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Who: Edgeworth, Charles Xavier, Erik Lensherr (X-Men: First Class)
What: The community thinks Edgeworth needs to get out more.
Where: Xavier Mansion
When: Mid-movie
Warnings: None.

Edgeworth had grown used to being deposited without warning in random locations. Thanks to the community's apparent sense of humor said locations were generally unpleasant. The sprawling grounds he now found himself in were exquisitely planned and perfectly manicured, so this little 'vacation' already looked like it may be a vast improvement over the rest.

At least, it might have been, if the community had seen fit to transport some proper clothes along with him. Dew-soaked pajama bottoms and an equally wet, bare chest certainly weren't appropriate to the surroundings. Cursing a bit more loudly than he intended, Edgeworth shot to his feet and cast his gaze nervously around the vast lawn and the beautiful, ivy-covered manse in the near distance, debating whether he should flee the scene or approach the residents for help. The latter seemed the most reasonable, but would require the fabrication of some story that could believably account for the absence of his clothing. He feared a lie that elaborate may be beyond his capabilities.

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[Charles wan't nearly as used to it. Not yet, at least. With only five other people around with any real frequency, picking up on the one new entity is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. Not that he would know all that much about shooting, truth be told, but sometimes cliches exist for a reason. He walked over to the south lawns, brushing past well kept flowerbeds and trails as if he barely noticed them. He blinked when he witnessed the pajama clad stranger stand up, but didn't break his stride.]

Hello. Not a very comfortable place to sleep, is it?

[He kept his tone light and simple, almost unreasonably polite given the situation.]

[Quickly the decision--as well as the opportunity to formulate a viable excuse for his state--was taken out of Edgeworth's hands. There was a figure approaching from the house, a young man with a confident stride, fine clothes, and, Edgeworth learned after a few moments, a very pleasing accent. Feeling even more awkward over his own disheveled state, he flashed the stranger a tight-lipped smirk.]

Compared to my own bed, few places are.

[He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, dropping all pretense of a casual introduction.] You'll have to forgive my intrusion. I seem to have...lost my way.

['Along with my shirt.']

[He chuckled almost entirely to himself. He can practically feel the aggravation rolling off the stranger in waves. Sometimes, it proved challenging to pick up on the flitting thoughts of the people around him. This, however, was emphatically not one of those times.]

Yes, I can see that.

[To which statement, Charles didn't clarify. He let out a puff of breath and nearly fidgeted in his suit. He spared a glance at the mansion behind him, hazy in the early morning fog.]

I'm afraid I can't help with your way, but in the meantime, I can certainly loan you something to wear. Unless you'd prefer otherwise, of course.

Edited 2011-06-24 03:53 (UTC)

I'd prefer one of my suits, [there was a trace of bitterness that faded quickly into dry humor] but judging by your own ensemble, anything you offer would obviously be an improvement over my current attire. Thank you.

[He finished with a shallow, graceful bow, the effect of which wasn't at all diminished by his clothes, and prepared to follow him into the mansion.]

[The man's easy acceptance of his unexplained presence wasn't at all reassuring. In fact, it was rather the opposite. Edgeworth was already raising his guard higher, willing to take his new acquaintance at face value for now, but ready to deal with any ulterior motives that may surface later on.]

You're quite welcome.

[He blinked at the bow, not quite anticipating it, but nodded nonetheless. With one hand kept in his pocket, he shifted on his feet to face the mansion. He spared a glance to his traveling companion before moving forward, one foot in front of the other.]

[Trying to ignore the distrust radiating outward proved difficult. It cast suspicion over him like the fog spindling in the early dawn. He shook his head trying to shake the mist out, before his eyes widened with embarrassed shock.]

Oh! Pardon my manners, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Charles Xavier.

Edited 2011-06-24 04:41 (UTC)

[Unlike his host, Edgeworth didn't have the wherewithal to be embarrassed over his own lack of courtesy. He was in the habit (or bad habit, as some would undoubtedly say) of leaving the burden of first introductions to others until they proved worthy of his full attention. He accepted the man's name with a polite nod, while his gaze drifted across the grounds.]

Miles Edgeworth. I wish I could say it was an unmitigated pleasure to meet you, Mr. Xavier.

[He nodded to himself, as if to commit the name to memory. After one notable screw up with namedropping back when he was a child, he made a note to always get their names directly. That way, he could proceed as if he were a normal sort of person having a normal sort of conversation. He made a mental note to the others inside about their uninvited temporary guest as he tried to keep the pace.]

Professor, actually. What do you do for a living, Mr. Edgeworth? It seems we've plenty of time to talk.

[Nonchalantly and openly, as if this were a normal conversation. A pleasant, polite look of interest on Charles' face.]

[He blinked in mild surprise. Immediately there was a shift in his manner, a warming so subtle it might not even be there. He had always felt a kind of kinship with teachers.] My apologies, Professor.

[He looked to the imposing manor house, silently agreeing with that estimation. There were no quick routes around a house that size. This he knew from experience.] I'm a public prosecutor...

[A moment's hesitation, as he stopped himself from mentioning what city he served. Assuming this was an Earth (never a guarantee with the community), the distance between Los Angeles and wherever he was might still raise questions.] What subjects do you teach, Professor?

Edited 2011-06-24 05:27 (UTC)

There's no need to apologize. [Calmly, patiently. After a moment's thought, he adds:]

What kind of cases do you prefer, Mr. Edgeworth?

[If the rest of the conversation could be called halting, here at least he sounds completely genuine. Warmth, the kind from within. The kind that came without having to make sure he said the right words.]

Genetics, primarily. I've studied psychology, though, which certainly helps. It doesn't matter so much what we teach as much as how we teach it.

[His mistrust flared for a moment as 'psychology' hit the air. 'Psych--' would forever carry a negative connotation for him, but the word was obviously not the one he instinctively feared. In another moment he was soothed, calmed by the man's obvious affinity for his work. Yet another thing they could share.] True enough. Though speaking from a former student's perspective, the 'what' does have some bearing on it. I'm afraid the most skilled teacher in the world couldn't make me feel about genetics the way I feel about law or sociology.

[He quickened his pace, coming up on his companion's side, and turned his head to give him his full attention for the first time since they started walking.] I handle one kind of case--homicides--almost exclusively. Fortunately, that also happens to be the kind I prefer.

[He understood that negative impulse, that innate distrust of dictating behaviors, whether learned or instinctive. When the momentary blip passed, Charles continued speaking, a bright smile to go with his uplifted mood.]

Perfectly reasonable. After all, you'd hardly consider yourself a prosecutor if you couldn't abide the classes to get there. And how societies form, develop, and interact is always worth pondering, even if I've not studied it.

[A bit of a pause here, as he tried to gather words. Not in an attempt to choose the right ones or to find a cue, but to put the field that defines him into words.]

Four nucleotides -- four chemicals-- form the basis for everything we are. Just four. Both the smallest and the largest differences in appearance, size, shape, and structure that exist across humanity come from just four chemicals forming a chain. We are such stuff as dreams are made on.

[He laughed, a kind of quiet chuckle.]

Does that help?

Edited 2011-06-24 06:30 (UTC)

It does indeed. In light of such an assessment I can't help but acknowledge the value of your chosen field of study.

[The polite, conciliatory tone shifts into something sharper, a confident presentation of evidence he saw as irrefutable.] However, I stand by my statement. The physical world is your passion, while mine is the world we make for ourselves. We look at life from very different angles. That kind of focus can't be easily taught without latent proclivities. Everyone has their innate strengths, and to be truly successful they must allow them to lead...as I did.

[His last words were only a half-truth. The taint of falsehood rolled through his mind, creasing his brow for a moment. Fortunately for him they had finally reached the house. Welcoming the distraction, he fell behind a few steps to allow the professor to lead the way.]

Of course. Everyone's shaped by their thoughts, by their perceptions, far more than the things we actually see and hear. The best teachers shift their style to suit the student, and not the other way around.

[He took a small breath, crossing the threshold of the mansion. Charles still was not entirely sure it counted as his. Echoes of excited voices filled the empty halls he knew all too well, and if nothing else, Charles counted himself grateful for that. He ignored the ping of falsehood when Edgeworth spoke, because to play the world's living lie detector would leave room for little else. Charles did what he always did: continued on.]

Won't be too much longer now, Mr. Edgeworth.

[At the pronouncement, Edgeworth realized with a start that he was still only half-clothed and probably filthy. Mentally (and vehemently) cursing the community, he followed the professor. A chill struck him the moment he entered the door, sending gooseflesh racing across his damp skin. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.] Thank God.

[He stood on the threshold a moment, taking in their surroundings. The place seemed like an extravagant dwelling for a professor, no matter how prestigious his school might be. Edgeworth wondered what other sources of income, like consulting jobs, he might have.] Though I must admit, in a place like this I can't bring myself to hurry all that much. A home like this should be savored.

[Not for the first time, he wondered how grand his life must appear to others. A luxurious mansion in a quiet county in New York didn't hinder the impression that he made. A home like his should be savored. He lived a life of such hardship. He didn't bother correcting him, because truly, who'd believe a life like his could be anything but glorious?]

Ah, thank you. I must admit, I'm still trying to find the right ways to appreciate it. I've only recently returned here.

[Such a quiet, empty place should be filled with something more. Not just for himself, but to benefit others. He kept walking through the halls, slowly but surely making his way to the spare wardrobe across fields of carpet, tile, and hardwood.]

[That struck a chord in Edgeworth. An image of his beloved LA flashed through his mind, and he felt a rush of warmth, an echo of the devotion he had developed, slowly but surely, upon his return to the city after a decade abroad.] Mm. It can be a long process, depending on what you left and what you had to come back to. Where did you return from? If you don't mind me asking.

[The answer may not help him determine where he was now, but at least it might tell him where he wasn't.]

[For most people, a place was more than just a place. Ties built and broken. Memories attached to street corners, apartments, and backroads only they knew. Finding out where a person called home, not just lived for a time, told as much about them as any rorschach test he'd ever heard of. Images flashed of Los Angeles, a thousand miles over the rim and far away. He gave a smile, warmer than usual, and answered him aloud.]

I don't mind. I've returned here from Oxford not terribly long ago. I spent a little time in Virginia between then and now, but it didn't suit my tastes so I wound up back here in New York.

[The smell of old books; the clean and precise outlines of military buildings; a lonely, empty house swiftly filling with people.]

Edited 2011-06-24 21:18 (UTC)

[The answer was more informative than he expected. The words 'New York' were met with a tiny trill of triumph. He knew where he was (vaguely) and now he was fairly certain he could keep up appearances however long he needed to.]

[Relieved, he treated his companion to a (very muted and brief) smile of his own.] Then you're an Oxford alum?

[More flashes--stately buildings, beautiful lawns, soft-spoken scholars, and above all, many hours spent poring over precious tomes in the Bodleian Law Library, breathing in the intoxicating scent of the books like he absorbed the knowledge contained in each and every page. He felt another wave of warmth...the kind of affection that could easily be transferred from a thing to the person who represented said thing in the present.]

Yes, I am. [Prideful. Not exactly arrogant, but with a well-worn sense of accomplishment. He felt the warmth coil from Mr. Edgeworth, a sense of familiarity and respect and inspiration. A kind of wobbling path that eventually lead to home. A sense of camaraderie enveloped him. A sense of understanding that runs deeper than rivers.]

Would you happen to be one as well?

[Hours and hours spent pouring over scientific data in the Radcliffe Library, hoping with each passing page he'd feel part of something bigger, something grand, less alone above all else. Ignoring the pouring torrent of thought around him by diving into books until the pages bled together in a wound of ink.]

Edited 2011-06-25 03:27 (UTC)

No, I was privately educated in Germany by... [His face revealed nothing of the pain that flared momentarily from that deep, unhealed chasm inside of him, betrayal and guilt and the ghostly remnants of affection long since soured.] ...one of the country's most acclaimed prosecutors. But I spent several years visiting various colleges across Europe to supplement and expand upon my studies. I remember Oxford quite fondly. Many were the hours I whiled away in the Bodleian Library.

Ah, I understand.

[Both his statement, and the growing darkness that lingered beneath. He spoke nothing of it, but wondered to himself over the pain from so many people that pulsed like another heartbeat.]

The hours I didn't spend at the Radcliffe Library, I whittled away at a pub. Weren't very many of those hours left, mind.

[With a fond smile, he added.]

It's a small world, isn't it?

Edited 2011-06-25 04:06 (UTC)

[He had always preferred a glass at home in the company of a good book to a night alone in a pub, but...]

It is. [Another smile quirked his lips, equally soft, almost introspective. Then a hint of dry humor entered his tone.] In fact, lately I've begun to think it's a small universe. Certainly smaller than what I once assumed.

[It was a way to learn control, more than anything. If he didn't pick up the skill, he'd be forced to spend the evening listening to every drunkards' innermost thoughts. Even an unceasing optimist like Charles couldn't imagine a worse night. The lessons paid off, and now he could limit himself to drink orders on demand.]

All the unknowns in heaven and earth can't quite measure up to the thoughts we have about them.

[He blinked in front of the ornate door, so enraptured in the conversation that he failed to notice his feet.]

Ah. Here we are, Mr. Edgeworth. I think you can handle getting a shirt on your own. [Dry humor to match.]

I'm not so sure about that. Several of those unknowns have recently become known to me, and each exceeded the farthest flung thoughts I might have had on them.

[He joined his host at the door, flashing him a smirk in appreciation for his little joke.] If I can't, you'll hear about it...assuming I can find you again.

I know the feeling. Believe me.

I'd like to assume.