Vagabond Chronicles: The Diary of Charles Xavier

Entry Two

Within the space of two sentences, my life changed forever.

It's a funny thing to explain.

Well... Not 'funny' per-se. 'Strange', seems more appropriate.

Strange how just a couple of sentences can topple the world you'd built your dreams on as foundations.

It was a stagnant summer evening, it almost felt like the English weather had made a transatlantic journey just to bid its respects.

There were two officious knocks at the door.

Even with the unhappy clouds blotting out the heavenly hue and beginning to cry, I knew it was the evening. When my father was due to return home from a month long business trip.

Balanced formulas, squiggled in copperplate lettering, just like my father had taught me lay disregarded. I swept the pencil off my desk with the draught of the air as I dashed out the room.

As usual, it was a fumble of feet down the stairs, and I was done the dishonour of our butler getting to the door first.

The oaken door was heaved open and I padded alongside our butler like a domesticated dog, my curiosity getting the better of me.

The lanky figure with his drooping grey trenchcoat to match the sky, and his bowed hat with raindrops dripping from the rim was not my father.

"Xavier residence?" The American politely intoned, removing his hat in the drizzle, his grey sideburns now misted with raindrops.

The very act was of solemn respect as he became sodden.

With all the audacity I inherited from my father, I sidestepped the butler. "Who wants to know?" I crossed my arms indignantly, eyes devouring every detail of the stranger.

He blanched with guilt as his wrinkle encapsulated eyes met mine. I watched his Adam's apple jump. Crouching to my level, he asked; "Is your mother in, son?"

Condescension like the sharp sting of a needle, I retorted. "And what of her-"

I was hushed by a hand stifling my mouth. "Hush now, Charles. Run along and complete your studying whilst our valued guest and I converse!" She chirped in the most disingenuous of voices, her red lacquered lips framing a falsified smile.

I made a grumble of contempt that her palm captured.

"No offence, ma'am -" his eyes flicked down to me, and then met with her again. "But I think it would be best if the kid stayed..." His voice wavered. "He..." The man cleared his throat. "Needs to know."

A canyon of silence spread between the two. "I'm sorry, who are you?" She toyed with one of her ringlets, flustered by the anonymous man.

"Kurt Marko of Roxxon Energy Corporation, ma'am." He sighed deep. "A colleague from your husband's place of employ." He frowned as his hair slowly got damper and damper and a raindrop trickled down the side of his face.

I saw recognition blossom on her face. "What brings you here, Mister Marko?" Her eyes scanned his face.

There was a nervous tick in his jaw that didn't go amiss to my youthful eyes. "For that ma'am, I think I better come in, and you and your kid better take a seat..."

Trustingly, my mother guided him into the house and through to our drawing room. The oaf hung his coat casually on the end of the banister as if it were his home, and hung his hat on the doorknob. And after a small gander at our cosy living space, he sauntered across the room and slung himself in my father's armchair by the roaring fireside.