Kapitel 33: The Wolverine Factor #33
Walking into Xavier's office within the spacious confines of the X-mansion, Evan's attention couldn't help but be drawn to the figure leaning against the room's wall. Wolverine, a formidable presence even in repose, met Evan's gaze with a steady and knowing look. His presence there was almost a silent challenge, a reminder that their paths were destined to intersect.
Evan's gaze shifted to Xavier, who occupied a seat with an air of calm authority. The unspoken exchange between the two men was a dance of inquiries and responses. With a sigh that carried the weight of understanding, Xavier addressed Evan's silent question before it could fully form.
"Logan insisted on being here," he explained, his tone tinged with a blend of helplesness and exasperation. It was clear that Wolverine's tenacious spirit often led him to make decisions that defied conventional protocol.
Evan's response was a casual shrug, a dismissive gesture that seemed to convey his willingness to overlook Wolverine's presence. "Very well. I see no harm in it..." Ignoring the Wolverine's intent scrutiny, he took a seat opposite Xavier. The chair creaked slightly under his weight as he settled into it, his posture relaxed yet attentive.
The moment stretched as a silence settled in the room, only to be broken by Wolverine's gravelly voice. His words were direct, unapologetic, as if he had a question that demanded an answer. "You've been avoiding me," he stated, the words hanging in the air with a certain weight.
Wolverine's gaze bore into Evan's, a penetrating scrutiny that seemed to peel back layers with every passing second. "You scared of me or something, bub?" The peculiar look in Wolverine's eyes was hard to decipher—part challenge, part curiosity, and perhaps a hint of something else.
The corner of Evan's mouth lifted in response to the accusation, amusement dancing in his eyes. The notion that he, Evan Shepherd, could be afraid of anyone or anything was almost laughable. He shook his head slightly, as if to dispel the very idea.
"Very few things scare me in this world," Evan began, his voice steady and confident. His gaze remained locked with Wolverine's, unflinching. The air in the room seemed to still, the tension between the two men palpable. Evan's words held a note of undeniable truth as he continued, "You, Mr. Howlett, are not one of them."
Wolverine's brows furrowed involuntarily at the mention of his real name, a reaction that danced briefly across his features before he concealed it beneath a veil of indifference. A faint quirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, an almost amused response to Evan's assertion.
"Is that so...?" Wolverine's words trailed off, a hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. His gaze bore into Evan's, a mixture of scrutiny and challenge that seemed to be a hallmark of his character. "Then why bother avoid me if you ain't scared of the Wolverine?"
Evan, seemingly unruffled by the intensity of Wolverine's gaze, offered a nonchalant shrug. His words were straightforward, delivered with an air of matter-of-factness. "Simply because you and I would not mix well," he stated, his tone tinged with a kind of candid honesty. There was an undeniable undercurrent of caution woven into his words, a recognition of the volatile nature that simmered beneath Wolverine's exterior.
Without missing a beat, Evan continued, his expression remaining neutral. "You're a ticking time bomb," he explained, "and I don't fancy adding your episodes of psychotic rage to the expanding list of worries." The words hung in the air, a clear statement of Evan's rationale for keeping his distance.
Wolverine's response was immediate, a low growl that emanated from the depths of his throat. His eyes, once playful with a glint of amusement, now narrowed with a dangerous edge. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the atmosphere crackling with an electric charge as Wolverine's temper flared.
"And I happen to find people who speak in third person-- all be it as a joke-- to be extremely obnoxious..." Evan concluded, and those words seemed to provoke Wolverine's wrath instantly.
"The fuck did you just say to me, bub?" Wolverine's voice held a low, dangerous quality, his words infused with a warning that couldn't be ignored. The energy in the room was palpable, a confrontation hanging on the precipice of action.
Evan's response was a chuckle, a soft sound that seemed to draw the tension into itself, diffusing it like a release valve. "Case in point," he remarked with a wry grin, his gaze meeting Wolverine's with a kind of unspoken understanding.
Before Wolverine could further escalate the situation, Xavier's intervention cut through the charged atmosphere. The telepath's presence was a calming influence, a reminder of the broader context they were all part of. "That's enough of that, I think..." A discreet clearing of Xavier's throat carried a weight of authority, a signal that their exchange had reached its limit.
Wolverine muttered something under his breath, the words carrying a mix of frustration and defiance, but he relaxed his posture. The fire in his gaze dimmed slightly, as if he begrudgingly acknowledged the wisdom of Xavier's interference.
With a graceful turn of his head, Xavier directed his attention back to Evan, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. The lines of his features were etched with the wisdom that came from years of experience, his expression inviting Evan to elaborate on the situation that had unfolded within the mansion's walls.
"Now then... would you mind explaining why Warren Worthington Jr is in one of my guest rooms?" Xavier's voice was measured, his words carrying a gentle but probing quality. The question was straightforward, a prompt that invited Evan to share the motives behind his actions.
Evan's response was casual, a nonchalant shrug that belied the gravity of the situation. His words, delivered in a manner that suggested the simplicity of his intentions, held a touch of underlying complexity. "What else? The man needs protection," he stated matter-of-factly, as if the answer was as obvious as daylight.
Xavier's expression remained composed, but a hint of skepticism flickered behind his gaze. He was no stranger to the nuances of human behavior, and his keen insight allowed him to see beyond the surface of Evan's words. He recognized that Evan was not a man who acted without purpose, whether that purpose was benign or potentially more insidious.
Suppressing a faint urge to scoff, a response that would have been out of character for him, Xavier shook his head slightly. The motion was subtle, a controlled gesture that conveyed a mix of understanding and caution. "I deduced as much," he admitted, his tone a blend of acknowledgment and caution.
Leaning forward in his wheelchair, Xavier's hands rested lightly on the armrests, his posture exuding an air of attentiveness. His eyes, a clear blue that seemed to carry the weight of countless thoughts, met Evan's gaze with a steady intensity. "What I want to know, Mr. Shepherd," he continued, his voice soft but direct, "are your real intentions?"
Evan's exhale was laden with a tinge of exasperation, his shoulders giving a subtle sag as he responded to Xavier's question. "Isn't that also obvious?" His words held a touch of wryness, a hint of amusement that played at the edges of his tone. He lifted a hand to rub his temple briefly before his lips curved into a faint smile. "Your dreams of equality are very much grand, but far-fetched as things stand," he observed, his gaze shifting from Xavier to Wolverine and back again.
Xavier's brows knitted in a thoughtful frown, his expression a canvas of contemplation. Beside him, Wolverine's scowl etched deeper lines on his rugged features, the skepticism in his eyes mingling with a wariness that came from years of experience. Despite the tension that simmered beneath the surface, Evan pressed forward, undeterred by their reactions.
"Undoubtedly, the X-men need allies," Evan stated, his voice measured and resolute. His fingers lightly tapped on the armrest of his chair, a rhythm that seemed to echo the steady beat of his argument. "Human allies," he emphasized, his words carrying a weight of significance that hung in the air.
Evan's shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, his posture relaxed even as he addressed a topic that held profound implications. "Worthington Jr," he continued, his tone steadying as he delved into his rationale. "A powerful man with no true prejudice against mutants," he acknowledged, his words devoid of any illusion. "And a personal stake in the X-men," he added, the connection a crucial thread that tied their fates together.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Evan elaborated on his perspective. Worthington Jr's potential as an ally was substantial, his influence stretching far beyond the immediate sphere of mutant-human relations.
As Evan's words flowed, the details painted a vivid portrait of Worthington Jr's stature. The man wasn't just wealthy; he was exorbitantly rich, his financial power matched only by his extensive network of connections. Evan's analysis was clinical, his assessment informed by a keen understanding of the chessboard that was the world they inhabited.
"And," Evan's voice carried a note of emphasis, "he harbors no hate or grudge against mutants." His words held a certain gravity, a realization that underscored the uniqueness of this potential alliance. "With his own son being a mutant and a part of the X-men," Evan concluded, his voice holding a trace of finality, "your couldn't possibly hope for a better ally."
...
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