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Who: Kurt Wagner & Manuel de la Rocha
When: Mid 2013
Where: Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters
What: Kurt's not the only student at the institute anymore! ...For better or worse.
Warnings: None
Kurt Wagner is fourteen years old. He’s lived here for sixteen months. Mr. Xavier told him that it would be good for him to show around the new resident, and Kurt readily agreed. He’d been working on languages with the professor’s help, and Mr. Xavier had placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and told him that he was a natural. He’d already become fluent in English and French. Spanish, too, theoretically. Except he hasn’t spoken to a native Spanish speaker yet. He was supposed to be ready.
But he’s not ready anymore.
Kurt’s standing stock still, tail almost frozen, as a car pulls into the circular driveway. Mr. Xavier in his wheelchair is next to him, and reaches out to take Kurt’s hand. Kurt in turn squeezes so tightly that Mr. Xavier tells him to stop.
« Don’t be afraid, Kurt. He’s just like you. » Charles speaks into his mind, promising safety and support. « Give him a chance. »
Manuel doesn't want to be here. He's been second guessing the decision to leave his home and come to New York ever since he made it.
The long trip was an effective reminder of why he needs to be here, though. There had been so many people and so many emotions. A cacophony of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he could shut it out. Sometimes he just had to let it in and try not to act on everything roiling around inside. It felt like drowning in other people. He'd left the airport off-balance and exhausted. Even now that's it behind him, the echoes of strangers seem to linger and his head is throbbing.
At least, nearing the end of the long drive to Salem Center, it's...quiet. Relatively quiet. He can sense the driver's controlled and apathetic professionalism, marred only by a hint of resentment. Maybe for the long trek to the middle of nowhere. Maybe for him. Manuel doesn't care, honestly, and lets his head rest against the cool glass of the window as they continue on. As they get closer to the institute, though, there's more. Nervousness. Eager optimism. Warm intention. Not Professor Xavier, who doesn't register with his sense at all, but someone else. Perhaps this should be reassuring, but he isn't certain how he feels as the car finally passes through the front gates, heads up the long driveway, and rolls to a stop.
Looking through the window, he can see Professor Xavier and Kurt, and he feels himself start with surprise. Then he stares. He can't quite help it. He's heard about mutants that look drastically different because of their mutations, but he's never seen one. He has a split second thought -- that his circumstance might not be so bad, that if he'd ended up like that his father would've -- but he ushers it all away. This is his...peer, presumably. So he needs to get it together. He looks away quickly and glances into the car's rear view mirror, where he busies himself with adjusting his already tidy hair and wishing he looked better than he feels. But there's not much that can be done about it now.
Pulling a breath, he steps out of the car.
Kurt is right there when the door opens. He has one three-fingered hand extended to shake Manuel’s, a bright toothy grin on his face. His tail betrays his confidence, however, as it remains low and still. Meeting new people is always a gamble. Charles told him to not be afraid, but he is. He can’t count the number of times someone has recoiled from his hand.
“Hallo,” he says, then, “no, wait. Sorry.” Kurt takes a deep breath and starts again.
“Hola.” Kurt has practiced this, eager to impress. “Bienvenidos al Instituto Xavier para Jóvenes Talentosos.” His accent is terrible.
Manuel doesn't recoil, but he does hesitate. Though this is as much a result of Kurt's too-eager disposition (and the incongruent tension beneath it) as his peculiar three-fingered hand. His gray eyes meet the other boy's strange yellow ones and he moves to shake his hand without much gusto. A practiced smile, however, is second nature.
"Se agradece."
He's surprised to be greeted in his native tongue and, even though Kurt's pronunciation and pace and effort make it clear he isn't fluent, he decides to continue in kind. English is almost certainly their shared language and his English is quite good, but his head is still aching and if he doesn't have to put in the additional effort he doesn't see a reason to. Besides...he's curious.
"I'm Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha. A pleasure. You must be Kurt Wagner. The Professor mentioned it would just be the two of us for now." He, mercilessly, delivers this introduction as he would to anyone back home and waits.
Kurt freezes, not letting go of Manuel’s hand as he faces his own sub-par understanding of Spanish. Not just his flaws in his studious determination, but the extra complication of the soft lisp in the new boy’s speech. He’s read about it, but never thought about it. His tail starts to lash back and forth nervously.
“Ach, ja,” he fumbles, “y tu eres Manuel de la Rocha.” But the result is Manvel dah lah Rokha. It’s too late when he realizes he’s only repeating himself. Or Manuel. Or whatever script he hid in his head.
Manuel's lips twitch, the polite smile giving way to an amused smirk as the other boy panics and verbally stumbles. That answers his questions, at least. He withdraws his hand and slips by Kurt to grab his suitcase from the trunk of the car, feeling Professor Xavier's eyes on his back as he turns away.
Before he can respond to Kurt, the man interjects with a calm and authoritative tone that tells him his game is over. "It's good to see you again, Manuel. We're glad to have you. I trust your trip was uneventful?"
"...Yes, sir," he responds once he's facing them again, tone polite but stiff. Uneventful is not the way he would describe the last fifteen hours. But he's not about to admit as much in front of either of them. Especially Kurt who, no matter how seemingly benign, is a complete stranger to him. And if the telepath wants the truth, he can get it himself. Assuming he hasn't already.
The Professor nods to him and to the driver, who wastes no time in pulling away and heading back toward the gate, then brings his hands together in front of him. "As Kurt said, this is the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. I created it as a haven for young mutants like yourselves; as a place where you can live and grow and hone your abilities. Like we talked about." The man smiles, seemingly sincere in his hope for this place and for them. "Unfortunately, I have some business I have to attend to, but Kurt has agreed to show you around. Help you get settled. You and I can speak privately in my office this evening and I can answer any other questions you might have."
As the man talks, Manuel glances toward the school and back again and then finally over at Kurt. His guide, apparently. "Eso me parece bien. We can...get to know each other, no?"
Kurt clears his throat, face still feeling warm from embarrassment. He quickly glides over with catlike movements until he’s standing next to Xavier again, his right hand man. There’s a certain comfort in lingering close to the man, even though he’s about to leave Kurt alone with Manuel.
“Ja,” he confirms. “I will show you where your room is, and then give you a tour of the mansion.”
“Thank you, Kurt,” the Professor adds as he starts his calm retreat back into the mansion. « We can speak later tonight as well. »
And then it’s just Kurt and this stranger. He can only tolerate the silence for a moment before he’s filling it again. “And you are probably hungry. There’s a kitchen, and a library, and… I will show you all of it.”
The moment of silence after Professor Xavier leaves them doesn't last long and Manuel isn't at all surprised. The other boy is nervous and wary. Eager to make a good impression. Even without his empathic sense, he'd have to be blind to miss that barbed tail twitching back and forth like an anxious cat's. Part of him is tempted to push his advantage, twist Kurt up a little more with his words or his powers, and he doesn't even know why.
Desgracia compartida, menos sentida, as they say.
Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment and dips one hand into his coat pocket while the other boy talks. He pulls out a plastic container and opens it and neatly swallows a small, white pill. Then he returns the container to his pocket and his attention Kurt without missing a beat.
"I'm in your hands," he answers wryly, hefting his suitcase and preparing to follow, "Lead the way."
Kurt opens his mouth, then shuts it again immediately. What’s that? is on the tip of his tongue, but he knows perfectly well that you can’t just ask people about whatever pills they’re taking. The curiosity clings to him, though.
Kurt nods quickly and walks (slightly feline, balancing on his toes) with Manuel to the large double doors, hurrying to be the good host so that his charge can enter with his suitcase. By now Kurt’s so well accustomed to the layout of the mansion that he doesn’t usually bother with the door. He could easily teleport the suitcase up to the assigned room, or taken Manuel with him from room to room. He used to resist the urge to teleport, knowing how people gasped and flinched, but now it’s harder not to.
“Why did you decide to come here?” Kurt asks just as they walk into the opulent foyer. Dark wood, oil paintings, brass furnishings. It’s silent aside from the constant ticking of a grandfather clock.
While Manuel doesn't acknowledge Kurt's rush of curiosity, or the tense uncertainty that prevents him from expressing it, he does feel it. And ignore it. He starts walking, watching the other boy's agile movements as he passes him by and opens the doors for them both. It's...uncanny. But he's already decided he isn't going to stare.
Looks aside, they're in the same miserable boat on the same uncertain waters.
He gives Kurt a nod and steps inside, pausing to take in where he'll be staying for...however long it takes to get his powers under control. It's not bad, but the striking lack of familiarity makes him remember how far he is from home and everything he knows. Everything he is. It's a welcome distraction when his guide speaks up.
"My powers have become...a problem," he answers, looking around at Kurt with a shrug, "I need to solve that problem. Why are you here?" The answer is probably obvious, but maybe he'll be surprised.
For the first time, Kurt turns completely away from Manuel, no longer glancing behind him. It’s theoretically in the name of leading him up one of the grand staircases that will bring them to the dormitories. Luckily, it hides his face, too.
“My foster family was not able to take care of me anymore,” he explains with a sigh, keeping his tail low and still. Kurt doesn’t know that Manuel hardly needs to see his face to feel the visceral discomfort and guilt, like it all happened yesterday. The sliver of grief is still razor sharp. A deep current of older, darker sadness undercutting all of it. “So when the Professor met me, he decided it would be better for me to come to America.”
The question may've been a misstep.
The emotions, all complicated and pained, rush over Manuel like cold water and his attempt to brace for it isn't quite enough to keep everything out. He senses it. He feels it and the ache is sharp enough to prompt hot tears to well up in his eyes. Guilt for some unknown transgression feels like a weight on his chest. But...no. Mentally exhausted or not, he isn't going to allow this. He pulls in a steadying breath, finds his own emotions, and holds to them fiercely.
He'll take his resentment and uncertainty to the soft-hearted boy's sadness and guilt any day.
With Kurt's back still to him, he impatiently wipes his treacherous eyes and responds evenly, "...Probably for the best, then. The man seems to have a talent for arriving when he's needed." He continues to follow, the impulse to soothe Kurt's pain and make this conversation less uncomfortable for both of them almost getting the better of him. But he isn't prepared to give himself away just yet.
"...Do you like it here?"
Kurt doesn’t shake off the pain so much as put it away. It’s something that never really leaves him, but he’s practiced at compartmentalizing. It’s easier to overlook, even though just like Kurt, once Manny’s seen it, the dull ache never really goes away.
“Ja, I do. Very much,” he says, gracefully hopping up onto the banister and walking along it even more comfortably than the stairs. When he reaches the top, he turns to grin at Manuel, balancing weightlessly. “The Professor adopted me, but you are here as a geliebter Gast. Anything you need, I will help you find it.”
Well...so much for not staring.
Manuel never would've been prepared for the other boy to nimbly leap onto the banister and move along it like a practiced acrobat, but he certainly isn't now, with the echo of Kurt's unpleasant emotions still reverberating through his empathic sense. He blinks, opens his mouth to respond, and finds himself at a loss. The other boy makes it look so easy. Effortless, in fact. To his own surprise, he just smiles and continues up the stairs until he passes by his classmate.
"Show-off," he finally calls back, tone dry but undeniably playful. He assumes that his guide will catch up and resume his duties. If he is, indeed, a ‘geliebter Gast’. Whatever that means.
That makes Kurt laugh, even feeling a little proud of his own theatrics. That darkness that Manuel could sense starts to ebb, washed away by Kurt’s other, louder emotions that he readily indulges in. He keeps walking along the railing until he has to hop off, pointing his guest down another hall. This one is lined with doors, each sporting a number and a blank name tag. Except, of course, for the one at the very end of the hall labeled WAGNER, K.
Kurt stops right before they reach that one.
“You will be my neighbor,” he explains, fishing in the pocket of his jacket until he locates a small key. He offers it to the other boy.
While that undercurrent of pain remains, Manuel feels it retreating more and more as Kurt leaves the topic of his past behind him. It doesn't disappear completely, but soon it's a drop in an ocean. He's happy again. Eager to please again. Even proud.
Good. That's better for both of them.
Once they reach the end of the hallway, he accepts the key from Kurt and turns it over in his hand. "The only one, no? It...really is just us here," he says, tone pensive, though it's not actually a question. He can sense that there's nobody else here. Beyond the other boy's vibrant emotions, there's a void. For now, that's a relief.
He inserts the key into the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The room is plain, but larger than he'd expected and comfortably furnished. Nothing to write home about (not that he would anyway), but not unwelcoming either. Slowly, he steps inside and sets his suitcase on the floor beside the bed, all the while taking the space in. His space now, he supposes.
“Just us for now.” This is what Charles has been telling him from the beginning. Manuel is the first sign of change, and Kurt’s eager. Or nervous. Sometimes he dreads the idea of being surrounded by peers again. The Professor won’t have to work with Kurt anymore, he’ll have students like Manuel to focus on.
“This room is just yours. No, uh, roommates, ja?” Kurt remains in the doorway, watching Manuel inspect the room. “Your packages will be delivered to your room. Ach, and if you need a computer, the Professor will have one set up on your desk.”
"...For now," Manuel acknowledges, turning back to Kurt. He feels similarly conflicted about the proposition of more students, though for his own reasons. Living in this remote house with just the three of them seems...a little depressing. Lonely, maybe. But living surrounded by young mutants, with all the intense emotions of typical teenagers and at least twice the baggage, is an overwhelming prospect. His head might just crack open in protest. Unless Professor Xavier can actually help him like he claimed, of course.
He listens while Kurt talks, explaining the mundane but important details that he can't bring himself to care about just now. He nods his understanding before abruptly changing the subject.
"So. You're my guide, no? You'll take me wherever I want to go?"
Kurt stops, watching Manny carefully with his large yellow eyes. For a normal human, Kurt would be hard to read, but for Manny the curiosity and caution are pungent. His guide is clearly not one who experiences subtle emotions.
“As long as it’s within, hmmmm… five kilometers,” he admits, cautious but interested.
For a moment, Manuel wonders if his English is failing him and he peers at Kurt with a bemused expression. If this is a serious response, he doesn't understand it. If this is a joke, he understands it even less. He crosses his arms and squares his shoulders, as if he can somehow posture himself back into a position of control and comprehension.
"Why...five kilometers?"
For the first time, Manuel can sense a needle of wicked playfulness from his guide. Kurt’s grin shows off his teeth, bone white and fanged like a cat. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just the promise that Manuel won’t know what’s going to happen next.
“Do you want to see for yourself?”
Manuel still doesn't understand, but that spark of puckish glee instantly catches his attention. He's curious. Curious enough that he's willing to step out onto a limb and let this strange, bright-eyed boy show him....something.
"...Sí. I want to."
Kurt reaches out and holds Manuel’s hand. There’s a split second where he takes in a deep breath, and then they’re both ripped away.
It’s instantaneous. A fragment of heat and dizziness; Manuel cut off from the web of planar emotions, his guide being the only constant. The fire is immediately replaced with cool New England air as they’re dropped to a standstill.
Purple-blue smoke glows around Kurt as Manuel stands with him on a private dock. A small lake that resides on the property. The scent of sulfur mixes with mildew, grass and water. The sun is just beginning to dip behind the trees. Kurt is laughing.
The feeling of suddenly being ripped from one dimension into another and back again is too much for the unprepared Manuel. By the time they appear on the dock, only a moment later, his head is reeling and he feels like he might retch. He pulls away from Kurt but only makes it a step or two before he's doubled over and bracing his hands against his knees, struggling to get his bearings.
The first thing that comes back into focus is the sound of Kurt laughing and the disoriented empath shoots him a glare, his hackles instantly rising. "¡Cállate!" Reflexively, he lashes out and digs the claws of his pathokinesis deep into Kurt's mind, filling him with awed fear. Enough to keep him away. Enough to keep him from doing...whatever that was again. Enough to force the other boy to stop laughing at him. His eyes start to glow, flooding with violet light.
But only for a moment.
The acrid smoke dissipates. His mind starts to clear and his stomach starts to settle. Slowly, he withdraws but he doesn't take his eyes off Kurt. He doesn't seem to know what to say.
Kurt is sitting down on the planks of the dock, alternatively coughing and feeling like he, too, might puke into the lake. Tears are running down his cheeks, getting lost in the fur. It takes some time for his mind to settle as actual thoughts instead of red hot emotion return to him. His heart is beating so fast that he feels lightheaded. It doesn’t leave as quickly as it should. He’s felt this kind of terror before and recoils from the other boy, tail lashing angrily.
He finally remembers Manuel, catching just the hint of glowing eyes, and stares back at him with wild yellow ones. “Was hast du mit mir gemacht?!” His voice is rough and half-wild, teeth bared.
Still on his feet, Manuel takes another few steps away from Kurt as he feels the fear he'd imposed shifting into confusion and anger. Those bared teeth almost prompt him to act again. He could make him calm or he could pull everything he's feeling out of him until there's nothing at all. He’s certain he could control this situation by force if he chose to.
Well. Fairly certain.
But he stops himself and pulls in a breath instead, attempting to keep his expression composed. "...I don't speak German," he replies flatly after a too-long pause.
Kurt’s eyes don’t leave Manuel, but his posture relaxes, shifting from feral back into an irritated teenage boy. He glowers a little at the obvious fact that of course Charles’ new guest doesn’t speak German. (As though it were a mistake Charles and Manuel had made.) Kurt doesn’t stand up, but instead moves into a not-quite-human crouch, balanced on his toes as he continues to watch Manuel. Just in case the situation changes again.
“I said,” he begins again, voice less hoarse, “what did you do to me? Is that your—?”
"My power? ...Part of it," Manuel concedes, still tense and still trying to appear as though he's not. But Kurt's anger is no longer as intense, as volatile, as it had seemed a moment ago and that gives him some reassurance. He crosses his arms, seeming to consider his words before he continues. "I altered your brain chemistry. I made you afraid of me. But I let you go."
As if this absolves him of any potential wrongdoing. He shrugs.
"You deserved it, you know. Whatever you did..."
What Kurt had done is clear (or, clearer, at least) now that he's no longer reeling from the effects of it. He'd somehow transported them from his room to...wherever this is. Somewhere within five kilometers, he assumes, and the realization prompts a wry smile. It's an impressive trick, no doubt about that, but he'll probably walk back.
But I let you go, rubs Kurt the wrong way, but he cautiously raises back up to a standing position anyway. A little voice in the back of his head remembers that the Professor specifically told him not to teleport anyone without warning them first. He’s going to get in so much trouble for his stupid impulse, thinking it would be so funny, maybe even impress Manuel… especially if Manuel stays angry with him.
“I teleported you.” Kurt puffs out his chest, trying to look proud and confident. “This is Breakstone Lake. It is part of the institute.”
This revelation prompts Manuel to turn, fully taking in everything around them for the first time. The still, serene water. The old dock under his feet. And, as Kurt had suggested, the mansion in the distance. They haven't gone too far, but they'd arrived in the blink of an eye. It's remarkable in retrospect...but now isn't the time to acknowledge that. He's feeling a little too petty, a little too shaken, to validate Kurt's pride. Or, at least, the pride he's attempting to conjure.
"...Does it always feel like that?" he asks instead, wondering if Kurt will even know what he means. He'd arrived here with an aching head and exhausted body, after all. It's possible that he just hadn't been prepared for...that.
Kurt starts to fidget, taking his tail in his hands and pretending like he’s brushing some debris off of it. When he thinks Manuel isn’t looking, he glances up to watch his reaction to the scenery in front of them. Kurt misses the snowy peaks and mountains of his childhood, but still loves the expanse of trees here.
“It feels like nothing to me.” And there’s no bragging behind the statement. Teleporting feels as exotic to Kurt as signing his name or executing a backflip. Just a thing he can do. Eventually, however, the guilt sneaks in. He’s not enough of an idiot to ignore what people tell him about the experience. “But I took you through another dimension. People tell me it isn’t always nice.”
Another dimension.
This statement gives Manuel visible pause. Even in a world full of mutants, this concept is outlandish and strange and difficult to wrap his mind around. But his sense tells him that Kurt is being serious and sincere, that there's no doubt about what he's saying, so...what choice does he have but to accept it? His brow furrows and he glances over at his new classmate again.
He doesn't appreciate that he'd been put through that intentionally and without warning, but his indignity is currently taking a back seat to his curiosity.
"Do people get used to it?" he inquires, "Like getting your....'sea legs'?"
“The Professor thinks so,” Kurt says, although he’s not completely convinced of it. Finally calm enough, Kurt walks past Manuel (still giving him a wide berth) to sit down on the edge of the dock. “It is hard to know when I don’t have anyone to practice with. Sometimes I even make myself sick if I—” Kurt’s returning smile turns into a grimace. He really shouldn't have done this to Manuel. “Sorry.”
Feeling certain now that Kurt is no threat to him, Manuel doesn't react as the other boy walks by him to reach the end of the dock. He does turn toward him, though, listening thoughtfully as he talks about his power. Then the guilt rises up again, overtaking everything else, and the empath finally decides to offer some reprieve.
"It's quite impressive. Teleportation. But a warning would be appreciated next time," he says easily, now far enough removed from the experience to downplay it, "And...I should not have reacted like I did. It was impulse. Lo siento. I am sorry." After a pause, he steps close enough to lean over and offer his hand to Kurt, a further sign of trust given how all this had started. "Truce?"
“Truce.” Their hands clasp, and both of them stay exactly where they are.
When: Mid 2013
Where: Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters
What: Kurt's not the only student at the institute anymore! ...For better or worse.
Warnings: None
Kurt Wagner is fourteen years old. He’s lived here for sixteen months. Mr. Xavier told him that it would be good for him to show around the new resident, and Kurt readily agreed. He’d been working on languages with the professor’s help, and Mr. Xavier had placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and told him that he was a natural. He’d already become fluent in English and French. Spanish, too, theoretically. Except he hasn’t spoken to a native Spanish speaker yet. He was supposed to be ready.
But he’s not ready anymore.
Kurt’s standing stock still, tail almost frozen, as a car pulls into the circular driveway. Mr. Xavier in his wheelchair is next to him, and reaches out to take Kurt’s hand. Kurt in turn squeezes so tightly that Mr. Xavier tells him to stop.
« Don’t be afraid, Kurt. He’s just like you. » Charles speaks into his mind, promising safety and support. « Give him a chance. »
Manuel doesn't want to be here. He's been second guessing the decision to leave his home and come to New York ever since he made it.
The long trip was an effective reminder of why he needs to be here, though. There had been so many people and so many emotions. A cacophony of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he could shut it out. Sometimes he just had to let it in and try not to act on everything roiling around inside. It felt like drowning in other people. He'd left the airport off-balance and exhausted. Even now that's it behind him, the echoes of strangers seem to linger and his head is throbbing.
At least, nearing the end of the long drive to Salem Center, it's...quiet. Relatively quiet. He can sense the driver's controlled and apathetic professionalism, marred only by a hint of resentment. Maybe for the long trek to the middle of nowhere. Maybe for him. Manuel doesn't care, honestly, and lets his head rest against the cool glass of the window as they continue on. As they get closer to the institute, though, there's more. Nervousness. Eager optimism. Warm intention. Not Professor Xavier, who doesn't register with his sense at all, but someone else. Perhaps this should be reassuring, but he isn't certain how he feels as the car finally passes through the front gates, heads up the long driveway, and rolls to a stop.
Looking through the window, he can see Professor Xavier and Kurt, and he feels himself start with surprise. Then he stares. He can't quite help it. He's heard about mutants that look drastically different because of their mutations, but he's never seen one. He has a split second thought -- that his circumstance might not be so bad, that if he'd ended up like that his father would've -- but he ushers it all away. This is his...peer, presumably. So he needs to get it together. He looks away quickly and glances into the car's rear view mirror, where he busies himself with adjusting his already tidy hair and wishing he looked better than he feels. But there's not much that can be done about it now.
Pulling a breath, he steps out of the car.
Kurt is right there when the door opens. He has one three-fingered hand extended to shake Manuel’s, a bright toothy grin on his face. His tail betrays his confidence, however, as it remains low and still. Meeting new people is always a gamble. Charles told him to not be afraid, but he is. He can’t count the number of times someone has recoiled from his hand.
“Hallo,” he says, then, “no, wait. Sorry.” Kurt takes a deep breath and starts again.
“Hola.” Kurt has practiced this, eager to impress. “Bienvenidos al Instituto Xavier para Jóvenes Talentosos.” His accent is terrible.
Manuel doesn't recoil, but he does hesitate. Though this is as much a result of Kurt's too-eager disposition (and the incongruent tension beneath it) as his peculiar three-fingered hand. His gray eyes meet the other boy's strange yellow ones and he moves to shake his hand without much gusto. A practiced smile, however, is second nature.
"Se agradece."
He's surprised to be greeted in his native tongue and, even though Kurt's pronunciation and pace and effort make it clear he isn't fluent, he decides to continue in kind. English is almost certainly their shared language and his English is quite good, but his head is still aching and if he doesn't have to put in the additional effort he doesn't see a reason to. Besides...he's curious.
"I'm Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha. A pleasure. You must be Kurt Wagner. The Professor mentioned it would just be the two of us for now." He, mercilessly, delivers this introduction as he would to anyone back home and waits.
Kurt freezes, not letting go of Manuel’s hand as he faces his own sub-par understanding of Spanish. Not just his flaws in his studious determination, but the extra complication of the soft lisp in the new boy’s speech. He’s read about it, but never thought about it. His tail starts to lash back and forth nervously.
“Ach, ja,” he fumbles, “y tu eres Manuel de la Rocha.” But the result is Manvel dah lah Rokha. It’s too late when he realizes he’s only repeating himself. Or Manuel. Or whatever script he hid in his head.
Manuel's lips twitch, the polite smile giving way to an amused smirk as the other boy panics and verbally stumbles. That answers his questions, at least. He withdraws his hand and slips by Kurt to grab his suitcase from the trunk of the car, feeling Professor Xavier's eyes on his back as he turns away.
Before he can respond to Kurt, the man interjects with a calm and authoritative tone that tells him his game is over. "It's good to see you again, Manuel. We're glad to have you. I trust your trip was uneventful?"
"...Yes, sir," he responds once he's facing them again, tone polite but stiff. Uneventful is not the way he would describe the last fifteen hours. But he's not about to admit as much in front of either of them. Especially Kurt who, no matter how seemingly benign, is a complete stranger to him. And if the telepath wants the truth, he can get it himself. Assuming he hasn't already.
The Professor nods to him and to the driver, who wastes no time in pulling away and heading back toward the gate, then brings his hands together in front of him. "As Kurt said, this is the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. I created it as a haven for young mutants like yourselves; as a place where you can live and grow and hone your abilities. Like we talked about." The man smiles, seemingly sincere in his hope for this place and for them. "Unfortunately, I have some business I have to attend to, but Kurt has agreed to show you around. Help you get settled. You and I can speak privately in my office this evening and I can answer any other questions you might have."
As the man talks, Manuel glances toward the school and back again and then finally over at Kurt. His guide, apparently. "Eso me parece bien. We can...get to know each other, no?"
Kurt clears his throat, face still feeling warm from embarrassment. He quickly glides over with catlike movements until he’s standing next to Xavier again, his right hand man. There’s a certain comfort in lingering close to the man, even though he’s about to leave Kurt alone with Manuel.
“Ja,” he confirms. “I will show you where your room is, and then give you a tour of the mansion.”
“Thank you, Kurt,” the Professor adds as he starts his calm retreat back into the mansion. « We can speak later tonight as well. »
And then it’s just Kurt and this stranger. He can only tolerate the silence for a moment before he’s filling it again. “And you are probably hungry. There’s a kitchen, and a library, and… I will show you all of it.”
The moment of silence after Professor Xavier leaves them doesn't last long and Manuel isn't at all surprised. The other boy is nervous and wary. Eager to make a good impression. Even without his empathic sense, he'd have to be blind to miss that barbed tail twitching back and forth like an anxious cat's. Part of him is tempted to push his advantage, twist Kurt up a little more with his words or his powers, and he doesn't even know why.
Desgracia compartida, menos sentida, as they say.
Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment and dips one hand into his coat pocket while the other boy talks. He pulls out a plastic container and opens it and neatly swallows a small, white pill. Then he returns the container to his pocket and his attention Kurt without missing a beat.
"I'm in your hands," he answers wryly, hefting his suitcase and preparing to follow, "Lead the way."
Kurt opens his mouth, then shuts it again immediately. What’s that? is on the tip of his tongue, but he knows perfectly well that you can’t just ask people about whatever pills they’re taking. The curiosity clings to him, though.
Kurt nods quickly and walks (slightly feline, balancing on his toes) with Manuel to the large double doors, hurrying to be the good host so that his charge can enter with his suitcase. By now Kurt’s so well accustomed to the layout of the mansion that he doesn’t usually bother with the door. He could easily teleport the suitcase up to the assigned room, or taken Manuel with him from room to room. He used to resist the urge to teleport, knowing how people gasped and flinched, but now it’s harder not to.
“Why did you decide to come here?” Kurt asks just as they walk into the opulent foyer. Dark wood, oil paintings, brass furnishings. It’s silent aside from the constant ticking of a grandfather clock.
While Manuel doesn't acknowledge Kurt's rush of curiosity, or the tense uncertainty that prevents him from expressing it, he does feel it. And ignore it. He starts walking, watching the other boy's agile movements as he passes him by and opens the doors for them both. It's...uncanny. But he's already decided he isn't going to stare.
Looks aside, they're in the same miserable boat on the same uncertain waters.
He gives Kurt a nod and steps inside, pausing to take in where he'll be staying for...however long it takes to get his powers under control. It's not bad, but the striking lack of familiarity makes him remember how far he is from home and everything he knows. Everything he is. It's a welcome distraction when his guide speaks up.
"My powers have become...a problem," he answers, looking around at Kurt with a shrug, "I need to solve that problem. Why are you here?" The answer is probably obvious, but maybe he'll be surprised.
For the first time, Kurt turns completely away from Manuel, no longer glancing behind him. It’s theoretically in the name of leading him up one of the grand staircases that will bring them to the dormitories. Luckily, it hides his face, too.
“My foster family was not able to take care of me anymore,” he explains with a sigh, keeping his tail low and still. Kurt doesn’t know that Manuel hardly needs to see his face to feel the visceral discomfort and guilt, like it all happened yesterday. The sliver of grief is still razor sharp. A deep current of older, darker sadness undercutting all of it. “So when the Professor met me, he decided it would be better for me to come to America.”
The question may've been a misstep.
The emotions, all complicated and pained, rush over Manuel like cold water and his attempt to brace for it isn't quite enough to keep everything out. He senses it. He feels it and the ache is sharp enough to prompt hot tears to well up in his eyes. Guilt for some unknown transgression feels like a weight on his chest. But...no. Mentally exhausted or not, he isn't going to allow this. He pulls in a steadying breath, finds his own emotions, and holds to them fiercely.
He'll take his resentment and uncertainty to the soft-hearted boy's sadness and guilt any day.
With Kurt's back still to him, he impatiently wipes his treacherous eyes and responds evenly, "...Probably for the best, then. The man seems to have a talent for arriving when he's needed." He continues to follow, the impulse to soothe Kurt's pain and make this conversation less uncomfortable for both of them almost getting the better of him. But he isn't prepared to give himself away just yet.
"...Do you like it here?"
Kurt doesn’t shake off the pain so much as put it away. It’s something that never really leaves him, but he’s practiced at compartmentalizing. It’s easier to overlook, even though just like Kurt, once Manny’s seen it, the dull ache never really goes away.
“Ja, I do. Very much,” he says, gracefully hopping up onto the banister and walking along it even more comfortably than the stairs. When he reaches the top, he turns to grin at Manuel, balancing weightlessly. “The Professor adopted me, but you are here as a geliebter Gast. Anything you need, I will help you find it.”
Well...so much for not staring.
Manuel never would've been prepared for the other boy to nimbly leap onto the banister and move along it like a practiced acrobat, but he certainly isn't now, with the echo of Kurt's unpleasant emotions still reverberating through his empathic sense. He blinks, opens his mouth to respond, and finds himself at a loss. The other boy makes it look so easy. Effortless, in fact. To his own surprise, he just smiles and continues up the stairs until he passes by his classmate.
"Show-off," he finally calls back, tone dry but undeniably playful. He assumes that his guide will catch up and resume his duties. If he is, indeed, a ‘geliebter Gast’. Whatever that means.
That makes Kurt laugh, even feeling a little proud of his own theatrics. That darkness that Manuel could sense starts to ebb, washed away by Kurt’s other, louder emotions that he readily indulges in. He keeps walking along the railing until he has to hop off, pointing his guest down another hall. This one is lined with doors, each sporting a number and a blank name tag. Except, of course, for the one at the very end of the hall labeled WAGNER, K.
Kurt stops right before they reach that one.
“You will be my neighbor,” he explains, fishing in the pocket of his jacket until he locates a small key. He offers it to the other boy.
While that undercurrent of pain remains, Manuel feels it retreating more and more as Kurt leaves the topic of his past behind him. It doesn't disappear completely, but soon it's a drop in an ocean. He's happy again. Eager to please again. Even proud.
Good. That's better for both of them.
Once they reach the end of the hallway, he accepts the key from Kurt and turns it over in his hand. "The only one, no? It...really is just us here," he says, tone pensive, though it's not actually a question. He can sense that there's nobody else here. Beyond the other boy's vibrant emotions, there's a void. For now, that's a relief.
He inserts the key into the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The room is plain, but larger than he'd expected and comfortably furnished. Nothing to write home about (not that he would anyway), but not unwelcoming either. Slowly, he steps inside and sets his suitcase on the floor beside the bed, all the while taking the space in. His space now, he supposes.
“Just us for now.” This is what Charles has been telling him from the beginning. Manuel is the first sign of change, and Kurt’s eager. Or nervous. Sometimes he dreads the idea of being surrounded by peers again. The Professor won’t have to work with Kurt anymore, he’ll have students like Manuel to focus on.
“This room is just yours. No, uh, roommates, ja?” Kurt remains in the doorway, watching Manuel inspect the room. “Your packages will be delivered to your room. Ach, and if you need a computer, the Professor will have one set up on your desk.”
"...For now," Manuel acknowledges, turning back to Kurt. He feels similarly conflicted about the proposition of more students, though for his own reasons. Living in this remote house with just the three of them seems...a little depressing. Lonely, maybe. But living surrounded by young mutants, with all the intense emotions of typical teenagers and at least twice the baggage, is an overwhelming prospect. His head might just crack open in protest. Unless Professor Xavier can actually help him like he claimed, of course.
He listens while Kurt talks, explaining the mundane but important details that he can't bring himself to care about just now. He nods his understanding before abruptly changing the subject.
"So. You're my guide, no? You'll take me wherever I want to go?"
Kurt stops, watching Manny carefully with his large yellow eyes. For a normal human, Kurt would be hard to read, but for Manny the curiosity and caution are pungent. His guide is clearly not one who experiences subtle emotions.
“As long as it’s within, hmmmm… five kilometers,” he admits, cautious but interested.
For a moment, Manuel wonders if his English is failing him and he peers at Kurt with a bemused expression. If this is a serious response, he doesn't understand it. If this is a joke, he understands it even less. He crosses his arms and squares his shoulders, as if he can somehow posture himself back into a position of control and comprehension.
"Why...five kilometers?"
For the first time, Manuel can sense a needle of wicked playfulness from his guide. Kurt’s grin shows off his teeth, bone white and fanged like a cat. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just the promise that Manuel won’t know what’s going to happen next.
“Do you want to see for yourself?”
Manuel still doesn't understand, but that spark of puckish glee instantly catches his attention. He's curious. Curious enough that he's willing to step out onto a limb and let this strange, bright-eyed boy show him....something.
"...Sí. I want to."
Kurt reaches out and holds Manuel’s hand. There’s a split second where he takes in a deep breath, and then they’re both ripped away.
It’s instantaneous. A fragment of heat and dizziness; Manuel cut off from the web of planar emotions, his guide being the only constant. The fire is immediately replaced with cool New England air as they’re dropped to a standstill.
Purple-blue smoke glows around Kurt as Manuel stands with him on a private dock. A small lake that resides on the property. The scent of sulfur mixes with mildew, grass and water. The sun is just beginning to dip behind the trees. Kurt is laughing.
The feeling of suddenly being ripped from one dimension into another and back again is too much for the unprepared Manuel. By the time they appear on the dock, only a moment later, his head is reeling and he feels like he might retch. He pulls away from Kurt but only makes it a step or two before he's doubled over and bracing his hands against his knees, struggling to get his bearings.
The first thing that comes back into focus is the sound of Kurt laughing and the disoriented empath shoots him a glare, his hackles instantly rising. "¡Cállate!" Reflexively, he lashes out and digs the claws of his pathokinesis deep into Kurt's mind, filling him with awed fear. Enough to keep him away. Enough to keep him from doing...whatever that was again. Enough to force the other boy to stop laughing at him. His eyes start to glow, flooding with violet light.
But only for a moment.
The acrid smoke dissipates. His mind starts to clear and his stomach starts to settle. Slowly, he withdraws but he doesn't take his eyes off Kurt. He doesn't seem to know what to say.
Kurt is sitting down on the planks of the dock, alternatively coughing and feeling like he, too, might puke into the lake. Tears are running down his cheeks, getting lost in the fur. It takes some time for his mind to settle as actual thoughts instead of red hot emotion return to him. His heart is beating so fast that he feels lightheaded. It doesn’t leave as quickly as it should. He’s felt this kind of terror before and recoils from the other boy, tail lashing angrily.
He finally remembers Manuel, catching just the hint of glowing eyes, and stares back at him with wild yellow ones. “Was hast du mit mir gemacht?!” His voice is rough and half-wild, teeth bared.
Still on his feet, Manuel takes another few steps away from Kurt as he feels the fear he'd imposed shifting into confusion and anger. Those bared teeth almost prompt him to act again. He could make him calm or he could pull everything he's feeling out of him until there's nothing at all. He’s certain he could control this situation by force if he chose to.
Well. Fairly certain.
But he stops himself and pulls in a breath instead, attempting to keep his expression composed. "...I don't speak German," he replies flatly after a too-long pause.
Kurt’s eyes don’t leave Manuel, but his posture relaxes, shifting from feral back into an irritated teenage boy. He glowers a little at the obvious fact that of course Charles’ new guest doesn’t speak German. (As though it were a mistake Charles and Manuel had made.) Kurt doesn’t stand up, but instead moves into a not-quite-human crouch, balanced on his toes as he continues to watch Manuel. Just in case the situation changes again.
“I said,” he begins again, voice less hoarse, “what did you do to me? Is that your—?”
"My power? ...Part of it," Manuel concedes, still tense and still trying to appear as though he's not. But Kurt's anger is no longer as intense, as volatile, as it had seemed a moment ago and that gives him some reassurance. He crosses his arms, seeming to consider his words before he continues. "I altered your brain chemistry. I made you afraid of me. But I let you go."
As if this absolves him of any potential wrongdoing. He shrugs.
"You deserved it, you know. Whatever you did..."
What Kurt had done is clear (or, clearer, at least) now that he's no longer reeling from the effects of it. He'd somehow transported them from his room to...wherever this is. Somewhere within five kilometers, he assumes, and the realization prompts a wry smile. It's an impressive trick, no doubt about that, but he'll probably walk back.
But I let you go, rubs Kurt the wrong way, but he cautiously raises back up to a standing position anyway. A little voice in the back of his head remembers that the Professor specifically told him not to teleport anyone without warning them first. He’s going to get in so much trouble for his stupid impulse, thinking it would be so funny, maybe even impress Manuel… especially if Manuel stays angry with him.
“I teleported you.” Kurt puffs out his chest, trying to look proud and confident. “This is Breakstone Lake. It is part of the institute.”
This revelation prompts Manuel to turn, fully taking in everything around them for the first time. The still, serene water. The old dock under his feet. And, as Kurt had suggested, the mansion in the distance. They haven't gone too far, but they'd arrived in the blink of an eye. It's remarkable in retrospect...but now isn't the time to acknowledge that. He's feeling a little too petty, a little too shaken, to validate Kurt's pride. Or, at least, the pride he's attempting to conjure.
"...Does it always feel like that?" he asks instead, wondering if Kurt will even know what he means. He'd arrived here with an aching head and exhausted body, after all. It's possible that he just hadn't been prepared for...that.
Kurt starts to fidget, taking his tail in his hands and pretending like he’s brushing some debris off of it. When he thinks Manuel isn’t looking, he glances up to watch his reaction to the scenery in front of them. Kurt misses the snowy peaks and mountains of his childhood, but still loves the expanse of trees here.
“It feels like nothing to me.” And there’s no bragging behind the statement. Teleporting feels as exotic to Kurt as signing his name or executing a backflip. Just a thing he can do. Eventually, however, the guilt sneaks in. He’s not enough of an idiot to ignore what people tell him about the experience. “But I took you through another dimension. People tell me it isn’t always nice.”
Another dimension.
This statement gives Manuel visible pause. Even in a world full of mutants, this concept is outlandish and strange and difficult to wrap his mind around. But his sense tells him that Kurt is being serious and sincere, that there's no doubt about what he's saying, so...what choice does he have but to accept it? His brow furrows and he glances over at his new classmate again.
He doesn't appreciate that he'd been put through that intentionally and without warning, but his indignity is currently taking a back seat to his curiosity.
"Do people get used to it?" he inquires, "Like getting your....'sea legs'?"
“The Professor thinks so,” Kurt says, although he’s not completely convinced of it. Finally calm enough, Kurt walks past Manuel (still giving him a wide berth) to sit down on the edge of the dock. “It is hard to know when I don’t have anyone to practice with. Sometimes I even make myself sick if I—” Kurt’s returning smile turns into a grimace. He really shouldn't have done this to Manuel. “Sorry.”
Feeling certain now that Kurt is no threat to him, Manuel doesn't react as the other boy walks by him to reach the end of the dock. He does turn toward him, though, listening thoughtfully as he talks about his power. Then the guilt rises up again, overtaking everything else, and the empath finally decides to offer some reprieve.
"It's quite impressive. Teleportation. But a warning would be appreciated next time," he says easily, now far enough removed from the experience to downplay it, "And...I should not have reacted like I did. It was impulse. Lo siento. I am sorry." After a pause, he steps close enough to lean over and offer his hand to Kurt, a further sign of trust given how all this had started. "Truce?"
“Truce.” Their hands clasp, and both of them stay exactly where they are.
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cute boys 😭 I love this
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the bit where they use their powers on each other and get all hackles raised was so good