Downtown Pilot Ridge Library [Josh]

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse had not been instructed not to panic. Not yet anyway. However, she hadn’t been instructed to panic either. Either way, Clarisse was not panicking. At least not in the way she usually panicked. Clarisse’s panic attacks almost always ended up with serious property damage and a good two-day long cry. She usually hated her power for that reason. She’d never learned to use it properly and the side effects were crippling.

Side effects. That was why Clarisse stood in the newspaper archive of the Downtown Pilot Ridge Library, flipping through articles approximately twenty years old. It was very difficult to discern precisely what she was looking for, but Clarisse had been reading nearly all day. Witnesses who had confessed to having symptoms similar to James’ post-attack memory.

Fuzzy memories, blackout memories, inexplicable injuries…in one case there was reports of feeling “boxed in” but that witness had been committed to an asylum. They were subtle, and Clarisse couldn’t count each incident as a definite attack, but Clarisse was beginning to think that whoever had done this to James---whatever sick bastard had done this to James--- had been practicing for a long time. That was how he had become untraceable…practice makes perfect.

Clarisse was really no detective, but she couldn’t stand the fact of Hammel being under attack. Of students beings under attack. It showed that she was no detective in her frustration. She suddenly sighed and put her research away, moving to one of the chairs tucked into the rows and rows of books. She leaned back into the plush chair and sighed quietly. Her eyes ached, her feet ached, and her hands shook. She didn’t want to stop, but she had too.

She was starting to get worked up. Her heart pounded and her blood boiled with quiet fury and it was affected her work. She gripped one laminated paper a little too hard, nearly tearing the plastic-covered news piece into two. Sitting down was nice and helped her clear her head.

Near the pile of papers she had been working with was a notebook full of notes, arrows, and other writing in French shorthand. It wasn’t exactly a code, but anyone who wasn’t incredibly intelligent and able to decipher Clarisse’s flourishing handwriting wouldn’t bother with it. Which was exactly what the nurse practitioner planned. Until she was asked for help, this was a pet project. Otherwise Clarisse kept out of the issue.

She tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear as she reached down the adjust the strap on her grey pumps, loosening it about her ankle and pausing to adjust her nylons as well. She hated when the seam wasn’t completely straight. Clarisse closed her eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath before looking over at her work. She couldn’t have it stolen…not after the hours she’d spent collecting it.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Every good social crusade required research, or so Josh believed. Research meant that a handful of people might actually take the cause seriously, because how could people argue with such infallible sources as newspaper journalists and text books? Particularly journalists, who were known for unassailable honesty. The rest of society might dismiss him as easily as they dismissed the guy on the street corner demanding humanity repent their sins -- although in the end, wasn't their biggest difference what they considered a sin? -- but if he had sources to back his views up then people would have to listen and respect that he knew of whence he spoke.

Unhappily, he wasn't having much luck in his search. Almost every article about meta-human rights were editorial pieces. The only serious articles he had thus far discovered was a piece in The Rolling Stones that was paranoid and extremist even by Josh's standards, and a handful of articles published in Mother Jones. These he entirely agreed with, but he had his doubts about their usefulness in persuading anyone who wasn't already convinced. Was this truly the extent of journalisms forays into justice for their meta-human brethren?! What happened to the passionate, stubborn search for truth against the wishes of The Man? Even his beloved Gray Lady had let him down; how had he never noticed their lack of articles on such an important issue?

"Pretending a problem doesn't exist isn't helpful." He informed the article he was scanning in a disgruntled whisper, as if the article would hear and convey this sentiment to its editors. Perhaps he would have to start a letter writing campaign to every magazine and newspaper of note; otherwise they seemed to be paying a distressing lack of attention to a very important issue. His fellow progressives were letting him down!

He grimaced and returned the unhelpful article to its rightful place, noting as he did so the presence of another person scouring the library's supply of newspapers. He wondered if perhaps she had all the articles of interest to him -- or even if her search involved his cause. Whatever she was looking for, she certainly was being studious about it, scribbling away at a notebook and flipping through articles with a look of intense concentration. She probably wouldn't appreciate being interrupted, but he was curious both as to her cause and as to whether or not she had any meta-human rights articles he had overlooked, and he had little trouble with the concept of bothering people.

He sauntered over to stand by her chair, peering down at the papers in her hand with undisguised interest. "Pardon me, but I was just curious as to what you're researching. You see, I've been attempting to find articles on meta-human rights, and I was wondering if perhaps you were doing the same and that was the explanation for what I would otherwise find a very curious lack."

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse jumped slightly when a foreign voice came to her hears from her peripherals. Turning to face Josh she looked at him quizzically, then at the papers in her hands, then back to the stranger. Taking a deep breath to formulate her words, Clarisse desperately tried to avoid the obligatory ‘Um’ at the beginning of her explanation. What did she say though? “No. I’m sorry. Nothing of that sort in this stack.” She said politely, shaking her head and laying the papers on the small table in front of her. “They’re just old accounts of some past crimes in the town.” She said, looking at them for a moment before turning slightly in her chair to face the strange man better.

“Normally Pilot Ridge hands that sort of material over the Hammel’s researchers.” She explained. Tapping her fingers against her chin, her French-manicured nails brushing against her red-stained lips, she tilted her head. “Though, from my experience your ‘curious lack’ actually stems from a depressing lack of well supported peer reviewed articles to being with.” Clarisse shuffled her papers together slightly in a neat stack, furrowing her brow a bit as she continued. “Unfortunately much of the published work regarding the Meta-human community are either from the meta-humans themselves and therefore biased, or are fanatical trash rooted in fear and fallacy.”

She sighed, shrugging hopelessly. “You may have to send away for court cases and related literature at the courthouse. Or, if you’re incredibly serious about whatever it is you are researching, the nation’s capitol.” She recited studiously, having had to resort to some of those methods for her doctoral thesis.

Just as curious as Josh was, she held out her hand, figuring she’d at least try to be polite. “I am Doctor Clarisse Prideaux. I work for the Institute.” She announced. Everyone in Pilot Ridge who had lived there for a month or more was aware of what people meant when they said ‘the Institute’. Hammel had a reputation in the town. Not necessarily a bad one, but a reputation all the same. The French woman figured that is this stranger was looking for information on meta-human rights, then it was safe to divulge to him that she was affiliated with Hammel. She didn’t have to necessarily admit that she was a meta-human herself.

“May I ask what you are searching for those particular article for?” She asked, turning the same question back to Josh, though she had hardly answered his as thoroughly as she could have. Whoever he was, he didn’t need to know about the terrible circumstance surrounded Clarisse’s research. Josh would be lucky to escape this encounter and not be considered a suspect.

[Joshua Bernstein]

So she didn't have any articles he wanted after all. This was both unsurprising and vexing. "Past crimes are no good, no good at all," He shook his head, dismissing the articles she was perusing, taking her at face value that they contained no information he was interested in. "Not unless they're hate crimes." Even with a relatively large population of meta-humans Pilot Ridge surely had to deal with hate crimes, and what better way to prove his point about labels causing unnecessary division than to illustrate with actual crimes committed against meta-humans? He might have to do some rhetorical gymnastics to convince anyone that the labels used had anything to do with hate, but he felt that he was up to that challenge.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, considering the options she'd presented him with. The courthouse shouldn't be difficult, particularly once he was better established as a coworker and not an outsider. The capitol would be a bit trickier, unless he could either bring himself to resume driving lessons or convince Sean to make a trip with him. Neither solution seemed likely to meet with the immediate success he desired. Perhaps he would have to resort to what she referred to as sending away for information, but truth be told he much preferred to fetch his information in person if at all possible. He wanted to look through the sources himself, not rely on some overworked government employee; that was definitely a last resort option there.

"It's nice to meet you, Doctor Prideaux." He took the proffered hand, shaking it vigorously, "My name is Joshua Bernstein." Was it just his imagination, or were half the residents of Pilot Ridge associated with Hammel in some form? But perhaps that shouldn't have shocked him; the school was the one large, noteworthy business in the area. "I have a friend who works at the Institute," He added, using her choice of words, "perhaps you know him? Sean Neville? We attended college together." And what were the odds she wouldn't know him? They worked for the same (unconstitutional) school, and the title of Doctor was available to both.

"I am on a mission," He informed her, "To promote meta-human rights and to rid the world of the term meta-human just as soon as I think of a suitable replacement. I was hoping there would be some helpful articles with suggestions for a more appropriate label, as well as provide evidence that I am, in fact, perfectly correct in objecting to the term." He crossed his arms across his chest, glancing down at her notes as if they held some brilliant insight if only he understood her scribblings. Was that even written in English? He couldn't tell. "Not evidence for myself," He explained, in case she was confused, "As I'm already quite convinced. Alas, the rest of the world is much more difficult to persuade."

If she was going to ask specifically about his cause, then he felt no qualms about being just as inquisitive about her research. "And what brings you on a search for articles on past crimes? Is Pilot Ridge so dangerous?" All the untrained powers around could certainly constitute a danger, but as far as actual, intentional crime went he hadn't pegged Pilot Ridge as a town he needed to much worry about. Every town had crime, true, but to have so much that a quest for information about past crimes could include such a large stack of papers and such tiny, packed notes seemed unbelievable. He hadn't needed to worry when he lived in New York City, and while the plummeting crime rates had been a recent development he'd been under the impression that small towns were more pristine. Backward, superstitious and bigoted, but less crime-ridden.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse huffed a short, lilting laugh at him, amused by his curiously frazzled nature. Josh’s mind seemed to race a thousand miles a minute, making his responses short and concise. Clearly he didn’t want to waste any time. She was however, slightly concerned about his need for articles concerning hate crimes. Furrowing her brow, she simply regarded him skeptically. What an awful thing to want to research. Then again, there wasn’t exactly any pleasantry in what Clarisse was doing. Absently she frowned over at her notes and sighed slightly, tapping them with a single finger. This sort of research was really going to put her in a funk if she wasn’t careful. She hoped she would be able to be more open about her concern soon enough.

“Joshua. My pleasure.” She said, slightly jarred by his enthusiastic greeting. It managed to pull a smile to her face though, only fueling her image of him as a bit of a nutty professor type. She perked up when he mentioned a friend in the institute, and her jaw all but dropped when he mentioned Sean. It was as if Josh had just admitted he knew a movie star personally. With wide eyes and a sweet, small smile, Clarisse nodded enthusiastically. “Perhaps is an understatement, darling. Everyone at the institute knows Doctor Neville. He’s a saint.”

The odds of her knowing Sean had nothing to do with the fact that they worked in the same school, or both had the designation of Doctor, but simply because everyone knew Sean. He was a sort of…presence. Nothing short of a legend among the students and well respected among faculty. Clarisse had recently found a comfort in his blessing to restart her training. She had approached him before even approaching Claude. “You are lucky to have known him for so long. He’s a good man.” She complimented, bowing her head in a half-nod.

“Mission?” Clarisse repeated, listening intently to his argument. Her brow furrowed slightly, skeptical already of it. However, Clarisse was a scientist, and she never discounted anything until there was proof against it. So far, Josh’s claims were neutral. No real proof either way. “The world is a big place, with plenty of people. Unfortunately, plenty of stubborn people.”Clarisse said. “Also, The majority of the literature regarding the meta-human community as of late is medically based. Most civil rights articles still remain as unproven, insubstantial opinions.” She said studiously. “But I could simply be biased. I have a degree in meta-human biology, not political science or civil rights.” Chuckling, Clarisse folded her hands in front of her. “Have you ever considered that perhaps meta-humans like that term. That it humanizes us instead of demonizing us as a word like ‘mutant.’”

Clarisse hadn’t realized that her use of the word ‘us’ obviously identified her as a meta-human until she’d already said it. By then it was too late. If Josh had a problem with metas (which she highly doubted, seeing as he was concerned with their civil rights) he would certainly have to get over it now. Pausing for a moment, clearly interested in their conversation, Clarisse opened her mouth. No words came forth, but after a moment she managed to formulate her question. “What…what other alternatives have you tried?” She asked.

Nervously, Clarisse cleared her throat. “I’m…the side effects specialist at the school. I’m attempting to identify a particular individual based on the side-effects of his or her power on others. I have reason to believe that studying the vi--“ Clarisse paused, not wishing to divulge just yet that there had been a security breach at Hammel. “…studying those who have been affected by this power that I will be lead to exactly what this person can do.” Pulling her notes to her, Clarisse picked them up and thumbed through them absently. “I’ve never seen anything like this though, so I’m not getting much of anywhere. I’m rather frustrated actually.” Gesturing to Josh with the packet of notes, she nodded. “You must know what that’s like. Being fronted with such a lack of research in your field and support for you cause…you must fight a very difficult battle.” Granted, Clarisse wasn’t exactly on his side, but she could understand the annoyances that came along with the red tape of research.

[Joshua Bernstein]

While Josh agreed that Sean had many excellent qualities he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea of his friend as a saint. Whether it was the fact he had lived with Sean and seen him at his worst (and drunkest), or if it was the idea of a lapsed Catholic being canonized, his lips twitched into a smile at Clarisse's comment. "Sean is very...personable." He agreed, turning away slightly and covering his mouth with one hand in an attempt to hold back the laughter threatening to burst out at the thought of Sean the Saint. Oh, but this was coming up next time they talked. A saint!

"I didn't suggest we revert to the word mutant!" He objected, horrified that she would even consider that he would want to depose meta-human in favor of mutant. Neither term was respectful, of course, but meta-human was slightly (just a smidgen) less offensive. This was beginning to look an impossible task. First Sean tacitly refused to help and now Dr. Prideaux was using the same excuses: it's our culture, if we're fine with labels that dehumanize then it's none of your business. This was by far the most infuriating attitude he had to fight against, worse even than people who were unabashedly prejudiced because he expected people to eagerly join in fighting for their own rights. Did nobody care to be respected anymore, did they think it was normal to be ostracized? Maybe it was normal, but it shouldn't be! If only the oppressed would rise up, the world would be a more respectful, kind place. At least, it would be more respectful and kind for the oppressed; he really had no guarantees that the oppressors wouldn't end up at the guillotine.

"And I beg to differ that the term humanizes anyone, the connotations put it in opposition to human. The prefix meta means after. And for some entirely inexplicable reason Sean keeps insisting that the terms ought to be meta-human and baseline-human, which really only makes the concept of meta-humans being a continuation or addition to default humans that much more obvious. Because if I'm baseline and you're meta, then I'm the point of reference and you're the aberration or maybe in a more positive light the improved product, but either way this attitude is unacceptable." Not that he'd heard anyone other than Sean (and a handful of his coworkers) use the term baseline human; most people used meta-human along with a prefixless human, which was both aggravating and understandable.

He shrugged at her next question. "I tried fomenting interest by discussing the issue with the locals on an individual basis, but there seems to be little interest in meta-human rights in this area. Odd, I think, considering your institute resides here." He'd envisioned a bit more success when he'd first embarked on this cause; he had to remind himself that improvements in civil rights on a widescale level were rarely immediate. Whenever he felt too much frustration he merely looked back on the decades he'd spent lobbying for change and realize just how far his society had changed.

He leaned back against the nearest bookshelf, arms crossed. "Side-effects that impact other people? How...intriguing!" He commented with great interest. There were unlimited possibilities (as far as he knew) as to what types of meta-human traits could manifest, and trying to narrow down all those possibilities to one power that could affect other people sounded like a particularly vexing puzzle. "Does Hammel keep a list of the traits known to have manifested? It might be a bit unwieldy, but cross-referencing a list with your ahhh side-effects could help whittle down your choices." He suggested. Perhaps there wasn't a list of every trait known in every country, but he would have been very surprised if the Hammel officials hadn't kept tally on what had passed through their doors. And probably continued to keep track of their students once they'd graduated, too. One day that school was going to prove useful in a capacity it hadn't intended (he assumed they hadn't intended), when the government allowed the military industrial complex to take advantage of traits they surely coveted.

"I would offer to help look over your notes, extra pair of eyes and all that, but really, if you're trained in side-effects surely you know more than I about what you're looking for."

[Clarisse Prideaux]

A slow, knowing smile broke over Clarisse’s face, creasing the corner of her eyes. “I see you know some things about him that I don’t.” She winked and leaned back slightly in the chair. “For now, I would like to keep my image of him…though by the look on your face I may be having a chat with Saint Neville.” She joked.

His sudden lurch from the light-hearted discussion of a mutal friend back to the problem of proper nouns surprised Clarisse, but she listened to him all the same. “I believe you!” She emphasized when Josh declared that ‘reverting’ to the word mutant was not in his plans to change the world (so to speak). She could already tell by the way he carried himself, and the look on his face while speaking with her, that Josh had no intentions of degrading anyone. Clarisse watched him with keen interest as he explained his previous discussions with Sean, dissecting the etymology of the word most people had come to associate with “freak.” Leaning her chin on her hand, Clarisse clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Your point is very valid. I don’t agree with the term baseline-human. Frankly I’d prefer just to be referred to as human, but unfortunately the world isn’t ready for that kind of distinction.” She grunted and smoothed her skirt. “The day we lose designations of ethnicity and gender will be the day the word ‘human’ goes prefixless, I’m sure.” She added, nodding solemnly. That day would hopefully come sooner rather than later, but Clarisse highly doubted that. For now, she would just have to be content with checking the ‘meta-human’ box right next to ‘Caucasian’ and ‘female’ on her census form.

Clarisse found herself needing to bite her tongue. She enjoyed Josh’s intellectual company, but she was already stand-offish regarding his interest in meta-human rights. Because of her past she rarely put it upon non-metas to understand the struggle that was meta-human civil rights, and she didn’t exactly have much faith in the government standing up for them. However, it was clear in Josh’s passion for his work that he wanted to do right by all humans…all special abilities aside. “The rise of science has put meta-humans in a spotlight that has never before been experienced.” Clarisse murmured, hoping her careful choice of words would keep her from seeming cold. “I know I feel that there is a…chronology to way things must come.” She looked to Josh, gesturing to the seat across from her, should he like to sit. “While I’d certainly like to have everything all at once, at this point in time meta-humans do not particularly stand out. Most meta-human abilities manifest physiologically in a way that cannot be detected by anything but a blood test.” She shrugged. “None of my rights have been taken away, and I have gained no new rights by being meta-human.” She sighed and shrugged again. “I don’t know if I am making sense, Mister Bernstein, but I think what I’m trying to say is that your perceived lack of interest is less a lack of conviction and more a lack of need for action at the present time.”

Hastily she waved her hand in front of her face. “Not to diminish the value of your work!” She added, laying the hand she was gesturing with over her heart. “I know in France if people with conviction like yours had been in the spotlight then many of the things I know occurred would not have happened.” Clarisse explained, looking a bit uncomfortable at the mention of her past. “I mean to say simply that meta-humans need to be most concerned with the issues that are most pressing. For example…discovering ways to eliminate or alleviate dangerous side-effects.” Really Clarisse could only speak professionally on that issue. She was sure she could come up with others, but preferred to avoid much of a debate with a stranger in a public library.

“Meta-human biology is an intriguing field as a whole. Each ability has its side effects that affect the wielder, but many-- particular abilities based in brain functions such as telepathy and mind control-- leave behind traces in whomever the ability is being wielded against.” Clarisse explained, nodding warmly over at Josh. She didn’t get much opportunity to discuss her work in person. Much of her discussions took place via e-mail with colleagues in her field. It was nice to have someone who was not only intelligent enough to discern the importance of the subject matter, but someone who seemed genuinely interested and engaged in the field.

Blinking at him with her mouth slightly slack, Clarisse tilted her head. “You know…Hammel has records on all of its students, but I have no idea if there are separate files simply on the abilities themselves.” The French woman’s bright green eyes glinted with the epiphany that Joshua had offered. Why wouldn’t the school keep records of the abilities themselves? Clarisse could see how they would come in handy for some of the more rare or bizarre abilities such as gestalt pairs or anatomic separation. Smiling with relief that she now had another place to start, Clarisse nodded firmly to Josh. “I was so busy looking at things from a clinical perspective that I had forgotten history often gives us our best lessons and clues, Thank you.” She said excitedly, her toes curling in her shoes. Clarisse would probably have to get some kind of clearance for that research, but it probably wouldn’t be hard…at least she hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Sometimes all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes, untrained or otherwise.” Clarisse contradicted politely, looking sidelong at her notes again. Of course he could look over them, but he certainly wouldn’t be able to understand. She’d made sure of that. “Though I do believe it would take me more time to explain to you my note taking system than it would take you to decipher and read the notes.” She added with a laugh.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Differences were not, in Josh's opinion, inherently bad, and blindness toward all uniqueness wasn't exactly the future he was aiming toward. He was interested in defeating the negative connotations associated with different demographics, not pretending those demographics were all completely alike. Sometimes that meant convincing people to use more respectful language, to realize what impact their words had on those around them, but he remained well aware that he didn't know what it was like to have Sean's telepathy or Clarisse's....whatever trait or skill she happened to have. Neither of them knew what it was like to be a fifty year old Jewish man without any powers. That was fine, that was great, people didn't have to know, they just had to be respectful. Sean got that. From what he could tell so did Clarisse. But they acted as if the rest of the population got it, too, when that was far from true. The rest of the population needed to be educated because they weren't doing very well on their own.

The comparison to ethnicity and gender was flawed to some degree; neither was a choice, but as Clarisse had pointed out (and as an expert in that particular field, she ought to know) it was rarely possible to tell a meta-human simply by looking. Then again, it couldn't exactly be compared to sexuality, either. Again, not a choice, but one could lie about one's sexuality whereas meta-human status could be reliably determined by scientists. There were other reasons for admitting to differences in ethnicity and gender than simple ocular evidence, as well, reasons that had more to do with medicine as some demographics were more prone to certain diseases than others. But that was acceptance of differences, which wasn't the same as judgment. Judgment ought to be reserved for moral questions; judging someone for murdering another human being or lying or, well, judging.

"Certainly you and I are not the same person, but I'd rather find a way to express that distinction without assuming that one of us is an expansion and the other the blueprint." He acknowledged, failing to notice her offer of the seat and instead pacing back and forth in agitation at the English language's current inability to describe such differences without resorting to normalizing one at the expense of the other.

Of course, then there were judgments based upon less tangible aspects of person-hood, judgments that were just as inappropriate and skewed as those based merely upon the physical. "But there is a need for action!" He disagreed vehemently. "As long as there are hate crimes! As long as there is hate there is a need for action! It doesn't matter if people can't tell just by looking at you that they hate you. If they would hate you if you told them there's still a need for action. Do I look white to you? Because most people would say yes, but the white supremacists, if I told them I am Jewish, they would disagree. And you can't tell what gender someone is sexually attracted to by physical appearance, but that doesn't stop people from hate. They could be great friends with you, and then you say, oh, yes, by the way, I happen to date guys, and suddenly you have one less friend. Do you see what I mean? You can't look at someone and tell what religion they practice, not unless they belong to one of the more orthodox sects that requires members to differentiate based on dress. You can't look at someone and tell who they vote for unless they decide to wear a t-shirt or pins. And yet people will hate you for those things, hate you for being religious or hate you for being atheist, insist that you aren't a patriot for voicing dissent, a communist for voting democrat and ignorant for voting republican, that you're a traitor for not adhering to their definition of the party line. And none of that is anything you can tell by appearances."

He took a deep breath and continued, "That doesn't stop people from hating. I intend to eradicate this propensity for hatred. If I could eradicate it globally, I would do so, but as I am sadly one person and have a limited capacity to effect change. Therefore, I will eradicate hatred locally, which will in turn inspire others to eradicate the hatred around themselves, which will then spread throughout the globe." This wasn't likely to produce the immediate changes he wished for, but it was the best plan he had at the moment: Plans that went beyond gain visibility and talk a whole bunch until people either agree or pretend to agree to escape being lectured were not necessarily his strength.

"I certainly understand that alleviating side-effects is a necessity, but it's one that professionals such as yourself need to work on. The best a layperson such as myself could hope to accomplish as far as the medical part of the equation is to organize a march to raise funds, and as long as there is discrimination participation will be a problem. It's a worthy goal, but the problem of discrimination and hate crimes can be solved at least partially by awareness rather than research and funds."

He narrowed his eyes at Clarisse's use of wielded against in regards to telepathic abilities. "Telepathy isn't a weapon." He muttered, "Anymore than a shoe is. Or an affinity toward mathematics. You can use any of them for evil if you so desire, but that isn't the natural state of things." He would very staunchly defend Sean's inability to ward off other people's minds at all times. The fact that he was imperfect didn't mean he went around wielding his powers against people. Hearing people's thoughts wasn't anymore of a crime than overhearing part of a nearby conversation. Unless one was purposefully spying (and with the intent to use the information gathered against people) then there were no victims -- as he knew very well that Sean frequently knew what he was thinking without even trying to read his mind, he refused to accept the concept of telepathy wielded against him as that meant he was a victim, and idea with which he intensely disagreed.

"I don't know if they have any such thing or not, but it sounds like something they would do." He admitted with a shrug. "Seems worth looking into, at any rate." He followed her gaze toward her notes, wondering for the second time if they were written in English. Maybe her handwriting was just really abysmal. "If you have the time to explain, then I have the time to listen and help. If you do not have the time to explain, then I wish you good luck with your search and will return to my own."

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Judgment was something Clarisse was so terrified of that she rarely passed it (at least in her mind she didn’t). Hammel was a miracle in her eyes for not turning her in to French authorities on charges of murder, and in that lack of judgment Clarisse had managed to produce amnesty for just about everything. But Josh had a point that judgments were frequently passed unfounded, with little thought or care to logic or consequences. Vaguely she wondered if refusing to pass judgement was a judgment in itself. A kind of benign neglect of the line between guilt and innocence, or in the context of her conversation with Josh, the line between physical and metaphysical qualities.

“Certainly not indeed.” She agreed, nodding as his energy simply increased. He was like watching a car rushing down a hill without breaks. Josh didn’t seem to have much of a filter between his head, his heart, and his mouth, yet he didn’t come off as a blow-hard. Sure he liked to talk, but Clarisse found it easy to follow his relatively complex argument, given his consistent use of examples. It actually struck Clarisse as fascinating; She approached everything so cooly, Josh was the opposite. He was burning up about this! The intensity with which he approached the subject was inspiring to a surprising extent.

She straightened slightly in her chair, feeling almost accosted by Josh’s disagreement. He was right in a way. While Clarisse didn’t agree to the degree of action Josh was demanding, she did see his point in the necessity for action. As much as she wanted to, ignoring hate crimes was impossible. And not just hate crimes against metahumans. Though they were far more common than metahuman attacks on non-meta communities, there were instances of such violence. Often they were described as metas simply being “fed up” with subjugation. She shivered and shook her head at the thought of how easily hate bred more hate, and how subversive prejudice could be, just as Josh was describing.

Suddenly you have one less friend.

Clarisse’s stomach tightened. One less friend…or one last husband. “I absolutely see what you mean.” She said, asserting her expertise in the situation with an intensely stoic, tight tone in her normally soothing voice. If she knew anything about how people reacting to the news of her metahuman abilities, it was how quickly could turn a new face. Feeling an angry tightness behind her eyes -- a sure sign she would cry soon-- Clarisse cleared her throat and looked away. “Nothing will stop most people from hating” she said softly, remembering how she couldn’t believe her late husband had so suddenly changed his opinion of her. They’d been in love! Wasn’t that supposed to triumph over all?

Smiling weakly at Josh, Clarisse was regretful that she could no longer continue the conversation. It was too much to continue to speak without giving Josh any context. Too much for Clarisse to offer comfortably, and too much of an insult to Josh’s intelligence to keep it from him. She certainly wasn’t about to divulge her life story in a public library, no matter how much she trusted Josh or how intelligent she found him.

“I would sincerely appreciate your opinon on the matter, actually” Clarisse admitted, looking thoughtfully over Josh’s face. She did trust him. He was easy to trust, wearing his heart on his sleeve, but she found his relationship to Sean his most trustworthy trait. Sean was an impeccable judge of character, and if they were as good of friends as Josh suggested…well…it was safe to assume Josh was a good man. “But for the day, I’m mentally exhausted…perhaps the next time you are around campus--or perhaps in Pilot Ridge? I assume you live nearby--“ She said with a smile. “We can have a more pointed discussion of my notes. I’d have to translate them for you first.” She picked them up and laid them in her lap, tapping them absently. “They’re written in French shorthand.” She finally admitted, unconsciously putting Josh’s curiosity to rest. Standing, Clarisse extended her hand again for him to shake.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Joshua…Sean has a good friend in you.” She complimented, pinning her notes in front of her hips with her free hand. “And if you’re ever at the Institute, please don’t hesitate to drop by the offices. I’m sure our researchers would be happy to lend you some of our records for the search.” As she turned to exit the library, she paused and regarded Josh once again. “And if not, I’ll be sure they do.” She added determinedly, nodding sharply. “You have a beautiful vision. It deserves credit.”


(Not sure what the hell was going on with my computer when I was trying to format this, so it may look a little wonky on your computer. Also its a little lame. <3 sorry!)