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Millitimed to Cubefall, Day 3
captainryan wrote in milliways_bar
[OOM: Experimentation.]

Ryan, River, and Damocles (with deer bone) return to Milliways from the front door. The two werewolves stop just inside the door, adjusting to the shift in moon pressure, before continuing on to Bar.

"I think...I think a round for the patrons on me, Bar." Smiles all around.

[Two muns, two pups, have at!]
[Tiny werewolf tag: Dr. River Song]

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River is understandably tired, but still riding high on something that might be endorphins, or could just merely be the excitement of it all.

The night they spent hunting is a jumble of images in her head, like a particularly vivid dream. The clearest image she has is of the black werewolf standing shoulder to shoulder with her, looking at her with those golden eyes, his scent enveloping her -- joy, trust, pride, acceptance, and love. That is the wave she is riding now, head held high as they find a booth.

The moment she sits down, her vidscreen reappears. "Do you want to accept your reconfiguration? Y/N?"

Her eyes stray to Richard's face for a long moment before she looks back down at the screen and taps the 'Y'. The vidscreen chirps happily and disappears.

As simple as that.

"Love, how about a double order of paradoxes and a bottle of champagne?"

"That sounds like a plan," Richard says, taking the seat next to her. Dam takes the space between them, happily gnawing on his bone.

"Thank you." He's not sure why, but that feels like an appropriate sentiment right now.

She thinks she knows what he means, but she wants to be sure.

She takes his hand in hers, interlacing her fingers with his, studying his face. "For -- ?"

"For saying yes," he says quietly, soft smile in place. For wanting to share this with me.

Can he stop having to say this outloud now?

That scent. Oh that scent. She mirrors that soft smile and inhales deeply, a hint of understanding dawning in her eyes.

Love you, wolf.

"Now you'll never be rid of me," she teases, giving him a cheeky wink.

Love you, too. Okay, done with the public displays.

"I was promised champagne," he says, mock serious.

"Right. Champagne and paradoxes, it is!" Her grin could power a small alpine village in the middle of winter.

River tries to wave over a rat, who skitters away nervously. She frowns a bit. That's odd. She tries to wave down another one, who responds similarly. In fact, the entire wait staff seems to be giving their table a very wide berth.

"Really? I mean really?"

Welcome to being a werewolf, River.

"I thought you knew about that already?" He looks amused. "Now you know why I always order from the bar."

But he also has a habit of leaving his dishes behind. Fair is fair, after all.

"I knew, I just -- they were so good before. They should know me. I tip well enough, don't I?"

She might be taking it a bit personal.

"Oh fine then. Right, you two stay right here and I'll be right back."

She leans over to kiss his cheek before slipping out of the booth.

He watches her go, headtilting a bit at her new gait.

He likes it, of course.

Dam, think you could catch one of those rats?

The dog lifts his head and looks at one. Sure. Did you want me to?

Not at the moment.
But he'll keep it in mind.

She returns a few minutes later, a bottle of bubbly and two champagne flutes in one hand and a huge basket of paradoxes in the other (the scent of which arrives at the table before she does).

"Did someone order champagne?" she singsongs, grinning as she sets down her bounty.

She plucks a paradox off the top of the basket and blows on it before dropping it down for Dam. Careful, it's hot still.

'kay! Thanks! He starts nibbling at the crust.

Richard rumbles appreciatively as he snags a pastry for himself, pulling it in half to blow on the innards.

"Did you need me to open that for you?"

"If you'd care to do the honors," she hands him the chilled bottle, and grabs a paradox for herself, not even bothering to tear it in two. She ignores her own advice and pops the whole thing in her mouth, humming a little and waving her hand in front of her face.

Hot hot hot!

She holds the glasses for him, her mouth full of pastry.

Moron, he says fondly, pointing the champagne away from them. After some fussing, the cork goes flying with a loud pop!

Dam, here.

What is it?

Something I don't usually let you have.


"Here we are." He pours for each of them.

Grumpy, she teases. She bumps his shoulder a little roughly, making him splash more champagne over the table and down to where Dam is lapping it up.

"I think the term you're looking for is 'idiot', as my learning far surpasses that required for the title 'moron'." She takes her glass from him, and holds her arm up at an exaggerated angle. "Well, come on then."

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