In the back of my mind I know nothing will change

[biverbam]

River is feeling agitated, like there's a splinter in her finger (in her brain) called 'Chicago shì fàngzòng fēngkuáng de jié' and it won't work itself out no matter what she tries. Sleep hasn't even been a terribly friendly option thus far, full of running (chassé échappé sauté but the moves are stiff and stolid leaving the review for this

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[threetowonder]

The Other's actually been in the Conrad basement more recently, instead of indulging in his usual solitary wandering.

The sight of a young -- and, from the feel of her, very psychic -- girl industriously tearing papers to shreds...

Well, that's new.

He sends out a polite psychic ping, just a simple :: ??? :: to ascertain if she's amiable to conversation, and for a moment, he feels a brief pang for Gallifrey before the Pythia's curse... A constant hum of psychic communication, back then, everyone's thoughts thick in the air... And then after, when there were no more children... That was when the walls went up, when the world became so very quiet.

None of which matters here and now.

[[OOC: The Other's... A bit interesting. I'll have to run over to River's journal to give details in the permissions meme, since he's a relatively obscure bit of Whoniverse canon, but there are all sorts of interesting things she might pluck out of his head, and she should feel free to do so.]]

[biverbam]

Ksshhhshsshcht--cht.

River's mind is on her work, as much as that can be considered one place. Numbers and messages, broken down into more messages, as many as there are words in her lap. And she can keep anything in about as well as she can keep it out, this spills over like the bits of blank paper off the side of the desk and onto the floor.

When she gets the :: ??? :: she looks up, stuck somewhere between shock and curiosity, work momentarily forgotten at the nudge.

She knocks her knuckles against the desk twice as she looks at him (River doesn't know how to do psychic pings yet) as an answer, then looks down at the desk. Apparently the space between shock and curiosity is confusion.

"It isn't locked yet." Beat. "I'm working."

And she pulls a larger scrap of blank paper toward her to write down a series of numbers and equations labeled 'Key.'

[threetowonder]

The Other moves closer to the desk, raising an eyebrow at the equations. There's something wrong with this girl, something... Difficult to define without prying further.

The numbers, the equations, the scraps of words... There's something there, messages in pieces, perhaps her very mind in pieces.

Whatever logic's constructing them is just slightly off from the mathematical terms that formed the basis of what he'd come to know as Gallifreyan language. There's something familiar in what she's doing, yet completely alien. It's fascinating and disturbing all at once.

He considers for a moment, then appropriates an untorn piece of paper and writes out his own series of equations -- perhaps it's a suggestion, perhaps simply a commentary -- and offers it to her.

[biverbam]

River continues her work when he takes the page. Continues as he writes and then for a few moments after he offers it. Distracted by the work she's doing because words won't tear and arrange themselves.

(She has to make sure it will go through, and this isn't the first letter she's had to hide in itself. Isn't the first letter she's sent to her brother when she can't see him, but she will see him because he (SimonSimonSimon) is always there to find her. Except when he's not.)

Finally, she takes the page and studies it, curious and searching before finally breaking from the dismantling of words to take another blank, untorn sheet so she can start attempting to work through these new equations. Foreign, but if there's any universal language, it would have to be numbers.

It's a welcome distraction, purposeful, and it's probably a small comfort that she's not being intentionally rude and ignoring the Other's presence. She's just unintentionally rude and has forgotten, for now, that he's even there.

[findaconstant]

Dan was heading for the elevator. Now? Not so much. He's stopped, now, standing there and watching River with a slightly puzzled expression. It's not that he's mentally questioning who she is - there are plenty of people down here he hasn't met yet - he's just trying to figure out what she's doing.

Or, rather, why she's doing it.

She's probably just bored. He wouldn't blame her.

[biverbam]

River lets him stare for a few minutes before writing another equation and holding it up right in his face. She's not looking at him, though, and is instead focusing on scribbling notes on a blank piece of paper.

"Needs to be between five and twenty but still half red. On the left."

Hello, Dan. That hand and tinytiny bit of paper in front of your face is full of the expectation that you proofread her maths.

[findaconstant]

He squints, eyes flicking across the equation. He doesn't know what she means by whatever it was she just said, but he knows what those numbers are and he's better at understanding those than he is at understanding people.

Well, usually. He's getting better at the 'understanding people' part.

"You need to write in the solution," he points out, leaning back on his heels.

[biverbam]

River pulls it back and looks over it for a moment before scribbling it in.

23

Her pencil hovers over it for a few moments before she finally seems satisfied and holds it back up to his face. "Tinged orange on the side but it should be discernible."

There's the smallest hint of 'right?' and the need for confirmation in her voice.

[lastchancefor]

Dirty, dirty, dirty. She feels so dirty, like she's sweat through all of her clothes and the grime has accumulated in it. How long has it been since she's taken a proper shower? Far too long. She will take Jamal to the Conrad soon. So he can get a proper shower, too. And she will take some food from the kitchen. That, along with the food she picked up at work today would make a great feast for them tonight.

She is also going to do laundry. It really is useless showering if you don't have clean clothes to get into. So there is a skinny little thing fumbling with a bag of laundry and food as she gets off of the lift. She pauses to drop the bag of laundry on the desk, just so she can get her bearings, when she notices the paper.

Jo just stares at it for a few moments, trying to make sense of it. The letters. They're hard enough to put together anyway.

[biverbam]

There isn't much sense to be made, yet. Later, maybe, depending on who sees the message, but for right now she's still in the process of destruction before reconstruction.

River notices the smell nearby first, food and sweat, but she's nice enough (somehow) to not mention it. Not like she was much better in that department when she first showed up. She can also catch the tinge of run distrust hunger fight run, and though most of it is wholly unfamiliar there's some basics there that are universal.

Slowly, River slides a piece over to Jo, only looking up from her scribbles a second to establish that she's actually still there. A copy of a page she's already made her way through. "Dismantling helps."

Then, distracted now, another kssshhshcht, another word, and it drops into her lap.

[lastchancefor]

It would be easier for Jo to make sense of it if she could read at a third grade level. She looks down at the paper before her, trying to break down the words. Dismantling.

She doesn't know why, but she pulls up a chair, sitting down, getting a closer look at the paper, squinting at it. There's so much she needs to do right now, but there's also something alluring about the sound the paper makes as it tears. She nods slowly, ripping off a word herself, and pushes it towards River, almost like an offering.

[biverbam]

She nods and slides the word off the edge and into her lap. And then River leans over, just a little, and whispers conspiratorially, "I'm making a code."

Maybe she's confiding because Jo is helping her, or maybe it's because she knows that when she's finished Jo won't be able to figure it out and do anything untoward with the message, or maybe even that she knows the importance of secrecy when that secret is shared. River will place her bets on it being the last one as she leans back into place and kssshshhchts another word, though there's parts of all of it involved.

[allmydiredreams]

Babel's also in the Conrad. She figured she would poke by, now that she's more immediately in the neighborhood. Besides, she can only stand so much of the Kashtta, and not in the usual 'don't like staying in one place way'. She's a little worried that if she stays there too long she'll lose herself, the walls will come down and the rhythms edge in and she'll leave anyway and actually be lost. Not the sort of purposefully lost she makes herself get in the city intentionally.

She's distracted, momentarily, by River's beats -- still human, but broken, the vibrations intense and mushed together in her sternum. Not to say that most of the people she walks by aren't broken, that those beats aren't similar in a way, just...these are new. New person. New people are good to focus on.

So here, River, you get a Babel leaning over the desk and watching you intently, holding herself still, for once, like a cat. "What if they wanted a key?" she finally asks. Never mind who 'they' are. That sort of thing rarely ever matters.

[biverbam]

River would argue that new people are difficult and complex and confusing and don't bring anything close to focus, let alone any kind of good focus.

Babel is not exactly helping in this, but River is trying hard to keep her eyes on the papers. On all the words and numbers she's working with. On her mission, self-involved and self-serving though it may be.

"Lock-picking is better," she starts over the sound of more ksshshhcht. "Tempt the dog, steal the key. Gets beaten. Work and the mechanisms talk to let you move."

Pause. Kssshhhhhhshshhcht. A pointed look at Babel.

"It's more honest."

Then she's down again, scribbling, tearing.

[allmydiredreams]

Babel thinks, looks up at the building like she's listening to it for a second (she's not, not that she can't always feel it, but inanimate is an always-there hum rather than anything distracting, except for the tower). Then she shrugs. "Most people can't pick a keycard lock," she points out.

It's more honest. She likes that. She doesn't necessarily agree with it, but she likes the idea of it.

That thought gets stowed away to mull over later, though it's still turning over in the back of her mind, and she focuses back on what River's doing. She's getting a manic feeling from the broken girl, but she has no idea what's going on. And she's curious. But she's not going to say anything yet. Just watch quietly for now, leaning over the counter.

[biverbam]

River watches Babel listen-not-listen slyly as she tears another word. Like she's watching something that shouldn't be seen, the endless motion of molecules, atoms, electrons, and this shouldn't be visible. Not really. Not entirely.

When she turns back, though, River's eyes go down to her papers and scribblings. "Aren't trying hard enough," she points right back, then continues tearing and writing.

[clanoftheswords]

Farley eyes River with a certain amount of boredom-inspired curiosity. There's also just a hint of concern as memories of Fred scribbling on the walls make an unwanted appearance.

He watches her for a minute as she tears and writes, trying to decide if he should talk to her. With Fred, she at least looked like she had something in mind; with River, not so much.

He slowly approaches the desk. "Hello there."

[biverbam]

"Nĭ hăo," she says.

Polite, clipped, formal.

It puts a hitch in her movements like the skip of a record (kssh-kssh-kssh-ksshhcht), and it takes a long, heavy moment before she can get back on track.

River is getting very tired of all the faces people see instead of hers. They're starting to drag her features down into the storm of an identity crisis, and there's no way that can end well.

[clanoftheswords]

Farley stares at her for a moment, a little puzzled. He's savvy enough to maybe guess at what language she's speaking, but beyond what he thinks might be a "hello"? Nada.

"Mm-hm." He presses on, trying to appear casual. "So... what are you up to?"

[biverbam]

River keeps scribbling, mid-equation, and then drops it in her lap. She's got a considerable mountain now so that there's a very audible rustle noise when she pats it down.

"Preparing," she answers simply and easily with only the shortest of eyebrow-raised glances in his direction before she picks up another page and starts again.