AN: This chapter will be posted in three parts so there is some form of update this week. To those of you who asked, yes, this is before the Narada incident but I haven't settled on an exact time frame yet. Harriet needs some time to develop for me to get the story on the path I want.
Side note: Ever considered taking classes in legal history? Here's a recommendation: Try reading up on it first. It tends to make people with opinions/hope/dreams rather upset/ tired at how the world has been turning these last few centuries or so.
Part 1: Tact
Harriet spun on her heel. One. The other had just snapped.
'Merlin's bloody pants!' This was getting out of control. She was turning into a walking cliché. In less than fifteen minutes things had gone from annoying but tolerable to frustrating and looking worse.
Grinding her teeth, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her temple. The slight feel of the faded scar beneath her fingers finally brought her back to reality and she looked up tiredly. "Yes? Can I help you?" 'This better be good.'
There was no doubt the speaker had been talking to her. The man was standing less than five feet away, staring directly at her, wearing, go figure, what appeared to be the exact. same. uniform.
'These people really need to learn how to express themselves better.'
She gave the man a quick once over and revised her initial assessment. He was male, of that she was certain, but a man? Probably not. First off, there were the ears. Far too pointy to be human. 'Is he…' Irrelevant. She let the question slide and continued her assessment. There was a slight greenish tint to his skin. It wasn't an over whelming green, like the female from earlier, but it was still noticeable. Almost like it was the color of his blood as opposed to the color of the skin itself. 'Interesting.' The next thing she noticed was his near perfect hair. 'Is it naturally like that? Wonder what he uses - ' Also not important. Chugging right along, she noted he was around 6'1, 6'2 – and in possession of a pair of eyebrows that even Snape would admire.
She took a moment to admire their doubtlessly unintentional expressiveness.
And, of course, his red uniform, all variants of which she was beginning to harbor if not hate, then a strong, near passionate dislike for. Her admiration waned. 'Coffee killers…'
"As I stated, I was not aware anyone at the Academy possessed such capabilities. Are you a student here?"
Her eyes widened slightly. Crap. 'What does he know? What does he mean by 'capabilities'? Can civilians even be here?! Should I pretend to be a student?' No, she'd learned that lesson already. Claiming any affiliation prior to knowing the EXACT implications equals no go (don't ask - we're all better off not knowing).
In an entirely too polite manner, she blandly asked, "To what capabilities are you referring sir?" 'That's right, don't panic, act natural, totally normal, you're not some caffeine deprived, borderline hysterical, slightly emotional, potentially abnormal, definitely guilty -.'
The male's eyebrow rose ever so slightly, cutting the spiral short. 'Man those things are intimidating.'
"I am referring to what I must presume are your telepathic abilities. I approached with the objective to reprimand the Ensign for his conduct and inform him of my intention to report his behavior to the Board for corrective action. However, his sudden change in behavior and the manner in which all persons within the immediate vicinity ceased activity for approximately 7.82 seconds would suggest an unconscious, if not forced, shift in perception."
He paused, his eyes still boring into Harriet's. 'Well, that answers that question.' She remained silent, hoping he would provide some clue as to a plausible explanation without carting her away to some top-secret lab.
With no answers forthcoming, he continued in the same direct, almost clinical, manner. "Given my general inability to affect such changes in behavior, your ability to remain in motion, and the nature of the interaction before the anomaly, it would be logical to conclude that you were the source."
'Anomaly?' Not good. The magical 'vibe' was still absent from her surroundings. If this guy was part of the military, his observation of 'the anomaly' could spell disaster. On the other hand, he hadn't gone crying to the hills. If his unemotional reaction was anything to go by, he could very well be accustomed to such sights, just not here, on 'the Academy.' 'The Academy of what?' Not an immediate concern, although it was getting closer to the top of the list.
Still, if similar 'capabilities' were normal, maybe something similar enough to magic existed for her to hide behind? She cocked her head to the side. You know, the longer she stared at him, the more a part of her really wanted to ask that original question… She imagined the male in front of her was getting impatient. She had to imagine because his face seemed as unchanging as his monotone. He clearly expected a response.
… Not to mention his eyebrows alone were beginning to make her feel inadequate.
"If you can refute this assumption, then you should do so at this time."
Well there it was. Harriet mentally snapped to attention. Time to take action. Right.
Obliviate! No?
Confundus! 'Whaaa?' Magic when she doesn't call on it, no magic when she does! Now, she felt like stomping her foot (but she looked ridiculous enough as it was, standing there silent with only one heel and her brow furrowed in concentration). In less time than it would have taken to cast another spell, she considered her options. She could run. But where would that get her? And how far could she really get? Could she risk apparition before getting a real hold on her magic? In the end, she settled for trying the verbal, and (even more) visually absurd, route first.
With all the intent and will she could muster, she pointed at him and firmly stated aloud, "Obliviate."
… Nothing.
"Confundus."
… Not a twitch. 'In for a knut, in for a galleon as they used to say.'
"Wing-GAR-dee-um Levi-O-sa." She huffed in disbelief. NOTHING! 'Well call me a hippogriff and sla- Wait a minute!'
She lowered her hand and struck a (clearly just as ridiculous) contemplative pose, re-evaluating the man – no, male - before her. The earlier thought had wiggled its way back to the foreground. 'If he was, it might explain why my magic isn't working on him…' After a moment, Harriet looked back up. She had to, he was simply too tall.
It began to rain. Drizzle, really. Actually, it was definitely closer to the standard San Fran layer of mist that generally invaded whenever it felt like it. Wasn't so much rain as beads of moisture. Didn't matter, it was one drop of moisture too many for the frustrated, ready for the next cup of coffee, entirely too tempted, somewhat fed-up, and now thoroughly distracted Harriet. She just had to ask the question. It didn't matter if it wasn't the sort of question you asked someone you just met, who clearly wasn't human, and who may very well try to arrest you and take you in for questioning. She had to ask.
So, summoning her Gryffindor courage (or succumbing to her Gryffindor recklessness – either or), she did.
"Are you an elf?"
Tact and subtlety had always been more of a Slytherin thing anyway.
Believe it or not, I actually find Spock hard to write. Back to midterm madness.
