milliways_bar | (no subject)

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River is tucked under a booth, legs crossed and elbows resting on the floor. There's a notebook in front of her, and a handful of colored pens. She's scribbling in a tangled mixture of Chinese and English and diagrams; she never manages to fill a page before she slashes the work out with a frustrated jerk of the pen, and turns angrily to a new page.

She's been through a number of pages by now, apparently to no avail.

[OOC: Sorry for earlier post-and-delete -- mun was called away from the computer right after posting. Back now, though. :)]

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It's a common problem. Particularly when she's in a mood like this.

River jerks the page back, thumps the notebook over to a clean sheet, and begins to scrawl something else. It looks something like a green box sprouting javelins at irregular intervals.

"You're wearing the wrong face," she informs him irritably. "Not polite."

Beat.

"Seven shapes at each point. They'll resort to knives to repolarize the anchor."

"Huh?" Bill has got a bigger vocabulary then 'huh' he promises, it just isn't with him right now.

He frowns and an idea strikes him, "Just a sec..." He pulls his head back and then returns under the booth a moment later with a plate of chocolate chip cookies with pecans, "You want a cookie?"

"Diversionary tactics," River says severely. "It's consistent."

Beat.

Reaching for the plate, "Okay."

Yes, but it's working. He holds the plate for her to take one then grabs one himself. "So how come you're under here? Wouldn't it be better to draw out in the light?"

Don't be stupid, says River's face.

She has eloquent eyebrows.

"I'm factoring in the roof."

"Okay." He shrugs, "What do I know about drawing right?" He bites into another cookie and chokes. He coughs and tries to sit upright, bonks his head on the table, then finally pulls out from underneath and continues to hack trying to clear his throat.

River's head snaps over; she stares at him, eyes wide and startled. Her hands lift uncertainly, and hover.

He coughs and sputters and shakes his head, waving her off. "It's okay...I'm fine..." He wheezes, trying to catch his breath.

"Water."

It doesn't sound as if River's entirely aware of what she's saying. She's still staring at him in wide-eyed worry, almost like a wild animal frozen for a moment's glance.

"Not in the lungs. You'll drown."

"Yeah..." He nods and waves a wait rat over. He manages to ask for water and drinks slowly when it arrives. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, shaking his head, "That was...AHEM...That was close."

"Not yet," River says vaguely, and then flinches, turning sharply back to her papers.

"Chocolate," she mutters to the notebook, low.

"It's healthsome."

"Yeah, long as it ain't down your windpipe." Bill nods, tugging on his shirt collar. "My mom always did yell at me for eatin laying down."

Almost a whisper, "She does."

"Well, that's what mom's are for right?" Bill asks, dusting cookie crumbs off of his shirt.

"Common factor."

It's absent; her notebook has caught her attention again. Her hand grabs for a pen, fingers swift but a little clumsy, and she scowls at the paper before she begins to scribble again. Every third word or so is crossed out with a single fierce line.

Bill tilts his head to get a better look. "Oh, so you're writin somethin?" He thinks...

"There a reason you're bein so hard on yourself as an editor?" He asks as she crosses out.

"I have to get it right. The variables are in flux but we can pin them down. Each in a box, stick a point through the heart -- it's a parallel. There's a solution if they all line up."

Her voice is tight and stressed, and she's enunciating just a shade too clearly, as if each word takes effort.

"Hey darlin, you okay?" And he's worried now not just because he doesn't understand a thing she's saying but because of the way she's saying it.

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