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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Roland knows.

But it doesn't matter.

He straightens.

And quietly: "Very well done." A pause. "First time using a gun like that? With a hammer you must pull back, after each shot?"

"Old," she tells the gun quietly. "Not current technology." She reaches out as if to run her fingers along the barrel again, and then pulls them back before they touch. "Hot."

Roland nods. "You say true." Pause. "Why'd you use the thumb, rather than fan the hammer with your other hand?"

She blinks at him.

Then peers at the gun.

Her free hand rises, makes a fanning gesture at the hammer. She does it as if cooling it off, rather than hitting it properly with the side of her hand.

Then, slowly, she strokes the flat of her hand along the top of the cylinder, and lets it fall down on the hammer. Click, and the empty cylinder rotates. She touches the worn sandalwood of the grip with her fingers.

Quietly: "Just so." A pause. "When using one gun only, it's better to fan. When using two -- it takes much practice, and a long time, but it is possible to have the same speed as with one, and reload with the same speed. Then it is necessary to shoot from the hip."

She lets the hand holding the gun fall to her side, and looks out at the scattered shards of glass on the shore.

Softly, after a moment, "Careful. Cut your feet."

Roland nods. "You say true." A pause. "Would you shoot more, River?"

She looks at him.

"Would you shoot more tonight?"

"Out of bottles."

It's enough for tonight.

"I'd clean the gun, River. May I have it back?"

She hands it back to him, carefully.

When he takes it from her, she smiles again, small but real.

Roland reloads, quickly, and holsters -- and smiles back.

"Inside." A pause. "You hungry?"

She ponders this.

Then, helpfully, she shrugs. Still with a ghost of a smile, though.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

"Had toasties. With Brian."

Roland does not know what toasties are.

"Want something else to eat?"

A long pause. They reach the doorway.

She looks at him hopefully. "Baōzi?"

He looks back at her as he opens the door, waiting for her to go in first. "What's that?"

"Baōzi," she repeats slowly and helpfully.

Pause. Silly monolingual people. "Dumplings."

Roland nods. "The bar can get them. You want them?"

Cue the hopeful look again.

Roland crosses to the bar, tries to say what she said. Can't do it. Nothing appears.

He looks to River. "You'll have to say it. I can't."

River likes Roland quite a lot. So she's really trying not to giggle at his pronunciation.

She doesn't quite succeed.

"Baōzi," she tells the bar, enunciating carefully for Roland's sake. River hasn't fully learned yet that, no, speaking more clearly does not make English speakers able to pronounce Mandarin correctly.

A plate of plump steamed dumplings appears on the bar. River strokes a spread hand along the top of it. "Xièxie," she says, in a rare display of remembering to use manners aloud.

Roland looks at them, and with a raised eyebrow, says, "A bowl of beef stew, and bread."

The bar provides him with a bowl of stew -- and a long baguette.

Roland stares at it.