River's never been particularly attached to outward demonstrations, anyway.

With Galadan safely settled, she moves on to the small bathroom. She brushes her hands over the counter, until her fingers close experimentally around the glass resting on the sink.

She fills it with water, double-checking with a finger that it's mostly full -- River doesn't rely with certainty on either vision or hearing, if she has a back-up -- and then carries it back into the room. The care with which she holds it, two-handed like a child, is somewhat at odds with the streaks of blood on her hands and shirt and boots, and the gunbelts slung comfortably low on her hips.