Marshall McLuhan, casual viewing

Her hair tosses easily from one side to the other, and the next, and the next, yet there is a weight to it. It is the toss of a...tellature. If not that, then some similar word, invented and inventive, befitting the powerlessly powerful exofeminine identity of someone so gifted, so traumatized, so estranged, yet so loved nonetheless.

A contradiction. Not a difficult concept; Saavik has always struggled more with intuition than self-expression.

And of course, Mythra is the same.

It's almost amusingly logical.

"You come here often?" the other woman asks, and Saavik does not mind their righteous impertinence.