![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (2/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 1
The man who stepped out into the hall was easily recognizable. Even without the telltale helmet and cape, there was something about him, something in the way he loomed--drawn to his full height, confident smirk tugging at his lip--that named him easily. Magneto was an imposing figure; Charles could see why so many feared the Brotherhood's leader. He could see, too, that Magneto intended to impress, the air of command surrounding him as manufactured as it was earned.
That was not to say that Charles was unsurprised, or unimpressed. Of all the mutants he'd expected to attend this symposium, Magneto was not one of them. Despite his better judgement, Charles was curious.
"Professor Xavier," Magneto said, stepping forward only to find his path blocked by a growling Hank.
Uncertainty and alarm radiated from Hank's thoughts. Charles tutted and then reached up to place a restraining hand around his wrist. "It's quite alright, Hank. Why don't you find Warren and let him know I've arrived."
Even as he spoke he drew his fingers to his temple, amplifying the suggestion until Hank deflated, his mind clearing of suspicion and worry. Charles had yet to take his eyes off Magneto, who watched the exchange with a growing smile, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. When Hank had gone, he inclined his head, acknowledging Charles' power.
"You're not what I was expecting," Magneto said.
"Oh? And what were you expecting, Mr. Lehnsherr?"
Magneto tilted his head at the name, but refrained from comment. It was a well-known, if unspoken rule that his former name no longer held meaning for him. Charles thought the concept ridiculous.
"I thought you'd be taller," Magneto said after some consideration.
Charles couldn't help himself. He laughed; a low, amused chuckle that was all the more pleasant for its unexpectedness. He couldn't remember the last time someone had caught him so off guard, and given that he was still trying to acclimatize to the press of so many minds after so long in isolation, it was a tremendous relief to have something to focus his mind on. For the first time since leaving the mansion, he felt some of his tension dissipate.
"You, on the other hand, are exactly as I pictured you," Charles said.
And he was, Charles realized. Standing tall and proud, helmet perched on his head like a crown, cape draped dramatically over his shoulders; Magneto was a figure plucked straight from the pages of a storybook. He was a carefully constructed invention, but an invention nonetheless, and with his helmet in place, Charles would never know anything of the man behind the figurehead. Staring up at Magneto now, Charles found himself wanting to know that man very badly.
"I'm glad I have not disappointed," Magneto answered, his smile shifting, edged now with something Charles interpreted as anticipation. It lasted only a moment, disappearing with the return of Hank, this time with Warren Worthington III in tow. Charles did not miss the low snarl that passed Magneto's lips.
With some degree of reluctance, Charles turned his attention to the newcomers. Warren had stuttered to a stop and was now drawing his wings back defensively. His thoughts were sharp blades of uncertainty, his respect for Magneto warring with his fear. Charles refrained from offering unwanted reassurance.
"My apologies, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles said instead, turning his attention back to Magneto, "but I'm afraid I'm due to give a speech." In the midst of their conversation, however brief, he had forgotten his reason for being here, for having left his mansion at all. It was a strange sensation, to feel a connection to someone without the intimacy of knowing their mind. "Perhaps we will have a chance to speak again after I am finished."
"I look forward to it," Magneto answered, though his face was a mask of bitter disappointment. The expression lasted only a moment before he schooled his features to indifference. He ignored both Hank and Warren as he strode from the hall. Charles watched him leave, uncertain what exactly had just transpired. It was an unfamiliar, though only marginally worrisome experience.
~*~
Magneto found Mystique speaking to the mutant who headed the Brotherhood's Russian operations. From her stance, it was obvious she was putting pleasure before business. She stood entirely too close, leaned into Azazel's space as though they were the only two people in the room. Magneto scowled and then took perverse delight in interrupting them.
"Come," he said, grasping her elbow and drawing her towards their assigned table. To her credit, she came without protest, instantly slipping into soldier mode.
"No one's seen Xavier," she said. "Half the people I spoke with are convinced he isn't going to show. The rest think he's still locked inside his mansion and intends to transport us all to an astral plane, give his speech via Cerebro."
Now that would be something, Magneto thought, even as he shook his head.
"He's here. I had the distinct pleasure of bumping into him. He's agreed to talk after the speech."
It was not technically true, but close enough for Magneto's purposes. He still didn't know why he had agreed to wait, when he should have simply sent Worthington from the room, demanded ten minutes of Xavier's time. His speech could have waited. Were it not for his helmet, he would have suspected Xavier of having coerced his cooperation.
Mystique had stopped walking and was staring at him now, eyes alight with excitement.
"He's really here? You've met him?" she said. For as much as she'd mocked him before, there were very few mutants in the world who would dismiss the chance to meet Charles Xavier.
"He's..." Magneto considered. "Unassuming," he decided, not quite certain how to describe Xavier. Inconspicuous also came to mind, but Magneto suspected Xavier put as much effort into his outward appearance as Magneto did. Everything about Xavier was designed to put people at ease; from his slight form to his oversized, dated clothes, to the floppy mass of hair that had spilled into his face, obscuring his too blue eyes. The mind of a god inside the body of a harmless academic; Magneto had to admit, he was impressed.
Still, it was obviously not the answer Mystique was looking for, frown marring the beauty of her cerulean complexion. Magneto waved aside her impending interrogation, beckoning her towards their table instead. By the time they were sat, the house lights were dimming.
There was a mad scramble for chairs as the Symposium's attendees realized what was happening. Slowly the tables filled, Magneto taking a moment to delight in having so many mutants in one room. This was what he missed in not attending these events; the solidarity, the brotherhood of belonging to a new and better race. He was so caught up in the beauty of it that he almost missed Xavier taking the stage.
Then again, so did most of the Symposium. There was no fanfare, no triumphant declaration, only the furred mutant Magneto had met earlier wheeling Xavier onto the stage. Xavier cleared his throat into the microphone and then paused to brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes. A murmur of confusion ran through the crowd. Mystique leaned into his space.
"You neglected to mention he was gorgeous. In a stuffy, nerdy sort of way," she said.
Magneto ignored her. He was waiting to see how the crowd would react. There was a sense of confused disappointment hanging in the air. They had expected something grander, and were uncertain how to respond to this seemingly harmless, understated man.
And then Xavier opened his mouth and began speaking.
And like everyone else in the room, even with the shielding properties of his helmet, Magneto was caught in Xavier's spell. His voice carried throughout the hall--likely would have with or without the microphone--his words clear, concise, and said with conviction. His speech touched on mutant evolution and mutant rights and the need for further progress. Magneto listened with rapt attention, his mind glossing over the impossibilities of some of Xavier's more idealistic thoughts--like the peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans--focusing instead on the promise of human extinction, on the rise of mutantkind as the eventual heirs of the planet. In the hour that he spoke, Magneto sat breathless, spellbound.
"We have it in us to be the better men," Xavier began his closing remarks, and when he had finished, not a single mutant remained seated. Magneto stood alongside his brothers and sisters, joining in the applause, body trembling with the possibilities hinted at in Xavier's speech.
When Xavier left the stage, as innocuous as he'd entered, the applause was still ringing throughout the room. Shouted requests for an encore echoed through the great room. Magneto did not wait to see if it would be honoured, instead grabbing Mystique's arm and dragging her towards the stage-side door.
The hall beyond was empty, but voices carried from one of the rooms. Magneto smiled.
Inside the third room, the one with the long, low table where Magneto had first heard Xavier's voice, he found Xavier, along with his furred assistant, Worthington and a red-headed girl he didn't recognize. The room was not meant to hold six people, so when Magneto stepped inside, Mystique on his heel, the space became claustrophobic.
"Professor," Magneto said.
Xavier, who was clutching the arms of his chair, face pale, damp beads of perspiration clinging to his forehead, glanced up at Magneto's arrival. Magneto watched, intrigued, as his shoulders dropped, complexion warming. His grip on the chair relaxed and he smiled, seeming pleased by Magneto's arrival.
"Mr. Lehnsherr," he said. "And I believe this is your companion, Ms. Raven Darkholme."
"I prefer Mystique," Mystique interrupted, pressing further into the room, eyeing its occupants, assessing their weaknesses, and strengths.
"Of course, my apologies," Xavier said. "I believe you both know Warren. This is his ward, Jean Grey," he inclined his head toward the red-head, "and, of course, my assistant, Hank McCoy."
Magneto remained silent through the introductions, though his gaze never left Xavier's face. None of the others interested him. He was here for Xavier and Xavier alone.
"I was hoping we could speak alone," he said, capturing Xavier's gaze, sharing an entire conversation in that single glance. He could only imagine the things they could communicate should he give Xavier access to his mind.
Xavier's smile never faltered, but he did glance briefly at Hank before answering. "Of course," he said.
At his side, Hank bristled, fur standing on end, his lip curling back in a snarl. It was becoming a familiar look. Magneto spared him a single glance before resuming eye contact with Xavier.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Charles," Hank said, but Xavier merely shook his head, eyes glazing over as he was lost to a conversation Magneto wasn't privy to.
"It's fine, Hank," Xavier said aloud.
Whether his word was enough or he had once again used his powers to influence the others in the room, one by one they cleared the space until there was only the three of them remaining. Magneto broke eye contact long enough to glance over his shoulder.
"Make sure we're not disturbed," he said, ordering Mystique from the room. She left with quick efficiency, movements graceful as ever, and Magneto knew she would take position outside the door, far enough away to avoid eavesdropping, but close enough to be on hand should he need her. There was a reason she stood as his second in command.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Magneto turned around, only to find Xavier watching him intently. There was no hesitancy in his gaze; none of the usual fear, or grudging respect, or even cautious uncertainty that Magneto was expecting. Xavier's expression held only open curiosity, as though Magneto was a specimen he wanted to place under a microscope.
"I'd offer you a seat, but I'm afraid..." he said, gesturing to the awkwardly cleared room. Aside from the table, there were a handful of crates and boxes stacked in the corner, as though pushed there to clear enough space in the room for a man in a wheelchair.
"Did you influence them into leaving?" Magneto asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
Xavier's smile widened. "I may have given them a slight nudge," he said.
And he had done so without bringing his fingers to his temple, which meant the gesture was little more than a distraction, something worth knowing. Magneto chuckled. He had no intention of underestimating this man, however much Xavier wanted him to.
"You're thinking about it in the wrong way," Xavier said, shaking his head when Magneto's expression turned to stone. "No, I'm not reading you mind, but I don't have to be a mind reader to know what you're thinking. It's not manipulation." Here Xavier placed his fingers against his temple in demonstration. "It really does help me focus, though it is entirely unnecessary. Still, when I'm tired, or nervous, or overwhelmed, it proves helpful."
"And the tweed?" Magneto asked, because he was fairly certain Xavier was lying and wanted to call him on it. He was taken aback by the utter confusion that furrowed Xavier's brow.
"Tweed?"
"The tweed, and elbow patches, come to think of it," Magneto said, gesturing to Xavier's clothing. "Easy to underestimate a man who dresses like a grandfather."
And now Xavier just looked insulted. He drew himself up, sitting straighter as he brushed the lapels of his jacket. Twin spots of colour flushed high on his cheeks. His bottom lipped wavered. For the first time in perhaps his life, Magneto found himself faltering, uncertain how to proceed. He was never uncertain.
"No?" he asked, hating the hesitancy in his voice.
Xavier sniffed, a pompous, arrogant sound that still somehow filled Magneto with guilt--another foreign emotion.
"What's wrong with tweed?" Xavier asked.
"Nothing," Magneto said. This conversation was clearly getting him nowhere. "It suits you," which was probably the wrong thing to say, judging from the way Xavier's eyes widened. It occurred to Magneto then that he was floundering, completely out of sorts, undone by this slight, incredibly vulnerable-looking man. "I don't suppose we can just skip this part of the conversation, get down to business."
For a moment Xavier looked disinclined to agree, but then he nodded slightly and relaxed back into his chair.
"You're here to ask me to join the Brotherhood," he said.
Magneto couldn't help it. His mouth fell open. Was it possible to have a conversation with this man without feeling gobsmacked? He was half convinced someone had been tampering with his helmet. There was really no other explanation. Before he could muster his wits, Xavier continued.
"And I'm afraid my answer is no," he said, and for a long time Magneto had no idea how to respond to that.
On to chapter 3
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 1
The man who stepped out into the hall was easily recognizable. Even without the telltale helmet and cape, there was something about him, something in the way he loomed--drawn to his full height, confident smirk tugging at his lip--that named him easily. Magneto was an imposing figure; Charles could see why so many feared the Brotherhood's leader. He could see, too, that Magneto intended to impress, the air of command surrounding him as manufactured as it was earned.
That was not to say that Charles was unsurprised, or unimpressed. Of all the mutants he'd expected to attend this symposium, Magneto was not one of them. Despite his better judgement, Charles was curious.
"Professor Xavier," Magneto said, stepping forward only to find his path blocked by a growling Hank.
Uncertainty and alarm radiated from Hank's thoughts. Charles tutted and then reached up to place a restraining hand around his wrist. "It's quite alright, Hank. Why don't you find Warren and let him know I've arrived."
Even as he spoke he drew his fingers to his temple, amplifying the suggestion until Hank deflated, his mind clearing of suspicion and worry. Charles had yet to take his eyes off Magneto, who watched the exchange with a growing smile, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. When Hank had gone, he inclined his head, acknowledging Charles' power.
"You're not what I was expecting," Magneto said.
"Oh? And what were you expecting, Mr. Lehnsherr?"
Magneto tilted his head at the name, but refrained from comment. It was a well-known, if unspoken rule that his former name no longer held meaning for him. Charles thought the concept ridiculous.
"I thought you'd be taller," Magneto said after some consideration.
Charles couldn't help himself. He laughed; a low, amused chuckle that was all the more pleasant for its unexpectedness. He couldn't remember the last time someone had caught him so off guard, and given that he was still trying to acclimatize to the press of so many minds after so long in isolation, it was a tremendous relief to have something to focus his mind on. For the first time since leaving the mansion, he felt some of his tension dissipate.
"You, on the other hand, are exactly as I pictured you," Charles said.
And he was, Charles realized. Standing tall and proud, helmet perched on his head like a crown, cape draped dramatically over his shoulders; Magneto was a figure plucked straight from the pages of a storybook. He was a carefully constructed invention, but an invention nonetheless, and with his helmet in place, Charles would never know anything of the man behind the figurehead. Staring up at Magneto now, Charles found himself wanting to know that man very badly.
"I'm glad I have not disappointed," Magneto answered, his smile shifting, edged now with something Charles interpreted as anticipation. It lasted only a moment, disappearing with the return of Hank, this time with Warren Worthington III in tow. Charles did not miss the low snarl that passed Magneto's lips.
With some degree of reluctance, Charles turned his attention to the newcomers. Warren had stuttered to a stop and was now drawing his wings back defensively. His thoughts were sharp blades of uncertainty, his respect for Magneto warring with his fear. Charles refrained from offering unwanted reassurance.
"My apologies, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles said instead, turning his attention back to Magneto, "but I'm afraid I'm due to give a speech." In the midst of their conversation, however brief, he had forgotten his reason for being here, for having left his mansion at all. It was a strange sensation, to feel a connection to someone without the intimacy of knowing their mind. "Perhaps we will have a chance to speak again after I am finished."
"I look forward to it," Magneto answered, though his face was a mask of bitter disappointment. The expression lasted only a moment before he schooled his features to indifference. He ignored both Hank and Warren as he strode from the hall. Charles watched him leave, uncertain what exactly had just transpired. It was an unfamiliar, though only marginally worrisome experience.
~*~
Magneto found Mystique speaking to the mutant who headed the Brotherhood's Russian operations. From her stance, it was obvious she was putting pleasure before business. She stood entirely too close, leaned into Azazel's space as though they were the only two people in the room. Magneto scowled and then took perverse delight in interrupting them.
"Come," he said, grasping her elbow and drawing her towards their assigned table. To her credit, she came without protest, instantly slipping into soldier mode.
"No one's seen Xavier," she said. "Half the people I spoke with are convinced he isn't going to show. The rest think he's still locked inside his mansion and intends to transport us all to an astral plane, give his speech via Cerebro."
Now that would be something, Magneto thought, even as he shook his head.
"He's here. I had the distinct pleasure of bumping into him. He's agreed to talk after the speech."
It was not technically true, but close enough for Magneto's purposes. He still didn't know why he had agreed to wait, when he should have simply sent Worthington from the room, demanded ten minutes of Xavier's time. His speech could have waited. Were it not for his helmet, he would have suspected Xavier of having coerced his cooperation.
Mystique had stopped walking and was staring at him now, eyes alight with excitement.
"He's really here? You've met him?" she said. For as much as she'd mocked him before, there were very few mutants in the world who would dismiss the chance to meet Charles Xavier.
"He's..." Magneto considered. "Unassuming," he decided, not quite certain how to describe Xavier. Inconspicuous also came to mind, but Magneto suspected Xavier put as much effort into his outward appearance as Magneto did. Everything about Xavier was designed to put people at ease; from his slight form to his oversized, dated clothes, to the floppy mass of hair that had spilled into his face, obscuring his too blue eyes. The mind of a god inside the body of a harmless academic; Magneto had to admit, he was impressed.
Still, it was obviously not the answer Mystique was looking for, frown marring the beauty of her cerulean complexion. Magneto waved aside her impending interrogation, beckoning her towards their table instead. By the time they were sat, the house lights were dimming.
There was a mad scramble for chairs as the Symposium's attendees realized what was happening. Slowly the tables filled, Magneto taking a moment to delight in having so many mutants in one room. This was what he missed in not attending these events; the solidarity, the brotherhood of belonging to a new and better race. He was so caught up in the beauty of it that he almost missed Xavier taking the stage.
Then again, so did most of the Symposium. There was no fanfare, no triumphant declaration, only the furred mutant Magneto had met earlier wheeling Xavier onto the stage. Xavier cleared his throat into the microphone and then paused to brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes. A murmur of confusion ran through the crowd. Mystique leaned into his space.
"You neglected to mention he was gorgeous. In a stuffy, nerdy sort of way," she said.
Magneto ignored her. He was waiting to see how the crowd would react. There was a sense of confused disappointment hanging in the air. They had expected something grander, and were uncertain how to respond to this seemingly harmless, understated man.
And then Xavier opened his mouth and began speaking.
And like everyone else in the room, even with the shielding properties of his helmet, Magneto was caught in Xavier's spell. His voice carried throughout the hall--likely would have with or without the microphone--his words clear, concise, and said with conviction. His speech touched on mutant evolution and mutant rights and the need for further progress. Magneto listened with rapt attention, his mind glossing over the impossibilities of some of Xavier's more idealistic thoughts--like the peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans--focusing instead on the promise of human extinction, on the rise of mutantkind as the eventual heirs of the planet. In the hour that he spoke, Magneto sat breathless, spellbound.
"We have it in us to be the better men," Xavier began his closing remarks, and when he had finished, not a single mutant remained seated. Magneto stood alongside his brothers and sisters, joining in the applause, body trembling with the possibilities hinted at in Xavier's speech.
When Xavier left the stage, as innocuous as he'd entered, the applause was still ringing throughout the room. Shouted requests for an encore echoed through the great room. Magneto did not wait to see if it would be honoured, instead grabbing Mystique's arm and dragging her towards the stage-side door.
The hall beyond was empty, but voices carried from one of the rooms. Magneto smiled.
Inside the third room, the one with the long, low table where Magneto had first heard Xavier's voice, he found Xavier, along with his furred assistant, Worthington and a red-headed girl he didn't recognize. The room was not meant to hold six people, so when Magneto stepped inside, Mystique on his heel, the space became claustrophobic.
"Professor," Magneto said.
Xavier, who was clutching the arms of his chair, face pale, damp beads of perspiration clinging to his forehead, glanced up at Magneto's arrival. Magneto watched, intrigued, as his shoulders dropped, complexion warming. His grip on the chair relaxed and he smiled, seeming pleased by Magneto's arrival.
"Mr. Lehnsherr," he said. "And I believe this is your companion, Ms. Raven Darkholme."
"I prefer Mystique," Mystique interrupted, pressing further into the room, eyeing its occupants, assessing their weaknesses, and strengths.
"Of course, my apologies," Xavier said. "I believe you both know Warren. This is his ward, Jean Grey," he inclined his head toward the red-head, "and, of course, my assistant, Hank McCoy."
Magneto remained silent through the introductions, though his gaze never left Xavier's face. None of the others interested him. He was here for Xavier and Xavier alone.
"I was hoping we could speak alone," he said, capturing Xavier's gaze, sharing an entire conversation in that single glance. He could only imagine the things they could communicate should he give Xavier access to his mind.
Xavier's smile never faltered, but he did glance briefly at Hank before answering. "Of course," he said.
At his side, Hank bristled, fur standing on end, his lip curling back in a snarl. It was becoming a familiar look. Magneto spared him a single glance before resuming eye contact with Xavier.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Charles," Hank said, but Xavier merely shook his head, eyes glazing over as he was lost to a conversation Magneto wasn't privy to.
"It's fine, Hank," Xavier said aloud.
Whether his word was enough or he had once again used his powers to influence the others in the room, one by one they cleared the space until there was only the three of them remaining. Magneto broke eye contact long enough to glance over his shoulder.
"Make sure we're not disturbed," he said, ordering Mystique from the room. She left with quick efficiency, movements graceful as ever, and Magneto knew she would take position outside the door, far enough away to avoid eavesdropping, but close enough to be on hand should he need her. There was a reason she stood as his second in command.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Magneto turned around, only to find Xavier watching him intently. There was no hesitancy in his gaze; none of the usual fear, or grudging respect, or even cautious uncertainty that Magneto was expecting. Xavier's expression held only open curiosity, as though Magneto was a specimen he wanted to place under a microscope.
"I'd offer you a seat, but I'm afraid..." he said, gesturing to the awkwardly cleared room. Aside from the table, there were a handful of crates and boxes stacked in the corner, as though pushed there to clear enough space in the room for a man in a wheelchair.
"Did you influence them into leaving?" Magneto asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
Xavier's smile widened. "I may have given them a slight nudge," he said.
And he had done so without bringing his fingers to his temple, which meant the gesture was little more than a distraction, something worth knowing. Magneto chuckled. He had no intention of underestimating this man, however much Xavier wanted him to.
"You're thinking about it in the wrong way," Xavier said, shaking his head when Magneto's expression turned to stone. "No, I'm not reading you mind, but I don't have to be a mind reader to know what you're thinking. It's not manipulation." Here Xavier placed his fingers against his temple in demonstration. "It really does help me focus, though it is entirely unnecessary. Still, when I'm tired, or nervous, or overwhelmed, it proves helpful."
"And the tweed?" Magneto asked, because he was fairly certain Xavier was lying and wanted to call him on it. He was taken aback by the utter confusion that furrowed Xavier's brow.
"Tweed?"
"The tweed, and elbow patches, come to think of it," Magneto said, gesturing to Xavier's clothing. "Easy to underestimate a man who dresses like a grandfather."
And now Xavier just looked insulted. He drew himself up, sitting straighter as he brushed the lapels of his jacket. Twin spots of colour flushed high on his cheeks. His bottom lipped wavered. For the first time in perhaps his life, Magneto found himself faltering, uncertain how to proceed. He was never uncertain.
"No?" he asked, hating the hesitancy in his voice.
Xavier sniffed, a pompous, arrogant sound that still somehow filled Magneto with guilt--another foreign emotion.
"What's wrong with tweed?" Xavier asked.
"Nothing," Magneto said. This conversation was clearly getting him nowhere. "It suits you," which was probably the wrong thing to say, judging from the way Xavier's eyes widened. It occurred to Magneto then that he was floundering, completely out of sorts, undone by this slight, incredibly vulnerable-looking man. "I don't suppose we can just skip this part of the conversation, get down to business."
For a moment Xavier looked disinclined to agree, but then he nodded slightly and relaxed back into his chair.
"You're here to ask me to join the Brotherhood," he said.
Magneto couldn't help it. His mouth fell open. Was it possible to have a conversation with this man without feeling gobsmacked? He was half convinced someone had been tampering with his helmet. There was really no other explanation. Before he could muster his wits, Xavier continued.
"And I'm afraid my answer is no," he said, and for a long time Magneto had no idea how to respond to that.
On to chapter 3
