Logs:Foresight

Foresight
Dramatis Personae Harm, Rhiannon
In Absentia	2019-03-25 “Yes, it’s a little like that.”
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. Spring has sprung, but it's still very chilly outside today. Within the shelter of the conservatory, though, the spring sunlight carries a degree of warmth and promise of more to come. Once that sunlight starts to fade, though, most students start migrating toward dinner or the rec room or their own dorms. Harmony is still here, though, sitting cross-legged near a bed of blooming narcissus in blue, pink, and white, knitting something cylindrical out of a slightly glittery rainbow yarn. They're dressed plainly by their own standards today, a leaf green long-sleeve shirt, knitted loosely, brown linen wrap pants, and hemp rope sandals lying off to the side with a shoulder bag made from recycled bicycle inner tubes. They're not paying much attention to the flowers or the fading daylight, since the nearby path light provides them plenty of light to knit by. Rhiannon strolled slowly through the conservatory, making her way towards the exit. She was clad in an oversized gray sweater that hung off her slim frame, ripped jeans that bared skinned knees, and worn combat boots, a black book bag slung over one shoulder. Her blond hair was piled haphazardly in a bun on top of her head, and a thick book was held near her face, blocking out most of the vision her round, gold-rimmed glasses afforded her. Besides her lack of sight, she was too focused on the book to pay much attention to the world around her anyway, so it was hardly shocking when she ran right into Harmony, pitching over their shoulder, nearly face planting in the dirt, glasses flying into the flowerbed. Harmony lets out an undignified yelp at the collision, ducking their head and somehow managing not to stab either themselves or Rhiannon with the knitting needles in their hands. "Oh no!" they cry, setting their knitting aside to reach for Rhiannon. Though they hesitate before making contact. "Are you alright? Do you need help?" Their eyes are wide and earnest. Rhiannon stands there, not moving her feet in case her glasses are nearby, and turns her head to Harmony, or rather, their voice, as she can’t really make much of anything out. “I’m so, so sorry,” she stammers. Her usually pale face is flushed with embarrassment. She casts a frantic look around, though she knows perfectly well she won't be able to spot anything. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “Did you, um, see where my glasses went?” "Glasses, um..." Harmony bites their lower lip and casts around, scanning the ground around them, finally spotting the glasses among the flowers. "Oh! Yes, um, don't move, I'll grab them." They pick up the glasses, shaking most of the dirt from them, and put them in Rhiannon's hands. "Must be a good book, huh?" “Thanks… I’m basically blind without them.” She rubs the lenses of her glasses against her sweater to clean them off more, then slips them back onto her face. “Yeah, it’s a good book, it’s set in the future, where suspended animation—they call it cold sleep—is a thing they do, and in space wrecks, people often go into cold sleep until they can get rescued. The main character was on a mining platform, but then it exploded, and her pod isn’t found for seventy two years, and… sorry, I’m rambling…” She has a British accent, more noticeable now that she’s spoken at length, and reddens even further at the realization that she’s spoken far more than she intended. Harmony blinks at the description of the book. "That sounds very alarming," they say, their expression serious. "Huh. Like that Captain America guy who's been in the news. Except for the space part, I guess. I don't read a lot of science fiction." They stoop to gather their knitting, the yarn having unspooled a little in the chaos. "Have we met? I mean /actually/ met, not just...Xaviers-met. I feel like I would have remembered. I'm Harm." “Yes, it’s a little like that,” she laughs, “But then the main character has it happen to her again, and again, and again. Her daughter who was fourteen before dies of old age while the main character is still physically in her thirties, and she eventually pairs up with one of her descendants who’s physically older than her to defeat interstellar pirates. And... there I go again, rambling.” She gives a sheepish smile. “I’m Rhiannon. Before you ask, yes, like the Fleetwood Mac song. Harm? That’s... foreboding.” Harm, like to harm someone? Rhiannon is rather cautious of anyone who goes by such a name. Harmony's eyes widen. "That's awful! I guess I could have figured that out from the being-asleep-for-seventy-two-years part. Fighting interstellar pirates sounds exciting, though." They finish winding their yarn back up. "I was thinking of the Mabinogion, not the song. Though...I'm thinking of the song /now/. I had several friends named Rhiannon, back home." Their smile is fond but fleeting. "Oh! It's short for Harmony. But I guess it /is/ a bit foreboding." They shrug. "Did you want to sit and read a while? It's well-lit here, and the flowers smell nice. I won't bother you," they promise, "/and/ it'd probably be safer." “Yeah... it’s not really awful, though, the way it’s written. The main character should honestly be a lot more traumatized than she is. She’s a quite traumatized, but you’d expect worse. She also keeps getting a new boyfriend every time she wakes up, which is irritating, but amusing.” Rhiannon, a demisexual, doesn’t find the romance, terribly relatable. “The song is usually what comes to mind first for most people, but yes, the Mabinogion, too. She sat down next to Harmony. “I’d like that, yes, thank you. It would keep me from tripping and breaking my neck.”