ArchivedLogs:Swim Faster

Swim Faster
Dramatis Personae Isra, Lyric
In Absentia	2015-02-17 "Also remember, /I/ didn't get blown up."
Location <XS> Conservatory
Tall panes of glass keep this large indoor garden warm year round. Tended to by the school's groundskeeper, the conservatory is lush with plant life, a carefully cultivated paradise within Xavier's walls. The room serves as a classroom as well; in the center of the garden a ring of seats forms a small circle, a favorite locale for some teachers to hold court. The winter sun shines bright outside, and while the snows have not receded, the light streaming through the Conservatory glass throws leafy shadows everywhere and lends the place a cheer that has grown muted through the brutal weather of late. Isra sits side-wise on a bench, one long leg folded beneath her and a notebook computer balanced open in her lap. She wears a seafoam green tunic dress with a long, metallic purple sash and matching shawl. Her skin looks largely purple in the current light, with flashes of green in the shadows from certain angles. Atop on this odd dual-color runs a fine tracery of frost patterns in ice blue, almost opaque on her wing membranes and barely visible on her face and hands. She has taken a moment from whatever work or leisure the computer offers, and tilting her head back closed her eyes to bask in the sunshine. The tray in Lyric's hand is loaded down with lunch, enormous baked potato full of cheese and bean-chili and sour cream and chives, broccoli casserole on the side, a glass of water, a mug of cocoa. She is as colorful as the conservatory is, a long white dressed trimmed in cheerful yellow, long knee-length pink sweater over it, a darker pink scarf wrapped over her head and tucked in ruffled layers that spill under her chin and down her chest. She slips quietly into the conservatory, hesitating a moment but then approaching Isra. One foot stomps on the ground before she gives the bench a nod, a questioning lift of brows. Isra's long, pointed ears flicked when Lyric entered, but she does not open her eyes until the girl announces herself. She nods her assent and sweeps her hand toward the empty space beside her, shifting even so to take up less room--in her present configuration she occupies nearly two-thirds of the bench. The screen of the computer, which she does not bother to obscure, shows a dense wall of text punctuated only here and there with graphs and lines of arcane equations. 'How are you?' This she signs, showing some improvement at long last in nonmanual signifiers--hairless eyebrow ridges lowering fractionally. Lyric takes up a seat on the bench, lowering her tray to sit on her knees. 'Are you doing magic?' It's teasing, slightly amused, with a tip of her head and gesture towards the equations on the screen. She briefly looks down at her plate, poking her tongue into the side of her cheek. 'It's been cold,' she finally answers with a small fidget. 'I don't know.' Her smile is quick after when she looks up. 'You?' Isra allows a faint smile, fangs flashing. 'Kind of? That's my research paper about how stars are...born?' This last dubiously--the sign for 'birth' clearly references /human/ reproduction rather than star formation. She triggers a macro on her keyboard and types 'gedit' into the terminal that pops up, using the resulting text editor to explain in writing what she cannot in sign. 'Just editing it--probably excessively. I had a somewhat tumultuous weekend and need something to occupy my mind.' Bright green eyes study Lyric closely. When Isra speaks again, she has switched back to signing. 'Have you enjoyed your classes so far?' 'I like /your/ class.' This reply comes with a swift smile. Lyric takes a bite of her lunch, looking over Isra's written words only after answering the signed ones. 'Chaotic weekend? I'm sorry was it bad? Is it better?' She glances over the wall of text with a small furrow of brow. 'Maybe not I guess.' Her shoulders slump a little. 'Mine, too,' she admits. 'Bad, yes. Some people I love were hurt.' Isra's ears flatten back. 'They will get better.' She does not seem near as confident about this as she might like, but neither does she elaborate. 'What happened? Your weekend, if you want to talk about it?' Lyric's brows furrow deeper. 'Hurt?' she echoes; a moment later her eyes widen. 'Was it the bomb I saw the news? And Professor Holland wasn't in class yesterday. Taylor says he got blown up again.' She fidgets a little bit awkwardly, shuffling her food around on her plate. 'I guess nothing happened. Not to me. Maybe it's not important? It's stupid,' she finally hedges. 'I mean it's not like. What you all have to...' Her eyes briefly lower. She picks up her fork to take another few bites before looking up again. 'That bomb was part of it, yes.' Isra hesitates, then shakes her head and just types out the rest: 'That would have been deeply troubling even if I were not close to some of the injured. Hatred is so commonplace, but to see it backed up with both determination and recklessness is worrying.' She lifts her hands from the keyboard and signs again, 'If you're upset, it's not /nothing./ Bad experiences are not a contest.' Then, with a very small, wry smile. 'Also remember, /I/ didn't get blown up.' 'Very common.' There's a long pause after this agreement. Maybe Lyric is collecting her thoughts. Maybe she's just eating her lunch. Sipping at the cocoa while it's still hot. 'I think I'm just scared. There's been a lot...' She pauses again, fidgeting. 'Hate.' Her shoulder lifts again. 'Before you used to wear hijab. Yes? Like to hide --' She gestures at Isra. 'But in hijab people will still hate you.' Isra waits without any evident impatience, and even when Lyric finishes she does not reply at once. Her wings stretching out and settling behind her, the frost patterns glittering in the sunlight. 'I wore hijab most of my life, yes. 9-11 happened two weeks after I had moved to New York City, for college. I didn't finish that semester. People wanted to frighten me, and it worked.' She pauses, reaching up to trace one of the horns curving back from her temples. 'I went back two years later, and got my degree. But I was still afraid.' Her ear swivel forward. 'Now--those shootings, that film, what people are saying, or /not saying/--there is a lot to fear. It isn't stupid. Some people are willing to do more than just hate your faith, your culture, your clothes, or you.' Lyric /shudders/ at the mention of That Movie. 'I went to the movies with some friends. A few weekends ago. And last weekend. It feels dangerous just going now. We saw /Selma/ and then we saw /Jupiter Ascending/. Both times there were people --' She stops, frowns. 'Not violent. Just uncomfortable? Once they yelled things. But there are other hijabis, they've been assaulted by people coming out of that film. Not to mention --' Shrug. 'Everything else. And not just people you know? The banks, they stopped letting us send money home. And the police I don't want to even start on. Sometimes it makes me not want to wear this anymore.' 'It is awful,' Isra agrees, perhaps more placid in her expression than the statement warrants, 'the hatred itself, and the tolerance of that hatred by people who supposedly do not share it.' She tilts her head to one side and fixes her gaze on Lyric intently, though not unkindly. 'That choice is yours. I am not religious, but from my family I understand it is permissible to forgo hijab if it poses danger to you. But I think it may help if you consider why you /want/ to wear it, not just why you want to give it up. It might help you decide what is more important to you.' Lyric's brows pull in deeply. She returns to her lunch, working through more of it in slow thoughtful bites. It takes a good few minutes before she sets her fork down again. 'It's allowed,' she confirms. 'If you're in danger. And it's not like my family ever has pushed me to wear it. Honestly if anything my father was just worried when I decided to start and thought I should think it over more. /Because/ so much hate.' Then more pause. She takes a long drink of water. Taps fingers restlessly against her glass. 'If you hadn't changed.' She gestures towards Isra's horns. 'Would you still be hiding?' Isra considers the question, looking down at her hands, at the pale metallic blue talons tipping her fingers. 'I wore hijab not only because I felt safer with it, but because I was ashamed of my body. The less I or anyone else saw of it the better.' She blushes suddenly, face and ears turning a deeper, warmer shade of purple. 'Probably, I would have gone on hiding until I met Dusk.' Her wings flex, throwing the two of them temporarily into shadow. 'He taught me joy and pride in who I am. For me...' Her hands falter for a moment, fumbling for the right words. '...becoming visible in my identity meant taking off the khimar. I don't know, but maybe for you, it means putting it on.' Lyric tips her head up, looking at the frosted wings above them. 'It means a lot of things to me,' she finally says. 'My faith and my family and my culture and I think those are all -- more important. It just --' Her eyes dip briefly then lift back to Isra with a crooked smile. 'Sometimes I'm not scared just angry. Out there -- in /here/ even. I don't think anyone here would hurt me people just get so /stupid/. Dumb dumb dumb. All surprised that I join swim team or how do I take showers if I cannot take off the hijab or wow I want to go to college or my father didn't /force/ me to do this or I have a brain and don't you ever just want to --' Her teeth bare. 'Bite everyone.' She sits up a little bit straighter. 'Instead i just swim faster than them.' Isra sighs, face still placid but tail twitching rapidly. 'That is not wrong, either--your anger.' She settles her wings neatly across her back. 'But channeling it toward something constructive? Toward your swimming. That is excellent. Jax would approve.' Then, with a fangy smile, she adds. '/I/ approve.' Lyric's smile brightens at this. Warm, wide. She slides down the bench, setting her tray beside her and leaning in to curl an arm around Isra. Her head bonks lightly against the older woman's side with the sudden-tight squeeze. Isra wraps one arm and one gigantic wing around Lyric. 'You show them how fast you can swim,' she signs, haltingly, with her off-hand. 'And, in any case, you're always welcome to talk to me.'