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xp_logsTerry and Matt bump into one another in the mansion's main kitchen. Discussion ensues. (slightly backdated)
There were always people up and about at any given time in the mansion and 3AM was no different. Matt was set up at one of the kitchen tables, laptop plugged in and earbuds in his ears, but he wasn't really working. Instead, he had music playing softly from the laptop speakers as he moved about the kitchen making something to eat. He was no cook, not by a long shot, but he could at least manage toast with nutella spread and coffee. A fresh pot was percolating nicely nearby as he went through the pantry to find the nutella. Most things were labeled with the label maker, which made it easier, but apparently not the Nutella. That, or maybe they were out?
Terry was tired, but she'd just finished a phone call with her grandda, only to discover she was completely out of milk. Wandering into the main kitchen, it was no surprise it wasn't empty - she'd heard the music from down the hall despite the laptop's low volume.
"Morning," she said to whomever was rummaging through the cupboard, suppressing a yawn. She headed directly for the counter and opened up a cabinet, frowning when she realized all the glasses on the two shelves she could reach were missing. "Bollocks."
"What's wrong?" Matt asked, giving up at least for the moment on the nutella. He could survive with jam or something else instead. It was toast. It wasn't complicated. He didn't recognize the heartbeat or scent of the woman that joined him, but that didn't mean much. There were plenty of people coming and going given the size of the place.
"Can't reach the bloody glasses," Terry said, suppressing another yawn. Glancing over her shoulder, she offered the man who'd emerged from the cupboard a rueful half-smile, then hefted herself up onto the counter so she could grab a glass. The faster she got back to her room, the more likely she was to actually be able to sleep for a few more hours. "What're you - " she broke off, just before hopping back down, then changed her question. "Why's the coffee on?"
"Because I want to drink coffee and there wasn't any made?" Matt replied, voice lilting up slightly to make the statement a question. It seemed pretty obvious to him. "Want some? It's almost done and I made a full pot," and God knew he didn't need that much coffee on his own. He'd end up vibrating or something.
"Oof," Terry huffed as her feet touched the ground. "No, thank you. It's far too late for coffee at the moment. I've a mind t'heat up some milk an' then try for a few more hours. Timezones're terrible. What're you up at this hour for?"
"Ah, just get in then?" Between the jet lag comment and the accent, it was no difficult guess. "Work. And I keep odd hours anyways, my circadian rhythm has been screwed for years now. What brings you to the 'states then?" As much as the Murdock's were good Irish Catholics, his branch were good New York Irish Catholics and his connection to Ireland, slim to none. Both his father, when he had been alive, and his uncle later, had been all but disowned from the broader family, so whatever connections they had, he didn't share. It was fine. He rather liked New York.
"Oh, no, not travel at the moment," Terry said, still smiling. "Just had a chat with m'grandda. He's an early riser, so I am as well, when I want to check he's takin' care o'himself. I'm about for work with the Xavier Institute. Turned up a few years back, but got called away before I could do more than settle and get a few things sorted. Back more permanently now, I hope. What's your work that's keepin' y'up?"
The coffee finished and reaching over Terry, he grabbed a mug and went to pour himself a cup, doctoring it with sugar and a little creamer from the fridge. "Oh, I'm a lawyer," he shrugged, it wasn't really interesting to most people. "And yourself? Might as well stay awake at this point if you normally get up early."
Laughing a little, Terry shook her head. "Oh, no, friend. Only when I'm keepin' up with m'grandda do I even try t'keep these hours. I'll go back to bed and wake again with m'alarm just in time t'get t'the office at nine. What sort of law d'you practice?" She knew what kind Angelo practiced, that having multiple lawyer friends just in case you needed them certainly wasn't a bad thing in Terry's book.
"I work for the institute, handling the various legal matters that come up," he had intended to go into criminal defense, but life had a way of putting people on different paths. Angelo, working for the Mutant Underground, handled more mutant-specific matters, while he handled more business-related ones. "That is one thing I appreciate about Xavier's. While I try to keep some sort of business hours, no one tends to mind what times I keep unless I have a scheduled meeting."
Well, not that much different from Angelo after all. But that was all right. Not everyone was an asset to be cultivated, after all. Opening the refrigerator, Terry pulled out the milk and poured her glass about half full, then put the milk away again and headed for the microwave. "'tis nice of them isn't it?" Terry asked, yawning again even as she set the milk to heat for forty-five seconds. "Fundraisin' keeps me on m'toes, especially since I'm workin' with Muir as well. Networkin's got me up at odd hours sometimes, too."
Matt nodded, "Mind checking to see if there's any nutella in the pantry?" He really wanted it instead of jam. He would make due, but if she had working eyes, there was no reason not to take advantage of that.
Terry nearly asked why he needed her to do it, but then thought better of it. The non-answer about the type of law he practiced had struck her as a bit odd, but she didn't mind. Not everyone wanted their business left out and about for anyone to see. "Not at all," she said, heading for the cupboard he'd come out of earlier.
Flipping the light on, Terry scanned the shelves, then spotted a jar tucked behind a few other things. She made a face, debated humming herself high enough to get it, and decided against that. Instead, she set her foot on the bottom shelf, then the second up, and stretched until she could push the undesired items aside. "Found some!" She called, just as the microwave dinged to indicate her milk was finished warming. She grabbed the Nutella, hopped down to ground level again, and headed out to hand it to her new friend. "Ta da!"
"Nutella!" he took it, half cradling the plastic jar in happiness, "Thank you!" Running his fingers over it, there was no label. Likely they'd run out and no one had labeled the replacement or something like that. "What sort of fundraisers are you working on then? Or was that ding your timer to go back to bed?" The toaster was almost done with his toast.
"You're welcome," Terry said, moving to the microwave to get her milk. She half-hummed, half-yawned, barely managing to hide the whole mess of it behind one hand. "And I don't have t'go immediately, but shortly." She took a sip of her milk, warmed perfectly after a bit of a swirl, then smiled a bit. "Fundraisin' for the entities I represent in general, but also anythin' in particular they want t'do. Like the Institute's tryin' t'promote positivity where mutants're concerned - y'know, show that we aren't as scary as certain fear mongers'd have everyone believe."
Taking another sip of her drink, Terry continued, "So I'm helpin' t'put together somethin' of a showcase, the proceeds of which'll be goin' toward what'll hopefully be a community centre. We're still in the early stages o' plannin', gettin' everythin' organized and the like, but aye, that's the end goal. And I help Muir get fundin' for various research projects, that sort o' thin'."
"That's interesting," he commented, spreading the nutella over his toast. "How do you show that mutants aren't scary?" Fear mongering was hard to counter, but more than that, people feared what looked different to them, whether by genetics or choice.
"Small things," Terry answered, eye half-lidded as she continued to sip her milk. "People fear that which's different from themselves, aye? An' they fear what they don't understand. So y'show 'em mutants aren't all that different, bring 'em t'a place they can understand a basic want or need. I don't want t'take o'er to world - m'powers are simple. I just want t'make sure m'children are safe. I just want t'help m'community. I just want m'business t'be successful. I saved, same as y'would, t'send m'child t'a good uni, t'go on a vacation, t'open a boutique..."
She trailed off before yawning again. "That's the thought, at least. That's m'plan, such as 'tis. Showcase restaurants, art for sale, businesses run by mutants that're non-threatenin'. Well, in theory. I've talked t'a man who runs a... a what'sit. A landscapin' company. Small thin'. But his power's related t'plant growth. Gives him an edge, some might say. Competitive edge, if you're rational. Elsewise he's cheatin'. Depends on the spin o' it."
Nodding, Matt followed her rationale, "People still struggle to accept those with disabilities though," he pointed out, "curb cuts and braille on elevators and other 'common' things weren't required until the 90's when the ADA act passed. And we're still struggling with access to education, invisible disabilities, access to employment and more. It's been more than 30 years though. If humans struggle this much to accept other humans different than them, nevermind religion, ethnicity or queerness or whatever else, what's your time frame for mutants?" Not that they didn't need to start somewhere, progress happened concurrently and what was a benefit to one often resulted in benefits to others in unexpected ways. Like curb cuts helping people with strollers or delivery dollies.
Terry puffed her cheeks out, stalled for a moment before she could take another sip of milk. Exhaling all in one long push, she said, "You're right about all those things, o' course." Opening her eyes a bit more, just so she could properly look at her early morning kitchen companion, she continued, "But I don't think a timeline's required, necessarily. As I said, start small. Simple things. Move on t'larger things as you're able, as it makes sense to. It's all a creep forward, but if what I'm doin' helps get a child somewhere safe or makes one person think better o' goin' after someone just cause they're a mutant... well. Job well done, me - and everyone else who's worked toward a better future."
"I wasn't suggesting you shouldn't work for a better future. We all should do that," Matt hastily reassured her, he wasn't poo-pooing her work at all, "just want to make sure you know it's a marathon, not a sprint. I've seen a lot of people burn out because they give their all and....not a whole lot changes. What they can't see though, is that one tiny step forward is still progress and it adds up. Especially when lots of people make a lot of tiny steps," that was a big part of why the X-Men existed. Why Xavier had his school. "It's a noble endeavor, for sure."
"Been in this line o' work for a while," Terry said, tone reassuring in its own way. "I know it's slow goin'. But any progress made now's progress someone else doesn't have t'make farther down t'line. I figure it'll even out in the end, however the pieces fall." At least, she thought she did. She replayed that last sentence in her head even as she attempted to suppress yet another yawn. "Oof, I'm not long for the wakin' world," she said, voice fogged with exhaustion. "It's good t'meet y'though..." She trailed off, obviously waiting for him to fill in his name.
"Matt," he awkwardly offered his hand, though really, it was really too late for that, "Sorry, didn't mean to sound like I know more than you and that you aren't doing good things. It's late. Early. And I have the social skills of an unhousebroken puppy at this hour." At least he could recognize that?
"No worries," Terry said, reaching out to give the proffered hand a firm shake. "You're not wrong. It's one o' those things, though, workin' t'keep up positivity in the face o'... well. Everythin' else. The world at large. The universe as a whole."
Wasn't that the truth! "Well, keep up the good work. And sleep well. I've...I should go to sleep too," but would he? Nah. He had a few more documents to finish going over first. Sleep could wait a little longer.
There were always people up and about at any given time in the mansion and 3AM was no different. Matt was set up at one of the kitchen tables, laptop plugged in and earbuds in his ears, but he wasn't really working. Instead, he had music playing softly from the laptop speakers as he moved about the kitchen making something to eat. He was no cook, not by a long shot, but he could at least manage toast with nutella spread and coffee. A fresh pot was percolating nicely nearby as he went through the pantry to find the nutella. Most things were labeled with the label maker, which made it easier, but apparently not the Nutella. That, or maybe they were out?
Terry was tired, but she'd just finished a phone call with her grandda, only to discover she was completely out of milk. Wandering into the main kitchen, it was no surprise it wasn't empty - she'd heard the music from down the hall despite the laptop's low volume.
"Morning," she said to whomever was rummaging through the cupboard, suppressing a yawn. She headed directly for the counter and opened up a cabinet, frowning when she realized all the glasses on the two shelves she could reach were missing. "Bollocks."
"What's wrong?" Matt asked, giving up at least for the moment on the nutella. He could survive with jam or something else instead. It was toast. It wasn't complicated. He didn't recognize the heartbeat or scent of the woman that joined him, but that didn't mean much. There were plenty of people coming and going given the size of the place.
"Can't reach the bloody glasses," Terry said, suppressing another yawn. Glancing over her shoulder, she offered the man who'd emerged from the cupboard a rueful half-smile, then hefted herself up onto the counter so she could grab a glass. The faster she got back to her room, the more likely she was to actually be able to sleep for a few more hours. "What're you - " she broke off, just before hopping back down, then changed her question. "Why's the coffee on?"
"Because I want to drink coffee and there wasn't any made?" Matt replied, voice lilting up slightly to make the statement a question. It seemed pretty obvious to him. "Want some? It's almost done and I made a full pot," and God knew he didn't need that much coffee on his own. He'd end up vibrating or something.
"Oof," Terry huffed as her feet touched the ground. "No, thank you. It's far too late for coffee at the moment. I've a mind t'heat up some milk an' then try for a few more hours. Timezones're terrible. What're you up at this hour for?"
"Ah, just get in then?" Between the jet lag comment and the accent, it was no difficult guess. "Work. And I keep odd hours anyways, my circadian rhythm has been screwed for years now. What brings you to the 'states then?" As much as the Murdock's were good Irish Catholics, his branch were good New York Irish Catholics and his connection to Ireland, slim to none. Both his father, when he had been alive, and his uncle later, had been all but disowned from the broader family, so whatever connections they had, he didn't share. It was fine. He rather liked New York.
"Oh, no, not travel at the moment," Terry said, still smiling. "Just had a chat with m'grandda. He's an early riser, so I am as well, when I want to check he's takin' care o'himself. I'm about for work with the Xavier Institute. Turned up a few years back, but got called away before I could do more than settle and get a few things sorted. Back more permanently now, I hope. What's your work that's keepin' y'up?"
The coffee finished and reaching over Terry, he grabbed a mug and went to pour himself a cup, doctoring it with sugar and a little creamer from the fridge. "Oh, I'm a lawyer," he shrugged, it wasn't really interesting to most people. "And yourself? Might as well stay awake at this point if you normally get up early."
Laughing a little, Terry shook her head. "Oh, no, friend. Only when I'm keepin' up with m'grandda do I even try t'keep these hours. I'll go back to bed and wake again with m'alarm just in time t'get t'the office at nine. What sort of law d'you practice?" She knew what kind Angelo practiced, that having multiple lawyer friends just in case you needed them certainly wasn't a bad thing in Terry's book.
"I work for the institute, handling the various legal matters that come up," he had intended to go into criminal defense, but life had a way of putting people on different paths. Angelo, working for the Mutant Underground, handled more mutant-specific matters, while he handled more business-related ones. "That is one thing I appreciate about Xavier's. While I try to keep some sort of business hours, no one tends to mind what times I keep unless I have a scheduled meeting."
Well, not that much different from Angelo after all. But that was all right. Not everyone was an asset to be cultivated, after all. Opening the refrigerator, Terry pulled out the milk and poured her glass about half full, then put the milk away again and headed for the microwave. "'tis nice of them isn't it?" Terry asked, yawning again even as she set the milk to heat for forty-five seconds. "Fundraisin' keeps me on m'toes, especially since I'm workin' with Muir as well. Networkin's got me up at odd hours sometimes, too."
Matt nodded, "Mind checking to see if there's any nutella in the pantry?" He really wanted it instead of jam. He would make due, but if she had working eyes, there was no reason not to take advantage of that.
Terry nearly asked why he needed her to do it, but then thought better of it. The non-answer about the type of law he practiced had struck her as a bit odd, but she didn't mind. Not everyone wanted their business left out and about for anyone to see. "Not at all," she said, heading for the cupboard he'd come out of earlier.
Flipping the light on, Terry scanned the shelves, then spotted a jar tucked behind a few other things. She made a face, debated humming herself high enough to get it, and decided against that. Instead, she set her foot on the bottom shelf, then the second up, and stretched until she could push the undesired items aside. "Found some!" She called, just as the microwave dinged to indicate her milk was finished warming. She grabbed the Nutella, hopped down to ground level again, and headed out to hand it to her new friend. "Ta da!"
"Nutella!" he took it, half cradling the plastic jar in happiness, "Thank you!" Running his fingers over it, there was no label. Likely they'd run out and no one had labeled the replacement or something like that. "What sort of fundraisers are you working on then? Or was that ding your timer to go back to bed?" The toaster was almost done with his toast.
"You're welcome," Terry said, moving to the microwave to get her milk. She half-hummed, half-yawned, barely managing to hide the whole mess of it behind one hand. "And I don't have t'go immediately, but shortly." She took a sip of her milk, warmed perfectly after a bit of a swirl, then smiled a bit. "Fundraisin' for the entities I represent in general, but also anythin' in particular they want t'do. Like the Institute's tryin' t'promote positivity where mutants're concerned - y'know, show that we aren't as scary as certain fear mongers'd have everyone believe."
Taking another sip of her drink, Terry continued, "So I'm helpin' t'put together somethin' of a showcase, the proceeds of which'll be goin' toward what'll hopefully be a community centre. We're still in the early stages o' plannin', gettin' everythin' organized and the like, but aye, that's the end goal. And I help Muir get fundin' for various research projects, that sort o' thin'."
"That's interesting," he commented, spreading the nutella over his toast. "How do you show that mutants aren't scary?" Fear mongering was hard to counter, but more than that, people feared what looked different to them, whether by genetics or choice.
"Small things," Terry answered, eye half-lidded as she continued to sip her milk. "People fear that which's different from themselves, aye? An' they fear what they don't understand. So y'show 'em mutants aren't all that different, bring 'em t'a place they can understand a basic want or need. I don't want t'take o'er to world - m'powers are simple. I just want t'make sure m'children are safe. I just want t'help m'community. I just want m'business t'be successful. I saved, same as y'would, t'send m'child t'a good uni, t'go on a vacation, t'open a boutique..."
She trailed off before yawning again. "That's the thought, at least. That's m'plan, such as 'tis. Showcase restaurants, art for sale, businesses run by mutants that're non-threatenin'. Well, in theory. I've talked t'a man who runs a... a what'sit. A landscapin' company. Small thin'. But his power's related t'plant growth. Gives him an edge, some might say. Competitive edge, if you're rational. Elsewise he's cheatin'. Depends on the spin o' it."
Nodding, Matt followed her rationale, "People still struggle to accept those with disabilities though," he pointed out, "curb cuts and braille on elevators and other 'common' things weren't required until the 90's when the ADA act passed. And we're still struggling with access to education, invisible disabilities, access to employment and more. It's been more than 30 years though. If humans struggle this much to accept other humans different than them, nevermind religion, ethnicity or queerness or whatever else, what's your time frame for mutants?" Not that they didn't need to start somewhere, progress happened concurrently and what was a benefit to one often resulted in benefits to others in unexpected ways. Like curb cuts helping people with strollers or delivery dollies.
Terry puffed her cheeks out, stalled for a moment before she could take another sip of milk. Exhaling all in one long push, she said, "You're right about all those things, o' course." Opening her eyes a bit more, just so she could properly look at her early morning kitchen companion, she continued, "But I don't think a timeline's required, necessarily. As I said, start small. Simple things. Move on t'larger things as you're able, as it makes sense to. It's all a creep forward, but if what I'm doin' helps get a child somewhere safe or makes one person think better o' goin' after someone just cause they're a mutant... well. Job well done, me - and everyone else who's worked toward a better future."
"I wasn't suggesting you shouldn't work for a better future. We all should do that," Matt hastily reassured her, he wasn't poo-pooing her work at all, "just want to make sure you know it's a marathon, not a sprint. I've seen a lot of people burn out because they give their all and....not a whole lot changes. What they can't see though, is that one tiny step forward is still progress and it adds up. Especially when lots of people make a lot of tiny steps," that was a big part of why the X-Men existed. Why Xavier had his school. "It's a noble endeavor, for sure."
"Been in this line o' work for a while," Terry said, tone reassuring in its own way. "I know it's slow goin'. But any progress made now's progress someone else doesn't have t'make farther down t'line. I figure it'll even out in the end, however the pieces fall." At least, she thought she did. She replayed that last sentence in her head even as she attempted to suppress yet another yawn. "Oof, I'm not long for the wakin' world," she said, voice fogged with exhaustion. "It's good t'meet y'though..." She trailed off, obviously waiting for him to fill in his name.
"Matt," he awkwardly offered his hand, though really, it was really too late for that, "Sorry, didn't mean to sound like I know more than you and that you aren't doing good things. It's late. Early. And I have the social skills of an unhousebroken puppy at this hour." At least he could recognize that?
"No worries," Terry said, reaching out to give the proffered hand a firm shake. "You're not wrong. It's one o' those things, though, workin' t'keep up positivity in the face o'... well. Everythin' else. The world at large. The universe as a whole."
Wasn't that the truth! "Well, keep up the good work. And sleep well. I've...I should go to sleep too," but would he? Nah. He had a few more documents to finish going over first. Sleep could wait a little longer.
