milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

The door opens, and River wanders in.

She looks to be in a reasonably good mood; at least, she's looking around the room, rather than staring at the floor or the air, even if her gaze doesn't quite settle quite normally. It's the tall boots today, rather than bare feet, under a loose floral skirt, and a couple of shirts in layers.

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Anthy glances at her, and at the knitting, and offers it for River to hold or touch or ignore.

River touches it gently.

It's soft.

Anthy watches -- not particularly intently -- quite content to be silent. She waits to see if River will say anything more.

She doesn't.

She strokes the sweater gently with her fingertips.

"I could make you one," Anthy says, eventually. "Something."

River looks at her.

"No thorns."

It's mostly a question.

"Maybe not." The needles slow, and stop, for a moment. "Everything has thorns."

"Sometimes they're invisible." Her hand strokes along the knitting, falls back to her side. "Don't cut you."

The needles start up again. "Sometimes thorns don't. They don't if you hold the flowers right . . . but invisible ones can still cut, can't they?"

"Sometimes."

She looks down.

"Some of them aren't really there, and some of them are knives and they make you bleed, and... some of them aren't. Made-up. Don't hurt unless you ask them nicely."

"Knives?" Mildly curious.

She blinks at River. "Do you ask them nicely?"

She shakes her head sharply, staring at the ground.

Anthy looks at her silently for a moment.

"In the end, all girls . . ."

River looks at her sidelong, through tangled hair.

Anthy is back to looking at her knitting. "There isn't really only one Rose Bride."

No, that's not it. A pause. "In the end, all girls are like the Rose Bride."

River sits on the table, legs dangling.

"Always a bridesmaid," she tells the air.

"Meg would like to be." Anthy's legs do not dangle. Her feet are tucked under her chair, on a convenient rung. "You . . . ?"

River's gaze wanders off to the left a little. She's still looking at the air, probably. She doesn't answer. It's hard to say whether she's avoiding the question or got distracted.

Anthy fingers her knitting for a moment, and holds out a rose -- a little carelessly, as though she's not expecting River to take it. It's green. There are thorns. Anthy doesn't touch them.

River takes it by the blossom, and looks at it.

Anthy starts knitting again.

River twirls the rose between her fingers, and does not touch the thorns.

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