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Who: two nerds and you
Broadcast: fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: now!

[ The audio comes on sharply, but everything is still dark as two people discuss their situation.]

Is that the camera? Can you get it to work?

I - think so? Here, push this --

I am pushing it, Hank. I thought you knew about these from that show you keep watching. Space Trek?

It's Star Trek and that isn't exactly - you know, the same thing as this.

Right. . . . Wait, I think I see something on the side.

[ And the video flickers on, the red light glowing softly. It focuses on two men. One in a wheelchair and the other right next to him, peering curiously at the camera before they step back satisfied. ]

Well, that’s over and done with. Hello to anyone who might be out there. My name is Charles Xavier and this is Hank McCoy. Apparently we’ve been kidnapped again, by an unknown force again for some mysterious reason.

[muttered:] Again. [and louder] So if anyone would be kind enough to explain exactly what's going on, we'd appreciate it. You have our thanks in advance.

But do keep it pertinent.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It actually is video, despite the blackness the screen shows. As the communicator shifts, the screen picks up two points glowing softly yellow, with the right placement and shape to be a set of featureless eyes--and nothing else.

The voice that comes through is of a man in the prime of his life, overwhelmingly German accent slightly tempered by years spent in America, with an underlying growl to his words. The latter is not usual for Kurt, but despite the almost jovial tone he's royally pissed.] Not used to the technology, hmm? I wouldn't worry about that, you'll pick it up soon enough. McCoy there sooner than Xavier, I imagine. The one I knew always had a head for things beyond mortal ken.

[ His appearance surprised Charles. Not because it was so foreign, but because it wasn't. Azazel. Everything about him screamed his possible link to Shaw's henchman and for that reason, Charles finds himself apprehensive.

Still, he replies evenly and without a hint of friction. ]

I'm fortunate to have Hank by my side to guide me in such matters.

[The funny thing is that Kurt always thought himself to resemble his mother more. Not his features, no; the majority of those, hidden by shadow, came from his unknown to him father's side. But the color of his fur and eyes came from her, so many of his expressions learned by watching his mother's face move. It might actually provoke an interest in learning about his father.]

I suppose so. He's your trusted companion then, stalwart and true? Lancelot to your Arthur? [The glowing points of light move, as though the person speaking has tilted their head like a curious cat. There's also movement in the shadow and the position of the camera, but only slightly.]

Considering how that ended, a better metaphor might be needed.

[ But he relaxes at the mutant's good humour. ]

Ach, you're completely right. Comparing McCoy to Lancelot is an insult to the knight. He was just a man mad with love; I don't remember the word for what McCoy is, not in English.

[He pauses, and then grins enough for the pale light from the communicator screen to catch his teeth. At least four of those teeth look sharp.] Wait, wait. I think the word is sociopath?

[ Charles resists the urge to rub his forehead. Mentally, he tallies this new man to the list. Perhaps he should make sure Hank doesn't go anywhere alone. ]

Curious. I thought that applied more to your father's employer. Or perhaps your father too.

[ With a little more firmness in his voice. ]

I don't care what the McCoy in your world is like. In fact, I don't even care what your world is like. Leave him alone.

[ Charles doesn't threaten. He doesn't like to, unspoken or otherwise. But it wasn't a request. ]

[There's a slight pause when Charles references his father, his eyes narrowing as his eyebrows draw together. His father? Surely he's not talking about Creed, Kurt doesn't look so much like him that a person could glance at him and see resemblance. He doesn't looks much like Creed at all, which is the main reason Kurt's never held to the assumption the man fathered him.]

I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else. My mother made many poor choices in her partners, but taking to bed a man horrible enough to give the devil nightmares was not one of them. [Oh if he only knew.

The smile vanishes when Charles makes his statement, because then Kurt can see why the Erik he knew held the man in such regard. In that sort of protectiveness he can see the man he'd wanted his nephew, named Charles after Xavier, to grow into. His voice is less cheerful but also softer when he answers, shaking his head.] I won't. I can't; if he were ever to hurt someone because I took you at your word, I'd never forgive myself. But I won't hurt him if he's no monster. I have met versions of that one that weren't atrocities, but the one that is was too dangerous not to be wary of the others.

[ That's . . . hm. He is a dead ringer for Azazel. Did this mutant really not know his father?

As for his mother. . . Charles isn't going to go there. He leans back, eyeing him quietly. ]

Then watch him. His actions will speak for himself. But you will hurt him if you're going to hold him accountable.

We're mutants. We're meant to be better than that.

[Kurt is quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowing in a suspicious expression that's all Raven Darkholme.]

You know, in my world we called the first man to espouse the idea that mutants were superior to homo sapiens Apocalypse. You're doing yourself no favors reminding me of him.

[ What kind of name is Apocalypse, really. ]

What I meant by better, I mean to use our unique and special abilities to help others and to look beyond suspicion, delusions of superiority and paranoia. Or, in your case, name-calling and jumping to conclusions.

So, quite frankly, I can look for my favors elsewhere.

Edited 2016-04-12 07:34 (UTC)

[Hell if he knows. The original host predated Abrahamic religion, why the fuck he was obsessed with it Kurt has no idea. Lack of imagination.]

We can agree on the first part of that. The X-Men in my world were formed to save the human race from a mutant determined to wipe it out in the name of genetic superiority.

[He snorts inelegantly, shaking his head.] Oh trust me, you'll be swimming in them. So many here are going to blindly trust you because of your name, because they know a Charles Xavier who was a shining beacon of hope.

[ Not Erik, certainly. He's never that extreme. Charles would have to remember that name.

Still, the idea that he was someone's beacon of hope was . . . troubling. Mostly because hope was something he had only recently regained. ]

I don't think trust is blind. It takes a lot to trust someone - even by just a name. It is never easy to give or to hold. And my hope is not for me. If people need that hope, I won't begrudge them.

[ Because it is fragile and dangerous and precious. He won't encourage it in himself, but he'll encourage it in others. His school was his hope now. A place of security, of knowledge and the drive to a better future. He doesn't trust his hands to lead it, but he can guide it. ]

It does, and other versions of you spent years building up that trust by word and deed. By coming here and being Charles Xavier, you will reap the benefit of their labor. Hell, you're older now I think than the Xavier in my world ever lived to be, and your legacy was still enough that Erik named his team and his youngest child after you.

[Which is why, despite not having any emotional ties to the man himself, Kurt regrets having to harden his heart. He very much wants to come to know Charles, learn about a version of the man Erik whose dreams and memory held in such high regard. But someone has to distrust him; he's powerful and he holds Hank McCoy in unwavering high regard, someone has to doubt him. Who better than a Darkholme?]

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[Hank tilts his head, a bit surprised by - well, yellow eyes are a familiar thing. Between Raven, and his own whenever he forced himself to look in a mirror when he wasn't hiding behind the serum—

But either way, he's very obviously nervous, the way he shifts from foot to foot. Recognition alone is strange, but after Kitty . . . ]

It'll still take some getting used to, I think.

Oh, I have every faith you'll be constructing things that strain comprehension within a month. What level of technology are you accustomed to?

[In contrast to Kitty's obvious hatred, Kurt's voice is light and friendly enough, the dim light of his communicator catching glints of what looks like a broad smile--and many, many teeth.]

I, uh - we're from 1973. So a month may be generous, considering I have a bit to get familiar with.

[the light and friendly tone does help him relax a bit]

[~~It's a trap!~~]

Don't be so modest, McCoy. If you've half the brain of the man I knew, you'll have figured out how to make us all half machine in no time. [1973? That explains the lack of greyish fur, but can a man change so much in a couple of decades? The Beast Kurt knows is, yes brilliant beyond the telling, but completely incapable of empathizing with other beings as existing for anything other than his curiosity. The McCoy he knew also held himself proud and tall, flaunting the mutations he'd won through extensive self experimentation.]

[he looks genuinely confused for a moment]

Why would I want to make anyone half-machine?

[and then it hits him, and - well, this McCoy slumps and can't even take a compliment, regardless of what kind of compliment it is. He doesn't tense up again, but he does fidget]

A-Anyway, it isn't modesty. And I'll pass on doing anything to anyone . . . like that.

Hell if I know. I have it on good authority that I'm an imbecile. And if by good authority Hank happens to guess the other version of himself, he's right.

[Kurt watches him slump, his tail idly swishing in the shadows behind him. Despite his friendly demeanor, he offers no comforting words or expression of concern.] Why?

From what I hear, this other McCoy is a real asshole.

[it's gotten to that point, where as nervous and fidgety as he is, he finally gives in and curses because otherwise he'll overwhelm the serum. Of course, it doesn't help that he winces a little, apologetically, for cursing in the first place]

Why? Because I don't want to. [he says it evenly, firmly. And after a moment, he steps away from Charles and continues:] I'm not - him. I don't want to hurt anyone. . . . more so than I already have just by being here.

Understatement of the century, that.

[It's adorable, how he winces at having cursed. Realizing what he just thought, Kurt is suddenly struck with the urge to scour his mind with a brillo pad. This place is driving him crazier than he already was.]

Maybe you don't. I'd like to think that; he was a monster, but a brilliant man with such potential to do good for the world. I'd very much like to think that potential was realized in more worlds than it wasn't.

[that's a little nicer than other things he's been told. He closes his eyes, rubs at his face, then sighs out, slow]

I wish I could say that I'll become that man someday - the one who'll do real good for the world. I tried to be him, once. Not - as a mutant, but as a scientist.

But I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe a word I say, either. I - know it isn't easy, to hear a name and not automatically expect the worst.

I don't. [It isn't cruel, how he says that. Neither is it particularly kind, though his voice is softer. It's a simple statement of fact.] I'd like to, but the fact remains you're simply too dangerous to trust on your word and that of a man I've never met.

Suppose it won't surprise you if I say I'll be keeping an eye on you?

["too dangerous"; that's one descriptor he's never heard used about himself. but he nods at what Kurt says, because he gets it. God only knows, he'd do the same thing, if he ever ran into someone he knew to be bad, only to find out they come from somewhere where they're good instead]

It doesn't. But you're welcome to get to know me, too. Ah - the normal way, not through - [he gestures] - following me around.

Me, getting to know you. [He laughs then, soft and strained.] What a place this is turning out to be. Fairy tales and dead men walking among the rest of us.

[Shaking his head, the next words out of his mouth are almost a surprise to himself.] ..Maybe.