author: Lucinda
rating: pg13
main characters: Joyce, Dawn
this is the twenty-first story in 'Messed Up Family'
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any recognizable characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or X-Men (comics or movie).
distribution: Twisting, Paula, Cat, anyone with permission for the earlier parts. If you want it, please ask first.
notes: This is a blended world from BtVS/X-Men. Joyce is the daughter of Vic Creed (Sabertooth), and the sister of Graydon Creed. Dawn exists as the younger daughter of Joyce and Hank - who is the brother of Christopher Summers and Hank is therefore the uncle of Scott Summers (Cyclops of the X-Men). We are in season 1, in a world not quite the same as the series.
It didn't take much to find the name of the watercolor artist, and hardly more time than that to call and leave the details on the answering machine for Ms. Kinston. A few other little details arranged, and she could leave the gallery in the hands of her part time assistant, a college student working on an art degree. The poor girl looked so tired sometimes that Joyce had mentioned the shower in the basement and the microwave in the back room, and had picked up a mini-refrigerator so that little bits of food could be stored at the gallery safely. She tried to keep some fruit and cheese on hand, as well as a variety of jelly, some peanut butter, and bread. She just wanted to make certain that Shelly knew that she had someone that she could turn to for a little bit, even if only a place to shower and a snack around two in the afternoon.
She wandered through the electronics store at the mall for longer, caught up in her musings of which one would be better, and how likely was she to use them again anyhow? She left the store with almost three hundred dollars more charged to her credit card, and a tiny camcorder ready to record for close to twelve hours. All she had to do now would be to go watch Dawn's teacher, to listen to the presentation.
Naturally, it was far easier to find the school than to find a parking spot. She just shook her head, and started to walk towards the school, trying to remain calm. Loosing her temper about what might happen wouldn't help Dawn. Grumbling about inconsiderate jerks who took up two parking places just so that nothing could bump into their shiny new red convertible... That wouldn't help Dawn. She managed to resist the urge to scratch all along the sides of the paint - it would serve no productive purpose, and it would have been petty. Instead, she slipped into the school, reporting to the office to collect a silly little sticker that proclaimed her as a visiting parent.
They hadn't noticed the camcorder, and she didn't feel like pointing it out. Instead she simply made certain that it was ready to film, and meandered around until she found the correct classroom - Ms Goreman, 7th Grade English. It was barely past noon, so she just leaned against the wall, and tried to remember if her school had looked like this one. The cinderblock hallways and ugly tile floors... yes, though in different unappealing hues. Slightly leaning lockers, one of which was missing a door, and several others of which had corners of paper sticking out - her school had had those as well. One of the lockers smelled like dried Marijuana leaves, and another smelled like stale peanuts, several reeked of used gym socks, and someone had an apple tucked away.
Eventually, it was time for the one o'clock class changes, and a bell rang loudly. Some students practically bolted out of the classrooms, while others were walking determinedly or just milling roughly down the halls, chatting and shuffling, and talking about movies and parties and bands that she didn't recognize. It was all enough to make her feel very old all of a sudden. With a heavy sigh, she tried to just slip into the room with the teens, and meandered to an empty seat at the back of the room. Several other parents slipped in, some looking sheepish, a couple distracted, and one looking entirely bored as she adjusted carefully arranged dark curls that reeked of hair dye. She could see Dawn closer to the front, looking nervous and pale. She tried to offer her daughter a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to help too much. Carefully, she started the camcorder filming, figuring that it couldn't hurt to get everybody's presentation on film.
Looking slightly flustered, the teacher stood up, walking from her desk at the front to a spot near the windows, her shoes squeaking weakly. "Good afternoon to all the parents who've made time to come in today and watch your presentations. Now, we have a lot of papers to introduce, and you'll need to turn in your papers to me after you've had your turn. Maria, if you would begin?"
With those few words, the students began to stand up and say a few things about their paper, and what they'd chosen to write about. There were whispers, and a few questions every now and then, most of them sounding more from habit than curiosity. A paper about the Mutant Hearings in Washington. One about a mutant-caused shop-fire in San Diego. Two about the Magneto Trial, the first sounding rather disorganized. Three about the number of mutants in jail for destruction of property, assault, and general misbehavior. One about the 'growing rate' of mutant manifestations, and speculation of the mutant population. Gradually, she realized that the students seemed to be getting called up in alphabetical order. Poor Dawn seemed to be an absolute nervous wreck, and she kept fidgeting, her blue nails clicking on the desk.
Finally, the teacher's voice called out "Dawn Summers."
Dawn stood up, her hand clutching her paper as she walked towards the front chalkboard. Joyce could smell the nervous tension radiating out, could smell the sweat that was even now filming over Dawn's palms. As Dawn turned around, Joyce frowned. Dawn's normally hazel eyes seemed a bit paler today, or was it just that they were wider from nerves?
"Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Dawn Summers..." There was a slight pause while someone giggled, and another person pressed play on the Walkman that they had slipped headphones for, and someone unwrapped chocolate. "I wrote a paper that compares the anti-mutant feeling that is so strong in some political groups today with the anti-black activities of the Klu Klux Klan."
The room fell silent, and everybody seemed to snap into focus on Dawn.
"Miss Summers, that is quite the charge you're bringing up." Ms Goreman's tone was clearly disapproving.
"I did a lot of careful research, and I even looked at some of the modern anti-mutant pamphlets and the old KKK pamphlets. There are a lot of similarities. Then, black people were blamed for decreasing jobs and rising amounts of crime and political unrest, and today people blame mutants." Dawn shuffled her feet, and ducked her head, glancing at the tiles on the floor before continuing in a softer voice. "Now, mutants are portrayed as a vast, untrustworthy 'them' that will cause decay and disaster for America, but thirty years ago the pamphlets were... not against mutants."
"Considering the incidents of mutant violence, and the sheer number of acts of property destruction..." Ms. Goreman paused, and scowled at Dawn. "I'm afraid that you'll have to do better than comparing a few fringe pamphlets."
Joyce reminded herself not to grip the camcorder too hard, and that breathing was a good thing. She could feel a dark reddish haze trying to edge into her vision, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. It didn't help, she kept smelling her daughter's fear and the teacher's fear-dismay-anger.
"Dawn, did you find any information about mutant criminal activity when you were looking for your defense?" The question came from a skinny blond boy with freckles and pants that looked about six sizes too big.
Dawn looked at him, her eyes tiny spots of color as she tried to smile. "I found a number of cases where mutant abilities manifested without control, or when attempting to defend themselves, but nothing about any large scale organized mutant activity. Nothing bigger than a seven individual car theft ring that included two mutants and someone addicted to hair dye in Texas. Magneto did come up, but... he only had a few supporters."
"Are you dismissing Magneto as someone who is not a danger?" Ms. Gorman's voice was practically a hiss.
For a moment, Dawn stood there, not quite saying anything. Then, she licked her lips and stated. "Magneto confessed to having three supporters at his trial. That's three accomplices, making four mutants total. In math class, they assured us that four is still counted as a small group, especially in politics. A very dangerous group, but still small in number."
As the teacher just glared at her, Dawn shuffled back a few steps. "I didn't say that some mutants might not be dangerous. I just said that the whole anti-mutant groups were... following an unfair and bad pattern."
"And do you..." The teacher started to say something else, her frown deepening and making her face look more wrinkled.
"The paper sounds like a good topic to me." Commented a man who had looked almost sleepy, dressed in a crisp blue and gray uniform, a shiny sheriff's badge pinned to his chest.
"Where did you get the KKK pamphlets for your research?" Asked a slightly rounded woman with bland brown clothing and a clipboard.
Dawn looked away from her teacher, focusing on the bland woman. "My mom studied social sciences when she went to college, and there were pamphlets that she had from one of her old classes on social diversity."
"And where did you get the anti-mutant pamphlets that you referenced?" There was something almost sharp in the earth-toned woman's question, and she held a pen ready to scrawl over her clipboard some more.
"The disk of news clips had a list of websites on it, with some more articles and a couple anti-mutant sites. They were at one of them, a group called Friends of Humanity."
"So, the information that your teacher gave you had the website for a hate group on it?" There was definitely something sharp and almost predatory in blandly dressed woman's smile. "Were there any listings for mutant defense or mutant support groups?"
Dawn managed to speak clearly, though her gaze did drop to her paper, now held in front of her stomach like a feeble shield. "No ma'am, there weren't."
"I think that's enough questions for Miss Summers." The teacher was scowling even more, trying to regain control of the class. "Hand in your essay and sit down."
Joyce reminded herself again not to growl, and stood up. "I happen to know that my daughter put a lot of work into that paper. She spent hours researching information, and comparing prejudiced pamphlets from different decades, and more hours of typing and revising. I want everyone to know that I'm proud of her and her hard work."
The teacher scowled all the way through a boy named Jim Wakeeda's report on a new type of medical scam – people claiming to be able to test a home for 'mutation inducing factors' and how hundreds of people had already lost thousands of dollars. He seemed to have put a good deal of research into his paper as well, but nobody seemed to have any questions for him.
As the bell rang to dismiss the class, Joyce could see that the teacher was already writing over a paper with bright red ink. She couldn't tell who's paper it was from here, but she could make a few guesses. Again, she reminded herself not to growl, that there were far too many people here to have even a chance to not be seen killing the teacher. That killing someone couldn't always remove a problem.
Joyce tried to make sure to get a shot of the teacher making all of those red marks on that paper as she stood up to leave the room. It might not be much, but since the teacher did seem intent on making trouble, she would do her best to hang her out to legally dry up and blow away.
"Mrs. Summers? I'm Lisa Evans, from the county Prosecutor's office. Ms Kinston said that you'd mentioned a reason to suspect there might be a case of prejudice in the classroom. Considering what I saw in that classroom, I'd have to say that you're right. I was wondering if you'd be willing to submit that film as evidence, should things come to trial?" The woman in the drab clothing was smiling at her, still looking rather pleased and predatory about something.
Joyce's own smile had to have been as dangerous. "Why, I would be delighted to offer it for use as evidence. And a copy of the disks that the students were given. I was just hoping that it wouldn't come to that. It's in the school handbook that all students are permitted to hold any political or religious views they desire, as long as those views do not damage property or harm another individual, and are not disruptive in class."
"Really?" Lisa's smile curved wider, and there was a small twinkle in her eye. " In the school handbook, you say? Mrs. Summers, I believe we should have a bit of a talk…"
End Both Sides of the Essay.
rating: pg13
main characters: Joyce, Dawn
this is the twenty-first story in 'Messed Up Family'
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any recognizable characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or X-Men (comics or movie).
distribution: Twisting, Paula, Cat, anyone with permission for the earlier parts. If you want it, please ask first.
notes: This is a blended world from BtVS/X-Men. Joyce is the daughter of Vic Creed (Sabertooth), and the sister of Graydon Creed. Dawn exists as the younger daughter of Joyce and Hank - who is the brother of Christopher Summers and Hank is therefore the uncle of Scott Summers (Cyclops of the X-Men). We are in season 1, in a world not quite the same as the series.
It didn't take much to find the name of the watercolor artist, and hardly more time than that to call and leave the details on the answering machine for Ms. Kinston. A few other little details arranged, and she could leave the gallery in the hands of her part time assistant, a college student working on an art degree. The poor girl looked so tired sometimes that Joyce had mentioned the shower in the basement and the microwave in the back room, and had picked up a mini-refrigerator so that little bits of food could be stored at the gallery safely. She tried to keep some fruit and cheese on hand, as well as a variety of jelly, some peanut butter, and bread. She just wanted to make certain that Shelly knew that she had someone that she could turn to for a little bit, even if only a place to shower and a snack around two in the afternoon.
She wandered through the electronics store at the mall for longer, caught up in her musings of which one would be better, and how likely was she to use them again anyhow? She left the store with almost three hundred dollars more charged to her credit card, and a tiny camcorder ready to record for close to twelve hours. All she had to do now would be to go watch Dawn's teacher, to listen to the presentation.
Naturally, it was far easier to find the school than to find a parking spot. She just shook her head, and started to walk towards the school, trying to remain calm. Loosing her temper about what might happen wouldn't help Dawn. Grumbling about inconsiderate jerks who took up two parking places just so that nothing could bump into their shiny new red convertible... That wouldn't help Dawn. She managed to resist the urge to scratch all along the sides of the paint - it would serve no productive purpose, and it would have been petty. Instead, she slipped into the school, reporting to the office to collect a silly little sticker that proclaimed her as a visiting parent.
They hadn't noticed the camcorder, and she didn't feel like pointing it out. Instead she simply made certain that it was ready to film, and meandered around until she found the correct classroom - Ms Goreman, 7th Grade English. It was barely past noon, so she just leaned against the wall, and tried to remember if her school had looked like this one. The cinderblock hallways and ugly tile floors... yes, though in different unappealing hues. Slightly leaning lockers, one of which was missing a door, and several others of which had corners of paper sticking out - her school had had those as well. One of the lockers smelled like dried Marijuana leaves, and another smelled like stale peanuts, several reeked of used gym socks, and someone had an apple tucked away.
Eventually, it was time for the one o'clock class changes, and a bell rang loudly. Some students practically bolted out of the classrooms, while others were walking determinedly or just milling roughly down the halls, chatting and shuffling, and talking about movies and parties and bands that she didn't recognize. It was all enough to make her feel very old all of a sudden. With a heavy sigh, she tried to just slip into the room with the teens, and meandered to an empty seat at the back of the room. Several other parents slipped in, some looking sheepish, a couple distracted, and one looking entirely bored as she adjusted carefully arranged dark curls that reeked of hair dye. She could see Dawn closer to the front, looking nervous and pale. She tried to offer her daughter a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to help too much. Carefully, she started the camcorder filming, figuring that it couldn't hurt to get everybody's presentation on film.
Looking slightly flustered, the teacher stood up, walking from her desk at the front to a spot near the windows, her shoes squeaking weakly. "Good afternoon to all the parents who've made time to come in today and watch your presentations. Now, we have a lot of papers to introduce, and you'll need to turn in your papers to me after you've had your turn. Maria, if you would begin?"
With those few words, the students began to stand up and say a few things about their paper, and what they'd chosen to write about. There were whispers, and a few questions every now and then, most of them sounding more from habit than curiosity. A paper about the Mutant Hearings in Washington. One about a mutant-caused shop-fire in San Diego. Two about the Magneto Trial, the first sounding rather disorganized. Three about the number of mutants in jail for destruction of property, assault, and general misbehavior. One about the 'growing rate' of mutant manifestations, and speculation of the mutant population. Gradually, she realized that the students seemed to be getting called up in alphabetical order. Poor Dawn seemed to be an absolute nervous wreck, and she kept fidgeting, her blue nails clicking on the desk.
Finally, the teacher's voice called out "Dawn Summers."
Dawn stood up, her hand clutching her paper as she walked towards the front chalkboard. Joyce could smell the nervous tension radiating out, could smell the sweat that was even now filming over Dawn's palms. As Dawn turned around, Joyce frowned. Dawn's normally hazel eyes seemed a bit paler today, or was it just that they were wider from nerves?
"Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Dawn Summers..." There was a slight pause while someone giggled, and another person pressed play on the Walkman that they had slipped headphones for, and someone unwrapped chocolate. "I wrote a paper that compares the anti-mutant feeling that is so strong in some political groups today with the anti-black activities of the Klu Klux Klan."
The room fell silent, and everybody seemed to snap into focus on Dawn.
"Miss Summers, that is quite the charge you're bringing up." Ms Goreman's tone was clearly disapproving.
"I did a lot of careful research, and I even looked at some of the modern anti-mutant pamphlets and the old KKK pamphlets. There are a lot of similarities. Then, black people were blamed for decreasing jobs and rising amounts of crime and political unrest, and today people blame mutants." Dawn shuffled her feet, and ducked her head, glancing at the tiles on the floor before continuing in a softer voice. "Now, mutants are portrayed as a vast, untrustworthy 'them' that will cause decay and disaster for America, but thirty years ago the pamphlets were... not against mutants."
"Considering the incidents of mutant violence, and the sheer number of acts of property destruction..." Ms. Goreman paused, and scowled at Dawn. "I'm afraid that you'll have to do better than comparing a few fringe pamphlets."
Joyce reminded herself not to grip the camcorder too hard, and that breathing was a good thing. She could feel a dark reddish haze trying to edge into her vision, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. It didn't help, she kept smelling her daughter's fear and the teacher's fear-dismay-anger.
"Dawn, did you find any information about mutant criminal activity when you were looking for your defense?" The question came from a skinny blond boy with freckles and pants that looked about six sizes too big.
Dawn looked at him, her eyes tiny spots of color as she tried to smile. "I found a number of cases where mutant abilities manifested without control, or when attempting to defend themselves, but nothing about any large scale organized mutant activity. Nothing bigger than a seven individual car theft ring that included two mutants and someone addicted to hair dye in Texas. Magneto did come up, but... he only had a few supporters."
"Are you dismissing Magneto as someone who is not a danger?" Ms. Gorman's voice was practically a hiss.
For a moment, Dawn stood there, not quite saying anything. Then, she licked her lips and stated. "Magneto confessed to having three supporters at his trial. That's three accomplices, making four mutants total. In math class, they assured us that four is still counted as a small group, especially in politics. A very dangerous group, but still small in number."
As the teacher just glared at her, Dawn shuffled back a few steps. "I didn't say that some mutants might not be dangerous. I just said that the whole anti-mutant groups were... following an unfair and bad pattern."
"And do you..." The teacher started to say something else, her frown deepening and making her face look more wrinkled.
"The paper sounds like a good topic to me." Commented a man who had looked almost sleepy, dressed in a crisp blue and gray uniform, a shiny sheriff's badge pinned to his chest.
"Where did you get the KKK pamphlets for your research?" Asked a slightly rounded woman with bland brown clothing and a clipboard.
Dawn looked away from her teacher, focusing on the bland woman. "My mom studied social sciences when she went to college, and there were pamphlets that she had from one of her old classes on social diversity."
"And where did you get the anti-mutant pamphlets that you referenced?" There was something almost sharp in the earth-toned woman's question, and she held a pen ready to scrawl over her clipboard some more.
"The disk of news clips had a list of websites on it, with some more articles and a couple anti-mutant sites. They were at one of them, a group called Friends of Humanity."
"So, the information that your teacher gave you had the website for a hate group on it?" There was definitely something sharp and almost predatory in blandly dressed woman's smile. "Were there any listings for mutant defense or mutant support groups?"
Dawn managed to speak clearly, though her gaze did drop to her paper, now held in front of her stomach like a feeble shield. "No ma'am, there weren't."
"I think that's enough questions for Miss Summers." The teacher was scowling even more, trying to regain control of the class. "Hand in your essay and sit down."
Joyce reminded herself again not to growl, and stood up. "I happen to know that my daughter put a lot of work into that paper. She spent hours researching information, and comparing prejudiced pamphlets from different decades, and more hours of typing and revising. I want everyone to know that I'm proud of her and her hard work."
The teacher scowled all the way through a boy named Jim Wakeeda's report on a new type of medical scam – people claiming to be able to test a home for 'mutation inducing factors' and how hundreds of people had already lost thousands of dollars. He seemed to have put a good deal of research into his paper as well, but nobody seemed to have any questions for him.
As the bell rang to dismiss the class, Joyce could see that the teacher was already writing over a paper with bright red ink. She couldn't tell who's paper it was from here, but she could make a few guesses. Again, she reminded herself not to growl, that there were far too many people here to have even a chance to not be seen killing the teacher. That killing someone couldn't always remove a problem.
Joyce tried to make sure to get a shot of the teacher making all of those red marks on that paper as she stood up to leave the room. It might not be much, but since the teacher did seem intent on making trouble, she would do her best to hang her out to legally dry up and blow away.
"Mrs. Summers? I'm Lisa Evans, from the county Prosecutor's office. Ms Kinston said that you'd mentioned a reason to suspect there might be a case of prejudice in the classroom. Considering what I saw in that classroom, I'd have to say that you're right. I was wondering if you'd be willing to submit that film as evidence, should things come to trial?" The woman in the drab clothing was smiling at her, still looking rather pleased and predatory about something.
Joyce's own smile had to have been as dangerous. "Why, I would be delighted to offer it for use as evidence. And a copy of the disks that the students were given. I was just hoping that it wouldn't come to that. It's in the school handbook that all students are permitted to hold any political or religious views they desire, as long as those views do not damage property or harm another individual, and are not disruptive in class."
"Really?" Lisa's smile curved wider, and there was a small twinkle in her eye. " In the school handbook, you say? Mrs. Summers, I believe we should have a bit of a talk…"
End Both Sides of the Essay.