The X-Project

Players: Xavier and Betsy
Time: Late thursday afternoon
Subject: Transition

If the present world go astray,
the cause is in you,
in you it is to be sought.

--Dante Aligheri, The Divine Comedy.



The room was in disarray; clothes by every designer strewn everywhere but the closest that were meant to house them. Books filling every available space and displaced sleeves of paper on the floor, it was the antithesis of what you would expect in the room of Elisabeth Braddock. And yet, she continued to look about her bedroom with indifference. With a crack of her book being closed, Betsy kicked her legs out from under her and sat up from her bed. She placed her copy of Gibran’s Prophet on the nightstand, lost in thought.

The Professor had already completed his scans, ensuring that everything was intact. Kwannon remained locked within her psychic stasis. In his eyes, Betsy was fine considering the shock she’d received to her system.

There were obvious signs of trauma. Whatever that meant, but nothing outright could explain her lack of interest or emotional output. Perhaps, she’d finally gone and become the cold fish, the name many of her academy compatriots had christened her in her youth. Or, as she truly believed, she had finally become apathetic to the unending cycle of her life. Live. Fight. Coma. Stagnation.

So now, her daily routine consisted of hours staring at bare walls. Which normally, the flat featureless surface wouldn’t elicit any strong reactions from her but would more so keep her occupied. And it was during these moments she would see the truth. She was no longer Elisabeth Braddock, but a crippled shadow lurking in the dark.

#This cannot carry on any longer, Elizabeth.# The words floated in her mind gently, the sunlight in the room seemingly taking on a mind of it's own - the edges seemed sharper somehow, almost too real. The telepathic contact remained open, allowing options both physical and metaphysical. Charles was in his office, the sunlight streaming around him, a tendril of steam rising from the tea on a nearby table. And though the invitation to come to his office was there, it was also understood that a conversation on the astral place would also be acceptable. As long as there was a conversation.

Her steely eyes looked in the direction of the "intrusion." Betsy's mind followed the path laid out for her from her quarters to the Professor's office and then back to her quarters. She rose from her bedroom, pulled her hair back, and in mid-day, walked purposedly out of her room. She looked a little run down, as she passed hords of students within the halls, but she paid them no mind. The whispers, the stares, all went unnoticed, even from her colleagues.

When she reached the Professor's office, without stopping, she opened the door and closed it behind her. Her words clipped and cold, she stood resolute in front of Xavier. "You wanted a word with me, Professor?"

Setting his teacup down, Charles turned his head around slowly to look at the woman standing in the doorway still. "Perhaps a bit more than one," he murmured, gesturing at the chair nearby. This probably wouldn't be a long conversation, he thought, unless Betsy decided to make it otherwise. "Staying here is doing you no good," he added calmly, accepting the distancing she placed between them, by resorting to speech instead of the telepathy that came naturally to either of them.

"Alright," Betsy said, tersely. She took her seat in front of the Professor's desk, her hands firmly clasped together. Outside, sunlight poured in from every window, birds chirped playfully, committing to the dance of spring. But she didn't feel the warmth radiating through the room, nor the tension at witnessing the Professor's concerned gaze for her. His concern wasn't what she needed. "Then make it better."

An eyebrow was raised slowly at that, a hint of sadness reflected in his eyes, and Charles shook his head gently. "I think you know better than that, Elisabeth. The question is, do you wish for it to be better?"

But she didn't have an answer.