever got an answer on that score.

"I do bleed but it's ... It isn't like what happens to a normal person," he adds, blurting out, "I'm pretty sure anything genetic to do with me would come up nothing but dead cells. Not very helpful."

What Jack was saying did cause the professor's left eyebrow to go arching upwards but it was more in curiosity than any sort of reservation about what he was hearing.

"Pennsylvania? I grew up in Westchester, New York," he offered as a way to show Jack that he was open minded about hearing the young man's story. "And if what I was told is correct, I do not believe any of us here can be making judgement on what defines 'normal'."

Sitting back, the friendly and welcoming smile was quick to return to his features, reaching all the way up into blue eyes.

"But here I am, quizzing you with what I suspect are rather personal questions and I haven't even asked if you'd like to join me for tea or something. Please forgive my lack of manners and join me?" He motioned to the other chair at his small table."

"This isn't any worse than some of the stuff the Unseelie throw out about me. At least you'll get your facts right, if you ever want to go that route."

Wry black humor precedes the way he shakes his head, lashes lowering for a moment to eye the tea, flicking back up to meet Charles's gaze. If this is a lack of manners, Jack's the Easter Bunny.

"I'm not hungry. Thanks, though. I'd cool it down if I came over there and you look pretty settled for the afternoon." In an effort to swing the conversation onto even ground, he asks, "Are you waiting for a friend out here?"

Inwardly he winced, as Charles realized he probably had sounded a bit as if he'd been sizing Jack up for an experiment. He gave an affable nod of his head at Jack's graceful decline of the invitation and reached for his mug of tea.

The question caught him in mid sip and he took the momentary pause of swallowing to gather his calm before responding.

"No friends, I'm afraid." He said in a breezy tone. The truth was he found it very unnerving to be here with out Raven, Erik or any of the others. While Raven hadn't been wrong in her claim to be his only friend, she had always been with him, since they were children and being completely alone was disquieting.

"I checked but it would appear that of those I know I am the only one the imps saw fit to bring here."

"I followed the fairies. Wish I hadn't, should've known better."

Three hundred years of spirits and creatures of folklore, and still Jack was a sucker for their pleas. He tilts his head at Charles and in the same light tone, makes an offer sound like a question.

"We can be friends, right? Until yours get led here, or something."

Jack is far from stupid, but he doesn't pretend to himself that he's interesting enough beyond the basics to keep a professor entertained for very long.

Charles couldn't bring himself to correct Jack from 'until' to 'if' as he honestly had no idea why the others hadn't been taken as well. They had all been on the beach together, hell he and Erik had just barely gotten off him (after a wicked right hook to the face) the imps should have grabbed them both.

Bah, thoughts for another time.

For now he smiled warmly and gave a nod of his head.

"I'd like that, Jack." There is definite sincerity in his tone and in an attempt to say away from questions that made him sound like a researcher he went for the common ground between them. "Have you been here long? You sound as if you've had some experience with the faeries here."

"Not long, no. I've ... spent a few years around this kind of crazy stuff, it doesn't bother me. It's more homely than talking to normal people, actually."

But, not to delve into that. He skims the subject (three hundred years of solitude and loneliness does not a good afternoon tea discussion make), sitting on the railing and drawing up a knee.

"Back where I'm from, people don't ever see magic as clearly as they do here. It's a good thing, I suppose. You don't want the Pentagon freaking out because satyrs decided to romp on their front lawn or there's an evil witch living down the road."

The last bit caused Charles to chuckle, though the sound was more rueful than actually amused.

"The Pentagon does appear to have a very limited sense of humor," he agreed, in a tone that hinted at the fact that he may have had personal dealings with that lack of humor issue.

"I'm afraid that in my world the idea of magic is more about slightly of hand and illusion," he admitted. "What advice would you give someone who has limited experience with such concepts?"

It couldn't hurt to hear, from someone more familiar with such things, what he might face or experience while trapped in this strange land.

Unexpected is one word he would use for inferring a British professor has contacts with the Pentagon, and Impressed is another.

"Advice?" That could be a hairy minefield. "Uh ... I know everyone says you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but magic doesn't work like that, so. If it looks bad? Don't poke it."

The wisdom of three centuries, summarized.

"I mean, the Boogeyman is made of shadows."

Charles pulled a face at the suggestion to 'not poke bad things.' He was not exactly known for his 'look first' attitude; it was usually leap in and wonder about the consequences after the fact.

Though, given the events on the beach he was starting to come to the realization that perhaps he ought to temper his impulsive belief that he could make everything work the way he wanted it too simply by will alone.

He shook the thought off as Jack's latter words sank in and both eyebrows arched upwards.

"The Boogeyman?"

"I know, it sounds stupid. He's as real as you or me, though, and he's called Pitch Black. He's from my world."

Does he ever feel like an idiot having to explain all of this to a grown man. Kids? Sure. Children already know that the fae are real, on some level, even if none of them ever saw Jack prior to Jamie. Adults, however, are another matter.

"When he comes out of the shadows, Pitch is really tall. We're talking seven-foot, you can't miss him." Pausing, he glances down before adding, "And he knows your fears on-sight."

"Sounds like a lovely fellow," Charles said with more than a hint of trepidation and he took a sip of tea; the natural fortifier!

"So he's here as well, with you? Someone else from your world?"

Though it sounded as if perhaps this Pitch Black fellow may not be precisely a friend, Charles had to admit that despite everything that had gone down between them, he'd be quite happy to see Erik. Then, in an effort to (once again) try to stop questioning Jack like a test subject, Charles attempt to push them back onto more common ground.

"Does that happen here? People from the same world?"

"I think so. It's hard to tell, what with all the messing around in shadows he does. If he was here, he'd be holding a grudge against me, I know that much."

To put it lightly, at any rate.

"It does, yeah. A couple of people I spoke to knew each other." Up go his brows. "Would you rather have one of your friends here with you?"

Charles is quiet for a moment, giving it some thought. Given what he's learned of this world, he doesn't kid himself that he and Erik, for that matter he and Raven would find themselves on opposite sides of the Seelie / UnSeelie conflict.

"I suppose not," he said in a pensive tone. "At least, not the way I was brought here. If they were given a choice and came of their own design..."

That might be a different story but even then, his lips twitch and he glanced back up at Jack.

"I fear we'd be on opposite sides in this world."

"You shouldn't let that stop you being friends. I wouldn't with mine."

Friends are hard come-by for Jack. They are also hard-won (see: Aster) and mean the world to him. No matter what anyone says about this or that faction being on opposite sides ...

"Fighting with them shouldn't even be an option, especially not just because someone else says so."

"I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that," he said, reaching to settle his fingers around the mug of tea on the table. He didn't lift it, merely set his hand around it as if anchoring himself.

"There are some important differences between us, in our home world and I am uncertain that we can overcome them."

Charles spoke with conviction, though there was a small part of his own conscience that ruthlessly point out that he'd made some spectacular mistakes and errors in judgement. That small voice was quickly silenced beneath the horror of seeing Erik turn the missiles back around towards the human fleet.

"I'm not certain we're meant to find common ground."

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TEST DRIVE MEME

Charles Xavier | X-Men First Class | #2 | Prose or action is fine!

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