Lore: When a Trickster Meets His Match

Chapter One: Suspicious Minds

It wasn't always easy being the daughter of Charles Xavier. Not that it made her want to snivel and sob about how miserable her life had been, because she knew that she was more fortunate than most people. Being born with a silver spoon in her mouth and an heiress to both a considerable sum of money and a prestigious reputation, she knew that she had been awarded things from birth that others had to endeavour and struggle through their entire lives to achieve. Unlike so many, she had complete freedom of choice when it came to her subject of her studies and several universities had competed to have her join them across the world to be able to brag that the daughter of the Charles Xavier attended them. She'd ended up going to the Paris Sciences et Lettres, a university proclaimed for its scientific research and study, for two years and then returned to Oxford University for the remaining years until she'd earned her degrees in genetics and biophysics. An alumni of Oxford - just like her father.

But there was much that the daughter of Charles Xavier had to sacrifice.

It was an enormous shadow that Cressida Xavier had to live in as she was growing up. Raised in the school that her father had built from his old family estate, she had never known true privacy in the way that so many of her peers did. While they arrived at the school for each of their terms and left for holidays, she was always in the same place. The only memories of childhood holidays had been quiet, lonely times with her Aunt Raven at the seaside - waiting anxiously for the news reports for if her father and his band of X-Men had returned alive or not. For so many years, it had burned in her heart a jealousy for the other students that they could hold a part of her Father's heart that she couldn't. He was his biological daughter, but he treated her in the same way that he would treat any male or female student that entered his care. If it wasn't for other mutants like Hank, Erik and Raven -

A clink of a glass being set down before her. There was a napkin on the surface of the bar that would've stifled the sound, Cressida can't help but note. The drink is slid towards her - something dark, fruity looking with one of those facetious little umbrellas that added nothing to the drink except a sense of whimsy and an increased chance of getting a tongue-splinter - and Cressida finds it strange that she can already identify who those hands belong to. Shanghai Red nail polish. Could it be anyone else?

"I have a drink already, Wanda," Cressida pointed out.

"But here's another one for my favourite telepath," Wanda winked.

Wanda was always faintly red. Whether the colour calmed her - an irony that wouldn't be lost on the telepath - or that she just simply seemed to like it, Cressida never seemed to gather enough interest to ask. Tonight were the red nails, red lipstick and a red cocktail dress. But Wanda wouldn't see it like that, Cressida reminded herself as she grinned at her friend. It would be Shanghai red nail polish, merlot red lipstick, a garnet red dress. . .

"Thinking deep thoughts?"

Cressida realised that she hadn't answered yet.

"Just thinking about how effective my powers will be tomorrow after I get a hangover," Cressida beamed, "If you keep throwing booze at me, I might not be able to get my thoughts straight."

"Screw that!" Wanda giggled, already tipsy, "It's been a shot of tequila, a cocktail and - and whatever that is," She winked at her again, almost conspiratorially, "Besides, you have to drink. It's New Year's Eve. It's basically tradition."

Cressida grimaced.

"What if we start a new tradition," She suggested, "of not puking our brains out in the turning-in of a new year, yeah? Then we don't have to complain and moan about it like a pair of sods tomorrow afternoon?"