milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The front door opens, and a man, lacking in stature but frighteningly elegant for all that, steps in, heavy cloak covered over in thick flakes of snow.

He shakes the melting drops from his hair, then unfastens his cloak and lays it over the back of a chair.

Then, of course, he takes his own seat, waving over a waitrat and requesting a meal.

Steak. Rare, of course. Raw would be better, but people do tend to stare--and this is hardly the right shape for it.

And the hunt, after all, is so much better than the feasting afterward.

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River studies him for a long moment.

(Galadan's mind is locked up tight. River doesn't scan people's mind on purpose -- can't control it on purpose, to look or to ignore -- but the effect here is: no leakage.)

Curiously, "What if I don't?"

"Don't look?"

He raises his eyebrows in mild inquiry.

"I almost doubt there would be much difference in our interactions. Though I do hope you don't plan to walk through life with your eyes closed. It tends to lead to unfortunate accidents."

He looks around the bar briefly.

"For instance, here in particular there are a great many chairs."

He has, as yet, not stopped watching her--in case, perhaps, her physical movements do more to give her away than her words.

Better safe than forever regretting a lost opportunity, after all.

Her physical movements, like her words, are hard to get a clear story from: graceful and balanced, and yet a little too jerky at times, a little too unfocused -- or only wrongly focused, perhaps, as if the world she's moving through isn't quite the same as anyone else's.

"Won't trip," River says with a faint smile.

It's true; she staggers and trips at emotional overload, and she moves carefully to avoid things that aren't really there, but, be it skill or overcompensation, it's very rare that she trips over an actual obstacle.

Galadan returns her smile.

"Now that is an enviable talent, I might imagine."

Not that it is one he does not share, to some extent.

But it is an observation to make.

River shrugs.

"No?"

He raises one eyebrow, still studying her carefully.

A blank look.

"More than one word and less than ten would seem to be optimal, then."

He sounds very faintly amused as he speaks.

"You're overthinking the quantification."

River? Hypocritical? Never.

"It would seem so."

He doesn't quite laugh.

"As that was thirteen."

River makes a face.

Galadan just keeps one eyebrow raised.

River studies him.

"You're counting."

Beat.

"Weights and measures."

"Strategy and tactics require it."

He smiles.

"I am fond of ta'bael."

River frowns.

River doesn't like not knowing things.

Galadan raises his eyebrows again.

"Some on Earth, I believe, call it chess."

River's face clears.

"Consistent with the characterization."

"Mine, yours, or Earth's?"

He only sounds mildly curious this time.

"Earth," River explains very patiently, "is a planet."

Galadan's eyebrows are still faintly raised.

"One of many. I have some little knowledge of astronomy."

"It can't play," River explains further.

"The size is problematic. Little to no evidence of agency, excluding outmoded theories of meta-environmental manipulation. We'll have to call it the playing board."

The corner of Galadan's mouth is still quirked in a slight smile.

"I am reasonably certain I can live with that. Though I do wonder how best to mark off the squares."

"Won't be."

Duh, Galadan.

"So it's metaphorical, then?"

He's aware that the answer, if he even gets one, is highly unlikely to be either yes or no.

River shrugs, managing to give the impression that Galadan is rather missing the point here.