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[river_meimei]

There are points in the rafters where two beams cross. Some of those points intersect with vertical supports; others don't, providing a broader flat surface at the junction.

A laptop is balanced on one. Early 21st century model, sleek and advanced for its time; a knowledgeable eye, given a close look at the specs, might notice that a few components look suspiciously... well, alien. And that a simple laptop probably shouldn't be capable of quite so many things.

River is reading something on it.

She's a huddle inside her long brown coat; her face is pale and tear-splotched, with dark circles under her narrowed eyes, and hot slow tears spill down her cheeks. But she doesn't move, except to scroll down, and she doesn't look away.

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[silver_flecks]

Her voice is (always) (AlWaYs) (always) off.

It's off tonight too, words not matching tone not matching face not matching eyes not matching each other.

She's not really smiles as she sits next to River.

"You know how they say it's darkest before dawn? You know? They kinda keep assuming, um. You know. Dawn's coming.

"Sometimes you just get a supernova. Or a black hole."

[river_meimei]

River was still and huddled before.

She's frozen now.

It's not fear, and it's (mostly) not anger; it's wariness.

"Lady," she says very low.

And then, "I know it." That's fact; that's bitter.

[silver_flecks]

She laughs.

It's short, and it's sHaRp and then it's gone.

"You do."

She's looking at the laptop.

"I KnOw this."

And she's smiling and she's not.

"It'll be a playdate."

[river_meimei]

"Not a rutting game," River snaps, and flinches hard an instant later.

"I. I don't. There's sunlight. Saturation of photons in the Brownian signature."

On the laptop screen: dry words black on glowing white. A report of a place called the Negative Zone: a prison of

(come under the shadow of this)

red rock and shadowy monsters.

[silver_flecks]

There's a moment of very soft and very there silence before Del tilts her head to

look

at River.

"She's Family." It's low, as two bright blue-green eyes stare at River.

"Don't tell me. Not me. I know."

And then she's giggling and her voice sings as she says, "BuT sHe'Ll StIlL pLaY. AlL kInDs Of PlAy, MeImEi."

And then, "You know. You know."

Her blue eye's sad.

"Which game do you think she'll like best?"

[river_meimei]

"Please," River whispers.

Her eyes swim with tears. They're red from crying already.

"Please."

[silver_flecks]

"Please what?"

Her look's sharp in a different way.

"Please who? You or her or me? What and who and when and all those. It's not enough."

The fingers on her left hand are plucking carbon atoms from the air and making taffy from them.

The fingers on her right hand are very softly touching dark hair.

"I don't know. You know? I do and I don't. It's not enough. Please, River?"

[nottwinkletoes.livejournal.com]

Part of it was because he thought he saw someone up there, but part of it was because he realized from seeing someone up there that there were rafters, and he wanted to run around on them like they were a jungle gym.

So that's what he did, his blinky sneakers lighting up the relative dark of the ceiling as he balanced on the beams, hopping lightly from one to the other.

The entire laptop looked utterly alien to him, but it was quickly dismissed when he saw the girl, huddled in her coat and crying. Aang's eyebrows raised in worry, and he stopped balancing on one foot on the rafter he was standing on, and slowly, he inched closer.

Had somebody been mean to her or something? Was it something worse?

[river_meimei]

River doesn't look up.

"Not relevant." Flat.

[nottwinkletoes.livejournal.com]

He was quiet for a moment, fiddling with his hands.

Then he got an idea and dropped between the rafters. A minute or so later, he hopped back up again, balancing a plate and nearly dropping it, but when he got his balance again, he walked over, slowly, and set it down on the rafter in front of her.

There were chocolate chip cookies on it.

He nudged the plate towards her.

"Cookies always cheer me up."

[river_meimei]

Most days, that would work, or at least would distract her. Today...

"Okay," River says, and hits the down arrow.

[nottwinkletoes.livejournal.com]

The problem with Aang was that it was very hard to perturb him. Sometimes, he had the attention span of a gnat, and other times he was remarkably patient.

...Which was a problem when the other person could be more patient than him, or ignore him for longer.

He also had the sometimes mistaken belief that silent company was better than no company at all (not that he kept silent easily).

So he snagged a cookie, but left the rest for her, sitting on the rafter with his legs dangling.

"My name's Aang." A pause. "But you don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to." Another pause, to see if she'd talk.

[river_meimei]

On the screen, at an angle Aang can't easily see: a tidy list of laws, summaries of repercussions and enforcement, casualty statistics, names and dates and 'current status' with and without question marks.

River stares at it, and says nothing.

[gifted_profiler]

He doesn't notice her at first, or doesn't seem to. Frank walks under her rafter as he heads for the bar.

"Soap and hot water, and a towel. Unless I have to get a room for that."

After a moment, a bowl of gently-steaming water appears, next to a towel and a bar of soap.

"Thanks."

He starts to wash his hands, focusing very carefully on them.

[river_meimei]

River's not looking at him.

River is staring at a laptop screen, one hand working in the air by her knee and the other slowly scrolling down the trackpad.

[gifted_profiler]

He finishes cleaning up, wiping his hands and then his face with the towel before setting it back on the bar.

With a sigh, Frank rolls his shoulders to release some of the tension there and looks up-- then goes still as he spots her.

"Hello."

[river_meimei]

No answer.

[gifted_profiler]

Frank's eyes narrow as he takes in her appearance.

"River?"

[river_meimei]

On the laptop's screen: a blurry series of pictures, in shades of steel and rust.

River hits a button, another tear spilling over, and doesn't answer.

[supaahiro]

Hiro has begun to figure out the way the Bar works. There is a flow to it -- Feng Shui, perhaps, or something even more mythic. You do in fact find what you need -- and sometimes, what needs you finds you.

Apparently, the Serenity and he keep passing like the proverbial ships in the dark, not quite touching but there on the periphery. Kaylee (so much like Charlie, girl next door caught in events bigger then her), Mal (so much a common man's hero), Jayne (a mixed bag, antihero at the core).

In the comic book mythos -- the oracle is always a woman; usually young, usually too old and too wise before her age. In Japan, the permutation of the miko (ritual dancer) has become the female oracle norm in their popular culture. Never mind that a real shinto priestess would laugh at that; miko are girls who dance and sing for ritual; a priestess, a real priestess -- is older, often married.

River is the popular archetype; he sees that. He saw that. Now he sees her-- scrying, her chosen tool (computer become the looking glass) and wonders if it's her who needs him, him who needs her, or -- if he's just being whimsically presumptuous.

"Origami," he says to Bar, and she provides him with thick sheet in a variety of colors. He does not attempt to fold time and space (the loss of his Charlie has instigated the loss of faith in self, the loss of power -- he doesn't know how to fix it, not yet) but he does know that he can still be a hero.

His fingers are deft; he's been folding paper into animals and creatures long before he began to read comics or dream of something strange and new or sought to learn more about the wonderland across the see, called America. His family, so very traditional, encouraged this art -- delicate creases so perfect, so tiny --

-- till there is a perfectly flat, folded firefly-- blue atop gold-- a tiny swath of that ochre tail-light visible between folded wings.

The hard part is delivery. But you know? Making paper airplanes that can deliver to the rafters? Not a problem; not when you're Hiro Nakamura, master of folding paper -- airplanes? They are a snap! Getting it onto the rafter? Just takes time and aim.

Thankfully, Hiro has an excellent sense of space and distance... whoosh-- just like the flying man... But the plane, with it's blue and yellow cargo, lands more gracefully then Nathan ever did.

[river_meimei]

River's staring at another file. All text, this part, and studded with question marks; there are monsters in the Negative Zone, and what's known about them is more speculation than fact.

She's still huddled, still glaring at the screen, still weeping nonstop. When she breathes, she sniffles.

She's staring, at any rate, until a paper airplane with a tiny origami passenger soars between her eyes and the screen, collides with her shin, and falls sideways onto the keyboard. Then her hands jerk away from the computer, her head snapping around to stare at the air over Hiro's head.

[supaahiro]

He shifts -- twists himself into perspective if he can -- he's not a very tall man, but he smiles at her, trying to figure out how she got up there, and if he can get himself up there without trying to will himself, which is at best a risky proposition. As previously mentioned: his powers aren't quite on the ball right now.

"He--hello?" He manages the l's (Charlie would be pleased) and smiles at her disarmingly. And then he fishes into his jacket--and pulls out a clean, folded kerchief and walks over to where the rafters she perches on intersect, climbs onto a chair and re-ee-ee-eaches up in that precarious balance.

Anyone who cries needs a hanky. River is no exception.

[river_meimei]

"No," River says softly.

She doesn't reach for the hanky. Doesn't really move. But she does, for the moment, look at Hiro rather than the laptop.

[supaahiro]

Hiro blinks at her refusal, and then rocks a little on his perch before he drops his arms.

"But when you cry," he says, and then gestures to the hanky, "Something-- should catch your tears." He gestures again with the hanky, as if this should somehow get the point across.

There is a beat, and he adds, "It's clean!"

Maybe it is, after all, a matter of hygiene. But it's been washed! He hasn't used it!

[river_meimei]

"I know."

Beat. Her eyes shift back to the laptop.

Low, "I'm reading."

Which is... totally relevant. Yes.