(Untitled)

[river_meimei]

For a good portion of the evening, River's with Simon, at a table in the main bar.

But eventually, after a murmured exchange, she rises to make her meandering way towards the front door, while Simon settles back to sip at (and stare into) a fresh cup of tea.

Outside, the night air is crisp and cool, and stars glitter around a young crescent moon.

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[river_meimei]

River is walking along the lakeshore, her boots making an irregular crunching susurrus against grass and pebbles.

She's looking at the dark shadows of trees yards ahead, or perhaps at something else only she can see between their starlit trunks.

[river_meimei]

River's foot lands, and her second foot settles next to it: a dancer's placement, third position, just so.

Her head turns.

[unweeping_stone]

The garden is lovely, is it not, lit by starlight and the thin, straining light of the new moon? Even though summer is near its end, there are still many white flowers, open to be pollinated by the moths that do not live here, and they gleam in the dim light, like so many curious, watchful eyes.

Perhaps it is fitting then, that the statue adorning this corner of the garden is a lonely angel, her eyes covered. Perhaps she grieves the end of summer, and the coming of bitter snow that will bury her until spring. It is poetic, anyway.

[river_meimei]

This statue's not in a cathedral. No dust of centuries, no weight of colored light and ancient history.

No ghosts.

(All is silent in the halls of)
the dead
River's eyes slide over it, and on to the moonlit lake. It's late, so late it might count as early; she went back with Simon, and came back again hours later. She woke with bad dreams, and couldn't go back to sleep.

The air is chilly, but the end of summer still holds. The grass is wet with dew, not yet frost, and River's brown duster and boots are enough to keep her warm.

[unweeping_stone]

There is no rustle of plants, no crunch of leaves, no flp of garments. The only sounds are the turtleducks in the lake, the demonbunnies out in the forest, and the patrons back in the bar.

But does that statue look closer? Were her hands like that before?

Of course they were. It's a statue. It's not as if they change.

[river_meimei]

Of course not.

You have to appreciate

(doesn't mean what you think)

the structure of things.

And it's hard to get more solid than stone.

River's head lifts, turns; she casts a wary glance at the statue before she shakes her head a little, eyes closing, and takes a deep breath. To steady herself, perhaps.

[jack_f_twist]

Some changes don't affect the basic way of life, and that's what Jack found when he'd gone out to check on the stables--more out of habit than anything else. Maybe a little lasting loyalty to the man who'd given him work first, or to remember the time with Ennis there--

It don't hardly matter. Either way, he'd gone out there and found it quiet and in order and completely empty of...whatever it had used to hold for him, so he'd gone on back outside after greeting a few particular favorites.

Outside happens to be another story, and even though he's sorta distracted and she's quiet as ever, he catches sight of River, with her dancer's steps and tiny frame, and makes his way over to her. Smoke puffs gray in the cool air, and his hands are in his pockets, and it's hard to see his expression under the hat brim and in the dark, but if it could seen it might look a little like hope and a lot like quiet happiness.

[river_meimei]

It's hard to see River's, too, in the starlight; tired, perhaps, but more blank.

But she glances over at him, and there, after a moment -- there's the start of a smile, small but there.

"Jack," she says, voice low under the sound of waves and night birds. "Twist."

[jack_f_twist]

"Now, don't tell me it's been so long you ain't sure a my name, River."

There's a little ache starting in his chest at the sight of her, all poised and wild and full of grace.

It's been so damn long.

Under his hat, he grins, a little uncertainly. "Nice to see you, too."

[river_meimei]

That hesitant, crooked smile firms a little.

Softly, "I remember."

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne is sitting out by the lake, nursing a bottle of water.

She was out wandering earlier--circling the lake, seeing what the mountains looked like without snow (not into the woods, though)--and now she's just enjoying the breeze.

She has her back to the bar; she may or may not be paying attention.

[river_meimei]

River's walking by the lake. The starlight glitters faintly off the lake, and shines fainter still on her coat and pale face and sundress.

Her path carries her slowly into Mary Anne's field of vision.

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne doesn't turn her head, just smiles softly.

"Hey there. It's been a while."

A month and a half, give or take. Not the best of circumstances, either.

Time for a do-over.

[river_meimei]

One step towards Mary Anne, slow and deliberate and graceful. A second, and then a third.

"Mary Anne," she says softly.

Beat.

"Hi."

She's not smiling, but there's no hesitation there, and no unfriendliness.