It was eight hours now since his back-alley encounter with the beautiful white-haired woman and the strange, calming voice in his head that claimed to want to help him. Six hours since he'd first stepped foot into this small but elegant one-story townhouse along Fifth and Main. Five, since he'd taken the first hot shower he'd had in months, and promptly passed out onto the clean sheets of a soft bed. Talk would have to wait; his healing factor could fix up everything from scrapes to broken bones, but it couldn't heal exhaustion.

Early dawn light streaming through clear, glass windowpanes woke him up with a start. A quick glance around the small guestroom told him no, he wasn't being chased, or on a mission (favor) for Fury or in some rundown cheap motel. Weird.

There was a change of clothes thoughtfully folded on the chair by window. He pulled the white tank on - running around shirtless around urban New York got old really quickly - but quickly shucked on his own jeans, contemplating the situation he'd found himself in.

He wasn't normally one to trust so easily, but there was something about the bald man in the wheelchair that didn't have his hackles rising. At least enough to take him up on his offer to explain things in further detail. He was, after all, the first person to claim to have some sort of explanation for the blades that rested between his knuckles. Mutant, he'd said, with no amount of suspicion or malice, but instead with a measure of understanding and kindness. Logan's head was telling him he was making a rookie mistake, shacking up with people he barely knew, but gut instinct was telling him to hear them out, listen to what they had to say. And, in his (short) experience, instinct was always right.

Dressed now, he made for the door. He'd barely taken a step out the room when the wheel-chair bound man he recongized from last night turned from the nearest corner. He smelled like old books and aftershave.

"Good morning, Logan." He said, smiling. "I was just on my way to see if you would join us for breakfast."

The rumble of his stomach answered that question for him, and he shrugged. "S'long as the food comes with some answers, sure."

Xavier gave him an answering smile and maneuvered his chair around to face the way he came. "Of course. This way, then, if you please."

"You'll have to excuse the crampedness," the bald man was saying smilingly. Except it wasn't cramped at all, with hallways wide enough to allow the berth of his chair to make smooth U-turns with relative ease. "This house rarely sees activity outside of myself and a bi-weekly housekeeper. It's only in use for when I have a string of lectures to give at the universities in the area."

Oh, so he was that kind of professor. Explained the funny smell of books and old leather that clung to him. Charles gave him an amused sort of grin.

"And the lady, the flying one - 'Roro, or something? - What's her deal?"

"Miss Ororo Munroe," he clarified with a smile. "a graduate student that I met by chance at her university. A fine young woman, if I ever met one. She was using her own mutant powers to save a student trapped in the flaming wreckage of a car when I first met her..."

"Yeah?" He wondered what she could do; apparently there was more to her than flying and looking damn fine.

Charles arched an eyebrow at him. "There is indeed much more to her than that. Miss Munroe can manipulate the weather at will."

Logan blinked, the statement so absurd that he barely registered that Xavier was answering his questions as he thought them. "She can control the weather?"

"Indeed." The telepath's smile was as subdued as ever, but the light in his eyes was excited. "And it seems that her control is so great, she can quite literally create a tempest in a teapot."

A soft, throaty chuckle came from inside of the next doorway. His nose told him it was a kitchen, if the fresh scent of eggs and bacon was any indication. Two purposeful steps brought him within view of the small kitchenette, where Flying Lady was setting a table for three.

"You flatter me, Professor." She remarked, bowing her head modestly.

"But it's true," Xavier had turned to Logan then, leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together before him. "You've seen her floating on winds of her own making. It would be a fair assumption to say she could conjure them on a smaller scale."

Ororo gave him a faintly amused smile before she turned to address Logan. "You will have to excuse Professor Xavier. I've only just met him myself, but already I've noticed how excited he gets over the prospect of learning about new powers..."

"Yeah, it isn't obvious or nothin'," He would've rolled his eyes, but he found he couldn't look away from hers. Her eyes were a beautiful ocean blue.

She arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "... Yes?"

Had he been staring stupidly at her? "... Was just wonderin' if you could." He said, gruffly tearing his eyes away and looking somewhere, anywhere else. "Uh, do that tempest in a teacup shit."

Her brow rose ever higher. "Is that a challenge?"

"I dunno, darlin'." He swung his eyes back to her and raised an eyebrow right back. "S'only a challenge if you can't do it."

She paused and gave him a long look; she was tall, taller than him and the Prof on his chair, so it gave an effect of her looking down on them both, like a queen surveying her subjects from a high pedestal. Were he a lesser man, he would have fidgeted in his place.

But then she turned to the nearest cup - she had filled it with coffee only moments prior - and gestured with one hand, thumb and first two fingers up. With a slight tilt to her wrist, the air before her began to swirl into a tiny cyclone, about five inches in height. Her dark lips parted and she blew a gentle gust to help it move along towards the cup where it made a neat water landing. In seconds, she had a miniature water spout forming within the confines of the delicate piece of china, not even a single drop of coffee landing on the table.

Beside him, Charles brought his hands together in a slow clap, smiling appreciatively. Logan glanced once at him, then at the woman who was calming the tiny tempest down with a graceful wave of her hands. It was only then he noticed the eerie, electric white glow of her formerly blue eyes. Damn.

"Amazing," Charles said, beaming. "Was that not amazing, Logan? The level of control over that kind of ability, truly astounding."

"Yeah," He echoed faintly, blinking in awe. "Great stuff."

Ororo smiled blushingly. "Thank you," she remarked. "Though I must note, it took many years before I could even achieve that kind of control. If anyone is deserving of praise, it would be those who have helped me harness this power."

At this, Charles clasped his hands back together. His smile was sincere, eyes bright.

"Yes, which is exactly what I mean to discuss with the two of you, today..."

Notes:
Charles' tiny townhouse is completely made up. For some reason, I don't like the idea of him living all alone in a large ancestral mansion, all day everyday until he would find the first of his X-Men. But don't worry, everyone's favorite mansion will show up soon!