milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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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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.

"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.

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!

"I know."

Beat. Her eyes shift back to the laptop.

Low, "I'm reading."

Which is... totally relevant. Yes.

"How can-- you lead-- read-- with tears in your eyes?" Hiro asks-- alright! This is calling for drastic measures.

Read: the pudgy Japanese man is finding a booth with a tall enough bend, and a table-- and there's some hopping and some unsteady wriggling and -- there's not a lot of upper body strength but-- but it's all applied to the near herculean effort to the average comic-book-geek/salaryman trying to get up into the rafters.

Oh, the things he does for the characters-- people-- he respects and adores.

Another time, River would talk more. Another time, River would turn to look, and maybe smile, and maybe laugh, and talk to him or help him or drift along the rafter until they could talk more comfortably with him on the back of the booth.

Another time.

Here and now, she carefully lifts the paper plane and firefly, cradling it in gentle fingertips as if holding a real insect, and moves them both a few inches off the keyboard. And, jaw tight, goes back to her work.

It takes time...

It takes effort-- but eventually, Hiro is sitting squarely on a rafter, looking down at the rest of the bar wondering just how he'll get back to solid ground. Oh well. Maybe if he slows time for his fall or something-- no, that probably won't work...

Sighing softly, he sits there very quietly, and then takes the paper from inside his coat and starts to fold again. River will talk when she's able... and right now?

Hiro's a little stuck.

Hiro can perhaps see the laptop screen from where he's sitting. Whether he can see the words on it is another question, depending on how close he is. But if he can: Negative Zone, it says, and Prison 42, and details mostly unknown.

The firefly perches to one side of the keyboard, like a mascot, or a tiny pet.

His english is not so great-- most of it learned from comics themselves. But he sits and he looks and-- he knows some of those words. He knows some of the phrases and storylines and--

--and he doesn't know what to say now.

"Bad place?" he asks. "Is-- somebody-- there?"

"Of course," River whispers, without looking up.

And then, "Not yet."

His brows furrow. Not-- yet? "...is something going to go there?" He doesn't think that sounds good at all. "Or-- are-- are you going to save them?"

He knows she's a hero. A big damn hero.

She won't let anything bad happen, will she? OF course not.

Hiro's faith is absolute.

River's eyes close on a sudden surge of tears, and her face twists. Hiro probably can't see that; he will, however, see the way her head tilts back, and hear the shaking sniffle as she inhales.

She doesn't answer.

"...are you-- sure-- you don't want... hanky?" He doesn't like that she gets-- all upset! It's scary and frustrating!

River doesn't answer.

Doesn't open her eyes, either; her head slowly bows to rest on her knees, and her shoulders heave with nearly silent sobs.

Hiro -- begins an awkward scoot down closer, closer--

--and reaches out, hesitant, slow, and -- awkwardly pats her shoulder. Should he be doing this? Is he breeching some -- unknown propriety he doesn't know about? 'Don't pet the psychic', maybe?

He can't say. But he can't let her cry without comfort, either.

"She's trying," is all River whispers, barely audible.

She doesn't lean into Hiro's hand. But she doesn't pull away, either.

"Sometimes," Hiro says, as he becomes more sure of the touch, that she can be patted without breaking the fragile-seeming girl, "that is all we can do."

Try.

And then, try harder.

"No," River whispers, head lifting slowly.

"It's not."

Hiro looks at her for a moment, hand stilling on her shoulderblade.

"Then," he says, "You do what you must."

Whatever that may be.

River turns her head sharply away, face tight.

Silently, Hiro draws his hand away, and looks down at it and it's mate as he settles them across his thighs. He resists the urge to fidget, to scrub at his trousers or to grip at the rafter. The drop is too long for him to feel comfortable, too.

"You can't-- just-- sit and do nothing, can you?"

Is that the problem?

"Can. Can't. Isn't rutting relevant!"

"She said. And." River has to take a shuddering breath, and her face twists again. "Said it all. Every side. Put the walls in a box."

"Everybody gets to behave."

"Do you have to obey her wishes?" Whoever 'she' is, anyway. Hiro doesn't know; the words on the screen do not elude to this mystery woman at all. "Sometimes you have to ... ignore what people say, to do what is right."

"She's my friend."

"That," he says with an air of sad certainty, "makes it much harder."

He is quiet, briefly, as he orders his thuoghts. "My-- friend Ando, he keeps me on the straight an' narrow. Sometimes, though, I have to keep him from going astray too. But that-- that is what friends do. You just haev to try and see it--" He wrestles with the word, "clearly."

Abruptly, he misses Ando so very much; he would like to show him this place!

"The hard part is is knowing when your friend is right, or when your friend is wrong," Hiro says simply. "Sometimes-- we don't know what is best for ourselves. Sometimes we need someone to show us what we're doing is wrong."