ArchivedLogs:But It's Rasheed

But It's Rasheed
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Matt	2014-11-11 Iolaus and Matt discuss the elephant in the room.
Location <NYC> Dogtown - Midtown East
A small nook of a joint in Midtown, Dogtown is decorated with little thought to class or style. Cheerful, with black and white tiled flooring, bright red tables, bright yellow walls, menus plastered on peeling sheets over the counter, the walls are papered in an assortment of photographs -- smiling patrons who hold records for successfully eating six or more hot dogs in one one-hour sitting. The menu here is simple and solid -- hot dogs both beef or vegan with a huge array of toppings, fries, slaw, chili. It's not haute cuisine but the dogs are good enough to draw large crowds, especially late at night. It's actually fairly nice today, if cloudy, a warm spell breaking up the chill that's been hanging around recently. Matt's already dumped his things -- a messenger bag with the Blue Sun Corporation logo on it, a green and grey sweatshirt -- into a booth to keep that table, though he's not sitting down. He's in plain black Chucks with mismatched neon-green and purple laces, faded bluejeans fraying at the back hems where they drag over his heels, a soft long-sleeved ribbed crewneck shirt underneath a white tee with a silhouette of a woodpecker carrying a drill. He's leaning up against the side of the booth bench, teeth dragging over his lower lip as he frowns up at the extensive hot-dog-variations available on the menu. Iolaus seems to have noticed the change in temperature - as he steps into Dogtown, the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up almost to his elbow, and the collar is undone at his throat. His dress shirt doesn't quite match the pair of blue jeans that hang about his hips, held up with a thin cloth belt. As he steps up to Matt, a bright smile blossoms on his face. "Hey there, Matt." Iolaus says, raising a hand in a little salute. "How're you doing? It's been too long." Matt's expression lights, bright and smiling as he steps in to give Iolaus a tight hug. "Hey!" It's bright, too. "Nah just got here. Sorry it's -- a little out of the way I just." The smile hitches up lopsidedly. "Not the most /welcome/ around Evolve lately. These dogs are really good though. And I kind of wanted some comfort food. How are you?" "Don't sweat it, Matt. Always good to find a place that serves good hot dogs." Iolaus' arms wrap around Matt and squeeze him back equally tightly, shoulders shrugging as he pulls back. "It's alright. I know the feeling; it's been a busy couple of weeks for the both of us." One of his hands stays to squeeze at Matt's shoulder, reassuringly, as the doctor turns to look up at the menu board. "Well, fuck. Aren't hot dog places supposed to have like... two things on their menu?" "Hot dogs. That's all that's on their menu, except for the fries and things." Matt's grin is still crooked. "-- It's just that you can put about seventeen thousand different topping combinations on." His hand drops back to rest on the back of the booth again. Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw. "-- Buffalo dog." That's buffalo sauce, blue cheese and scallions. "You should get that with cheese fries and a root beer." Though /he's/ still frowning at the menu indecisively. "You holding up okay? With the..." The pause here is longer than it needs to be. He chews at his lip again. "Busy." "Buffalo dog." Iolaus looks up at the menu contemplatively, then he nods. "Yeah, that sounds... really good, actually." He turns and flashes a smile at Matt, spreading his hands out. "See? Not too hard to decide between all those choices after all." The doctor winks, though the smile becomes a little fixed around the edges as Matt continues. "I'm surviving. It's a setback, but we'll recover. We've been through worse." He pauses for a second, eyes searching Matt's face. "How about you, Matt?" he asks, voice dropping a bit in volume. "How are you holding up?" "It's my mutant power," Matt claims, amused. "I don't think /I'm/ in a mood for blue cheese today though but the buffalo dog /is/ good." Though he's still just frowning at the menu. "Root beer. I've gotten as far as wanting root beer." He shakes his head at the question, though, brows knitting together. "Have you talked to him?" "A useful one, too. A hit at parties, I'm sure." Iolaus says, joking weakly. He looks up at the menu, falling silent for several moments before he says, slowly, "No, I haven't. Not yet. I need to, but... I've been avoiding it." The doctor's lips press together in a thin line. "I'm afraid of what he'll say." He pauses for a second, then adds, "and I'm not sure I won't be able to hold back from punching him in the face the first time I see it. Have you?" Matt shakes his head, arms crossing and tightening around his chest as though in a self-directed hug. "No." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "What are you afraid he'll say?" "So many things." Iolaus says, shaking his head and raising a hand to put it on Matt's shoulder. "But I won't know until I talk with him. I've just been..." he trails off, tugging Matt gently towards the counter. "Come on. Let's get you some comfort food. Chili dog?" "Yeah. I've been --" Matt looks down at his arms, shoulder sagging under Iolaus's hand. "I don't know. Hive talked to him. I think I'm weirdly more afraid that..." But he trails off, nodding quietly and putting back on a warm smile as he moves to the counter to order their foods. Extra chili. Extra cheese on Io's fries. Two root beers. He pays in cash. "What are you more afraid of?" Iolaus pulls out his wallet and takes out several bills, holding them out to Matt with the hand not squeezing the other man's shoulder. "I know I feel betrayed, and I'm sure you do as well." Matt shakes his head, waving away the bills as he returns to the booth and drops back down into his seat. "I do. I -- did. I don't know. After Hive talked to him he said he -- wasn't sure. That it was -- /wrong/? I -- like maybe his heart's in the right..." He trails off, frowning at the table. "Maybe I'm afraid he's right. Maybe I just want to /be/ mad for a while. Maybe it's simpler if everything's black and white." Iolaus frowns and sits down at the table across from Matt, pushing the bills across the counter and folding his hands in his lap. "Even if his cause is good - and I'm /not/ saying it is, his /methods/ leave something to be desired. He should have told us - told /you/ - what he was working on. That's the part that bothers me more than anything else." Iolaus sighs. "I can have disagreements with colleagues about the right thing to do, but hiding it?" "But he wasn't," Matt protests, uncertainly. "Hiding it. I mean, both in terms of paperwork and in terms of what he and I actually /talked/ about it was always just -- really vague. It's not like we /delineated/ what this was for. /I/ just assumed -- but I don't know why I assumed. Restricting /who/ has access to a medication -- I mean, on this level, not like the FDA -- that's /not/ standard. /We're/ all acting like he was going behind everyone's back on this when honestly --" He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. "I'm not saying that he /lied/ about it, necessarily." Iolaus says, raising his hands up in surrender. "But that's hardly the same thing about being open about what he was doing. If he had come to you at the beginning and told you he wanted to do weapons research, would you have let him?" Iolaus shakes his head, sharply. "It's not the same. You have an obligation to your research subjects to let them know, as best you can, what you are doing and what it's for." "I did let him." Matt sounds uncomfortable, his head bowing. "From the beginning we all knew where this could lead. It's already /been/ there, Jax and his team --" His cheeks puff out, fingers scrunching through his hair. "Anyway he hasn't given anything to anyone, from what I hear, he's just been talking -- and everyone's already mad at him about /that/. But Themis -- like, what, the only mutants allowed to make their own life choices are the ones who agree with us politically? I don't think that's a very doctory stance." Iolaus sighs, sitting back in his booth and shaking his head. "It's not that simple, Matt. Though we don't talk about it very much, the clinic is perfectly willing to help mutants cover up who they are, as best we can. Working with Themis or alone, we'll do it. If that's really what the patient wants. The difference between Themis and the clinic is about /choice/. At Themis, they push you towards the option that they want. My clinic gives you the options and helps you choose the one that fits best." Matt shakes his head, too. "No. No, see, that's not -- /true/, I mean. I don't know. I haven't been to -- it's just that what Themis is /for/ and what the Clinic is /for/ are fundamentally different. People who go to Themis -- a whole lot of people who go to Themis -- go there because they /already/ want what they're offering. And I think that's disgusting -- not that they want it but that this whole world tells us we /should/ -- but it's /their/ choice. Not my choice. Not your choice. Not Rasheed's choice. Themis isn't /trying/ to be a Clinic. They're offering a service to people with a specific mindset and maybe it's one that should be offered. I don't /know/. I wish it weren't. But I'm -- nobody's holding a gun to anyone's head and forcing them to go to Themis. People go there because for so many reasons this world isn't an easy place for mutants to live. And I don't think it's on any of us to say that that's -- /not/ their choice to make. Or that they're somehow being forced into it any more than --" His name is called, and he looks back to the counter. "-- than we're being /forced/ to order those hot dogs just because this place only has hot dogs on the menu, you know? We could have gone to a pasta place. But we're here." Iolaus opens his mouth to reply, to interrupt Matt, but he says nothing and closes it back again, listening. When he starts back up again, it's calmer, voice more even than before. "They're holding out their treatment to people in a way that's different than simply attracting people who already want it. They hold out what they're doing as a cure-all - an antidote to the pressure that the world puts on mutants." Iolaus says, quietly. "But it won't change the number on your ID, and it won't change how the world treats you. Passing might help, but it will hurt just as much in different ways as often as it helps. Yes, it's still a patient's choice. I would have no problem with Rasheed's research if it was made in such a way that it would require specific formulation for anyone who wanted it. What I /don't/ want is to have some drug that can be introduced on a mass scale!" "That's -- irrelevant, though." Matt's frown deepens. He stands, heading back to the counter to pick up their two trays, balancing one on each hand and returning to set Iolaus's down in front of him. "You don't /like/ how they market themselves, you don't /like/ what they do, and I don't, either. But it's /irrelevant/ to whether or not people who /do/ want to hide what they are and /don't/ want to come to Mendel and all it stands for -- should still have the option available to them." His keys jingle as he pulls a keychain off his belt, using a bottle opener on it to open the two root beers. "... probably should just talk to him." He says this heavily. "I'm not saying that they shouldn't exist, Matt. I'm saying that they shouldn't /market/ themselves as a solution, but rather as a /treatment/. People who want to hide who they are will be just as happy to go to Themis if they say what they do, rather than if they market themselves as a cure." Iolaus says, passion building in his voice again. "That's the difference." He sighs, leaning forward to pick up his root beer and raise it in a salute. "Yeah, I need to talk to him too," Iolaus says, voice echoing Matt's. "And /I'm/ saying that's /completely irrelevant/. You're making it political. We're not /talking/ about politics. -- Anyway, I've /read/ all their marketing," Matt's shoulders tighten, expression tightening as well along with this. "And you're /also/ just kind of wrong. They're not marketing themselves as a /solution/. They're marketing themselves as exactly what they are, a place for mutants to go -- deal with not wanting to /be/ mutants. It /is/ a treatment -- it's just that they're acting like /being/ a mutant is /inherently/ something that needs /treating/. And much as I -- vehemently disagree with that it's not my place to --" His eyes narrow, teeth clicking against the lip of his rootbeer. "Not my place to..." This time it's smaller, quieter. "So much easier with Prometheus." His smile is returning -- crookedly -- his voice skewing wry. "There needs to be some kind of law that all villains need twirly moustaches. Sort these things out /clean/." "Shades of grey. No argument here." Iolaus says, quietly, shrugging his shoulders and putting down his root ber to take a bite of his hot dog. He smiles as he chews, nodding at Matt. "You weren't wrong about the dogs." Another bite, chew, chew, swallow, and then he starts back in. "You're not wrong about villains either. But I still don't agree with what Rasheed did, and I still think he was hiding what he was doing." "But why would --" Matt hasn't touched his food, though he sips at his soda slowly. "I mean, it's /Rasheed/. When I was sick he was so -- I had so many friends who couldn't deal, you know? But he came so often to sit with me and -- and Common Ground has been welcoming /anyone/ who needs treatment since way before Mendel was -- and he was there right along with everyone else helping the people they broke out of those labs. I just /can't/ think that he'd do anything out of... I think he just wants to help." His head hangs, heavy. "Even if I don't know if he's doing it the right /way/." Iolaus nods, slowly, putting down his hot dog and wiping his hands off on his knapkin as he takes up his root beer once more. "I hope so, Matt. I mean, he's one of my best friends. I can't imagine that he would be, if there was more to it than that. But." Iolaus' smile is wry, looking over Matt's face. "And maybe that's why I haven't talked to him since this happened." Matt manages a smile, though it's a bit of a strained one. "When you do," he finally picks up his hot dog to start in on it, "let me know how it goes."