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23 May 2007 @ 09:03 am
A month is more then enough time, even by you slow-as-slug minded individuals, to come to some basic self truths.

While I find that young children, under 4, to be an amazing annoyance, I have also decided that teenagers above 14 are also worthless until they grow out of their hormones. It isn't as if children are highly involved within my line of"work". As an Ultimate, my job is simple. Scouting, recon, and then keeping my team-mates behinds from being fried once the fray is joined. Hardly a trying job for a man who can disarm an entire army in mere minutes.

A very simple and straight forward job, with a high responsibility factor if you fail.

As compared to working with children, a complex endeavor in and of itself, with just as high a responsibility factor. Especially when they are the next generation of Mutants, Metahumans, or leaders.

I find their naietivity to be almost refreshingly amusing. Some of their optimism laughable. Then there are simply those whom I can only in my head agree with. It is a terrible thing to see a young person whom at 17 or 18 understands the world is a cold, cruel place, and if you do not look out for yourself no one else will. Worse still, when I suspect they are like minded to me in just what I am willing to 'sacrifice' for a goal. It took traumatic events to seperate me from my childhood happiness, and a bloody revolution to make me reach this point.

What has driven them to it?

How do you teach disillusioned, cynical, emotionally mature children what they need to learn? They almost universally believe they know it already, or their pride outstrips their actual accomplishments.

Then of course, the annoyance of being around hormone driven youth. In a large way, I find this aspect to make me feel the need to bathe more often then even dealing with Politicians and the Media did.

The young man I've chosen to mentor should be out of the Hospital before long, if his healing process is similiar to mine. Then we will see if he is willing to learn, or if my coming here was a total waste of my time.

I am not a teacher, unappreciative children should be more thankful when I attempt to bridge this gap in my skills in their interest.

Oh well, Wanda? Expect a package in the next day or two. A painting, and some jewelry that reminded me of you.

My word, I look fabulous in this new jacket.
 
 
Current Location: London,UK
Current Mood: cynical
Current Music: Greg Graffin - Don't Be Afraid to Run
 
 
23 February 2007 @ 10:07 am
It's... been a day, and a decision I never, ever, thought that I would have to make. Even though in the moment, as things were all happening and my brain was swirling uselessly (it does that. A lot.), I really didn't do much deciding. Did I? I just went along docilely, like the obedient little girl I sometimes end up behaving like. I should have protested, protested a lot more, with things like 'It isn't any of your business,' or 'It's my personal life, stay out of it.' In the end though, raising my voice like I wanted to, and shouting and arguing would have gotten me...what?

I'd imagine it would have lost me the job I love, the opportunities to be doing what I love. In exchange for working on another sort of more personal emotion. Would he have wanted me to sacrifice my career? I can't say for certain, I don't believe so. I know I would hate myself if someone else did the same for me.

Maybe it was selfish of me, hugely and deeply selfish, to even try to have both things at once. I think I made the choice, truly, years ago when I decided to follow my conscience and have a stab at saving the world. Or at least my very little corner of it. It does, at least, make for a very busy distraction, when my mind tries to drift towards the 'what might have beens.'
 
 
12 January 2007 @ 10:13 pm
Because really, I must have misplaced one of them, I had two the last time I tried this. Of course, last time I was completely flustered, caught off guard and fairly embarassed. Maybe that was more the problem than my being completely incapable of performing with any degree of... well.. grace.

Today was a completely different story, however. Poor Wes must think that I was lying to him about needing his help with this, for my own nefarious purposes no doubt, in order to get him to come to class with me. Not that I honestly think he minds, I haven't spent as much time with him lately as usual. We're both busy and well, I've had a distraction. A rather pleasant one though. Very pleasant actually.

But anyway. I actually got complimented by the instructor. I think they thought I was trying to sneak into a beginners class when that wasn't where I ought to be. Which really wasn't the case, but maybe next time I'll try something fancier. Won't that be a surprise?
 
 
19 December 2006 @ 12:13 am
I've reached an interesting conclusion today. It's hardly following the proper scientific method for forming and proving a hypothesis, but for now, it'll have to do. Any food, no matter where it comes from, is instantly made classier by the simple act of eating it inside of a limo. Or at least McDonald's is. Hard to say if it holds true for others, as I have yet to duplicate the experiment, but I'm just going to make the assumption. There is also the variable of the company that I had in the adventure to factor in, I suppose. I'd try to convince him to do it again, just with a different establishment to prove my point, except well.. I feel slightly idiotic about the entire thing already.

Was there a class on proper etiquette for this sort of thing at some point? Did I miss it? I must have. I'm a grown woman and I'm acting like I'm fourteen. I at least have resisted the urge to begin this with the salutation of "Dear Diary."

It was an interesting day to say the least though. From my adventures in improving the perceived quality of my dinner, not that I have any problems with McDonald's, or any other fast food establishment for that matter, it moved to sword fighting. That doesn't even happen in the movies. Or at least no movie that I've ever watched. Fun and educational, since I even learned a few things. I didn't know much to begin with when it comes to those weapons though, so anything is better than, well. Nothing. There was even some sneaky tactics employed, that ended with me being kissed, and likely looking incredibly stupid afterwards. What else was I supposed to do, at that point? See. This is why I need lessons.

At least I had the presence of mind, when I was taken home again, to actually respond back in kind. And he still smelled wonderful, even after a workout. I don't know what kind of cologne that is but it just smells...fancy. Here's hoping my juvenile antics don't make him not want to speak with me ever again.
 
 
14 December 2006 @ 10:42 am
I can't believe how long it'd been since I was taken out on an honest to God date. I think the last time was somewhere around the neighborhood of my senior prom, and even then, I went with a friend and not anyone that could truly be considered any sort of an interest. Not that he wasn't a nice guy, just neither of us felt that way about the other. I've always just been too busy, track and piano in high school, and in college it never really changed any. Practices were longer for track, and I mostly gave up piano. I don't have one to play on anyway.

I guess being finally finished with school though was the magic trigger. Because guess what, I had one? Yes a real date. I don't know why I'm talking about it on here actually, I never use this thing. My friends back home made me set it up, so they could keep track of me. I think this is my second? Yes second post ever. See, guys? I'm not totally hopeless. And this way I've got it all worked out what to say in my head before Mama F gives me the third degree in the morning. She actually waited up until I got home, I could see her head poking out the next window when I was coming back down the stairs.

It was really, well. Wonderful. I don't think I've got another word for it right now. It's late, and I'm tired, but I figured I'd at least start on this now, let you all know I'm not a completely anti-dating tomboy. I've never eaten in a restaurant so nice before, or had duck for that matter. I felt a little like a fish out of water, or I guess, bird out of my tree in my case since I never really was much of a swimmer, was I? How does someone get used to fancy things like that though? Maybe lots of exposure. Who knows.

I feel bad that I stepped on his feet though. I really do. Hopefully my inane babbling all night didn't chase him off. He's a great man, and a complete gentleman. I don't think I'd mind seeing him again at all. At least so long as there's no more singing telegrams.
 
 
 
02 October 2006 @ 10:18 pm
How does one sum up a life?

I’ve had occasion recently to watch mine in its entirety, in the unique perspective that only impending death can bring to you. It doesn’t, as the cliché would imply, flash before your eyes in a series of illuminated images. It lingers, thick and cloying, choking you as certainly as the death itself.

I have lived my forty years expecting to be shuffled off each day. Clinging desperately to hope, with all optimism burned away. I have flogged my beliefs, my causes, at the rest of the world in the hope that perhaps at some point it would make a difference, even if it meant just one mind changed.

And yet, however hard I have lived my life in my field, and in my causes, it’s my personal regrets that cloud my life.

That I never could be for David the mother that he needed. That I have systematically pushed away every person I have ever loved. That I let myself linger so long in the worst moments of my life that I missed what could have been the best.

I want to be there for Rahne, to protect her and help her, as she grows into the woman I know she’s destined to become—to be there when she displays the courage I know she has, even if it’s in defiance of me. I want to watch Josh as he learns his potential—I want to see him develop, knowing that this is was boy who was the antithesis of everything I preach, who’s become someone I am intensely proud to call son. I want to see Mark free again, with his family, and be someone that my grandson would be proud of. And of the three men that I have loved in my life, it’s Sean Cassidy I have the most regrets about—years together, now, and in the end all I can think of is how many times I have swallowed what I wanted to say, because I could not muster up the optimism to believe things could change.

But I find it strangely fitting that I would be here for it all—it all began, for me, with Erik Lehnsherr. My first love, the man that put me on the path, though our visions diverged widely after their conception, a man that has subsequently been the bane of my existence by his mere presence and comparative success—I’ve never managed to reconcile these concepts.

And it’s only now that I realize that doesn’t matter.

I can no longer accept the world it as we’ve made it. This war, the lives lost or destroyed, the atrocities we’ve committed and had aimed at us, and my own selfish personal ghosts and regrets. This is my last stab at hope, in a time that has choked all hope away from the rest of the world.

I do not believe in an afterlife—what we make is all that we get.

Ironic—an atheist who’s determined that the only remaining course of action is to play God. I don’t know if in concept that absolves me of the sin, or makes it inherently all the worse. If it were my child, rather than his, being used to make it all come to pass… would I?

Should I have already?

Perhaps this is madness, then, finally caught up with me now that the worst has come to pass.

I refuse to allow everything to end on so many regrets, if I can change it. Whatever the cost, I hold out hope.

--Moira Kinross.
 
 
"Life springs from death; and from the graves of patriot men and women spring living nations."

Dublin. I've sent the children off in their groups to see the town--we'll be meeting again in an hour, provided all of us manage to avoid trouble. Watching them, it seems they're more animated than they have been for some time--since before Muir was destroyed. Before we became refugees. Before we lost one leader, and regained him at the cost of another.

They're more alive.

So I find it ironic that left to my own devices, my destination was a cemetery.

Glasnevin Cemetary. More history is buried in this spot than anywhere else in this city that revels in its own past. Here, on this quiet bench I've found, I can see the graves of Sir Roger Casement and Eamon de Valera, Maud Gonne and her son Sean MacBride, Con Markiewicz, O’Connell’s tower, and just before me Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa lays buried, as unaware of me as he was of Padraig Pearse, and every republican that saw this spot as a gathering post. A pulpit, disguised as a simple low grave with a headstone barely raised above its gravel.

There are likely tours that tromp through here, among the dead, that point to this bench and say that the Easter Rising sparked here, as Pearse read over the lines of his speech again and again, committing it to memory before making the transformation from schoolteacher and poet to revolutionary.

And I'm struck by the ridiculousness of it all. Perhaps some day a tour will stop by the Chalk and Cheese, point to my little booth in the back, and declare that the spot where Moira MacTaggert, scribbling notes on her napkin over more than one dram of Kinross whiskey, finally came up with the breakthrough that had her discovering the gene for human mutation.

And how exactly will that then be interpreted, I wonder.

For a scientist, I've found myself becoming remarkably Luddite in my thoughts lately. Arguing that some scientific advancements shouldn't have been made, as I watch them abused. Culture changes, with science, and now what I've done is being used to further the bigotry that I fight against.

And more and more, I find it's that fight that truly matters to me. That goal. That dream. I am still a scientist. I cannot turn that off, cannot step away from it, cannot disassociate myself from that fundamental truth. I am driven to explore, to discover. But the children, their future, that is what I truly hope to affect.

Is that Erik? Charles? I choose to believe that this is my dream I'm fighting for. My goal I'm dedicating my life to. Whether or not the differences from their own are subtle, they are there. And the truth of the matter is that I am not doing this for any of us.

I believe it's right.

But I don't necessarily believe we'll prevail. Not in our lifetimes. I've rather resigned myself to the fact that I will either die in this cause, or I will die seeing it unfulfilled.

Perhaps that's why I found myself drawn to this place. The history's not my own, these Irishmen, but people like Rossa died before they could see it happen--catalysts. Casement was executed for his part. And from their ideologies sprung violence that still continues--but it also eventually made headway.

Were I Charles, I'd protest that it ever come to violence. I'd point at the cycle it began.

Were I Erik, I'd embrace the violence and declare it part of change. Necessary, even, and part of how all revolutions are won. I'd never agree to the compromise.

I just want something better for the children than I see around us now.

But I'm not willing to put myself in the grave, yet.
 
 
26 May 2006 @ 05:13 pm
I'm going to change the world.

A lot of people say that, and a lot of people never really manage to pull off what they want to do. Most of the people who say that plan on changing it in certain ways. Through 'heroics', such as the Excalibur team, X-men, Ultimates, etc etc etc. Then there's my adopted mom, Moira MacTaggert. She tries to change the world in her own way - through her constant scientific research into mutants, and through ceaselessly ranting and raving at politicians. Then there's the politicians.

I'm going to change the world, but I'm not going to do it through any of those ways. Ironically, no one has ever asked me what it's like to be a Healer. Mine is a power that can only do good for people. It's hard to ignore all of the sentimentality attached to healing. Mostly religious, some superstitious, but always the healer of stories is cast as a Holy person, or a person of some level of faith or belief. They're the pristine one, touched by a power beyond normality - supernatural or divine, look at it how you will.

I'm a Healer, one of the best. I'm still learning, but already what I can do is more then I ever thought I'd be able to do.

So, the question becomes.. how am I going to change the world, if not by being a 'super hero', or a politician, or anything else?

I'm going to change the world by being what I am. A healer.

Let them rail against the evils of mutants, as I heal their wives. Let them protest at the Arcadia campus, while I heal children out of the hospitals. Let them print horrible news paper articles, while I breath fresh life into the dying. Let them do what they will, while I use the gift that I was given. Even if it doesn't counter all the bad things in the world, the good that could be done with my powers can bring some brightness into the lives of those who need a helping hand out of the darkness of suffering and pain.

There's more kinds of heroes then 'Super-Heroes', and I plan on being a Hero.

If your reading this Doc, well, you know what I plan on doing when my education is done, I suppose. I think you already knew though, didn't you? If you were looking for dirt on my relationship with Tara, that's all filtered entries, so hah!
 
 
Current Mood: thoughtful
 
 
22 March 2006 @ 08:50 am
There are times when I am forced to thank the heavens I am no where near as mad as the world apparently thinks I am.

They display it in small ways. The most infuriating is that patient, patronizing expression--musn't anger the madwoman, it only encourages her. May as well toss in a pat on the shoulder, and that slow, sad shake of the head. "She was such a talented lass--it's a shame, really." Rubbish.

I was, and typically am, completely right. I did learn from our little exercise. I watched the lad and lasses--my teammates, Sean would be quick to remind me--I took my paint pellet, I listened to their conversations afterwards.. the pairing off for further training--and yes, I am capable of listening. And I watched Karma, as well. And Meggan, sitting apart, eating her marshmellows.

This exercise wasn't indicative of what she should be expecting. I remember taking her from the UK to the States for the encounter in Idaho. She weakens, away from home. Just as Brian would.

And then there's me. I do realize what I am--as a medic, I'm an asset to the team. As a field team member, however, I am a liability. Not because of my lack of mutant abilities--because regardless of my training, of everyone whom I've worked with, the lumps I've taken, I am a scientist. Underweight (thank you, Laynia, I had noticed), and phenomenally average in quite a few more ways than my inflated ego cares to admit. I'm a decent shot, though that doesn't particularly help us any longer, and my pub brawling days are long past.

Even among the half-trained lads and lasses, I'm going to be a pretty target.

And I have to wonder, love him though I do, if Sean Cassidy is as daft as everyone says I am.

He's the only one of the lot that I could have chosen to train with, that I haven't. A throwback to my own mental hangups, which are rather infamous at this point as Braddock seems incapable of keeping her mouth shut. He hasn't ever said anything, for which I am thankful. Scowled at Wisdom even more than usual when I ran the little training experiment that had me hiding broken ribs from him, and unable to hide the rest of the bruising. But he hasn't pressed the point.

Even without that, I know he's aware of my capabilities. So what, pray tell, is he doing?

I ask. I'll sit here and brood over it, as I always seem to, and ask myself. And what I realize is that it doesn't matter. Daft or no, I trust him.

A rather shocking declaration from me: I trust him.

And so I'll go back to our team exercises, and take my paint pellets, and follow where he tells me to. Never did expect to live to forty, anyway.
 
 
23 February 2006 @ 12:55 pm
Jubilee wasn't entirely sure of what she was and
wasn't allowed to do as a whole, apart from the
whole No Leaving Academy Grounds thing. She had
a feeling however that the danger room was off
limits, not to mention using her powers without
some supervision going on. Heck, it's the
limitations she would put on herself, if she were
in the shoes of the Administration.

So - how to start building herself back up again?
Sure, she was aware that she still looked ..tons
more cut and lean in terms of physique than she
ever had, but she wasn't entirely sure what those
changes meant in terms of what she could do just
yet. She had ..the occasional idea, but things
were still fuzzy in terms of things that she
knew definitively. She found herself at the track.

There had been lots of stretches - many of them
slow and steady, as although the bruises had long
since faded, she wasn't really sure how it would
impact everything. Once she felt she was - y'know,
ready? That's when the jogging began. Two laps
first, for a warm up to get the blood circulating.
Something that would let the air move through her
hair, which although it was now pulled up and away
from her face, was something she still enjoyed.

The warm-up, those two laps? Were at a very
controlled pace. Her movements more focused
and precise, even in the stride themselves. It
wasn't something she noticed as of yet -
presumably because of how natural it felt to her.
But when she finished, it was as if the speed
wasn't adequate - or as if quite possibly she
wasn't pushing herself enough. For a brief moment,
there was a sense of fear, of which she couldn't
quite understand. Flinching, she had to focus
for a moment in an effort to shake the sensation
out of her head, before crouching down.

Sprints? Sprints were next on the agenda.
And her strides and form were likely to startle
any onlooker that happened to watch. Although
quick, her movements were far from sloppy. Poetry
in motion was perhaps, a better way of describing
them. Poetry inspired by some unknown sense of
fear. Five two-hundred sprints followed by ten
one-hundred sprints. For someone who had been
in the 'out of comission' department since
arriving, she thought that this was all she
should be able to handle. Shoulds and realities
were two different things however. And so she
ceased there, believing it to be a good start -
despite the fact that her bodylanguage likely
told a different story. One that said it could
handle more.