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His conversations with Gene and Guppy have left Charles worried about Autor.

What he's doing is familiar as Charles spent a good part of his childhood observing and listening as he tried to figure out what to say, what he shouldn't say and how to not be thought mad. What helped him the most was Raven who would point out when he was being strange and rude. Though he also was willing to listen because he knew that people didn't like him and wanted them to.

He takes another sip of his Scotch and listens to Milliways with a search for any thoughts of Autor as he flips through the Sunday New York Times

(OOC: Charles is more actively listening than he normally does. Please add thoughts in narration and if they are thinking about Autor but not focusing with Charles, feel free to tag the thoughts in. Then Charles may come and talk to them. All threads happen before the one with Autor. Thank you.)

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Strangely enough, the thoughts Charles are listening for approach him and leave with a Doppler effect, though the boy in question is nowhere in sight.

...heavens, this escalated quickly. Maybe I should just burn them all. So tempting, but that would just make it worse.

"Effugium," Autor says, and drops from the air near his door as his flying carpet shrinks from under him. His fingers touch the doorknob with a spark of memories, conscious--better hide these bruises, do I have piano today?--and unconscious--gears, a girl, a raven.

Better move quick, Charles.

That effect of the thoughts is odd and Charles looks to follow them and jumps when Autor nears the door. He stands up and strides over,

"Leaving will only help so much, people here remember and Guppy is well liked."

Autor stiffens and draws a breath through his nose.

You're part of this, now? Well, thank you for the warning. I appreciate it. And deeper: How much does he know? How much? And deeper still, a pained laugh, overshadowing: Probably everything.

"Hello, Charles," he says, and leans back on the door, folding his arms. He projects the image of smug, confident, and completely impenetrable--for everyone else in the bar. There's no need to pretend for Charles, and he knows that the telepath will pick up on the fact that he's tired.

The kid is tired, and he'd really rather crawl up into a hole and die for a while, and his face--deliberately punched, but still painful--is stiff, and I am so tired of talking to people.

"Your dissertation was amazing."

"Will anyone bother you through your door or are there just different problems for you to record and try to understand? Thank you,"

His gaze softens as he wants to help but Autor doesn't make it easy.

Autor tilts his head a bit, unconsciously giving off the impression of a confused puppy. A confused, beaten puppy.

"That's... sort of presumptuous," he says, though he states it as a question. There are six different ways he could take that statement.

Wait, what? Bother me in what way? he thinks, furrowing his brow. Punches and rulers and crazy crazy crazy, and the idea that he can handle them all. And he can. Now. People at home don't bother me.

His hand inches towards the door. He can fall backwards if he needs to; it's sort of comforting to have an escape route which he can also lean on and feel less exposed.

"Are you suggesting that I think of people as problems to be understood?" he says, raising a brow. Yes and no. That's complicated. He has an image of pond scum--not a problem, but a symptom. "Aren't you the one who studies the mind and its variants as part of your genetics work?"

"Yes, it is, but I figured it would be better to be direct. I do, but I also do my best to help people and understand them when I see they're in pain or having trouble. I don't always do or say the right thing, when I was younger, I would often speak to thoughts that weren't said aloud. It got me in a great deal of trouble until I learned how to find the line between presuming to know what could be fixed and understanding. I still make mistakes because people and relationships are complicated. What you've been doing feels familiar to me. Listening, analyzing, trying to understand, but as you've seen, it doesn't take much for that to work against you,"

People as pond scum is an awful image and one he dislikes but he's not going to approach it yet. He doesn't move towards Autor, Charles isn't trying to stop him, he's trying to figure out how to help.

As Charles speaks, the pond scum image blooms again in Autor's head, and it's accompanied by research demonstrating that it's harmless, it's not an issue, it's beneficial unless excessive--which is a symptom, not a problem. Change a stagnant environment, and the pond as a whole flourishes.

His fingertips graze the doorknob again.

Then he narrows his eyes and pushes off the door. "Are you serious? You're trying to fix me based on the fact that I write down what I see? You're not even a part of this debacle."

He's lashing out, and he's aware that he's lashing out, and he's sorry, he's sorry, he'll regret it later and might even apologize if he's apologized to first, but right now he's not prepared for this, Charles, and he doesn't know why you're talking to him.

"I don't understand how what I did is any different from what you do even now--read people and make observations," he says bitterly, "except that I do so without the benefit of reaching into their heads whenever I damn well please. I actually ask them what they're thinking."

He bites the cut on his lip, thinking. "Security came after me because I wrote down information given to me willingly. I bet they've never even touched you."

"No, I'm not trying to fix you, I'm giving you some useful advice from someone who got in trouble for not being subtle with my observations," He takes a breathe to keep from saying something unfortunate,

"I've worked out my differences with people without the need of Security, because here I can be honest. That's also meant I've been threatened. Everyone does a variation on what you're doing, assessing, listening, but ask yourself what are you getting from it. Are people chess pieces to you or possible friends?"

"You're worried about me," he says, just realizing it. Shock, discomfort, and then immediate disapproval, followed by a whiplash of I can take care of myself, thank you very much, and You know you're just making this worse, right?

You are the biggest threat to me right now.

Autor's bubbling tar pit of fear and frustration burns away in a rapid, cleansing fire as he clasps his hands behind his back. Anger. Annoyance. A bit of betrayal, always, with Charles. And relief; he can work with these.

He smirks, outwardly calm. "Yes," he says, unnerved--people here are his friends. "Both." Because they have strengths and weaknesses, and I need to know how they move.

"But you... you're cheating at the chess game," he says, and stalks around him like a cat on the prowl. "You always have.

"You're worried about me," he says again, still surprised, "because you dragged every bit of information about me out with tenterhooks before being honest. You're worried about me, because you know everything about me without having asked me: where I come from, where I plan to go"--power, power, change the pond--"and why I'm in trouble now."

The boy straightens. "You're worried about me. Okay. But if the result is your poking around in my private business and then lecturing me on honesty while acting on information extracted from my head, then I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

(OOC: I love these two and how they're like strange almost mirror images of each other.)

"Autor, stop making assumptions. I know that you're in trouble because I spoke to Guppy and Gene and connected them with our previous interaction. If all that matters to you is why I'm worried about you then at this point, I probably won't be able to help you as you don't need or want my help," The stalking is annoying and makes Autor seem like he's trying to be Erik and Charles raises his eyebrows at the display.

"If you decide that you want my help, please come find me, because it was offered honestly and compassionately."

Then he turns and walks outside, he needs to gather his thoughts together and this a moment that he truly wishes Erik would walk through the door. Erik would understand Autor's anger better and his suspicion as Charles clearly isn't getting it.

"No, I don't," he says quietly, and stops walking. He'd never done the prowling thing before, so he's surprised at Charles' reaction. "I thought I made that abundantly clear."

The kid is a little sad about Charles, truth be told. His dissertation was fantastic, and Autor wanted to discuss the effect of recessive genes on Spinning powers.

The answer to the riddle is the letter 'e'.

Now, the boy finds the telepath--deep down, buried, stuffed away--terrifying. Frustrated by a man who claims to hear and listen, but doesn't understand, Autor watches him go. He jerks his own door open, and then realizes that he can't leave; things here are blowing up too quickly for him to even sleep.

With great effort, he quietly pushes it shut and heads to the library.

Edited 2013-05-14 09:11 (UTC)

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