milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There are a few wooden benches in the greenhouse, scattered here and there among the tidily graveled paths. River's lying on her back in one, one knee pulled up and the other dangling off the edge, head propped against the wrought-iron armrest with its rose-filigree.

Porridge Woman the frog sits on the ground next to her foot, catching the occasional fly. A rabbit sits on River's chest; she's gently stroking it.

The humid breezeless air smells of

(Anthy)

roses.

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*The door to the greenhouse opens, and footsteps sound - footsteps that seem like they have a right to be there, from the lack of hesitation.

A month ago, for her, Meg made a promise, and she's come to make good on it.*

River doesn't look around.

She pets the rabbit's ears.

*Meg steps through the greenhouse, taking careful note of the condition of the roses as she goes - as careful as she can, for someone who knows nothing about gardening.

She is looking for Anthy; or, failing that, a watering can.

She's a trifle surprised, therefore, to step around a white rosebush and see someone else.*

- oh. Hey, River.

River's hand stills.

"Meg."

It's said neutrally, to the rabbit. She doesn't look over.

That's me, *Meg says, amiably.*

- don't suppose you've seen Anthy, have you? I looked in her room, but she's not there, so I guess she's better -

River flinches. Hard.

Startled, the rabbit freezes, and then scrambles down, scraping River's forearm accidentally as he goes.

- River?

*Meg's wide gaze follows the fleeing rabbit for a moment, then returns to River, concerned.*

- you and Anthy didn't have a fight or something, did you?

"Didn't fight." Her voice is low and strained.

"Tried but she didn't. She could but she couldn't, wouldn't let her--" Her voice is rising.

She sits up in an abrupt movement, shoving her hair back with agitation. The frog, scared, vanishes under a rosebush.

Wouldn't let her fight with you? *Meg repeats, and her voice is more cautious, now, and her eyes don't move from River to follow the frog's flight.*

What wouldn't let her? The - rules, of the duels and things? Is that it?

*Meg is rather on the wrong track; but, in her defense, the right track is far out of her experience, and not anything she would want to consider, besides.*

"No. No. Down the wrong street, turned left at the corner-- No swords here."

She sags, head bowing, hair hiding her face. Every line of her body is slumping.

"I'm sorry. I'm -- sorry, she's sorry, I tried, I didn't --"

*Meg's eyes focus, sharply.*

- sorry.

River, sorry for what?

River is a huddle of misery. She's staring at her lap; Meg may or may not be able to see the tears clinging to her lashes.

She doesn't answer.

*Meg's hands spasm together in front of her.*

River, *she says, and tries for patient; and misses it, by a fair amount.*

Tell me.

Where is she?

"Took her away," River whispers brokenly.

"They come in the dark and, and she's me. Come for her. We will, I will, said I would and I will--"

- and she's you, *Meg says, frustrated and frightened and straining for understanding, and then, again:*

and she's you.

*Comprehension, rising.*

Je m'en fous -

*And, with comprehension, denial.*

Non. No, how could - you wouldn't have let them do that. You said you could protect her, merde, I've seen you fight -

River flinches again, hands flying up in a clumsy defensive gesture.

"She can, she could -- I'm sorry -- kissed her and she changed her skin. I'm sorry. They'll get her back. Said she would, said she'd go--"

*Meg is shaking her head, slowly, even as River starts to talk, hair falling in front of her eyes - not in negation, so much as shock and disbelief.*

- you promised. You said you'd try to help, you'd keep her safe, and I trusted -

*She'd believed, and hadn't protested, whatever she felt; hadn't challenged, had let it rest.

She'd believed River was good for her.*

River is crying in earnest now, huddled on the bench in a clumsy tangle of knees and elbows.

*Meg's hand, automatically, reaches towards her tutu for a handkerchief; finding one, she regards it for a second, almost in surprise, and then tosses it on the bench, next to River.

Her lone left hand is still clenched tightly; she'll have nailmarks in her palm, later.*

Crying, *she says, shortly,* won't help it.

River's head lifts, and she glares tearily.

"She knows it!"

She can't hold Meg's gaze, or maybe she just can't keep her focus steady; she rakes her hair back, and stares wretchedly at the greenhouse's far wall.

"Sedatives and soothers. I'll help. I'll help. I'm going, said she's going -- I promised. Promise you. She's coming for her. She'll get her back."

She's breathing in harsh gulps, next thing to outright sobs.

I'd like to believe you, *Meg says, and her voice is almost close to being steady.*

- and I'm even going to trust that when you say 'sedatives and soothers', you're not talking about your promises, here. Giving you the benefit of the doubt, tu vois?

I'm not even going to ask what you're doing here, now, instead of out there looking for her, because I'm almost pretty sure you must have a good reason.

*Her voice is almost conversational, now, though the ragged edge betrays it.*

River flinches again, hard, hands curled and defensive, but anger's coming too.

"You think she doesn't care. You think she's not trying. But you're wrong." More ragged, strained, "You're wrong."

*Meg takes a breath.*

Maybe, *she says, and she doesn't sound angry, quite; though she doesn't sound like she's backing down, either, not by a long shot.*

But that's not the point, is it? Trying doesn't matter. It's whether or not you can do it that counts.

One hand rises, to roughly rake back her hair, fingers scraping at her scalp and tangling in her curls.

Low and shaky, "Can."

Beat.

Only slightly steadier, "She can."

Her face is pale and drawn in lines of wretchedness.

Hope so, *says Meg - not casual, not in the least, but you can tell that that's the general aim of her tone.

It's easier. Pretend it's just a chat. It's easier.*

She's sacrificed for you; so she thinks you're worth it. I hope she's proved right.

She never was, with me - proved right, I mean - but then, she never got into as much trouble for it, either, before, so maybe it'll be - maybe it'll be different, now.

River stares sidelong at the fountain, head bowed.

Every muscle of her body is taut, a tangle of distress.

*And still, Meg's eyes are fixed on River; and don't look likely to shift, as she waits for a response.

When it doesn't come, she speaks again, and all efforts at casualness, at conversation, are gone.*

You took a responsibility, when you stepped up, that day. You know that.

We've had different ideas maybe of what that is, and you hadn't always listened to me, and maybe if you had she wouldn't be there now, but that's not the point.

Point is, you're capable. more capable than - than anyone else, maybe - and you're responsible, too.

I believed that - and I guess I still do.

So when you go -

*If I let you go, is not said, but heard; nevermind whether or not Meg has any power to give permission -*

- you've got no excuse for not bringing her back.

River's head jerks up, and she stares at Meg, startled and hurt and furious, eyes blazing.

"Said I would. She said. What it means. She took the sword. She knows. Going to help her."

*Meg's eyes meet River's squarely.*

I'm not you.

I can't know things unless you say them.

I thought you probably knew what it meant - before what's - anyways, I tried to tell you often enough, just to be sure, but I've never known. How could I?

It's too important to take on faith.

River's eyes drop first.

One hand is tight around the pendant she wears -- a gold elephant head, cheap but pretty.

"She's Anthy."

Oui, *Meg agrees; her hands again gripping each other, for lack of anything else to hold onto.*

That's why.

River is silent.

Her knuckles are white, and the elephant's trunk digs into her palm.

Tu comprends, je pense, *Meg says, and she is not shaking; she will, later, but not here, and not now.

And then realizes what she's said, and twists herself back into the foreign language -*

You understand me, I think.

"Gemini," River says, low.

It's not entirely clear whom she's talking about.

. . . even, *Meg says, suddenly weary* if I don't understand you.

*For the first time, her eyes leave River's face; down to her hands, clutching the elephant necklace.

And Meg turns to go.*

River hunches in on herself a fraction more, and stares at nothing.

*Meg walks out of the greenhouse, and does not look back.

Her steps are steady for a long, long ways, until she's into the forest, cloaked by the trees and well out of sight of the open glass.

And then she folds in on herself, arms wrapping around her knees, and shakes and shakes in every well-trained muscle, and stares at the tree in front of her with dry, aching eyes.*

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