Title: Melancholy Musings
Author: CattyGirl (therealcattygrrl@...
Summary: Kelly muses over recent political changes while attending a
Archive: List, everyone else please ask
Disclaimer: Not mine. I own nothing - not even my life. My characters stole
that away years ago.
Notes: This is what you call delurking with a vengeance *g* It was inspired
by a visit to CIAC (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/)
, although originally
I took one look at what I was given and just went "uhh.. y'what?!?" (just
in case you're wondering, it was: Senator Kelly, melancholy, rocket. Fuuun)
Thanks: To Diebin, who got me started on all of this in the first place.
I'm not sure whether to hug her or strangle her *eg*
Feedback: Pretty please with a cherry on top!
The rocket soared into the air and exploded, scattering a spray of sparks
over the night sky above Washington D.C.. Senator Kelly stared at the
incongruously cheerful display, careful to keep a bright smile pasted on
his face for the benefit of the media. In truth, he was not at all happy.
Far from it, in fact, although he was taking care to hide it - he couldn't
permit his standing with the public to be damaged by appearing to be a poor
His smile slipped briefly as a yound oriental woman dressed in eye-killing
yellow slipped up to the podium, a mischievous smile on her face. Raising
her hands, she waited for a lull in the fireworks before sending up a spray
of sparks of a totally different nature.
Dancing in the air, the sparks twisted around each other in eye-dazzling
displays, drawing 'ooh's and 'aah's from the crowd. She seemed totally
oblivious to the reaction, face set in a calm mask of utter concentration.
Finally lowering her arms, she bowed impishly and melted back into the
Kelly forgot himself enough to actually frown, although a quick glance
round showed no signs of anyone having noticed. He sighed surreptitiously
in relief, and relaxed a little further into his chair. The reaction to the
mutant woman's display irked him considerably. Any normal group of people
would have been terrified of such a display, or infuriated by it. They
would never have greeted it with delight.
Then again, he reminded himself ruefully, it was no ordinary crowd.
No crowd that had gathered to celebrate - celebrate! - the passing of the
Mutant Protection Act could ever be considered normal.
Especially not when the gathered people had so carefully been screened by
security to make sure that there would be no disruptions to the night's
festivities. After all, the security of the President could never be
risked. And Jeffrey Eisenhower was naturally here in person, seeing as the
MPA was his brainchild and pet project.
In fact, if it hadn't been for the President's backing, the bill would
probably have never been passed. Which would have made Kelly a very happy
man. It wasn't that he hated mutants. Oh no, far from it - he sympathised
with them, even pitied them on occasion. It was just that they were
dangerous - both to themselves and others. They had to be controlled.
To be completely honest, he had to admit that the MPA had some pretty
sensible ideas. It was just that they were so... lukewarm in the
implementation. So careful to handle mutants with kid gloves.
And that, Kelly told himself in an increasingly melancholy frame of mind,
was a mistake.
Everyone was being so careful to try and avoid discriminating against the
mutants, that the measures being taken to protect normal humans were far
too vague. Ineffective, even.
The mutants would be able to carry on screwing with normal people's lives,
the way they always had. And the MPA would make it impossible to do
anything about it except in the most extreme of cases.
There was only one thing that he could, in all conscience, do. Someone had
to be a champion for the rights of normal people, and the job seemed to
have fallen to him.
Let the President and his hangers-on praise the MPA and declare how it was
a great step forward for the integration of mutants into normal society.
He, Senator Kelly, knew better.
And he would carry on campaigning for the Mutant Registration Act until
people saw sense, or until the day he died.
He could do no less.
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