wolflord_andain | (no subject)

(no subject)

Galadan, as it happens, is not much in the habit of staying in Milliways for long periods of time, particularly not in his human shape.

The situation being what it is, however, he has made very little protest about being escorted to one of said bar's rooms.

Give it a few days, mayhap.

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"Feel free to make yourself at home, if you will, River."

Galadan's voice is pitched just loud enough to make it through the door.

The chances that he does not feel up to moving much are quite, quite high.

River kind of guessed that might be the case.

"Breakfast," she says to the wall, "is an optional side agenda."

"And hardly an objectionable one."

There's a wry twist to his words, both in his mouth and in his mind.

There may also be a request for River to bring her own key when she returns -- provided she has enough hands, of course.

Perhaps tomorrow he will be more inclined to get breakfast under his own momentum.

An andain can hope.

"Provisioning is healthsome," River agrees placidly, to all of that, and turns away from the door.

It's a few minutes before she returns. When she does, she has a key in one hand, and a bag in the other. (It's got plates, silverware, and sturdy flat-bottomed takeout containers. Bar knows River.)

Again, she doesn't bother to knock or speak up, but this time she lets herself in.

She'll find Galadan seated in the room's single chair, with the lamp at its lowest illumination. (It makes his head ache less.) He gives the impression of someone who has not moved from that chair in quite some time.

This would not be an incorrect impression.

The fact that he licks his lips as she enters, gaze flicking to the bag in her hand, has nothing at all to do with a sudden, sharp pang of hunger.

It has still less to do with the empty water glass resting on the table next to the bed.

And there's this bridge . . .

Right. Of course not!

And the fact that River passes him the larger container -- and its raw venison -- before she sets the rest of the bag down is also PURE COINCIDENCE.

The bag also has another glass in it, and she snags the other off the table as she goes. Water for all!

A hand-towel may also be quite the thing.

It's not that Galadan lacks a knife -- nor even a fork, plastic though it may be. It is merely that raw meat is raw meat, and there will be some amount of blood.

Paper napkins will not cut it.

Alas.

Edited 2012-01-14 06:32 (UTC)

Apparently, Galadan's goal of the week is to make the Loompas launder as many bloody Milliways towels as possible.

There are worse aims. (And River is fresh out of handkerchiefs.)

Having fetched everything -- in a couple of trips, because River has to take care when carrying things that aren't weaponry or very hard to damage -- she settles down crosslegged on the bed, tucking bare feet beneath her, and bends over to fetch her fruit salad.

mmmm, kiwi. Galadan can keep the bloody venison.

Galadan is perfectly content with the division of foodstuffs as it now stands. River is welcome to all the fruit she likes.

As for the Wolflord, once he has made his way through most of the meat, he wipes off his fingertips, cleans off his knife, and pushes his plate away.

He'll wait for River to finish her own meal before speaking.

Out loud, at least.

River's mostly done with hers; she's to the point of desultorily poking at the last few blueberries with her chopsticks.

They're apparently interesting. If you're River.

"You are well, I hope?"

His brows are lifted in an expression of polite interest.

Just in case anyone should be observing.

"And Mary, too, of course."

River directs a look of affectionate tolerance at the last slice of kiwi in her takeout container.

"Everybody's shiny."

"She had soup. It's a precursor to sleep."

And now that it's morning, Mary has a bar full of opportunities to acquire food, hang out with friends, and ignore human beings in favor of her greenhouse.

"Good."

And if one corner of his mouth should tilt ever-so-faintly upward --

What of it?

River is surely entirely oblivious.

Yes.

That.

That's why she looks satisfied, no doubt.

Galadan just barely stifles a laugh.

There is not much point in it, really.

It's not like River doesn't already know.

"Gonna fuss," River warns him, amiably.

About Mary.

('Fuss' may have a few definitions here, but Galadan doesn't actually need this warning. All it takes is knowing Mary Lennox.)

"Yes, well."

One eyebrow remains arched.

"Provided we lack an audience, I suppose I shall cope."

River rolls her eyes. Affectionately!

Galadan may feel free to choose who the intended target is.

She eats a blueberry, idly. (Mm, blueberry.) "You're very brave," she agrees.

"I might have thought that went without saying."

As if to prove his point, he steals one of her blueberries.

Carefully. Almost as if moving too fast will set his head to throbbing again.

It's certainly coincidence if River happens to nudge the container closer to him, too.

"We'll call it redundancy."

"How very generous."

And speaking of generous --

He'll take another blueberry, thank you very much.

River, of course, beams.

She is the soul of generosity! How kind of Galadan to notice.

Some things Galadan is not at all inclined to miss.

Very few of those have anything to do with blueberries, strangely enough.

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