milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Once again, River heads straight from the front door to the hallway that leads to the Security office. It's a long while before she reappears. There was a tension to her body, a faint troubled frown on her face, a stressed and wary watchfulness in her gaze; all of that is still there, undiminished.

She heads for the far wall of the bar, where she climbs rapidly from bench to table to booth back and settles into the rafters.

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River is sullenly silent, looking down at the bar.

"Sign of affection, even. Magpie, the wily, wilful, clever magpie."

Little mouse, they called her once.

A long time ago.

River says nothing. You can almost see the stress and the teenage temper in the hunched lines of her back, the workings of her fingers in her flowing skirt.

God defend him from the teenage temper. Yes, he is presently forgetting that he is nineteen. Everyon has to grow up at SOME point.

Possibly it's only fair that he be the recipient now and then?

Not that he'd admit that.

He'd only swear and get drunk and thus render the whole exercise useless.

And he's being just as sullen striaght back at her, too.

This is a fun and useful conversation they're having, then.

River watches the bar -- the tables, the air, the swirling eddies of moving patrons.

Very much so.

And Mordred, finding a convenient table and chair, does the same. Somehow, he feels to leave would let her win. Win what isn't made clear, but he feels it none the less.

Well, then, they're in accord.

Um.

Or something.

River isn't looking at it as a question of winning or losing; all the same, she's watching the bar at large, and ignoring Mordred sitting below her.

[ooc: mind fading there? I had about four hours sleep last night and no lunch and my brain is dyyyyyying.]

[OOC: Not at all! *shoos* Brain death is a perfectly good excuse, and I think this is about as much as we'll get out of them anyhow.]

[ooc: *eyes them*...yep.]

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