clarice + callisto

[x-callisto.livejournal.com]

An alliterative first meeting brings an exchange of ideals - or lack thereof.




Clarice had been growing steadily stronger and working out every day had helped. She wasn't up to X-Men standards again, but she was making steady progress. It was too nice today to be cooped up in the gym on a treadmill though and Clarice absolutely hated running laps. It was pointless. Why run in circles if you weren't being chased? Thankfully, there were plenty of other ways to get in a good cardio workout...without a mob chasing you.

This was why Clarice had ridden her bike into town to visit the old fire station she'd worked out of as an EMT and pick up some fabric at the store. Coming back through was much harder than getting there. Sweat streaming down her face, Clarice rode up the drive to Xavier's worn out. "Ugh," she groaned, collapsing onto the grass out front and letting her bike fall. This was not quite how she had planned to end her bike trip.

There was a crunching sound on one of the gravel footpaths, then, accompanied by a rhythmic squeaking sound.

"You could use the gears tweaked on that, maybe a new chain," a woman's voice floated over to her.

"Uh huh," Clarice half replied, half grunted. Rolling over she fished a water bottle off her bike and sucked on it slowly. The nutritional supplement in it had never tasted so good. Forcing herself to sit up, she released the clasp holding her helmet on and pulled both it and her wig off. Next time, no wig. She was learning.

Wiping the sweat out of her eyes, she pushed her sunglasses down to look at the other woman. They hadn't met. "And you are?" she asked. The woman was obviously help, the question was, was she there giving or getting it? And why?

The squeaking continued another few seconds as the figure brought the old wheelbarrow to a stop at an area of the path where the gravel had been churned up and scattered, exposing areas of dry, packed earth beneath. Pulling one of the handles sticking out of the heaped gravel in the wheelbarrow to reveal a shovel, the young woman deposited it on the ground and discarded the shovel to retrieve a rake, beginning to spread the gravel neatly across the path.

"Callisto," she answered shortly.

Talkative. "Clarice," she returned in a gasp as she tried to get up and failed. Okay, so she'd wait and rest a while longer. "What're you doing?" did she work for Cain? Because if not, he was going to be pissed that she touched his stuff. Granted, the entire grounds was 'his stuff,' but that wasn't really the point. It was not in a persons best interests to do stuff like this without his permission, especially out front. In the back and over by the lake was one thing, out front another. Guests saw the front.

"Gravel needs replaced and raked," Callisto muttered, retrieving another hefty shovelful, her slim limbs barely registering the effort.

In truth, she wasn't sure she needed to be doing this. She got the distinct impression from Ororo's demeanor before that the weather-worker considered her penance over. But something about the way the... incident... had ended had left her keen to remove the last evidence of its cause. The last thing she wanted was for the silver-haired woman to come outside and see the walkways still churned up.

"Uh huh," Clarice nodded as if that made perfect sense. It did need replacing and whatnot, but still. "You're Sarah's Callisto, aren't you?" one day, she was going to pay attention to the journals more. Maybe when she was feeling better. Right now she tended to ignore it as she either slept or did something.

The other woman looked up sharply at the mention of her fellow ex-Morlock. She nodded silently, putting her shoulder back into her work, although after a short silence broken only by the sound of gravel being raked out smoothly across the pathway, she spoke again.

"Do you know her, then? Sarah?"

"Uh, yeah. I knew Sarah," knew, not know. They hadn't hung out really in years. Since she'd left for Japan. They'd talked about it, they'd meant to, but never actually did. The friendship had lapsed and taken different paths. "She ever mention the purple pixie?" Now that she had her breath back things were going better. Still, Clarice was not about to risk getting up quite yet.

Callisto shook her head, eyes trained still on her work, though it didn't look like the sort of thing that should take much concentration. "Nope, haven't talked about anything. Haven't talked."

"Oh. Yeah. Us either. Not for a while, but she mentioned you a couple times," not often, but some. Callisto had been a sort of mother-figure to Sarah as far as Clarice had understood. Now meeting the woman she understood exactly how Sarah had turned out the way she did. "I hid under her bed when we were attacked only a couple days after we'd met."

Callisto blinked. "You were attacked? Here? I thought this place was supposed to be a safe haven..."

Oh, ooops. Waving one hand idly, Clarice sucked on her water bottle some more, "This was YEARS ago. I was like, 15. We have much better security now," she paused though to consider, "We've been attacked a few times. Some were successful. Most weren't. Safe's kinda relative when you think about it."

"Ain't that the truth." Remarkably quickly, it seemed, the wheelbarrow previously heaped with gravel was now barely half full. Callisto now rolled it forwards a few feet to the next section of bare earth and tipped it effortlessly, neatly showering it down on the path in a reasonably regular fashion before taking her rake up once again. If there was one thing Callisto was used to it was regular, boring work.

Clarice shrugged, it was something she was used to, "I mean, I'm purple. Helloo? Safety outside these walls is like Russian roulette. More so if I ride my bike. But I go out. You can't let the fear of not being safe stop you from living your life. You'd never get out of bed if you did that, forget leaving Xavier's. And that would really suck," Clarice had a way with words.

Callisto straightened, letting the rake rest against her leg and lifting her slim, tattooed arms above her head, fingers linked, to stretch them out. Her mouth flattened to a line, not at Clarice's words, but at the memories they evoked.

She remembered some of the speeches she'd made in her time with the Morlocks. 'Remember that this is where you're safe to live your lives, this is your santuary, your home. Outside these tunnels is a world that has rejected us, left us in the gutter, damaged goods. Well guess what? We don't need them - we have each other.'

Had that really been the best idea? Should the Morlocks have been living on the surface, struggling through their day-to-day lives instead of hiding away? If they had, would more of them be alive today?

That being said, the Morlocks had had more to worry about than just purple hair and skin - whatever her colour Clarice was a pretty girl. Most of the Morlocks were disfigured - their mutations considered unpleasant and hard to look at by the general public. Some had been brought up covering their faces with masks or bandages, kept in their homes by fearful parents or in hospitals by the state. Some were scarred not by their mutations but by other people's reactions to them, beaten beyond recognition by strangers or even loved ones. Not everyone had been so lucky as to escape with just a nasty scar, like Callisto. Or without a scratch, like Sarah. She always carried her scars inside.

"Fear can be a healthy reaction to some things," was all Callisto said. "Sometimes the instinct to run and hide is the right one." Trying to convince yourself?

"I'll agree to a tactical retreat and laying low sometimes," like when being pursued by people who want to dismember you, "but you can't live your entire life like that. You gotta stand up and represent, yo," she tapped her chest twice with her fist. Clarice the gangster, oh yeah. She was badass like that. "Shake up peoples comfort zones. Make them think. Because a lot of people can't do that. Think, I mean."

Wish I was so blissfully naive... Doesn't work that way, kid. Least not for long. There are people out there who have the power to change things, but I doubt it's you, and it sure as hell isn't me. "Time and a place for everything, I guess," was all she said.

"Who burst your bubble?" Clarice asked, completely serious. It was sad, if you couldn't dream, if you didn't believe. What a terrible way to live. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to change the world. You watch. Maybe you'll learn something."

Callisto shot Clarice a look that was part skepticism, and partly... almost wistful. She set her mouth. "Tell you what, sweetheart," she said, giving the pathway one last swipe of her rake. "You change the world, and I'll gravel the path." She turned without another word, pushing the now empty but still squeaking wheelbarrow before her, rake and spade rattling around in it.

It was hard to argue with that. Shrugging to herself, Clarice attempted standing. So far so good. Picking up her bike she began walking it to the back to put it away. If she could make it to the kitchen there would be more water there and chairs. That could be a very good idea. She wasn't going to mention overdoing it to the docs and she doubted Callisto would. All in all, not so bad.