xp_logs | Cecilia, Clarice, and Hank (Reply)

Late Tuesday morning, Cecilia's in the kitchen getting herself a bit of food, when Clarice drops in. Friendly chatter ensues, until a nerve is struck, and The Killer In The Basement comes up in conversation. That would be where Clarice starts yelling. Fortunately, a member of the faculty happens by and quiets them both down before the debate can be heard in Denmark.

"Unpacked yet?" Clarice greeted Cecilia, walking into the kitchen from outside and scaring the older woman.

'Scaring' might be a strong word, since Cecilia didn't jump or anything of that nature, but she did notice the girl's arrival. "I don't have much worth unpacking," she replied dryly, an odd mix of Bronx and Puerto Rican coloring her accent. She straightened up and closed the refridgerator, the jug of orange juice in hand, and managed not to drop anything when she turned and saw Clarice. It's one thing to see a picture of a pinkish-purple teenager - it is another thing entirely to be face to face with one. "I'm, uh.. still getting settled."

"We have little green men, too," Clarice informed her, grabbing a powerade from the fridge. "Boy actually. About seven. He's cute."

"All seven year olds are cute," Cecilia replied logically, eyeing the cabinets before picking a likely-looking one and going rummaging for a glass. Aha. Bingo.

"But not teenagers?" she idly stuck her tongue out in front of the oven, hoping it was blue. The oven didn't reflect color very well.

"Teenagers weren't cute when I was a teenager," the black woman said wryly, rolling her eyes as she poured her juice. "They still aren't. Sorry, honey."

"Damn, and here I was thinking about trying out for Miss Teen USA! You shatter my hopes and dreams!" somehow, Clarice just didn't sound convincing.

"Welcome to the club," Cecilia replied, trying for a casual tone of voice and not quite succeeding. Returning the orange juice to the fridge, she snagged herself a pear from the basket of fruit before turning to find somewhere to sit down and eat. "Better to lose them when you're young and haven't put much work into them yet," she added, her smile tight.

Clarice blinked. That was...different. "This whole place is about hopes and dreams, Cecilia, it's what keeps it together and makes it work. And I hate to break it to you, but it's contagious," gone was the happy-go-lucky immaturity and was replaced by seriousness.

"And it works so well, too," Cecilia replied with a roll of her eyes, giving the girl an unconvinced look. "Or was blondie pulling my leg when she told me there was a killer living in the basement? If she was, fine, but if she wasn't, I don't think this place is doing as much for everybody's hopes and dreams as you think."

"No...Ms. Blaire's right," she didn't want to admit that Sarah was a killer, even though it was true, "but not everyone here is. And here, we all have a better chance at a future. Until I came here, I didn't even think I'd have a future. So something's better than nothing," she took a swig of her powerade, thinking, "Change doesn't happen overnight."

"Miss Blare wasn't the one who mentioned it to me, but believe me, she's going to hear about it." She eyed the girl a moment longer before shaking her head and looking down at her juice. "I had a future, then I came here. Funny how things work out. Go from a campus full of bigots, to one full of killers and people who won't turn them over to the cops. Of the two, I think I prefer the bigots."

Clarice shrugged, not entirely knowing how to respond to that, "You're what...23?" At Cecilia's nod, she continued, "I'm 16. I didn't think I would graduate high school until now. You at least have a degree in something. And you look normal, even if you don't think you are. You've got a lot. As for Sarah...I don't agree with what she did, but I do know she was hurt bad. And that doing what is right, sometimes means breaking the law. She'd never get a fair trial or a chance to redeem herself. No one would care WHY she did it. Here...maybe it'll help."

"Actually, I don't have a degree in something," Cecilia replied, forcing her voice to remain even. "My last year of med school would have been starting in a few months. I've got an incomplete education, and a snowball's chance in Hell of finishing it. And even if I do, who in their right mind's going to want a -" Don't say freak. "- mutant working their OR?" After a pause, she shifted gears, returning her focus to the girl with an expression that hovered between disgust and pity. "Oh, so since they hit her first, it's perfectly acceptable to throw the law to the wind and let her hit them right back? Girl, you aren't going to survive in the world out there if you let someone get away with murder just because they're hurting. You get them help, not coddle them. Sick people need treatment." Her tone cooled, and she added, "And if you think what she did was right, girl, you need to do me a big favor and keep your distance. You seriously disturb me."

Her words stung. "I don't think she was right! I know she was wrong. But that doesn't mean they were right to kill her family! She should have gone to the police or something, but it wouldn't've mattered if she had because who cares about some freak with a dead family, right?! That's what we want to change! So she might get a fair trial! So I might be able to go to college!" by now Clarice was yelling at Cecilia, "You had to get a degree in something to go to medical school so don't expect pity! The best I might have is this! But damnit, I'm going to fucking try and not give up like you did!"

"I graduated high school, took two years of pre-med, and went right into medical school," Cecilia replied cooly, not nearly as frazzled by the shouting purple girl as some part of her thought she should be. "And I don't recall ever asking for your pity, so you go right on ahead and keep it." She fell silent for a moment, weighing her options, before she spoke again, her voice quiet, and hard. "This Sarah of yours isn't the only person who has had people they cared about murdered, Clarice. Just because somebody is a freak does not mean that laws no longer apply to them. You don't want to be treated differently than anybody else, right? Then you need to quit acting the hypocrite, excluding her from the laws we mere mortals try to live our lives by, just because she's a freak, like you and me."

"What do you know," Clarice spat, "You're pretty. You can pass. You can try again, apply to another med school, go back for a degree. You have options. What do I have? People trying to attack me when I go out!" she didn't mention her shopping trip from a few days ago.

"Do not assume that just because I am not purple that I have not been physically attacked for what I am," Cecilia stated, her voice cold. "I'm a black woman on top of being a mutant. I've been a target of racism for longer than you've been alive. I know that the world is not all sunshine and puppydogs, and I know that laws exist for a reason, and I know that you, and I, and everybody else in this house, are not above the law. Otherwise, they wouldn't be laws, they'd be suggestions."

There are a few things that will pull Hank out of his dungeon, and fortunately (perhaps), one of those has come to pass. He has run out of Twinkie boxes. And so, seeking alternate forms of sustenance, he has repaired to the proverbial light of day in the kitchen, and quite soon ambled in through the door. Of course... he could hear the pair well before he got there. He paused for a moment so he could absorb things, before he moved into full view, adjusting his glasses as he cleared his throat for attention, the deep, smoothly-cultured voice carrying calmly on the air.

"Ladies," A pause for effect, but not for response, "while I am in the habit of encouraging the youthful set here in the mansion to engage in debate and yes, even spirited discourse in the trading of ideas and thoughts, there does come a point at which the dull roar progresses to the level of an unmild cacophony, and I regret to inform you that it has quite reached this level. Since there are students attempting to study, sleep, peruse, pontificate, consider, nap, and otherwise enjoy the relative peace of the manor at this time of day, I must regretfully warn you that it is either necessary to reduce the vehemence reverberating down the hall, or it is necessary that I sit on those involved to muffle the uproar." It was entirely questionable as to whether or not he was serious, but there's a good bet that he was, and that he'd take some sort of perverse amusement in following through.

Slowly Clarice translated the McCoy-speak into English: 'Stop shouting or I sit on you.' Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at both Dr. McCoy and Cecilia, muttering something that sounded vaguely like 'Cookie Monster.'

The clearing throat successfully gained Cecilia's attention, and while Hank was a very calm, soothing presence.. he was also very big, very fuzzy, and very blue. She at least managed to keep from dropping her glass of juice, her mouth working silently for a moment before she quietly cleared her own throat, shaking herself. Manners, Cecilia. Even big blue monkeys deserve manners. "I think we're past the point of making any progress, anyway," she replied, her voice tight, but agreeable enough.

Fortunately, Hank is used to being stared at, so one more didn't bother him. Well, not so much that he didn't do his usual job of beaming cheerfully. "Ah. Good. And understanding is reached." He accepted, for the moment, Clarice's silent glare as something vaguely akin to apology and acceptance, and turned his eyes back to Cecilia. "And, judging by the volume and vitrol apparent vis-a-vis earlier journal traffic, you must be Ms. Reyes. Charmed. I'm Dr. Henry McCoy, but you'll likely find some curiously amusing nickname for me soon enough."

Clarice jumped off the counter and threw her now-empty bottle in the trash can. "I'll see you tomorrow in the lab," she said to no one in particular before stalking off.

"Charmed," Cecilia agreed, too bewildered to really notice Clarice making her exit. It registered, but it mattered less than the big blue man with the MD. "You.. don't look like you do on TV." She paused, and smiled nervously. "Taller, I think."

A humored grin, and a nod at Clarice. She could probably use an exit, and he needs to chat with the new arrival, anyway. "And bluer," he agreed. "Word to the wise... don't try to 'fix' a mutation. The karma is humourously poetic." He shrugged a shoulder, and moved to dig in the fridge for sandwich-makings. "In any case, I believe you are by now, owed a trip to see medlab and could no-doubt use a chat regarding certain facets of the mansion for which our students are, perhaps... ill-prepared, if willing and eager, to address."

"I just had a chat. An explanation, though, would be keen." Cecilia rubbed her forehead for a moment before quickly drinking her glass of juice, getting back to her feet to put the glass in the sink. After a moment eyeing her pear, she decided she wasn't hungry after all, and looked to Hank. She'd just carry the pear with her, in case her appetite recovered from having a very young, very purple, very loud girl shrieking at her. "As would a trip to see this medlab of yours. Thank you."