Ethereal | (X-Men: First Class)

3. Overture

An introduction to something more substantial.

⭇⭁

Marianne had almost finished putting the books away when she heard the front door open. 

Her entire body went ice cold. She made a quick gesture, and the wooden ladder that was - luckily - in the same aisle as her flew across the floor to her. She dropped onto the top of the ladder, and the rest of the books floating around her crammed into whichever empty spots were closest to them. She winced slightly as she shoved the books into already too tight spaces. She'd fix them later.

"Anyone home?" A male voice called out. Just as soon as it had, a man walked into the aisle she was in. He brightened up when he saw her. "Oh, good!" 

Marianne sighed. He couldn't have seen anything. It definitely would not have been good for a stranger to see several books levitating several feet off the floor. It would have been worse for a stranger to see Marianne herself floating several feet off the floor, one leg over the other as though she were sitting on air. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but the store is closed right now," Marianne said, beginning to climb down the ladder. 

"Would you like some help getting down?" The man asked, already moving forward to assist her. Marianne held out a hand, stopping him from coming any closer. Instead, he hovered rather anxiously behind her, looking concerned. But Marianne finished climbing down by herself, and then she turned to examine at the man before her.

He was short, about the same height she would be if she hadn't been wearing heels. As it was, he was an inch shorter. He had a feminine appearance, to be quite frank; his thick, wavy brown hair and crystal blue eyes were not helping. Marianne had to admit (reluctantly), he was rather pretty. He was dressed in unwrinkled slacks and a dark blue sweater, underneath a grey tweed coat, giving him the appearance of a very young professor - he couldn't have been any older than her own thirty-one years.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, not feeling sorry at all, "but as I said, the store is closed. I could have sworn I locked the door - I must have forgotten." Marianne knew for a fact she had locked the front door. 

The man didn't seem very bothered by this. "Is that a French accent I hear?" He asked, sounding amused. He himself had an obviously​ British accent. "I have to say, I didn't expect to find a French woman here, of all places." 

Marianne frowned at him. "I never expected​ to see a Brit in my shop. We don't get many limeys around here." 

To her surprise, he laughed, not offended in the slightest. "I suppose you wouldn't!" He stuck his hand out to her. "Charles Xavier, lovely to meet you. It really is," he added, looking her up and down. His eyes seemed to be most drawn to her legs, visible from the knee down.

Marianne didn't take his hand. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her skirt (where is it, where is it - ah, found it) and glared into his eyes, once they came back up to meet hers. "Sir, as I've already said-" 

"Charles, there you are." Another chill ran up Marianne's spine as another man came around the corner and joined them, standing next to Charles. This man was tall - he stood, at most, a foot over both her and Charles - and was as masculine as Charles was feminine. He had lines and angles where Charles had curves - short, straight dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a black turtleneck sweater (barely hiding a muscular build underneath) under a brown leather jacket all added to his... intense appearance. Marianne wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had once killed a man - or several.