It's one of those very late nights ( Read more... )

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It begins, as many things often do, with the misfortune of two people who merely happened to be coming through the right doorway at the wrong time.


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Seated gracefully on one of the bar stools is a teenaged girl sipping an orange soda ice cream float, legs tucked neatly under the stool, for balance.

Of a sort, anyway.

She probably won't object if someone should wish to speak to her. Or, at least, it won't be easy to tell, which is almost the same thing, right?

This isn't Serenity.

River doesn't seem overly bothered by this fact. She makes her way quickly to a couch and draws up her knees to rest her chin on and watch the comings and goings of Milliways patrons.

Come talk to the crazy psychic. She doesn't bite. Really.