A few days after your letter was delivered, another appears in your mailbox. It’s little more than a slip of paper with a time and date scrawled across the front, sealed nevertheless in the same envelope as last time and signed with a few simple words : “You’re expected at my office door for an interview. — Magneto”
the appearance of yet another letter is greeted with a prompt sinking of the stomach and a slight fluttering of anxiety; jinri had been hoping that the letter from before would be the end of things, that she would be able to go back to stewing the giant falsity she called peace and calm without any more disturbances, without any more questions. dully, she found herself afraid of the mere thought of digging for answers, of what she’d find.
regardless, the mutant already assigns herself to going to magneto’s office upon reading what’s inside the envelope. importance oozes itself off of every letter, so there’s no brushing the affair off, even as unanticipated as it was.
the teen arrives four minutes before her official appointment and so she sits, a metre and a half from the door, tracing small circles on her left armrest. she could swear she had taken her medication—if she hadn’t, her grinding bones would feel as if they were on fire—but her heart races a mile a minute; anxious, somehow, behind the haze, fear of the unknown still manages to shake her.
annoying. she nibbles at her lower lip, stopping at the first taste of metal.
jinri raises a bound hand to magneto’s door precisely fifteen seconds before her timeslot, finding a small bit of happiness at how exact, how perfect her arrival was (for by the time she had settled in front of magneto’s desk, she should be right on time!); precision was rare for the miserable youth, who had begun to felt like she only stumbled from one day to the next (which carried an element of truth).
the sight of swirled amber is what catches her eye first, then the pen, and then, finally, the headmaster’s eyes. they were all too intense and for a moment, the world seems to shake around the pair of epicentres; jinri’s gaze drops back to the pen, glass, and then floor.
another question. she swallows, hands gathering in her lap. no time to write it out either. the thought draws a small amount of jarred amusement and so her lips jerk themselves into a slight simper.
“what… i.. would do… “ her brows furrow, already finding a sense of disagreement in the words she was about to utter, “what i would do is try to talk… diplomacy is the first and best option…” the girl’s words cut off with a slight warble, for the dull aching of her tense shoulders forces her to remember what little talking had done and would do for her, for her friends, for her family.
there’s no thought more painful than the thought of losing them all; of that she’s sure, for she’s had many.
inhaling, she continues, “for diplomacy to work, it requires a willing ear and i don’t think… no, i know that a good lot don’t want to listen. maybe they’re sad—“ like us, “—and mad. definitely scared. so they’re covering their ears, forgetting that the presence of mutations, as per darwin’s model would better our species, the human species as a whole… “
her next words slip out, as if by accident, in a moment of wandering ponder, “… and because of that, that maybe we’re better.” immediately, she rejects her own utterances, tongue rushing to correct the beginning of such thought. “better as allies than marks.”
realising that she’s a) made a fool of herself and b) wandered off topic, jinri strives for a conclusion the best she can, discomfort pressing itself against her with each passing second. “anyways, when diplomacy fails, you have to be ready to do anything. hell, even if you aren’t prepared, even when you’re scared, you end up doing anything.” dark orbs raise themselves from the carpet, resting on magneto’s face in a moment of sincerity. “so i won’t lie, because i’m not special—i’d do anything.
even though it scares me half to death, i’d do anything.”
because there's nothing scarier than losing everything.
