fandomhigh | BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

Celia had had a trying morning, thus far.

She'd boarded a train in New York at the crack of dawn with a large trunk that she was pretending to struggle to carry. Hector had given her a cursory pat on the top of her hat and a tug to one stray curl, accompanied by a stern look that Celia knew meant Don't make me regret this. She'd fallen asleep on the train, and the conductor had awoken her...here. She'd not expected Maryland to be quite so much...brighter, or louder or confusing -- and in fact, Celia had been to Baltimore before, once, and she was very sure that this was unsettlingly different. She'd stumbled off the train, been ushered through a security checkpoint filled with people dressed strangely and giving her even stranger looks and now she was...here.

If not for the glittering sign bearing the name 'Fandom High,' she'd think she was in the wrong place.

Celia slumped gratefully into a chair, dropping her trunk on the floor beside her, and let out a sigh. Then she immediately straightened up. It wouldn't do to have her new classmates think her a lazy slob at first meeting.

[YAY NEWBIE SHUTTLE.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's what I was wearing when I left," Eleanor said, frowning. "What's wrong with your legs?"

It never occurred to her that that was an improper question. He'd asked her about her clothes, after all.

"Wooowwwww, okay. So... we're going the 'trading insults' route. That's... I wasn't expecting that. Okay, then."

He struggled to come up with something to say next. "It's a genetic condition, by the way. My bones aren't strong enough to support my weight. So, thanks for bringing that up!"

The frown she'd been wearing deepened.

"How was I insulting you?" she asked. "I didn't say anything impolite about your bones, did I? And were you insulting my clothes?"

"Look, I'm just not a big fan of the staring and pointing," Joker told her. "I get more than enough of that, thank you very much, and I kinda would rather not have today ruined by a rousing game of Mock the Cripple."

He shrugged. "And no, I wasn't insulting your clothes, just... Well, you've gotta admit that's not a very normal ensemble."

"I didn't stare or point," Eleanor said, folding her arms. He wasn't making any sense. "You're the one who started asking personal questions. Why is it all right for you to mock what I'm wearing and not for me to ask why you've got braces on your legs?"

"Because I'm being hypocritical!" Joker shouted at her.

"... No, seriously, I'm sorry. The shit about your clothes being funny? Totally uncalled-for. My bad."

Eleanor ... hadn't expected an apology. She looked down at her outfit again.

"It's all I have," she explained, sounding apologetic. "I left in rather a hurry."

Ran away from home, same thing.

She glanced at his legs again. "I didn't realize it would upset you, to be asked about your legs," she said in a softer tone. "I wasn't ... trying to play Mock the Cripple or whatever it was you said."

Joker felt really bad about that. Really, really bad. "Wow... okay. I'm sorry. Do you need... anything? I don't know?"

He scratched at the back of his neck nervously. "It's... not an actual game, you know. The mocking. It's just something people do.

This conversation would have made more sense if he had been switching to Greek periodically. At least Greek she had a passable understanding of.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. She was away from Mother; that was all that mattered. "I don't understand. You've an ailment in your legs. How is that a subject of mockery?"

Pity, perhaps, but what was funny about 'look, he's crippled'?

"What do you mean, 'how is that a subject of mockery'?" Joker asked, just as confused. "People can be mean sometimes. It sucks. I'd rather not deal with it."

"It doesn't seem terribly funny," Eleanor said, lifting her shoulders. "One would imagine mockery would require humor. Or is it ..."

Oh.

"It's more about making someone who's different feel different," she said, reasoning it out. "Reestablishing social lines, creating outcasts. Is that it?"

Everything she feared, considering that she was a full-fledged freak.

"Well, not deliberately, I don't think..." Joker mused. "But I've really never considered the motivations of assholes. I mean, every now and then someone tries to say 'well, but they're people, too', and I say 'Great! Now tell People Too to stop playing keep-away with my crutches!'"

Eleanor frowned at that. "Why should you care that they're people?" she asked. "They're being needlessly cruel. It isn't your job to be kind and obsequious to every jerk who belittles you."

Having fireballs was awesome, Joker. Especially for dealing with jerks.

"...And I will probably agree with you, just as soon as you tell me what 'obsequious' means," Joker replied. "But there's always people who think that if you can just understand the bullies' emotional states, they'll stop being dickwads. Good luck with that!"

"Pointless flattery," Eleanor said nonchalantly. "Bullies don't need to be psychoanalyzed. They need to be stopped."

Seriously. Fireballs.

"See, that's what I said. Detention, for the whole lot of them, and then ship 'em off to some other planet."

Views on actually using fireballs might differ.`

BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday Morning

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