|Played by Kat|
Charles is a telepath. His ability is incredibly strong, tamed from years upon years of learning, he’s managed to will it under his control, for it was as volatile and unpredictable as ever when it had first manifested. Still, Charles often thinks it’s a force that is much stronger than he realizes, and this may well be true - though he is unwilling to delve too deeply into the many faces of his power; for the illusion of control is enough.
He can speak directly mind-to-mind at his will, he can project his thoughts, images, memories onto others, he can alter and remove memory, he can implant false memories, he can tamper with one’s sanity, force them to believe they are a four year old girl with pigtails or a drunkard scrambling for his front door. Charles could put you to sleep with a bat of his eyelid or freeze you where you stand in a breath, he is incredibly powerful, burdened - as he might sometimes say - with something far greater than he at a tender age, little more than a child.
Yet still, mostly unbeknownst to Charles, there are protective measures that can keep him out of someone's head. Specifically, a strong enough metal barrier would be enough to keep him out, something his own telepathy cannot penetrate, leaving the owner's mind out of his reach entirely.
While Charles has only ever encountered one other telepath in his existence, she had indeed known when he had made an entrance into her own mind, she had been able to shut off his powers momentarily to gain the upper hand, and she had succeeded in keeping him in the dark whilst her own agenda was enforced. Other telepaths prove indeed an arduous mix, and a headache for all.
Charles’ biggest limitation is his own moral compass. He stands by the belief that there is only so much a mind can be meddled with before it no longer belongs to it’s owner. Rare and desperate situations are the only ones that will force him to act, and even then; he tries to do as little as he possibly can.
Telepathy can be exhausting, it leaves him with migraines, headaches, exhaustion and fatigue. He needs a little more sleep than most others, to rest the sheer mental capacity of his own brain, and by the end of the day, a worn out and diffused Charles will likely greet you if indeed you wish for a chat - perhaps this strain is why he seems so very fond of a good scotch before bed.
Charles is still little more than a boy. While incredibly mature and wise beyond his ears, he can also be irreversibly naive. He still believes in nobility, in loyalty andgoodness in most, if not all. He believes in a resounding faith in humanity, that all people have good in them somewhere - sometimes you only need to look a little deeper to find it.
He is honest, he is direct, he is fiercely witty and intelligent. He spends his fare share of time reading, writing, digging up old volumes and tomes to scour for something he doesn’t yet know. He’s a good teacher, and an even better mentor - surprising, considering the lack thereof any influential male figure in his life as a boy.
Charles is… quite mischievous. He is flirtatious and cheeky - his powers give him a sharp insight into most people upon meeting them, he knows what buttons to push, and what buttons to remain well away from. It’s easy for him to get along with most; he’s talkative, and incredibly charismatic. He has a way with words and an even better way with people.
Charles has a remarkably slow fuse, it takes a great deal to set off his temper, and even then, it would be largely contained. He is reckless with whom he trusts, and places it recklessly. He is impulsive and reckless in himself. He is an incredible optimist; he’d much rather see the glass half full.
Charles is almost always eager to help someone in need, perhaps a little too eager. He sympathizes remarkably well, and often sounds as if he speaks with years upon years of experience. He is perhaps indeed an old soul. Although, sometimes, Charles can be quiet on the surface. When drowned in a book, or simply… thinking - he can become so very absorbed in his own thoughts that he forgets himself, and his surroundings.
Befriending Charles is not a difficult feat, he is always pleased to welcome new friends, for to him, almost everyone already is.
Charles isn’t terribly tall, nor wide. He’s of a small but sturdy stature, he stands at little over five feet and six inches, still waiting for an adolescent growth spurt that never did arrive. He’s grown steadily accustomed to his odd frame, one that he admittedly would have liked to perhaps be a tad more graceful, taller, perhaps. He’s pale, sickly pale, chalky pale - a complexion that does not bode well for him in the warmer months.
Charles’ eyes are perhaps his most striking feature, such a shade of blue that they are quite bright. Equally so, there is a definite hint of intelligence, wit and mischief behind them. Thinly veiled behind a guarded exterior. His lips would come next, plumper and redder than he might like, though he’s never once sought to wish differently. A messy head of auburn hair distinguishes him most obviously - no matter the combs he tries to tease through it, it refuses to settle still. His cheeks flush a rather bright red, wether from perspiration or a permanent rosy colouring - he’s never been particularly certain. Thus; he maintains a boyish sort of charm.
His clothing remains conservative, and from his stature alone, it’s more than apparent that Charles would really rather keep himself covered up. He dresses perhaps a decade older than he should in tweed jackets and faded slacks, he often wears grayed cardigans, or sweatshirts - honestly, to him, they look quite dashing.
Charles speaks with a refined and educated English accent. He handles himself in a proper manner, minding both his manners, and his language. He carries himself with an air of casual confidence, which makes him nothing short of incredibly approachable.
Though Charles never truly did fit in at school. He had remarkably few friends, and preferred the company of books to endless games of handball. Though time soon came when Charles’ father passed away, a time he remembers still far too clearly. He had been eight years old, and still… so very alone. He had felt more lost than ever before - and his mother never did recover.
She lapsed into a alcoholism, trying to drown her own lashing thoughts out with whisky and wine, whatever she could grasp. His father’s fortune was left in her name, and she never was the same after his death. The maids were the ones to rase Charles. Cooking for him, cleaning for him, giving him help when he needed it with his homework - and it was not too much longer thereafter that his powers manifested. It did not happen all at once, no - it was gradual. Slowly, and then all at once. A few odd things here and there, before it became painfully obvious something was not right. Charles kept hearing voices - voices that were not his own - when those around him wouldn’t say a word. He was reading thoughts, he could hear what those around him were thinking. He could see their thoughts, it was daunting - it was… isolating. He felt more lost, more out of place than he ever had before - and he had no-one to ask for help…
Time passed, Charles soon began to believe that he was the only one with this strange gift, for he saw no further evidence of it anywhere else. He grew, as a person (seeing what his classmates really thought of him was an eye-opening, and hurtful experience), but he met her. Her name was Raven. She was like him, she could change her form as she wished, she was alone - just like he was. Lost, looking for a home she didn’t have. So he helped her, he let her in, and together; they grew. She became like a sister to him. She was there for him when he had had no-one. She was his friend. His first friend.
Together, they were able to explore their gifts. Charles was able to contain and tame his telepathy, Raven was able to refine her own - she had gone from being able to hold a certain form for minutes, to hours, and soon - to a full day. She adopted the look of an ordinary human with flowing blonde hair and blue eyes, no-one would glance twice at her.
Although, Charles’ mother soon remarried. To a man Charles never did warm to, and his son, a boy called Cain. Cain was several years older than Charles, taller, wider and on the other end of the spectrum to him entirely. They never saw eye to eye, and Cain had a volatile and unpredictable temper. A temper he rather liked to take out on Charles. He’d go to school with bruises he’d brush off as accidents, gained from falling over, and Cain remained as brutal as ever. No matter Raven’s pleas to him to use his telepathy to force Cain back, Charles would refuse. He felt… Cain was family. Cain was Cain. He could not - would not change his family.
Charles graduated from school, and not a month following, his mother passed away. This left the home in Charles’ custody, and he took full control of it. The mansion was his, and he had Cain and his father pack their things. Although he never did know him, Charles thinks… his mother’s new husband did love her - on some level. The riches she inherited were the true allure for him, that was no secret. Charles would often catch him fondling the tea sets and silverware with adoring fingertips, knowing exactly what he had been thinking…
It was not too long following, Charles had attended Oxford university, played on the lacrosse team before evicting himself for his unfair advantage over the other players (despite how much fun he found the game), that he began to encounter other mutants. He was found in a pub by Moira, a lovely young CIA agent who took him back to the facility for briefing - she had seen other mutants, and… that was something Charles could not ignore. He listened to what she had to say, and he agreed to help, these mutants were not like him, they held violent agendas and had their minds set upon destruction.
Charles had to act. It was then that he met Erik Lehnsherr, a mutant - like him - with the uncanny ability to manipulate metal as he saw fit. Charles was enamored by him - and by his rage. The other mutant seemed so very set on his target that he had thrown his life on the line, he would drown - and Charles wouldn’t allow that to happen. He saved him, arms around him in the surging sea, and managed to force calm into his enraged thoughts. They had the same goals - it only made sense for them to work together to achieve them.
A puzzled and somewhat shocked Erik had agreed, for he had been like Charles until he met Raven - he had thought himself entirely alone. It was Erik’s memories that brought Charles’ compassion. He knew everything about him, the mutant’s life was laid out before him like a storybook, and Charles took it all in. He understood his consuming hatred for Sebastian Shaw, he understood why Erik was as… as angry as he was, and he was determined to help him.
They couldn’t face Shaw alone. He had cronies, one of which Charles’ telepathy was useless against, they needed help. They were searching for mutants when it happened. On the outskirts of New York, crashed in a dingy motel for the night. Erik was asleep, Charles was struggling to sleep - mind too active to bring any peace - when it happened. He can’t say how, for he doesn’t fully understand it now. At first, he had thought it some odd trick of Erik’s, something to scare him, but when he had called for him - Erik’s bed had been empty. Almost smoke in tendrils had crept over him, taken his arms, his ankles and dragged him under, through the ground, he had felt like he was suffocating, like he could not breathe--
But when he emerged, alive, he was somewhere new.
But he was entirely alone, once again.