King of Evil Hackers or Teacher of MSOffice?

[Christopher Bertrand]

((This is the recruitment thread for Christopher, with the generally expected outcome of him siding with the Institute as faculty; it takes place at a nondescript internet cafe in New York, and is open to any potential recruiters or anyone else, really))

Four o'clock in the afternoon, Wednesday, July 25th, 2007. Christopher sits in his usual seat, about ten feet out from the main entrance to the cafe, surrounded by others who have decided to enjoy the beautiful day along with the laptops and Internet chat partners, most of whom are sitting, as unknowingly as these are, inside the cafe. Christopher, on the other hand, is enjoying a glass of white wine and a cigarette, and there is absolutely no computer on his table. He has already used the Internet for all that he needed, having sent the emails to his friend and brother (a warm spark of memory makes itself known, and it concerns the latest meet he had with Wolfie, one of the rare few who actually are his friends, and the only one whom he calls a "best friend") and having checked up on the Internet security system at the bank that employs him, and so one finds him enjoying the view.

Rather, though, one just finds him. He does not really seem like he is enjoying anything, and in fact looks like the worst possible bastard in the world, just waiting to snap a nasty comment at anyone passing by. And yet, he really is enjoying the moment. He would smile (and a charming smile it would be), but it seems to require effort to do so, and he feels like it is forced, yet another reflex absent from his repertoire of displays of emotion. His most natural face position is the best that he has to offer- an even-hearted, cool look of someone who really doesn't give three cents for the rest of the world.

If someone was to force him to complain about something right now, it would be the torture through which a laptop at the table to the left of his is being put. From the very sound of it, it is obvious that the machine was not made to support highly demanding games, and the owner is forcing one of the newest first-shooter releases on a LAN game with a couple of nearby cafes. After a while, though, the buzzing stops, and Christopher can no longer sense the presence of the machine. It does not take a cyberpath to tell that the machine has officially stopped working and is, in fact, dead, nor does it take an empath to tell that the owner, a rather bulky-looking young man, perhaps not even out of high school yet, is angry. It would take, however, a telekinetic or Logan to deflect or dodge the incoming projectile wireless mouse, which smashes into Christopher's wine glass and spills the wine all over his black T-shirt. As the clothes get soaked, for the glass was almost full, and Christopher tries to leave as much of the wine in the glass as possible, his faces shows nothing but a general state of emotionless thought. The thought, however, is a raging steam engine.

Not only did he abuse the machine, but then he throws around a perfectly operational mouse, and to top it all off, spills Christopher's drink. Christopher gets up, walks to the bar, and then pays his bill, and then walks out to the street, ignoring the owner, who is by now fiercely trying to get his attention in order to apologize, perhaps aggravated that Christopher is ignoring him. As the young cyberpath starts to cross the street, carefully having observed the green light for pedestrians, the wireless mouse flies at his head, with a yell of "Take that, you bloody asshole!"

The mouse, naturally, hits its target, and Christopher falters, taking a few hasty steps forwards to keep his balance, only vaguely aware of people watching the scene. And then, as he crosses the street and the red flashes of pain, for it was a rather heavy and not in the least bit compact mouse, clear out from his site, he sees a car crash. Luckily, both drivers got out out of the accident unhurt, but the cars were completely wrecked.

He glances to the stoplight, and sees that it is showing a green light for cars on both corners. What the...oh no... he thinks, realizing that he had connected with the timer of the stoplights just seconds before in order to make sure he was going to make it across the street in time, and that the hit to the head caused him to send a certain amount of incoherency to the system, causing the lights to react like this.

"Merde" he lets the word fly out as he stares at the scene, watching the two drivers try to figure out what happened, seeing the stoplights change back to normal, and being the only one still paying attention to the matter- all the other spectators have decided that no one got hurt and therefore this was not an interesting scene to watch, and so got on with their business.

[Warren Worthington III]

Warren is grumbling to himself as he flies over what, as far as he can tell, is an utterly ordinary New York street corner, indistinguishable from the street corners a block away, or two blocks, or ten blocks. ‘Mutant activity,’ huh? Not as far as I can tell. Maybe the new Cerebro still needs some fine-tuning?

Of course, there could be mutants down there. Heck, there could be dozens; there’s no reliable way to tell… which is actually a good thing, in his opinion. I may not choose to pass for baseline, but there’s no reason other people shouldn’t have the option…. In fact, Warren isn’t entirely comfortable with the whole idea of Cerebro being used to track mutant activity, and was secretly pleased when Fury destroyed it.

But, there’s no putting the toothpaste back in the tube, and Warren knows it. Josh and Jake have been working on rebuilding the thing for over six months now, and apparently it’s working again… or at least it might be. Josh had seemed uncertain about it… apparently, it wasn’t supposed to be this sensitive yet, they’d just been testing its ability to filter out known mutants within the Institute, when some new signature had registered on it.

They’d freaked at first, thinking it meant some newly emerged Class 5 or something like that. Except, apparently not. Even eavesdropping on Josh and Jake’s mental conversation, Warren couldn’t make sense of the stuff they were trading back and forth; they seemed to have invented a whole new language just to talk about Cerebro with, but the bottom line was there was something anomalous about this new signature that made it unusually easy for Cerebro’s computer systems to interface with, and Warren “volunteered” to check it out, since he could get here in New York traffic faster than anything less obvious than the Blackbird.

Except there didn’t seem to be anything to check out… just your typical assortment of cafes, CD shops, clothing stores, etc. etc. etc. Granted, he’s only looking at the outdoors, and from quite a distance up in the air besides, but with his senses that shouldn’t be a problem if there was anything to see or hear.

His attention is briefly captured by a strange little fight in the outdoor courtyard of an Internet café – some over-steroided teenager losing his cool and throwing computer hardware around, getting outraged at an entirely mellow-looking guy who is apparently doing his best to ignore him – but nothing especially exceptional for a New York street-corner.

Then Mellow Guy gets hit in the head and the traffic lights glitch a second later, causing a crash, and Warren blinks in surprise. Ordinarily he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but given that he’s looking for a mutant who registers unusually on computer systems, it catches his attention. And the way the guy keeps watching long after everyone else has lost interest, as if he were somehow involved… and, come to think of it, the way he was the only person at that café who didn’t have a computer.

…um, scratch that, maybe. It’s not much, but I may have something… maybe someone with a power like Drake had for a while there? Curious, he drops down out of the sky, landing with a flutter of feathers on the sidewalk Chris is approaching.

"Wow," he comments in a friendly, conversational tone, indicating the traffic light with a tilt of his head, "that’s not something you see every day, huh? Wonder what happened to the lights…"

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> ‘Mutant activity,’ huh? Not as far as I can tell. Maybe the new Cerebro still needs some fine-tuning?

Back at the Institute, Josh rolls his eyes a little, and sends back with a mock-offended tone. Warren... it might, but Cerebro is an extension of my own powers, and I definitely felt something out of the ordinary right there. Josh keeps his own uncertainty to himself for the moment, though he's sure Warren can pick up on it. Cerebro might be feeding him some kind of strange false-positive glitch. But he doubted it.

If they'd followed all the instructions correctly, Cerebro II should be in (mostly) working order. The two of them had made some alterations. Thanks to Mystique, the entrance now scanned brainwave patterns rather than retinals. The mental interface had been slimmed down a little, and made wireless. They'd even been able to modify the main podium to support two telepaths at a time.

And added a chair. Josh feels a bit of a pang at that. Professor Xavier had never needed one, but he and Jake did. Sometimes you could get so into a session you'd forget to keep standing. Heck, sometimes I do that without Cerebro.

> …um, scratch that, maybe. It’s not much, but I may have something… maybe someone with a power like Drake had for a while there?

Josh reaches out, mentally manipulating the uplink to the Institute records. He lays out Bobby's former profile and puts it alongside the bits they'd recorded of the newcomer. Looking over at Jake, he gets a nod.

That's possible. Their mental signatures have something in common, anyway. Josh blinks a little, still impressed. It was effortless to communicate with Warren this way, despite the distance. Thanks to their mental link, it was almost as if he was there.

Jake had theorized that Cerebro's boost would enable him to employ more offensive uses of his telepathic abilities. Prior to this, he'd not had much luck with those skills - and with telekinesis as his primary offensive skill in combat, he'd not had much reason to develop those areas. I wonder... we'll see.

Any luck?

[Christopher Bertrand]

Just as Warren lands, Christopher reaches the sidewalk, and his eyes need only a second on the feathers to spark the realization of who it is. After all, one cannot be connected directly to the Internet for as long as Chris had once been without getting all the latest news. Lately, they have been so abundant that they've almost reached the category of spam.

>"Wow, that’s not something you see every day, huh? Wonder what happened to the lights…"

He stops in front of Warren, looking at him in the same, even-hearted way he always looks at people, and does not show the least bit of surprise for the other's presence. "Indeed. Perhaps it was a glitch caused by a mishandled maintenance check, or perhaps lack thereof." he says in a monotonous voice, inwardly cursing at himself for not being able to exert at least any bit of emotion, even if that emotion would have been guilt. What are the chances, after all, that Worthington would know that he is the one who caused the crash?

As the two people on the street keep on arguing, and Steroid Kid keeps on being pissed about his computer, Chris decides that he might as well try to make an acquaintance- he has not tried in a while now.

He tries to offer a friendly smile, but it ends up being a barely perceptible twitch of the lips, and thus gives up on attempting to communicate friendliness. Instead, he settles on persisting in his stare. Is it possible that still, after going through all those therapies, it is still so hard to simply smile as a reflex?

"I would offer to buy you a drink, but seeing how the most convenient cafe is still being occupied by an overly emotional teenager, and also how I have most of my drink on me, I am afraid I have finished with drinking for today." he says as he takes out a cigarette and lights it, his voice still as cold as ever. I wonder if I'll drive him off before even learning his name...or, well, hearing it from him.

[Warren Worthington III]

Warren is accustomed to a wide range of reactions from people he meets on the street. Some try to hit him, some try to hit on him, some run away, some try to sell him something, some try their best to act normal, some cheer him on.

He’s not accustomed to no reaction at all, which is exactly what he gets from this guy. Utterly unfazed… and not just by Warren, but by the honking traffic sounds all around him and the jerk who’d thrown things at him carrying on in the background and everything else. His voice is an emotionless monotone, his posture utterly uninflected, his word choice bizarre.

A year ago, Warren would have looked suspiciously at the teenager back in the café for some kind of mind-controlling zombification power, or something like that, but that was before he spent six months living with Drake during his MGH-induced “cyberpath” period. Now, this sort of behavior is actually fairly familiar. And when Josh confirms that Drake’s old mental signature has elements in common with this new anomalous mutant, that pretty much settles it.

> Any luck?
Looks that way… Warren lets Josh lift his memories of the last few minutes while he searches for a way to make casual conversation with Robot Guy.

> " I would offer to buy you a drink, but seeing how the most convenient cafe is still being occupied by an overly emotional teenager, and also how I have most of my drink on me, I am afraid I have finished with drinking for today"

Warren nods. "Yeah, I noticed your run-in with that guy. Was that something personal, or is he just a jerk?" He laughs a moment and adds "Not that it’s any of my business, just making conversation. I’m Warren, by the way." He extends a hand in greeting, then, remembering Drake’s difficulties with social cues, adds helpfully "What’s your name?"

[Christopher Bertrand]

> "Yeah, I noticed your run-in with that guy. Was that something personal, or is he just a jerk?"

Christopher quirks an eyebrow for a moment, wondering how to answer the question. "Depends on how you define personal. The boy raped his machine to death and then fell into a rage when I decided he was not quite the best conversational partner one can have. The phrase you used initially would be cast too loosely on the situation in its conventional meaning, and the word you used later would not even begin the story properly." he replies, all in almost one breath, and all before the next sentence Warren directs at him.

> "Not that it’s any of my business, just making conversation. I’m Warren, by the way."

He attempts to smile once more, and fails in the same fashion. "No, it is quite pleasant to have a proper conversation with someone new, really. It is, however, mildly vexing that, of all the individuals in this city, you would decide to talk with me. No tangible reason, should I say?" he replies, getting frustrated at the same time. Why does it always turn out like this? It is not as if he doesn't know the generalities, it is merely the fact that he latches onto everything, and therefore takes time to arrive to some things that are more common courtesy.

>"What’s your name?"

Such as telling one's own name.

Yet again a stream of curses flows through Chris's mind, but none make it even remotely close to the surface. His hand moves to his pocket in a flash, produces a cigarette out of a case, and then the other lights the thing as it is still headed for his mouth. Yes, that you have as a reflex, but a simple smile is a milestone.

"My name is Christopher Bertrand." he says, and this time manages a smile. His voice seems less cold, but perhaps forcedly so to those with a sharp feel for emotions, and his posture changes by just a tiny bit, indicating at least a gram of friendliness. It is the cigarette, as always. The more he smokes, the better he gets at socializing, as if the smoke itself was some sort of key. "Worthington would be your last name if I am correct? It is becoming harder and harder to avoid your presence, whether on the Internet, or in the newspapers. And now in life as well. One could easily receive the feeling of being stalked. I assure you, I did not steal anything that would be of any significant value. Then again, if I did, I would not be telling you anything about any kind of theft, now would I? What a profoundly idiotic way to strike a laugh, I do apologize." he says, ending up, the same as every time he tries to make a joke, examining the meaning, consequences, and sense of his words.

[Warren Worthington III]

> " One could easily receive the feeling of being stalked. I assure you, I did not steal anything that would be of any significant value. Then again, if I did, I would not be telling you anything about any kind of theft, now would I?"

Warren actually does laugh at that, although admittedly more out of a sense of social obligation than any genuine humor.

He’s further amused by the realization that nobody had ever said anything about what he was supposed to do when he found the anomalous mutant. Now that he’s clear that it’s not some panicked kid or rogue agent or island-destroying monstrosity, there’s no reason he can think of why he shouldn’t just say “Well, it’s been nice meeting you” and go home… after all, it’s not like the X-Men are going into the business of tracking and recruiting every mutant that appears on Cerebro’s scans.

No reason at all… except for the way this guy talks, and moves, and seems incapable of responding to a joke, let alone telling one. All of which reminds him altogether too much of Drake up until a couple of months ago. And of course, there’s no reason to believe this Bertrand guy is an MGH junkie, or that his power is going to get out of control and kill him… in fact, it almost unlikely won’t do anything of the sort. It makes absolutely no sense for Warren to feel that helping this guy out might somehow make up for not being any help to Drake at all… there’s not even a reason to believe he needs help.

None of which, he realizes, is even slowing him down.

"Well, that’s a novel variation on a theme. Ordinarily, I’m the one who feels stalked by all the coverage I get in the papers and the Internet… I never thought it made anyone else feel stalked by me. Anyway, you needn’t worry… I’m not tracking you down for anything, including theft." On the surface he appears calm and unworried; mentally he takes the equivalent of a deep breath and decides to stop playing games and do something a little risky.

"That said, I am looking for someone in this area… a mutant, probably with the ability to interface telepathically with computer systems. You don’t happen to know anyone like that around here, do you?"

[Christopher Bertrand]

>"Well, that’s a novel variation on a theme. Ordinarily, I’m the one who feels stalked by all the coverage I get in the papers and the Internet… I never thought it made anyone else feel stalked by me. Anyway, you needn’t worry… I’m not tracking you down for anything, including theft."

He nods simply, blowing a bit of smoke out his nose and taking another deep breath from the cigarette. "That is quite nice, but I still have not understood, and you still have not told me, why did you decide to talk to me?" he inquires, and then a few seconds later his mind does a backflip as Warren explains what he is doing.

>"That said, I am looking for someone in this area… a mutant, probably with the ability to interface telepathically with computer systems. You don’t happen to know anyone like that around here, do you?"

On the outside, naturally, not a single muscle moves to the realization that he is being tracked down. On the inside, however, the thinking process is developing a huge speed in trying to reach conclusions. Among all the other questions, there are the standard few, Have I done something wrong, or is this a way of getting me into a facility to be a guinea pig? Why do I have to be hunted, and am I hunted, or just tracked? Is this good-natured or otherwise? etc. However, there is another set of questions underneath the initial panic. I wonder what kind of system they used to find me? It must be fairly sophisticated, since it spotted the simplest of interfaces with a counting system. Perhaps it works by detecting mutations, rather than anomalies in the city itself? I would love to see this for myself, it must be a beautiful machine...

All this thought takes less than a second, and most of his previous questions are answered at the same time as Warren speaks his purpose. For a moment, his curiosity overrules all other thought, and he looks at the winged man in front of him with the tiniest bit of sparks in his eyes, barely noticeable. "And how, if I am allowed to inquire, and even when not I would still like to know the answer, did you manage to reach the conclusion that a mutant is somewhere near here?"

And then he decides that it is best not to avoid the question completely, so responds, "So, you actually lied. Interesting. However, I am afraid I have not had the pleasure or lack thereof in meeting any of the people around here. Telepathic interface with computer systems? There surely must be a simpler way to say it, no?"

Alright, so not only did he hint that he is in fact the mutant, but he also nudged Warren a bit in the direction of correct word usage. Still, it is better than what he would have otherwise done a few months ago, right? At that point, he would have just said a plain, cold, "no".

[Warren Worthington III]

> " And how, if I am allowed to inquire, and even when not I would still like to know the answer, did you manage to reach the conclusion that a mutant is somewhere near here? "

Whatever Warren had been expecting in response to his little revelation, it hadn’t been this kind of cold-blooded curiosity. Which, in retrospect, had been silly of him… this is exactly the sort of reaction he would expect from the old Drake, after all. He recovers relatively smoothly and responds with a friendly smile "You’re certainly allowed to inquire… unfortunately, it’s something of an X-Man trade secret… I’m really not at liberty to disclose details about it without a signed non-disclosure agreement."

> " So, you actually lied. Interesting. However, I am afraid I have not had the pleasure or lack thereof in meeting any of the people around here. Telepathic interface with computer systems? There surely must be a simpler way to say it, no? "

Warren frowns at the comment about lying, wondering what Bertrand has in mind, and mentally reviews his conversation up to that point. Only one thing presents itself as a possibility, so he goes with it. "’Lied’? If you’re referring to my saying I wasn’t tracking you down, earlier, I have to take exception to your characterization." He doesn’t let his smile slip, but internally he winces at the way his own speech has become stilted and overelaborated while talking to Bertrand. It’s become an ingrained habit of his to adopt other people’s speaking styles in conversations like these, and it’s probably a good idea even in this case, but it still feels odd.

"First of all, we haven’t established that you’re the cyberpath I’m looking for, so technically I’m not looking for you at all, at least not as far as I know." He allows just a little bit of stress to fall on the word ‘cyberpath’, accepting the correction, and lets his default smile turn into a bit of a just-among-friends teasing grin, not that he expects to get any reaction to it. "More seriously, though, I really am not “tracking anyone down” in the inimical sense you suggested. The, um, cyberpath I’m looking for caught our interest, though, and we wanted to introduce ourselves… you can think of me as a messenger. No hostile or forceful intent involved."

Warren assumes, given Bertrand’s comment about following his public appearances, that the guy knows he’s an X-Man… it’s hardly a secret, after all. Which of course invites the question of why the X-Men are interested in Bertrand, and precisely what his message is. So he continues: "We’ve worked with a cyberpath before… it’s an interesting mutation, really. In the case of the gentleman we worked with, it had some profound effects on his mental and emotional state… he experienced a great deal of difficulty maintaining basic social relationships. That sort of thing is a lot easier to cope with when you’re around people who understand what’s actually going on…"

His original intention had been to allow the invitation to remain implied, but on consideration Warren decides not to count on Bertrand’s ability to infer social intent, adding "So, we thought we might be able to offer some assistance. Anyway, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, Christopher, but I guess I’ve taken up enough of your time. If you should happen to communicate in any way with the gentleman I’m looking for, though, he should know he’s welcome to contact me or any of the X-Men for any reason, any time, no strings attached. "

He hands Bertrand one of the X-Men’s “business cards” with their direct phone line and email address – not that he particularly thinks it necessary: if Bertrand is anything like Drake was, he probably can trace all of their contact information just by thinking about it – and starts getting ready to fly off.

[Christopher Bertrand]

>"You’re certainly allowed to inquire… unfortunately, it’s something of an X-Man trade secret… I’m really not at liberty to disclose details about it without a signed non-disclosure agreement."

"Unfortunate, really. I would be glad to sign such an agreement, but I fear it might include a bit more requirements than just that alone." he responds, blowing out yet another puff of smoke to the side, careful not to send it directly at Warren's face.

> "’Lied’? If you’re referring to my saying I wasn’t tracking you down, earlier, I have to take exception to your characterization."

To this, Warren actually manages to maim out a smile from Christopher, a genuine smile, as much to Christopher's surprise as perhaps to anyone else's. He does not respond to his words, but makes a small note of them, or rather, of their nature. He then takes a few steps closer to Warren, but merely to allow the pedestrians coming their way from across the street go about their own business without having to walk around him. Things in this city have become too easy to predict- many people from this district got off at this time and walked home, and therefore whenever the green light for pedestrians went off, a large group would cross. It was only a matter of timing, and Chris did not need to stay constantly connected to time a stoplight- one change sequence was quite enough to let him subconsciously count the seconds.

>"First of all, we haven’t established that you’re the cyberpath I’m looking for, so technically I’m not looking for you at all, at least not as far as I know. [...] That sort of thing is a lot easier to cope with when you’re around people who understand what’s actually going on…"

"So, if I understand this correctly, your interest in this cyberpath, and I thank you for the provision of such a word, is purely out of a wish to help him or her? That, however, does not make much sense, seeing how he or she is not even remotely acquainted to you, where I use the word as a generalization of those whom you work with. If you had some sort of odd wish to help a cyberpath out, it would have been fulfilled through the help of that gentleman you talked of. The only reason I can see for you to agree on delivering this message personally is if you yourself did not feel all too helpful in the previous case. You see, it is purely against any logic to send you, Warren Worthington, as a messenger- the sheer publicity and the wings alone could frighten whomever the target of the message is. And, besides, a telepath or someone of a similar caliber would be more suited for tracking down and actually pinpointing the very person you are after. On another note, you say that it is easy to cope with the loss of social skills when there are people who understand what is going on, but you have practically told me that you have encountered only one cyberpath insofar. That is to say, despite being mutants, how could those of another field of expertise be capable of understanding a cyberpath's problems?" He responds, again showing not only part of his thinking process, but just how large a lung capacity he has, for it is all in practically one breath, perhaps two.

> "So, we thought we might be able to offer some assistance. Anyway, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, Christopher, but I guess I’ve taken up enough of your time. If you should happen to communicate in any way with the gentleman I’m looking for, though, he should know he’s welcome to contact me or any of the X-Men for any reason, any time, no strings attached. "

He accepts the card, and watches him get ready for a few moments, before placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Why do we not take all masks off? Mr. Worthington...or rather Warren, as you have introduced yourself to me, it is clear that you are quite certain that I am the cyberpath we have spent the past 3.53 minutes talking about. First, as soon as you got to the scene, I was the first person you approached, possibly having taken a hint from the hit to the head and the flutter of the stoplights. At this point, I did not really suspect anything, but when you mentioned that you were actually looking for a mutant, and then explained what kind of mutation that person might have, I was certain that you were at least suspecting me. You see, if you were in a hurry to get to this mutant, and I am quite sure that you were in at least somewhat of such a thing, you would not have wasted all this time talking to me. Secondly, you have sent several implications on the matter, and have handled a conversation with me with utmost care, not leaving the presence or absence of my own social skills to chance- yet another hint towards suspicion. And finally, just now, you have made me 96.4 percent certain that you think I am the cyberpath. Namely, you have spent all this time talking to me, explaining the situation, you have given me your contact information, and you were just getting ready to set off. This can mean one of two things- one, you are so certain that I am said cyberpath that you find no sense in searching further, or two, you have tremendous confidence in your luck in finding a person who would be so willing to help you as to go around looking for your target instead of you, and then have the goodwill to send the message. Seeing how you have most likely been in more fights than you wish to remember, and have wrestled with the media, I do not think you believe in such luck. So, I might as well stop trying to give half-crafted hints, and tell you what you already know- I am the one you are looking for, or at least the target of your message, for I do not wish to sell myself for some great value. I enjoy meeting someone with a sufficiently analytical mind, and you are one such person, I must say. It might not sound as a compliment, but, trust me, it is. I would enjoy accompanying you to wherever it is your, again the word is used as a generalization, proverbial "base" is, although I have an estimate. I have only one remaining question: Hollow bones?" he finally says, cursing at himself more than several times for sounding so much like an automated voice message. His point, however, is carried across, and that is the important thing.

[Warren Worthington III]

> " So [..] your interest in this cyberpath[..] is purely out of a wish to help him or her? That, however, does not make much sense, seeing how he or she is not even remotely acquainted to you, [..]it is purely against any logic to send you, [..] the sheer publicity and the wings alone could frighten whomever the target of the message is. And, besides, a telepath or someone of a similar caliber would be more suited for tracking [..] how could those of another field of expertise be capable of understanding a cyberpath's problems? "

Warren’s doesn’t allow his face to show any of the impatience he naturally feels at being subjected to this extended monolog. He’d largely forgotten what this sort of conversation was like in the months since Drake’s recovery; in retrospect he can appreciate why Allerdyce had felt the need to move out.

Instead, he chuckles. "Helping out mutants we’re not even remotely acquainted to is part of the job description. Come to that, they helped me out, and I was not only a stranger but the son of the guy responsible for the Cure… they had every reason to show me the road. As for your other points…" he starts counting them off on his fingers with a steadily growing grin, rather enjoying the exchange.

"First – you’re right about the wings in most cases, but my target probably wouldn’t have standard anxiety responses; I gambled the wings wouln’t scare him off. Second – telepathic voices in people’s heads are almost as bad as winged celebrities; besides, as I understand it cyberpaths and telepathy don’t mix very well. And third, and most importantly: you’re right, we can’t, really. Any more than they can understand what it’s like to carry these around," he flutters his wings to indicate them, "or accidentally deep-freeze baseball stadiums or panic innocent bystanders; any more than I can understand what it’s like to read people’s thoughts. We’re all different.
Still, a lot of us find it helps to be in an environment where we don’t have to hide those differences and where everyone’s willing to make accomodations. Lord knows I do, for example."

> " [..] it is clear that you are quite certain that I am the cyberpath [..] I am the one you are looking for [..] I enjoy meeting someone with a sufficiently analytical mind [..] I would enjoy accompanying you to wherever it is your, again the word is used as a generalization, proverbial "base" is, although I have an estimate. I have only one remaining question: Hollow bones?" "

This time Warren actually does laugh, suddenly genuinely enjoying the exchange, and nods. "The feeling is mutual, Mr. Bertrand… and I’m happy to take you back the fast route, if you don’t mind a bit of wind. Or we can hail a cab, if you prefer? And yes, hollow bones… and, before you tax your circuits too much working out payload ratios, I’ll note there’s a touch of telekinesis in the mix, though that’s not exactly public knowledge."

[Christopher Bertrand]

As Warren replies to all of the points Chris had made earlier, the young Frenchman lights yet another cigarette, having finished with the earlier one and thrown it into the trash. There is more than one thing indicating that he is quite the smoker: one, he has two different lighters, one of which is near-empty, and the other half-ful, due to inconsistency in their usage; two, he keeps approximately two boxes' worth of cigarettes in a special case, and three, there has not, as of yet, been a single moment since Warren arrived that he has not had a cigarette lighted.

>"Still, a lot of us find it helps to be in an environment where we don’t have to hide those differences and where everyone’s willing to make accomodations. Lord knows I do, for example."

"I can see how that would help. I must apologize, but I unfortunately sill see no rhyme or reason in helping strangers. I do know why that is, but this knowledge does not help."

At Warren's laugh, Christopher arches an eyebrow. laughter really is a reaction he is not used to getting. Did he tell a joke? Is Warren laughing at him? Best to put that second kind of thought away if he intends to make any friends.

>"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Bertrand… and I’m happy to take you back the fast route, if you don’t mind a bit of wind. Or we can hail a cab, if you prefer? And yes, hollow bones… and, before you tax your circuits too much working out payload ratios, I’ll note there’s a touch of telekinesis in the mix, though that’s not exactly public knowledge."

Odd... he thinks simply as he tries to cope with the realization that he has just completed a rather long conversation and successfully moved on to smaller matters, without driving the person away. The idea of free flight intrigues him, and is too good to miss out on. "I believe I shall take your offer of flight." he says before he hears an answer to his question. As he does, everything about the mutation seems to make more sense. One part of the equation was completely wrong, and now it was fixed. Naturally, the question that it to follow is to be expected, and probably impossible to answer. "How much weight can you lift with your telekinesis and in what way does it manifest? In extension, how well can you manipulate it, and are you capable of exerting it onto others?" he asks, staring at Warren in the same way as he did when he initially crossed the street.

After a while, pausing to hear an answer, Christopher decides to ask something that has been bugging him since the moment he decided to join up with the little mutant club, or whatever it is. "One more thing- if I come with you wherever it is, what is my use going to be there? I have to have at least some kind of purpose there, or I will not be able to stay for long...I have yet to learn how to deal with some illogical trains of thought."

[Warren Worthington III]

> " I must apologize, but I unfortunately sill see no rhyme or reason in helping strangers. I do know why that is, but this knowledge does not help."

Warren shrugs. "I can appreciate that. For now, I’d recommend you simply take it as a given that some of us do it anyway. Surely you’ve become accustomed to the idea by now that other people do unreasonable things from time to time, right?"

> " How much weight can you lift with your telekinesis and in what way does it manifest? In extension, how well can you manipulate it, and are you capable of exerting it onto others?."

He laughs again… not sure why, exactly, except that something about Bertrand’s guileless curiosity is just delightful to watch, like an infant or a puppy exploring its environment for the first time. "I’m afraid I don’t have the numbers handy," he explains as he gets a secure grip on the man prior to takeoff, "but Hank has all my flight data tabulated somewhere, if you’re interested. He’s the one who first worked out that there was TK involved; apparently the math doesn’t quite add up otherwise. Of course, I’ve been practicing since," he adds, launching the two of them up into the air with only the slightest twitch of his wings to demonstrate, before accelerating towards Westchester with heavier wingstrokes, "but I still find it easier to fly like the birds, usually."

> " what is my use going to be there? I have to have at least some kind of purpose there, or I will not be able to stay for long."

" Even though we’re still relative strangers, eh? Sounds like maybe you understand us better than you think…" He lets a teasing tone slip into his voice, then continues more seriously. "Honestly, I haven’t given a lot of thought to ‘using’ you at all, but I’m sure we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement if you’re interested. I’m willing to bet you’re an exceptional systems programmer and data analyst, for example; we could certainly use someone in those capacities. "

[Christopher Bertrand]

>"I can appreciate that. For now, I’d recommend you simply take it as a given that some of us do it anyway. Surely you’ve become accustomed to the idea by now that other people do unreasonable things from time to time, right?"

Christopher takes a moment to consider this, and then responds, "Unfortunately, ever since I mutated, taking someone or their behavior as a given has become impossible- it is a sat of variables, really. But I will agree that most everyone performs unreasonable actions, and even more frequently than you might be inclined to think. In the cafe I was at, for example, I have found out that, on average, there are about three thousand pointless clicks of the mouse, where the word encompasses both the regular hardware mouse, the touch pad, and the touch screen technologies, every day except on thursday, when a particular customer comes, frequently gets bored, and then simply sits in his chair, clicking incessantly. The amount increases greatly." he says, every word in the same matter-of-fact, mechanical voice.

>"I’m afraid I don’t have the numbers handy, but Hank has all my flight data tabulated somewhere, if you’re interested. He’s the one who first worked out that there was TK involved; apparently the math doesn’t quite add up otherwise. Of course, I’ve been practicing since,[...]"

"I would enjoy going through those numbers. And this person, Hank, is correct- the mathematics simply do not work unless you account for the telekinesis. You would not look like you do without the telekinesis, although I cannot tell you what the changes would be. Suffice to...say you would not be as handsome, at least not to those to whom looks are really important. Some of the variables came out way off the scale before you told me about telekinesis. It is not really all that important for me to know the exact numbers, but it is a hobby. One I am good at." he says, taking only a slight pause between preparation and take off. The sensation is wonderful, and he rather likes being in mid-air without being on a plane or helicopter- not only do they remove all the wonderful air currents from the enjoyment, but the navigational systems always keep him awake, so he arrives to his destinations in quite a bad mood, and that is never good.

> "but I still find it easier to fly like the birds, usually."

"That is perfectly understandable. You see, the wings are part of your body, and as such you have reflexes with them in the same way you have them with your arms or legs. It is always easier to use one's limbs rather than some other method of completing a task, at least as far as we do not get into pulley systems and such."

> "Even though we’re still relative strangers, eh? Sounds like maybe you understand us better than you think…"

"I assure you I do not. It is quite logical, really. You offer me asylum, help, and I cannot simply take it for granted. There has to be a way I can repay, it is always like that. Equivalent exchange is usually the best way things work. If you add to one side of the equation, you add to the other as well." he responds, the tone completely wasted on him. Some subtleties are still far from Christopher's comprehension, and such are the small jests and jibes addressed in pure fun.

>"Honestly, I haven’t given a lot of thought to ‘using’ you at all, but I’m sure we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement if you’re interested. I’m willing to bet you’re an exceptional systems programmer and data analyst, for example; we could certainly use someone in those capacities. "

"There is absolutely no chance in that bet- it would be a certain win, if you count out the various off possibilities that have a less-than-one percent chance of happening, such as rapid retardation, or something as severe and nigh-impossible. Of course, you would have to keep in mind that, at the same time as being able to process data quickly, I seem to lack talent for human insight. I have it, but it is far from normal level. I would have to stop..." and he really does stop in mid-sentence. He is at the same time frightened and exhilarated. This is the very first time since he started using his power in enormous amounts that he has come even close to revealing something about his mutation he does not wish to. It is not that it is a dangerous secret, but he prefers not to talk of it.

However, the point is in the fact that it almost happened! That means that he has made some progress on the matter of learning social skills, including blunders and mistakes. In the sudden wave of happiness, he lets out something that might be a chuckle, but is more of a loud exhale, and it is stifled mostly by the wind. In all the self-praise, however, he forgets to start talking again.

[Bobby Drake]

Warren nods agreeably at Bertrand’s discussions of keyclicks and the physiological consequences of non-telekinetic flight; lacking much of anything to contribute to either discussion he concentrates on picking the smoothest course through updrafts and eddies. Normally, he doesn’t bother -- he rather enjoys the buffeting he gets from crosswinds, and tends to optimize for tailwind speed – but when flying with a new passenger he likes to keep turbulence to a minimum.

> " There is absolutely no chance in that bet [..] I seem to lack talent for human insight. I have it, but it is far from normal level. I would have to stop..."

That comment catches his attention, though. Would have to stop what? he wonders idly, then shrugs… presumably if he wanted Warren to know, he’d have said it. So he settles for responding to the first part. "It’s just an expression, Christopher. What I meant was, I have confidence that you can be useful in those areas, at least. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something useful to do if you choose to stay associated with us."

In retrospect, it strikes Warren as a little odd that what started out as an investigation so smoothly turned into a recruitment mission… not that it’s the first time that’s happened, but usually it’s with students. Then again, for all that Bertrand seems relatively adult, it’s not at all clear that he can really handle himself in the mainstream community.

Oh well… no doubt it will all work itself out.

(( OOC: seems like as good a place as any to stop? We can do a Chris’ arrival thread at the Institute if folks are interested; alternatively we can have that happen off-camera and just establish him as Institute staff. Chris, if you want to be teaching any classes post to the class-roster thread; if you’d rather just be IT that’s cool too. ))