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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"I suppose it's something I've not run across, yet, in my reading." More to himself than to her. He shakes his head slightly.

Then, sidelong, with a smile, he says, "There are a great many things to learn."

"Chemistry," River supplies.

Brain chemistry. Specifically.

More subdued, "Always is."

He tilts his head. "That is a good thing, yes?"

It's been a long afternoon.

One shoulder jerks in what might be a shrug.

A small smile; it's not understanding, but sympathetic. "Perhaps not, then."

River's silent, resting against the bar with her hat for a crumpled pillow.

Not upset, not really. Just... weary.

Quietly: "A long day, then?"

He knows the signs all too well.

The days get long when there's nothing to fill them with.

Dully, "Twenty-four hours."

"It's a constant."

"Time is often very strange." Reflectively. "It runs faster when we are doing things we enjoy, and goes more slowly when things are not as well as we would like them to be."

"Only when there's relativity."

The correction is half-hearted at best.

"Well, yes." Gwion sounds a little surprised.

They're maybe talking about two different things.

River opens her eyes to direct a faintly confused look at his teacup.

Half a smile; he directs his eyes the same way.

River's face relaxes minutely. Not solving the question, but letting it go.

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