fandomhighdorms | The deck, Monday afternoon

There was little in this world (or her own) that Raven enjoyed more than a proper lazy summer vacation day, and she intended to make full use of the break from workshops. It'd been awhile since she'd taken advantage of the dorm's deck, but she was out in force, this afternoon, sporting a cute little blue strapless suit and a pair of actual, for real sunglasses, sipping iced tea -- she had a whole pitcher, if anyone wanted to share -- and generally enjoying the warm air.

Okay, so it was actually kind of cloudy, today. And Charles had sent her a giant stack of books, which he was fussing about getting her opinion on -- though why he thought she'd want to read Bradbury or Burroughs when there were future books she could be reading, she wasn't sure -- so she was doing a bit less sunbathing than flipping disconsolately through a book about book burning, of all things, but the spirit of it remained the same.

She'd get her revenge. She was already planning the care package, full of dub-step and softcore housewife porn. And maybe some Margaret Atwood, just so he didn't think living in the future was totally rotting her brain.

[dorms needed more posts. Open.]

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He showed her the book. "A history of the 18th century," Ichabod said. "Quite intriguing to read about one's own time in the future. What about yourself?"

He was glad to move to the topic of reading, which could distract from modern fashion.

"I bet," Raven said. "You'd be amazed at some of the things people think about my time these days, and it was only 60 years ago." Who actually wanted to go back to polio epidemics and being terrified of getting nuked by Russia at any moment?

She held up her own book, a shiny first edition of Fahrenheit 451. "Last year's best seller -- in my time. My brother is keen for me to keep up with 1950s popular culture."

"Obviously I am not familiar with it," Ichabod replied, adding with sincere interest: "What is your opinion on it? And yes, I believe time travel shall never cease to offer intriguing perspectives on ones own time."

"I actually haven't read much of it, yet," Raven admitted. "It's about firemen who go around burning books instead of putting out fires. It's alright so far, though the main character's wife is really irritating." She sighed. "They almost always are. I want to read a book about a wife who has to put up with her stupid husband complaining about how terrible he's suddenly decided the world is, when it's clearly been that way all along, but she's always just had to make the best of it."

"I rarely read novels, so I might not be the right person to ask," Ichabod said. "But I'm afraid I haven't come across a story like the one you describe. That is, in my time. Perhaps it ought to be written by a lady."

He reached for the pitcher to pour himself a glass of ice tea, trying not to stare at Raven's bare legs.

Raven didn't mean to time recrossing said bare legs perfectly with the reaching. Sorry, Ichabod.

"It'd probably have to be published by one, too," Raven said. "At least in my time, anyway. So you're more of a history guy, huh? Or do you just like non-fiction in general?"

"I..." he blushed slightly and stared down his glass, "...do read poetry and occasionally other works of fiction as well. As I now work in the book shop I have considered reading some modern literature as well, to be able to offer advice. Do you have any suggestions, or are you too more familiar with works from your own time?"

Edited 2014-06-23 20:30 (UTC)

"I've read some of the more current books, too," Raven said. "It's hard to resist the lure of reading things my brother couldn't even hear of for decades without me telling him about them. I really like Margaret Atwood. And Shirley Jackson, though she's actually from my time."

He made a mental note of those names.

"And do you tell your brother about them or just take pleasure in your knowledge secretly?"

"A little of both," Raven admitted. "It's fun sometimes to tease him with all the things I know about the future, but I don't really know if this place is really our future, if that makes sense. Sure, a lot of it sounds like it could be, but maybe our world goes in a totally different direction, and our Margaret Atwood decides to go into politics or be an astronaut."

"I haven't considered that possibility," Ichabod replied. After a moment of thought he added: "Which means I could read the history books of this time and still never be sure if they tell the story of my own future."

"Not until you go home and see it happen for yourself, anyway."

The deck, Monday afternoon

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