Having managed a quick shower, River was left with looking for something to wear. Her own clothes were too muddy, too bloodstained. After a rummage through Methos' wardrobe, she settled on one of his shirts and a pair of boxershorts that came to her knees.
"You know, I really should wear your things more often," said River as she slipped into the kitchen barefoot, appreciating the strange femininity such a masculine outfit could have.
"Well, with the amount of times I have to dump my ruined clothes here," she said, sliding into a seat at the table and pulling her plate closer to herself.
"Well, it's one way to get me undressed fast," River laughed, sitting forward in her seat and beginning to tuck in to her breakfast. "I'll go for strong," she then said, looking across to him with a smile of gratitude.
"The Clerics have been summoned to the battle lines," she explained, looking down to her plate as she continued to eat. "They ordered me to accompany them."
"They're members of the Church," River told him, now slowly levelling her gaze with his. "They're soldiers. It's their lifelong duty to protect the human population throughout the universe. When there's a war, the Church will be there to help bring it to an end."
"Some of them.. are alright. They believe in their cause for the good they can bring. And they do, they have helped many human colonies survive invasion. But some.. some go bad," she said quietly, remembering the days of Colonel Manton.
"It's true," River agreed. People like Colonel Manton had brought the honour of the Clerics down by involving them with the likes of Madame Kovarian and the Headless Monks. Now, River only knew the Clerics as the soldiers who were there to guard her, protect her, imprison her.
Only a small few broke that stereotype. Even Father Octavian, for all his protocol and formality, he had been one of the soldiers who had seen her as much than a weapon. He understood she was dangerous, of course, but he also understood she was a human being.
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"You know, I really should wear your things more often," said River as she slipped into the kitchen barefoot, appreciating the strange femininity such a masculine outfit could have.
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"I certainly wouldn't complain, if you did..."
Methos took the plates and set them on the table.
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"So... a war, huh?" he asked idly over his omelet.
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Perhaps he was being cynical. Say it wasn't so!
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Only a small few broke that stereotype. Even Father Octavian, for all his protocol and formality, he had been one of the soldiers who had seen her as much than a weapon. He understood she was dangerous, of course, but he also understood she was a human being.
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