baby, did you forget to take your meds?
Who: River Tam (OPEN)
What: The girl's not all right.
When: Tuesday evening
Where: Hostel, wandering. Starts in the kitchen ( Read more... )
What: The girl's not all right.
When: Tuesday evening
Where: Hostel, wandering. Starts in the kitchen ( Read more... )
Sefton hadn't thought the nightmares would persist like they had. Not only did he rarely ever have nightmares, but it was rarer still to be woken by them and unable to fall asleep again afterward. The recent batch of disturbing dreams went against both of these facts with alarming regularity, and it didn't look like they would knock it off, either.
To recover from another shapeless yet frightening dream, he had come here, to the kitchen. Now, he sat at the counter with his hands wrapped around a cup of tea. It was (not really) funny. Sefton hadn't had properly-made tea in ages; his mother used to make it all the time, but after he had run away, there had never been a chance to do it for himself. Or... rather, he never made the chance. It was probably some morbid way of restoring normalcy - rolling back the clock to a less-disturbing time in his life so that maybe his subconscious would let him rest ( ... )
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"..."
Apparently their last encounter had discouraged her from trying to engage him in conversation. Perhaps she could sense he really didn't want to talk, and was simply unnerved by her concentration on the knife. Silly thing didn't know, you couldn't operate without tools.
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"You okay...?"
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The truth of the matter, no sense hiding it. As if aware she'd said something mildly disturbing she moved to fiddle with some of the loose silverware, distracting herself temporarily. These go here, that one's a tenth of an inch shorter than the rest, line them all up straight as soldiers...
"Wouldn't be here if we were."
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He took a drink of his tea, using the moment to figure out what to do. He could leave, sure, but limping out on a still-sore ankle because some random girl had shown up (as unsettling as she might be) didn't exactly seem like the most logical of choices. Even if she did seem to somehow know about his ability. Setting the cup down with a quiet clunk, took a breath and asked, "What do you mean?"
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Her fingers twitched inexplicably, and the forks clatter to the floor in front of her. A frustrated noise escaped River's throat, fingers curling tight against her palms. "Nothing stays in order, they're...floating. Too high to reach, because we're drowning in it. The flood isn't water, it's bitter and it hurts. It oozes up through the cracks in the floor, on our tongues and in our dreams, and it won't stop. It never stops..."
Can't leave a mess, have to sink down to the floor and pick things up, put them back...or try to. Whatever effect her words are having on Sefton, she doesn't appear to take notice this time.
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Moving away from the counter, he moved toward the mess of silverware without getting too close. Crouching down was awkward, but he managed, and began picking up whatever pieces weren't near her hands at the time.
Her nervousness reminded him of himself, somewhat, though in a different way. It seemed she was distressed over the state of the city itself, while Sefton was merely distressed that he couldn't leave; he was being looked for, after all, which was something constantly at the back of his mind. Taunting him. Not letting him forget that he shouldn't be standing still, even if it took all his energy to fight it. (He hadn't fought, though, not enough. He had become too tired - too much, too fast. Too disoriented, too distracted. Why wasn't he fighting, anyway?)
With a handful of silverware gained, Sefton used the counter as leverage and stood, placing them out as they had been before.
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She had a handful of the forks in hand, but didn't seem in any rush to stand up, staring off in front of her as though viewing something horrible in the distance. Then her eyes shut, head bowed, and with effort she forced her legs into pushing her upright again. She wavered slightly on her feet as she stared down at the handful of utensils.
"...can't go back." She swallowed hard, looking up towards Sefton in earnest. "Can't go back, have to carve out a new way. Cut..." Distracted by that train of thought she seemed content to abandon the forks in a pile, moving to start rifling through the cupboards.
"Going to be messy. Need to prepare properly, can't leave it lying about after. There's dinner to be thought of."
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Towels.
"It's an inequity. Imbalance. It has to be corrected," she continued, lying to the towels out flat against the counter, a glance given to the sink.
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"Just said why, didn't you?" he asked. It was strange, to keep the conversation going while playing keep-away with a knife, but maybe Sefton could talk her down before anyone got hurt. "So tell me the how."
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She still didn't look as though she quite believed he was doing this, herself, though her brow furrowed in determination. "The sympathy's not physical. Can't build foundation if the ground's not even. If the ground's not even..."
Her hand extended towards him with dead calm.
"Then you dig."
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