callisto + nathan | shop talk

[x-callisto.livejournal.com]

Callisto and Nathan talk activism.


"So basically, he was goin' for a job with a ... what d'you call it... registered charity. And they have this company policy, always offer an interview if you have a disability, 'cause, y'know, they're a disability charity and they're into all that affirmative action shit, y'know?" Callisto took a long swig of her beer, her brow furrowing in that way it did when she was trying to remember strings of unfamiliar words. "And he's asking me, do I tick the box? And I'm like, sure, of course, 'cause he's basically blind. Well, not technically since he does have eyes but what with them being on his hands that's only really useful when he wants to do that monster from that movie, y'know?"

The man sitting across the table from her was blinking steadily throughout this recitation, his lips trembling slightly as if he was trying to repress some reaction he didn't feel would be appropriate. "I see," Nathan finally said when Callisto paused. "And the reaction from the charity?"

Callisto smiled dryly. "He got as far as reception on the day of his interview. They didn't seem to think that you 'counted' as partially sighted if it was a mutation. He was shown out." She ran a hand through her hair. "The thing is, he's such a bright kid, y'know? And with his set-up at the shelter he's great on a computer - well, 'sfar as I can tell. But he does need special help because when he's using his hands, he can't see. He needs a screen reader, or voice... thingy, or he needs a special set-up. Blind people get screen-readers, amputees get voice to text, what does he get? The door." There was a crack, and a guitly look crossed Callisto's face. She carefully removed her fist from her bottle neck, the neck with it, and dropped the brown glass pieces in the ash-tray.

Nathan made a face, setting his own beer down. "Let me talk to Joel Rollins," he offered. "He might know about a position open in a more... this is not intended to be a pun, far-sighted organization. Usually I hate that goddamned cliche about a hand up versus a hand out, but the former sounds like all your acquaintance really needs."

Callisto nodded. "That'd be great. But... I mean, don't get me wrong, that's fine for him, but what about every other mutant that shows up at these places and can't get a job - even at a fucking registered charity - at a place where if they were a crippled human they'd be..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not saying people with disabilities don't deserve jobs or nothin' like that. I just mean, if you have a mutation that prevents you from doing work the same way everyone else does shouldn't you get the same treatment? It's just the same as a birth defect. Hell, it is a birth defect. Mutantpride and all isn't much good if your mutation makes you useless for anything. They need help, proper, legal help, and they're getting the opposite."

"Even the sort of job-training Elpis does in other areas of the world wouldn't do much for someone like your friend," Nathan said reluctantly. "People in his situation - it's a problem of awareness, as well as a lack of supportive structures."

"Thing is, these smart, willing kids are sitting rotting in shelters on the outskirts of District X, what do you think they're gonna do? Go out looking for support, or for crack, or a car to jack, or someone to beat the shit out of? Maybe someone pink with hair and all their arms and legs in the right places." Callisto shook her head, lifting the broken bottle to her lips. Apparently avoiding glass cuts on one's mouth was less of an issue than letting perfectly good beer go to waste. "Maybe I was right taking them underground after all."

The telekinetic swat she proceeded to get upside the head was very light, barely more than ruffling her hair. "What have I told you about the negativity?" Nathan asked. "If you take them underground, then the awareness and the lack of supportive structures never get a chance to develop. You don't give the world reason to care if you're hiding underground." He raised his beer bottle again. "One of those nasty catch-22s."

"Or vicious circles or whatever, yeah, yeah, I know..." The young woman sighed, her shoulder hunching a little, and she reached absentmindedly into her mouth to dislodge some glass, dropping it into the ashtray. "So what do I do?

"What do you do, or what is there to be done?" Nathan asked, grimacing again. "You know, way back in the day, I decided Elpis would have an international focus because I assumed the US could look after their own problems. More fool I."

"Where do you even start with this, though? I mean, it's not like there's an open..." Callisto waded through her confusing new vocabulary for a few seconds. "I dunno, bias or... segregation, or whatever. Not yet, anyway. That chick on that bus that time could make a stand, you know? How do you take a stand against this shit?"

"Here in New York? Peaceful marches, maybe, to draw it to public attention. Tricky," Nathan conceded, "given what happened last year. Maybe you need a reporter who's interested in mutant affairs, as well."

Callisto nodded. "Fuckin' Apocalypse," she deadpanned. Her lips twitched a little.

Nathan noticed the twitch. "What?" he asked, then made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Speak your mind, because as I keep saying, I ain't reading it."

"I dunno," she said with a smirk. "I guess, after all that happened, and everything only just starting to get back to normal, y'know, you sorta forget about it until... well, until something like this crops up. Fucked up a lot of stuff we didn't even think about at the time. Well, I sure as hell didn't. Although I guess I don't think too hard about some stuff."

"Baldershit," Nathan said with a perfectly straight face. "I think you do more thinking than you give yourself credit for."

Callisto rolled her eyes. "Well, whatever. So I need to find a mutant friendly journalist, then, huh?"

"Or more broad-minded disability-related organizations. Oooh," Nathan said with an unholy gleam in his eye, "we could set up a meeting. Between some of them and some folk from the Institute. And discuss things."

"A... meeting? Like, with actual people who, y'know, know stuff? And have any kind of power?"

Nathan waggled his beer bottle at her. "The key, young Padawan," he said, wondering if she'd get the Star Wars reference or not, "is to remember that you 'know stuff', too. And since knowledge is power, you have it, too. Don't let them write you off and they won't."

Callisto frowned. "Right. I mean. What?" She shook her head and waved her own question away, retracting it, pursing her lips and staring at her beer. She glanced up at Nate, her nerves embarrassingly obvious. This whole thing was happened a little fast. "You'd be there, though, right? If there was any kind of... meeting?"

"Of course," Nathan said. "I may be focusing on integrating mutants overseas into their respective societies, but that still does make me something of an authority. And I've got enough of a connection here with the Institute to add a little extra weight."

The young woman's shoulder slumped a little with relief. "You had me worried for a minute there. You know I'd just lose my temper and pull out my knives."

"We need to work on how to strategically lose your temper," Nathan said. Quoting Rollins, of course. "More righteous fury. Less sharp objects." He grinned at her crookedly.

"You'd be surprised how many arguments I've solved with sharp objects."