There's a booth against that wall. Rafter to booth back to bench to floor -- an easy stepladder.

River still brushes fingers along solid wood, stretches pointed toes down toward each surface she steps onto, sways into her upright posture just a bit when she reaches the floor. It doesn't look so much as if she's uncertain of her balance, but as if she's double-checking that everything else has stayed put around her.

From there, the same unhurried steps carry her towards Nita's table. Apparently the conversation is still ongoing.