Bronwyn: "Ye need to move them, the sunflowers are castin' too much shade, stealin' all the light," said Bronwyn, adjusting the hat on her head. She and Callum had spent a lovely morning playing in the dirt, and her cousin's garden was all the more beautiful for it.

Eden had nothing on a Druid's garden.

Callum contemplated his nasturtiums. "I've been meanin' to but I can't decide where to put them."

Bronwyn looked around. "How about.....there?" She pointed at a bed lined with begonias just as her phone rang. One glance at the display had lead pooling in her stomach. There was only one reason she would be receiving this call. "Mind if I take this?"

"No' at all."

Bronwyn stepped into the house before she answered. "Charles? What's wrong?"

Charles: "Hello to you as well, Bronwyn. Lovely to hear your voice," he teased, though anyone that knew him could detect the thread of anxiety weaved into his charm. It was possible that the restless clacking of pen against desk was audible as well. Charles was not in a good place, but manners make the man.

"I must confess, I did phone for something more pressing than small talk. I'm... When was the last time you heard from Mason?"

Bronwyn: Under normal circumstances she would've gone through the motions and made small talk with Charles, but under normal circumstances she also wouldn't have this bad feeling in her gut.

"When he texted me and told me he was about to do somethin' extreme and asked me to understand."

Charles: "Well." How to best to share what he knew? Charles was already taking meddling to its extreme by calling on Mason's friends for help. Did he have any right at all to share the would-be demon's secrets?

The answer may have been 'no', but the ache in his chest would not be soothed until a solution was found. Best to spill the truth quickly and efficiently. They'd officially reached Band-Aid territory.

"Extreme is putting it lightly," he began, grave despite his earlier efforts to be otherwise. "I don't know how much he told you about his plans, but the goal was to erase all memory of his so- of his past, so that he could have a slightly more bearable eternity. I told him it was a terrible idea, but those eyes. I couldn't deny him the right to pursue happiness. Needless to say, it did not go well. I hadn't heard from him in too long, so I popped by for a visit."

He needed to stop babbling and get to the point.

"Mason is human and remembers nothing of his past life."

There. Band-Aid.

"There must be something we can do. I'm... I can't lose him this way."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's only thought when Charles finished speaking was, 'Oh, Mason.'

Mason, Mason, Mason, what on earth have you done? How could you have been so breathtakingly reckless messing with something as fragile and fickle as memory?

She sank into the nearest chair and was silent for a long time. Charles might think the call had cut off except for the sighing that could be heard clearly over the line.

Charles: Charles was ever so grateful for the limits of phone calls as his lip began to wobble, careful composure cracking for the second time since he'd met that stranger. He kept himself quiet. A calm façade that only distance allowed.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, when he was certain his voice would crack. "I'm so, so sorry."

Bronwyn: "I'm sorry, too," Bronwyn said softly. "The loss isn't only mine or only his." Or only Callum's. "It's yers as well. Ye love him."

Charles: "More than I can say," he agreed. A wave of exhaustion days in the making crashed over him and he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, rubbing at his eyes. "Is there anything to be done?"

Bronwyn: "I don't know. I'd have to do some diggin', find out exactly what he did or who he went to and dig some more. But whatever happened here, I think it's safe to say this wasn't the intended result. From what ye're tellin' me, he wanted to strike a few things from the slate, no' wipe it clean."

Charles: "That's what he told me. I trust that he wouldn't want me gone completely; it's why I felt justified in calling in reinforcements." A brief pause. "Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?"

If there was one thing Charles Francis Xavier hated, it was feeling useless.

Bronwyn: "If ye hadn't, I would have. When he sent me that text he told me to contact ye if somethin' went wrong. I didn't want to believe somethin' had but here we are..."

Bronwyn heaved a long sigh. "I don't know. I hate that that's the only answer I have."

Charles: "Oh." Full of surprises, that demon of his. The chunk of ice lodged where his heart should be thawed the smallest bit at the knowledge. "I don't know how he believed I might help the situation."

There was that pen again, tapping thoughtfully away at polished mahogany. "I suppose I could do more reading on my own end. I haven't found anything thus far, but I can't imagine sitting idly by while he's... Anything you think you might need, yeah? I'll be there. Nothing is too large or small."

Bronwyn: "He probably thought that between the two of us we could resolve whatever it was he was worried would go wrong." Bronwyn could only hope Mason's faith hadn't been misplaced. How ever many amazing things she was able to do, her power had limits, and those limits tended to rear their heads at the most inconvenient of times.

"Actually, I do need somethin'. I need ye to tell me ev'ry detail ye can remember about this new Mason. Ev'ry single one, even the ones that don't feel important in the grand scheme."

Charles: "Oh." A beat. "Oh, all right."

Charles had never once been more grateful for his eidetic memory. Pen still tapping out a jittery little samba, he dragged the incident to the forefront of his mind.

"From what I could tell, the house remained unchanged. I wasn't given free rein to go exploring, of course, but nothing I could see was out of the ordinary. Mason..."

He inhaled shakily. As far as memories to relive went, this one was hardly going to make the highlight reel.

"He looked enough like himself for me to believe that he was himself, but there were subtle differences. He'd shaved, for one, and he'd gotten his hair cut. That should have been a red flag, though I thought he only wanted a change of pace... He wasn't as impeccably dressed as he usually is, either. That may have had more to do with the fact that he'd obviously been sleeping, but I can't be certain of anything in this situation.

He mentioned parents. Both dead. His mother more recently. He told me that was why he was in North Carolina to begin with; he'd inherited the house. He said that he'd grown up there, but he'd been living in Louisiana, which is where most of his friends were. Are? I didn't catch any names."

He swallowed past a viscous lump of bile and plowed on. God, why couldn't he let this go.

"He'd been to see someone.... And apparently his visit and inspired a similar reaction to my own. Someone named Callum? What else? What. Else. Oh! And he was sporting a tattoo that I'd never seen before. Just below his neck. Some-- some sort of symbol. It wasn't one I recognized, but I could probably draw a rough sketch of it from memory. I was a bit too preoccupied to ask him anything about it."

That was all he had. He could only hope something would be of use. "His name was Lawrence. Lawrence Atlas."

Bronwyn: Rather than clear things up a little, Charles' tale just confused and concerned her more. It was one thing to have no memories of your life. After all, hundreds of people got amnesia every year. It wasn't an ideal condition but at least it had a name and a cause.

But having entirely different memories to replace the ones you'd lived through and suddenly changing species? Suddenly having a different first name but the same surname?

That was a horse of a different color.

Bronwyn rubbed her forehead. She could feel a perfectly vicious headache coming on.

"I haven't seen him shirtless all that often but I don't remember him havin' a tattoo. Might be somethin' there. As for the visit with Callum..." She sighed. "I heard about it. Callum's my cousin. I'm actually visitin' him at the moment."

Charles: "It's new," he assured, before he could reflect on the implication of such a hasty response. All at once, he was grateful for their distance. She couldn't see how red his face had gotten from... wherever she was.

"Oh." Cousins? Had Mason mentioned that? Not as far as Charles could recall, and he wasn't in the habit of memory suppression. He couldn't be sure just what this new scrap of information made him feel. "I see. Well, I hope he's all right. I know that seeing him was difficult for me. I can only imagine..."

Bronwyn: The implication flew right over Bronwyn's head; it was taken with more pressing matters than why Charles was able to clarify that point with such certainty.

"Maybe I'm graspin' at straws here, but I think this new Mason havin' a tattoo that our Mason doesn't means somethin'. Draw me that sketch. I'll see if I can dig anythin' up."

"He's fine now," Bronwyn said carefully. She didn't know if Charles knew about the soulmate thing, so she thought it best to proceed with caution and be as casual as possible. "It was a shock, though. It's hard to prepare for somethin' like that."

Charles: Charles knew. Of course he knew. But he wasn't about to broach the subject now. Or ever, most likely. He couldn't quite manage to be in denial about Mason's cosmic life-partner, but he'd keep it under lock and key until he was forced to face it. "Good. Good, I'm glad to hear it."

A soft rustle of paper accompanied his pleasantries, the professor digging about for a scrap of paper to begin his sketch. The sooner they sorted this mess out, the better. "Anyway, you're probably right about the tattoo bit. I'll draw up a likeness right this very moment."

Bronwyn: "I appreciate that, thank ye. It might be nothin', but we have to turn over all the rocks." After a few moments she added, very gently, "How are ye doin', Charles? Really, how are ye doin'?"

As she'd said before, it wasn't just her loss. It was his, too, and in a lot of ways it cut him more deeply. He was in love with Mason, after all.

Charles: "I've been better, Bronwyn, I must admit," he sighed, dragging his free hand through his hair and leaving it as disarranged as he felt. "I miss him. Terribly, awfully, dreadfully. I just want him back."

With gentle clearing of his throat, he collected himself and put the final touches on his sketch. "There. I think that's it, more or less. God, I hope it's of use." Now how was he going to get it to her?

"I could bring it by yours? Perhaps sending a photo would be easier? Whichever you'd prefer."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's heart hurt for him. She knew what it was to lose someone you were deeply in love with, but her loss wasn't the same as his. Ian MacGregor was still himself even if he wasn't with her. "We'll get him back, Charles. I don't know how we're goin' to do it or how long it's goin' to take, but we'll get him back. I promise."

"It has to be. I'd like to think it wouldn't have appeared on his skin otherwise." She glanced out the window, saw Callum gently digging up plants. "I leave that entirely up to ye. Whatever would be easiest and make ye the most comfortable."

Charles: Charles allowed that gentle promise to soothe him. The man was nothing if not optimistic, and if Bronwyn was confident, he was more than happy to feed off of that.

"I'll pop over, then." His enthusiasm had little to do with necessity. He only wanted to feel useful. As if he was doing something. A concrete plan set in motion to reach a goal. Even with Bronwyn's assurances, Charles would go mad if he was forced to sit and stew in his own worries. "I've got a free moment. Where do you live?"

Distance was no object when one housed mutants that could travel hundreds of miles in an instant.

Bronwyn: Since she was going to be staying there for the next little while, Bronwyn gave Charles Callum's address. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but she could hardly ask Vincent to teleport her to New Orleans just so Mason's boyfriend wouldn't meet the reincarnation of his dead wife. It would only delay the inevitable.

"My cousin's out working in the garden at the moment. If you don't feel comfortable with him here, I know somewhere where we can go to talk this out."

Charles: "Oh, no, no, no, darling. That's perfectly all right." Of course, Charles couldn't possibly know that the cousin in question was none other than the infamous soul mate. Mason hadn't been particularly forthcoming with that scrap of information.

"I'll see you soon," he promised, bright with this newfound purpose, before clicking off.

It was the work of ten minutes to type the address into Google Maps and have Kurt examine the area. Thank heaven for satellites. In no time at all, he was waving away a cloud of sulfur, nodding to the handsome fellow in the front garden, and tidying himself as best as possible.

His rap on the door was quick and efficient.

Bronwyn: Just as oblivious as Charles was, Callum felt only mild curiosity as he watched the strange man go up to his front door, smiling and waving in greeting before continuing with his work. Guy was probably a guest of Bronwyn's. It never ceased to amaze him how many acquaintances his cousin could make.

Bronwyn, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. She really wished she knew how much Mason had told Charles about Callum and vice versa. She could ask them herself, but she didn't want to bring them up to each other in that sense. It would only make this whole situation worse.

Better to avoid soulmate talk altogether, she thought as she went to answer the door.

"Well hello there, Charles. Come in."

Charles: Charles' greeting smile was broad and charming, masking a fair bit of worry. There was something uniquely satisfying about being active however.

He crossed the threshold, giving the space a politely curious once-over before offering Bronwyn the full force of that smile. "Bronwyn. It's so very lovely to see you again."

To his merit, this was true enough. He admittedly wished that they were meeting under better circumstances, but he'd been nothing short of charmed by their last interaction.

"Beautiful home you've got here. The garden is spectacular. Did you want my sketch straight off?"

Regardless of her answer, he was already slipping a hand into his jacket to retrieve it.

Bronwyn: "It's lovely to see ye as well," she said, offering him a smile in return. The smile hid enough that if she didn't know better, she would never have guessed something was wrong. That would probably work to their advantage what with Callum so close by.

"It's my cousin's place, but yes it is. He's put his blood, sweat, and tears into makin' this house what it is." Bronwyn nodded. "Might as well. There's no pressin' danger but I'd still feel better if we got this mess figured out as quickly as possible."

Charles: "Oh?" Charles tossed a quick glance through the doorway, but he couldn't see Handsome Waving Fellow from his vantage.

"Was that him I saw toiling away in the garden? His work's certainly paid off. It puts the Institute's to shame. I only hope he doesn't mind that I invited myself over."

The corners of his mouth tilted up in a weak little smile. Charles was in total agreement. The man that would be Mason seemed in perfectly good health, but the matter still felt pressing to the telepath. Ah, love.

"Well, here you are," he nodded, holding out a bit of school stationary folded neatly in two. "Is the symbol one you recognize? I've never seen anything like it before."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, that's him. He's doin' some maintenance and rearrangin' out there. Some of the flowers aren't as happy as they could be."

He won't mind as long as he has no idea who you are, she thought before waving the matter aside. "He won't. He'll be out there for hours putterin' away."

Bronwyn took the paper and studied the symbol Charles had drawn, brow furrowed. "I can't say that I do. And yet..." She rotated the paper left and right, studying it for a few long moments. Had she seen this before? Surely not. She'd have done research if she had. "I could swear it looks vaguely familiar but I can't for the life o' me figure out why. Ye said this was tattooed on him?"

Charles: "Admirable dedication." He caught wind of that last thought, however unintentionally, and his eyebrow quirked in curiosity. He thought it better not to ask, though. Now wasn't the time. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."  

"Mm," he agreed, studying her expression rather than the drawing itself. "Just here." His fingers brushed lightly over his own clavicle, where it was hidden beneath pressed cotton. "The human mind is a remarkable thing. It recalls more than we can consciously know. Perhaps you've seen it in passing? A book?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, perhaps. It looks similar to some ancient Irish Celtic symbols I've seen." Bronwyn studied it for a few more moments before nodding to herself. "I suppose that's as good a start as any. Come, we'll comb through my cousin's library, see what we can find." If they couldn't find anything (Callum's books dealt mostly with plants and growing), she'd ask Vincent to pop over to her library in New Orleans and maybe the one back in Montana too.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to offer ye somethin'. Would ye like somethin' to eat or drink?"

Charles: Finally. Something to do. Steps to take that would lead to a solution, or at the very least rule out certain possibilities. He grinned broadly, something grateful glinting in his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides with renewed energy. "Brilliant. Lead the way." Scouring through old texts was something he was good at.

"Oh, thank you, no." He declined the offer with a smile and a brief shake of the head. Charles doubted he could eat anything, at the moment. "I'm quite all right."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile back; he just looked so relieved. It made her wonder just how much time he'd spent trying to figure out a way to fix it and how frustrated he must have been to keep coming up with nothing. She knew the feeling well.

She nodded as she led him into the small room tucked away at the back of the house's second floor, where there were as many books on the floor and table as there were on the shelves. "Sorry about the mess. I've been workin' on somethin' of a side project and haven't had much luck yet. Now let's see..."

After careful scanning, Bronwyn selected four books as starting points, all dealing with Irish Celtic lore. She handed two to Charles. "Based on what I know, there are two reasons he'd have the mark; a spell or a creature."

Charles: "Oh, no, no. Please don't apologise. At least not until you've seen the disaster area that is my study." His gently self-deprecating chuckle was well earned. He'd really only been mildly hyperbolic. He did his best thinking when everything to consider was spread out before him.

The telepath fell to immediately, peeling open the topmost book with an almost reverent sort of care. He divided his attention neatly in two, eyes scanning the first page and ears still pricked to all Bronwyn was saying.  Spell-work he was passingly familiar with, but... "Creature? What sort of creature?"

Bronwyn: "The ancient and powerful sort," said Bronwyn, cracking open her own book. "There are some creatures whose magic is so powerful that it leaves a physical mark on whoever is affected by it. It can be a burn, a scar, or in some cases, a tattoo. Sometimes it can even be a sort o' bond."

Charles: "Ah." Charles had a muddy sort of understanding. There was so much about this world just beyond his world that was inconceivable. Now, apparently, there were ancient powerful beings that could alter the very fabric of someone's reality. Fantastic. He continued to flip through pages, hoping that the gravity of all that he didn't know or understand wasn't plain in his face.

"A bond between the creature and the person? Or the person and another person?"

Bronwyn: "Between the creature and the person. No' a romantic one mind ye--although I'm sure that happens ev'ry now and then. A bond of servitude, of debt, of any number of unpleasant things. And as long as that mark remains, so too does the bond."

Charles: At those words something ice cold and unpleasantly slick worked its way down his spine. He shuddered, swallowed hard, and turned a page with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. His voice, surprisingly enough, was steady when he spoke next. "Debt... Is there any way to remove the mark without harming the host? Aside from the general unpleasantness that would be laser-surgery, I mean."

Bronwyn: "I'm no' sure," said Bronwyn, scanning through a list of ancient symbols. "Magic can only be altered or overridden with more magic, but there are some types that are stronger than others. But even if we could remove the mark, I don't know if that would sever any potential bond. We'd have to know exactly what the mark is to know if it's just a symbol or if is the bond, if that makes sense."

Charles: "It does." Frustration tugged at the corners of his mouth. It did not dampen his determination, however, and he scanned through pages with a stiff efficiency. He'd finished off the first, the second, with nothing to show for it. He was nearly through the third before he spoke again. "Are there any more that might be useful?"

Bronwyn: Having come up just as empty-handed as Charles, Bronwyn went back to the bookshelf and got them some more material. There hadn't been anything in any of the books on Irish Celtic lore, so she branched out into other regions and religions.

"Whatever else has changed, the fact that he lived in New Orleans has stayed the same," she said as she handed Charles a small stack of books. "That makes me wonder if whatever happened to him could've happened there. Lots o' voodoo and hoodoo in those parts."

Charles: "Mm. That's certainly a possibility." It seemed to Charles that nearly anything was a possibility in this hidden world of demons and curses. With nothing off-limits, they had a hell of a lot to sift through. It was not a comforting thought.

He smiled, faint but grateful, and set the pile of books nearby to continue his scouring. "I have a necromancer friend who lives in New Orleans. She owns a bookstore. I certainly wouldn't say no to a trip. Just to see what there is to dig up." After this, of course. After he'd exhausted every page of every suitable book in the place.

Bronwyn: Times like these, Bronwyn really missed her library back in Ronan. That house and pretty much everything in it had been designed with one goal in mind: to help hunters. It hadn't started out that way, but that was the way it had ended up.

Hell, she'd even managed to find a medical supply company that would sell to her!

"Definitely an option for us to keep in mind. I actually have a friend down there who's a hoodoo priestess. She might be willin' to help us out, too."

Charles: "Perhaps we should plan a trip in the immediate future." His tone was gently amused, but Charles put a mental pin in the idea to examine later. For the time being, it was best to exhaust all possibilities here. Plan A before Plan B, and all that.

He paused in his flipping, finger poised on a swirling, black mark that resembled Lawrence's tattoo. It wasn't the same mark --Charles' memory was photo-accurate-- but it did bear a slight resemblance. It was probably nothing, but there was no harm in trying.

"Does this mean anything to you?" he asked, tapping at the illustration in question.

Bronwyn: "Ye're more than welcome to visit," said Bronwyn, smile matching Charles' tone. "I live there, remember? I already have a pretty good idea of where all the places that might help us are."

She leaned over to get a look at the page Charles was pointing at. "Huh. That looks vaguely familiar. Does it say what creature or spell it belongs to?"

Charles: "Mm. Djinn."  He chewed on the unfamiliar word, tapping out the syllables against thin paper. "Dee-jin? Die-jin? Jin? Whatever it is I've never heard of it."  With the admission, he pushed the book across for Bronwyn to get a better look. And though it wasn't his intention, his eyes were faintly pleading when he finally tore them away from the pages. "Have you?"

Bronwyn: "Jin," Bronwyn confirmed, studying the page more closely. Maybe they were finally starting to get somewhere.

"As a matter of fact, I have. My brothers ran into one a few years ago. Djinn are basically genies. They grant yer dearest wishes but never the way ye think they are. Some species of djinn send ye into a perfect dream state while they drain ye of blood. Others are more trickster-like, givin' ye what ye want but havin' it bite ye in the ass."

Charles: There was nothing to be done for it; his pulse began to hammer, like his heart was trying to slam its way out of his ribcage. Hope is a dangerous weapon. "Yeah?" he breathed, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Do you think that warrants further exploration?"

A shudder ran through him, unbidden, as the truth of Bronwyn's explanation settled over him. "Your brothers... did they-- What was the outcome of their experience? Is there any way to stop it? If we're even dealing with a djinn, I mean."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn looked between the symbol on the page and the one Charles had drawn and considered. They were incredibly similar. "I think we would be remiss no' to."

"Things turned out verra well for them, and aye. Djinn can be killed."

Charles: Charles paled, if only slightly, casting his gaze down toward the swirling symbols. Killed. A dangerous word, to be sure. It filled him with a sense of dread that he quickly buried. Perhaps murder wasn't the only way to rescue his Mason. He'd consider his options once they'd formulated a plan. "Good. Good. That's a relief to hear. So... where do we start?"

Bronwyn: "Ideally by goin' to Mason and askin' him if he's been associatin' with any suspicious characters but in lieu of that, we need to go down to New Orleans. Even if it is a djinn and no' some sort of curse, my friend Marie's input could be verra valuable."

Charles: "Sounds reasonable." Charles nodded, trying not to seem as eager as he was. He was ready to leave right that very instant, no preparation necessary. But there was a scrap of sanity left in him yet, and he knew better than to assume a grown person could drop everything to go on a man hunt. Monster hunt? "When would you like to go?"

Bronwyn: "As soon as ye're ready," said Bronwyn. This entire situation made her uneasy; she didn't want to be without answers any longer than she had to be.

Whatever had cast that curse, Mason was soon going to be free of it. She and Charles would make sure of it.

Charles: "I'm ready, now." Perhaps he sounded a mite overeager, but Charles wanted answers just as badly and a solution most of all. He'd shoot a text message to one of the teachers before too long, but he was as ready as he'd ever be. He carried his greatest weapon with him wherever he went. "How are we traveling?"

Bronwyn: The man certainly didn't waste any time. Definitely an asset in a situation like this. "All right, then. I have tons of frequent flier miles so I can get us on the first flight out, or we could go with a more....magical, non-traditional method o' transportation."

Charles: One corner of his mouth twitched into a wry grin. Charles was good with non-traditional. After all, he'd arrived by teleporter and his best friend specialized in wormholes. "Non-traditional is all right with me. The less time we waste, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Bronwyn: "Verra well then, give me just one moment." Rather than make a phone call or go fetch someone, Bronwyn merely closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She was concentrating on her connection with her familiar, calling him to her side with her thoughts.

Vincent: It was as instantaneous as always, appearing in a blink on his mistress' shoulder in his jackdaw form. His feathers ruffled, eyes on the man in front of his druid.

"Ma'am?"

Bronwyn: Vincent was given a nuzzle in greeting. "Hello, love." She turned to Charles. "Charles, this is Vincent. He's my familiar. Vincent, this is Charles. He's a friend. We're undertakin' a task we could use yer help with."

Vincent: "Pleasure, Sir Charles." He would have smiled if he could. His feathers began to smooth. "How can I be of service?"

Charles: For all that he considered himself well-prepared for the strange and preternatural, Charles started when the bird made its appearance, a burst of feathers from one blink of blue eyes to the next. If time with Wynter and Mason had taught him nothing else, however, it was composure. He quickly regained his and offered the creature a smile, not a hint of bemusement at its ability to speak. "I assure you, Vincent, the pleasure is all mine. I believe that Bronwyn here can explain our predicament best."

Bronwyn: "Do ye think ye could transport us both home to New Orleans? A friend of ours is in some kind o' trouble and we need to find information on how to save him."

Vincent: "Yes, ma'am, of course. One moment." The bird fluttered from his mistress' shoulder. Standing pretty to her right, the avian creature began to enlarge; what was a sharp and tiny beak elongated and curved to a prominent nose. Near five feet and six inches the feathers sank into his skin and faded altogether, replaced by clothing. It was what distinguished him from Fera, his ability to return to human form bereft of the hassle of nudity. He had been in his true form for days, which was why his transformation took seconds rather than a blink.

"Ah!" The familiar cracked his back and neck. "Hi!" he waved.

Charles: Transformations, at least, were something he was intimately familiar with, given his upbringing. Any reminder of his sister and her gift still brought a wistful smile to his face. He waved back, friendly despite his brief trip down memory lane. "Well! Hello there."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn always enjoyed seeing people's reactions to Vincent's transformation. For some it was wonder, others curiosity, and in some cases--like now--there was fondness.

"There he is," she said, smiling as she smoothed Vincent's hair. "Have ye eaten, love? Don't want ye makin' this journey with an empty stomach."

Vincent: "Just seeds and - and things." Bugs. Delicious bugs! That wasn't a proper dinner in this form. In fact, his stomach suddenly felt empty. "Do we need to go now, ma'am?"

Bronwyn: "I do believe we have enough time for ye to eat somethin'. Both o' ye," she added, looking to Charles. "We all need to be well-nourished for what lies ahead and it just so happens I made chicken earlier."

Vincent: "I'm...I'm fine. Really. I can make it for a trip." Perhaps, but his stomach did grumble in protest to this, loudly enough for the familiar to hug his torso to silence it.

Bronwyn: "Nonsense, ye're goin' to eat. If ye don't want chicken I can make somethin' else."

Charles: He hadn't so much as considered his own stomach since he'd arrived. They'd been working for quite some time, but he'd been... preoccupied. Perhaps it was better to adventure on a full stomach than an empty one. "Chicken sounds lovely," he smiled, nodding to Vincent in an effort to assure him that he did not mind the delay. "We have to keep up our strength, after all."

Vincent: "If it's alright by you, then it's alright by me," said the familiar. "I'll help in the kitchen!"

Bronwyn: "Excellent," said Bronwyn, gesturing for them to follow her to the kitchen. "I can make some lovely sandwiches or I can heat up the chicken and accompany it with some salad."

Vincent: "Sandwiches, please!" chimed her bird.

Charles: "Sandwiches are perfectly fine," Charles agreed, chuckling. "Can I help you with anything?" To say that the telepath was hopeless in the kitchen was a gross understatement, but sandwiches even he could manage.

Bronwyn: "Sandwiches it'll be then. And wouldn't ye know, I do believe I have some fries we can pop in the oven."

"Charles, I'll put ye in charge o' washin' and slicin' some tomatoes. Vincent, ye can butter and toast some bread. Sound good?"

Vincent: "Yes! This I can do - and I won't eat all of it, promise." Once in the kitchen, the familiar looked between the two. "So, what are we doing afterwards?"

Charles: The corner of his mouth tilted up in an amused little smirk. Charles had never had the self-restraint to make such a hefty promise. "I think I can manage that." He trailed behind to the kitchen and awaited further direction. "Straight to New Orleans?"

Bronwyn: "Good," Bronwyn chuckled, taking over the task of slicing the chicken. "Lightly buttered, mind ye."

She nodded. "Aye, straight to New Orleans. Once this is done I'll call Marie and tell her we're comin'. Wouldn't want to catch her completely unawares."

Vincent: "Will I need to do anything else for this person we're going to see? More spells?"

Bronwyn: "I don't think so. Although now that ye're here, I wonder if ye might recognize the symbol we're tryin' to decipher."

Charles: "Oh!" He hadn't even considered asking. Without a word, he scuttled off in search of the sketch and returned with paper outstretched. "Here it is. Bronwyn, where do you keep your knives?"

Vincent: "A symbol?" The sketch was taken from their guest and given a once-over. "It's very old, and...I feel like it's something from both worlds. My old one and this one."

Bronwyn: "They're in the drawer underneath the coffee maker. I keep tellin' Callum to get one o' those magnetic strips that mounts on the wall but he refuses to listen."

Bronwyn moved to stand beside her familiar, looking down at the symbol on the paper. "Have ye seen it’s like before? In this world or yer old one?"

Vincent: "Only near dry lands. Drawn on rocks, painted or etched on glass. Never actually seen the owner of it."

Bronwyn: "We're startin' to suspect it might belong to a djinn of some sort."

Vincent: "Well, djinn plus dry lands would fit the profile."

Charles: Charles listened intently as he rummaged through the drawer for what he hoped was a suitable knife. Dry land? Rocks? Glass? Did any of it hold any significance? The telepath couldn't begin to guess, but he trusted the experience of his new companions where his own fell short. In the meantime, he busied himself with washing and slicing the tomato. "Do djinn not like water?"

Vincent: "That's the rumor," Vincent smiled.

Charles: "Huh." He supposed it was true that you learned something new every day.

Bronwyn: "Well if that's really the case then New Orleans is an odd place for one o' them to set up shop. Then again," she sighed, going back to the chicken. "I suppose that isn't too much of a problem as long as he avoids the river."

Vincent: "And the hurricanes, and the normal rain...and the misty days."

Charles: "Not to mention the humidity. Spending a summer day in the French Quarter feels a bit like drowning."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "This djinn chose a verra poor place indeed to avoid water. What else do the two o' ye want on these sandwiches? Cheese, lettuce, pesto, mayo? Request to yer heart's content."

Vincent: "All of that and some tomato," said her familiar.

Charles: "That sounds brilliant," he beamed, proudly sliding a cutting board of nearly-evenly sliced tomato across the counter.

Bronwyn: "Ask and ye shall receive." Fries went in the oven and the rest of the sandwich components were taken from their respective homes.

Charles: "Is there anything else I can do?"

Bronwyn: "Keep an eye on the fries to make sure they don't burn. Callum's oven has a bit of an attitude."

Charles: "I think I can manage that." He flashed another smile and nodded before taking a seat.

Vincent: "So what are you?" Because his childlike curiosity trumped his filter.

Charles: "I--" Charles blinked. His skin was far too thick for such a question to bother him, but it had been quite some time since he'd been asked so boldly. "I'm a mutant. Telepath."

Vincent: Vincent looked to his mistress then. A mutant? What?

Bronwyn: "There's somethin' in mutant DNA that gives them abilities most don't have. Some read thoughts, some manipulate matter, some can shapeshift. Endless possibilities."

Vincent: "So humans that can do magic all the time?"

Charles: "Oh." It hadn't even occurred to him that someone might not know who they were. "Essentially, I suppose. Though perhaps we're more like magical creatures... It isn't something that we do, it's something that we are. It's in our blood."

Vincent: "Sounds like a magical creature. Sounds like me, and vampires, and - well, I guess no demons."

Charles: "Mm. Every one of us is different, has different abilities, but we're a community, more or less. I run a school, you know."

Vincent: "A community, the very thing humans don't normally like in this realm," Vincent mused.

Bronwyn: "They'd be beside themselves if they knew how many communities exist right under their noses."

Charles: "It took quite a bit of adjusting for me to come to terms with that as well," he laughed, dragging fingers through the chaos of his hair. "But I must say that I'm glad to have met all of the people that I have, yourselves included." A beat. "And Mason, of course."

Vincent: "Mason, the demon? Have I met him?"

Bronwyn: "I don't believe so, but I'm sure I've mentioned him to ye before."

Vincent: "Mhm. Some days just blend together."

Charles: "He's.... a uniquely brilliant individual. I only hope that you get a chance to meet him." He lost himself to his thoughts, for a time, fiddling with a loose thread of his jumper before the distinct smell of potato caught his attention. "I think the chips are done?"

Bronwyn: "He will," said Bronwyn, smiling reassuringly for all their benefits. "We're goin' to go to New Orleans and get some answers and restore Mason to himself. He'll be okay."

She nodded an handed him a pair of oven mits. "Aye, it smells like it. Just set the tray on the stove there."

Charles: Charles nodded, trying for a smile, and did as he was told. The chips smells delicious, but he no longer felt the least bit hungry. Still, he set the oven mitts aside and took a seat while the fries cooled. He'd eat for strength and courtesy, if nothing else.

Vincent: "So," the tension was bothering the bird, "what are we going to be doing in New Orleans to find whatever?"

Bronwyn: "We're goin' to be visitin' a friend of mine. Marie Lanoue. She's a hoodoo priestess and one o' the only people I can think of that would have detailed information about djinn. What's more, she'll know if that symbol can be found anywhere in New Orleans."

Vincent: "Good! We should be able to solve this before the weekend is out, right?"

Charles: "I certainly hope so," Charles nodded, letting Vincent's optimism fuel his own. Already, they'd gotten leagues beyond anything he could have discovered researching on his own. It paid to have friends in strange places. "What do you think, Bronwyn?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn wished she could share their optimism. But since she couldn't, she was going to have to fake it until she did.

"I think Marie's our best shot at makin' it so. And if no' her, I know lots of other people that could give us answers. We're lousy with resources and we will figure this out and solve this."

Vincent: "It's not... life or death?"

Bronwyn: "No, nothin' like that. He's fine, he's healthy. He's just...no' himself."

Charles: "Not himself," Charles echoed, nicking a chip from the tray mostly for something to occupy his restless hands. It scalded his mouth as he popped it in, but he didn't so much as flinch. Certainly felt like life or death.

Vincent: "I've never heard of a situation like this before. How could it even happen?"

Bronwyn: "Djinn are verra powerful creatures. Some have the power to manipulate reality and I'm assumin' in Mason's case, people."

Charles: "And how does one go about defeating one of these very powerful creatures?"

Vincent: "Throw a bucket of water at them?"

Bronwyn: "I wish to god it was that simple. Maybe it will be and they'll melt like the witch in The Wizard of Oz, who knows."

Charles: "I wouldn't be surprised, honestly." He actually managed a laugh, and popped another fry into his mouth. "It seems to me that all the old fairy tales are true."

Vincent: "Did you think none of this existed before?"

Charles: "A long time ago, yes. Or what feels like a long time ago. It's all still very new to me."

Vincent: "Well, you're new to me," Vincent smiled.

Charles: "So I am," he chuckled. "I only hope I can make a good first impression. You know, for mutant-kind everywhere."

Vincent: "You're you, not the entirety," Vincent smiled.

Bronwyn: "If it makes ye feel any better, there are things that are new to us too," Bronwyn said to Charles, offering him a smile. "Human or non-human, none of us ever stop learnin'."

Charles: Charles returned the smile, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. "How right you are."

Vincent: Vincent would have to be reminded to eat slower, wolfing down lunch in his excitement to begin their search for whatever information was going to lead them to success. Unless the conversation was food related, then he was staying out of it.

Bronwyn: "Can I get ye somethin' to drink, Charles?"

"Slowly, Vincent," said Bronwyn, turning to her familiar. "And smaller bites. I'd hate to break our streak of days gone without chokin'."

Charles: "A glass of water, please?" He smiled around a mouthful of tomato, keeping his lips closed in an attempt at being polite. His appetite was still nowhere to be found, but it was probably best not to leave on an empty stomach. "The sandwiches are delicious, Bronwyn. Thank you."

Vincent: "Sorry!" Vincent gasped. "Done." He was picking up crumbs at this point. "I'm ready when you guys are!" Excited to get this moving forward. Anytime there was a mystery to solve he was ecstatic.

Charles: Charles cocked an eyebrow at the man, lips twitching faintly with amusement. "Do you want to finish my chips?" he asked, plucking up the second half of his sandwich and sliding the mostly-full plate across the table.  "I've been ready for weeks, my friend. I only wished I'd come to you sooner, Bronwyn. We've achieved more in a few hours than I have in a month on my own."

Bronwyn: Charles' water was fetched, her own meal attended to. She wasn't all that hungry either but as she'd told Charles and Vincent, it was best to undertake things like this on a full stomach.

Bronwyn shook her head fondly at her familiar before giving Charles a smile. "What's important is that ye're here now. We'll figure this out, whatever this is." She took a deep breath. "So we better go see what New Orleans has to offer."

Vincent: The familiar perked, several of Charles' chips crammed in his mouth. "Yesh!" crumbs making a break for it.

Bronwyn: "Vincent, we've talked about this too," said Bronwyn, getting up to clear their plates. "No talkin' with yer mouth full."

Vincent: "Sorry!" Yet he was still doing it, only now covering his mouth as he wolfed it down. "Ready when you two are."

Bronwyn: "I'm ready. Charles?"

Charles: He exhaled sharply and nodded, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his sweater. It was now or never, he supposed. "Ready as I'll ever be." A wry little smile and he was pulling back from the table to stand beside his companions.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right. Take us away, Vincent."

Vincent: With a smile, the familiar offered his hands to his mistress and the professor. This would drain him, as always, but at least now there was fuel to burn through.

New Orleans was unexpectedly chilly on arrival; it was the kind of frigid cold that bit through skin to bone. The thunderstorm was to blame, and immediately Bronwyn's bird was whining.

"I don't like this!"

Charles: Years. Years of instantaneous travel and Charles found it no less unpleasant. Still, he was upright and mostly steady when the world swam into view again. His brow furrowed with concern when he registered Vincent's complaints. "Are you all right? Is there something I can do?"

Bronwyn: After a few days in the pleasantly chilly weather of Edenton, coming home to bitterly cold wind was like a slap in the face. "Och, Jesus bloody Christ it's freezin'."

She wrapped an arm around Vincent to give them both some warmth. "Come on ye two, let's get inside."

Vincent: Like a bird - or in this case, a dog - Vincent was shaking off the wet as soon as they were in the foyer. "Storms are only nice to watch, not be a part of!" Time to strip out of his jacket and hoodie.

Charles: "I don't know," Charles chuckled, peeling out of his sweater and resisting the urge to wring the entire mess out onto the floor. "I enjoy this weather when I dress for it. Perhaps we should have checked today's forecast before we left."

Bronwyn: "Or teleported into the house," Bronwyn mused, following suit and shrugging out of her wet jacket. "Give me all those wet things, I'll throw them into the dryer and then call Marie to let her know we're comin'."

Vincent: "Well, excuse me," Vincent grinned. "I'm not perfect!" Now, to the kitchen for milk! "Yes, ma'am!"

Charles: Charles chuckled, and gratefully handed over his sweater for drying. "Thanks."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned back. "Ye're forgiven."

Clothes were put into the dryer, fresh ones distributed, towels offered. And of course, Marie was called.

A few minutes later everything was ready to go.

"All right, ye two, into my car. We're goin' on an adventure."

Vincent: "Yes ma'am," chimed the familiar again, mouth full of gingersnaps.

Charles: "Excelsior," Charles mumbled, tipping a nod in Bronwyn's direction even has he ducked into the car. He tugged nervously at his borrowed sweatshirt and braced himself for whatever was coming.

Bronwyn: The visit to Marie didn't provide any concrete answers, but it did assure them that they were headed in the right direction.

Marie explained that there were a couple of hoodoo rituals that could achieve the effects they described, but the symbol on Lawrence proved it was not hoodoo and did in fact belong to a djinn. She also told them that there were many different species of djinn, one for every culture in the world and all with varying degrees of power.

"And I guarantee," she had said, "That this is not what your Mason intended to be the result of his dealings with this creature."

Charles: Something loosened in Charles' chest. Reluctant as he was to admit it, even to himself, a part of him had wondered if all of this wasn't what Mason wanted-- a fresh start, free of all the chains of his former life... including Charles. The relief was almost painful. He dropped his head into his hands and heaved a trembling sigh, heedless of his audience. When he'd managed to collect himself, he spoke clearly, though he did not lift his head. "What are our options? How do we proceed?"

Bronwyn: "Only two options, Mr. Charles. You kill or you negotiate."

Charles: His face went ashen, and he was oh-so glad that no one could see it. Of. Fucking. Course. "Well. I'd prefer to negotiate, but I'll do what I must to save my... to save Mason. How do I find this djinn creature? And how do I kill it?"

Bronwyn: "Djinn cannot be summoned like demons. You have to go out and look. And until they in front of you, no way to tell which species it is. Once you know species, then you can find way to kill."

Charles: "Oh." It was never simple, was it?

Vincent: "So...what do we need to do now?"

Bronwyn: Marie gave Charles' hand a pat. "Go out and look, little raven. Good chance Mason knows the djinn."

Charles: Charles nodded and raised his head, managing to pull a smile out of somewhere. "That's... all right. Thank you. This has been very enlightening."

Vincent: Vincent just looked to his mistress and sighed. He felt bad for Charles, but what could he do?

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave her familiar the same look he gave her. Short of snapping their fingers and setting the world to rights, there was no immediate fix for this.

Marie patted Charles' hand again. "You're welcome, Mr. Charles."

"Hey Marie?"

Their hostess turned to Bronwyn. "Yes?"

"Do ye know of any djinn around here?"

She nodded. "Hooker in the French quarter. Name is Lila."

"Would she know of any other djinn?"

Marie shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask."

Charles: Charles' smile brightened ever so slightly. At least it was something to work with. He cast an appreciative glance at Bronwyn for staying level-headed when he was so obviously distraught. "Lead the way. Thank you again, Marie. Truly."

Vincent: The word "hooker" brought a blush to the familiar's cheeks. "Well, this is about to be an experience." Vincent bowed to their hostess and fell into step beside Bronwyn.

Bronwyn: "Aye, thank ye, Marie."

"No problem, sweeties." She kissed Bronwyn's cheek. "Go see your mama, she went shopping for you." The mama Marie was referring to was Lydia, an old mutual friend that saw Bronwyn as the daughter she never had.

"I will."

Once they were out in the car, Bronwyn sighed. "How the hell are we goin' to find a hooker in the daytime in a storm?"

Charles: "A brothel would be my best guess." Charles shrugged, pulling down the hood of his borrowed jacket and watching the rapidly-flooding streets with little interest. "But I don't suppose they would openly advertise what they're selling, even in a city like this one. We could always wait until tonight. After the storm's passed?"

Vincent: "We've come to a strange pothole in this path towards victory," said the familiar.

Bronwyn: "We have," Bronwyn said with a nod. "And aye, I think we're goin' to have to wait for tonight." She peeked up at the sky. "Hopefully the storm lets up by then. I don't think hookers work in the rain."

Charles: "Tonight, then." Waiting would be torture, but at least they had a game plan.

Vincent: "That word hits the ear wrong when you say it, ma'am," the familiar laughed. He just couldn't sympathize with the druid and mutant in this situation, as he didn't know Mason Atlas intimately. This was just another adventure.

Bronwyn: Leave it to Vincent to find some levity in all this.

Bronwyn chuckled softly. "How about we call them workin' girls?" She didn't like the word whore. It was so....aggressive.

Vincent: "Working girls. I like. Sounds progressive. It's their body, their business. Literal business! Cha-ching!"

Bronwyn: She laughed again. "I'm sure Lila will appreciate the progressive attitude if we manage to find her."

Charles: Despite himself, and the entire situation, Charles snorted out a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. "Indeed. What'll we do until then?"

Vincent: "Oh! There is an ice cream parlor nearby!" chimed the black hole.

Bronwyn: "Ice cream sounds good right now." Never mind that it was freezing outside. "What do ye say I buy us some banana splits?"

Charles: Charles was always, always dfs (down for sweets). His distant expression brightened considerably despite the cold, and he tossed a smile in Bronwyn's direction. "Make mine a sundae and you've got yourself a deal."

Vincent: "Perfect." They were in such a rush to get this done, obviously. Vincent should have been more mature about this, but ice cream was important!

Bronwyn: "Sundae it is." Rush or not, the rain was halting their progress. Might as well spend the time doing--and eating--something enjoyable.

Bronwyn parked in front of the ice cream parlor.

Charles: Charles didn't hesitate to brave the torrent. There was never a bad time for ice cream, and he planned to take full advantage of the down time. If he couldn't have Mason just now, at least he could have strawberry syrup.

Vincent: As usual, Vincent was the first to finish eating and the first to get brain freeze. He would have to be scolded, as usual, and an hour into the train the familiar was growing frustrated.

Bronwyn: He had been scolded; gently, but scolded nonetheless. And he definitely wasn't the only one getting frustrated and antsy.

"Do ye think people would notice if I suddenly made the storm disappear?"

Charles: Charles was still picking over a bowl of peanuts, restless and eager to make a move. Any idea that would help that along was a good one, in his opinion. "Possibly. But I could make sure that they don't." His telepathic range was well over three hundred miles, and this was an emergency. Or at least as far as he was concerned.

Vincent: "Maybe just a - maybe we could - I mean this is an emergency to you two."

Bronwyn: "I don't think it'll come to that if I do it gradually. Like so." Bronwyn took a deep breath, making sure to keep her now-glowing eyes turned away from the rest of the people in the parlor as she slowly made the rain taper off.

Charles: Charles grinned. Positively beamed. It was probably the brightest smile he'd shown since learning of Mason's predicament. If there was one thing that never failed to capture (and keep) Charles Xavier's interest, it was a display of fantastic power. Too bad Bronwyn was a fully grown druid, and not a young mutant. He would have offered a place at his school on the spot. "That's incredible." he whispered, studiously arranging a handful of nuts into an umbrella on the tabletop to remain inconspicuous even through his excitement.

Vincent: "Best I can do is make it rain like a bucket of water over someone's head," Vincent grumbled. "Never going to be that amazing." Mist was his favorite type of rain, so at least he could smile at that.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, though her focus remained on the clouds in the sky. "I could try to teach ye if ye want," she said to Vincent. "I'm pretty sure ye have enough magic to pull it off."

Charles: Their relationship was a unique one, and Charles couldn't quite liken it to anything else. Charming as he found it, however, his mind drifted elsewhere. "How long do you suppose we should wait?"

Vincent: "How long does it take hookers to come out of hiding?" Wait... "Was that insensitive?"

Bronwyn: She chuckled. "I have no idea. We can ask Lila once we find her. And I'm guessin' we better go now. We know the rain won't come back, but the hookers don't. They'll want to get some business while they can."

And off to the seediest street in the French Quarter.

Charles: He was probably not as uncomfortable as he should have been, with the proceedings. Hands shoved deep into pockets, Charles scanned the block, even as it began to come to life. He flitted easily from mind to mind. It was like finding a needle in a bloody haystack, of course. He didn't even know what the person he was searching for looked like, let alone who her friends and confidants might be. He wasn't without hope, however. Best way to find a needle in a haystack? Bring a magnet. With a glance toward Bronwyn for unspoken support, he crossed the street to greet a woman with blonde curls piled high atop her head and a half-burned cigarette hanging from her lips.

Vincent: "What's he doing?" Vincent asked. "Just going to ask around for her? Should I?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded as she followed Charles. "Aye. That's the only way I can think to find her. And no, stay close, love." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I don't like the way some o' these men are lookin' at ye."

She gave the woman what she hoped was a pleasant, unthreatening smile. "Hello, miss. Could we ask ye a question?"

Charles: The blonde smiled pleasantly as the man hailed her, shoulders straightening and fingers tucking an errant curl back into her knot. He was pretty, had a kind face and, by the look of him, money to blow. Such a combination was always an indicator of a good night to come. She'd hit the jackpot. Of course, she'd never been particularly lucky. It really should have come as no surprise that the chick and her sidekick sidled up as well. Groups were always a bad idea. Her face went stony as she prepared for a firm rebuff.

 Charles reached the woman first, and, undeterred by her cold demeanor, offered her the warmest smile he could muster. "We're looking for someone," he began after Bronwyn. "A woman by the name of Lila. We were told we could find her, here." He winced inwardly as her expression shuttered further.

 "Who's askin'?"

Vincent: "The men?" Vincent looked around. Men were looking at him? It hadn't come to his attention. "I thought women were the ones to be cautious with around here," he whispered, slipping into silence as Charles began his interrogation.

Bronwyn: "Looks like ev'ryone should be cautious," she whispered back.

And sure enough, there were men looking at Vincent; some were merely curious, others were sizing him up in every sense of the phrase while they did the same to Bronwyn.

Why did the prospective djinn have to be a hooker?

Bronwyn noticed the woman withdrawing as well, which was why she reached into her purse.

"Benjamin Franklin," she said smoothly, holding up a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

Charles: Well, that was the type of motivation that she lived for. She reached to try and pluck the bill from the woman's hand before she could take it away and tuck it into her bustier. Still, all the money in the world couldn't make her rat out another girl. Strangers didn't come around looking for pros by name unless there was trouble. "Look, Lila don't work down here no more.  She cleaned herself up, got a real nice apartment with some rich fella down in Laplace. That's all I know." It was a good lie, and she'd be long gone before they figured it out.

 Charles smiled, seeming grateful for the bullshit information. He hadn't reached out to the woman with the intention of her telling them anything. He only wanted to mention Lila's name. Once he got a person thinking about another, it was child's play to pluck information out of their heads. "Thanks. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ma'am. Shall we?" He turned to his companions, wanting to get out of earshot before he told them anything.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn squinted at the woman, not entirely certain if she believed her. People usually parted with information quite easily if there was profit to be made but usually it took more than a hundred dollars. She was about to offer another bill when Charles gave the woman his thanks.

She smiled. Who needed money when there was a telepath around?

"We shall. Come on, Vincent." Bronwyn squeezed her familiar's hand and followed Charles. "So where is Lila really?" she asked when there was no one in earshot.

Charles: Charles grinned. It was refreshing to have friends (?) not put off by the casual use of his ability. He'd have to spend more time with Druids and the like. "She works out of a hotel not far from here." He hadn't caught a name, but he knew what the building looked like and its general location. "This way. How best to approach the situation, do you think?"

Vincent: "Do you have a gun? Would a gun hurt a djinn?" Vincent smiled, lacing his fingers with his mistress'. "I know. A squirt gun."

Bronwyn: "Well, I have more money and a knife. Guns are at home, but I don't know if they'd do any damage." Bronwyn chuckled. "Now one o' those might. Maybe we should just talk to her and offer to pay for her time?"

Charles: Charles winced slightly, shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head low as they walked. "Fresh out of weapons, I'm afraid." Well, aside from his own mind. "I think payment and a simple conversation would be best, yes. Agreed." The walk was a short one, and soon enough a grand, old building loomed into view. "Here we are."

Vincent: "Well, she has taste in hotels, that's for sure," Vincent admired. "I'll just...stay behind you two."

Bronwyn: "Ye can say that again." The blond woman might not have been telling the entire truth, but Lila had definitely moved up in life.

Well, as much as a prostitute could while still remaining a prostitute.

Bronwyn gave Vincent's hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's fine, love. I think Charles should take the lead."

Charles: "Me?" Charles paled, which was remarkable given his complexion. He was good in a pinch, but he didn't know the first thing about djinn outside of how to pronounce their name. Still, he didn't want to let anyone down, Mason least of all. "All right." He squared his shoulders and strolled through the double doors with all the grace of a born and raised blue-blood. Lila would be at the hotel bar finding clients, if his hunch was sound.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. It's always hard to know how one supernatural creature will react to another. Most tend to be hostile. The fact that ye're human despite yer ability might work in our favor."

Once again she followed Charles, high-heeled boots echoing on the marble floor. She was trying to give off a non-threatening aura. Druids weren't exactly known to be unfriendly and threatening but it couldn't hurt to try to give some reassurance. She was a Druid on a mission, after all.

Charles: One could hope so. He found his way to the bar easily enough, most businesses such as this made their layout as uncomplicated as possible for the customer. Charles scanned the patrons as casually as he could before taking a seat next to a woman in a form-fitting cocktail dress. Her hair was long and dark, but he couldn't see any obvious signs of her being... other. Still, she matched the memories that he'd plucked from the mind of the other woman. Taking a deep breath, he ordered a strong drink, keeping maybe-Lila in his periphery. I think this may be her? Do djinn look different from humans in any way? Just to be sure... He chanced dropping the inquiry into Bronwyn's mind, hoping she was not bothered by the intrusion. They hadn't discussed boundaries in any way, but this was an urgent matter.

Vincent: Vincent wasn't usually this quiet, but without command he felt no need to say or do anything but cling to Bronwyn's side. Not quite a bodyguard, not quite a servant. Something almost child-like.

Bronwyn: Other than her own, there was only one other voice Bronwyn was accustomed to hearing in her head, and that voice was her familiar's. Hearing Charles' without any warning gave her a bit of a start that hopefully no one besides Vincent noticed.

'It is,' she thought back, rubbing the spot on her hip where her Mark lay. It was prickling something awful. 'Most djinn can pass as human, especially if they're using a glamour. That's Lila.'

"Want a drink, love?" she asked Vincent, giving him a reassuring smile.

Charles: Charles drained his drink, then another, before he gathered the courage to take action. This was it. Another path that could lead to his beloved, or another dead end. Turning to face the woman full-on, he offered her his brightest smile. Was it better to dive right in with the true motivation behind this conversation, or beat around the bush? He didn't know, but he could feel himself losing nerve. "Erm. Hello. I was wondering if I might borrow a moment of your time..."

Vincent: "No thanks," he whispered. "I'm fine." If he had one thing he'd want another, and another, and this was meant to be important, more important than his bottomless pit of greed.

Bronwyn: The woman that called herself Lila slid Charles a sidelong glance before devoting her attention on her drink again.

"Your face is earnest," she said by way of reply. Her voice was cool and crisp and ever so slightly accented. What the origins of that accent were, only she knew. "And your eyes are kind. Have they served you well?"

Charles: His charm failed him. There was something slightly disconcerting about the woman. Something otherworldly. Charles supposed he knew what, but knowing and experiencing were two different beasts. When he spoke, it was with all of his barriers down. "My... eyes?"

Bronwyn: She gave a single nod. "In your profession. Has your kindness and earnestness served you well?"

Charles: "I..." He had to give it a moment's consideration, but the answer was obvious when it came. "Yes. Yes, I believe that it has."

Bronwyn: "Do you believe it will serve you well here?"

Charles: He blinked. Well, shit. "I suppose that's up to you." Another long, pregnant pause. Charles wasn't prepared to be on this side of the interrogation. It was throwing him for a loop. "...does this mean you know why I'm here?"

Bronwyn: "Hmm." Lila looked from the man to his companions. She could only detect that vaguely Faerie-like aura from one of them, but they both smelled of the forest. Perhaps that was why they clung to each other.

She sipped her cosmopolitan. "You are here for the same reason as all the others before you. You want something."

Charles: "I do," he admitted, not bothering with coy evasion. Charles was out of his depth. "I'm... we're looking for information. I'd be willing to pay for it."

Bronwyn: She looked at his companions. The woman immediately ducked her head, which made Lila's lips curve in a barely there smile. Druids would never lose the respect their Faerie forefathers had bred into them.

"How did you come to find yourself in league with a little Faerie and her...." Lila inhaled. "...raven?"

Charles: He hesitated, briefly, unsure of how much to tell her. Or how much she already knew. "Friends of a friend," he said finally, which was true enough. "That friend is why I came to you, actually. He's in a spot of trouble." Understatement of the century.

Bronwyn: "If he were in merely a spot of trouble, your Faerie and her raven would've been all the help you needed."

Charles: "Fair enough." It was true, after all. His hands twitched slightly where they wrapped around his glass. "The friend in question got involved with a djinn. I don't know any of the details, but I know that he lives here. Do you know of him?" Charles didn't have a name. He didn't know if these creatures ran in similar circles. He was throwing his hopes blindly at the woman's feet.

Bronwyn: "We are not social beings. This is a very large city with an aura that attracts many kinds. Knowing that, perhaps your friend should have exercised caution."

Charles: Charles turned to face her full-on. "Perhaps, but the time for regret has passed. You haven't answered my question, ma'am."

Bronwyn: "Save your money. I do not know of another. They might well exist, but they are not known to me."

Charles: "Please." A hint of panic threaded his voice; he sounded desperate enough to have turned a few heads. Everything. Everything he'd been through. This couldn't be another dead end. He couldn't stomach it. "Please, Lila. You must know something! A rumour? A guess?" Anything to avoid starting from scratch.

Bronwyn: Lila's only reaction to the emotional plea was a curious tilt of her head. "You have my sympathies, professor, but I do not have the information you seek."

A tall man in a dark suit appeared at the entrance to the bar. He smiled at Lila; she gave him her almost smile in return.

She finished her cosmo and slid off her stool. Before walking over to meet her client, she trailed a single finger across Charles' cheek.

"Do not fear, Charles of the house of Xavier. You already have the information you require."

Charles: No. No, he very much did not have the information he required. Charles didn't bother to watch her leave. His head sank to the sticky bar-top as the crippling pain consumed him. For a moment, at least, Bronwyn and Vincent were forgotten. What was he going to do? So distraught was he, he did not question how the woman had known his name.

Bronwyn: A few moments passed before Charles would feel a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him," Bronwyn said softly, resting her head on his shoulder as she gave him a one-armed hug. "Come hell or high water, we'll find Mason."

Charles: His eyes were damp and red-rimmed, but he accepted the offered comfort. It was easy to forget that Bronwyn loved Mason, as well. He returned her embrace with a fleeting flicker of a smile. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes." He had to believe it was true, no matter how tired he was of disappointment. "We should go? I don't want to be here any longer."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye. Let's go home."