| The Ghost of Oxford Past (Part 1) | |||||
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| What: While investigating a psy-crime at Oxford, Lorcan Quinn encounters a younger Charles Xavier whose assistance proves invaluable - in more ways than one (especially since there are rumours of a 'ghost' haunting the Oxford library - an Irish ghost with blue hair)... | |||||
Oxford.
July 12, 1999.
13:40.
It had started out as a normal day for the students and lecturers at Oxford University, England. Visiting speakers from around the world had been invited to share their knowledge on a variety of subjects, and most of the aspiring 'leaders of tomorrow' in the college had looked forward to the day with great anticipation.
That was before the murder investigation.
Well, some are calling it a murder investigation.
Two bodies. Found drained of all brain activity by means unknown.
Scotland Yard was called. One of their investigators arrived - a young man in his late twenties, Irish, with blue hair, glowing blue eyes and a blue handprint on his jacket that also glowed. Thus the college found its dose of 'weird' for the day.
Until the man disappeared.
And now... residents at the college are claiming there is a ghost haunting the library... The room itself looks relatively normal - for what one might expect of a library in one of the foremost colleges in Great Britain. It has been cleared of people for the most part - and while there is no sign of the blue-haired Inspector - ghostly figure resembling the man hovers in the air nearby.
Around the room, there are a few points of bluish light - on books, the wall, and from inside a lady's handbag...
'Normal day' of course for a post graduate in a scientific field of course can often be quite a gruelling experience on its own-- though at least the summer quarter is lighter. One Charles Xavier actually has time to devote to his upcoming capstone thesis, and even, *gasp* for social outings. In truth though, he doesn't mind. Even during the most intensive crunches of academia, he'd rather be here amongst the throng of eager, ambitious innovative minds, the energy of it all, and the comfortable familiarity. Oh yes, he'd far rather take the worst of times here than what pass for the best of times at home, and the change of pace over the summer quarter is an extra bonus.
Until the murder investigation.
The soon-to-be-professor was at home reading a book when it happened, and the ripple of shock that spreads through campus eventually makes itself known as a faint shudder runs down his spine. He turns his head, puzzled.. and sighs. Even here in a place that's meant to celebrate and nurture the brightest hopes for the future hate and violence finds a way to intrude. He resolutely avoids seeking out any further details other than that there had been a killing after a quick sweep for murderous intent on the campus.. very strong emotions stand out, but if it's not in the forefront of the killer's mind, the likelihood of him finding them would be akin to the proverbial needle in a haystack. Except if sifting through bits of straw tended to give one a pounding headache after the first thirty minutes or so.
He puts the matter aside for the rest of the afternoon, and browbeats himself into tracking down some newspaper references for his thesis he'd been meaning to pick up at the Bodleian. For a man who's psychic, it might sound disappointing that he should happen upon the related disappearance by accident.. but none the less, that's precisely what happens.
He's just entering the beautifully sprawling building, which makes his rather excessively large childhood home look like an apartment, when he stops. The nervousness catches his attention, and more than that...
What -is- that?
Charles finds himself turning away from the branch he'd intended to take, wandering by other exiting students with the sort of abstractedly unaware look acquaintances of his have learned by now to just accept as one of his many eccentricities. "Hello, then.. what have we here?" he wonders, ducking his head into the room where the glowing blue prints are faintly visible.
>> Thar's nought goin' on here, << 'says' a voice from somewhere in the room. Interestingly enough, it is coming from the brighter of one of the glowing lights, behind a bookshelf. A moment later, the light in that location dims, only to 'reappear' around a book on a table across the room.
>> Crime-scene in progress, sir. Please... back away. <<
Then something inside the woman's handbag on the chair starts to glow.
>> Everyt'ing is under control... (much softer) Wake up, yeh bleedin' eejit! Ah, bugger... <<
Charles Xavier , for his part hears the voice almost with an echo-- the projection blooms in his mind even as it's intended effect registers separately. "Who is that?" he wonders, stepping right into the room with an enthused sparkle to his eye and not one whit of care for the cautions about the sanctity of a crime scene. He stretches out his awareness, to pinpoint the actual mind behind the strange words.
It's a good thing most of the attention on-campus is focused upon the apparent 'double homicide' in a different section of the college. The 'haunted library' just has people wanting to stay away... most people, that is.
It would appear... Charles Xavier is not 'most people'.
>> No really, << says the voice from the handbag. >> Everyt'ing's grand, jus' grand. I've got it ahll under... Jaysus. Wake the bloody hell up! <<
The light vanishes from the handbag altogether and reappears much further away, down the far side of the library behind several bookshelves. It is not gone for long however, as a bluish hand-print suddenly flares to life behind Xavier - on the arm of a chair - and...
The 'ghost' of Lorcan Quinn, Inspector extraordinaire, appears in the air above the chair, pantomiming kicking something...
>> Oh. Don't... turn around. <<
Charles Xavier , who had already begun to turn at the flash of light, just raises his eyebrows is his best skeptical look in response. "A little late for that now, aren't we?" he replies.
But he can't hold the expression.
The grad-student breaks into a beaming smile, turning to face the 'ghost' fully. "How -are- you doing that?" he asks with every sign of delighted interest. "It's extraordinary--" he glances in the direction he's picked out the faint but discernible flare of a sleeping mind. "Though...is that you? Are you dreaming, then?"
He reaches out to the sleeping mind, puzzled.. Is there the muddling weight of injury, the blur of drugs? There are of course rumors of those near death having out of body experiences, but he has every intention of seeing this remarkable apparition and the person behind it stays quite alive, thank you.
Under-graduate comes face to face with...
Disembodied psychic Inspector.
Quinn, the man floating in the air just above a reading chair, stops trying to kick whatever it was that he was trying to kick and folds his arms across his chest. He is wearing a nice, comfortable suit with a long jacket - and a handprint on his left breast pulses with light every time the apparition speaks.
He is, of course, somewhat see-through.
Loosing a psychic sigh of defeat, the Inspector-ghost makes a thin line with his lips and then releases an explosive popping sound with them. He descends to the ground and walks in a circle around the chair with the glowing handprint.
>> 'Tisn't by choice, eh, << he replies in his sing-song Irish brogue. >> Sure, lookit - thar's a ... mind-thief on th' loose, ahlright? Someone's stealin' people's brains - or tryin' to - an' he nearly got me. I'm not really here - I'm passed out in History, somewhere between 553 and 902 AD. <<
He snorts.
>> I'm stuck in th' feckin' Dark Ages - 'scuse th' language. No, not in the library - my body's in a history professor's office down the hahll. << The man lifts his hands to his face and mashes his cheeks together between the heels of his palms, and turns in a circle looking... very distressed. >> Hey, why aren't yeh running away screamin'? <<
Charles Xavier 's puzzled gaze snaps back to the ghostly form as it starts to pace about the chair. He chuckles, replying, "Well, thankfully we should be able to collect you and march you back into the present, unlike the books." there's very few items in this particular library that are actually permitted for lending. "Stealing people's minds?" he repeats in what sounds like almost affronted surprise. "I'd heard there had been a killing, but how could you possibly tell if a dead man's mind had been stolen?" the question is politely puzzled.. and still apparently not the least bit unnerved by the officer he's conversing with apparently being detached from his body. Manners dictate he answer the questions angled at himself, but given the circumstances, he likes to think he can be forgiven for a moment or two more.
Quinn's apparition spreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders at the same time, pulling a comical mouth-shrug with his face at the under-graduate. >> One man's 'brain-death' is another man's 'brain-....somet'ing that looks like death but really is - <<
He stops talking.
>> Yer a civilian. Ye shouldn't be here. An' why're yeh chucklin' like a fellow at me? What's so funny? I'm not crazy - I've jus' been trapped outside of my brain! <<
The astral projection 'huffs' and slumps in a nearby chair - or seems to.
Decorum wins out as the officer's questions become more pointed, and Charles sighs with a helpless smile, and offers his hand. "Not sure if you can shake as you are just now, but my name is Charles Xavier.. I suppose you could say I'm a civilian authority?"
"..And I'm a graduate student, by the way." Charles corrects Quinn's assumption blithely, "I would have thought my air of dignified responsibility and wisdom would give me away-- no? I'll have to keep working on that, I suppose.." he says with amusement. Though in point of fact he gives more the impression of a distinctly young man convinced that his perhaps too enthusiastic love of argyle and cardigans makes him appear distinguished.
>> Pleased to meet yeh... <<
Flesh and blood touches... psychic projection.
And just like that, without intention, Xavier's hand glows just like all the other Imprints in the room, linking him not only to Quinn, but to each and every psychic 'beacon' around them both. Of course, the man is already a telepath - the telepath - but now he is part of Quinn's little network, at least for the moment or as long as he wishes to be.
Quinn... gives an apologetic shrug.
>> I, uh... can't control it right now. I - Jaysus... << It isn't that he senses Charles' telepathy - against such a person Quinn would have no hope of seeing anything that Charles did not want him to see - it's simply the strength of the other man's mind, powers or no.
>> This is why I've been... ye'know, scaring people away. I don't want t' Imprint on anyone else. I gotta get back inside m'body over thar, and then track down the bastard doin' ahll this... I even lay down on top o' m'self - ah, Jaysus H. Christ, that sounds way worse than I expected... <<
The psychic projection mopes.
>> I’m doomed to be the Ghost of Oxford Library for ahll time now... <<
Charles Xavier wasn't entirely expecting the handshake to work, but it seemed only friendly. He then angles his hand in surprise, rubbing his thumb and first two fingers together as they begin to glow... and the effect when it catches is markedly different from the others Quinn has inadvertently imprinted on.
For one thing, as soon as he's hit with an impression of Charles' mind-- inquiring, and excited, and more concerned than he lets on with his easy smiles and library jokes-- Charles' gaze snaps up to the moping astral projection in surprise. << Oh.. >> he's thinking.
<< Oh, can you hear me? >> he wonders, and the impression of delight hits almost like a physical force.
Apparently scaring this one away isn't going to be the problem.
>> Are ye... << Quinn starts to project - no longer for just anyone to hear in the room, but directly into Xavier's mind. >> I've never linked with a mind like yers before, Chappy, << he explains to the man standing in front of his apparition. The Inspector's curiosity gives way to hope as something dawns on him in the midst of this telepathic exchange.
>> Ye're... a telepath? Please, Jaysus, tell me yer a telepath. I mean, it's grand that yer not running like a mad t'ing upon hearing my 'voice', but if ye could actually help me here... << Throughout the veritable barrage of mental dialogue, Quinn's face contorts with excitement - his eyes widening, his lips spreading in a broad toothy grin - and he points past Xavier in the direction of his body.
>> I t'ink I Imprinted on the bastard doin' ahll t'is - but it's broken. C'mon! << The ghost walks through Xavier and the chair, and heads briskly down the aisle to the door - but as soon as he goes fifteen feet from the chair... the ghost vanishes from sight.
Two seconds later, Quinn reappears... floating above the handbag.
Charles Xavier is standing with the stunned sort of fascination someone might wear upon seeing a cat suddenly leap onto one's windowsill and start reciting Hamlet. He's too busy absorbing the barrage of information to immediately reply, though there's a distinct note of surprise when Quinn asks if he's 'a telepath', accompanied with a sudden startled flare of curiosity if such people are a familiar concept in Scotland Yard. He starts to ask aloud out of habit, only to have Quinn's projection walk right through him. He gives an involuntary shiver, turning on his heel to follow-- and Quinn disappears.
Xavier though is already refocusing on the strongest mental presence in the area..the purse? "Oh, there you are.."
Charles Xavier asks, "Are you having difficulty maintaining that image?"
The thin, blue-haired psychic detective looks down at his astral self, and lays both hands on his abdomen. >> Well, y'know - I try to keep in shape, eat healthy 'n ahll t'at. Fast metabolism, my Mammy used t' ahlways say... <<
He floats down to the ground again and makes a show of straightening his astral jacket. >> Better than being naked on any plane, eh? <<
Charles Xavier gives a good natured smirk at that, agreeing, "I should say so - but let's give that another go, shall we Detective Inspector Quinn? The power of the mind is all well and good, but your body's going to begin to feel slighted at this rate."
Quinn smirks.
The 'sound' of laughter comes from multiple Imprints at once. >> Being like t'is, Chap, << he tells the other telepath, >> Isn't so difficult. I've never done it before - y'know, projected myself fully like a... well, like a ghost. I'm a banshee! Without th'... ghoulish looks and the wail - well, I could do the wail... <<
He trails off, and walks from the handbag back to Xavier again.
>> I can't leave th' range of all these... well, I cahll them 'Imprints'. I either pop up near another other one - or I end up dragged back to the one I just left. An' I can't go back to my body - but there IS an Imprint near it, well, on it. Help me, Charlie-Wan Kenobi - yer m'only hope! <<
Charles Xavier glances around with an echoing smile at the laughter in surround sound. He nods, facing Quinn as he walks over with a curious look. "You can't leave the range of them? Then how on earth did you get stranded from your body in the--" his eyes fall on the handbag. "Oh no, really?"
Quinn paces in a circle, looking increasingly agitated until finally turning to face Charles, hands on his hips - well, one hand. The other is pointed at Charles.
>> They're Imprints, Chappy. They're... part o' me. Since... ahll t'is shite happened to me not lhang ago, I've had this ability to leave... bits o' psychic energy on stuff - on wahlls, like over there - << and he points at a far wall that has an Imprint on it. >> People, << and he points at Charles himself. >> And, aye, on t'ings... like inside that handbag - hey! I was investigating and th' woman looked suspicious! <<
The man ceases his psychic projections, going quiet for a short while.
That's when the door to the library opens and a woman pokes her head inside. Upon spotting Xavier talking to... a big blue ghost, she opens her mouth to scream...
Charles Xavier chuckles at the situation, entirely unmoved by Quinn's agitation. "Well, whatever the case, it sounds as if I can be of service then--" he breaks off, turning a split second before the door actually starts to open, eyebrows raised in polite inquiry when the woman steps inside. She sees Quinn, and opens her mouth to scream...and then blinks, wondering what had startled her-- was it only a reflection in one of the grand mirrors decorating the aged edifice of learning?
And then the friendly fellow with the poor sense to be wearing a cardigan in July asks politely, "Oh, hello there! Excuse me, is this your bag? I was only just thinking to nip over to the lost and found--" he collects it from the chair and offers it to her helpfully? No strange paranormal goings-on here!
"Umm... thanks," replies the woman, giving Charles a grateful - if confused - smile. "I was... just looking for that." Another smile at the so-very-helpful fellow in the cardigan and she turns to leave. The door closes behind her.
The psychic detective... is grinning.
Like a Cheshire Cat.
With just a hint of extra 'naughty' thrown in.
It would be clear to the master telepath in the room what Quinn is thinking - having an Imprint in an attractive woman's handbag, probably kept nearby in the bedroom or some other place of familiarity... It is not quite that the man is a peeping tom or anything, but the thought is there nonetheless... for now.
Unbeknownst to Quinn, he starts projecting images around his astral form - little tiny love-hearts bursting like bubbles in the air above him - as he stares beyond the closed door leading out the library. The man takes a step forward - with the intention of projecting his thoughts through the Imprint being carried away in the handbag (as a prank)...
Charles Xavier has been getting a feel for Quinn and his singular psychic 'imprints' as he calls them-- and with a smirk he's trying not to show tugging at his face as the woman departs he thinks to Quinn, << Oh really, now.. >> and with a mental 'flick' he dislodges the trace of mental energy anchored in the handbag, snapping it back to it's owner. << 'Suspicious' indeed.. >> he thinks, and doesn't bother to stop the chortle once the woman is safely down the hall.
Accusation.
Indignation.
>> What did ye - <<
Glowing blue eyes blink.
>> T'at wasn't fair! << Quinn exclaims mentally to Xavier. >> I wouldn't have actually... ye know, spied on her - that's a crime! I jus'... 'twas a fun t'ought is ahll! << The apparition lets out a silent sigh and shakes his head. >> C'mon. I Imprinted on yer hand. If ye walk with me down to where m'body is lying, maybe we can put me back inside m'self. And I have to catch me a mind-thief... <<
The 'ghost who talks' (or doesn't, rather), heads away from the other telepath until he starts to fade again. >> Ye comin', Chappy? <<
Charles Xavier is unrepentant, and says, "Since you weren't going to snoop, then there's no real loss now, is there?" with the virtuous sort of tone of one who's clearly and certainly never ever considered similar applications. That often.
He hesitates a moment though as the print on his own hand starts to glow in tandem with Quinn stepping to the doorway, the entirety of the situation fully settling on him. But he nods, stepping lively to catch up. << Absolutely. You know, I realize I'm not any sort of official, but I might be able to be of assistance. >> he smirks, not talking aloud as they move through the more populated hallways. <<Aside from simply as an astral transit system, that is.. >>
The trip to the other section of the college where Lorcan Quinn's comatose body lies is relatively uneventful. Each time someone comes into view, Quinn's ghost disappears - tracing a connection to one of his other Imprints - and then reappears next to Xavier once more.
The other telepath would be able to see the tendrils of blue energy in the air, connecting each and every Imprint - some faintly so, others quite boldly - across the entire campus. Quinn must have at least two dozen of these psychic beacons all over the place.
The connection leading to the Inspector's body is especially bright.
The destination of the two telepaths turns out to be an office not far from a lecture theatre. Police and paramedics are on-scene, dealing with three comatose bodies: one is a brunette woman, and the other nearest her is a balding man. Both are lecturers - professors. The third person...
Is Quinn.
The police are keeping civilians away, while the paramedics examine the seemingly brain-dead victims. Quinn... feels distressed. Phasing back through a wall so as to keep his astral self out of sight, he projects to Charles:
>> Grand, just grand. Now how do we put me back in my body, without scarin' everybody else out of theirs?? <<
TO BE CONTINUED...