milliways_bar | (no subject)

There's a man drinking coffee at a table on the opposite end of the room.

He doesn't look directly at anything but his newspaper, in which he seems absorbed, but there is the general impression that his peripheral vision is working double-time.

If he sees Galadan, he gives no sign other than perhaps a slight tensing of the shoulders. There has been an agreement.

Galadan's own gaze, winter-grey and cold, fixes on said man for just a moment, barely a flicker of attention and then gone.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light that those eyes flash red.

And that, for some time afterwards, Galadan's attention is distantly focused on the front door.

He has been gone from Fionavar for some time, even on this side of things. On that world, first and fairest of all worlds brought to life on the Weaver's loom--

On that world there is no accounting for how much time may have passed.

It is something to consider.

Here's a familiar face.

River's glance slides over the room, spending as much time on furniture and air as on people; her eyes skim past Galadan, and flick back to him an instant later.

Galadan's own attention shifts from the door to River and holds.

Eventually, very deliberately, he offers her the barest upward crook of one corner of his mouth.

"River. You fare well, I hope?"

"I'm okay."

This is said seriously.

Mostly because there was a while when it wasn't such a common fact. Some things River doesn't take for granted.

She drops into a chair at his table without asking permission, and tucks her legs under herself, running the fingertips of one hand idly along the edge of the table.

Galadan raises one eyebrow a slight fraction of an inch.

"And should you care for something to eat, perhaps?"

He makes the effort to be hospitable, ever and always.

River gives him a look which says, amicably, that his polite formality is slightly silly.

But: "Yes," she says, definitely.

Jayne cooked dinner tonight. Jayne's cooking is hit or miss.

Galadan waits for more input.

When it is not forthcoming he arches one eyebrow up a little further.

"Feel free to inform me of your preferences, if you would. I should so hate to choose something for you which runs counter to your taste."

Now he's doing it on purpose.

Well, that's all right, then.

"Fries," River decides, after due deliberation.

Galadan, or Bar, can decide what condiments ought to accompany them.

"And not fried fruit? How--disappointing."

He laughs, very quietly, and stands.

(Waitrats and Galadan do not always see eye to eye.)

"Do try not to switch tables while I'm gone."

Bar will provide him with ketchup, salt, and sweet and sour sauce on his return trip.

She is the soul of consideration.

"It's not a guarantee," River informs him cheerfully.

She'll still be here, though.

If doubled over, studying a wayward tooth lodged against one table leg.

"Shall you also require a magnifying glass?"

Galadan's inquiry is the soul of cheerfulness, save for how his voice is so very dry.

He is also considerate enough to place the fries in front of River, along with the suggested condiments.

River could have no better friend.

Obviously Galadan is a role model for us all.

"Not today," River answers, and straightens up, successfully distracted by food. (She didn't touch the tooth, so she may well be assuming it was a hallucination, anyway.)

Beat.

Remembering her manners belatedly, she adds, "Thank you." It's a fair match for Galadan's courtesy, except for the ill-suppressed amusement lurking behind most of River's attempts at deliberate formality.

"Thou art quite welcome, lady."

This, of course, is where Galadan helps himself to a french fry.

"As ever."

Once upon a time, River would have been able to keep a straight face and reply to that in kind.

Once upon a time, River was actually capable of keeping a straight face.

To her credit, she tries.

It's pretty much a lost cause, though. At least she's giggling silently?

Galadan's ears thank her most kindly.

One corner of his mouth twists upward unmistakably.

And then, of course, he eats another fry.

"I do hope you are not about to pass out. It would be remarkably unseemly. Though I do seem to have gained experience in the use of smelling salts in the past year. How time does fly."

Edwardian England can be blamed for many things. Many, many things.

...What, says River's face.

Edwardian England is a BAD INFLUENCE on your syntax, my friend.

Except that the effect is rather marred by another spate of silent giggling, just when she'd reined it in.

Galadan merely inclines his head.

"I take it you do not entirely approve of Master Gideon Wolfe, then?"

"Do you?"

It's an honest question.

Most of River's are.

"He errs on the side of the ridiculous, but he's proven his worth a few times."

Galadan's smile quirks and turns crooked.

"And while his purpose continues to be well-served, I daresay it may be time to consider putting him out to pasture. As it were."

River's head tilts, a small and incongruously tidy gesture, and her attention sharpens just slightly.

She's toying with a fry; perhaps unnoticed, or perhaps not.

Galadan's own expression shifts into more sober lines. It's not a particularly difficult transition.

"I have been long and long away from Fionavar, and the andain are not peaceable creatures at the best of times."

His tone is, for half a moment, more than slightly wry.

"I should hate to return to a full-fledged rebellion."

"You're monitoring." It's halfway between a statement and a question, and sober. She's studying him.

The fry leaves smudges of grease and salt across her fingers. It's warm still.

"Making sure I'm capable of keeping abreast of events, yes."

He inclines his head again, just slightly.

"I've never had the intention of leaving Fionavar entirely to its own devices."

Edited 2008-11-25 06:47 (UTC)

"You're planning."

That, too, is something of a question.

Although not a yes-or-no one; the answer to that, with Galadan, is always yes.

"But of course."

Galadan smiles faintly.

"Though at the moment it is rather more pondering which of my contingency plans will be most appropriate implement once I return. As, I admit, I have little way of knowing what has transpired amongst my people during my absence. Not to mention potential developments that will affect the world entire--and all the sheafs of worlds, too. That, I suspect, may well become a problem for another day."

Or two.

Galadan is an overachiever.

But we all knew that one, too.

River's gaze never stays settled for too long; it's slid away, now. Down to the table, and Galadan's hands, and the edge of a narrow knotted bracelet peeking out from below one cuff.

"Improvisational."

Galadan inclines his head very slightly.

"As it were. Fortunately this has long been one of my--let us say--particular skills."

He does not smile.

River gives him a mild you are stating the obvious look.

Without any particular irritation, though. It is, after all, perfectly true.

Galadan's lips twitch very faintly.

"I am pleased that you agree."

River has a wide repertoire of duh expressions.

This is a slightly different one than the previous: well, yes, as I am not a moron, it says, albeit with a certain amiable humor.

Galadan's own expression shifts to a slightly more apparently smile.

"I suspect I shall have to speak with your father--fortunately provisional plans for a replacement have already been in place for some time."

This is shocking to no one.

River knows how seriously Galadan takes this particular matter. And takes Gabriel Tam, in general.

And it's not as if he hasn't been mostly out of their universe for months anyway.

But--

She runs her fingers along the table, leaving faint streaks of vegetable oil, and glances at him. "In the specificity." It sounds like a statement; it's a question.

Galadan's smile is small and sharp.

Many people have feared this particular smile.

"I have overseen her training myself. And I will still be receiving reports on a regular basis, regardless. And there is Mary's education to continue, as well. You need have no fear that I shall vanish entirely."

That's not precisely River's worry. But it's not unrelated.

She nods, anyway.

The small sharp smile doesn't disconcert her; Galadan Wolflord never has.

Galadan's gaze, winter-grey and assessing--does not leave River's face.

"Will you see?"

It is both an honest question and a test.

As ever.

Who he's testing? That's not a matter for anyone to be concerned with.

River hesitates a moment, though perhaps it's more from courtesy (or assessment) than any indecision. Her eyes drop for a moment, and rise again to meet Galadan's ice-grey gaze seriously.

And then she nods again, just slightly.

And, as ever, Galadan allows his mental shields to crack ever so slightly, and lets River see what she shall see.

It is old habit, by now.

That does not make it trivial in the least.

The details of rebellion and ambition aren't River's primary concern, though she'll listen to whatever Galadan feels like sharing; the andain are Galadan's, not hers, and their politics likewise.

But what's underneath the politics -- the questions of motivation, and goals, and lines and reasons -- that matters to her. Very much.

What River sees and hears, as ever, she doesn't say.

But she sits in silence, her hands quiet against the edge of a bowl of sauce, and her legs tucked under herself. Her own mind is (as ever, unavoidably) open too; she watches Galadan's face, and the air around it.

And whatever she sees, it satisfies her.

"It will serve, for now."

And whether that is question, promise, or acknowledgment--

River knows.

It does not matter if anyone else does.

And then his shields slip back into place.

River's mouth crooks, just a little.

Perhaps it's an answer, if such is needed.

"It's transit."

"One might suppose I would be more practiced at it by now."

The twist of his lips is wry.

Edited 2008-11-26 06:31 (UTC)

River's return look -- faintly affectionate, a little ironic -- is subtly more relaxed than before.

"Call it a continuum."

"Perhaps I shall."

He does not sound like he minds that in the least.