She's not ashamed, although it does feel two steps past obsolete these days. If she wants to make a difference now, she does it directly, by picking up a weapon or a tool and going and doing it with her own two hands. She doesn't read through five dozen obscure volumes of local law and ten dozen failed briefs and try to find the one phrase that will make a difference that hundreds of people before and along with her couldn't find before.

It feels really stupid to let a government take someone she loves, someone hard working and who will be in danger if they're sent back to where they came from, just because 'it's the law,' and to try to make it stop by using words written on paper.

"It was interesting," she allows. She'll give it that. "But I would have liked something that I could use when the dead came back." Dismissive, glad to have something to move onto, to not have to try to explain her mother or immigration laws or racists - although god knows this last isn't new to him by his own admission.

"It's worked out, but I'd like to know what kind of witchcraft makes a freaking cake happen."