log | closed

[impossibly]

who River (impossibly) and Isley (swordofthenorth).
when some time after Isley's tears down Headquarters. following this thread.
where h-Headquarters.
format prose.
warnings will edit if any, but I doubt it.
summary Just two perfectly ordinary people taking a stroll and talking about their worlds. Nothing to see here, folks!

Comments

[swordofthenorth]

Despite a deep seeded loathing for the fragility of humans, every so often one managed to come along and intrigue Isley. River was no exception

[impossibly]

River spun around at the sound of his voice, suddenly direct instead of wandering wind-blown. A bee-line; but this was no blossom. Strange to see him all daubed with grey and silver and shadows, muted. Dangerous things should be marked by bright colours. But he was still beautiful.

The fray of his hem spoke not of ancient dead things, the sails of ghostly sea-ships. His hair was like a blade, and his eyes seemed even sharper. There was presence, here, practically a force of gravity, pulling lesser things into it's orbit. River went willingly.

"You win," River acceded, without bitterness. She turned over his words (slick and slippery.). Nice seemed inaccurate. "Not many people think so." But perhaps Isley didn't have many people to talk to. Coming to a stop quite closely, she peered into his face, trying to see to the bottom of that unrippling pool. At first glance he didn't seem like he could teem with sharks. "But you do."

[swordofthenorth]

Were his eyes bright enough for her, golden and cold like a winter's sun? Did they speak enough of the danger that lurked behind their false warmth, or act a beacon to unsuspecting creatures, warding them away?

Perhaps not.

They peered perceptively back at River, down when she approached, the distance between them cut in half, and then by a quarter. Though sharp, they were not full of malice. Though cold, they were not uninviting. "I don't often share the same opinions as others," the Abyssal confided, taking in the mop of tousled brown locks atop River's head, her robust mouth, and her intelligent round eyes.

"You understand that, don't you? There aren't many that would have come to meet me the way that you have, after all."

Not many that would have taken his promise not to eat them at face value, either.

[impossibly]

"I am quite unique," agrees River plainly. She sees no point in denying it. After all, it had almost been true well before she was shaped by government scientists. Now that she's been smashed apart and pieced back together it is even moreso. No-one has cracks like hers. No discussion needed.

But she came because he seems the unique one; beyond her, somehow. And if Isley put all of that greatness towards the vast reaches of outer space instead of games of chess, who knew what he could achieve in this back-end place.

She knows that she's just a particularly beloved chicken who is still destined to be roast dinner. But wasn't Scheherezade just a woman? "Does your planet have a moon?" she asks as conversationally as though it were a logical follow-on from introductions and not a leap back to a far earlier discussion.