For the moment that Freya's Door is open, a bedroom can be glimpsed beyond it, sheets rumpled from a night of sleep. Freya has only seen it the once and isn't particularly attached
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-- how the hell that happened, all torn up like Doc Cullen said. Demon bunnies're nasty little fuckers, but Christ in a teacup.
At a table near the Front Door, Ben shifts in his seat and lifts his eyes from his dog-eared sketchbook, letting his attention wander around the crowded bar.
Ain't much of a talker, he thinks as he watches her go. Ain't much of a liar, either.
He closes his sketchbook and picks up his hat; he should go check on Gabriel in the stables.
No telling what's out there.
With one last look the young woman's way -- and for what it's worth (not much, truth be told, but still), he really does hope she'll be all right -- he heads for the back door, right hand hovering over the holster at his hip.
As she passes River, Freya raises a hand to her throat, almost absently, and swallows. She's not thirsty (she thinks), but the power of suggestion, even crazy voices-in-her-head suggestion, is great.
The sight of the young woman's pale throat makes the hunger in River spike. Oh heavens, prey. Submissive prey. Is this what Richard meant by they smell good all the time? She looks so helpless and lost. I should say something. Strong mint tea, or chai, perhaps, something to block out the scents.
She asks bar for something strong to drink. A cup of dark black coffee appears and River wrinkles her nose. But she drinks it, and a bit of the tension seems to dissipate.
Her intent gaze never leaves the young woman's form.
She beckons the girl to her table. "Dr. River Song, 52nd Century, Outer Reaches. Are you new to Milliways?"
Not a telepath? Can you hear me? I'm so sorry, it's been many many years since I've worked with a telepath. I have no manners at all. Then again, I have no manners when I'm speaking. Which she'll find out soon enough, I imagine.
At a table near the Front Door, Ben shifts in his seat and lifts his eyes from his dog-eared sketchbook, letting his attention wander around the crowded bar.
God help me if the Kid's a singer.
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At 'demon bunnies', her face twists into something a little- startled? amused?- and rests one hand briefly on the chair opposite to him, for balance.
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He looks up, smile tempered with concern.
"Y'all right, miss?"
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Walking... away. This is.
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He closes his sketchbook and picks up his hat; he should go check on Gabriel in the stables.
No telling what's out there.
With one last look the young woman's way -- and for what it's worth (not much, truth be told, but still), he really does hope she'll be all right -- he heads for the back door, right hand hovering over the holster at his hip.
No such thing as too careful, not right now.
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She asks bar for something strong to drink. A cup of dark black coffee appears and River wrinkles her nose. But she drinks it, and a bit of the tension seems to dissipate.
Her intent gaze never leaves the young woman's form.
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"Are you-" she mouthes, not quite making the necessary sound to reach River.
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Her smile is broad and genuine as she calls to the young woman. "Sorry! Didn't realise. Will try to keep it down."
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"What?"
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Not a telepath? Can you hear me? I'm so sorry, it's been many many years since I've worked with a telepath. I have no manners at all. Then again, I have no manners when I'm speaking. Which she'll find out soon enough, I imagine.
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She shakes her head repeatedly.
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"Is everything all right?"
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The running away is probably a no.
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