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*snerk*, Peeking out
maxwellsdemon02 wrote in milliways_bar
Somewhere in the middle of the bar, there is a curious sight. (And that's saying something, for here.) There are several tables pushed into a rough circle, with enough space in the middle for a few people to lay down. The chairs are stacked on top of the tables.

In the middle of all this is Duo Maxwell and River Tam, along with a box of multicolored chalk. They seem to be writing on the floor. They seem to be writing math on the floor.

Duo is scribbling what looks to be some geometry. "I'm just saying we should start with the basics in case something is different. For all I know, you guys use base eight."


tiny tag: Wilbur Whateley

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"How many dimensions es et en?" Wilbur asks, looking over. "Yew kin't assume et's en the usual number."

Wilbur can't do long division, yet he instinctively understands 9D hypermath. It's one of the (many) weird things about him.

"Well, since I'm drawing triangles on the floor, I'd go with two," Duo says with a grin. Wilbur gets a blink for his height, but not much else for a reaction, at the moment.

"Yew could be drawin' a tew-D representation o' tin-D space, fer awll I know."

A tentacle slides out from under the hem of his coat and, grabbing a piece of chalk, starts to draw a tesseract. The result is eye-twisting.

"It's the operative default," says River to the floor. (She's worked in more than the usual number before.)

Then her head jerks up, sharply, and snaps around.

It's not the tentacle she's staring at -- it's Wilbur's face, inhumanly high off the ground, or maybe the air directly in front of it, but whatever she sees or feels has her flinching back with a gasp, her chalk-smudged hands flying up in a clumsy uncoordinated gesture of warding or defense. (The pink chalk, with a very quiet sound, snaps nealy in half when it hits the floor unnoticed.)

"I wun't hurt yew, dun't be skeerd." Wilbur sits down next to her. This doesn't really help, but at least their faces are sort of closer.

"Whut's awll this fer, anyway?"

"Just for fun, really." Duo is trading between shooting River a concerned look and eyeing Wilbur curiously.

"I don't think it's because you're tall," he adds, sliding a little closer to her. Not in between them quite, but there. Y'know, in case.

(He's more afraid of what she'll do than him.)

"Naw, et's because my Father es en Outer Gawd," says Wilbur matter-of-factly. He sighs. "Es ef I asked ter be farspawned."

The tentacle is now sketching something for which there isn't even a name. It's starting to warp the floorboards.

Wilbur shifting closer means River jerks farther away, scrabbling a few inches sideways in an uncharacteristically awkward flinch. Her hands are tense claws near her temples, not quite touching.

"It's not relevant." Her voice is sharp and strained; low, but with a blazing intensity behind each word. Her breath is coming in quick panicky gasps, and there's a glitter deep in her eyes.

(It's fear. But it's not only fear.)

A mutter to the floor: "O Discordia, red and--" Her voice abruptly rises in a half-shout, and her hand (fast, almost inhumanly fast) lashes towards the chalk as if to knock it out of Wilbur's tentacle or snap it in half. "Stop it! Break them and laugh, he laughs, STOP IT!"

The tentacle jerks back, then starts writing nonsensical symbols and syllables at like speed.

After a moment or two of this it tosses the chalk to River.

"Naw business en the bar, ayuh? An' since I'm Bound, I'm nawt gunna be the 'un ter break thet rule."

(OOC: I'm a fan of TDT myself. Mordred's my fav. character, though, so that may not be reassuring.)

Okay, now Duo is working on alarmed. He grabs River's arm after she bats away the chalk, and tries to haul them both into a standing position.

"Uh, looks like we're a little late with taking some meds! Come on, sweetheart, we got somewhere else to be! Say bye to the nice man." He manfully does not pause before making his word choice, there. Unless she pulls a dirty trick, River isn't going anywhere but with him.

River allows herself to be hauled up. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and dark and fixed on Wilbur with a glittering rage, even as her fingers twitch and twist fretfully.

"No business," she says, low and enunciated: it sounds like a threat, more than agreement.

She lets Duo pull her away, and doesn't stumble or resist, but her gaze doesn't shift from Wilbur until they're halfway to the stairs and several passersby have wandered between.

Wilbur shrugs and, grabbing the chalk again, starts to check the math they had been doing.

End.

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