ArchivedLogs:Burning the Veil

Burning the Veil
We have a hot tub?
Dramatis Personae Isra, Mallory	2013-06-28 Divergent backgrounds but a similar history.
Location <XS> - Teachers' Lounge
Running a school for mutant teenagers just taking control of their powers is not an easy job, and the teachers at Xavier’s deserve a place to come and relax. This lounge is their plae to come and de-stress, and it does not skimp for relaxation. The room is elegant and luxurious, plush couches making up the seating in the lounge and a glossy glassy bar wrapping around one wall, well-stocked with alcohol (and perpetually fresh-brewed coffee, for those so inclined.) A large screen high-def television hangs on one wall, stocked with about as many movies and games as the childrens’ rec room upstairs. High bookshelves hold a wealth of books. The fridge here is always well stocked, and the cook is always willing to make deliveries down to this level. Far in the back, a hot tub is submerged into the floor, for still more unwinding. The first week of the semester has all but flown by for one of the newer teacher’s at the school, and with the last of her classes completed for the day, Mallory is taking some time to explore the facilities. The young woman is still dressed professionally, with a neatly tailored pencil skirt that has been modified to accommodate her long red tail, the hemline reaching just to the knee joint of her digitigrade legs, paired with a simple white button up blouse with pearlized buttons, a strand of pearls in a matching color at her throat. A late lunch, consisting of a plate of some meaty variety of red curry over rice and a few organically shaped flat breads, is balanced on a plate in one hand, while the book she is reading occupies the other hand as well as the majority of her attention. She shifts her hip against the door, swinging it open without really taking her dark eyes off the pages of her book - a well loved copy of The Eleven Comedies by Aristophanes. Apparently having reached the end of the page she was on, and unable to turn to the next page without setting down her food, Mallory looks up at the teacher’s lounge, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, wow,” she says quietly, taking a few halting steps forward, hooves clicking lightly on the hardwood floor. Lowering the book to her side, Mallory is glances around in surprise at the room, walking forward to set the plate of food down on the glass bar, blinking in amazement. If anyone else is actually in the room, she is oblivious to the matter, completely taken in by the plush comforts of the teacher’s lounge. “We have a hot tub?” she muses aloud, not to anyone in particular. "We do," replies a clear alto voice from beyond the thin veil of steam, "and if you would like to use it, I was just getting out." Submerged up to her chin in said hot tub, Isra is largely invisible to a casual investigation, though her towel and robe sit neatly folded nearby. A long arm reaches out and snags the plush white towel, pulling it back behind the partition. The faint click of talons on tile precede Isra's appearance. Standing over six feet tall on legs not so unlike Mallory's--save that they end in feet that look half human and half avian--she looks, for lack of a better summary, like a gargoyle. Massive chiropteran wings sprout from her shoulders through openings on the back of her oversized white bathrobe, and a tapered tail peeks out from beneath the hem. Backswept caprine horns and pointed ears adorn her hairless skull--in fact, there does not seem to be any hair on her body, quite a bit of which is visible despite the robe. Her skin tone is a fairly human light brown and her eyes a fairly human green, but pulled up and back at the outer corners by the wide roots of her horns. Isra still has the beach towel in her hands when she steps out into the lounge proper, and she goes almost completely still when she sees Mallory. "I take up most of the hot tub," she explains, a little belatedly but without any obvious discomfort. "Isra al-Jazari. I teach astronomy." “Oh, I am sorry, I did not realize anyone else was in here. Pardon my disturbing your soak,” Mallory responds, her Oxford-accented voice carrying in the small room as she averts her eyes, turning her attention back to her food for a moment to give Isra privacy. She does however continue to speak, although she doesn’t actually turn her head back towards the rear of the room for several long moments, “Thank you, but I will pass. Water and I tend not to agree in large quantities. I sink like a rock, and don’t particularly savour long soaks.” A slight blush colors Mallory’s already ruddy cheeks as she fidgets with her book, slipping a bookmark into place. “I am very sorry for having interrupted.” The sound of talons on the flooring gets an arched eyebrow, as Mallory’s curiosity manages to overpower her habitual prudishness, and she glances towards the back of the room. It takes a few moments for her to process Isra’s appearance, and her inhuman black eyes blink several times as she looks at her fellow teacher. “Mallory Winthrop,” she responds, stepping forward slightly, her hooves clicking neatly against the flooring, smiling politely, although the expression displays elongated canines, “I am the new librarian and literature teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you, Isra.” Isra dips her head slightly. "The pleasure is mine--is it 'Ms' or 'Doctor' Winthrop? So many of the faculty and staff here go by given names--or chosen names. Less chance of being misnamed a news service that way." She smiles, a fleeting expression that offers a glimpse of long sharp canines, again not unlike Mallory's. "But really, you were hardly interrupting anything. The lounge is not my private bath, though..." She cants her head. "...not too many other bathtubs on campus can fit me comfortably." Her wings unfold slightly before settling across her back again. "How are you liking it here so far?" “Ah, it is still Ms. for the time being, but Mallory is just fine,” Mallory answers with a rueful grin, “My doctorate applications were held up by extenuating circumstances. And now seem almost indefinitely on hold. Doctor Winthrop is my brother.” She shakes her head slightly, but still smiles easily, resting against one of the bar stools that will allow for her own tapering tail. “I can understand the accommodation issues. Usually I have an issue with damaging the porcelain of the bathtubs,” she offers, clicking the point of a polished cloven hoof against the floor by way of demonstration, laughing slightly, “These parquet floors are going to be the end of me. Or vice versa.” At the question, she tilts her head slightly, smiling as though considering her answer carefully, “It is a nice place. Certainly full of surprises, I will say that. I am not entirely certain what I had been expecting, but I must say I do find it to be inviting and welcoming, if nothing else. And the library is spectacular.” She nods to Isra, posing her own questions, “Have you taught here long? Are you from New York?” Isra nods, brow ridges slightly furrowed. "I am working on my own doctoral thesis, but now that I am 'out', as they say, I may encounter the same obstacle you faced." She sends the towel down a laundry chute and retrieves a carafe from the refrigerator. It is full of opaque seafoam green liquid and labeled 'Isra'. "Perhaps we should trade footwear stories sometime, as we seem to have similarly awkward relationships with how humans are expected to walk," she suggests, pouring herself a tall glass of the slightly viscous green stuff and downing a good third of it at once. "The previous semester was my first, and I missed quite a bit of it due to...well, not illness, as such, but a medical leave," Isra replies, replacing the cap to the carafe and returning it to the refrigerator. "I am a New Yorker, though probably not the kind most people would imagine. I grew up outside of Ithaca, went to university there, then moved to the City. I...have not traveled much. " This last she admits with undisguised regret, but brushes it off quickly. "Since I am behind the bar and you in front of it, might I get you something to drink? Mind you, I am a scientist, not a bartender." That quick smile again, a flash of fangs. Mallory rubs a hand along her horn, then idly scratches at the root of it near her temple, “Ah yes. The woes of physical mutations. Freshly polished floors are the bane of my existence - I just can’t maintain footing properly on them. Too much mass, too little surface area, and add to that a slick surface? I suffered quite a few broken bones as a kid from being clumsy, and my parents having a penchant for fancy flooring.” She shakes her head, and scratches her leg with her hoof, “My brother is a material scientist. He’s promised me a set of floor friendly shoes that will give me a little bit of traction. And not involve duct tape and ruined flip flops. Which would be nice.” At the discussion of doctoral thesis, Mallory crinkles her nose, sighing, “It took me ten years to get my degrees, because of physical restrictions and having to hide a great deal more of myself than my twin had to in order to pass. I’m not still in school through my own foolishness. After completing my masters, my friends and I decided it was a grand idea to march publicly for mutants rights. That went just swimmingly, and the lot of us found ourselves with absolutely no job prospects or responses to our applications.” She runs a hand along her horn nervously, frowning, “Still not sure how I ended up with a job offer here. But I certainly won’t complain or question too much.” The corners of her mouth uptick slightly, and she nods, “This is the furthest from home I’ve traveled. I was kept on a short leash my whole life, and prior to that, was only allowed the next town over for university. Only been in a major city a handful of times - and never stateside.” She offers a shrug, “I’m from England, in case you had wondered. Bit of a far and decidedly uncomfortable flight.” "I have found some types of athletic tape to be helpful in terms of adding traction to unshod talons," Isra muses aloud, swishing the remainder of her drink idly, "though that may not work quite as well for hooves." She tilts the cup back and downs another long gulp of its greenish contents. "Dietary supplement," she explains, "hemp protein, spirulina, and assorted potentially helpful additives. Not the best flavor or texture." Setting the glass down now, Isra fixes Mallory with a searching gaze. "If it is foolish to sacrifice one's own relative comfort or security to combat a grave injustice, then rest assured you have excellent company in foolishness." She looks down at the counter as though she expects to find lecture notes among the glassware, then back up. Her wings mantle just a bit, and she stands just a bit taller. "We all owe our dues to practicality, but no minority has ever won its place in the sun by hiding in the shadows. Those who step up are not fools, however difficult the path; they are pioneers." Mallory pokes at her own lunch, now slightly chilled, and nods, musing at the green goo, “Dietary restrictions? Or just a matter of taste?” She takes a bite of her curry, looking pleasantly surprised at it, “Huh. Kitchen actually managed a decent curry. I’m impressed.” She shakes her head and shrugs, “I usually don’t wear anything on my feet. The fact that I’ve got cloven hooves means there’s a soft little bit on the bottom, and as long as I don’t try to run, I’m fine traction wise. Usually, anyway. Polished floors just mess me up.” Slowly, she chews on another bite of curry, savoring the flavor and sighing, “I can’t say I regret marching in that rally. Or setting fire to the attire that had been my fetter for years. The fallout has been less than pleasant - publicly disowned and cut off from my resources.” Mallory shakes her head, “At the very least, Thomas has refused to cut ties, despite our parents declaring me anathema. My one regret is the additional pressure it put on him.” She nibbles at a piece of her flat breads, “I sometimes wish I could get my doctorate. But given the current climate in the area, I have a feeling that patience may be a rather useful merit to keep on my character sheet.” Isra glances at the drink in her hand and chuckles. "If requiring three times as many calories as is typically recommended for an adult human female can be called a restriction, then yes." She finishes her drink and rinses the glass on the sink. "I am not certain how much of this metabolic madness can be attributed to increased physical activity, and how much to my secondary mutation--or my second /puberty/, as I have come to think of it." She explores the horn on the right side of her skull with an uncertain press of fingertips. "These...did not exist last year." "I am sorry that your family, save for your brother, turned its back on you; that is both cruel and unjust. Nevertheless, I admire your choice to come out of your own free will. I might /still/ be hiding if I thought I could manage it." Isra shrugs, as much with her wings as her shoulders. "Then again, maybe not. I have learned much from the students here--probably more than I have taught them." Mallory chuckles and nods, "Fair enough. Thomas has to deal with a similar issue - he burns through calories to the point where he looks almost emaciated if he doesn't eat often enough. I'm sure he knows the exact rate, but," she waves a hand and shrugs with a smile, "Perhaps the two of you can exchange recipes some time. He usually just eats more of anything, instead of coming up with supplements." She takes another bite of her curry, demonstratively, and chews thoughtfully on the chicken. "I, thankfully, only had to go through puberty once, but I was born, ah, with some deformities already in place," Mallory explains, clicking a hoof against the tile in evidence, then running a hand along the curve of her left horn in an unconscious mimic of Isra's movement. "The horns were a more recent addition. After a year of constant skull splitting headaches they broke the skin. Which caused, well, what I guess is my secondary mutation. They were full formed when I got back to "normal" anyway." Mallory shakes her head and shrugs, taking a moment to eat a bit more of her lunch before continuing to speak. "I occasionally wish I could go back to hiding. But the brace that was forced on me to control my tail resulted in what would have been permanent spinal damage, and relegated me to walking with a cane even without the brace," she explains with a pained grimace at the memory, her tail lashing behind her in protest. "I appreciate the fact that this school encourages the students and teachers to not hide who and what they are. I appreciate the freedom, greatly. And I am certain I will learn a great deal from the children here, once I meet more of them. The ones I have met are, ah, fascinating. To say the least," she says with a smirk. Isra pulls a tin of mixed nuts from a cupboard and sets it open on the bar. "Honestly? My 'recipes' consist largely of throwing protein powder and several handfuls of anything nutritious-looking into that industrial blender in the kitchen. I am an awful cook and prefer foods I can consume on the spot." She scoops up a handful of nuts, but there is a strange gleam in her eyes that makes the entire gesture look vaguely predatory. "All the same, I would love to meet your brother. In fact, I was just bemoaning my lack of expertise in material science while advising a student on a project the other day. Perhaps..." Her ears prick up slightly, which looks quite odd beside a nominally human face. "I beg your pardon, did you say his name is /Thomas/?" "Ah - Thomas is a decent enough cook, usually. Protein powders can be cooked relatively easily into most sauces and such. He's got some tricks that he picked up over the years," Mallory explains, mixing her curry in with the fluffy white rice and taking a bite of it, chewing thoughtfully. "You'll likely run into him at some point, or I'll introduce you, if I can manage to haul him out of the shiny new lab he's been assigned. He's the new chemistry teacher here. Gray, tiny horns, vaguely human looking otherwise," she says with a grin, holding her hand up to about shoulder height to indicate he's only a bit shorter than her. There is a slight grimace at the reaction to her brother's name, apparently anticipating the next comment, she glances over the counter at Isra. "Yes. Thomas. Could you pass me a glass of cranberry juice, while you're back there behind the bar?" the librarian asks, attempting to change the subject momentarily, but then returning to it with a sigh, "I was a literature major. Trust me. I have heard the joke about our names more times than I can count." Shaking her horned head, Mallory smooths her hair back again, smirking, "Funny thing is - it wasn't intentional on our parents' part. Thomas was promised to be named in honour of our paternal grandfather. They had a nice normal name picked out for me, but then I was born with hooves and a tail." She snorts slightly, pushing the last of her curry around the plate, "Mallory, two 'L's.' It's a French name, meaning 'ill omens.' Supposedly it is in honour of someone on our mother's side of the family, generations back or some bull shit like that. They just wanted to find a way to name me as they saw me without calling me 'Spawn of Satan' or anything. That just doesn't roll off the tongue as well." "If you're come up with any clever jokes regarding your names, I shall exercise the most strenuous restraint in keeping them to myself," Isra promises, moving over to the refrigerator in one long, gliding step. "I was deeply infatuated with Arthurian tales as a child. During the worst of the ah...transformation, I would read no other fiction. My parents brought me every volume they could find on the subject, from Geoffrey of Monmouth to Marion Zimmer Bradley. I am no great connoisseur of literature now, and certainly was not then, but it provided an escape from pain and a substitute for a social life." She retrieves a jar half full of ruby red liquid and fills a Collins glass most of the way. "This is not sweetened, but we have many types of syrups and such. Also, would you like ice?" Mallory nods, “Little bit of ice please, but unsweetened is just fine. Thank you.” She smiles about the fiction comments and nods, “It was always my escape, since I was first able to read, books were my escape and the characters in them my constant companions. I didn’t actually have a social life until college - prior to that, the characters in my books were all I had.” She smiles at the memories, delicately setting her fork down with a sigh and looking at Isra, “I devoured the Arthurian mythology several times over. Although my first love is and always will be Shakespeare. Thomas and I can both quote from it to this day because I used to read the plays to us before bedtime.” There’s a little bit of a shrug, and she idly fidgets with the point of her horn, smiling slightly. “The greatest thing about literature is the ability to provide escapes from reality, to different times, other places. The perspective it can provide, when it is your only window on the outside world,” she trails off and casts a sheepish look at the counter top, “Sorry. I was a engrossed in literature for as long as I can remember. It is my passion, I suppose. I ramble, on occasion, to the point of being a bit of a bother.” Isra places the cup in the water dispenser alcove of the refrigerator and taps a button. Crushed ice tumbles neatly into the cup, and she sets it down in front of Mallory. "I still do like to read, but most of it is nonfiction. The world of the Arthurian romances...I suppose it was actually too close to Earth to me. When I came away from adolescence with wings and a tail instead of breasts and acne, I did not want to think about things like friendship, love, or other human endeavors that I thought forever lost to me." She chuckles self-consciously. "Teenagers can be a bit catastrophist. Well, that is not fair; adolescence itself is often catastrophic, mutations or no. As for rambling: I will forgive yours if you forgive mine the next time someone gets me started on protostellar objects." This last she says with a slight lopsided smile. “Thanks,” Mallory says with a grin, accepting the glass of juice and taking a sip before setting it down again. “I can understand that. I don’t know that I’ve ever met a book or classic I haven’t liked. Well, at least not until I started trying to read some modern fiction. That was a bit on the,” she wrinkles her nose at whatever she’s thinking of, then shakes her head, “I thought I’d never get to do any of the things I’d read, either, pretty much from childhood. Just took getting away from home and finding like minded people, I suppose.” She runs a hand along her horn, looking distant for a moment, though, “I think everyone gets to that point in those years. I certainly did. I’m sure plenty of it goes on here - this place is so gloriously diverse, and at the same time... they’re all just teenagers. Normal, devious, hormonal, awkward teenagers,” Mallory glances back towards the doorway to the lounge, as though half expecting a teen to suddenly burst in at the very mention. "Devious?" Isra raises the smooth ridges of her brow. "Have the students been giving you much trouble? Many are away for the break, and I do not imagine most of the ones still around are overly eager to spend bright summer days in the library." She grabs another handful of nuts and manages to look almost dainty eating them. "For that matter, some are not overly eager to remain /on campus/. Perhaps when this unrest has settled, I can show you around the parts of the City familiar to me." “Not trouble, per se. Not yet, anyway,” Mallory responds and sips her juice again, “The ones I have met were nice enough, if a bit obsessed with the practical application of physical mutations.” She rubs her left horn in memory of the conversation, raising an eyebrow, “I imagine that the fall semester will be a bit more hectic. I’m quite thankful to have started in the summer semester, it’ll give me some time to get acquainted.” The offer of being shown around the city gets a smile, “I think I’d like that, quite a bit. I was shuffled from the airport to the school, almost immediately, so what I saw of New York was seen from inside a cab with tinted windows. I do hope the unrest calms down, and I’m able to see a bit more of the area.” "I think it is natural, perhaps even beneficial, for young mutants to explore the advantages of their unique traits," Isra muses, leaning on the counter a bit, "or take pride in them. If nothing else, it is a way of compensating for the negative messages they hear from bigots in media, on the street...even at home." She finishes the sentence with a slight frown that looks inordinately disapproving. "Those of us who have spent a lot of time of time and effort to disguise our differences have some catching up to do. Which is not to say I think I should put my horns to use, however I may want to at times." A quick, sly grin. "Excellent. There is much to see in New York. It is a remarkable city, with an irascible and indomitable spirit.I look forward the day when you or I might go to the City whenever we please, without checking the anti-mutant violence forecast." “Oh, in that, I agree completely. I spent the last decade and some being hidden under veils and braces and dresses. I looked like a Victorian mourner for the better part of my life, and was passed off as a burn victim with sensitivity to light and touch,” Mallory explains, miming a full skirt and covering veil as she does, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I wish I could use my horns sometimes. They’re built like a ram’s horns, but my skull is still mostly human. I’d end up with one hell of a concussion if I tried anything. Again,” she states the last bit with a slightly sheepish grin, “Thomas has it both better and worse than me. He’s far more able to hide. But he still got paraded around as the perfect son by our family - he had to hide far more completely and consistently than I did.” She wrinkles her nose at the thought, shaking her head, “If anything, I imagine he will gain more from the openness here than I will.” Her smile returns at the thought of the city, “I have read much about New York. I do so hope to see it someday. Without fearing for my life in the process. I don’t mind being in public, so much, I can deal with the disturbed looks, but the violence I cannot abide.” "I, too, have spent a life hijab," Isra says slowly. "Though I was oft ridiculed and occasionally threatened--especially when I first moved to the City--few questioned it. Between my name and skin color, it surprised few that I should wear a headscarf and baggy robes. The irony is that my parents are largely indifferent to religion, and I more so. If I felt inclined to split hairs I do not have, I am actually a Jew--at least by lineage." Isra emerges from behind the bar and into the center of the lounge where she could stretch her wings out. They are shaky and uncertain in this motion, but impressive nevertheless for spanning twice her full height. "No one should have to manage a /reasonable/ expectation of random violence. Though the perpetrators of such violence are few, those willing look the other way are many. It is a personal goal of mine to make that harder to do, even if only a little. That is hard to accomplish from the shadows. Visibility is perilous, and also our best hope for making it less perilous." She retracts her wings and settles them across her shoulders like a cape, clawed thumbs interlocking to form a living clasp. "Well, I ought to be on my way. Nearly time for my next meal already. It has been a great pleasure, chatting with you." "I was baptized Church of England, technically. Family tradition. I was somewhat less welcome around the Church after that point, though. Doesn't look good to have a cloven hooved kid prancing down the halls of a society church," Mallory says with a snort, shrugging indifferently and finishing off her cranberry juice. Dark eyes look on with an impressed look as Isra extends her wings, sitting primly but silently on the barstool as she does. "It has been lovely to meet you, Isra. I am certain to see you around campus in the coming term. Let me know when next you find the forecast to be relatively safe to head for the city. I am quite curious to see more of this area," she offers, slowly standing and stretching her long legs,before carefully stacking her dishes to return to the kitchens. The long neglected book she had been reading gets tucked gently under her arm as she slowly heads for the door, wobbling slightly as she regains balance after sitting so long.