milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Gwion is at the bar with a cup of tea in front of him. His head is bowed, his shoulders hunched. His thumb runs over the end of the harp string on his right wrist, worrying it.

The soundboard of his new harp, he has decided, is going to be made of cedar.

It's a start.

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When she's fairly close, River shifts course, heading for the barstool next to Gwion.

A shape in his peripheral vision, slim and dark-haired, and then a hand emerging from a pocket to set a foil-wrapped candy on the bar next to him as she settles on the stool and tucks her toes under a rung.

His head turns.

He looks at the foil-wrapped thing, and at her.

And, with a small, quiet smile, "River Tam. Yes?"

"It's candy," she informs him.

Beat.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He looks back down at the piece of candy, and picks it up, experimentally.

"It's been...a very long time since we have spoken, you and I."

Three hundred and sixty-four days. But Time's funny, once you're beyond it.

"Only in linear time," she informs him. A faint smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, and vanishes again.

Glance at the rafter, then the bar, then back. "I've been here."

...she sounds like an Old One.

Half a smile; it's a little wan.

"And what has come to pass for you, then?"

River looks a lot more tired.

She leans over to rest her cheek against the bar as if listening to it, one hand curled around the edge, and watches his teacup from the new angle.

To it, "Lots."

He watches her, head tilted to one side. A little gently: "Things tend to." Beat. "But it's well?"

River's eyes close.

"Right now," she agrees.

"It is well." A faint smile -- a little wistful, a little sad.

"Nothing can end or die that has once had a place in Time." It's quiet, and a little wry, and warm.

He hasn't really said anything; he's studying her, dark eyes tired, and kind.

River's eyes open in startlement.

She looks as if she's about to say something -- and then his face shifts, and she swallows it.

But the wistful smile's visibly wider, and crooked.

"That is a very nice hat you have."

Something very near to laughter, now.

It's pretty much fallen off, now, upside-down on the bar.

River's smile gets less sad. More proud.

"It's mine," she informs him. "A present."

"And a very good one." He sounds like he approves. "It has nice lines."

River blinks at him.

"It's a circle," she informs him.

"The geometry is flawed. He nicked it."

"Sometimes it is the flaws that make things beautiful. It makes them stand out, certainly."

River's hand slides over the bar, feeling the texture against her fingertips.

"It's one theory."

"What is yours?" He watches her hand.

River exhales.

A silence.

"Varies," she says finally, toneless.

It's been a long afternoon.

His left hand goes to the string around his right wrist.

Quietly: "That is no bad thing."

River's silent.

Moments pass.

She glances at his hand, without lifting her head.

Softly, "It's candy. Sugar gives you endorphins."

"And what might those be?"

Biochemistry is...not one of the things that Gwion is particularly familiar with. Or familiar at all.

"Endogenous opioid peptides," River supplies helpfully.

"It's all glands."

Gwion looks...bemused.

River waits patiently for the light to dawn.

...No pun intended.