river_meimei | [River and Prior Fell on Serenity]

[River and Prior Fell on Serenity]

River's standing on one of the high catwalks, hands curled loosely around the railing. She leans back as if against a summer breeze, dreamily watching the air of the cargo bay.

When a blond figure emerges from a corridor far below, River's eyes slide slowly down to focus on him.

After a moment, she smiles, just a little.

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"You know what?" says Aziraphael, his smile widening rather, "I jolly well can, at that."

He takes a moment to look around, make sure they're alone; everyone knows what he is, to be sure, but there's a difference between knowing and believing; he has no wish to unsettle anyone.

There's a soft silken sound like tearing cloth, a moment's flurry of movement.
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings;
And he's perched comfortably on the railing, wings spread slightly to maintain his balance - he looks, suddenly, comfortable. Graceful.

River is beaming.

She reaches out, hand brushing against the air, but doesn't quite touch.

"You may. If you'd like."

He's got better at it over the years.

But he won't allow just anyone.

River's face just brightened a little bit more. Which is not an insignificant achievement.

Very carefully, very lightly, she brushes her fingertips against the edge of a stiff pinion.

Aziraphael closes his eyes, smiling faintly, entirely relaxed.

The edge of a wing might push a very little into her hand, like a cat arching its back.

"Soft," River murmurs to the feathers beneath her hand.

Light diffuses in the cargo bay, refracting off steel gratings and boxes and dropclothes; Aziraphael's wings gleam, impossibly pristine and faintly pearlescent.

"I don't get to do that often enough. It's rather unbecoming of a Prior, you know, not to mention that I must order replacement shirts at the Abbey's expense, and there's really no comfortable explanation for repeatedly shredded clothing."

And it wouldn't do to go turning the Shepherds' minds towards dalliances. Aziraphael has enough visitors clearly not in search of spiritual guidance to be classed as a Companion, were folks to look at it that way.

"Mending is a penance," River says, which could be a comment or a suggestion.

She's still watching his wings. A fingertip lifts fractionally, drops again to touch the white feathers lightly, and she smiles.

"Mending is wider than needle and thread."

He laughs lightly.

"And you've never seen me sew. I have a certain image to maintain, you know."

River glances up at that, interested.

This sounds like a story! Or at least a fun mental image.

"Don't look at me like that, my dear. I shall merely say - "

("You see? Now I have a huge tear. This is what you get for breaking into churches."

"It was for the greater good, angel."

"Hand me that tin, would you?"

"...you have an embroidery tin?"

"Oh, do hush.")

" - that I am really quite terrible at needlework - "

("Oh heck, Crowley, I can't walk! Divine punishment! I'd always wondered what that felt like. I thought it would hurt more.")

" - and leave it at that."

("...angel. You've sewn your trouser legs together."

"I knew that. Shut up.")

River is giving him a 'oh, come ON now, you can't just stop there' look.

And then her eyes flick to Aziraphael's knees -- his trousers are black, and in perfect repair, if a little rumpled -- and she looks briefly astonished. It fades into confusion as she glances back up at Aziraphael.

And then, the confusion is gone, and she's starting to giggle.

Aziraphael puts on a scowl, reaching out to gently tuck her hair behind her ear in order that he might tweak her nose.

"Hush, you."

River just laughs harder, going momentarily crosseyed when her nose is tweaked.

Aziraphael hops off the rail lightly, briefly ruffling her hair.

"I shall have to work far harder on this ship; a Deputy Demo' at every turn and not an ally amongst you. If I hadn't been doing some good missioning of late I should be quite disheartened."

"Captain's a paragon of virtue," River informs him. "Jayne will help."

No, she's not even trying for a straight face.

"I - er."

A faintly horrified look that he quickly attempts to hide.

"I suspect leaving Jayne on Crowley's side would do far more good to my own."

River was giggling. Now she's cracking up.

She saw the horrified look, yes.

"I know, I know."

Faintly hopeless.

"I'm supposed to save everyone. And really, I'm quite willing to do my best to convert him, provided I can fob him off elsewhere when it comes to confession."

Ew, says River's face.

She likes Jayne a lot better these days. But no one likes the idea of hearing what he's thinking.

"He can talk to Vera. Special dispensation."

"...Gosh. You are a genius. Although I imagine there'd have to be some sort of ceremony - I'm not sure I'm altogether fond of the idea of ordaining a piece of weaponry."

River looks proud.

"Maybe it's parrots. Psittacida Amazona indulgens."

"Yes, dear."

Aziraphael's laughing now, his wings furling in close to his back and disappearing.

River, who was making a serious (if incomprehensible) suggestion, is a little confused by his laughter.

But she giggles too, because it's contagious.

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[River and Prior Fell on Serenity]

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