(Untitled)

[river_meimei]

River's perched on a barstool, her ankles wound around the rungs. In front of her is a mug of hot chocolate, piled precariously high with whipped cream and foam. There are sprinkles of something green on top

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[river_meimei]

It is, and very tasty! Bar's good at this.

River doesn't seem to have noticed yet; she's studying the Rubik's cube, head cocked slightly sideways.

But her eyes darted Elle's way, just once, and back to the polished maple of Bar.

[river_meimei]

"It's New Year's."

River means that as an explanation, and it's clear in her tone; this is meant to be helpful.

This, too, might be a gesture. Or perhaps it's only River being River.

[river_meimei]

River's mouth quirks in a tiny smile, there and gone; it doesn't quite fit right, but she's trying.

"Presents for the season."

[river_meimei]

River watches her carefully. Not quite warily, but -- almost.

But she doesn't say anything.

[river_meimei]

River is very still.

Her gaze slides up to Elle's face, drifts a little past, and back again. This is a different silence; she's waiting, listening, and not saying a word to interrupt.

[river_meimei]

"I promise."

River, when she wants to be, is good with secrets.

She means it.

[river_meimei]

River waits.

Talking, she often isn't good at. This, though, she is.

[river_meimei]

River's toes are pressed against the barstool's wooden rungs. Her fingers spread slowly against the pink fabric of her skirt, feeling the texture of fabric and folds.

Her eyes are on Elle.