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The Black Cat is nearly vacant save for a couple people sitting spaced far apart at the bar and the usual day staff. Sinjin doesn't keep alcohol in the house but he is always willing to go out for it. It keeps him from becoming a fulltime hermit. He's sprawled in his usual booth, getting worried looks from the bartender who's used to complaining about Sinjin never ordering anything but tea.
There's a half-empty bottle of Glen Moray on the table, a half-empty pack of Rothman's beside it. Sinjin is staring at his notes and a pile of newspapers — several week's worth — in front of him, glass and cigarette in one hand, pen in the other.
*
If ever there was a force to be reckoned with, it might be a small ninja armed with a sword strapped to her back. Lately, however, its becoming an increasingly familiar sight thanks to whatever lurks on the streets of Manhattan; carrying a weapon has become relatively normal. The tiny-framed brunette that walks into the bar peers around cautiously before giving herself several beats to consider the description she'd received about a certain reporter.
Her eyes flit about the room, and look at the bartender with rapt inquiry before finally skulking towards Sinjin. "You," she stands in front of him and stares at him. "You're the reporter, right?" there's a measure of caution in the question. She lifts a hand, "David North spoke to you, right?"
*
Sinjin puts down the pen, looks up at her with eyebrows raised. "I seem to find myself in that position again, yes. I'm the reporter. And David and I did speak." He drains what's in his glass and leans forward to refill it. "That's not common knowledge, though. What can I do for you?"
*
Kitty's chin drops. Good. She's found the right reporter. Her fingers ball into fists and she inhales a deep breath. She's going to need it. "My name is Kitty. Kitty Pryde." Her eyes blink hard. She forces her gaze upwards, "You probably know me as number 1-5-3. The girl who can walk through walls. Also, incidentally, the girl who gave David those files and permission for you to have them in the first place."
Her hands instinctively trail to her hips, "And I am incredibly unimpressed with — " her head cants to the side. "Do you understand what you've done? Do you have any idea what you've played into?" Whatever she's talking about seems imminently important to her, yet she doesn't yet give it a name.
*
Sinjin just got through discussing his preternatural calm with another young woman. It remains unruffled. Instead, he seems curious.
"The answers to both those questions is very likely 'yes', if I knew the specifics," he admits. "I'm not in the business of making people happy with me, never have been. I'd like to know what I've done to upset you, though, since it was enough to bring you all the way down here." He gestures around at the establishment, which is hardly a place you'd usually find someone like Kitty.
*
"You've added to the narrative that mutants like me are all burdened by their mutation," because Kitty Pryde is indeed a mutant. "You've hinted that we are all suffering and should be pitiable. Do you know where that leads? I don't understand the genetics, but the experimentation is real. The things they are already doing to us are real. The fact that they think we need curing?" She frowns. "Also real. And now you've thrown fire on that. And it didn't need fire."
*
"I can see your concerns. I selected my language deliberately, in every part of all four articles. I take full responsibility for what I said and how I said it — I did have my reasons. How do you feel about your own mutation?" Sinjin leans back with his drink, listening. "Have a seat, if you'd like."
*
"I am Jewish and a mutant," Kitty says bluntly as she slides into the booth. "And by Jewish I don't mean Jew-ish. I am Jewish. I had family that died across the pond. I believe what my parents purported to me. And what their parents told them. The language used to talk about those people, about my people, changed how people felt like they could or couldn't engage." Her arms cross over her chest. "I am a mutant. I walk through walls. It's a part of me. And I've learned to control it so I don't have massive headaches or fall through floors while sleeping anymore. I get that not everyone likes their mutation, but but saying it's a burden… people can't think we just need to be fixed. Do you see that?"
*
"Of course. But not everyone's mutation is like yours." Sinjin stubs the last of his cigarette out, then lights another. "And there has to be balance in these things. I would never describe you as burdened. The young woman in question, she did carry a burden of a sort. Her life wasn't easy not because she was a mutant but because of her mutation type. And I selected her specifically because I could talk about someone who the readers — who are already prejudiced — would look at and immediately wonder what benefit there could ever be to abducting and torturing someone like that. Someone it would be difficult to rationalize experimenting on. And, believe me, people want to rationalize. I had to put a sympathetic face on the problem to mitigate the powerful, weaponized people I would address later. I don't believe I used that language more than once, but I did use it, and I did it on purpose."
*
"But people are universal in their thoughts. What's already happened, what seems to be happening… " Kitty frowns, "it's not — people don't think through it. They now have short-cuts to assume that we're all in pain anyways and require some kind of fixing." Her lips purse tightly. "So yeah, maybe you can see a purpose to my torture, but it doesn't change the fact that it wasn't okay. They had children. One was next to me. She was terrified when I pulled the IV from her arm and dragged her out of the building. She wasn't burdened."
*
"People assume a great many things — influencing minds is a long game, one based on more than a single sentence. What I needed was for them to start from the perspective that mutants are not all all-powerful, terrifying creatures, that mutations are quixotic and unpredictable in what they bestow on people. It's a structure. An entire narrative." Sinjin finds a second glass, unused, in all the papers and puts it in front of Kitty.
"Let me say in advance: I'm not trying to change your mind. You obviously came for some satisfaction, I'm trying to give it to you." His expression is tired and sympathetic, his eyes are clear even though he's at least a little drunk.
"I can't see any good purpose for what was done to you and, even if I could, it would excuse nothing. But other people can. The nationalistic siren song of the "greater good" is impossible for the terrified to ignore. I dedicated an entire section of the articles to the sin that was committed against the children involved in the experimentation." Sinjin refills his own glass yet again, offers to fill hers. "What I needed to do was incredibly difficult — not to simply say what was being done, not to recount it as though everyone understands the way you do, but to make millions of people who are ready to believe otherwise believe down to their bones that it was wrong."
*
The glass is given a small nod. Yes, she will have a drink. Thinking about what happened causes her to want to numb everything. Kitty accepts the glass and brings it to her lips. She cringes when the liquor hits her tongue, but she forces it down just the same, assuring herself that it will somehow ease her nerves.
"It was wrong," she whispers. "There were bodies everyone. Hooked up to IVs. To machines. Breathing loudly. They were suspended; reduced to nothing. Because they were deemed to risky to have awake. Flight risks."
Kitty's eyes tear away from the drink, "What they did… can you imagine what it feels like to be pulled apart? I've walked through walls for years. I cancel it when I do that though. I squish through the little spaces in the material. I still exist. Just… enter a different state. What they did.. when they did it — it was agony. Imagine having every piece of your body pulled apart. And then forced back together… while in the background people talk about the Johnny Carson show last night. It's… messed up."
*
"I can't know what it was like to be in your place." Sinjin pours Kitty the first drink, pours her another when the glass is empty. He empties his own glass, then fills it again. He goes through almost an entire cigarette while she speaks. "But I did read everything. I understand imprisonment. I understand torture. Nothing fancy. Just the mundane." He gestures vaguely with the cigarette, swallows hard before he continues. "But I do understand it. I understand that sometimes the worst part is the waiting. Or the listening. Or hearing your own voice over and over when you swore you wouldn't speak. And, I understand that it is all the worst part, even the remembering. It is genuinely horrific and I'm sorry if you feel the work I did didn't serve you. I really am."
*
Kitty doesn't nurse her drink, but then she's not particularly experienced at drinking, which is likely why she drinks it way too fast. She puffs out a long breath and shakes her head. "It wasn't exactly torture. But it was torturous. I…" she swallows hard. "I'd forgotten. Well, they took it from me," her eyebrows lift. "And then some others gave it back." Her lips purse. "Losing it was almost a grace. Every time I feel like I'm over it, I get angry again."
*
"I'd like to say you get over it," Sinjin says. He offers her a cigarette as well. Nicotine and alcohol smooth over the rough places on a bad day. "But I'm not sure it's something you get over. I've just learned to be the person it happened to — trying to go back would be a waste of time. But you have every reason to be angry. The reason for that anger isn't gone just because you stop feeling angry for a day or a week. I can't say it's done much for my social life but I didn't really have one to begin with. You have to fit into the rest of the normal world, and that can't be easy."
*
The cigarette is accepted despite the fact Kitty has never smoked before. She brings it to her lips and seeks out a lighter. It's her easily in place. "I'm tired of being a victim in it." Her lips tighten over the cigarette. "Before this I was held hostage in Japan by…" she lifts a hand, it doesn't matter. There's a long pause as her lips quirk into a frown, "What happened to you?"
*
Sinjin always has at least one lighter in reach, usually one of a number of battered Zippos with crude phrases engraved on them by various otherwise forgotten soldiers.
"I was following the drug trade on the Ho Chi Minh trail for my second book," Sinjin says, as though this is the kind of thing one simply does as a matter of course. "I didn't realize that the VC were ramping up activities, that the Americans had already started making noise about moving in. So, I didn't calculate for increased troop movement — and increased paranoia — and got picked up. Naturally, they assumed I was a spy." He shrugs. What are you gonna do, right?
*
Kitty takes a long drag on her cigarette… and falls into a fit of coughs following it. She frowns. "Wow. That's rough." Because she has no frame of reference to understand that. "I was at a protest. We were marching. It was important." She pauses. "It still is, you know?" Her lips turn downwards slightly. "So. Any trouble about the article?"
*
"Well, there's a reason I published anonymously and over the wire to Australia. But no one else has brought it back to my door." Sinjin spreads his hands expressively. "I expect someone will, at some point. One doesn't do these things without consequences. What's the American government going to do to me? Torture me?" He laughs at that idea. "If they do, it'll have been for a good cause. No one can say I didn't know what I was getting into. I would have traded places with any one of you," he says to Kitty. "You should know that. To possibly save more people than that? I'd do it twice."
*
Kitty's lips edge downwards into a vague frown. "It might be for a good cause, but it's still not okay." The frown grows and she takes a long puff on the cigarette, only to cough again. "It wasn't something I'd wish on anyone — not even my worst enemy." Her cheeks puff out with exasperation.
*
"No, it's not okay. None of it is. I'm not drinking for fun, you know." Sinjin empties the last of the bottle into their glasses, then taps it on the table to get the bartender's attention. "I don't suggest drinking, by the way. Not as a rule. I don't often, but… It's been a little more exciting than I'd like lately. At least this way, I can blame everything on the alcohol. I wish I had some advice for you that didn't fall under "do as I say, not as I do", because I've done basically everything wrong so far. You don't look like the kind of person to go through men like tissues and then crawl into a bottle of scotch for a week or two."
*
"I don't," drink, "ever." Kitty swallows the lump in her throat only to finish her cigarette and set it on the ash tray adjacent to them. "And, I have one boyfriend. I don't go through men like tissues. Not really my thing." She manages a flicker of a smile. "But it is what it is."
*
"I don't know if it's really my thing, but it keeps me busy when I'm not doing other things — which may happen more now." Sinjin offers Kitty another cigarette. "Crossed paths with some people down in the Kitchen today, got a taste of their vampire infestation. I was down…interviewing. Apparently North broke me and I'm a journalist again. The number of people blaming mutants for it is chilling. Someone asked me to write more pro-mutant articles. I agreed. Perhaps I should hire my own editor." He winks at Kitty.
*
The cigarette is accepted and it's lit easily. "Is that an offer?" Kitty smirks. "I'm an activist. That is my thing." Her lips quirk and hitch up on one side. "If you need someone to help out with pro-mutant articles, well, that I could do. Maybe. It's rough out there. People hate us. But we can make a difference. WE can help."
*
"That was the general sentiment when I spoke to a couple young women yesterday. Their hope was that more articles, more human interest stories, would tip social opinion a little more in mutants' favor." Sinjin looks thoughtful, stretches until his back cracks, then sighs. He finds his wallet, and another business card. He scrawls the name of the bar and the phone number on the back. "In case I have to avoid home for any reason, I can pick up messages here. If you come up with a good subject for an article, I would appreciate the tip. I don't want to rely on my own perspective alone on mutant life in New York. I'm not an activist. I'm a journalist. But I am willing to tell stories that get ignored otherwise. And, yes, I may want to work something out with you — for you to read what I have to say before it goes to press."
*
"I… can do that," Kitty replies as she slides off the bench. "I'm glad we met. Even if I disagree with the way you wrote things, I respect what you're trying to do. What you're doing." Her eyebrows lift. "And I'm not afraid of them anymore. No one can touch me unless I want them to." Her jaw tightens. "What we need is good publicity — an image that helps us rather than hurts us. This weird haunting of New York. We can make a difference there. We just need to try." She finishes her glass and sets it back down on the table. "You can reach me in Westchester. I spend a lot of time at Harry's Hideaway. If I'm not there, they can always get me a message." She smirks. "But I'll be in touch. I always have ideas." She turns on her heel to head out the door.
*
"I'm sure you do." Sinjin can't help being a little amused. "Take care, Kitty." He watches her go, keeping an eye out for any hitch in her step that suggests she shouldn't be getting herself home alone. Finally the bartender shows up with another — dusty — bottle of his scotch from the cellar. Time to keep drinking until things are better — or at least until he feels so terrible that they seem better. Either will do.