count the bodies like sheep
who: River.
what: rough nights and twisted sheets. the singing hits her hard..
when: too early in the morning, too late at night.
where: xander & kaylee's
rating: PG
status: complete. closed.
"Go back to sleep..."
She turned back and forth in the nervous way, words rolling around in her mind and spilling from her mouth in harmonic waves, suppressed by blankets and muffled in the soft down of murdered geese.
"Go back to sleep..."
Her hands no longer felt like they belonged to her and her limbs were taking orders she hadn't given. They moved lithely and nervously an with impressive grace while managing to twist in the sheets into shackles as tight as iron.
"Don't fret precious, I'm here..."
Pink lips snarled in contemptuous melody. She hated they way her lips moved and the way her body didn't obey her -- but in this case what she really despised -- truly hated -- was her weakness. Because River needed others to survive.
"Step away from the window."
Singing is a talent like anything else. It requires practice and training and a honing of the fine skills (like moving the vocal cords and controlling the breath.) If River were a river, it would be a flow of potentials. The things that simply could be if she wanted them to. The talents she drew from others as she looked through the doors they opened with their body language, all these things could belong to her.
"Safe from pain -- and truth -- and choice. And other poison devils."
An enveloping sensation, yes, that was how she perceived love. A family and tender arms that held her in their nurturing way, expecting nothing and offering everything. Sanctuary was the correct noun. Sanctuary inside a blue box with the man who wore a prim costume of humanity -- River wondered now if she had an allergic reaction to the venom with which he adored her.
"See -- they don't give a fuck about you, like I do."
-- Did he?
"Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums."
And there was the other man -- the man with a Master plan who nurtured violence and pain and control to his breast with the tender love of a parent, nursing it with placating smiles and gentle touches. His drums may have been silent but the child would never sate itself, never be free of its father. River decided it was less of a child and more of a parasite, for what were children if not parasites?
"I'll be the one to protect you from -- your enemies and all your demons."
Tex had given her the will to fight, the reason to forsake her fears and the clumsy grace of childhood. Put herself to good use and be a strong adult and a strong sister and a strong Girl: because sometimes River forgot who Girl was, in all upset, there was so much confusion.
"I'll be the one to protect you from -- a will to survive and a voice of reason."
Reason. Rea - son. Everyone thought they had reason. Everyone could be reasonable. The danger came when reason was a substitute for morality, and this is when people lost bits of themselves to the blue and their existence became the hybrid of claustrophobia and agoraphobia (this means you can't go anywhere because nowhere is safe.) In the end it was River who had to take care of herself; the doctors with metal wands and loving minds couldn't be there to keep her safe.
"I'll be -- the one to protect you from -- your enemies and your choices, son..."
Things were harder to process now, making less and less sense in the alphabet soup of memory. Her moves had grown less awkward and restless and she regretted not having the energy to scream.
"One and the same I must isolate you..."
Because in the end, he would. And she would become too dangerous, the brainpan too twisted and tarnished in rust to be useful. He'd have to lock her away with the master monster. One and the same they truly were.
The melody had slipped into something quiet.
Tender.
Like the pillow beneath her head.
"...isolate and save you from yourself."
what: rough nights and twisted sheets. the singing hits her hard..
when: too early in the morning, too late at night.
where: xander & kaylee's
rating: PG
status: complete. closed.
"Go back to sleep..."
She turned back and forth in the nervous way, words rolling around in her mind and spilling from her mouth in harmonic waves, suppressed by blankets and muffled in the soft down of murdered geese.
"Go back to sleep..."
Her hands no longer felt like they belonged to her and her limbs were taking orders she hadn't given. They moved lithely and nervously an with impressive grace while managing to twist in the sheets into shackles as tight as iron.
"Don't fret precious, I'm here..."
Pink lips snarled in contemptuous melody. She hated they way her lips moved and the way her body didn't obey her -- but in this case what she really despised -- truly hated -- was her weakness. Because River needed others to survive.
"Step away from the window."
Singing is a talent like anything else. It requires practice and training and a honing of the fine skills (like moving the vocal cords and controlling the breath.) If River were a river, it would be a flow of potentials. The things that simply could be if she wanted them to. The talents she drew from others as she looked through the doors they opened with their body language, all these things could belong to her.
"Safe from pain -- and truth -- and choice. And other poison devils."
An enveloping sensation, yes, that was how she perceived love. A family and tender arms that held her in their nurturing way, expecting nothing and offering everything. Sanctuary was the correct noun. Sanctuary inside a blue box with the man who wore a prim costume of humanity -- River wondered now if she had an allergic reaction to the venom with which he adored her.
"See -- they don't give a fuck about you, like I do."
-- Did he?
"Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums."
And there was the other man -- the man with a Master plan who nurtured violence and pain and control to his breast with the tender love of a parent, nursing it with placating smiles and gentle touches. His drums may have been silent but the child would never sate itself, never be free of its father. River decided it was less of a child and more of a parasite, for what were children if not parasites?
"I'll be the one to protect you from -- your enemies and all your demons."
Tex had given her the will to fight, the reason to forsake her fears and the clumsy grace of childhood. Put herself to good use and be a strong adult and a strong sister and a strong Girl: because sometimes River forgot who Girl was, in all upset, there was so much confusion.
"I'll be the one to protect you from -- a will to survive and a voice of reason."
Reason. Rea - son. Everyone thought they had reason. Everyone could be reasonable. The danger came when reason was a substitute for morality, and this is when people lost bits of themselves to the blue and their existence became the hybrid of claustrophobia and agoraphobia (this means you can't go anywhere because nowhere is safe.) In the end it was River who had to take care of herself; the doctors with metal wands and loving minds couldn't be there to keep her safe.
"I'll be -- the one to protect you from -- your enemies and your choices, son..."
Things were harder to process now, making less and less sense in the alphabet soup of memory. Her moves had grown less awkward and restless and she regretted not having the energy to scream.
"One and the same I must isolate you..."
Because in the end, he would. And she would become too dangerous, the brainpan too twisted and tarnished in rust to be useful. He'd have to lock her away with the master monster. One and the same they truly were.
The melody had slipped into something quiet.
Tender.
Like the pillow beneath her head.
"...isolate and save you from yourself."