Terp Attack: MONSTERs UNITE

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A sneak peek into what happens during M.O.N.S.T.E.R. meetings.



"Ooh, it's almost five o'clock," Wilhemina said to herself, glancing up at the bright-faced digital clock above her desk. She closed the Principles of Philosophy textbook that she had been studying and hopped up, brushing her palms on her jeans. Five o'clock meant that the weekly meeting of Mutants Only Need Sensitivity, Tolerance, and Equal Rights (or M.O.N.S.T.E.R., as their flyers said) was about to begin.

Strangely enough, the short blonde girl didn't head out the door right away, though the meeting was being held in the lounge three floors up from her dorm room. Instead, she stood by her desk and watched as the time turned to 4:58, then 4:59. As soon as it changed to 5:00 she grabbed her wallet off the desk and charged for the door, flinging it open and veering down the hall to the stairwell.

After all, what better way to test if you had mutant superspeed than running up stairs?

In the lounge itself, Helen had arrived and was draped in one of the battered arm chairs, carefully positioned so that she could keep an eye on the door. Well, that and so that anyone passing could see her, and hopefully comment on her new look. She'd finally gotten just the right shade of purple for her hair. But of course, today was the day everyone else was late, it seemed. How could they possibly be a serious group if they couldn't even be on time? Clarice would never be impressed by such a group of amateurs.

Art sat sprawled on the couch, stylus flying over the screen of his Blackberry so he could check his various e-mail accounts, message boards, and online class blackboards. He frowned as he read through the latest e-mail from the office of campus reservations; they maintained that there weren't any classrooms on campus available at this time so they could hold their meetings in a more accessible location. He tossed back his long hair and pondered writing an op-ed for the Diamondback, the campus newspaper. "Campus Refuses Accomodations to Mutants." Ignore the fact that their group had no mutant members. A big inflammatory headline like that would be sure to garner readers.

Tired of waiting for something to happen, Helen swung herself upright and came over to Art's couch. "What're you doing, Art?" she singsonged, hoping he'd at least take notice of her hair.

"Trying to figure out why this campus is so HW-normative," he responded. He smiled at the use of his brand new word. HW-normativity: noun. The reinforcement of mutantphobic beliefs by social institutions and social policies. Derived from the Hardy Weinberg Equilibrium, a concept in genetics describing a statis in evolution. "Awesome hair, by the way."

Helen beamed. "Thank you! It's exactly the same colour as Clarice's - I used my phone to get a picture of her and took it to my stylist and we tried for hours to get it right. I thought it might, you know, make her feel like part of the group? If she wasn't the only purple one? Only I can't dye my skin. My mother would have a fit." She screwed up her nose, the stud in it catching the light. "Not that I let her tell me what to do, but there's my allowance. If I had to get a part-time job, I wouldn't have time for MONSTER. You have to make sacrifices for the cause, y'know?"

All of a sudden Mina skidded into the room, her face red. "Hey guys!" she exclaimed between wheezing breaths, giving them both a grin. "Wow, Helen, great hair! You totally look familiar..."

Helen preened, pleased. "Thank you! I was just telling Art it took ages to get the colour exactly right." Then she glanced at her watch. "What's keeping Adrian? Do you think those FOH morons bailed him up again?" Adrian wasn't a mutant, but people often thought he was. Mostly the sorts of people who tried to make his life hell. "We should so totally do something about them. What if they hurt Clarice?"

"I'm here!" said a very reedy voice from the stairwell. It was followed soon after by an extremely disheveled Adrian, who had to take a moment to remove his thick Coke-bottle glasses and wipe them clean on his button-down shirt before putting them back on his face. "Sorry I'm late." he said, staring down at the floor. "I ... had to take the long way around the quad." he said, blushing furiously. He then ran a hand through his unruly mop of very badly-thinning more-silver-than-blond hair. "Did I miss anything?" he asked hopefully, still staring at his shoes.

"Nothing special," replied Art as he swung his feet off the couch to sit up. "Just saying how campus continues to be full of mutantphobes even after everything we do." He pocketed his Blackberry and reached into his satchel to pull out a folder of papers. "Student Government still hasn't gotten back to us on our budget for next semester. But we only asked for six hundred dollars. They've gotta give that to us."

Flopping down on the couch, Helen pouted. "It just shows what a bigoted campus this is, when the roleplaying club gets more money than we do. Maybe we could hold a protest? Signs and leaflets and picketing the building, y'know? It'd get us the attention we need, and Clarice couldn't ignore us after that."

Adrian idly stuck out one leg, then tucked it behind his neck. He gave the impression of paying attention even though his gaze was directed everywhere but the people who were talking. His hands were digging through his satchel, looking for his omnipresent pad of paper and a pen.

"Yeah!" Mina declared, nodding her head in agreement so hard it looked like it might fall off. "And we could, like, talk to people, too, to let them know about the problems facing the campus. It's totally way worse than most people believe. Maybe we could get some new members!"

Art bit his lip while he considered this proposal. "We need something really specific to rally against," he posited, "Because that's the only way we could possibly get people's attention. With some mutants with us. Maybe Campus Reservations. Or Reslife? They keep on avoiding me. I swear the director crosses the street if he sees me anywhere near him."

Adrian unbent his leg and set it down. "Guys?" he asked with his reedy voice. "This is really nice and all, and I don't like getting my butt kicked for being something I'm not, but maybe we need to, maybe, you know, find some _actual_ mutants. I don't count." he said with a blush.

"Clarice!" Helen burst out suddenly, from where she'd apparently been studying her nails (painted glitter, to match her idol's). "She's the most obvious mutant on campus and I'm sure she'd get behind something like this!"

"Mm hmm." Art nodded enthusiastically. "I can go ahead and take care of getting a protest permit if one of you will talk to her. Or give her my number if she wants to talk to me." He raised his fist and shook it in the air. "Bring on the revolution!" It was only sort of a joke.

"I'll do it - we're practically best friends!" Helen cheerfully ignored the fact the purple girl actively avoided her whenever possible. "Bring on the revolution!"

As discussed in the meeting, Helen tracks Clarice down. She's more hyper than Clarice.

Clarice juggled her lunch tray as she wove through the throngs of students at the student center, trying to find someplace to eat. Aha! There was space on the wall outside! Score! She headed out the door, using her backpack to push it open. She kinda wished she had someone to eat with, but she hadn't really made any friends and was not about to just go sit with someone at random. She was bold, sometimes, but not that bold at the moment. It made for a lot of lonely lunches.

No sooner had she sat down than someone plopped themselves beside her, without waiting for the okay. Helen beamed at Clarice, hoping she'd appreciate the new purple dye job. "Hi there! I saw you in the lunch line and figured you looked like you could use some company, so I waited for you. How're things?" Her jewelry jangled as she tossed her head, emphasizing the hair style.

"Fucktastic," Clarice muttered under her breath, it was her stalker. Stalker was perhaps too strong a word, but it worked very well to describe the mutant-obsessed girl. Or perhaps 'Clarice-obsessed' would be slightly more accurate. Suddenly her pizza and soda were looking less appealing than they originally had. She couldn't ever win, first she was lonely because she hadn't made any friends and now she couldn't get the other girl away from her. Lovely.

Helen didn't pause at the lack of response. Being such an obvious mutant as Clarice was, no doubt she was too oppressed by the mutant-haters to be friendly. "I'm so glad I caught you," she continued, oblivious to the death-glares Clarice was sending her way. "We had a meeting the other evening and talked all about you. You really should come along some time - you could make lots of new friends, people who really understand you."

"And does your attempt to 'understand'," she said the word mockingly, "mean you have to dye your hair purple and copy my wardrobe?" In turth, she was terrified of a club that seemed to worship her, or at least made her the topic of conversation. "This pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights," she continued randomly, quoting an Alanis Morissette song.

Juggernaut Helen rolled on. "Ooh, Alanis! I like her so much! We really could be twins, the way we like the same in everything! I mean, we like the same clothes, the same music... You really should be in fashion design, the way you can put things together. I knew when I first saw you that that was how I'd always wanted to look." She beamed at Clarice. "And now you aren't the only purple-haired person on campus. Solidarity, y'know?"

"You're missing the purple skin," she commented, wondering just how far this girl would go. Briefly, Clarice wondered if she had ever been this...lost as a person. She didn't think so, even when she thought she wanted to conform, she hadn't really tried to do it. "I'm premed, not fashion design," she continued harshly.

"Mom pitched a fit when I suggested it," Helen admitted, looking disappointed. Then she brightened. "But maybe I could do it anyway, and blame it on a prank! The girls in my dorm are always doing things like that. It could so totally work!" She turned worshipful eyes to Clarice. "And premed is so amazing. I'd so totally switch classes and do the same, only you're so much smarter than me. I couldn't do it, all that work. But I think you'll make a terrific doctor. Hey, maybe you could start a special clinic, for mutants who can't get regular health care because the health care system is inherently biased towards the HW-normative." It was obvious she was quoting the last part, from the way she slowed down and wrinkled her nose, trying to remember.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent," Clarice quoted, it was a good mantra. Eleanor Roosevelt was a smart woman. "Or maybe, I could find a cure for cancer, create an AIDS vaccine or destroy the ebola virus. Mutant is what I am, not who I am." Clarice sighed, gathering her things and climbing to her feet. Talking to Helen was an exercise in futility.

"Oh, that would make a great slogan for MONSTER!" Helen exclaimed. "If, you know, we had some actual mutant members. I really wish you'd at least come to a meeting, Clarice, you'd see what I keep trying to explain." Then the gathering of possessions registered. "Are you going already? You haven't eaten your lunch."

"Not hungry. And not going to your meeting," she said, heading into the crowd to throw her lunch away. With luck, she wouldn't be followed. She really didn't want to have to resort to her powers to get away from the other girl, that would be pathetic. Effective, but pathetic.

"But..." Helen watched as Clarice walked off without even saying goodbye. Then she rallied. "She's probably too busy," she told herself, starting to eat her own meal. "Premed usually are. I'll try again tonight."