Gingerbread Souvenirs
WHO: Archer, River Tam
WHERE: Mos Eisley Cantina
WHEN: Tuesday, September 19th
WHAT: Seeking a reprieve from dodging the Alliance, River begins Gate-hopping on her own. Her travels bring her to Mos Eisley, and it isn't long before a Red Knight steps into her world of metaphors, allegories, and moon language.
River Tam doesn't really like wearing boots too often. It lacks the texture afforded by her bare feet. But there are just some instances where it's best to keep one's feet covered. And in a bar filled with hundreds of drunk races that frequently puke, and sometimes puke acid, then it's really for the best.
A few heads turn, watching the long-haired girl drift into the pub. Most don't stare for long. She doesn't seem particularly special, and she doesn't seem afraid in the slightest. Her dark eyes constantly move, taking in everything there is to see, and everything there is to feel. Occasionally one or two will cause River to suddenly skitter backwards, flinching from thoughts of violence and horror, but not too often. She only winces twice before finding a small and unoccupied table. Her head tilts, and her brow furrows for a moment in curiosity. Slim fingers drift over the back of the chair, feeling the warm iron chipped and scarred, and she slowly settles to take her seat.
Not exactly one of the places the Red Knight would ever think to settledown in with a house and white picket fence. The desert landscape was arrid and naturally sandy, it reminded him of his own personal desolate world, but all the same he hadn't spun around on one heel and headed right back into the hub. For one, he'd heard about a specific bar, 'cantina' more precisely from the chat he eavesdropped on or with a few questions to some travellers he'd happened across. Dangerous, questionable, yet have the right amount of money...and anything seemed possible, and attainable.
It sounded interesting enough to the bored Servant who had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of the main Terminal such that he'd give it a shot. That and it was in a world more futuristic than his native origins, not a fact that would unnerve him or make him all bambi eyed at the first sight of a blaster...but he had an inherant attraction to the complicated mechanics and science behind some of the items and weapons.
So there he was, another humanoid who entered with a quiet confidence like others before him. His clothing wasn't something to boggle over when compared to some of the other denizens of Mos Eisley, but it carried its own strangeness. And he was also unarmed. Since everyone here had some trick up their sleeves, most would assume they were hidden, the unworried look he had about him would convince them.
But that was Archer in this maelstrom of emotion and mental chatter, a sinkhole of placid unbroken mirror surfaces. Curious to be certain, he took in the interior of the morals-free pit avidly despite the stoic appearance of his face. His eyes were attentitive and intense as he swept them unobtrusively as he walked towards the bar. Or atleast that was his general direction.
He didn't come here to try some exotic stomach turning beverages...but to listen and observe. Much like River sitting alone, perhaps one of the most normal looking individuals-- her appearances making his gaze linger longer on her than all the rest. And what secrets did she hold? Alone in this environment.
No heroic notions had occured to him, but all the same his steps altered their path.
River Tam's gaze is also attracted to the unusual. In this case, another human like herself. Her eyebrows draw inward as she tips to the side to get a better look. Human, and yet...not quite... At least, that's the impression she gets. It's hard to pick up surface thoughts in a place this busy. She could if she concentrated, but she's smart enough to know that's a bad idea with the current clientele. She pulls one knee to her chest, the ruffled pink skirt drifting back over her long, thin legs to reveal the black spandex shorts she wears beneath. River props a chin on her knee, eyes rolling with raised brow to eye the bug-eyed butt-shaped-cranium'd musicians. Now that's something you don't see every day. Still...time and time again she looks back at Archer, and her fingers lightly drum on the bare skin of her shin. There's a faint smile on her lips as he seems to be drifting her way. "You're not Lancelot," she murmurs.
Being what he was, even who he was there was little detail within the Cantina that hadn't been lost to Archer. People and placement, their motion within the peripheral were all noted out of habit as he walked...each assuming a place in a mental map he carried perpetually within his mind. His mind...the latter being quite an enigma for any telepath in that it wasn't as easy to grasp despite the belied human attributes. Much like how anyone sharp enough could read nuances and subtle infflections with just experience, the emotions that bled from him would be simpler to get a hang off. Had the other been his Master, it could have clarified into crystal thought, words, images and all.
She wouldn't know it, but the Servant had been undecided whether or not he should bother her at all-- it wasn't his nature to randomly stroll up to a stranger in a cliched manner lest he had some ulterior motive. Undecided till she uttered those three words. The edges of his eyes crinkled for a blink in time, and one end of his mouth tugged upwards in a faint smirk.
"You're right." He said in quiet tones, some wry amusement edging them as he came to a halt at her table. Had he somehow heard her over the din? No, he'd read her lips-- she might aswell have screamed it at him. He didn't make to sit down and join her, instead his inscrutable gaze studied her closely, his thoughts his own but his curiousity clear. "I'm not Lancelot." He wasn't even Saber Class, but he already knew that wasn't what she meant.
Curious indeed.
"Any reason in particular for making such an assessment, young miss." He persued with his unobtrusive manner, one that failed to entirely hide the complex character beneath.
River Tam shrugs a little, her gaze lingering on something big blue and furry in the corner. Then she looks up at Archer again, with one quick up-and-down skim, as though noticing him for the first time. This isn't the case, of course. Her eyes are bright and sharp, like a raven's, but tinged with that certain something that only the feverish seem to possess. "Not in particular." River lays her cheek on her knee, peeking up at Lancer as a stray strand of wavy brown hair drifts across her face. She looks like she could stand a decent shampooing. "Maybe you forgot who you are. I'm not Guinivere either," she remarks cryptically.
There was a word one called eyes such as those, often abused and misused. In this case Archer was somewhat certain it applied here, crazy. Insanity could suit the picture aswell, though it was impossible to be at once lucid and off the 'deep end'. It all depended on where one stood afterall, the frameset of a mind subjective. Archer had a rolling opinion, one that changed with each new fact, and what he noticed foremost to anything else, was the intelligence that lurked behind that pall of eccentricacy.
The bowyer was silent for a moment, shifting to rest a hand upon his hip as he adjusted the distribution of his weight entirely on one foot. The crimsone trail fluttered with the movement, his regard never budging. He didn't care for the accuracy of her vague and enigmatic observations either. It at once irked and disturbed, but those that didn't see along straight lines could see around corners no 'ordinary' person could. He could recognise and understand that.
"If you're not Guinivere, and I'm not Lancelot, then who are we? Or have you forgotten who you are." He didn't comment on if he had forgotten who he was, he had...once. Had she seen it? That would be troublesome. Archer knew who he was again though. He'd play her little verbal game for now, there was nothing else grabbing his attention more.
Nothing would.
River Tam blinks once. And she suddenly breaks out with a delighted smile, as bright as a child's and looking as if she's on the verge of laughter. No 'you're crazy, sister' remarks? No edging away? Intrigue. Curiosity. Maybe a little worry. But just the same, the change is nice, and somewhat refreshing. "I'm River," she replies. Her knee gently slides down, and she extends her hand. "But which name should I call you?" She wouldn't ask, of course, if she didn't know. It's true that she could dig, but because she likes this man, she sees no need to do any such thing. There's no reason to. She doesn't feel any sort of threat roiling off of him in black, oily waves that can choke the sense out of someone.
There's conflict, though. A lot of it. Inside himself, outside with others, a longing for more...a longing for purpose? River's smile fades. It isn't like she wants to pry. And she could very well be wrong. She seldom is, but it /does/ happen. "I think the chair wants you to sit in it," she gestures with a movement of her head at the seat opposing her.
It took quite a bit to make the Servant balk, and certainly not something of this nature. He was someone who was accustomed to spouting off his own enigmatic sentences, choosing to lead another with hints than outrightly declaring. It was true he didn't care for it so much when it was levelled against him, but the Heroic Spirit did enjoy a challenge. "You can call me Archer." Call didn't mean it was his name, but then she hadn't asked him specifically for 'his name'. He wasn't Emiya Shirou anymore anyways, and neither was he the totally disallusioned Archer. He was both, each interlocked to become one, acknowledging both sides.
For simplicity's sake, he choose the Holy Grail's Class bequeathed to him. Archer was perhaps better than his old name, closer.
The white-haired man raised his brows at her guesture and her suggestion. It wasn't that she had asked him to join her that earned such a reaction, but the manner in which it was phrased. Truely an intriguing girl, and the mind it housed...broken or not, he wasn't so certain. "Well if you believe it does..." Yes, definately amused in his own fashion though he didn't smile, matching her seriousness. He was taking her without the ridicule some might want to scorn her with. "Who am I to refuse?" Archer was a bastard, a rude impertinent fellow when he had a mind too. But this is what he wanted.
When he was settled, he lounged within the chair as if he owned it, utterly comfortable with his leg folded across the knee, an arm resting lightly on the back and the other with fingers stretched on the sketchy table-top. So then. "You're not like many others I've met River, I say this not to insult. It is a trait that defines you." He says suddenly, openly. Vague but not. Since she seemed to be analyzing him in her own way whether she meant too or not. "Finding you in this cesspit is unexpected." He remarked mildly. She wouldn't pry? "Are you here simply for the scenery..." His smirk deepened, "Or there is a greater purpose." Like reeling in random strangers with your identifying talk.
River Tam looks away for a moment, pressing her lips together. Perhaps to enjoy the simple scenery? Her words come slowly, dreamily, though her eyes are strangely focused. "They don't know about the Gate. Can't find it. Can't follow. Standing on the riverbank, watching the fox swim away with the laughing gingerbread man." She mutters something sharply in Chinese. Then she smiles, crookedly. "Might give them a toothache, anyway..."
Now her attention returns to Archer once more. If that's what he wishes to be called, then so be it. She likes him. He's one of the very few that takes her as she is and accepts it. The only other she can think of to do so was Inara. Even her brother wasn't quite sure how to handle things (though he did try, the loveable boob). Seeing Archer relax, River slouches in her chair in mild imitation. One boot crosses the other at the ankle, and she leans one arm across the back of her chair. "And you?"
Unlike some persons who might get caught up with the string of non sequiturs, Archer sifted and discarded what he considered to be unapplicable to the present situation. Not forgotten, just put aside like one would the other letters in a word-puzzle when searching for a specific in a sea of letters. "They?" he querried. He'd seen what passed for security here on Tattoine, 'storm troopers' in their white armour patrolling outside with the stiffness of their self-importance marking their stride. He didn't link the two, only because she had mentioned the Gate. He studied her as his own thoughts mulled over her embedded replies. Running?
Ironically not many would believe the man seated at the table with her to be an understanding sort. He was able to read people with some measure of accuracy, to his own annoyance when it lead down a path he didn't desire. Only a precious few escaped his ascerbic tongue, but he felt some of that would be simply lost to her. Or feed further her knowledge of the Servant's psyche. "I am...on vacation."
The way that he said it, it left little doubt he thought the sentence an incongruous thing. Archer flashed her a silent laugh with a glimpse of white teeth. Almost preditory when matched with the fierceness of his gaze. "It is the scenery for me." He confesses with a shrug, idly noting her reflecting posture. "You may question my taste, but I did find you in it, didn't I." He rapped his fingers on the rough surface of the table. Vacation? It was a euphimism for trying to catch his balance again, with regained footing start his quest anew. "Admittedly I have been toying with ending the vacation, but I have yet to find a reason to do so." Ah, so there it was.
He was still searching, maybe not for himself, but for something more.
River Tam laughs. She does find his vacation to be direly ironic, but it amuses her. She toys with the idea of likening Mos Eisley to Not-Camelot, but discards it. She's lost interest in the King Arthur tales. It's the future that's interesting. Isn't that right, Archer?
So, she merely nods, studying him again. It's that sense of purpose that seems to flicker in the corners of her mind, and a desire to fulfill it. But what kind of purpose? She resists the urge to dig. It's more interesting to hear it from his own lips. Waiting until he's finished his tattoo upon the table, River follows with a light refrain of her own. If he's really sharp, he might note that she just tapped out 'blue' in Morse code. Why, who can say? But blue is on her mind, and it filters through her nerves all the way to her slender hand. "Maybe you're just waiting for the perfect souvenir," she suggests.
A secretive creature, that is what Archer was of late. Not with his opinions, those he gave freely, whether you wanted them or not, but of himself. His identity-- nothing. His fellow Servant, Lancer, didn't realise how he had already pegged his name before they had even met here in the corridor of passages. There was a price for being 'legendary'.
And his motives were his own.
What went on behind those grey-brown eyes of his were usually only known to himself lest he chose to drop a hint or two. Had River decided to dig, she might find that the red-garbed Servant would clam up and defer her to distraction. She would decover more once she let him lead. Or think to lead.
"A souvenir." It wasn't a question, he just echoed her wording. He cocked his head to the side, "I suppose if one were worth the trouble. Many end up being wortheless junk once the novelty has worn off, and I collect nothing of the sort." Junk. All double meanings, all filled with paragraphs between the lines. It was cathartic almost to speak to another who had some sense in them, and not some rabid mutt barking at any new bright shiny. Yes, he thought River had more sense than the Hound of Culann.
He'd love that.
But back to his own inquisition there. "Your traverse into these waters however carries far more weight apparently. Do you intend to stay here long, or is it merely a stepping stone to accrue further distance?" Running. He was certain of it.
River Tam smiles. So he IS looking for something. Something different. Perhaps he thought he'd find it in the thick of dozens of ugly aliens. But from what she picked up, he'd probably find nothing more than the 'junk' he sought to avoid. "You don't look like a collector," she murmurs.
But now it's her turn again to answer questions. "Not long," River replies with a faint shrug. "It isn't home. But it has a good sky." She just heard that the sunset was something remarkable, so, she came to see it. It isn't often that one gets to see two suns slowly sinking into the horizon. River's never seen such a thing, and now she wants to. "When it gets dark and colorless, I'll find a new fox."
What Archer was looking for couldn't be measured with coin nor by weight. It wasn't necessarily a person or an ideal. Truth was, he didn't know himself only when confronted would he recognise it. And who wasn't to say that it might be lurking in one of the most depraved depths of mankind, some jewel in the rough to borrow well used cliches. That he'd found a gem called River was further evidence of support for his distinctionless meanderings.
"I am not." Replying to her murmur whether she meant too or not. His smirk faded. "The more you collect, the more of a burden it can be." He seemed a bit more dour at the thought of it, but shook it off with the next. "But for that perfect souvenir if such a thing exists, I might make an exception." He chuckled, it was perhaps the darkest thing she'd hear from him thus far. Shrouded with bitter cynicism, he was quick to note her reaction.
"Clearer than most, atleast today." Much like any desert, the cloudless pristine blues could turn to the black sandblasting night of a storm a breath later. That it was the suns that had attracted her here he'd remain ignorant of, but he caught her drift about foxes and finding new ones. It might have even meant that today, tonight, she'd leave. But it was a connection even he couldn't leap too with just what he had been told.
"I see." His gaze flicked to a waiter that shuffled by, and said something in what passed for common speech here, he shook his head was all, though River had the oppourtunity to request something. He had no credits here. Maybe for the Hub he'd gathered a bit, but he had no intentions of ordering any food here. And to a person who could produce an imitation of most anything he saw...why should he bother? He had his own morals, but on the other hand...if pressed. It was a strange alien, partially covered with a breathing mask and clunk armour bits. Shell bits.
"What hunts the foxes, does it have a name?" A most definately prying question. Why should he care what chases the girl anyways? He wasn't a hero, no. All the same, curiousity.
River Tam giggles. "Nothing hunts the foxes!" It's the gingerbread man they're after. The foxes are merely what may eventually devour the gingerbread man once the water gets too deep. And Mos Eisley is definitely the kind of fox that can hold its breath, once submerged, for a dangerous amount of time.
But. The question now, is whether she can tell Archer about her problems. She's been vague and secretive so far. The more private she is, the easier it'll be to avoid Alliance sneaks. She leans forward a little bit, locks of hair drifting over her shoulders and brushing the old red sweater. Is he a fox, then? Or something different, something better? Answer hazy, try again. River's fingers still, lightly tracing invisible patterns on the table's surface. Her instincts are giving her the green light, so she'll trust them for now.
"They come in pairs. Always in pairs," she whispers, her eyes searching his with quick, darting movements. "Cheshire smiles. Hollow hearts. Blue hands, stained with blood." She flinches, suddenly, then leans back to suck in a deep gulp of air. "Someday they'll build a motorboat to cross the river. The fox will get mutilated by the motor blads. Znnrrrrk!" And it'll sound just like that. "The gingerbread man won't be laughing anymore."
Metaphors, euphimisms, allusions and insinuations...River ran the full gamut when explaining herself. It was to the point where Archer had to take a step back and re-examine everything with an analytical mind, and then one not so contrained by logic. Much like how in the twilight if you looked away from an object it came into better focus. Much of what the girl said was out of focus to blurred. 'Fox' was the keystone to everything-- what he had come to think of as hideouts very well could have other meanings.
Muchless gingerbread men.
It was safe to say that it made little sense to Archer. He was new to this world, he was new to many of the worlds connected to the Hub and these vague descriptions of an association, a cult, whatever, even a person went over his head. What he did wonder however, was just what 'they' sought from their quarry. No one chased anything without having a good reason too. Much like her eyes searched his, his did hers-- but steady. Unshakable almost...he'd been a rock of support for his old Master when he had followed her.
And when they found these foxes, there was a potiential for destruction. Death. Ah, the follies of other peoples, it wasn't so different. Somethings were universal.
I will remember." What you have said. Impossible at the moment, but what would he do if he came across these? Unknown. He owed River nothing, and he ignored what he may end up being inclined to for the time being. Too far into the future...and one he might remain uninvolved in.
He couldn't remain on vacation forever though.
The Red Knight leaned foward, his arms folded across the table as he did so while unfolding his legs. "Maybe the fox will be a fast swimmer, or maybe the boat might break down and sink into the water. What then, I wonder?" His smirk was back in full force, his own brand of arrogance showing through. "What then I wonder indeed." Archer canted his head, "Maybe you'll find a souvenir to remind you of this fox yourself." With that he rose, looking down at her. "A goodluck charm." He 'hmphed' softly, and then walked off, no more parting words, he'd said all he wanted right there, and he had a feeling she'd catch the meaning of most of it.
The tall figure disappeared in the shifting throng of persons and the misty atmosphere, but it wasn't just his person, but that signature specifying a specific mind. He hadn't gone out through the doors, but remained in spirit. Literally.
River Tam blinks a little, and leans all the way forward in avid curiosity. Her head turns, this way and that, as her eyes search for visible traces of the Archer. And all the while, she smiles. "Ghosts aren't very good souvenirs," she chuckles. But oh well. Her fingers catch in her hair, twisting it round about, and she glances at the narrow slits where the sunlight seems to have dimmed slightly.
Her chair squeaks as she pushes it back and stands to her feet. And just as softly and gently as she'd drifted into the cantina, she drifts out again, leaving a coin in the tip jar for the bartender, and walking up the small set of stairs that exits into the hot and arid deserts of Tatooine. There's a sunset out there that she doesn't want to miss.
WHERE: Mos Eisley Cantina
WHEN: Tuesday, September 19th
WHAT: Seeking a reprieve from dodging the Alliance, River begins Gate-hopping on her own. Her travels bring her to Mos Eisley, and it isn't long before a Red Knight steps into her world of metaphors, allegories, and moon language.
River Tam doesn't really like wearing boots too often. It lacks the texture afforded by her bare feet. But there are just some instances where it's best to keep one's feet covered. And in a bar filled with hundreds of drunk races that frequently puke, and sometimes puke acid, then it's really for the best.
A few heads turn, watching the long-haired girl drift into the pub. Most don't stare for long. She doesn't seem particularly special, and she doesn't seem afraid in the slightest. Her dark eyes constantly move, taking in everything there is to see, and everything there is to feel. Occasionally one or two will cause River to suddenly skitter backwards, flinching from thoughts of violence and horror, but not too often. She only winces twice before finding a small and unoccupied table. Her head tilts, and her brow furrows for a moment in curiosity. Slim fingers drift over the back of the chair, feeling the warm iron chipped and scarred, and she slowly settles to take her seat.
Not exactly one of the places the Red Knight would ever think to settledown in with a house and white picket fence. The desert landscape was arrid and naturally sandy, it reminded him of his own personal desolate world, but all the same he hadn't spun around on one heel and headed right back into the hub. For one, he'd heard about a specific bar, 'cantina' more precisely from the chat he eavesdropped on or with a few questions to some travellers he'd happened across. Dangerous, questionable, yet have the right amount of money...and anything seemed possible, and attainable.
It sounded interesting enough to the bored Servant who had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of the main Terminal such that he'd give it a shot. That and it was in a world more futuristic than his native origins, not a fact that would unnerve him or make him all bambi eyed at the first sight of a blaster...but he had an inherant attraction to the complicated mechanics and science behind some of the items and weapons.
So there he was, another humanoid who entered with a quiet confidence like others before him. His clothing wasn't something to boggle over when compared to some of the other denizens of Mos Eisley, but it carried its own strangeness. And he was also unarmed. Since everyone here had some trick up their sleeves, most would assume they were hidden, the unworried look he had about him would convince them.
But that was Archer in this maelstrom of emotion and mental chatter, a sinkhole of placid unbroken mirror surfaces. Curious to be certain, he took in the interior of the morals-free pit avidly despite the stoic appearance of his face. His eyes were attentitive and intense as he swept them unobtrusively as he walked towards the bar. Or atleast that was his general direction.
He didn't come here to try some exotic stomach turning beverages...but to listen and observe. Much like River sitting alone, perhaps one of the most normal looking individuals-- her appearances making his gaze linger longer on her than all the rest. And what secrets did she hold? Alone in this environment.
No heroic notions had occured to him, but all the same his steps altered their path.
River Tam's gaze is also attracted to the unusual. In this case, another human like herself. Her eyebrows draw inward as she tips to the side to get a better look. Human, and yet...not quite... At least, that's the impression she gets. It's hard to pick up surface thoughts in a place this busy. She could if she concentrated, but she's smart enough to know that's a bad idea with the current clientele. She pulls one knee to her chest, the ruffled pink skirt drifting back over her long, thin legs to reveal the black spandex shorts she wears beneath. River props a chin on her knee, eyes rolling with raised brow to eye the bug-eyed butt-shaped-cranium'd musicians. Now that's something you don't see every day. Still...time and time again she looks back at Archer, and her fingers lightly drum on the bare skin of her shin. There's a faint smile on her lips as he seems to be drifting her way. "You're not Lancelot," she murmurs.
Being what he was, even who he was there was little detail within the Cantina that hadn't been lost to Archer. People and placement, their motion within the peripheral were all noted out of habit as he walked...each assuming a place in a mental map he carried perpetually within his mind. His mind...the latter being quite an enigma for any telepath in that it wasn't as easy to grasp despite the belied human attributes. Much like how anyone sharp enough could read nuances and subtle infflections with just experience, the emotions that bled from him would be simpler to get a hang off. Had the other been his Master, it could have clarified into crystal thought, words, images and all.
She wouldn't know it, but the Servant had been undecided whether or not he should bother her at all-- it wasn't his nature to randomly stroll up to a stranger in a cliched manner lest he had some ulterior motive. Undecided till she uttered those three words. The edges of his eyes crinkled for a blink in time, and one end of his mouth tugged upwards in a faint smirk.
"You're right." He said in quiet tones, some wry amusement edging them as he came to a halt at her table. Had he somehow heard her over the din? No, he'd read her lips-- she might aswell have screamed it at him. He didn't make to sit down and join her, instead his inscrutable gaze studied her closely, his thoughts his own but his curiousity clear. "I'm not Lancelot." He wasn't even Saber Class, but he already knew that wasn't what she meant.
Curious indeed.
"Any reason in particular for making such an assessment, young miss." He persued with his unobtrusive manner, one that failed to entirely hide the complex character beneath.
River Tam shrugs a little, her gaze lingering on something big blue and furry in the corner. Then she looks up at Archer again, with one quick up-and-down skim, as though noticing him for the first time. This isn't the case, of course. Her eyes are bright and sharp, like a raven's, but tinged with that certain something that only the feverish seem to possess. "Not in particular." River lays her cheek on her knee, peeking up at Lancer as a stray strand of wavy brown hair drifts across her face. She looks like she could stand a decent shampooing. "Maybe you forgot who you are. I'm not Guinivere either," she remarks cryptically.
There was a word one called eyes such as those, often abused and misused. In this case Archer was somewhat certain it applied here, crazy. Insanity could suit the picture aswell, though it was impossible to be at once lucid and off the 'deep end'. It all depended on where one stood afterall, the frameset of a mind subjective. Archer had a rolling opinion, one that changed with each new fact, and what he noticed foremost to anything else, was the intelligence that lurked behind that pall of eccentricacy.
The bowyer was silent for a moment, shifting to rest a hand upon his hip as he adjusted the distribution of his weight entirely on one foot. The crimsone trail fluttered with the movement, his regard never budging. He didn't care for the accuracy of her vague and enigmatic observations either. It at once irked and disturbed, but those that didn't see along straight lines could see around corners no 'ordinary' person could. He could recognise and understand that.
"If you're not Guinivere, and I'm not Lancelot, then who are we? Or have you forgotten who you are." He didn't comment on if he had forgotten who he was, he had...once. Had she seen it? That would be troublesome. Archer knew who he was again though. He'd play her little verbal game for now, there was nothing else grabbing his attention more.
Nothing would.
River Tam blinks once. And she suddenly breaks out with a delighted smile, as bright as a child's and looking as if she's on the verge of laughter. No 'you're crazy, sister' remarks? No edging away? Intrigue. Curiosity. Maybe a little worry. But just the same, the change is nice, and somewhat refreshing. "I'm River," she replies. Her knee gently slides down, and she extends her hand. "But which name should I call you?" She wouldn't ask, of course, if she didn't know. It's true that she could dig, but because she likes this man, she sees no need to do any such thing. There's no reason to. She doesn't feel any sort of threat roiling off of him in black, oily waves that can choke the sense out of someone.
There's conflict, though. A lot of it. Inside himself, outside with others, a longing for more...a longing for purpose? River's smile fades. It isn't like she wants to pry. And she could very well be wrong. She seldom is, but it /does/ happen. "I think the chair wants you to sit in it," she gestures with a movement of her head at the seat opposing her.
It took quite a bit to make the Servant balk, and certainly not something of this nature. He was someone who was accustomed to spouting off his own enigmatic sentences, choosing to lead another with hints than outrightly declaring. It was true he didn't care for it so much when it was levelled against him, but the Heroic Spirit did enjoy a challenge. "You can call me Archer." Call didn't mean it was his name, but then she hadn't asked him specifically for 'his name'. He wasn't Emiya Shirou anymore anyways, and neither was he the totally disallusioned Archer. He was both, each interlocked to become one, acknowledging both sides.
For simplicity's sake, he choose the Holy Grail's Class bequeathed to him. Archer was perhaps better than his old name, closer.
The white-haired man raised his brows at her guesture and her suggestion. It wasn't that she had asked him to join her that earned such a reaction, but the manner in which it was phrased. Truely an intriguing girl, and the mind it housed...broken or not, he wasn't so certain. "Well if you believe it does..." Yes, definately amused in his own fashion though he didn't smile, matching her seriousness. He was taking her without the ridicule some might want to scorn her with. "Who am I to refuse?" Archer was a bastard, a rude impertinent fellow when he had a mind too. But this is what he wanted.
When he was settled, he lounged within the chair as if he owned it, utterly comfortable with his leg folded across the knee, an arm resting lightly on the back and the other with fingers stretched on the sketchy table-top. So then. "You're not like many others I've met River, I say this not to insult. It is a trait that defines you." He says suddenly, openly. Vague but not. Since she seemed to be analyzing him in her own way whether she meant too or not. "Finding you in this cesspit is unexpected." He remarked mildly. She wouldn't pry? "Are you here simply for the scenery..." His smirk deepened, "Or there is a greater purpose." Like reeling in random strangers with your identifying talk.
River Tam looks away for a moment, pressing her lips together. Perhaps to enjoy the simple scenery? Her words come slowly, dreamily, though her eyes are strangely focused. "They don't know about the Gate. Can't find it. Can't follow. Standing on the riverbank, watching the fox swim away with the laughing gingerbread man." She mutters something sharply in Chinese. Then she smiles, crookedly. "Might give them a toothache, anyway..."
Now her attention returns to Archer once more. If that's what he wishes to be called, then so be it. She likes him. He's one of the very few that takes her as she is and accepts it. The only other she can think of to do so was Inara. Even her brother wasn't quite sure how to handle things (though he did try, the loveable boob). Seeing Archer relax, River slouches in her chair in mild imitation. One boot crosses the other at the ankle, and she leans one arm across the back of her chair. "And you?"
Unlike some persons who might get caught up with the string of non sequiturs, Archer sifted and discarded what he considered to be unapplicable to the present situation. Not forgotten, just put aside like one would the other letters in a word-puzzle when searching for a specific in a sea of letters. "They?" he querried. He'd seen what passed for security here on Tattoine, 'storm troopers' in their white armour patrolling outside with the stiffness of their self-importance marking their stride. He didn't link the two, only because she had mentioned the Gate. He studied her as his own thoughts mulled over her embedded replies. Running?
Ironically not many would believe the man seated at the table with her to be an understanding sort. He was able to read people with some measure of accuracy, to his own annoyance when it lead down a path he didn't desire. Only a precious few escaped his ascerbic tongue, but he felt some of that would be simply lost to her. Or feed further her knowledge of the Servant's psyche. "I am...on vacation."
The way that he said it, it left little doubt he thought the sentence an incongruous thing. Archer flashed her a silent laugh with a glimpse of white teeth. Almost preditory when matched with the fierceness of his gaze. "It is the scenery for me." He confesses with a shrug, idly noting her reflecting posture. "You may question my taste, but I did find you in it, didn't I." He rapped his fingers on the rough surface of the table. Vacation? It was a euphimism for trying to catch his balance again, with regained footing start his quest anew. "Admittedly I have been toying with ending the vacation, but I have yet to find a reason to do so." Ah, so there it was.
He was still searching, maybe not for himself, but for something more.
River Tam laughs. She does find his vacation to be direly ironic, but it amuses her. She toys with the idea of likening Mos Eisley to Not-Camelot, but discards it. She's lost interest in the King Arthur tales. It's the future that's interesting. Isn't that right, Archer?
So, she merely nods, studying him again. It's that sense of purpose that seems to flicker in the corners of her mind, and a desire to fulfill it. But what kind of purpose? She resists the urge to dig. It's more interesting to hear it from his own lips. Waiting until he's finished his tattoo upon the table, River follows with a light refrain of her own. If he's really sharp, he might note that she just tapped out 'blue' in Morse code. Why, who can say? But blue is on her mind, and it filters through her nerves all the way to her slender hand. "Maybe you're just waiting for the perfect souvenir," she suggests.
A secretive creature, that is what Archer was of late. Not with his opinions, those he gave freely, whether you wanted them or not, but of himself. His identity-- nothing. His fellow Servant, Lancer, didn't realise how he had already pegged his name before they had even met here in the corridor of passages. There was a price for being 'legendary'.
And his motives were his own.
What went on behind those grey-brown eyes of his were usually only known to himself lest he chose to drop a hint or two. Had River decided to dig, she might find that the red-garbed Servant would clam up and defer her to distraction. She would decover more once she let him lead. Or think to lead.
"A souvenir." It wasn't a question, he just echoed her wording. He cocked his head to the side, "I suppose if one were worth the trouble. Many end up being wortheless junk once the novelty has worn off, and I collect nothing of the sort." Junk. All double meanings, all filled with paragraphs between the lines. It was cathartic almost to speak to another who had some sense in them, and not some rabid mutt barking at any new bright shiny. Yes, he thought River had more sense than the Hound of Culann.
He'd love that.
But back to his own inquisition there. "Your traverse into these waters however carries far more weight apparently. Do you intend to stay here long, or is it merely a stepping stone to accrue further distance?" Running. He was certain of it.
River Tam smiles. So he IS looking for something. Something different. Perhaps he thought he'd find it in the thick of dozens of ugly aliens. But from what she picked up, he'd probably find nothing more than the 'junk' he sought to avoid. "You don't look like a collector," she murmurs.
But now it's her turn again to answer questions. "Not long," River replies with a faint shrug. "It isn't home. But it has a good sky." She just heard that the sunset was something remarkable, so, she came to see it. It isn't often that one gets to see two suns slowly sinking into the horizon. River's never seen such a thing, and now she wants to. "When it gets dark and colorless, I'll find a new fox."
What Archer was looking for couldn't be measured with coin nor by weight. It wasn't necessarily a person or an ideal. Truth was, he didn't know himself only when confronted would he recognise it. And who wasn't to say that it might be lurking in one of the most depraved depths of mankind, some jewel in the rough to borrow well used cliches. That he'd found a gem called River was further evidence of support for his distinctionless meanderings.
"I am not." Replying to her murmur whether she meant too or not. His smirk faded. "The more you collect, the more of a burden it can be." He seemed a bit more dour at the thought of it, but shook it off with the next. "But for that perfect souvenir if such a thing exists, I might make an exception." He chuckled, it was perhaps the darkest thing she'd hear from him thus far. Shrouded with bitter cynicism, he was quick to note her reaction.
"Clearer than most, atleast today." Much like any desert, the cloudless pristine blues could turn to the black sandblasting night of a storm a breath later. That it was the suns that had attracted her here he'd remain ignorant of, but he caught her drift about foxes and finding new ones. It might have even meant that today, tonight, she'd leave. But it was a connection even he couldn't leap too with just what he had been told.
"I see." His gaze flicked to a waiter that shuffled by, and said something in what passed for common speech here, he shook his head was all, though River had the oppourtunity to request something. He had no credits here. Maybe for the Hub he'd gathered a bit, but he had no intentions of ordering any food here. And to a person who could produce an imitation of most anything he saw...why should he bother? He had his own morals, but on the other hand...if pressed. It was a strange alien, partially covered with a breathing mask and clunk armour bits. Shell bits.
"What hunts the foxes, does it have a name?" A most definately prying question. Why should he care what chases the girl anyways? He wasn't a hero, no. All the same, curiousity.
River Tam giggles. "Nothing hunts the foxes!" It's the gingerbread man they're after. The foxes are merely what may eventually devour the gingerbread man once the water gets too deep. And Mos Eisley is definitely the kind of fox that can hold its breath, once submerged, for a dangerous amount of time.
But. The question now, is whether she can tell Archer about her problems. She's been vague and secretive so far. The more private she is, the easier it'll be to avoid Alliance sneaks. She leans forward a little bit, locks of hair drifting over her shoulders and brushing the old red sweater. Is he a fox, then? Or something different, something better? Answer hazy, try again. River's fingers still, lightly tracing invisible patterns on the table's surface. Her instincts are giving her the green light, so she'll trust them for now.
"They come in pairs. Always in pairs," she whispers, her eyes searching his with quick, darting movements. "Cheshire smiles. Hollow hearts. Blue hands, stained with blood." She flinches, suddenly, then leans back to suck in a deep gulp of air. "Someday they'll build a motorboat to cross the river. The fox will get mutilated by the motor blads. Znnrrrrk!" And it'll sound just like that. "The gingerbread man won't be laughing anymore."
Metaphors, euphimisms, allusions and insinuations...River ran the full gamut when explaining herself. It was to the point where Archer had to take a step back and re-examine everything with an analytical mind, and then one not so contrained by logic. Much like how in the twilight if you looked away from an object it came into better focus. Much of what the girl said was out of focus to blurred. 'Fox' was the keystone to everything-- what he had come to think of as hideouts very well could have other meanings.
Muchless gingerbread men.
It was safe to say that it made little sense to Archer. He was new to this world, he was new to many of the worlds connected to the Hub and these vague descriptions of an association, a cult, whatever, even a person went over his head. What he did wonder however, was just what 'they' sought from their quarry. No one chased anything without having a good reason too. Much like her eyes searched his, his did hers-- but steady. Unshakable almost...he'd been a rock of support for his old Master when he had followed her.
And when they found these foxes, there was a potiential for destruction. Death. Ah, the follies of other peoples, it wasn't so different. Somethings were universal.
I will remember." What you have said. Impossible at the moment, but what would he do if he came across these? Unknown. He owed River nothing, and he ignored what he may end up being inclined to for the time being. Too far into the future...and one he might remain uninvolved in.
He couldn't remain on vacation forever though.
The Red Knight leaned foward, his arms folded across the table as he did so while unfolding his legs. "Maybe the fox will be a fast swimmer, or maybe the boat might break down and sink into the water. What then, I wonder?" His smirk was back in full force, his own brand of arrogance showing through. "What then I wonder indeed." Archer canted his head, "Maybe you'll find a souvenir to remind you of this fox yourself." With that he rose, looking down at her. "A goodluck charm." He 'hmphed' softly, and then walked off, no more parting words, he'd said all he wanted right there, and he had a feeling she'd catch the meaning of most of it.
The tall figure disappeared in the shifting throng of persons and the misty atmosphere, but it wasn't just his person, but that signature specifying a specific mind. He hadn't gone out through the doors, but remained in spirit. Literally.
River Tam blinks a little, and leans all the way forward in avid curiosity. Her head turns, this way and that, as her eyes search for visible traces of the Archer. And all the while, she smiles. "Ghosts aren't very good souvenirs," she chuckles. But oh well. Her fingers catch in her hair, twisting it round about, and she glances at the narrow slits where the sunlight seems to have dimmed slightly.
Her chair squeaks as she pushes it back and stands to her feet. And just as softly and gently as she'd drifted into the cantina, she drifts out again, leaving a coin in the tip jar for the bartender, and walking up the small set of stairs that exits into the hot and arid deserts of Tatooine. There's a sunset out there that she doesn't want to miss.